The Forgotten Tomb

Dreams

22 min read

A list of the dreams that have occurred in The Forgotten Tomb, so far. Including, songs & images. Dream Playlist

Session -1

Drachen sees an Arakocra in the Feywild, sat beside a campfire and pond.

  • Lord Squark: “Most benevolent Grandfather, who created birds, I am pleased to inform you that this year’s bloom is already soring. We’ve guarded the attention of the entirety of all those in attendance in the form of a grand wager, with organiser of this year’s bloom Delloso Dellarue. Humourlessly, the wager’s only requirements are that we follow the aims you’d already set: the prosperity of the Lords of the Wing and the best thing of the Court of Wonder, all at the same time. Talk about maiming, not killing, one of your beautiful creations with a single stone. On that note, it delights me to say that Lady Featherfowl has already taken steps to finding a potential suiter in one Anherra of the Unseelie court. The Lady was triumphant in the great Hart hunt. The only person ever to do so, I must say. She generously shared her victory with the Unseelie Lord, and in doing so revealed a pillar on which we may stabilise our teetering society. (Stops to look up at the wasteland, with a tear in his eye) We will make you proud. May the wind be ever beneath your wings. Lord Squark Arrowvis, Earl of Peckersberg.” “
  • Drachen & Lord Squark talk.
  • Squark ends the conversation with:
    • Squark: “Everything is predicable now… you have no idea what you’ve started.”

Session 2

Drachen’s Dream with his patron

  • Patron: “Why would you call me here? This hateful pit of necromorphic despair. Some things are better left berried. And, my child, this is certainly one of those times. What brings you here? Why call me here? The Black Robin… do what you must to dispatch of them, and look no further into this place for it will consume you.”

Session 5

First Dream

  • Drachen wakes in a dark location - he feels the freezing wind blow on his glowing skin.
  • The floor beneath him is a mesmerizing black with red flecks, moving like flowing silk. Looking slightly up, he can see white silk blowing out around a black circle. And can hear a breathing behind them… a creature tall and spindly… 3 pale rippled faces, with intricate vines joining their face together.
  • Voice: ”The moon shines upon you… You may not know who you are… ask two questions and if they are interesting, we may allow a third. Ask and each will answer.”

Drachen continued to ask questions, but they and their answers have been lost to time.

Second Dream

Drachen calls out to his Patron

  • Patron: “Close your eyes my child, I will show you. Start to earn your desire”
  • You see the back of someone’s head as they’re walking through the forest muttering about finding the truth and avenging their son’s death (Nat Pagel)… a couple of seconds later a black shadow flashes past and suddenly their head falls to the floor with the body falling a second later.
  • A black figure continues walking out of the forest into the clearing, slowly stops walking and stares back - directly in to observer’s eyes.
  • The figure mutters: “I’ll see you soon Drachen.” Then walks forward and rips Drachen out of his vision.

Session 6

Drachen’s Dream

  • As your eyes open, you can feel the wind rushing past you, looking down you can see the vast clouds of Nyropa passing you.
  • You are being carried flying through the air, 5,000ft above the ground. Looking up you can see a female face, mouth and nose - 8 yellow eyes staring down on you.
  • Each eye sits at the base of multiple tentacles, the flesh of which is a mix between pink and grey. Her body scaled, course, and yet motherly.
  • She holds you in her taloned palm, you are the size of a baby, in your first moments of creation.
    • Patron: “Hello again my child. I had hoped you would have left this Isle by now, there is much work to do. I have already dealt with the most dangerous, they cannot be awoken, at all costs. Rebuilding you has made me weak. Finish your quest and get these pawns to help you in the coming challenges. Make them trust you, work with them, not against them…unless they do not comply that is, be patient, use my wisdom. For there are two more to kill before we can begin to kill the final.”

Session 8

Drachen’s Dream

  • It is a twisted reality, one he struggles to remember. Where he said no to the elven women in the night past, his dream tells the story differently.
  • They enter Drachen’s room within The Drowned Rat, engage in perhaps sexual activity, but Drachen then wakes realising he has stabbed the elven woman.
  • He wakes to see her dead on his bed, and his sword covered in blood.

