You’ve travelled alone thus far, but after a few pints shared with some interesting travelers you met this evening at the inn, you think you’ve found some companions you might venture with on the morrow. That night, as you turn in for the evening, you sleep fitfully. You feel like someone in the distance keeps whispering ‘Help me!’ in whispered but frantic tones.
A vision then emerges of an angelically beautiful elvish woman, floating ethereally, her face occasionally contorting into bursts of pain. Then you hear a chorus of unseen voices chanting what seems to be a prophecy:
The elf-lord was a suitor spurned,
thus eldritch wrath his lover earned.
Dark spells he wove in hidden cove
in vengeance while his anger burned.
The elvish maid now cannot weep,
enchanted in eternal sleep,
transfixed and bound by ring she found
in hidden vale of Dardrin’s Deep.
To free her of her slumber cold
one must make haste to Spire of Gold.
The death-filled tower holds gauntlets’ power
to wield the sword of heroes old.
The Soul-Blade rests in bones of care
beyond the pool where damsel’s fair
gave gods their gift at Burden’s Lift
to be relieved of life’s despair.
With blade and gloves seek Belfin’s Height
through tunnels dark restore the light
the keeper’s chain will on you rain
but take the ring to make wrongs right.
You wake. You are alone in the room, but have a feeling your life will never again be the same.