[center][h2]Pointy-eared Dreams[/h2][/center] -1- He awoke with a start. His heart beat in his chest, his stomach rumbled angrily, and his head felt like it was being pounded by the waterfalls behind Allara’s hut. “Who… Am I?” He asked the air breathlessly. The taste of warm iron. The gentle breeze caused by a butterfly’s flight. The weightlessness of clouds and the sense of finally arriving where one was meant to be… Julles groaned, holding his temples as if doing so was any help in attempting to avoid his head splitting apart. He shakily got off his bed (made out of dead grass and full of dead insects) and out of his hut, taking in a deep breath of the fresh, non-smoke filled air of the wide outdoors. A desire to run free, to seek new things and to meet and talk to new people washed over him. It was unlike him. It made him a little bit sick to his stomach. Julles hobbled over to the creek that passed by his hut and drank some of the crystalline spring water. The grinding feeling of earth forcing its way into his veins, tying him to the world’s roots. The desire to uphold tradition and punish anyone who broke it… Plus the impulse to break those traditions and see them and the world bathed in beautiful flames, all swirled inside his heart, which felt heavy with the shadows of the forest and as murky as an abyss. And yet… It all came back to the flames. It was always the flames. Julles closed his eyes tightly and scratched his face so hard he drew blood. That blood dripped freely into the creek, dissolving, flowing… Up? He had to raise an eyebrow at that and follow its trajectory, taking his sight off of his reflection in the water. Blood had never flowed upstream, had it? Yet this time it did, and it flowed for a good few feet until it went down and into the muddy and rocky bed of the creek. A pulse of warmth emanated from that spot, and Julles had to do a double take as he saw an old skeleton, almost completely hidden from view by the overgrown grass and mud that had come to cover most of its bones. Its arm, broken, reached towards the creek and right at the bloodsucking spot, which continued to draw in every single one of the drops of his blood that fell into the water. He felt cold sweat run down his spine. His jaw and arms shook as if he was freezing, despite it being midsummer. As he knelt into the crystalline water and dug into the ground with his bare hands, he felt a sharp pain in his left hand and winced. It was bleeding, but it wasn’t a normal injury – Instead, the blood flowed too fast and too precisely. Again, it went down into the muddy depths, but this time the ground shook a little, then a bit more, until [i]something[/i] shot out from the mud and into his hand. A bow, too beautiful and too solid to have been made by elf hands. It was a pure, unadulterated black with streaks of liquid red flowing along its length. Its drawstring was red and warm, and in the back of his head, Julles could hear its heartbeat, synced to his. He looked between the bow that had just forced itself into his grasp and the skeleton. Whoever had owned the thing before died while reaching, desperately, for it. Julles nodded his head at his now-predecessor, and rushed back to his hut. [hider=Summary] A dark elf called Julles wakes up after dreaming of his fate once again. He goes to the creek right outside his hut and nearly scratches his own face off, then notices that the blood he’s dripping into the creek is flowing upstream. He follows the blood and finds and obtains the Sanguine Bow. [/hider]