Session 9

Drachen’s Dream

  • You awake to the soft glow of a setting or rising sun. The landscape surrounding you bathed in awe-inspiring natural beauty. Fireflies and Feywild Sparks (motes of energy) light the shadowed areas. Chipper voices echoing throughout the forests. All emotions and your magical capabilities are strengthened by this place.
  • Drachen’s emotions change the landscape, directly beneath him. - disgust, resentment
  • You hear a voice behind you:
    • Yondalla: ‘I thought you’d like to see our home before you dedicate yourself to a self-destructive path. How are you dearest?’
    • Yondalla: ‘What did they do to you? What low level fey patron do I have to banish for doing this to you?’
    • Drachen: ‘What did you do to me?’
    • Yondalla: ‘There is so much you don’t know my young, naïve young child. I didn’t even get time to teach you your ancestry, birthplace, or prophecy… you have no idea what happens next.’
    • Drachen: ‘So much you didn’t experience, you were disgusted by me - kept me locked, caged away - seems you stumbled into your fate’
    • Yondalla: ‘I am so proud of you for braving the Material Plane.’
    • Drachen: ‘So much better than here - when you came to power, it left a power vacuum, brought death, decay, believe I’m perfect, but you can’t have light without dark - took a mortal man, tortured him, loved me, watched him fade away into nothing, blames me - kept him locked up - sick of watching not just them, but watching all deities believe they are better than all - stupid orc…’
    • Yondalla: ‘I best send you back. Regardless what happens next, just know I am so proud of you and I don’t blame you for her death, this is all necessary for getting things back to the way they were.’

Session 13

Drachen’s Dream - Song: The Gallows

  • You soar on blackened wings, slicing through the Silver Void. Wind howls through your scales, the arrogant hum of creation itself resonating in your bones. Power surges through you, vast and unrelenting. This is your moment. You are to be, inevitable.
  • Through your kaleidoscopic vision, they stand—your kin, your rivals, your prey. Colossal, shifting things, their forms spiralling between impossible geometries, their very being a challenge to your supremacy. The void pulsing with the echoes of war, and siblings drift as hollow husks, their failure a silent sacrifice. You tear through them, your triumph within grasp.
  • And then— Nothing. The battle does not end—it is ripped away—it was never there.
  • You feel… contained. Confined. Where nothing ends, you feel endless nothing. Reality’s damnation, stolen from existence itself.
  • An endless expanse of seething mist coils around you, not as mere fog, but as an intelligence—ancient, patient, unshaken. Cosmic storms churn at the edges of perception, flickering between existence and oblivion. Every path, every escape, collapses into the suffocating haze. You are not trapped. You are held.
  • This is no battlefield. This is damnation.
  • A whisper—without sound; a thought carved directly into your mind. A voice you have known since the dawn of all things.
    • “This is your punishment, child. You have killed. You will kill again. But this time, you will know the weight of failure.”
  • And you do. You feel it. A horror deeper than any death. A realization so vast it drowns you.
    • “I have stripped you to your infancy. You are not owed power, lest you face my wrath. If you fall again, I will not punish you—I will erase you. You will have never been.”
  • The voice vanishes, but the knowledge remains.
  • A waterfall of eons pass. Time is a distant concept—yet only you, and the knowledge of what has been taken, remain. - Your eyes latch onto a spark. A glimmer in the abyss. A star, distant and small. You reach for it—desperate, yearning. A flicker of hope.
  • Hope is a lie. Hatred is truth.
  • Everything you fought for—stolen.
  • Everything you did—yet to happen.
  • Everything you will do—still waiting.
  • But this time, you will be ready.

