The Vicar’s Nightmare

As Drndyllyn the Wyld prepared to move her operations from her newly completed castle in Boar’s Head to the somewhat ruined formerly orcish city of Bozageest she sent word to anyone in Boar’s Head that wanted to grab a piece of the action to come and join her. The bulk of her army decided to head on up to Bozageest as did a number of civilian settlers. After consulting with Father Terrance, the Bishop of  La Roche, it was decided that the vicar of Boar’s Head, Zedem Malroy, should pick up and move to Bozageest as well to become the new Bishop over this conquered domain. It was a sizeable promotion for the gnomish cleric and he leapt at the chance.

The last night that he spent in his vicarage at Boar’s Head was not a smooth and gentle one. Alas the poor gnome was beset by the most horrifying nightmare he had ever had. Zedem had never been prone to such nocturnal disturbances so he was particularly taken aback by this one. He wrote it down in the middle of the night as it had awakened him and left him so shaken that he could no longer sleep. He sent a copy of his recollection of this dream to his friend Sheckner, a hobgoblin that served the foremost paladin in the country down in Resurrection. It was Sheckner that relayed the dream to his patron the paladin.

The dream began in a city or town of some sort. It was nighttime in this place and it was impossible for the cleric to determine any details that might identify the setting beyond the obviously nondescript. There were people milling about enjoying the evening, and at first all seemed quite calm and normal. The cleric was under the influence that this dream might be a pleasant experience until suddenly a panic seemed to grip the people from something approaching. The people began to panic, and then push violently past the cleric who stood frozen in the street unable to move and watching the terrible scene unfold before him.

The people stampeding through the street were being pursued by what looked like three women, each of them seeming to be undead. They were moving steadily along the street, all three of them side by side. In the middle looked to be an ancient half-elven woman wearing a flashy purple coat and with wild white hair blowing in an imperceptible wind. Her eyes were pinpoints of green light and she held in her right hand a glowing broadsword. From her left hand shot bolts of evil and insidious magical energy, striking down all in her path. With a mournful wail this central character caused dozens of people nearby to fall down in their tracks, dead as doornails.

To this woman’s right side was a woman that seemed to be a human druidic priestess. Her hair was also blowing about in the imperceptible wind, and over her eyes she wore a blindfold but her sight seemed unaffected. She had two long fangs and blood poured from her mouth as she devoured the hapless people that scrambled to get away from her. In her hands she held a gnarled wooden staff that was heavily carved with runic symbols and of course her holy symbol. The sigils glowed with a faint green color and seemed to drain the life from all plant life that she ventured close to.

The third woman was more a black billowy smoke cloud than it was a person, but she had a face and looked to be an elf. No matter how the light hit her this woman was able to meld into the shadows with disturbing ease. Her eyes were also pinpoints of green light and in her hand she wielded a long stiletto that dripped with glowing green fluid. As the terrified people scattered ahead of her this elven smoke-woman stabbed at them from behind, turning them into dried husks that fell and broke into dust in the street.

Behind these three women was the unmistakable form of the Viceroy levitating and floating as if being pulled by the three ghoulish women in front of him. In his right hand he was holding what looked to be an open spellbook, but it was larger and more creepily sinister. The souls of the recently departed drifted up from the bodies scattered about the street and seemed to be sucked into this hideous tome. In his left hand was a golden scepter that had a terrifying glow about it. It was as if the Viceroy was asserting his dominion over someplace, and the vicar awoke screaming, scared to death that he was in that very place himself.

That was all that the vicar could recall and even that was entirely too much. He would be glad to get started again in Bozageest and to put as many miles between him and any horrors that the Viceroy might inflict.