The Dream of the Forgotten

“Eleven…, wait, why am I counting?

I’ve been counting for awhile now. Have I been counting up or down?

I’m cold and wet! I can’t breath! I am underwater!

Up, yes up!



Thank the Celestial Court!

I’m in a lake at morning.

Fog? No, smoke!

I see people fighting in a field

Men fighting dwarves?!

So many men!

Many dwarves on the ground…

Not dead.


Those dwarves that do fight do so without hope or lust for battle

And look!

They fight with rake instead of axe,

Adorned in rags instead of scale or chain.


Something’s got my leg!


Ahh pain!

My brain!

Gasp! Air again, thank Moradin and the Host!

But alas, what is this?

Low in the sky, an obelisk wreathed at its zenith in a cloud of gloom?

Elongated monstrosities dive and soar about it, like sentinels.


The sun rises!

And in its midst a floating mote of earth

Crowned with a noble stronghold!

Is it? Could it be?

Returned Glimmerfang!

Is that the Thane of old on its draw?!

But wait. I see others,

More dwarves!

Abbathors Host!

Are they all shadows and wraiths?

They are not themselves…

Ugh, my spirit sinks and now so do I

Help me Host on high

Plunging beneath I still see

Through silvered ceiling I count upon the mote…

Eleven… Twelve.

Bahamut! Moradin!


The Dream of the Forgotten

The Forgotten coreyvw