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Within the darkness of a dream, you hear a voice whispering; it is calling your name, over and over again. Glowing with a sickly light, the figure of a man stands like a sinister vision, his face obscured by shadow. His grey robe is tattered and torn; his long, bony, claw-like fingers are covered by charred, black flesh. He points a crooked finger at you. ‘You will fail. Your power does not suffice. This fool’s errand is to no end.’
‘NO!’ you shout into the emptiness.
‘Turn aside, Grey Star. Turn aside. You dare not stand against me.’ The grim figure casts aside his hood and the shadow passes to a blood-red light, revealing a hideous face. Half of the face is missing and, in its place, a metal plate gives shape to the ruined visage of wasted flesh and scarred tissue. One eye is shrunken and sightless, while the other burns with the intensity of the sun. A gaze of unbearable malice focuses on your heart. ‘Desist, Wizard—or I will rend the very soul from your body.’
‘I will not!’ you scream into the darkness. A look of rage contorts his twisted features and the single eye burns into you. You are looking upon the face of Shasarak, Wytch-king of Shadaki, who has come to taunt and torment you as you sleep.
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‘You fear me now, foolish child, and you think that you have mastered fear. I will teach you the true meaning of terror. I will make you yearn for death as if it were your true love!’ Shasarak raises his clawed, decaying hand and clutches his fingers in the air: 1 WILLPOWER point is drawn effortlessly from your body.
You wake up screaming.
