Far in the shadowed lands, under the baleful moon of eternal sleep, deep in the recesses of the monolithic castle a figure tossed and turned in a fitful slumber. Slowly the dreaming queen focused her attention on a small image in a holon far removed from her.
The great dreamer stirred in the shadow-haunted chambers. In a holon far away from the dark planet stands a universe offering new experiences. The queen roared in her dreams, a roar that echoed through the dream threads of all the Xindhi and they shuddered in their slumber.

In the grand hall, one form stirred among the elongated shadows that stretched across the dusty marble floor. Rising from the elaborate sarcophagus a figure emerged, the dusky colored chain armor rang hollowly as the metal brushed the hard obsidian that had encased the body. The armored form peered around the mist-haunted gloom; a brief crackle of energy echoed through the eerie, silent halls.

With a singular purpose, the figure stepped lightly on the marble, as he did so the eye sockets blazed with an amethyst fury, the miasma of energy swirled around the face and drifted upward to dissipate a scant few feet above his head. Facing the large elaborate sarcophagus, the man took a knee, the harsh clack of the metal knee upon the marble echoed loudly in the grand hall.

“My Queen I rise and serve…” rasped the voice as the amethyst energies focused on the vast stone structure that dominated the hall. The great dreaming queen smiled as the voice reached her, “Skallagrim, I seek an understanding of this holon. I can think of no emissary better to represent me than you.”

With a slight rasp of metal on leather, the figure stood solemnly. Grasping his swords from their place in the sarcophagus, he placed them in their creaking leather sheaths. With a nod towards the dreaming queen, Skallagrim murmured, “I shall ride forth and observe this holon, whatever secrets may lay within I shall study, note and understand.” With a slight bow of his head, Skallagrim spun and marched along the resonating path that snaked towards the great gateways of slumber, every step echoed through the vast and silent halls.

Ahead the great horned guardian, ever watchful, opened the massive gates, as he did so the myriad of holons, the multitudes of existence streamed past, their future, past and present all as shimmering dream substances to be entered and explored. With a deft touch of the translucent amulet that hung around his neck, the Cughtagh summoned his destrier from the dream memories of the great Scathach. Slowly the clop of shod hooves upon flagstones carried from the deep gloom. Suddenly a flare of amethyst energies pierced the shadows, a great skeletal horse, the hooves shrouded in amethyst flames, the great eye sockets illuminating the area with the energies that flowed and coursed through its body.

Mounting the great beast, Skallagrimi nudged it into the swirling holons of existence, as he did so he reached out with the resonance of Aesr, of Seidhr and Galdhr to locate the thrumming of the experience the great queen sought to understand. Feeling the echo of the holon where a new experience beckoned, slowly the Cughtagh began his journey.

As the flame shrouded hooves cleaved through the holons, passing through the dreaming state as a shadow, a nightmare, a disturbing presence to the holon, recorded in the memory as a fluttering shade. Every holon, be it science or metaphysical, advanced or primitive, sacred or profane, all recorded the eternal watcher as he rode silently through. Only those who still believed, still remembered the legends of the hoary past of the Xindhi, would feel the passage as a subtle breeze along the strands of their holons memory.

As he approached the holon of the disturbance, he eased up the long-legged gallop of the destrier, as the shimmer mirror of a dream flashed before him; Skallagrim the Cughtagh felt the thrum of resonance of this holon reverberate through him. In an instant the skeletal horse and rider were on a patch of incongruous land near the subject of curiosity. Sliding off the mount, Skallagrim tapped the amulet and the dream substance that comprised his horse swirled and drifted off as if a wind were carrying it away. The eternal dreamers had arrived, had come to this place, this time, this universe to see and understand.

In the middle of the night, with the full moon looming overhead, shining brightly, several young men and women looked to the night sky, admiring it's beauty that was treated to a serenade of the ocean's waves. As steadily as the waters themselves, the group of friends swayed as they merrily sung around a campfire that they'd set on the beach. Suddenly, a golden form came between the friends and the moonlight that they'd all been sharing in.

