(WotH) The Premonition

    A cloaked man flitted down the crowded streets of Cadazar’s bustling capital. He weaved his way through the crowds and headed purposefully for the palace stairs. His advance was halted by the crossed pikes of a pair of towering yuan-ti guardsmen. Each looked much like a human but with the head of a snake instead of that of a man.

    “Ssstate your name and bussinesss,” one of them demanded in a harsh tone.

    “Randal. I must speak to the queen at once,” he replied, urgency evident in his voice, but his expression hidden behind his porcelain mask.

    “A Knight of Frossst? The queen has not requesssted any mercenariesss.” The guard noted the emblem of a sword lying across a snowflake emblazoned upon the man’s shield and cape.

    “I’m not here on company business, but I must speak to the queen about a matter of the utmost importance.”

    “I’ll asssk if she wishes to ssspeak with you. Wait here.”

    After waiting for what felt like hours, Randal was finally led up the stairs and into a lavishly decorated chamber.  In the center of the room was a large, plush mattress covered with soft pillows, upon which rested Queen Sethasdia. Her skin was pale, and her hair was a nest of cobras. She was garbed in a loose, silken dress and adorned with golden jewelry. Instead of legs, she had the lower body of a massive serpent which was coiled atop the mattress. Her piercing yellow eyes regarded Randal with curiosity.

    “I am told that you have come to speak with me about an urgent matter,” she stated in a soft and regal voice. “You need not introduce yourself, Randal. I have heard many tales of your skill.”

    Randal took a step forward and bowed respectfully. “Yes. I have come to make a request of you regarding a grave situation.”

    “I shall hear out your request, but know that I shall make a request of you in turn,” she warned, watching him intently.

    “A fair deal.” He nodded. “I have had… a premonition of sorts. I have sensed a calamitous war in this land’s future, one that will embroil nearly the whole continent, and I seek the aid of your divination.”

    “You made a wise choice by coming to me. What is it that you need divined?”

    “There is a group of dark and powerful beings, known as entities, who live only to cause pain, fear, and strife in the world. Each is an immortal schemer with his or her own dark goals, but in my vision, I saw them band together at the head of a huge and terrible army, bent upon conquest. I need insight as to their whereabouts so that I can more accurately determine their plans and prepare for what’s to come,” Randal gravely described.

    “Yes, I have heard stories of these beings, and what you ask is well within my power, but I have a question for you. Why are you bent on fighting against this darkness? Do you feel that you stand to gain something? Do you wish for greater fame and glory? Or do you fancy yourself some kind of hero?”

    “I have been tasked by a higher power to protect the world from the influence of the entities.”

    The queen closed her eyes and focused on her priestly connection to Phera, the goddess of snakes, knowledge, and cunning. She opened her eyes as she was given a distinct impression of approval.

    “Very well, then. I will divine their locations, but the ritual will take a few days to prepare. In the meantime, you must do something for me in turn. As you may know, my kingdom has been at war with Varyn and its leader, Warlord Rhodrek, for a long time. In exchange for my services, you must bring me the head of General Krovod, one of Rhodrek’s favorite lackies. But be warned; my soldiers tell me that their weapons have little effect upon him and that he is no ordinary hobgoblin.”

    “It will be done.”

Ì

    The hobgoblin looked out over the barren sands from atop the guard tower. In the distance, he spotted a rapidly approaching figure. “Go away!” he shouted. “The general is not taking visitors!” But the intruder did not slow down. What harm could he possibly cause? He’s just one man, and the gate is barred.

    The guards watched in shock as Randal leapt through the air and collided shoulder-first against the corner where the gate met the wall. He seemed to momentarily make contact before abruptly passing straight through the gate and arriving inside the courtyard. He dashed forward as the bellow of a war horn rang out, grabbing his shield from his back and unsheathing his sword as he ran. As Randal neared the inner fortress, several hobgoblins moved to intercept him, but were met with a startling display of martial prowess as he deftly parried each strike while cutting down his foes one by one.

    Randal’s initial attackers lay dead at his feet, but he soon found himself surrounded. As his numerous foes closed in, he chanted a quick incantation that caused his blade to glow with radiant light. Before the horde could react, the paladin plunged his weapon into the earth, creating a shockwave of brilliant light that flung his adversaries from their feet. Randal sprinted ahead as his surviving foes struggled to regain their footing. He chanted quietly to himself as he conjured a staircase of stone and scaled the wall. Reaching the top, he smashed a window with his shield and leapt inside. He abruptly ceased his incantation, dismissing the stairs and sending guards tumbling to the hard ground below.

    Before him stood a stunned hobgoblin clad in polished armor and wielding a wicked greatsword. “Who in Magnon’s name are you?!” Krovod bellowed as he took a startled step back. Randal wasted no time in springing forth and slashing at the general. The air rang with the clash of steel as they parried each other’s strikes. Krovod’s brute strength was immense and his strikes vicious, but his assailant was undeterred, and the general could hardly keep up with the man’s agility.

    Randal relentlessly kept up his assault, slowly driving the hobgoblin towards the far wall. He knocked his opponent off balance with a pair of radiant strikes and landed a slash across Krovod’s midsection. The general staggered backwards, snarling as he clutched at his bleeding wound. “How dare you strike me!” he roared. “I am Rhodrek’s greatest general! I cannot be bested by a masked interloper like you!” Before Randal could press his advantage, Krovod’s form began to rapidly change and shift. In moments, what stood before the paladin was no longer a hobgoblin, but a towering werewolf.

