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A Nightmare
A Nightmare.
The wolves were running again. He could hear them panting in the darkness. He raced through the forest and the night trying to outpace them. The trees seemed to throw themselves in front of him to slow his progress. Leafless branches reached for him and he crashed on.
Behind the wolves he could sense another presence, something evil. It felt as if menacing eyes were following his flight. A cold chill took hold of his heart. With every heartbeat the wolves were getting closer. There was nothing he could do to escape.
And then, in time with his pounding pulse, he heard the beating of wings. Strong, slow gusts of frigid air caressed his body. With every beat he could feel their power increasing.
Great black wings closed around him, their leathery warmth shrouding him from the numbing darkness. The sickly sweet smell of blood filled his nostrils. He could not help but breath in great lungfuls of the air. The wings enclosed him totally, almost suffocating him. Even through the darkness he could see red veins pulsing.
Blood flowed in the endless night. It surrounded him, rising even higher. Or was he who was sinking deeper?
Then he was drowning. He gasped for air but instead the hot life-fluid poured into his parched throat, its viscous sweetness cloying in his mouth. He could not help but swallow. As he did so his senses were flooded with feelings of darkest ecstasy.
Suddenly he was running again. Branches whipped across his face. Sharp twigs, like a crone's fingernails, tore his skin. But he could no longer hear the wolves behind him. He suddenly burst free of the tangled wood and stopped. A menacing shadow loomed up tall out of the darkness. He was standing at the foot of a grey, stone tower. Against the pall of night, small black shapes flittered around its ruined turrets.
And then he was flying with the bats. His wings beat against the night as he circled the tower in a jerky spiral. Beneath him the crumbling walls tapered as they stretched towards the ground. The moon hung waning in the sky, seemingly only wing-beats away. Its chill light illuminated an arched window near the top of the tower, and, from within the opening a figure was watching him. Cruel eyes stared out of the face as cold and white as the moon. Their gaze seemed to pierce his soul. And he recognised the face. It was a face that had haunted his dreams for an eternity. It was his own.
Something stirred him, like a voice calling him back to somewhere he once knew. In the all-encompassing darkness he felt himself floating upwards. It was as if he was rising from the dark scarlet depths of an ocean. Around him lapping crimson light beckoned.
He could see things beyond the walls. It was as cold as the grave but he could feel warmth of living bodies close by.
He could hear the beating of their warm hearts. He could smell the sweet blood in their veins, hear it pumping through their arteries, taste it in his mouth.
And he knew what it was to hunger again.
The wolves were running again. He could hear them panting in the darkness. He raced through the forest and the night trying to outpace them. The trees seemed to throw themselves in front of him to slow his progress. Leafless branches reached for him and he crashed on.
Behind the wolves he could sense another presence, something evil. It felt as if menacing eyes were following his flight. A cold chill took hold of his heart. With every heartbeat the wolves were getting closer. There was nothing he could do to escape.
And then, in time with his pounding pulse, he heard the beating of wings. Strong, slow gusts of frigid air caressed his body. With every beat he could feel their power increasing.
Great black wings closed around him, their leathery warmth shrouding him from the numbing darkness. The sickly sweet smell of blood filled his nostrils. He could not help but breath in great lungfuls of the air. The wings enclosed him totally, almost suffocating him. Even through the darkness he could see red veins pulsing.
Blood flowed in the endless night. It surrounded him, rising even higher. Or was he who was sinking deeper?
Then he was drowning. He gasped for air but instead the hot life-fluid poured into his parched throat, its viscous sweetness cloying in his mouth. He could not help but swallow. As he did so his senses were flooded with feelings of darkest ecstasy.
Suddenly he was running again. Branches whipped across his face. Sharp twigs, like a crone's fingernails, tore his skin. But he could no longer hear the wolves behind him. He suddenly burst free of the tangled wood and stopped. A menacing shadow loomed up tall out of the darkness. He was standing at the foot of a grey, stone tower. Against the pall of night, small black shapes flittered around its ruined turrets.
And then he was flying with the bats. His wings beat against the night as he circled the tower in a jerky spiral. Beneath him the crumbling walls tapered as they stretched towards the ground. The moon hung waning in the sky, seemingly only wing-beats away. Its chill light illuminated an arched window near the top of the tower, and, from within the opening a figure was watching him. Cruel eyes stared out of the face as cold and white as the moon. Their gaze seemed to pierce his soul. And he recognised the face. It was a face that had haunted his dreams for an eternity. It was his own.
Something stirred him, like a voice calling him back to somewhere he once knew. In the all-encompassing darkness he felt himself floating upwards. It was as if he was rising from the dark scarlet depths of an ocean. Around him lapping crimson light beckoned.
He could see things beyond the walls. It was as cold as the grave but he could feel warmth of living bodies close by.
He could hear the beating of their warm hearts. He could smell the sweet blood in their veins, hear it pumping through their arteries, taste it in his mouth.
And he knew what it was to hunger again.
OMG! You surface racists, drow are people too.