The Fever Dream
A Last Goodbye

Samuel. The glare of the fire burned through his eyelids and he rolled over. “Go back to sleep. I am too weary for your games.”

His face met the loamy soil of the marsh. And he shivered. His clothes were gone.

Heed me watcher. He did not recall unclothing, standing up or opening his eyes, but before him a shape stood with him backlit by the fire. Curves of shadow hinted at a humanoid form. We have known each other long, but this is not a joke.
“Please just leave me alone Mir. My head feels like its forcing it’s way out of my skull. He knelt and squinted for his clothes.

This may be the last time we speak. He looked up.
“Really? How about that time in Zinfar where you wouldn’t talk to me for two weeks. You came back as soon as blood needed spilling.” He tried to smirk but his head pounded so.
I was childish then, and I did not take well to my service. Please my host, listen.

Samuel found himself standing beside the fire. The light finally lit Mir’s face. Youthful but angular and with a strong jaw. Eyes with no irises. Mirs face gave him comfort in the pain. He reached out thumbing hair away from Mir’s horn and held their cheek. “What is it then oh soul of mine.” This time the smirk turned into a smile and eased the dull ache in his head.

I am dying Samuel. His face froze. A moment of silence passed between the two of them. The bow was in his hands then. A long arrow with a wicked barbed head, just like he used against the Nashir. “They come then?” He pulled tension into the string, readying to draw, the dark watchers leathers rested like Mir’s arms around him, a comfortable weight. They stood in on a rocky plain now. Yes. But they are far away. The last of them. He is reborn in, a man I think. They call him a god. A chariot rolled into view. Red hair, too far away to make out any other details. He has bonded, but is not as strong yet as we have fought before. His demon has found me. I mistook it for a Watcher’s Soul at first, but I was wrong. There is something wrong here for it to have been so strong. Crimson broke out through Mir’s shift. I am sorry my body. I’m so sorry I could not be the soul you needed.
“No.” Tears welled in his eyes, and he was naked once more. “You can’t leave me there is still one more Nashir loose!” His breath came raggedly and his nose clogged, “I need you Mir.”
I am so sorry. Mir’s hand stroked his face and the space on his forehead warmed. Thoughts warred in his mind.
“No you can’t go. You can’t leave me like that again.”
This is goodbye watcher.
“NO! I can’t. Mir… Mirazael!”
He woke with a start, a rock had dug into his back in his tossing and turning, a sheen of sweat covered him.

A long cry racked him.

The Well of Souls & Blood
A sunken temple in the wraith marshes.

After disturbing a few adventurers in the tavern, Samuel “Three Eyes” Chase, one of the Kings Ranger’s and former Watcher, persuaded a rag tag band of adventurers to help him explore the ruins in the marshes.

On the party’s way there Samuel was confused and led them off course, professing a headache, Gregor Wallace took point.

Gwyn’s natural caution took effect and he tried to surreptitiously flick holy water at the Ranger. Samuel Flinched and asked him to stop, exclaiming that he was a Watcher, and therefore a half demon.

After struggling past a sink hole the party managed to gain entrance, after being stumped by a magical brazier the party accosted some Goblins who were scavenging food. The argument was swiftly defused. The party decided to check the armoury, amongst the discarded arms two suits of armour composed themselves, the dying spirits looking for flesh that inhabited these two suits apparently took offense at how shiny Gwyn’s armour was, taking him out of the fight within three rounds.

The party then realized that the inscription on the braizer read “Blood welcomes Blood.” in an ancient form of Vitrian used by the Nosferatu.

Gregor made a small incision in his palm and bled into the everburning fire, it glowed green for a split second and gears started turning, before sputtering out and stopping the mechanics.

Valencia then tried her own hand at it. A searing red flame leapt from the flames and the doors unlocked.

The crew then made their way up the crumbling stairs. Where they met a strange fellow who called themselves The Spirit Waker.

to be finished


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