Dreams of the Hunt

[Ceyrus Hawke]

((This is going to be where I post Daelus Bloodmoon's bio, it's going to be in a messed up order on purpose, as these are going to be dreams he's having of when he was younger, so bear with it, lads and lasses! ))
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"Is this the trail, Master Yaeger?" The boy's eager inquiry was answered with the back of a rough hand. "Blood and ashes! How many times must I tell ye, lad... Shut your mouth and use the bloody hand signs that I taught you..." While it wasn't the gentlest of reminders, Daelus knew the wizened tracker was correct. It was a cold comfort, as that did not stop the ringing in his head, or the sore burning of his cheek.

"Perhaps I should have just left you in the woods, to rot with your par-..." The old man cut himself off as he spots a mixture of blood and tears running down young Daelus' cheek. Collecting himself, Yaeger speaks, "Look lad... You say you want to avenge your parents' deaths, correct?" Daelus simply nods, seeing this Yaeger continues, "Well, I just want to give you the tools necessary to accomplish this task, and I want to make sure you get it right. I'm not going to waste my bloody time on some idjit who can't keep his trap shut, y'hear?"

"Yesh, Masht' Yaeguh..." The boy's cheek was swollen and red, and his speech was clearly slurred as a result. The woodsman frowned at this, wondering if the boy was really willing to commit to this hunt. "Lad, let's set up camp for the night... go fetch some wood for the f-"

Daelus woke with a start, his heart was racing and he was covered with a cold sweat. Like a madman, he tosses his cloak off of him and scrambles to his pack, hidden in the brush a few yards away. Tearing it open, he pulls out a sheaf of paper and a crude piece of charcoal. He heads back to where he lay and turns his back to the dying light of his fire. He then begins feverishly scrawling on the paper... I had a dream last night...

[Ceyrus Hawke]

Daelus stirred awake. He had another dream that night, of his youth. He remained laying for a few moments, trying to recollect what the dream had been about, his eyes resting on the faintly glowing embers of the dying fire next to him...

He remembered the day his parents died. It was the earliest memory he possessed, but something was odd. The faces of his parents were blurred. Their still bodies were unceremoniously dumped in the wagon they were traveling in. He remembered crawling out from under his mother's corpse, covered in her blood. He called to her, shook her. Nothing, no response. He looked to his father, his vision starting to blur as tears welled in his eyes.

"Papa!" Nothing. "Papa, wake up... please. What do I do?" The boy slumped over and sobbed into his mother's arm. The realization that there was nothing that could be done for his parents now dawned on him, he had to get out of this cart, find his way back to the road, find someone. After saying his goodbyes, Daelus climbed out of the cart. He found himself in a vast, dark forest. This place was foreign to the boy of nine years of age, but he had to press on. He shook like a leaf as he took his first few steps away from the wagon, then looked back.

A knot formed in his stomach so tight that it threatened to crush him if the boy moved further, but then it happened. A branch snapped in the distance! The boy bolted forward, abandoning all that he had known, all that he could remember. No matter how fast he ran, whatever was behind him seemed to be gaining on him. He could have sworn he saw a clearing in the forest just a bit ahead, he could make out some figures in the distance. The thought of being rescued from whatever was behind him gave him hope, gave him the energy to drive on... Just a bit further, he thought, I can make it, please let me make it.

Whatever was behind him was close on his heels now, Daelus tried calling out, but it was probably still too far for those figures to hear. Whatever was behind him had tried snatching the collar of his shirt. Daelus turned his head for a brief moment to see what was chasing him, and that sealed his fate. Missing a step, Daelus crashed to the ground, and the figure, dark and looming came crashing down on top of him. His world went black...

Back in the present now, Daelus shook his head and blinked his eyes rapidly, the image of the embers burned in his sight. He rubbed his face and gave a few minutes for his head to clear before sitting up. He made his way to where his pack was concealed and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Sunlight shone through the canopy of trees where he was, and he made use of it. Sitting in a well lit area, he began to scrawl on a blank sheet... I have forgotten what my mother and father look like, so I write now, to preserve what I know...

[Ceyrus Hawke]

He heard the scream, then nothing. Stooping low to hide his profile in the underbrush of the forest, Daelus, now an experienced tracker, made his way to the source of the noise. He knew Yaeger told him to remain in the cabin on this night, but Dae had an unshakable feeling when his mentor didn't return before dusk. Careful not to disturb the branches of the brush around him, Daelus crawled low in the dirt, brushing aside any branches or dry leaves near him quietly, to prevent making too much noise.

I could have swore I heard it coming from this direction, he thought to himself as he slowly inched along. As an afterthought, he drew his dagger and quietly spit on it, then threw dirt on it, to conceal the gleam of the blade. Just in case... I do hope I don't have to use it though. It took him a minute to reach the source of the scream, a woman slumped back against a tree. Daelus carefully scanned his surroundings, his ears and eyes trained to pick out subtle nuances that did not belong in the forest.