"A toast," announced the voice of their leader, the elemental Michael Faraday, "to all my wonderful friends."

In unison, the others all raised their bottles of beer in the same way until they clacked in the center. From there, all the bottles dropped to eye level and turned topside before they were emptied into the mouths of the teens, who all greedily guzzled the drink. One by one the bottles were tossed into the fire between all of them, and one by one they all began to delve into pleasant conversations. Then Michael turned his back towards the group for a moment and began to step towards the cooler.

"Hey, Mike!" Called his best friend. As soon as Michael turned his head, he boisterously shouted,"Could'ja grab me another beer?"

"Sure, Sammy!" Michael called as he turned back towards the cooler and started to step through the sand. He'd taken a good five steps when his toe stubbed a rock that had been concealed by sediment. "Oww! Jesus Christ!" He shouted and hopped through the sand, clutching his toe tightly as he tried to regain control over his reaction.

From the firepit, a low and mockingly authoritative voice called out, "Hey, Mikey! That's not what rocks are for!"

Forcing himself to settle down, Michael set his foot back on the surface of the beach and quickly, yet cautiously, he stepped over towards the cooler before grabbing another beer, and another, and another, until he had an armful. Then he made his way back to his friends, where he generously distributed the drinks. He bit his lip as he put up with the pain of his aching toe before reaching forward and dipping his fingers into the heart of the fire.

"Ahhh.... Sweet relief," he murmured. His eyes practically rolled to the back of his head as he felt the pain in his toe melt away.

Skallagrim allowed his aesr to reach out, a subtle thrum of energy roiling away from his form, racing through the evening, a subtle pressure that most would dismiss as naught but a simple gust of wind.

Yet, those of preternatural affiliation would sense much more, feel the subtle pressure as a wave of energy that would register as an anomaly to their knowing, a disturbing feeling both frightening and enticing.

Amethyst energies raced along the skeletal form of the Walker between Worlds, the crackle and sizzle echoed faintly on the winds carried inland from the sea. The abyssal armor lit eerily by the hues of light racing around the form it encased an anachronism in this time and place. The war sword and the heavy baldric and frog that secured the weapon to the being that carried it, heralding a time long forgotten, a time when men fought with savagery.

A pulsating darkness lay on the right hip, alive and writhing, seeking something to devour. Were one able to penetrate the bubbling foam of Galdher they would see the shape of a long dagger, both material and immaterial at the same time. The hilt is the tooth of a beast whose presence is lost to the multiverse.

Sounds carried to the Dreamer, sounds that had to be altered to give them reality, give them substance and ultimately meaning. The sounds denoted a gathering of people, a happiness and peace that drew the attention of the Dreaming Queen, a sound that has been lost to the Dreamers themselves.

Casting his gaze towards the blaze, the source of the merriment, Skallagrim moved with a measured and precise gait. The sand crunching under the metal shod feet, the billowing black cloak creating a surreal image as the moonlight fell upon the Dreamer. The glowing amethyst energies casting a strange pallor over the skeletal face as the being known as the Walker between Worlds moved towards the people on the beach.

{Ok. In my post, I have acknowledged your group. I have released an energy pulse that you may or may not pick up. I describe myself, I describe my weapons still sheathed and I describe the energy signature of the character. In my post, there are several hints as to the power of the character but nothing definitive. Also subtly but clearly placed in the post is a prep.}

As the flames from the fire removed the ache from his toe, Michael felt them shimmer, not his toes, but the flames. It wasn't how the tips of a flame normally move, dancing at random, this was his fire, it moved only when and how he commanded it to. The only time that his elemental flames ever had moved without his initiative is when there has been something else--someone else that took the reins from him.

Pulling his fingers out of the fire, Michael stood up and turned around, hearing the gentle sound of the sand shifting in the distance. He picked up his wadded black jacket, which had been strewn in the sand, and he shook it out before throwing it over his back and pulling his arms through it's sleeves.

"Everyone, get up," he firmly ordered, sensing danger on the horizon.

