Domain of The Great Traitor

It shocked many, yet surprised no-one. Ikonos, it seemed, was always destined to fall. But not many expected it to be by the fickle hand of a young man, swayed by the soft and corrupting words of the Great Sheep of the Forest. A young man who was rewarded heavily, as he aided the Sheep's Thralls and the freed slaves of Ikonos in the butchering and destruction of the decadent, decaying city. He was brought before the Sheep themselves, and he was allowed to drink from their nectar. A sweet, corrupting, powerful nectar, that twisted and burned deep into the young man's mind, warping his very being into a creature befit the service of his new masters. Whoever that young man was doesn't matter; that name is long dead, and now, only The Great Traitor remains. He has his orders, that much is clear - the orders to aid the subjugation of the Dreamlands on behalf of the Great Sheep... but the Traitor was never much good at following orders. Two paths diverge before him, and the fate of the entire Dreamlands rest on which path he chooses to travel.

The Great Gray Tribes of the Forest
Within the Endless Forest, liberation can be found if you are willing to embrace it. That was what the Traitor was told, whispered in seductive tones by his lover, as he prepared to address the gathered throng that had amassed within the grand, empty, palatial hall that he had been given. They were all there, the representatives of the Pra'cha-Ne'ktva. The ninety-seven tribes of the Graylings, the beings who worshipped him, loved him. It was the Traitor that saved them, brought many of them up with him from the dark slave pits of Ikonos, and it was him that led them in the butchering and razing of their enslavers. They had followed him, when he took them back into the forests that their ancestors, the long dead scions of their once proud empire, and they had listened when he brought them together as one race, once more. As he stood before them, bright, gleaming eyes locked on his every move, he was convinced, convinced of their love. They saw him as their living God, their saviour, their everything. It was they who embraced him, brought him into their fold. Not like the Sheep, who set him adrift with nary a word of advice or comfort. No; he was not going to listen to the Sheep, and devote himself to them. He had no need, not with his worshippers gathered before him. He would do as the Sheep said, but it would be through his Graylings that he carried those orders out with, not with the ovine sycophants breathing down his neck. He told the gathered that much, that he liberated them, and now, through them, he will also be liberated. Liberated of the Sheep's burden, liberated of the demands of the mewling Gods of the Dreamlands. He told them that he was their God, and their God alone.

The Ruinous March of the Great Sheep of the Forest
He had heard that long ago. 'Loyalty is its own reward', he was told in dulcet tones and sweet lies, as pain laced his body amidst the blood, mud, corpses. A hollow scream wracked his body as he clutched his head, crying for the memories to leave him, for his nightmares to end once and for all. They promised him that much, at least, if he stuck to their side like a good student. They offered him their hands, and he grasped them with the resolve of the dying and drowning. He wouldn't fall just yet, they said. He had so much promise, so much untapped potential. They whispered to him within his dreams, promised him that he would learn the forgotten secrets, the long maligned powers of the Sheep. He would become powerful, respected, feared. He was adrift in the sea of his own mind, and he could barely comprehend the warnings the others gave him. When he did, that angered him. How dare they? How dare his mewling, sycophantic worshippers try to snatch him away from the glory of the Sheep? Do they not comprehend the power being offered to him, the power to warp reality, the tame the feral heart of the Dreamlands? How could they, he mused, when they were nothing more than slaves before he arrived? Tendrils of ice wrapped around his heart as he contemplated on what to do to them. But... that shall have to wait. He can not delay the Sheep's victory, for he is bound to serve them, bound to commit to their will. They made him, they own him. It is not his place to decide if the coldness creeping across his body and features is warranted or not, for his only desire is to carry out that righteous will. He bowed before, and told them that much; that he was theirs to command, their Grey Lamb, their Bane of Ikonos. He is their Traitor, and theirs alone.