[colour=gray][i][sub]*click click click click click click*[/sub][/i]

[b]“Stop. Please. Stop. Just make it stop.”[/b][/colour]

The desperate plea of a tortured soul. 

In the dark recesses of a narrow and murky cave there laid a short male Wood Elf, curled up like a newborn baby and shivering as if coated in frost. This elf, whose silvery white hair shone like the moon, wore no clothes upon his wiry beaten figure. Streaks of bloody mangled flesh riddled his body, the marks of a monster that liked to play with its prey. His once soft features were now terribly bruised and covered in streams of tears that had managed to escape his closed eyes. The air was here was thin and cold, and on it was a scent that would cause most to wrench – a mixture of rotting flesh, human waste and sulphur. This individual, whoever he was, had endured much pain and now clearly just wanted an end… any end. But it would not be given easily. Somewhere not too far from him, in the unlit abyss that surrounded him, the sound of scuttling began to intensify. A chorus of tiny clicks, pitters and patters, signified the approach of a predator that he did not want to meet. The elf tried to supress his tears and hold his breath, an effort he hoped would make him silent and undetectable. But it was in vain. The sound of the ever-approaching beasts grew larger until finally, two large spiked pincers sprung from the darkness towards him and began to feast on his flesh. Layers of black armoured scales lined the beast, with small appendages sticking out at every other row; spiked arms that were dripping in poison and would cling to anything that dared to escape it’s grasp. It was a chaurus reaper.  

Screams of hellish agony echoed throughout the endless cave, reverberating off the damp covered walls and small insect filled crevices. The elf slowly began to be eaten alive until as if by some divine intervention, a bolt of furious lightening raptured the ceiling above him. The flash of intense white light burnt his iris’, leaving him blind, whilst the tremendous roar of thunder raptured his ear-drums and left him deaf to the world. 

[b]“Is it over?”[/b]

No. 

There was no grasp of time for the elf, no measure of duration which he could attribute to the space between being blinded and opening his eyes. Even his memory failed him and he struggled to recall the events that had led him here. He had been at a party, then a war, then a cave? But where was he before that? How did he transition from one to another? What happened at these places? And where was he now? As his light hazel eyes slowly drifted open he found himself in a place he finally did know: home. He stood in the centre of a room that was encased in thick bark; it was in the centre of a tree after all. Mason jars filled with glow lamps hung darted about the room, affording dim but cosy illumination to his surroundings. Beds made of fur, bear, wolf and otherwise, lined the skirt of the room, but were empty. Chests made of chitin were left half open, revealing clothes and other personal possessions belonging to him and his family. Exquisitely crafted bone items adorned the walls, from make-shift shrines, to figurines, to practical weapons like bows and swords. But where was his family? Where were his friends? 

The elf, who was now draped in light wolf furs, made his way towards the leather tarp which acted like a door to the natural tree burrow. Slowly, knot by knot, he released the small pieces of robe that held the stretched leather tightly to the tree, until it eventually flapped open and revealed the grove outside. His eyes widened, his mouth gaped, and his stomach began to twist and churn. Before him the Grove in which he called home was nothing more than a desolate graveyard. Smoke lingered on the air but did little to hide the dozens of charred corpses that littered the barren waste. Men and women, both young and old, had been put to the sword. It was only through the size and shapes of the bodies that the elf could recognise who the victims may have been, for any features they had were now melted away. The small of burning flesh was still strong and it would have been enough to bring tears to his eyes were they not already succumbing to grief. The elf turned around and went to retreat back into his home but the door was gone, and instead there laid a figure slumped against the great oak carrying a child. The elf found himself inching towards the body until he could see that it wore a locket that he recognised – a locket that he had made. 

Without warning the seared woman’s head shot up and unleashed an unholy scream, causing the Elf to freeze in shock [b]“Húrin! Húrinnnnn! You left me to die! You left your son to die! You left your whole family to die! Curse you!”[/b]

[b]“Yasmin? No… this isn’t real. You’re not her. We never had a child…”[/b] his words were little more than a quiver as he struggled to process the unnatural sight before him. He began stepping backwards with speed, but in his haste quickly caught his heel on a branch and found himself on the scorched earth. He looked up to see that whilst Yasmin was not giving chase the creature that she held in her arms was beginning to move. The baby (if it could be called that) was shrivelled and ashen black, with lines of small razor sharp teeth and blood filled eyes. It let out a sound even worse than its mother; a demented wail that pierced ones ears and could strike fear into any man’s heart. In frenzied movements the infant sprung free of its mothers grasps and began to crawl after it’s father. Húrin desperately scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the forest. His legs carried him as fast as they could, sending him whirling past innumerable trees but whenever he glanced over his should it seemed like the grove was no further away and the undead child grew ever closer. It was only mere feet away when the mysterious figure appeared. A silhouette of pure golden light, wielding a hammer too large for any mortal man, walked out from a tree and cut off Húrin in his stride. There was no time to react as the hammer struck him in the chest…

[indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent]

Húrin awoke from the nightmare breathless and coated in sweat. In panic he found himself rolling out of his bed and onto the wooden floor of the room he had rented. [b]“What in Y’ffre’s name was that?”[/b] he gasped to himself as he laid naked on the floor. He looked around himself and could tell that he was no longer dreaming; there was a clarity to the real world that could not be mimicked in one’s mind. The open window revealed that dawn was rising over the great forest, and Húrin was glad to see such a natural sight. 

[i][b]*KNOCK KNOCK*[/b][/i]

A knock at the door startled Húrin, but it was the abrupt entrance that followed that really made him squirm. [b]“Master Húrin, is everything all right?”[/b] asked the bust imperial tavern keeper as she made her way in. Her brown eyes quickly found their way to the exposed organs of her customer and she [i]eeped[/i] in response. [b]“Sorry! I just heard you making a commotion and thought I’d check in on you.”[/b] 

Húrin waited a good ten seconds for her to leave before opening his mouth. [b]“I’m fine thank you, just had some bad dreams. You can leave now.”[/b] tired of his privates being public, he began to quickly get dressed – starting with his briefs. 

[b]“Oh- Erm- Of course. It’s just…”[/b] The brunette, who was well into her fifties, pointed to his chest as she posed a query [b]“What is that peculiar [url=http://i1099.photobucket.com/albums/g385/fatboykyle/mark_zpsbyuicwji.png]mark on your chest[/url]? You’re not diseased are you?”[/b]