At first, his mind was too exhausted to dream. His body was feverish, his breathing ragged and occasionally twitching as it fought to stem off the poison. Yet that had only been part of the puzzle, which luckily Kelovas Dawnthief had soon uncovered. What had been injected into his system was not only designed to kill, but also to react with a variety of specific chemicals. One in particular had been used in the Hospice gas attack, which still had traces within Farwyn's system a day after.
The reality of the situation was that Farwyn should have been dead. If he wasn't already, he had knocked on death's door several times and given the Hospice more than a few extra headaches. The warrior would never realize it nor perhaps would anyone else, but if she hadn't insisted he be treated the day before battle and hadn't given him means to help purge some of the toxins from his system, the reaction would have been too severe.
Ironically, in a world where he had been determined to protect them and especially her, Faith had saved his life. Not once, but twice. A fact that neither of them would likely ever know.
Eventually, as candies, a small tidbit sandwich, an apple and a cupcake blanket gathered on his form, his tired body drifted into an almost delirious dreaming state. It was a strange mix between being awake and dreaming of memories, bringing the warrior some semblance of realization but not enough to truly know anything.
At first, it was just darkness. He could feel a maddening sensation of something gnawing away at his insides, burning. It started as a quiet pain that grew, bubbling up until it was all but roaring through him. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to really think. It hurt to simply exist. He would try to move, to fight the darkness, to open his eyes- anything to no avail. Then when it hit the point that the concept of death didn't seem all that bad, a cooling sensation struck him. Was it on his head? He wasn't sure, but it was always the same. He would feel something cool rest upon him, followed by a soft squeeze, a shifting sensation and then he would drift off again.
He opened his eyes to find himself in a familiar room. It smelled just as he remembered- of freshly baked bread, cinnamon spices and a brief waft of vanilla. He was laying on a small white couch of embroidered green and silver tree designs with a quaint dark wooded coffee table just within arm's reach. It was a sitting room off in the corner of his home, closed off from everything else to provide solidarity. It was decorated in a familiar way though, not of his own design but from the past. The large flowered vase in the corner of the room, the bookcase displaying an actual book collection and paintings upon the walls- all of it had been destroyed, but seeing it now didn't seem out of place. He was simply home.
“You idiot... you're giving a lot of people a scare, you know. I thought that was supposed to be my job?” The familiar voice of his brother, Ashalon, reached his ears but it sounded distant. Farwyn grunted as he sat up, idly rubbing his forehead before glancing around.
“You better hang in there. Otherwise I'm going to have to do all the work. Wouldn't that just piss you off?”
Farwyn squinted, disgruntled that he couldn't see his brother despite being sure he had heard his voice. It sounded farther away though and after a few minutes, he couldn't hear anything else. Odd. He contemplated leaving the small room, but the thought of standing up was too tiring. The couch was so comfortable, he could almost feel himself gravitating back to lay down. Fel, he was so tired. What had he done that day? He couldn't remember.
“He's not going to get ded, is he?” Another familiar voice echoed around him, making Farwyn sit up straight again at attention. He wildly looked around.
“Little Miss? Little Miss Talyia?”
Again, there was no answer, although he swore he heard the distant voice again, but it was beyond making out with words now. It sounded tearful. Sad. Yet if it wasn't Talyia, then who could it be? He half expected the doorway to open and the bright, rosy-cheeked girl to come bustling in all knees and elbows. She'd likely have her hair up in a mismatched braid, always trying to do it the way she wanted rather then letting anyone else help her. “Mis'er Far! Mis'er Far! I did it allsby myself!”
“It can't be Talyia.” Farwyn found himself mumbling, raising a rough hand to rub his chin. He wasn't sure why it couldn't be her- he just simply knew.
“... Calastea?” He mumbled, knitting his brow in confusion. Who's name was that? Why did it come to mind? He raised a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead, still wracking his brain when a voice split the otherwise quiet air.
His heart stopped immediately. Slowly he dragged his hand downwards, little by little revealing the lithe figure of a woman leaning against the door. His stomach lurched with a pang of longing, grief and revulsion. Her blue eyes twinkled with an inner fire as she blatantly eyed him up, a smirk forming upon her berried lips. Alhana was a creature of wild beauty. Her dark cherry brown hair hung in curls to her shoulders, a few tresses framing her heart-shaped face. She always managed to lean herself in a way that drew attention to the subtle curve of her hips and muscular, long legs. It didn't help that she was dressed in leather armor, most of it practical although she could constantly find a loophole to add her own provocative flair. It just gave more suggestion to what lay beneath the dark garb she wore, other than more of her sun-kissed skin.
“Are you just going to gawk at me or are you going to say something?” She nearly purred before her eyes crinkled with laughter. She gestured towards him with a pointed finger, beckoning him.
