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Where I stand now... where I am now.... it is many things to me. The heat is stifling now, the sun shining down on me through a sticky haze that lifts off grass and leaf. A fat, lazy, heavy sun, oppressive and over-ripe. It was not this way all the time... when first I came here, it was cold, very cold. My breath came as vapor, or as trails of soul-stuff drifting away from a freshly-fallen hero.

My dreams take me many places. I find my heart bound in contemplation and speculation of the nature of the other souls around me, and those beyond this place. We share in such ways as I have not shared in ages, and I forget often that there is a place beyond this. I have come here before, it seems, I have fallen asleep under these same trees, I have stared into this same fire, I have heard my name and many others besides spoken in this most holy, most terrifying sanctuary.

I was made here. I died here, and rested a while. I keep being called back, and every time I find my spirit scoured and torn and rent and mended. Many here claim to know me, but I do not know them. I know fear here, and glory, and cannot comprehend that I did not always know this. There is a place beyond here, I can feel it, where I am needed... a place of pain and suffering, where others rely on me, but I do not know where it is, or how to go there, or even if it has died long ago or has yet to be born.

I would be adrift completely if not for the words of the one who brought me here. He soothes my spirit, he guides me, he teaches me, he reminds me of who I am and what I need. I do fear him, a bit, but more, I revere him, and I know that I will soon be sundered from him.
I close my eyes to disguise the fear from inside
Trembling within my own mind I find no place to hide
Stars of tomorrow shine through the grey mist that has gone
I wish that this trip to the fair had never begun

I took a trip down to look at the fair
When I arrived I found nobody there
It seemed I was all alone
Must be that they've all gone home
A trip to the fair but nobody was there, but nobody was there

A Trip to the Fair

The terrible dreams began the night before the last day we saw him. I was in a sleeping trance for undead do not sleep like the living. Ours is a state more closely resembling true death; a period when our undead energies recover and strengthen. It is unusual for Forsaken to dream, but not for one such as I, for dreams have haunted me even in the years I was living. "A gift" they were sometimes called. Later I came to know the dreams often had meaning...though sometimes the truth behind them is hard to tell.

The night before the Warlord vanished I dreamt of dark places. A place of beauty yet sadness, and above it a dark figure with a booming voice and eyes like voids. They called to me and I knew that doom was upon Ironsong.

The next day we were to meet at the faire, but though it was my first time I was not feeling festive. My head was still swimming with the visions and I became ill. I warned several of my tribemates...a feeling of impending doom was upon us all. I begged them to help, but many were so lost in drink and merriment they paid me little mind. I soon became delirious and raved to several about my love and friendship for them...I then fell ill and collapsed into darkness.

When I recovered the moot was already in session. I crawled back to consciousness, and the great mage Ebberk asked what troubled me so. I tried to tell him though I could not find the words. He performed a spell to see if any magical entities or ills were invading my body..but detected none.

"It is a premonition" I told him. "Of the future...I have had them since I was very young..."

Soon thereafter Sreng appeared to us...and just as suddenly he was gone. I cried out to him...I wanted desperately to save him...to pull him back to us.

Since then the dreams have invaded my spirit each rest period I take. They have become more violent as of late. I see the Warlord and know that he is being pulled farther away. I try to reach out to him but my hands cannot grasp him. He calls out to me but I cannot hear his words.

We must save him Ironsingers. No matter the cost I will pay it. I cannot bear these dreams another night. We must do whatever it takes to bring the Warlord back to us...we must release him from his prison, before he is lost to us forever.

So sayeth Dispaya
Mage of Ironsong

Sing True Ironsong!
I not understand all this magic stuffs! But I come wack what needs wacked! Hmmm....ebil elf druids???

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