The sun sets over the kingdoms of concordia, itsgolden fire illuminating the sky for one brief moment before the shroud of night blankets the world withs its satin touch. In the halls of the highest nobility hundreds gather in wait whilst they are clothed in the tabards that mark them as servants of the greatest king of all.
You sleep, and in this sleep you dream of things so magnificent that they threaten to pale the dreams you have known before into little more than fancies. The skies are full with the fires passion and change, fires bold and bright. The dreamlands you were once forbiden to know in sleep are now illuminated and all things are made clear beneath the burning skies of your slumber.
In the waking world of dreams those with the task of rekindling the flames of the land make ready their shining host. All manner of faces are illuminated in the torchlight of the this band, both fae and enchanted alike. Slowly they make their way out into the world and from the highest peaks of the lands it would seem as if a great serpent of golden light was making its way toward some unknown western destination.
You sleep, and in this sleep you see things that you should never have seen. Within the lands of your slumber, lands illuminated by a sky of flame and hellfire, you see a standing ring of oaks. Their gnarled limbs claw upward toward the sky and their roots hold them deep in their place. Within this ancient ring there stands a maiden clad all in gossamer white.
At every holding in all the lands there stops a single man or a single woman who bears the fire of sustenance. Their words are somber and their faces heavy and even as the fires are joyously rekindled they cannot help but mention in sullen tones that a balefire is more than simply a fire to illuminate the night. They cannot help but tell that a balefire is in practice the flame that consumes a funeral pyre.
You sleep, and in your sleep you see the oaks beneath the inferno that the sky has become. But the oak trees groan in some unfelt wind and their groaning crescendos in unison. The very earth trembles upon it! The very earth is opened up by it! The maiden claws and cries out for aid! She hopes against all hope that maybe someone will save her! But none come and soon she is consumed by the very bowels of the land, lost forever to that which dwells beneath the earth we so readilly and easily walk upon.
You awaken. You awaken to a potent sunrise, a sunrise that seems to set the very sky itself to flame. And as the sky itself is illuminated by this burning light you seem to remember... something. With a slow and creeping light your mind is cleared of the fog that has plagued it since Samhain, and all the deeds of that night ill-favored night are known to you in full. You have been given a gift or a curse... and what you will do with this gift is a thing known only to you.
