Angir was walking slowly down a large stone corridor, the stones themselves that surrounded him appeared to be ancient, once covered in what looked like intricate carvings which had now mostly been worn away by the sands of time. Piles of sand rested against the edges of the tunnels and a slight breeze caused grains to shift from pile to pile in an eerie and ghostlike fashion. He called out to see if anyone was there, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice, only the sounds of the wind as it whistled up the corridor. As he came towards the end where the corridor opened out into a surprisingly huge room that went as far as he could see into the darkness and beyond, he realised that he was not alone in the strange complex. Some strange and alien presence was watching over him silently, its intentions all but unknown to him. He started running through the large room until suddenly he reached the other end of the room. On the wall before him there was a large ornate seal that was broken, a dark hole behind it which made him shiver just to look at. There were five symbols all around the seal, each of them complex and seemingly infinite to his eyes, at least all of them were aside for the fifth seal. That seal somehow drew his eyes towards it and he hesitated briefly for a moment before he reached out with his hand and brushed the surface of it lightly. The instant that he did so a surreal voice whispered within his head a single word “Animus”. --- Suddenly Angir jolted awaked painfully, again covered in a cold sweat with the memories of the dream rushing away from him as he did. He quickly remembered everything that had happened and where he was, the numerous aches and pains in his body reminding him of that. His wrists hurt terribly, the manacles digging into his flesh and rubbing whenever he moved. He was surrounded by darkness and had no idea where he was or how long he had slept for, let alone what was happening. His head still throbbed painfully and he found it very hard to concentrate, otherwise he would have attempted some type of magic to free himself or at the very least illuminate his surroundings. The fact that he wasn’t moving or being jostled around at all indicated to him that he wasn’t still be moved in the wagon, so providing the guards were taking him to providence as he’d guessed they would then he must have been unconscious for at least two days if not more – based on the location of his father’s estates which lay just to the west of Duskwood – that or they weren’t entirely there yet. How long he lay uncomfortably in the pitch black dark he didn’t know, but suddenly and without warning light surrounded him and blinded him, pouring in from what he could now tell was a wooden trapdoor above him. Unfortunately for him the next thing he saw was the sneering face of a kingsguard before a mailed fist smashed into his face and caused his vision to blur away once more. --- Groaning as he came to again Angir tensed in case he was struck once more, but as nothing happened he slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was again in the wagon that he had been thrown in when he had first been captured and it was again moving down a painfully bumpy road. He could clearly see the capital on the road ahead, sprawling out over the countryside as far as he could see. He was hungry and thirsty, his mouth dry as a desert and his head still pounding like he was dying. “Water…” he begged faintly, the lack of moisture in his mouth casing the words to come out as little more than a raspy noise. Trying to clear his throat he repeated the plea several more times, the only guards who heard him did little more than chuckle at him and ignore him, some even poking fun at him amongst themselves. He soon lost interest in asking the men for anything and instead stared at the dirty road behind them, wishing that somehow he could be free and in the kitchen back home before this whole thing happened. Exhausted and disheartened Angir resisted the urge to cry, not that he would have been able to even if he wanted he was so dehydrated. Instead he focused upon his anger and his hate for what had happened, his mind focusing on the King and his personal guard, vowing over and over in his mind that if he could he would kill each and every one of them before he died. Suddenly his attention was brought forwards as several of the men around his cage started shouting and talking loudly amongst themselves. The road ahead of them was slick with gore and blood, several dead men and horses laid aside the road next to an abandoned wagon. One of the city’s guard was stood beside it, and the commander who had killed his father strode out to speak with him. From his position Angir couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was clear the guardsman wasn’t happy at having to stand guard over the mess before it was cleaned away. As his own captors continued through the mess he stared at what was left, curiosity overpowering his exhaustion. The horses that had drawn the carriage were horrifically mutilated and disfigured, their bodies cut into several pieces and strewn across the road and surrounding area. The men he could see were no better, catching the sight of one who appeared to have had his chest ripped into, another who seemed to have been sucked dry of any moisture at all. It took Angir only a moment to realise this was powerful magic, the kind of powerful magic that he had been interested in. The kind of magic that was forbidden to men, and as far as he knew the kind that had not been seen in the kingdom of man for countless years. As the wagon moved away from the macabre scene he squinted at the road behind, sure for a moment that the various blood and gore was arranged in such a fashion so that it read ‘HaHaHa’, but he dismissed the thought realising that he was likely just delirious from the lack of sustenance.