    The general howled with fury as he tossed his blade to the ground and charged at Randal, his claws glinting in the light of the wall sconces. Randal desperately defended himself with his shield as he retreated across the room. He countered with a series of rapid strikes infused with holy power. The two combatants circled each other, engaged in a deadly duel of claws and steel. Eventually the werewolf’s immense strength proved too much, and Randal’s weapon was flung from his grasp.

    Before he could react, the paladin was struck in the chest by his foe’s vicious claws and sent tumbling to the ground. His cloak was badly torn, but the blow had not penetrated the mithril vest he wore underneath it. Krovod lunged forward, determined to rip the interloper limb from limb, but his advance was suddenly halted as a loud thunk split the air. The general looked down with horror at the silver-tipped bolt protruding from his chest.

    Randal watched as his foe gave a final anguished howl and toppled to the floor. He placed the crossbow back within his cloak and rolled to his feet. “You can never be too sure,” he muttered as he retrieved his sword and plunged it into his fallen foe’s heart.

Ì

    “Back so soon?” Sethasdia amusedly commented.  “Has Krovod been dealt with?”

    “See for yourself,” Randal proclaimed as he shook out the sack that had been slung over his shoulder and a severed hobgoblin head tumbled to the floor.

    “You have certainly lived up to your reputation. Now, follow me. I have prepared the ritual.”

    Randal followed the medusa out of the room and down the palace’s opulent halls. They eventually arrived at a shimmering pool of water in the center of a room that was permeated by the smell of rare incenses used in the ritual’s preparation. The queen waved her arms over the pool while uttering a long and complex incantation. When her chant concluded, she slithered back a short distance and stared into the pool. The duo watched as the water ceased reflecting its surroundings and its surface turned dark and murky.

    Soon the water began to change again, its surface now showing the image of a forest. A tall, green-skinned man wearing armor made from a black dragon’s scales strode through the woods, a cape made from the pelt of a large beast flapping behind him. Upon his head was the skull of a deer, and in his hand hovered a burning ember.

    Then the image changed, now depicting a dark expanse of nothingness. Within the darkness moved a being, seemingly made out of the stuff of shadows. Little could be seen of him amidst the dark, save for his eyes, which were pools of white light. He was locked in combat with several floating, skeletal hands while a tall skeleton wearing a dark gray coat that stretched to the floor watched on.

    “Where… is that? That’s certainly not the End? And who is he fighting?” Randal muttered.

    Next to appear was a pale woman wearing ornate gladiator armor. She stood in the center of a desert colosseum, and before her lay a dead minotaur. Her face and arms were marked by glowing red tattoos and her eyes were of a similar hue. Upon her wrists were silver shackles studded with glowing jewels, though they bore no chains.

    “I always knew my favorite gladiator was no human, but I never imagined that I had bested an entity in single combat,” the queen mused.

    A woman stood upon a wooden stage. She wore showy, black garb with purple accents and an elegant hat with a violet feather. She animatedly narrated a section of a play as a pair of actors performed to the crowd’s uproarious applause. She took a bow as one of the actors met a tragic end at the hands of poisoned wine.

    The pool next focused on an elaborate throne room made from dark red bricks. In its center stood a tall, thin man in a white robe that obscured nearly all of his body. None of his facial features were visible in the shadow of his hood, save for a pair of glowing red eyes. He held a black marble staff crowned by a large ruby. The man was conversing in hushed tones with a three-headed creature of blackened bone that wore a gilded crown atop each head. “Wait… I don’t think we are alone,” the figure hissed, whirling around and glaring frantically in all directions.

    “You should be careful of who you are messing with, Randal,” Sethasdia gravely warned.

    Upon an old dirt road, an adventurer was engaged in a duel with a woman attired in dark, embellished clothes befitting a master duelist. She had flowing black hair and wielded a pair of exquisitely crafted rapiers. The adventurer was swiftly disarmed and subdued with a blade at his throat. The woman expertly made a small, curved cut under his right eye with her other weapon before kicking him to the ground, sheathing her blades, and strolling away.

    The dirt path faded out and was replaced by the rolling deck of a ship. Its imposing captain stood at its bow, yelling orders over the sounds of cannons and waves. His coat was black and green, and his beard and hair were the color of seaweed. In one hand he clutched a vicious cutlass with a blade that was enveloped in sickly green flames.

    Another throne room came into view, this one appearing to reside within the underworld. A woman reclined upon a throne, a golden crown resting behind her small, gray horns. She was clad in an outfit of maroon silk and brass. A pair of dark, purple-tinged, feathery wings were folded behind her, and her thin, plum-colored tail flicked side to side. After a few moments, she cocked her head curiously towards Randal’s vantage point. “Is someone there?” she inquired. “A foe? Or perhaps . . . someone seeking my aid? Either way, I’ll be waiting.”

    The divination now displayed a gruesome scene. The forest floor was littered with mutilated corpses. A towering man garbed in dark leather studded with metal rivets strode menacingly through the scene. His head was obscured by a hood and a mask, and he brandished a machete that dripped with fresh blood. Screams could be heard in the distance as the man walked briskly after a fleeing elf.

    The image shifted once more, displaying the interior of an old and eerie estate. An older man with a short, brown beard stood inspecting a collection of assorted artifacts and curios. He was garbed in an upstanding and scholarly manner and wore dark spectacles that obscured his eyes completely. A red leather tome rested upon a table nearby.

    “So that’s where he’s been all these years,” Randal murmured.

    Suddenly, the man turned so that he appeared to be staring directly up at them from within the pool. He pulled off his spectacles to reveal burning, white eyes. The light rapidly grew brighter and brighter until the whole pool was aglow with it. The image abruptly faded, leaving the pool to, once again, reflect the faces of the two startled onlookers.

    “I… must tell the others. Goodbye, and thank you for the assistance.” The mercenary turned and swiftly made for the door.