Darius' Dream

Darius struggled in his nightmare. He'd had them most of his life... both the mortal life he barely remembered... and throughout his long immortal life. Usually these dreams foretold the future in some way.

He'd not had any in years, as if the choices he'd made for his life had finally calmed his fears... and allowed his demons to sleep. So it was with a start that he was aware that he was in the prophetic dreamscape again for the third time in three nights. But as the others had simply reminded him that his death was a foregone conclusion... this time it was different.

Around him was a cold foggy mist that smelled of raw sewage. In the distance... the red glare that he knew was the demon Ahriman... whom the Ancient had fought millennia ago... was beginning to stir. His time was coming again... but was not yet.

Not for you this time, Old One, the voice cackled with maniacal laughter. Nor will I allow you to warn the champion.

Darius moaned and shifted in his sleep... struggling to leave the dreamscape. He was suddenly surrounded by men... men he could not feel... although they held swords. One of them stepped forward, his face twisted in hate and his eyes glowing redly... as if Ahriman possessed him.

"Long have I watched you, Darius. Immortals are evil! An abomination before God! You profane this holy place with your presence!" the man said with a hiss. He gestured to his men who threw themselves upon the priest... grasping him so that he could not move... their weight bearing him down to his knees. Darius found himself bent over. Above him the red-eyed man raised his sword so that red light seemed to glimmer on it.

"Death to all immortals! You cannot be allowed to continue your quest to bring peace to them. The game must continue... and the numbers must be winnowed so that the champion is ready."

The sword was swung!

Darius cried out... even as he sat up in the gray dawn of the new day. He pulled in to himself, drawing his knees up and clasping them as he shuddered. He could feel a cold sweat dripping from his brow. Slowly he arose and dressed. He needed to call Duncan... but first...

Darius sat wearily at his desk... his head resting on his upraised hands as he sought to order his thoughts. What should he tell MacLeod? How should he explain about Ahriman and the game? How could he prepare him for the trials that would come?

In the nave... he heard the door slam... and the footsteps of people approaching.


Someonechallenged me write a nightmare for a canon character situated in Paris. Since Darius had prophetic dreams as established in the episode The Hunters, I thought I'd focus on that.