A Nightmare for Lirné Valarion

It’s like you’re back in Maxburg. Mother and father are both there. But their faces are set, stern, unreadable. They look down upon you in the square with an intensity that strips away warmth. Their smiles are grim, brittle, and false. Are they not pleased? They should be. Have you not done what they wished? Are you not what they wanted?

Before you, the streets are silent. There are no cheers of the Valerion name. But there is no commotion either. No crime, no conflict. Your world is perfectly ordered. Doors all shut tight. Curfews are tightly kept. No children play in the lanes. No merchants haggle people out of their money in the square. It is quiet because the people are hidden away… or taken away. There is peace, because no one dare disturb it.

For all your lofty ideals for a just realm, standing alone in grim attire, you see now what you have wrought: a realm tempered by fear. You have achieved your ambitions—what you thought was your destiny. But in so doing, has not the name Valerion now become the same as the name of Devil himself?

You are jolted from this nightmare practically shouting the name "von Zarovich!" In reality, what awakens you is a pounding at the door as loud as the pounding of your heart. Your stomach growls in response. You slept terribly too. For some reason you feel you really must get one more of those hand pies from the other day. That or something to give you energy for the day, and push away the nightmares...