A worrying dream

Your sleep is wracked with strange dreams and visions. Uncertain portents of death, destruction, and evil are woven around the nation of Ardesh and Southmoore. You see the town burning, it's inhabitants running in terror, fleeing from some unseen horror. Fleeting images of a tall figure, cloaked in black and red, wink in and out. You see the town cheering, a parade, and warriors of steel and magic standing tall. You see the town barren, dead, lifeless. You see the town in rubble, workers slowly toiling to rebuild.

Your dream darts jarringly through hazy events, what is past present, and future blend together in a haze. At one moment you are in ancient Yuffdar watching two shadowy figures exchange gold for a small package, in another a cast of unknown adventures look upon a glowing figure of warm light, smiling. You see the glowing figure in battle, on it's knees, bloodied and beaten. You standing at in barren terrain at the base of a cliff, where a small group of elves, humans, and other share a meal. Finally, you are standing before a withered castle in a forest turned dark by the taint of evil. A dark cloaked figure is near standing over a fawn brutally torn open, blood and entrails spread across the courtyard.

The figure turns towards you, looking directly at you, as if sensing your presence. It's face is obscured to you but eyes burn through with some sort of arcane magic, a glow mirrored by the fangs extending from it's mouth. It screams and reaches out with tendril of dark energy. You feel yourself pulled deeper into the dream, feel your soul being slowly ripped from your frame. As the dark energy digs into you a hand, far too large to be human, rests on your shoulder. It's presence drives back back the tendrils. It's grip slips around your chest and pulls you back, hard. The miles of forest, plains, and mountains become a blur and your eyes snap open.