The repetition of a hammer striking an anvil was almost like a second heartbeat to Quoben Lorearthen, as the smith hammered mindlessly. Despite the forge beside him being lit, he still found himself oddly surrounded by darkness. Sweat began to bead on him. This kind of sweat, however, was not that naturally caused from the physical labor of smithing. Rather, it was caused by a mysterious sense of dread that seemed to surround him. He'd been in this place before, he realized, and he knew the outcome of what was to come next. It was a memory that replayed in his mind infrequently, warped by a perceived threat from the present. Three sharp raps upon his door caught his attention, over the din of his own work. Quietly setting down his hammer, he approached the door to his abode, his hands shaking. How had they found him? Wait a moment, who were they? Why did he bear this horrible sensation in his stomach that threatened to shatter his state of relative normalcy? Each step upon the wooden floor tainted by his own dread was like a gong, telling the dwarf his time had come. Before opening the door, he knew who it was already. Several figures cloaked in darkness stood at his doorstep, one taking a menacing step forward as he forced himself into the dwarf's house. The imposing man stood significantly taller than the dwarf, and while the dwarf was not one to be easily disarmed by such size alone, his body seemed to grow, the forge and any sense of safety drifting into the darkness of his own mind. The debt he had accrued while drinking on one particular outing to the city was hefty, and came with an additional heavy cost that even he could not imagine; these hounds, who violated the memory of this one ceremonious time, had been hired to pressure Quoben to pay his debt. "N-No!" He gasped, watching as several more figures spilled in behind the first. "I-I-" His frantic pleas were cut off as all of the shadows drew weapons, before a rain of blows beat down upon the dwarf, shredding his body with horrendous wounds that almost felt as if they were more than just figments created by his frightened mind. It wasn't until one of the figures raised a bloodied spiked mace and, in an almost merciful manner, sent it crashing down towards the dwarf's face, that he felt his mind jolt back to life. With a gasp, the dwarf shot up, panic in his eyes. His palms turned to face his gaze as he stared at them, almost daunted by the sudden shift. He knew that he was no longer in that horrifying dream that he had found himself locked in so many times, but that only raised his next question... Where was he? He brushed the dirt off of his hands and took a quiet glance around, his gaze catching onto the many oddities of the town, before finally resting curiously on the two children, as he groggily approached.