Satisfied that he was not at risk of being discovered, Daelus made his way to the woman, who seemed to be drawing sharp, ragged breaths and painful ones at that, based on the look of her face. In the failing light, Daelus could make out a puddle of blood, oozing from under the woman. He closed the gap between himself and her with several strides, and looked to her face. Unconscious, he thought. He turned her to the side to check for the source of the wound. A clean puncture was in the woman's back, Dae's eyes went wide with horror as he realized that he knew the nature of this wound.

The wound was a trademark of his mentor, Yaeger. He saw it used many a time, as the wizened tracker would sneak up on his prey (More often than not an Orc) and plant a stiletto into it's lung. The wound would cause the lung to fill the chest cavity with air and the victim would suffer a slow, painful death to be sure. Daelus went numb with the realization that there was nothing he could do to save the woman, so he steeled himself and prepared to do the only thing he could do.

So much blood, he thought as he lay the woman on her back. He took several sharp breaths, then lifted his dagger high in the air, his aim to strike her heart. The woman's eyes fluttered open at this time and she caught sight of him, crouched over her, poised to strike. He shut his eyes tight and yelled out as he brought the dagger down, "Forgive..."

"... me!" Daelus cried out, waking himself from his nightmare. He was visibly shaken and his clammy skin shone pale in the moonlight. Waiting for his nerves to settle, Daelus lay there with thoughts racing in his mind. Wasn't living through it once enough? Daelus felt a wave of nausea pass over himself and he rolled to his side. It was probably just in his mind, but the earth beneath him seemed harder than when he initially laid down.

The nausea settled and all that was left was what Daelus expected to remain, self-loathing. He had never gotten over what he had done, and did not feel that he would. He rolled to his stomach and brought himself to a crouch. Standing up fully then, he made his way to the brush where he customarily hid his pack, and pulled out a familiar pile of papers. His memoirs, as some would call them. Settling himself down in front of the long dead fire, he plucked out a cold piece of charred wood. Using the pale light of the moon, Daelus scrawled on the paper, as he customarily did after such dreams... Answers and absolution are what I seek, and only when I find Yaeger do I feel they will be mine...

[Ceyrus Hawke]

Daelus stumbled into his camp, his knees weak. He clearly recalls the words Taetic spoke to him, "Often we watch those marked in their last moments as life fades from their eyes." Yaeger was a follower of Malar, much as Taetic was. So he was probably watching that day... For every question answered, dozens more sprung to mind.

Daelus' face paled and his vision blurred. I couldn't help it, she was suffering. Finishing her quick was perhaps the best way to ease her pain. The day was still vivid in his mind. The woman, he later found out, was a priestess of Helm, whom Taetic also claimed would have been marked for death by Malar. How could the man I looked up to have done this? Why didn't I see it before it was too late...

Distracted by his thoughts for a moment, Daelus thought he heard a growl. His head whipped around and he scanned the area until he realized it was coming from him. He laughed out loud as he thought to himself, so a beast is what I've become, stalking his trail... waiting for the moment to waylay him and tear out his throat. Very well old man, then I'll become the wolf that stalks the hunter, and at the end of this journey I'll crush your throat in my jaws.

Seeking out his pack in the brush again, Daelus sneered as he pulled out a familiar stack of papers, and in a fashion he had grown accustomed to, he began scrawling his words on it. My path is set, I know now what I must do, I can only hope that this trail I follow does not lead me to lose myself...

[Ceyrus Hawke]

It had felt like ages since Daelus last set foot in the valley, though it had only been less than a year. Easily finding his way to his old encampment, he notes that aside from the wild growth of weeds and brush, not much had changed.

Clearing away the debris, Daelus soon had his simple encampment back in serviceable shape, a copse of bushes serving as an adequate shelter from the rain, a fallen log for a seat, and a ring of stones for his fire. Sighing, he remembered what else remain in his old camp. His journal, which he left when he fled the valley to forget himself.

He grimaced as he made his way to the large stone that pinned his burden to the earth. 'Tch, I wonder which weighs more.' he said, musing to himself.. Grimacing, he set his shoulder firmly against the stone and braced his feet and grunted as he tried moving the stone. No matter how hard he strained, however, it would not budge. 'Okay... okay... The stone weighs more. Bah... bloody Athkatlan poets got me all bloody flighty with these thrice damned thoughts of mine.'

He groans and slaps his forehead as he comes to a realization, with all of the rain and wind in the valley, the stone likely became lodged further in the earth... After an hour of scraping and gouging, he finally loosened the stone enough to move it with ease, yet his heart sank as he saw it. His journal of his dreams.

Hours later, sitting at a fire, he read the journal, shaking his head at the passages, scrawled in a hasty, mad script. 'Worthless,' he casually tossed it into the fire, a sad expression on his face, 'I've no need for dreams or nightmares anymore. That man will soon be gone.' He spent the rest of the night looking deep into the flames, silver flask in hand.