Perhaps I am your Nightmare...

Spears slammed down, boots slammed counter. The lads fought to keep smiles off their faces, thank heavens for closed helms in the front lines.

“Tremble, Tremble, she comes…”

The eerie synchronicity of it was enough to off-put even these inhuman bastards, and the guy’s nightmare shied nervously, puffing out brimstone that seemed to want to waft away from us...

The lines parted so smoothly it looked organic, precision marching at its best. The men pivoted and stepped in such perfect unison they could have been on swivels. The chant and the pounding of spears didn’t waver.

Tremble was at +VIII against undead, which these creatures shared a great deal with, ‘cause negative energy lifeforms. I had him out in my hand, his drone rising and falling with the chant all around, while Stand thrummed like a steady basso heartbeat on my arm.

Nightmare and rider stepped backward despite themselves as I glided out. I didn’t move my feet, I just glided out above the stones, my Sword trailing Wrathfire that was beating on his eyeballs and making them hurt. The whole line of krovboynyar shifted and eased back.

I moved right up to the twenty-five-yard mark between our lines, and then looked up at him, now ten yards further back than before.

“Who is so rude as to interrupt my tea-time?” I asked. I didn’t raise my voice, but every damn person on the plaza could hear me very clearly.

The warlord was trying to keep his eyes off my Sword, which seemed to be sucking at his eyeballs, hungering for his blood and soul. Tremble was a malevolent thing, alive and breathing, waiting to be unleashed.

It took an effort of will for him to tear his eyes away, and he scrambled for words, realizing he’d been addressed in Daemonic. “They call me the Bone-Taker!” he called out proudly, but there was a faltering at the end of his words as Tremble seemed to eat his words and find them tasty.

Intimidate checks at 50 are terrifying things to have to face. This guy probably thought he was immune to fear, and now he had found some things to be really afraid of.

“Are you the one who slew the serpent-men?” he asked. He had probably meant it as a demand, but it came out as a much humbler request, almost despite himself.

“They interrupted my breakfast… and did not apologize.” I narrowed my eyes at him, and had them light up, suns in eternal night. Tremble’s hum went up ten decibels, and the rather lazy spirals of stars and Wrathflames suddenly ordered up, like waving blades snapping to attention.

He very quickly realized that he was going to be fighting for his life in a second if his words were in any way inappropriate. His floating irises jerked left and right, finally comprehending what all those white patches might really represent.

“It was my error, my lady. I did not realize I had come at such an inopportune time,” he ground out with rather good grace.

I sniffed, and Tremble calmed back down. With one thunderous final stamp, the stomping behind me faded, although the men were still humming softly under their breath, spears flashing in time, pulsing and fading as the chant rose and fell.

Tremble, ohhhh Ohhh oh Tremble, She comes…

“I am Sama Rantha, the Sage of Swords,” I informed him disdainfully. “What do you want, Bone-Taker? My tea grows cold.”

“Sage Sama, the Portal atop the ziggurat…” he began hesitantly.

“Posh. Useless thing, bringing me here. I cut it apart and Sealed the space, that I might not have to tolerate such crassness again. We merely wait to be returned home as the wheel turns… unless, perhaps, you wish to be rude, as well?”

My eyes flared, Tremble’s flames sharpened to Veil-cutting edges, and two thousand spears snapped down in unison.

His nightmare hopped backwards, and the whole force of glowing bone-heads wavered despite themselves.

“Such was not my intent, Sage Sama.” Well, he had good voice control, I gave him that. “The serpentfolk and my people have long had... disagreements. We are pleased to see that you dealt the vermin such a blow.”

“Mmmm.” My reply was disappointed again. Spears eased up, Tremble loosened his flames. “The depths of their little temple are still yours to claim, should you wish. I imagine the trinkets they have accumulated might interest you.” I waved my hand as I turned, giving my back to him, but he in no way thought I was not still watching him, with all those silent eyes fixed on him. “We shall be gone within an hour. Disturb us not, and we will return harmlessly to Nightmare.”

“Nightmare…” he repeated, as I glided away from him, again not moving my feet. The path opened and closed behind me just as seamlessly as before. The boys kept humming and murmuring, and the tone seemed to be breathing, just like Tremble’s flames.

The krovboynyar looked to their warlord. They were aggressive, fanatical, not afraid to die… and they really didn’t want to start this fight, especially against some renegade dreams from Nightmare who were simply going to dissipate and leave nothing behind but the corpses of those they’d slain.

Life in Leng seldom offered such a good opportunity to avoid a fight.

“Crack that temple open and dig them out of their hole!” he ordered, spinning around and pointing with his banner-lance, determining that there would be no better chance to kick the serpent-folk when they were down.

I sat down on Forge, taking my teapot off it and pouring myself a cup. The lads were all snickering as the bat-riders looked on from a safe distance, but they played their parts well. The glow-boneheads kept a careful distance from us as they moved away and let us be, and when Renewal came and the mists drifted past us, reclaiming us for Nightmare, I’m sure they breathed a sigh or two of relief before dismissing us.

They’d only see us again in their nightmares, after all…