[hr] [center][h1][color=92278f]Insomnia[/color][/h1][/center] [hr] [indent]It was unfortunate the anticipation for sleeping in a proper bed for the night resulted in one with uncleaned sheets. Still, the straw padding was pleasant, despite the smell of body odor and other human fluids left behind from previous tenants. She opened a window to let the air circulate, removed her weapons and clothes to the space on one side of the bed, then lying down it didn't take long to fall into a dream….[/indent] [indent][indent][i][b]…The dream started out as they always do. She was standing amid the ruins of her childhood home staring down at the dead glaze of her father’s eyes when something interrupted the moment. This grim moment was normally interrupted by something different each time, yet this time by a low, familiar reverberating growl. She raised her eyes to see what had caused the disturbance. In that instant the landscape had transformed into a barren wasteland of old, brittle bones stretched out far as the eye could see beneath a deep, crimson sky. On the sea of bones, not far from where she stood, sat an old decrepit dragon with its head hung low, eyes half shut as blackened blood dripped in slow motion from its serrated jaws. The old dragon had clearly endured burdensome ages of turmoil and violence, no longer sustaining the strength to carry on. It paid no mind to Devlin until she stepped closer. The sound of crushing bones beneath her feet echoed across the grim landscape, to which the beast merely lifted its weighted eyes in lax regard. “You return.” She called. Though she had audaciously lifted her voice with hard clarity, it was born as little more than a murmur, the strength of tone suppressed by the morbid thickness in the air. “I come to meet my fate.” The dragon replied, its graveled, vapid voice breaking through the atmosphere as he lowered his eyes to the bones at his feet. “You should depart this place…. Be it not enough you bring me to naught, that you must desecrate my ancestors beneath the tread of your feet?” “I was defending my life!” She said, recalling a day she had slain the dragon in the company of other warriors. “It was not you I sought – and was my blade alone the one to pierce your flesh? Why blame me for what I must do?” “You misunderstand. I am not what you think.” The dragon slowly raises its head, its eyes now beholding her with a vibrant, emerald green. “I am the last of my kind. You can not kill that that is already slain.” “Then make me understand!” She insisted, the fear of ignorance swelling in her chest. “Nay…” The dragon lowered his look once more. “I have taught you all I can…. but alas, take heed to my final words. The puppet master cannot be slain by cutting the strings of the puppet.” In the last of his words the dragons legs gave out beneath him. He crumbled, breaking into pieces, his flesh flaking as it dissolved into the air and leaving only its bones to join the remnants of his ancestors. It was then that Devlin realized his identity – but it was far too late. She attempted to cry out his name, to call him back from the binds of death, yet her voice did not come forth. Straining to so much as even make the slightest sound, she dropped to her knees in a flood of despair while thunder did clash and tears of blood began to rain from the crimson heavens –[/b][/i][/indent][/indent] [indent]“Mada!” Devlin cried out, her voice finally breaking free as she woke with a start. Seated on her bed she was cold with sweat. The cool breeze from the open window was like fingers of ice upon her skin. It took a moment to remember where she was and that the dream was but only a dream. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel that dream was much more, she had never before encountered Mada in her sleep, in the form of a dragon or otherwise. [i]Is he dead…?[/i] She wondered, turning eyes of dread toward the small segment of stars visible through the window. It wasn’t necessarily true, and she certainly didn’t want to believe it, that her only friend had died. It was so; Mada was old, even ancient in years, and he was also the last of his species, but such knowledge didn’t confirm a thing. After all, it was still just a dream, and very rarely could she say that her dreams were anything more than a jumbled mess of erratic and unreliable information. Yes, this particular dream had an unusual clarity to it, but the fact remained that the dream was grossly symbolic, and symbolism could be construed in a world of different ways. As she continued to sit, staring out at the stars, attempting to convince herself that the dream was no more than a random convergence of knowledge, a shimmer of light caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She looked to see the sword on her bed, the antiquated steel of its blade partially exposed and glowing an emerald green beneath the stack of her other weapons and clothing. It had never glowed before. The sword was a gift from Mada, presented to her on the day she departed his company and set out on this current journey. She watched it for a moment, holding her breath before - accompanied by a sense of relief and yet a lingering knot of anxiety - the green glow of its steel faded into the darkness. She dropped back on her bed, eyes open to the night textures of the ceiling, no longer knowing what to think. If he was dead… she had no way of knowing unless by returning to his cave to see. But no, She couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have wanted her to. She had her own path to find. Following what seemed like hours, but was more likely only a few drawn out minutes, it was clear the state of her troubled thoughts wouldn’t allow sleep again any time soon. Sitting up again on her bed, she considered returning downstairs for a stronger drink to tame her anxiety.[/indent]