The Plains of Deceit -- Wasteland to some, Sanctuary to others...

It is there I rest my weary head, within the lonely plains I find my solitude, my solace, my sanctuary.  After many weary battles I retreat to these lands to wash the blood of my foes from my armor, and to bandage my wounds.  Many times have I found myself dreaming strange dreams as I laid upon the grass, oblivious to the world.  It was one bright, starry night that the other half of my soul came to me, and gave to me a mission, a purpose:

Screams rent the blood-soaked air, thick as it was with the stench of smoke and iron.  A battlefield stretching out as far as the eyes could see, full of grim soldiers and their deadly business.  Of what nature this war was, I do not know, for it was a vision alone for my dreaming mind to see -- of another time, full of honor and its responsibility of life and death.  Horsemen there were, noble knights decked in full plate mail charging groups of men armed with swords and bows.  The battle waged viciously all around me, as I stood and began to wander the field hoping to make sense of it all.  Across the way, I saw a group of knights surrounding a lone man, dressed only in black robes.  It seemed he was about to fall, when he raised his arms to the sky -- and a dark void opened there, blacker than the night.  From this hole in the sky dark beams of force shot out, and struck the knights who accosted him.  They fell, and so did the steeds they were mounted upon.  As their lifeless bodies shook the ground, deep tremors rocked the whole field.  The robed man then shouted to the sky, strange words that echoed with evil power across the land.

His enemies, once full of their righteous wrath and intent to strike him down, stirred on the ground and stood once more.  Flesh-stripped bodies of man and horse stood with unholy skeletal grace, and then bowed to their new master.  Laughter the likes of which I will never forget beckoned the undead to a new purpose, and they dispatched with uncanny speed to cut down their one-time allies.  Of this slaughter I was spared, for they charged beyond me without a glance.  But I was not spared the more sinister intent of the necromancer.  As fresh screams burst from the freshly slain, he turned to look upon me, and spoke in a whisper that carried to my ear past the chaos of the battlefield:

"You've witnessed the power of the Void, boy.  You've seen that no living creature can escape the inevitable, and it is to this great power all things go.  Having seen what I have done, you are now a marked man.  Few live to see and tell the tale of the Void brought forth into the world of life... and you will speak of this, you will tell the world of how, in ages past reckoning, the First Knights fell to a lone man.

But they will not believe.  I will give you a gift that will make them believe."

I awoke then to a cold nudge on my shoulder.  I looked up to see an undead steed standing over me, looking deep into my soul.  A majestic, terrifying beast, skeletal and ragged with horns.  He then spoke to me, in a dry and crisp voice that sounded like snakes slithering through a tomb.  He was once a great warhorse, the loyal and fierce companion of a First Knight.  I shook with fear and awe as he spoke, his voice seeping straight into my mind.  He was the gift the necromancer spoke of, an undead steed twisted into unliving service for all time.  He kneeled and I stood to mount him, wondering at my strange fortune.  As we rode from the Plains, he told me his name:  "Horse."

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Nearly a year has passed since that eventful night.  Horse and I have seen and done much together.  I was an aimless wanderer before Horse came into my life; while his skeletal form is held together by dark magic, while he fervently wishes for a release from the undeath that ties him to life, he has come to accept his fate.  He is bound to service to me, just as much as his spirit is bound to the strips of flesh that hang from his bones.

The dark necromancer of ages past, of whom a dream granted me vision of, haunts me still.  I feel the calling of the Plains come to me whenever I need to sleep, and the dreams do not stop.  Here is a record of the latest few:

--Lost in darkness, I stumble alone without sight.  I feel cold stone under my feet, and I stoop to prevent my head from hitting the low ceiling.  Cramped and suffocating, the walls are close about me.  I carefully step forward through the utter blackness, step by faltering step.  Not knowing how I got here, not knowing where I am, I swallow my fear of the blind prison and continue on.  Time slips and loses its meaning; minutes stretch into hours as I march.  The tunnel is straight, with never a bend or change in its dimensions.  It feels like I am descending ever so slowly, going deeper down into the ground.  But to where?  I have no idea, and I know I am without choice.  After a seeming eternity of travel, the silence of my steps is broken by a faint whisper in the darkness, something sibilant and only half understood.  I stop and stand stock-still, cocking my ear to catch the words as they echo along the cold stone.

"Fate's fury has found you.  The choice was made before you were born, now come to me, and stop hiding from your destiny..."

As my mind catches the final word, I suddenly see two red eyes in the distance, glowing hot like fiery embers in the dark.  A jolt of fear punches me in the gut, and I awake to the Plains, the afterimage of those eyes still burning in my vision.

--Without reason or warning, I find myself in a shattered world.  Night has fallen on the land, a deep and dark night that knows no stars.  The sky above is hollow and black, a blanket of nothingness stretching forever.  I stare at it in awe, and I feel a slow tugging of my soul towards its height.  I rip my gaze from the sky and look about, fearing to lose myself forever in the vast void above.  Around me a strange quality has suffused the world; I can scarcely believe what my eyes perceive.  The Plains are still here, the wall where I rest has lost its form, it is like solid ash creating a barrier that shifts and wavers under my vision.

Is this a ghost world?  Is this where phantoms reside?  I look out across the grass, and I see it sway to an invisible breeze.  There is a strange light glowing from the ground, something I had not noticed before.  I step towards it, lean down and pluck a blade of grass from the field.  I hold it close to my face, spin it in my fingers, shake my head at its impossible form.  I can see through the grass, it has lost its solidity, but in the centre of where green used to be, a faint sickly light shines.  The entire Plains are covered with it, a nauseating glow that shifts with the grass as it moves, touched by an unseen force.  My curiosity overpowers my fear, and I prepare to move to the mainlands to see what other effects have befallen the world.

As I step onto the path, a booming thunderclap is heard in the distance.  I twirl around to see Deathmarrow, struck by red lightning from the sky.  The empty void above flashes for a moment, the light of it is so intense it paints the entire world with blood.  As I stand stunned, staring at the black tower, red lightning flashes again, out of the dark cloudless sky.  The thunder breaks upon my ears like a hammer.  Again and again the red lightning lances down, a storm of crimson fury that seems hell-bent on destroying the tower.  I cover my ears to shield them from the noise, but my eyes are wide, lost in the sight of spider-waves crackling wildly in the sky.  Through the eerie red light that all but permeates the world, seeming to coat everything with the sight of blood, I see Deathmarrow stand tall and resolute.  The storm about it is truly awesome, but through the light I don't see the slightest sliver of stone fall from its dark form.