He saw his friends all do as he'd said while he prepared to find exactly what was out there. He walked over towards the cooler and lifted it's lid. Beside the beers were his electric torch was being stored. As he put his hand towards the torch, his eyes flickered a few feet away, resting in the sand, a bit closer to the fire, were his sword and his shield. He picked up the torch and put in his pocket before he dropped the cooler's lid and scurried towards his sword and shield, both of which were family heirlooms with magical beast-slaying properties. The sword was about three and a half feet long with an easily distinguishable, yet plain, steel handle that lacked much decoration at all. His shield was also quite plain, the only distinguishable thing that let him spot it amongst the sand was the thin silver layer topping the wood below it.

Without turning it on yet, he grabbed his torch from his pocket, as his hand fumbled past his pepper spray, and held the torch in both hands, first looking around him without yet activating it. Then, he saw someone coming. Adjusting his maroon beanie and pulling it down over most of his head, his face shifted from a crooked smile to a solemnly nervous stare. He pressed the button on his torch, and activated a faint light that only barely managed to reach the ghastly figure that was approaching.

"I get a bad feeling about this," Mike whispered as he stepped back towards the fire. Sawllowing hard, he abruptly stopped inching back and yelled out, "Who goes there?"

The movement, the merriment ceased, it is replaced by activity denoting hurried actions. Worry, perhaps fear lay among those near the fire. No matter, such is expected when one both sacred and profane enters the land of those who do not dream, who do not see and grasp the entirety of the multiverse.

One person, clearly the one whom the Dreaming Queen found interest in, for he was the one whom acted with decision and fortitude. Yes, this one was the one, he faced the Dreamer and a weak shimmering beam shot forth. The pale light landing on the armor, only to be blunted and devoured by the darkness of it.

What light crashed against the skeletal face reflected the grinning death head, the amethyst energies that issued from the eye sockets blazed and brightened, soon outshining the light that emitted from the electric torch.

Stopping a scant 20 yards from the group, Skallagrim shucked back his hooded cloak, revealing both his sword and the swarming darkness that was his dagger, as well as his armored form. For a long second nothing happened but a steady buzzing that increased in magnitude until a wash of white noise filled the beach. A thunderous burst of static that quickly modulate down until a hissing voice filled the night air, “Michael Faraday…you have presented the Dreamers with a curious set of potentialities. I have come to see which weave of fate you shall take and what worlds you shall affect with your choices.”

A shimmering amethyst streak of energy raced from the right hand, up across the chest of the being and down to the left, only to return just as rapidly. Both hands are bathed in a soft violet hue that crackles and hums, the subtle but present smell of ozone permeates the beach. The once clear skies are rapidly filling with an odd darkness that wells up from nothing, swallowing the stars in a bubbling and foaming void that carries with it a buzzing sound, as if a million voices are clamoring at once.

Both feet slide away from each other in the soft sand, the right taking lead as the body of the Dreamer adjusts and takes and slightly hunched position as the knees bend gently, weight easily on the balls of the feet. The image presented was that of a boxer, as the right hand swung forward slightly raising a tad so it was mid-thigh, the left hand rested at waist height, the hand not quite a fist, but ready.

{I have added a second prep to the character, again with a display of energy. I have assumed a stance, no weapon drawn but clearly in a fighting position. I have indicated I have come to face you for purposes of my own.}

Seeing the light of the torch devoured by darkness, Michael gulped before pushing his willpower into the light of the torch, charging it with supernatural brightness that had been previously undeniable. But even as more power flowed into the light Michael, knew it would take a moment for it to brighten significantly, and by the time that it was ready, it might already have been too late. So, keeping his light trained on the approaching visitor with his left hand, Michael backed up a yard or two, buying himself a bit more time to get situated, and he drew the flames from the fire up and into the air, seeing them burn a bit more wildly in response to the emotional disturbance caused by the shadow-shrouded figure.

“Michael Faraday…you have presented the Dreamers with a curious set of potentialities. I have come to see which weave of fate you shall take and what worlds you shall affect with your choices.” He saw lilac-colored lightning lurch up and down the intruders body as he heard the message from the being's horrifyingly terrible voice.