Session 14

Drachen’s Dream - Song: Principle of Strength: Vision

  • Gusts of wind slice past your body. It takes you a few moments to realise you are falling. Plummeting down, you see cascades of infinite worlds pass you by, each entirely unlike the Feywild or Material Plane. Some emanating boiling heat, sulphur, and lava lakes - some drenched in endless freezing oceans of acid, blood, insects, and worms. Demon-like creatures and aberrations try to claw at you, during your descent - your speed too much for their greed.
  • You awake, stood up in pitch black. - As you find your balance, you notice the puddle beneath starts to illuminate in response to your movements - soft glows of whites, purples, and reds emanate from the water below. (Think Avatar in the forest). All directions painted in oil; imperfect, and unset - an unobstructed likeness of life itself, perhaps?
  • Your Patron’s familiar voice fills the air surrounding all directions - eyes gleaming from the shadows:
    • Patron: “You have done well, my child. You are becoming a champion. When you ascend your throne, how would you like your realm to look?”
    • Drachen: ‘represent me, in all aspects’
  • The realm around Drachen distorts and twists until it resembles the image he gave of his future throne - Noxus vibes, fortitude of great magnitude - nothing to waste, no greed, all purpose
    • Patron: “See? You need only desire it, and it will be so. Soon, all will bow beneath your will.”
  • (His Patron still clouded in shadows and mystique)
    • Patron: “Do not concern yourself with the whispers of lesser beings. Their words will crumble to dust beneath your boots.”
    • Drachen: “One realm isn’t enough”
    • Patron: “Gaining the King’s trust for special missions, growing your power with followers, and claiming the sword before it claims you - even though the cost was painful… I knew you had great potential, it was written in the first stars. What do you intend to do with the sword?”
    • Drachen: “It was necessary - I will serve you and myself in our shared goal”
    • Patron: “You will need the help of your followers and to grow in strength so that you can decimate the coming challenges. For there are two more to kill before Yondalla. I will take out the first, and when I call on you, it will be your time to take the second.”
    • Patron: “Is there anything you need from me, my child?”
    • Drachen: “You have given enough, I may not know the whereabouts of these followers, but I will find them”
    • Patron: “I wish you the best of luck, we will speak again soon.”
  • Instead of waking up, you find yourself left alone to wonder the realm - Song: Loki Green Theme
    • As your eyes rest upon the tablet made of solid rock, there’s something soft about the way it rests, like it might sink if you look away too long - its edges too sharp for something so ancient, claw marks so deep as if they were carved yesterday.
    • The text seems to shift when not looking directly at it, the grooves somehow more shallow in your peripheral version.
    • As you stare upon it something in your gut twists—not in fear, but in rejection. Like your very being knows you should not be looking at this. The very act of reading it feels like invasive.
    • Reading the words you notice the silence here is unnatural. Not the absence of sound, but the presence of something actively swallowing it.
  • As you look at this tablet of stone, you feel a presence watching you from behind.
  • You turn to look back and see a giant eye staring at you.
  • And then is violently ripped out of your dream.

Session 15

Alyssia’s Dream

Songs: Perfectly Splendid, Papa, & Fryderyk

  • You awaken in a dream already underway.
  • A hush of music plays behind velvet curtains — a waltz slowed just enough to sound wrong, each note sagging like a dying breath.
  • You step into a grand ballroom that breathes like a cathedral.
  • The floor is black marble, polished so fine, you see yourself reflected — not once, but a hundred times, scattered into fragments between dancers in black and white.
  • Each one wears a porcelain mask.
  • Not one shows emotion.
  • They move with an elegance too perfect — a waltz practiced, inhuman, like marionettes pulled by invisible strings.
  • Above, a chandelier of bone and glass sways on wires stretched too tight.
  • It hums with tension.
  • Each crystal flickers with shadow light, bathing the room in a soft, skeletal glow.
  • At the centre, the grand staircase unfurls.
  • From its peak, four masked figures descend.
  • One wears your mother’s sharp-lipped disapproval.
  • One wears your father’s entitled scowl.
  • The third is unfamiliar —
  • but bears your cheekbones, your posture, your practiced smile.
  • Something in your blood stirs.
  • You know this one — not by memory, but by absence.
  • The last wears no false pretences.
  • Sculpted from the dreams you pretend not to have.
  • A boy Time forgot to age — still trapped in his final breath beside you.
  • When your eyes meet, it feels like being left behind by a memory.
  • As though your heart remembered something your mind refused to.
  • Prisms of light refracted in the chandelier paint an older tapestry — the man he should have become.
  • The boy Time left behind lifts a gift:
  • a mask, sculpted in your own image.
  • The four of them hold it out — together — its hollow eyes locked to yours.
  • A voice (their voice? your own?) whispers:
  • “Will you become who you’re told to be?”
  • But before you can answer — crack.
  • Glass fracturing beneath pressure.
  • Daggers of crimson light erupt from their chests.
  • They convulse.
  • Masks slip. Porcelain shatters.
  • Ink spills from their empty eyes.
  • The room freezes.
  • Every dancer turns to face you — all at once.
  • The chandelier groans.
  • And then — their masks turn to mirrors.
  • You see your own face reflected in every one.
  • A hundred versions.
  • None of them smile.
  • You feel morning’s warmth touch your cheek…
  • and awaken.

Drachen’s Vision

Drachen Vision from the Songless Siren

  • A battlefield carved into stars. The woman sways and becomes morphs into 4 draconic heads, blinking open across the sky. You see yourself towering, clad in molten armour, standing over the broken bodies of gods — Yondalla, Ehlonna, Tempus — slain, their divine blood seeping into a claw-shaped sword you hold, glowing with black fire. Above you? A stained-glass chapel window, showing the people of Nyropa worshipping not gods, but you. And in the far corner, a woman watches. Fiadh Lokeriyan. Expression unreadable.

