View source for Dafydd Dor Vision

Dafydd sees a wide expanse of open steppe land.  Thick, wiry grass grows between dark grey lumps of rock; both the grass and the sporadic gorse, that punctuates the desolation, lean over in the heavy breeze.   The sky is full of swirling clouds; those on the distant horizon appear ominous and dark.  Sat on a lump of granite, leaning heavily on a battle axe, is a Norse warrior dressed in furs beneath which strips of metal are occasionally visible.  His winged helmet is place next to him and his abundant, blonde hair is only constrained by occasional plaits which adorn his head and beard.  His deep blue eyes stare fixedly at a shallow puddle which occupies a depression in the granite slab at his feet.  The grass beats against his winter, fur-lined boots.  He shivers.  

“So it dawns,” the words spill from his lips, almost inaudible in the wind, “but I have so much more to offer.”  He looks up, briefly gazing at the horizon before staring at the puddle once again.  “Is it to be here?   Perhaps at Asguard?  No matter…Was it true?  Was it all about the Prime?”
His head lifts again and Dafydd sees a small tear whip from his eye into the wind.  “Where did we go wrong?”
Another voice, stronger and more confident comes from behind the Priest, “You lost, Odin, the time you lifted your gaze from the Mage.  Oh yes, those were difficult days my Lord; you had us all guessing…Even I struggled to penetrate those loyal bonds.  Was he so much a fool to incur your wrath?  Did he deserve your admonishment or should you have rewarded him for destroying one of Hell’s creatures?  We will never know.” A shadow passes across Dafydd’s gaze as if a cloud blown by fierce wind passes across the sun.
“You have had plenty to say Loki and played many cards, but this is not your time either.”  The retort is said without much confidence.
“Ahhh, when they fail to listen and when all the enemies of your scant followers rule the land, burning the good before images of our dark sister, I will have the last laugh.”
“There is still hope.”
“Ha! You have been absent for too long Odin; others have taken your place…No-one fights for the glories of Valhalla and Asguard anymore.  Fenris will be restrained no longer”


The vision [IM1]changes, Dafydd looks at a white stallion galloping across rolling countryside.  In the distance a young man stands on a hill illuminated by a ray of sunlight that breaks through the otherwise dense, low cloud overhead.  It is cold and the ground is soft.  Steam rises from the horse’s back and great divots fly up as the horse’s eight hooves cleave the soil.  As the horse approaches, the man drops onto one knee.  He is dressed in leather armour, studded with metal plates some supporting fierce-looking points.  Across his shoulders is an ermine cloak, hood thrown back to reveal a young, handsome face and sharp blue eyes.  His face is surrounded by unkempt blonde hair.  He is Norse but is clean shaven.
“Perion, we have much work to do” the horse says and the man lifts his head, “I require you to undertake three quests for me.  These quests may seem odd [IM2]but I am confident that they will stop Ragnarak.”
“My Lord, you have to but speak and I will obey.”
“Firstly, send your people over the Lovyon to the Caladhon Mountains, use the Marsh at Grimbar to avoid detection. I know that this will mean ignoring the pleas from the Oldheart [IM3]but they are, frankly, done for.  Secondly, take your trusted friends and find Inwe’s hiding place[IM4], she has something we are going to need very much in the forthcoming battles.  You will not be able to enter her hideaway without the help of powerful allies so your last quest is to meet up with a Priest of mine – Dafydd [IM5]– and let him know where Inwe hides.  He has powerful friends who work on the Prime to stop Ragnarak[IM6].”
“Of course my Lord…Have you any guidance on how we should go about discovering Inwe’s lair?”
“Well, Perion, I have learnt from my dark sister that she favours the coldest lands – to match her heart no doubt – where little light is available, where fires fail to burn or turn instantly to ash.  She dwells in the shadowlands where the negative influences are most keenly felt, in Morgrad, a city made from salt and built on dust.  Do not be deceived, this is no ill conceived construction doomed to fall; no, Morgrad is said to be impregnable.”
“Ahh, there must be some who know of it – perhaps the Gnomes?” Perion enquires gently.
“They will indeed; they have a tradition of fighting the Drow.  Perhaps the Dwarves would know something of it also, but beware Inwe has her spies everywhere – even, perhaps, amongst your most trusted men.”
“What of Mephrass, my Lord?  I have heard that the rift between him and his sister may be mended.”  Perion’s face betrays his fear.
“I have also heard this news, though my gaze has been turned from the Prime for too long.  At the death of Craciss, Mephrass became the mirror in which Inwe wished to view herself.  In the same way as her role was passed to her at the death of Eolorand.  Now there are two, each a mirror of the other and each with 4 children of their own.”  The horse walks around Perion slowly whilst talking.
“What of Eolorand’s offspring?” Perion asks quickly, sensing his time with his God was almost up.
“Ahh.  That I did not foresee.  In truth it was a marvellous manoeuvre by the darkest of us, spurred on, no doubt, by Loki’s mischief.  It is a well kept secret among them, how came you by this information?”
Perion looks nervous and his voice tremors slightly when he replies, “We err, that is to say, I err found a part of the Codicil in Minas Emras.  Clearly, I will return it to the Dwarves when they return.” He adds quickly, “Whilst it did not detail exactly how it came to pass, I refused to believe that he could just turn up at Minas Aarda at a time to discover an artefact and meet the Demon.  So I conducted an investigation which pointed to a most likely outcome…it seemed to explain much.”
“Yes it does; what help that information is to you I cannot fathom as yet.  I have turned my eyes from this place too long.”  The last words are a whisper.  “I must return.  Do not forget your quest young Perion.  You are favoured by the Gods – do not disappoint us!”



[IM1]There are clues that maybe Perion is being misled by false visions
[IM2]They may seem odd possibly because they are false?
[IM3]This serves to abandon the Old heart to the Drow and removes the Norsemen from the fight.
[IM4]Thus disposing of all the key Norsemen by running them into a trap!
[IM5]And sucking us into the trap at the same time…!
[IM6]So do we arrogantly spring the trap and go after Inwe or do something else instead?