Daevryn was the man that the Eldritch Consortium had hired to run the dig for the Vault. Rumored to be a competitive man of not-insignificant self-made wealth, he was known to have supervised several dangerous or unusual mining operations in the past.

Rayihn was an enigma, a witchy healer-woman who wandered the land offering her aid to those she felt worthy. She worked miracles and possessed strange powers none could adequately explain. Her aid was sought repeatedly by members of the Consortium, originally to tame the storms of Despair, and later to provide some relief against mysterious magical diseases.

Not all things are as simple as they first appear, and Daevryn and Rayihn have a history and motivations all their own...

The very nature of reality churns and heaves disquietingly.

A strange vision permeates your consciousness. You are dimly aware that you witness events that have already passed.

A pair of humans, man and woman, decend a scaffolding, making their way down the inside of a vertical glass tube, passing various mining apparatus as they go.

The man is powerfully built, dressed in titanium and black leather. His steely-gray eyes confidently scan the path ahead of them; he seems somehow at home in this unique mine.

The woman is dressed in vibrant purples and blues. A natural beauty, her sapphire eyes and strawberry blonde hair seem to illuminate her surroundings. There is an air of preternatural vitality to her.

Outside the tube, bolts of lightning arc through violent black seas, attempting to strike the pair but held at bay by the enchanted glass.

They continue to descend as the glass tube gives way to a mine shaft of more conventional construction. Reaching the bottom, an arched passage stretches to the north.

The eerie glow of a shifting, shimmering veil of chromatic light bars their passage through the archway. Beyond it, a hulking demon can dimly be seen standing before a pair of massive doors, glaring and unmoving.

Pausing, the humans half-turn, gazing into each others eyes. The pair exchange smiles. His, a grin of triumph. Hers, the smile of a woman about to meet her destiny.

"We've passed none of your crew on our way", the woman observes.

With a shake of his head, the man replies, "No, I've sent them to inform the Consortium that their work is complete. There will be a little time before we're disturbed."

"You must know that this won't please them. That we're going in first."

"They got what they paid for. My crew dug the way to the Vault, at great danger and great cost. We brought them this far, when none other could or would take them so far and so fast."

"The whole time, they've been competing with others for the contents of the Vault."

"With the snares and hurdles of Nyastren and his mages, but also with other factions of modern Thera who have different designs upon its contents than they do."

"Some they've manipulated, some they've bargained or allied with, others they've opposed. Each obstacle thus far has been removed. They played the game well and have neared their goal."

"They just didn't understand that I was playing the same game. That we were."

"Poor Destanin. So much study, sacrifice, and work. So much plotting and paranoia. And at the end of it all, he's undone because he was too proud to suspect 'the help.'"

"It's not so bad, the vision they had for the world, the way they wanted to improve it, but I know better than they do the way things should be. Would Ssriel warm the cold or Festpath feed the hungry?"

"Of course not. That is why someone better needs to take the reins. My gift will heal this world."

Impulsively, the woman grasps the man's hand and pulls him to the prismatic veil of light. It shimmers for a moment, then parts before her, as if recognizing something in her it must obey.

The pair steps through the part in the veil, which flows together again behind them.

Only the hulking demon, its body covered in runic tattooes, stands between them and the massive doors of the Vault. Although it glares balefully at the humans, it does not yet approach them.

The man pulls out a tome. Any who have seen the ancient journal possessed by the Eldritch Consortium would recognize it as the same book, except that it has noticably more pages.

Flipping to a marked passage, he addresses the demon, his voice clear and commanding.

"Annek hasto meros akkat nas ifer Nyastren!"

With a disappointed snarl, the demon nods in recognition of the passphrase, pulls one door open, and stands aside for the pair.

Together, they stride into the Vault itself. Its walls are made of colored sandstone, heavy with platinum ore. Stretching off as far as can be seen are numerous shelves filled with tomes and various artifacts.

Fading into existance before them is a creature forged of terror and nightmare. Although clearly a lich, it is unlike any other seen before.

What at first seems to be a body armor of some kind is in reality spikes and shards of bone that thrust out of his greyish skin and wrap themselves around his body.

In between each bone, something writhes and changes, some sort of magical power -- no, pure chaos that binds these atrocities to what was once a great man. Its eyes burn with the deepest red of darkness and chaos.

The form of his frame is all wrong to mortal eyes, it has been tampered with in ways most mortals never dream of. This can only be Nyastren himself.

Mystic energy begins to coalesce around his twisted, bony hands, but he hesitates before striking. His baleful eyes narrow and fix on the woman, and he begins to address her in a raspy whisper.

"You... you are not one of my disciples. Yet the Blood of Chaos burns in you!"

Nyastren turns to regard the man.

"But this one..."

"Is under my protection. Let us pass, Nyastren. I have come at last for what you have safeguarded."

The lich seems confused as the two start to walk past him, but ultimately he does let them pass.

The pair wander the halls of the massive Vault for some time, clearly searching for something. Outside, the sounds of battle can dimly be heard.

Eventually, they seem to find it: an enormous crystal orb brimming with orange and magenta energy. The man produces a small vial of clear, viscous liquid and empties it over the orb.

As one, they both place a hand on the orb's slick surface. It shatters into millions of pieces, and thick coils of the mystic energy formerly trapped within encircle each of them...

The nature of reality shifts again, and the strange vision ends.