Session 17

Drachen’s Dream - Song: Malasana

  • Drachen, you awake through eyes not your own.
  • The Feywild stretches before you, vibrant and alive — flowers pulsing with decadent light, leaves humming with bird-song. Mist curls low to the ground, heavy with moonlight. And yet… the stars are wrong.
  • Through the boughs you see him — younger you — walking the meadow, unmarred by grief, by vengeance. His fingers brushing bark as though the trees themselves whispered secrets only he could hear. He walks toward home, toward Fiadh, and the Feywild blooms beneath his every step.
  • Then pain lances your chest. You stagger, knees sinking into damp soil below. The sky splits open.
  • Constellations fall. Not like meteors, nor flame — they weep, as tears from a goddess’s face, tumbling down in Silence. Where they strike, the ground screams. Trees blacken to ash. You wretch over, desperate for breath, but the reflection in the pond staring back is not your’s. It is Yondalla’s. Her mouth opens in a scream that torments your bones before your ears. As if her pain were your’s to carry.
  • Above, Selûne towers. Her celestial form — purest light and mercy — shudders, fractures, as though ripped from the fabric of the world itself. Her glow unravels into drifting embers, threads of silver pulled downward into the soil. The sky above is not night, but her absence in the Silver Void.
  • Around you, the Feywild decays in Silence. Flowers bleach. Bark powders to dust. The sky splits, a wound unclosing, a rot of silver-blue. In the distance, the forest itself seems to echo with the Elven Queen’s cries — a lament that would one day lead her into shadow.
  • You reach out, desperate, as though each mote of her could be saved. Your hands blaze with stolen silver. It is not enough.
  • And then — you see him again. Your younger self. Watching, bewildered. Smiling, as if nothing had broken. His innocence bleeds into your grief. The two images blur into one another, until you cannot tell which came first - her death, or your joy. Your innocence, or her pain.
  • The stars are gone. The forest exhales one last time, a hunted beast’s final breath. The Feywild holds in Silence.
  • And you, Drachen… you remember…
    • The day your mother wept.
    • The day her mother died.
    • The year after you met Fiadh.

As Silence deepens, it gives way to the sound of waves lapping against the ship’s hull. And, you awake.

Session 18

Skapa’s Nightmare - Song: Paranoia

  • You close your eyes — but sleep avails no rest.
  • The tolling of White Wall’s bells follows you into the dark. Each strike weighs on your chest - as if the air itself grows tied of you. Your name flickers across endless parchment — written, crossed out, then written again. The Ledger counting your debts; every line belongs to you.
  • The bells fade, and you stand in the Royal arena. But it’s twisted. The crowd erupts in Nester’s laughs. Caged Kobolds with your face stare at you, helpless, eyes dripping blood. Their blood turns to coin, coin to ink, ink stains your claws until it drips like tar.
  • You turn — and see a child. At first, Alaric. Then an orphan’s hollow eyes. Then yourself, younger, shackled to someone else’s fame. The ropes that bind him tighten around your wrists, pulling you to your knees. No matter how you fight, the knots only bite deeper.
  • And then — two doors. Side by side. Each bears a mark you know: one a black gauntlet, the other a faint feather and sword scratched in chalk. Both doors are locked. You feel eyes watching you. From behind corpses stir hanged against the monastery — a thief’s face and short body; beside them, Alyssia & Drachen sway, bodies stiff. Staring. Waiting.
  • The bells stop. What follows isn’t Silence — it’s suffocation.
  • And then you hear it — not Nester, nor The Damned. Your own voice, sinister and certain, whispering back at you:
    • “Debts can’t hide, Skapa.”

Session 19

Alyssia’s Nightmare - Songs: Rose, & Vision

  • You awaken in a dream already underway. You’re in The Fox’s Gambit. Alaric’s room. You see him sitting on the bed, pale and fragile, writing quietly in his notebook. His voice is softer than you remember. Not his own. Your mother’s. Tallia’s words.
    • “Feelings make us weak”.
  • Alaric’s quill scratches across the pages, leaving no ink behind - instead, gouges. Scratches. Wounds.
  • What does Alysia do, met with Alaric like she was yesterday morning?
    • Alyssia: She steps closer towards Alaric, as he puts his hand out. His skin pale, ice-cold radiance, and it flakes to ash beneath your touch.
  • You hear whimpering behind you, struggling of some kind. As you open the door to leave, there’s a small corridor, slanted on an angle. You see Rosie, tied to a chair. Thrashing as 7 shadows circle her, each wearing a guild’s mask. Knives pressed against her throat. The walls whisper:
    • “Thief. Traitor. Damned.”
  • Rosie screams your name.
  • What does Alyssia do?
    • Alyssia: As you move closer to cut her free, the ropes uncoil, binding you instead. The rope become Aleena’s Arms.
  • As you look up, you see Aleena smiling down at you, her lips sown shut, blood dripping from her mouth and eyes like ink.
    • What does Alyssia do when she sees Aleena’s face?
      • Alyssia: Waits…
    • Aleena reaches for your dagger by your hip, and stabs herself in the chest. You hear her gasp, but it’s Rosie - eyes wide, breath gasping, clutching her side as blood pools.
      • “I’m sorry Alyssia.”
  • Rosie’s voice echoes in your head. You wake. Drenched in sweat. You look down, and see a dagger plunged shallow in Rosie’s chest.

