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He opened his eye and groaned, looking outside the flap of the tent. He didn't sleep in towns or cities these days. His appearence was haggard, rarely did he get a full night's rest; always waking in a cold sweat, clutching his hair. Almost every night, the same dream. The same image. A man, cloaked and hooded, coming at him with a dagger. Like always, he would try to run. Like always, the figure remained right behind. Then came the final moments of the portent, the blade, slowly extending from the arm of the shadowed figure, bursting into flames.
Like always, it was then he awoke.
Aldrect avoided towns and cities. There were too many people. Too many faces. Too many figures, and invariably too many that looked like the one in his dreams. Bumped. Was that him? Is he watching? Or is it a woman? Jostled. He's setting me up, no doubt this crowd is a cage for me. He would run, bursting from crowds that would get too close. Aldrect grew quieter, reserved. His eye that was once healing has stopped and grown weak. He needed his eyepatch now. Aldrect began to enjoy his solitude, even take comfort in it. He grew bored and restless when around people, even small groups. He slowly abandoned his notions of friends and any vestige of compassion.
His network closed around him, he grew fearful.
Every shadow was a thousand deaths. Every cave was a thousand more. He avoided the darkness, and yet at the same time took a certain satisfaction in it. He was safest when in solitude, and happiest when bathed in the reassuring ebony of the night. He developed new hobbies, reading, constantly. His single eye straining in the dimness of the candle and camp fires. He forms were important too, his martial training became far more important than it used to be, he practiced constantly. He began to dislike the day and it's revealing light, exposing him. In exposure he grew fearful. In fear, he became paranoid.
In paranoia, Aldrect grew insane.
Like always, it was then he awoke.
Aldrect avoided towns and cities. There were too many people. Too many faces. Too many figures, and invariably too many that looked like the one in his dreams. Bumped. Was that him? Is he watching? Or is it a woman? Jostled. He's setting me up, no doubt this crowd is a cage for me. He would run, bursting from crowds that would get too close. Aldrect grew quieter, reserved. His eye that was once healing has stopped and grown weak. He needed his eyepatch now. Aldrect began to enjoy his solitude, even take comfort in it. He grew bored and restless when around people, even small groups. He slowly abandoned his notions of friends and any vestige of compassion.
His network closed around him, he grew fearful.
Every shadow was a thousand deaths. Every cave was a thousand more. He avoided the darkness, and yet at the same time took a certain satisfaction in it. He was safest when in solitude, and happiest when bathed in the reassuring ebony of the night. He developed new hobbies, reading, constantly. His single eye straining in the dimness of the candle and camp fires. He forms were important too, his martial training became far more important than it used to be, he practiced constantly. He began to dislike the day and it's revealing light, exposing him. In exposure he grew fearful. In fear, he became paranoid.
In paranoia, Aldrect grew insane.