Southwestern United States – 10:02 PM

You drag your feet in the sand, in the direction of the hazy lights on the horizon. The desert wind rolls sand across the sky, and the lights (which you can only hope are from the town that Myrovh directed you toward) are obscured ever so often, along with the stars above. And for an instant, you are trapped in a perfect void – empty of all light. Empty of anything at all. Your comrades are gone. You can’t even see your own hands. There’s a creaking sound. It repeats. Again. Again. Then, you hear humming. A sad tune. A figure appears in the darkness. It’s an old woman, rocking in a chair and working something in her hands. She looks up at you and smiles. “Seems ya managed to get rid of that La Curandera, child. Congratulations are in order, I s’pose. But the Black Goat had lost her interest in that one a long time ago. Took her too long to come into fruition, ya see? But she probably figured she’d let the poor thing do her worst anyway. Better’n nuthin, I s’pose.” The old woman blows on a small block of wood in her hand and takes a moment to do some fine detailing of whatever she’s carving. “You sure nuff got her attention though. Might be that you’ve caught the eye of all the Old Ones. Mmmm hmmm. And now it seems you got a choice to make, sweet child.” She places the block delicately in her lap, clasps her fingers and sighs. “You gonna keep playing as Myrovh’s pawn, or will ya just give in’t them mighty Old Ones. They’s probably gonna win the day, after all. Myrovh just gonna make it hard for em’s all. But, he’ll head the way of his Forgotten brethren, once the sleeper wakes.” She stops the rocking of her chair and looks up for a moment, her eyes searching – listening. “But maybe there ain’t only two sides to this coin. Myrovh, or the Old’uns. Maybe there’s another way. Faint hope, though. But hope’s hope.” She leans back in her chair and continues rocking. “That ain’t good enough for some people though. But there it is. A pawn to prolong the squishin’, a warlord of doom before the Old’uns swallow us all, or – something else, even if that something else don’t really exist. You gots to make a choice.” She stands slowly, and approaches you. “And you ain’t leaving this desert until you do.”

The wind rushes past you, and you feel sand beneath your feet.

“The Old Ones. Myrovh, or your own way. You choose the Old Ones, then they’re waiting in the swirling darkness behind you.” (If you turn, you would see a swirling mass of chaotic darkness behind you) “If you choose Myrovh, then you keep walking toward those lights like he told ya, and he’ll find you when he needs you next.” She raises her hand and holds it out to you. “But if you choose – something else, then you take my hand and see what happens.” She laughs and chokes, then spits a wad of phlegm on the ground. “And who am I? Well, I could be Shub-Niggurath herself, just sealing your doom. Or Myrovh’s test – maybe? Or maybe you’ve just gone and lost your damn mind. But that don’t change the fact that you got a choice, and that you ain’t leaving here till you make it.” She smiles wide and raises a single brow. “What’ll it be, child?”

The Dragon's Throat

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