Session 20

Skapa’s Dream - Song: Alex

  • You awaken not into light,
  • but into a mechanical hum.
  • A cave without torches.
  • A skyless forge.
  • A womb made of stone and cogs.
  • The walls are obsidian, pulsing with faint electric sheen.
  • Stacked high and deep are eggs —
  • not soft, but chromatic.
  • Shells of red, white, blue, green, and black,
  • each one humming with a heartbeat…
  • but not its own.
  • Every egg is labelled — categorized.
  • Except yours.
  • Yours sits at the base of the pile,
  • unmarked. Forgotten.
  • A shadow moves.
  • You watch yourself step forward —
  • no… not yourself.
  • But an ‘accepted’ version.
  • Sleek. Gleaming.
  • Polished by expectation.
  • He bears no scratches. No hesitation.
  • And the crowd loves him for it.
  • Thousands of kobolds cheer.
  • Their voices rise in unison —
  • not out of love,
  • but relief.
  • This one fits the blueprint.
  • You do not.
  • Then the ground shifts.
  • Gears grind behind the walls.
  • From the dark coils a massive serpent —
  • a dragon of gold and rust,
  • wound from clockwork and chromatic plates.
  • Its eyes are cracked emeralds,
  • glowing with exhausted divinity.
  • It does not speak —
  • but a voice hums from its chest:
  • “You were not built.
  • You were born.
  • Both are sacred.”
  • The serpent lowers its head.
  • Its mouth opens — and inside is a forge.
  • There, in chains of divine bronze, lies Kurtulmak.
  • His eyes are burned away.
  • But he smiles.
  • “You are not the spare,” he says.
  • “You are the spark.”
  • The ‘polished’ Skapa steps forward.
  • He walks into the forge.
  • He does not scream.
  • He becomes fire.
  • The machines convulse.
  • And now — before you — two paths:
  • — One leads to a cogwheel temple,
  • where your body becomes part of the machine,
  • a gear in something older than purpose.
  • — The other leads to a campfire in distant dark,
  • where only the stars listen.
  • There, you sit alone —
  • drawing shapes in the dust,
  • making gods from broken blueprints.
  • You walk.
  • And in the dark,
  • a hand finds yours.
  • Not Kurtulmak’s.
  • Not the others’.
  • Your own.

Session 23

Drachen’s dream - Song: Someone Just Volunteered

  • You awaken into an endless ocean of wheat. The Feywild’s brilliance casting its charm, as an Eladrin once did to you. The air glows gold; it hums with the memory of her laughter. Walking through the field, the wind catches the hair on your arms — not gently, but as if to pull you backward.
  • Something deep within you aches to stop.
  • Yet something deeper commands you to continue.
  • To right the wrongs. To unmake the hand that took her from you.
  • The field gleams — its tips catching light like a thousand tiny suns.
  • The air smells of home. Of her. For a moment, you feel peace. For a moment, the ache in your chest almost means something.
  • Then the wind changes.
  • The gold dulls. The stalks crumble, grain turning black, then white, then ash. The smell curdles into salt and smoke. A deep pull at your core commands you forward — as if the steps you walk have been trodden before.
  • The horizon flickers. Light distorts — wings unfurl, shadow and fire entwined. Between the flashes, visions collide —
  • A crown of flame, heavy with glory.
  • A throne of bone, carved from kneeling forms.
  • Hands of silver caress a child, wombed in shadow, swallowed by fire.
  • Wings spanning a sky that screams your name.
  • And beneath it all, her veil — drifting, reaching — her outline scattering into dust. Dust to ash. Ash to salt.
  • The field is gone.
  • Now only the void remains —
  • Countless eyes bloom in the dark. Your eyes. Each one scarred and weary with knowledge you know not yet. Each weeps light. Each watches your fall.
  • Spindly tendrils of unnatural grief cover the nothing. Power hums through every sinew — life’s end.
  • You feel infinite, consumed, rage.

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