"How do you know my name?" Michael shouted, with a hint of impudence. "Who are you and who are the dreamers?" There were too many questions to ask, but Michael doubted that he'd find many answers.

Calling the hovering flames towards him, Michael gathered the fire into a ball around his right hand, which was open and now facing the mysterious figure. It was then that Michael realized that the stars had disappeared. It was so black that the sky looked dead.

As the dark visitor changed his position, Michael also readied himself, spreading his legs and knees apart. He put his right shoulder towards the mysterious opponent and outstretched his right arm, keeping it and the flame at shoulder level while the left hand kept the torch trained on the visitor while Michael slowly stepped forward. His pose was slightly reminiscent of a Hadouken when he turned his chest forward and had his right knee nearly at a right angle.

Skallagrim felt the electromagnetic energies whirl around him; slowly the induction field began to deform the air around him, creating lines of force, creating closed loops of electric energies around the black clad being, which in turn generates a magnetic field in phase with them. A multicolored borealis effect surrounded the Dreamer, as the amethyst energies in his eye-sockets dimmed to mere pinpoints of light.

"How do you know my name?" Michael shouted, with a hint of impudence. "Who are you and who are the dreamers?" There were too many questions to ask, but Michael doubted that he'd find many answers.

“There is little we do not know Michael Faraday…You have the potential to shape a great war, we seek to understand why.”

Stepping forward two steps, the Dreamer drew his sword Keefe holding it in a low rear guard position, the blade behind him and low, the tip barely an inch above the sandy ground. Left knee in the fore, the left hand raised above it, a shimmering amethyst glow encasing it. The weight of his body distributed evenly as the skeletal warrior allowed his energies to pulse with a deep thrum. A concentric wave of energy propagated from the Dreamer, causing a shifting of the sand around him.

Above him, the skies flared with deep flashes of intra-cloud lighting that raced and jumped in the darkness. If one were able to recall the stories of the Valkyries or the night hunters who rode on storm clouds with wild abandoned. It seemed as if the skies were alive with creatures waiting with unabashed eagerness to be unleashed.

A nimbus of violet energies raced around the body of Skallagrim, the smell of ozone increasing as was a pressure that seemed to weigh heavily upon the friends of Michael Faraday, a pressure that caused the hairs on their heads to stand up as if lifted by unseen hands.

“There is little we do not know Michael Faraday…You have the potential to shape a great war, we seek to understand why.”

"Ditto," he muttered, seeming to share the stranger's curiosity for his own reasons. "Well, the first part anyway." He shrugged his shoulders, temporarily accepting the mystery as he said, "Who knows what war I could shape. I'm about as clueless as you buddy. You came at me with lightning n' stuff, so I'm gonna assume that you're probably not looking to play checkers or something."

As the electric skeleton spawned an aura of dark lightning that surrounded himself and encompassed the entire area, Michael activated the torch's charge, emitting a radiance that battled against the coming darkness. Where the floor of the beach had been shrouded in a blanket of blackness, it now began to glint with an unpigmented shine. And the sands were not the only thing that had begun to change, the light seemed to reach out and surge across the surface of the sea beside them. Despite the intense luminescence, the light seemed to dodge the shadowed one altogether, as if cowering away from the darkness.

The wave of electric energy raised the hairs of Michael's companions. They all spread their eyes in amazement at first, gasping and sputtering in shock of the sudden burst. But they quickly regained their composure before they too began to pick up their items from where the campfire had been. They quickly clothed themselves and grabbed their belongings before they awaited Michael's command.

Realizing that they were waiting on him, Michael shouted the one thing that made sense to him. "Attack!"

It was at that time that Michael stopped staring at the brightness of everything and instead began to do battle. Shoving both his hands forward, in the direction of the stranger, he launched his fireball forth, splitting his hands in a one hundred-eighty degree angle. The fireball cut the distance quickly, sparking along the way as the 2 foot thick sphere bursted along a collision course with the skeleton's core.

As soon as the ball left Michael's hands, his companions began a charge on the skeleton. Two young men and two young women approached carrying umbrellas, beer bottles, and a knife used for flaying fish.

