The horn sounds. I stir from the dream.
I don't want to leave the dream. It's peaceful here. There's nothing to prompt me to ask questions. Questions such as 'who am I'. The oblivion I find here is soothing. When outside the dream, I have to come to terms with my soul. How much of it is really me anymore? When you force other souls out of their bodies, it's easy to let things... mingle. I found that out my first possession; the body always, always retains some trace of the mind of its former inhabitant. And when it dies, you carry that remnant with you.
He summons me. I've almost given up wondering what it is he's planning. But I can remember that urge to know, to understand, to manipulate and control from my own life and many of the lives I've used. I'm frightened to lose that. I've lost so much of my being already.
As I'm pulled from the dream, feeling floods back into me. My emotions - where did they come from? - revolt with the reintroduction to his realm. I see a figure polishing the floor, and instinctively recoil in disgust. Why? Who was that?
Oh. I remember now. I never met this person, though I knew him by reputation. He resembles his vile son, though his evil was... different. And he was fortunate enough to be given an opportunity to seek penance. He's almost done the hall, now. I wonder if the others will forgive him?
I'll never know. The others don't speak to me. They seem... sad, when they look at me. I knew them once; they're probably aghast that I've deteriorated so. They're still whole. I don't see them here now; probably they're further, in the next life proper.
He calls. My name... I think that was my name. Yes, I remember now. I was called that. I turn and go to him. He should not be kept waiting.
I am his herald. I bring to the world his will, in words or deed. I didn't understand, once, but I'm merely a weapon in his war. If I were still myself, I might resent that. How fortunate that I'm not.
I see he's picked out a victim. So I'll be killing again. This one's a woman, though not of my race, not any more. I... remember her. I hated her once. Why?
She sits atop a throne made of jet-black obsidian. It's well-made, but not gaudy. This one doesn't need to impress others with wealth. The fortress here is vast, crawling with the creatures this one rules. The land here was different, once. How could it have changed so quickly?
Where's her husband? Her servant. I remember him. That filthy bastard betrayed... no, it wasn't me. That was... my disciple? Follower? He was loyal to this fell Queen to the last. His devotion bordered on most inappropriate aspirations, I think.
Maybe she tired of him. In any case, he won't see her again. I reach through the void, and withdraw my crossbow. Eons of work went into this weapon. I think I made it, long ago. The mechanisms, the adamantine... looks familiar. And the device in the center... that was mine. I know it. I hardly need it now, but it should serve to keep this out of the wrong hands.
I place Queen Brasswords in my sights and squeeze the trigger. There's no sound beyond the click of the mechanism. She falls forward and crumbles to dust. No soul leaves her body - I would be able to see that. His will is done.
I pull out my knife, and carve the symbol into the throne. They need to know who did this. They need to know that vengeance comes. The Hammer and the Pick. I hope they still remember it. It's been so long.
I exit the world again. My task is not over. Who knows if it will ever be over. That is the price I pay. But seeing one of them destroyed for good... there's not a part of me that isn't satisfied with that.
I draw closer and closer to avenging myself.