Every night for nine weeks a queen dreams of herself being surrounded by nine hooded figures she almost recognizes in the deepest sanctum of an abandoned castle. Each stabs her once until the ninth drives his blade through her heart. Terrified, she begs Wraithvine, and anyone ze might need to help, to find the truth of these nightmares haunting her sleep. -- Deathshead419
It had to be a portent. Every night for nine weeks, the Queen Chrysanthemum had the same dream. A ruin of a castle. A dungeon's depths. Nine hooded figures, standing above her as she lay on a sacrificial slab. Each with a knife. Two each for her arms. Two each for her legs, and the final one plunging their knife into her heart.
Chrysanthemum sought out seers, wise folk, and living legends. Polite invitations, if somewhat desperate. She promised a great reward to any who could provide a meaning and, if dire, a way to prevent or ameliorate the foreboded doom.
She had nine days' relative rest before the dreams began anew.
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