The voice crept into the back of Richard’s mind like an insidious shadow. “Take what is yours…” The puffing of billows and the clang of metal on metal stirred Richard. The blacksmith standing before him was barely a man grown. He had the resin of soot and ash to darken his skin and donned a heavy smith’s apron. He fixed his eyes on Richard and repeated himself, “that’s one-hundred gold, Sur. One-hundred gold fer the fix to the pommel an’ to straighten the dents in the breastplate.” “Take what is yours…” the rasp of a voice came to him again, louder. Richard took his armor and turned from the blacksmith and began to leave. “Sur… one-hundred gold coins…” the blacksmith insisted. An unusual feeling welled within Richard, starting in the pit of his stomach, radiating outward to the tips of his toes and fingers. It twisted him and he found himself gritting his teeth. A flash of red blinded his mind’s eye. No, it wasn’t just the color, there was a shape to it this time… a skull… Richard blinked. A stray sun beam temporarily blinded him as he looked up through the leaves at the pale blue sky. Looking around, he found himself on the road to the Britain mountain pass, though he did not recall how he got there. His horse was not with him, most likely still tied up at the stable. The voice in his mind subsided, for now at least. He didn’t understand it. It grew louder as the days went on. Richard became acutely aware of the smell of something coppery, or salty. His hands were caked in dark red, as was his tunic. It was dry, had been for some time by his estimation. “What do you want from me?” Richard asked aloud to nobody in particular, yet to a very specific audience. There was no reply. There never was. A muffled whisper of a voice caught his attention. It wasn’t inside his head this time. It came from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a rather comely woman with dark hair and neatly-sewn dress of plain cotton. She whispered, with a look of shock on her face, to a large, rugged man whose skin reminded Richard of the tanners in town. A farm-hand no doubt, judging by the imposing physique and vacuous look upon his face. Were they husband and wife? She reminded Richard of someone who knew long past… “Take what is yours…” the rasp echoed somewhere deep. Richard shook his head, clearing it, and stood. The shock on the woman’s face and the furrowed concern of the man led Richard to believe his appearance must be frightful indeed, with the copious dried blood and all. He noticed now that his hands were covered in bruises and cuts, as were his arms. He was acutely aware of a throbbing pain in his throat whenever he swallowed. No doubt he had abrasions elsewhere. The breeze against his face made him wince. It stung, as if his flesh was open to the air. The farmer said something back to the dark-haired woman, but Richard did not hear it. A thrumming in his ears prevented him. He could only see her. He heard the voice again and again, each time growing louder. “Take what is yours… TAKE WHAT IS YOURS!” It chanted. It felt like falling asleep in the cold. As Richard’s conscious mind faded, he felt the tiredness of breathing and the effort of each inhalation. Was he asleep now? The thrumming that was once in the back of his mind was now in the forefront. “Take what is yours…” Richard fell in a deep, red sleep. The kicking and clawing jostled him out of the redness. Richard eyes were bewildered and his teeth grinded to the point of chipping. The dark-haired woman thrashed at Richard’s arms. He was atop her, his hands squeezing her slender neck with all their strength. She clawed at his face and drops of crimson obscured his vision. His mouth tasted of copper and salt. He spat blood and teeth fragments as he brought one hand to her face and started gouging her eyes in return. It was then he became aware of the quick movement of someone behind him. Richard’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets. The farm-hand came at him with a spade and with one deft motion an echoing “CRACK” rang out and it was the last thing Richard heard before the voice faded, the red disappeared, and all was replaced by darkness. “Take what is yours…” somewhere deep in the darkness it came. Startled as if being shaken from a nightmare, Richard’s eyes popped open. He was in front of a pair of doors set into the mountains. How did he get here? His hands were nearly black with dried blood, dirt, and grime. But they were different… they were thinner than he remembered. His wrists were but protruding bone, the ligaments left hills and valleys in the skin. His mouth felt different. Most of his teeth were gone or broken. Indeed, his entire face felt strange. The voice compelled him forward. No, not a voice… a presence. The voice chanted in the background of his thoughts. Richard entered through the doors. The darkness that surrounded him was the first relief he felt for as long as he could remember. The cool, stagnant air caressed his cheek. There were denizens lurking in this dark with their eyes upon him. These creatures would otherwise attack and kill any intruder in their midst, but they did not attack Richard. One weak, desiccated foot in front of the other, Richard slowly made his way forward in the dark hall. His boots were gone, he noticed. His feet were black and he was missing several toes; some of the remaining ones were bent at unnatural angles, and much of the skin was torn. Before him Richard could make out the shape of an orb in the darkness. No, not an orb… He squinted and peered closer. A skull. “Take what is yours…”
we had a most harrowing encounter with a fellow very much matching the description of this poor soul. i shall have record of our event posted shortly.
I told you it had a bad case of "the voices". Seek the virtues.... there is still time. Trammel is coming.
Seconded and Thirded, and Finalized! @Telamon @Pegbyter Somebody check out the artwork on this thread! it's awesome