“Alhana... what...” Farwyn tried to get himself to stand, but again he felt too fatigued. His legs didn't want to move and confusion hit him. Why couldn't he get off the couch? He wanted to. By the Sun, he wanted to get off of that couch and either punch Alhana or kiss her- he wasn't sure which yet.
“Aww. You really do love me, don't you? Yet even that can't get you out of that chair, huh? Too bad. Although, to be fair it wouldn't end well anyway. I mean, we tried this thing before and in the end I went to Ash, right?”
Farwyn grimaced, a sudden pain blossoming in his chest. The words stung and what was infuriating was that she knew it. Had they really fallen so low that she would speak to him that way? He kept his eyes on her though, refusing to blink or look away. He feared she'd disappear, again, unsure why that would be the case. She was a great Farstrider, but she wasn't a ghost.
“Actually, I am. Sort of.” Alhana shifted slightly, a hand absently going to a thin golden necklace around her neck. She toyed with it, making the charm on the end wiggle in interesting ways towards her chest. “You're not awake.”
“What?” He tried to move his arms, but now they wouldn't budge either. Again, he felt a short pain, this time near his throat.
“This here? This room? It's all just in here.” She raised a hand to tap her forehead, smile never wavering.
“No.” Farwyn spoke before he even registered what he was saying, his voice dropping into a lower tone. His teeth ground together a bit, nervous apprehension fluttering in his stomach. He didn't want her to talk anymore.
“You can't deny it. I know what you're thinking. Talyia? She's dead.”
“Shut up!” Farwyn snapped, looking at her sharply. A gaze that would make most men hesitate, only served to make Alhana laugh.
“I'm dead too! You sorta dropped the ball there. That's your fault. Just like how Little Miss is gone. And everyone else. If only you had done what they wanted instead of being selfish.”
“You think playing the dutiful soldier now is going to change anything? You think being loyal and pushing yourself is going to erase what you did? What you failed to do? Please.”
Farwyn grit his teeth, the low growl in his chest remaining. Each word felt like another blistering wound being reopened. He couldn't even look at her and found himself staring at the distant wall. What was there to say? Everything she said, real or not, was true.
“At least now you got one thing right.”
The walls, the ceiling, even the couch Farwyn was sitting upon suddenly melted away. It was like watching a painting melt in front of his eyes- all of the colors mixed and dripped together, until a massive disgusting puddle of mottled hues pooled on the ground.
“You really don't deserve anything.”
The sun turned black and the sky flooded with a deep, glowing crimson hue. The trees began to shrivel and decay and the entire forest surrounding him started to expand, as if surging towards Farwyn himself. Dark, distant overlapping shapes began to swarm from the depths of the forest with flashes of metal, gruesome smiles and haunting, inhuman cries.
Elven screams filled the air.
The sickening sound of cracking bones. Of wetly parted flesh. Blood rain. Pitiful moans and panicked pleading that always, always ended in a garbled wail.
Farwyn stood in the middle of it all, collapsed to his knees. His body refused to move and his eyes fixated on the oncoming darkness, wondering if soon he too would be apart of the pitiful mountain of death. He had seen a scene like this before, although he wasn't sure where. A part of him felt desperate, especially as agonizing pain started to crack over his body. Yet the remaining part of him was glad for the pain, digging deeper into the cutting words that Alhana had vanished altogether with.
Another scream split the air, one that didn't seem quite right, but all the same he recognized it. Miss Kylareth. Eventually, he knew he'd hear more. Once the undead arrived, then he would recognize every single cry.
Wait. That's not right. Kylareth? She's not here. She was never here. She's safe in House Runeweaver. Why is she screaming?
Farwyn blinked, a sluggish epiphany hitting him. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. Little Miss Calastea- he had heard her voice too, something about dead. Was someone dying? Was there another attack? The Hospice! He remembered being in the Hospice. It was spinning. Dizzy. Faith was there. She had to get the box. He knew he'd regret everything if he didn't at least give her that. What... but then what?
I need to get up. I need to get back. I need to get out of here.
One more scream, but this time Farwyn wasn't certain if it was from his horrifying memory or if it was something else again. Was that another one from the exuberant mage? Nal? Was it another House member? Why could he hear them?!
Farwyn struggled. He focused on his arms and legs, trying to get them to move. They still wouldn't budge and the more he concentrated, the fiercer the pain gnawed at his body. He pushed the nauseating sensation away. He didn't care. He yelled against the pain, utilizing his stubborn will alone to force his arm to move and suddenly the world around him erupted into a blinding, agonizing light.
However for a single moment, he thought he had felt something at his fingertips, almost grasping at something familiar and inviting. As soon as he thought he had it in his grip though, numbness knifed through his arm and the world reeled back to fuzzy darkness and fevered dreams.
He mumbled mournfully, falling back into unconsciousness.
“I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.”
