Darkness...
Roy "Bobaloo" Heming floated along in darkness.
He was young again. He was wearing regular clothes. He did not feel the weight of his battle armor upon his shoulders. He felt something he hadn't felt since Darrowshire.
He felt peace.
He drifted along, not sure where he was going.
A pair of yellow slits of light shone at him. They watched him, observed him as he floated listlessly in the murky depths.
And suddenly, ground was underneath him.
He watched the scene dazedly. A man... surrounded by people. Their expressions were ones of fear. Of hate.
...of sorrow.
Roy slowly moved around, trying to see this man's face. A massive, horned helm covered it. Golden orbs shone through the shadow it cast over.
Cra-pow!
A shot rang out from the surrounding crowd. The bullet ripped the helm off the man.
Roy's eyes widened as he saw his own face, twisted into that of anger and hate.
His eyes shone yellow, glaring at the crowd like a bear at hunting dogs.
And then... the scene faded into black. Roy's feet once again stood on nothing.
The golden slits floated towards him.
"We have watched you, Rohm... And you have been chosen."
Roy watched as the slits extended outwards, until a great vrykul floated before him. His long, braided hair floated past his shoulders.
"We have seen you fight. You show no quarter when given none, and you have served your commanders well. Your fighting prowess is exemplary. We have deemed you worthy to become the next Angr'thar."
Roy watched as the vrykul shone a luminous gold, turning into essence, and surrounding him, wrapping him in a cyclone.
Heavy armor began to form on him. Massive shoulderplates were strapped to him. Gauntlets fitted perfectly onto his hands. Boots appeared, encasing his feet in steel.
And a horned helm appeared before him.
The eyes shone yellow.
"If you choose to accept this, we will show you strength which you have never seen."
Roy looked at the helm.
Strength...
He reached out and took the horn. He pulled himself towards the greathelm, and lifted it over his head. The shadows inside began to drift down. Tendrils softly tugged at him welcomingly, encouragingly. He lowered the helm down, feeling...
Awake.
-----------------------------
Roy jerked up from his sleep by the harbor. He shook his head.
"I've never seen drink do that to me..."
He rubbed his forehead softly, only to find the cold touch of metal. He looked at his hands, which were encased in the vrykul's gaunlets.
It wasn't a dream...
Roy looked around, until he finally found it.
The greathelm, sitting across the small stream, was staring at him.
