B
L A C K S E N T
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE UMBRA
by
Michael A. LaFlamme
and
Michael D. Poe
Where is the dream before it is seen in the escape of night?
Most say it does not exist. On waking, the light dries it up or
the wind blows it away. It has no weight, no substance; it’s a waste
of time to think of such things.
So most would say.
But for some, the dream does not die in the day. Night is neither
a beginning nor an end: it’s a vivid extension of worlds hoped for.
The dream is very real for these special few. The dream might not
exist were it not for their vision. Worlds may live in them, and they
may live in the world of dreams. They are alive for each other.
These worlds are really are not so far away. They do exist and
can be reached as easily as a dream.
One such world calls now. It calls to all who would listen.
Adventure is there, and a song of night, and peace. For there, the
dreamer becomes the dream.
Listen, the night is here...
PROLOGUE
From the blurry edge of her drug-induced slumber, Cona Joharra saw a dream unfold before her. It had to be a dream, for nothing she knew from reality could possibly match what she was seeing.
She was lying on a cold slab of some type of table. The table was in the midst of a huge cavern, and in the cavern two fights were raging.
One of the fights was between a black-garbed swordsman and a pig-faced demon. It seemed odd to Cona, because the swordsman was obviously on the defensive, even though his skill showed that he could go to the offensive and end the match quickly.
The other fight was even more unusual. It was between a flying, blond mystic and a gigantic snake-like creature. She was sure that the blond man must be a mystic, because, besides the flying, he was also releasing bolts of energy from his hands. The snake thing met the bolts with glowing shields and returned the attacks in like manner. It occurred to Cona that the snake-thing was probably something more advanced that a simple creature. It was more likely a manifestation of one of the shadow gods - perhaps even Spentri himself, the snake-god. Cona lay back on the stone table. Yes, this was most definitely a dream.
In her detached interest, Cona caught bits of conservation from the various combatants.
From the black-garbed swordsman: “No, I killed my Father in the arena! I was that demon’s only child! Tala would have told me!”
From the pig-faced demon: “He sire alone to I. Mother we share only.”
From the flying, blond mystic: “And the horse you rode in on, too!”
From the probable snake-god: “Laugh while you can, Figment! Skaltin...!”
At first, Cona thought the snake was just cursing. Then she noticed another person in the cavern. He reacted as if called, so Cona assumed that Skaltin was his name. He was bald and dressed in white, flowing robes. Must be a priest of some kind. He seemed to be listening to something, and Cona thought that she could pick up the echoes of speech.
The priest turned to her and mumbled, “Yes. The sacrifice. Complete his power. Sacrifice.” Then he pulled a double bladed knife and began to walk towards her.
Cona lay back for a moment and tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult in the murkiness of her dream. But then she remembered: she had always had crystal clear dreams; they were never muddled or confusing. So if this wasn’t a dream, then her slowness could only be attributed to a drug of some kind. She accepted that easily enough, and then went back to the beginning of where she woke up.
Yes, she was awake. A swordsman was fighting a demon. A mystic was fighting a snake-god. A priest was coming towards her with a knife. And she was a...
“...A sacrifice!” Cona yelped as she sat up. She was definitely fully awake.
“Hush, girl,” the priest assured her. “It will only take a moment. We need your blood.”
Cona stood up on the stone table (sacrificial alter, she corrected) and backed away from the priest. She said, “Uh, couldn’t we talk about this? I mean… I’m not even a virgin!”
The priest hissed.
“Guess not, huh?”
The swordsman and the mystic both looked a little too busy to help her out. As the priest advanced on her, she backed up further --- and bumped her hand on something. She glanced back and saw a glowing ball of white glass floating there. It wasn’t too big, and since it was floating, it couldn’t be too heavy. It seemed to be the only thing handy, so she grabbed it and swung it down at the priest’s bald head. He dropped his knife in surprise and only had time to scream “NO!” before the globe smashed against him.
Cona covered her eyes from the expected shower of flying glass. Instead, there was an enormous implosion. She looked and the priest was gone. In his place a whirling vortex of energy began to grow. She felt it begin to pull her into its consuming maw.
She clutched to hold on to the table, and then screamed as she was lifted off. But it was not by the forces of the vortex; the flying mystic had swooped down to catch her. She noticed the swordsman was also holding on to him.
“Talk about out of the frying pan!” the mystic said to her.
He struggled against the vortex and got them safely to the other side of the cavern. Cona saw the demon being pulled into its center, and then the snake-god also disappeared into the whirling mass. At that, the vortex broke up and faded away.
The mystic set the three of them down on the cavern floor. He took off his cape and offered it to her. She shivered and realized she was wearing little more than a bandeau and a loinslip. She quickly took the cape and wrapped it around herself. She didn’t feel any danger from her rescuers, but then, she didn’t want to appear too grateful, either.
There was a moment of silence, and then the blond mystic said, “Hi, there. I’m Figment, and this is N’Con. You’re very welcome.”
Cona stammered, “Oh! I -- I’m sorry. Yes, thank you. I’m Cona. Cona Joharra. Thank you.”
There was another silence. Then Figment asked, “So, how about dinner sometime?”
