We decide to go into the cave. We can still hear the crackling of the goblins, but we can not tell how far away they are. Spiraling downwards, we travel deeper and deeper into the cave. Page is leading followed by myself, Deerden, and Gilf. Deerden is checking for traps and finds many broken traps and bones, but no current active traps.
Suddenly, Page sees something is the corner of her, but we turn around and see nothing. This will be the first strange event in a otherwise extremely suspicious tale. We go a little further and suddenly I pass out where I see a dead nation.
I wake up into a panic and yell, “I had a horrible dream. I dreamt of a dead nation without blood”, but everybody else is too busy with their problems. Deerden can’t move and Page seems to have lost her tail. I can still see her tail, but she thinks that she has lost it. We panic, unsure of what to do or what has happened to us.
Suddenly, I am back in the dream world and I started to move through it. I attempt to check the bodies for blood, but there is none. I even attempt to do magic, but it seems I am unable to do so. Without blood and magic, I am utterly defenseless. I am going to have to use something else to get out of this. While I am traveling through the history of the nation, the Dead Nation rises and falls. I notice little things, like somehow my presence is changing and effecting the history, but unfortunately I don’t recognize his nation of men.
In a moment of panic, I turn to one thing that I often ignored – religion. I remember the countless hours of praying that my human mother wasted her life on, but in this moment of doubt I find myself turning towards prayer.
“Dear All Mighty Creator, I’m in a dream state with no blood, no magic, and in a nation of men who I don’t recognize. Please guide me towards the light and out of this dream or to the truth.”
Suddenly a voice calls out. “The truth isn’t always clear, and the light not always bright.”
That is not the divine intervention of a god. That is the voice of another magic user – perhaps a necromancer. I see a priest, perhaps this is the necromancer. Sneaking up towards the priest, I take out my dagger, and stab the priest. The daggers pass through the priest and the priest reforms rapidly aging. This is not the necromancer, but an distraction.
Regaining my courage, I attempt to find an event in the history of the Dead Nation and change it. Suddenly, the dream jumps around to a great drought that wracks the land and robs many of their loved ones. I attempt to make a storm – to change the history of this dream and hopefully break it. I will rain down a storm to alleviate the people of their drought. Clouds form, but instead of rain…blood rain down from the heavens. Finally! Something familiar! Even though it defies logic, I am happy to be raining blood down. Reinvigorated, I try to increase the storm drawing more power from the blood, creating more clouds, and attempting to down the Nation of the Dead in blood.
Suddenly a voice chants over and over, “Blood flows into Blood.” I am making progress! I can finally hear the necromancer through the illusion. Maybe I can break his concentration and release myself from this dream world. Using the blood storm around me and gathering up my full strength, I begin to chant in a counter spell,
“I call upon the blood of my ancestors – the Blue Dragons. Truth isn’t always clear, the light not always bright, and blood flows into blood, but the Blue Dragons will conquer all.”
The next thing I know is that I wake up 50 yards away from the caravan with a tattoo. Returning to the caravan, I drink some beer with Page and the other, but I soon turn away from some introspection. I must study and reflect on this experience.