the land was devastated and the common folk were coward under the rule of the dreadful King Morpheus.

The skies under the rule of the King were ordered to remain gray and rainy, the sun never rose and the magnificence of sunsets not seen at all. The passing into day was just a gradual lightening of the gray clouds and then back to darkness the land would fall. Worse than that, the nights, were the realization of dreams. The dreams were an awful reflection of the dark days haunted by the creatures of nightmares and useless feeling.

King Morpheus reveled in the despair and loathing he created. He strolled the sullen streets, feasting on the misery, dining on the dread, consuming the contempt around him as if perusing brutal buffet. Those who did view his hideous countenance then knew the face of uselessness, for it was their Kings’.

From the village of Temperance the saddest maiden, Ionia, was plucked as an example to all of what the ideal citizen should be. She was crowned Queen of Tears, locked in Castle Phantasm, and brought out and displayed to anyone who would dare to have any hope at all, thus crushing their spirits and were sent back to live a life of useless feelings.

But one evening, after a particularly dreadful day where the rain would not stop, gray, because it was mixed with the soot of thousands of chimneys, Morpheus drank of the misery a little too deeply, becoming heady with the dire feeling. He sank into his throne of sac cloth, burnt bone and rotting cattle hides and let slip his hold on the land ever so slightly as his own tormented sleep washed over him. For just a moment the dark magic passed.

The night sky cleared above Castle Phantasm for a moment and the light of a clear star pierced the window of the tower where Iona slept. The crystal light illuminated her dreaming face and her nightmare of sorrow turned to a vision of hope. The vision changed from being chained and helpless to one of being a soaring dove escaping from the land of woe that bound her, searching for the savior that would come and break the hold of the evil Morpheus on the land. Shortly the clouds resumed their ever present curtain over the realm and the dream failed as the dove was shot down into a bog of tar.

But the dream was strong and echoed over the land looking for the one that would receive it and embrace it. The dream visited thousands of people as it rippled over the realm, none of whom would accept that there was any hope and all despaired as the bird was swallowed by the greedy ground. And still the vision spread.

At the edge of the land, beyond the borders of the realm of King Morpheus, in the dead wastes where no one ever passed beyond, the remains of the loyal knights scratched out a living in a land of natural despair, only mildly affected by the spell of King Morpheus. Their lives we difficult and austere, but here they waited for news of the passing of the King or for an opportune time to return and reclaim the land for the people, but none dared to enter the land while the spell of despair was still upon it lest they fall prey to that very spell.

In the dead of night, one of these knights had a vision, a vision of a soaring white swan breaking free of the shackles of the evil king. He awoke in a startled relief, relief because the long wait was not over and he could take action. This was the sign he was waiting for, the sign that there was some hope somewhere in the land and if there was a single ray of hope, there was a chance to free the land to the people once more.

The knight, Sir Galahad, told the vision to his brothers but they all laughed and scorned him for his bravado. After all, would not all of them have had the same vision if it were a true ray of hope? None of the others could recall any dream from the night before, and all agreed that is a vision of hope would be remembered.