Evolution of a theory

You wake up, still asleep, not dreaming but not yet out of somnambulism.

Before you stands a man, half of his face scarred and burnt from some vicious maiming many many years ago. His armor is as black as night, and an ornate staff has been strapped to his back. You can see a confidence in his eyes that radiates power and arrogance, the bane of most warriors and the savior of few. He moves like silk, circling another man with a gaunt visage dressed in a long brown coat. They look into each others eyes, suspicion etched deeply within them, and it seems they are speaking to each other. The conversation looks heated, and the tattoos you now notice on their arms and legs seem to grow bright and you step back as the intensity of them blinds you.

The man in the cloak thrusts his hands forward and a lance of deep blue shoots out from a square device in his hands. It pierces the armored man and he is sent flying into a wall behind him, his body crushed against the wall. The gaunt man turns to face you and a dry smile cracks his face. He moves silently out the room, rolling a pair of dice in his right hand as he sheathes the device in his left.

The rooms shudders and the walls fall away. The man in the coat disappears. Before you lies the expanse of Underdark, rolling beneath your feet like a black carpet of stone. You can see two figures moving down separate forks of a cavern passageway, towards the junction of the two behind them you can see figures materializing behind them, lurching into life.

The one is a man; he looks slightly elven, but wearing dark clothing, royal cuts and hues to the tailoring. As he walks his cold blue eyes stare deep into your own, and you feel a chill race up your spine. Behind him you can see the moving dead of his masses, figures seeming to cling to life as their flesh leaves their bones, lurching in a robotic rhythm behind him. He grins and you can see the dead flesh of his gums, the sole giveaway to his current state of living.

The other is a woman, wearing a thin red dress that clings shapely to her curves. Her pale white skin is a marked contrast to her reddened lips, matching her dress perfectly. Behind her are the scraggly shapes of humanoid creatures moving quickly along the walls and floors. A few stand erect, their dark eyes belying the utter hatred pouring out from them, and still their are others, ones that darkness seem to cling to, a darkness so thick that your eyes seem to slide off of them into something else, almost ignoring them entirely.

You draw your weapon and brace yourself, for as the two reach the junction, the smile evilly at each other and march towards you, their hordes hungry for your flesh. You fell resolute, everything has come to this. And as you raise your arm high and utter a battlecry the voices of a thousand soldiers behind you resonates against the stone of Underdark; the same stone that might just be your grave....