Realizing that they were waiting on him, Michael shouted the one thing that made sense to him. "Attack!"…Shoving both his hands forward, in the direction of the stranger, he launched his fireball forth, splitting his hands in a one hundred-eighty degree angle. The fireball cut the distance quickly, sparking along the way as the 2-foot thick sphere bursted along a collision course with the skeleton's core…As soon as the ball left Michael's hands; his companions began a charge on the skeleton. Two young men and two young women approached carrying umbrellas, beer bottles, and a knife used for flaying fish.

Skallagrim watched as the human known by the name, Michael Faraday shoved his hands forward in an action denoting an attack. As the hands reached the terminus of the man’s arm length Skallagrim was already in motion. Lunging forward in a sprint to cover the distance betwixt the two, as the fire formed and discharged from the extended hands of the human, Skallagrim slide into the sand with his left leg curled under him, the right leg out before him, the sword gripped tightly in his right.

Feeling the expanding ball of heat race over his head, the Dreamer slammed his right fist with the hilt of the sword into the sand, flipped his wrist and swung up an expanding arc of sand towards the human’s face. The overt intent was clear; the sand would blind the man for a moment, even if meant he closed his eyes to avoid the silica from entering them, since natural human reactions often dictated humans blinked involuntarily to protect their eyes from perceived danger. Skallagrim expected from Michael Faraday this natural reaction.

The Aesr raced across his body, rippling with brilliant hues of amethyst and violet, casting an eerie light and defusing the black plate armor behind a shimmering mirage. Far above the skies peeled and thundered as forks of lightning danced among the clouds, illuminating the skies with silver-blue flashes of light that cast a grim pallor on the sand and the forms moving across it.

The oncoming friends of the man, equipped with make shift weapons, bottles, a knife, an umbrella and one girl even grabbed her suntan lotion, perhaps in the hopes she might spray the skeletal Dreamer in the eyes?

They were upon the Dreamer in an instant having covered the distance just as Skallagrim had, their bodies surrounding him, shielding him as they pummeled with their makeshift weapons on the armored form. Rising as the first man, Sammy laid into him with a hefty piece of firewood, the blow struck the Dreamer on the left pauldron with a distinct bonk.

An umbrella and a squirt of suntan lotion splashed across the shimmering energy that covered the skeletons form. Blow after blow rained on the armored form, all the while the skies above raged and peeled as thunder responded to the rips in the air left by the lightning.

“So be it Michael Faraday, you have sacrificed your friends…”

Michael's countenance fell as he watched the ball of flame fly over Skallagrim's skull, which caused him to fail to see the signs that led to him eating a bit of sand before reactively clenching his eyelids to a close. He coughed a bit as he spat sand-saturated saliva onto the ground before he frantically clawed the siliceous bits off of his upper face. Clubbing the sand out of his ears, he then heard the indistinct cries of his closest friends and the furious roar of the thunder from above.

Surrounded by Michael's friends, Skallagrim seemed to hiss, "“So be it Michael Faraday, you have sacrificed your friends…”

He then widened his eyes, revealing a pair of bulging bloodshot orbs. Michael saw Skallagrim take a slight beating before he jumped into action. He pivoted backwards, grabbing his sword and shield from the sand, and then he began to charge Skallagrim, crossing approximately seven yards as fast as possible. His arcing feet shoveled pile after pile of sand out of their place as he trudged across the beach's surface. When he was close enough, he gave a final, climactic kick and launched a pile of sand into the skeleton's face, fully acknowledging that it may have no effect.

"Sammy! Guys!" he hollered as he was about two yards away. "Get back."

Then, Michael raised his sword to the sky, with his torch nested in the left pocket of his jeans and his shield resting, strapped over his forearm, he pulled the blade back over his shoulder, beginning to charge it full of fiery elemental energy. As he took his final step, he stood about three feet in front of Skallagrim, he pulled the blade forward from over his own shoulder. He carefully lined it up with Skallagrim's left shoulder, then he closed his eyes and winced. He was careful to keep his swing straight and steady, avoiding a possible outcome of a flail, and he poured all the muscle he had into the swing.