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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Aust Thale" data-source="post: 7052452" data-attributes="member: 6804768">Vale Dreams of the DeadVale dreams...~ Able...Able?....ABLE?!  Where ARE you?  I can't see you, Able.  Yes, yes.  I hear you, Able!  No, I can not see you.  Don't move.  Just keep speaking, and I shall come to you. ~His dark-vision sees the absence of warmth.  Moving.  Stirring.  The undead.  What kind?  ~ ABLE, RUN! ~  Vale gives chase, swinging his axe wildly in the dark.  The shapes make way and he bust into a firelight chamber, shadows from torches flicker on the rock.  ~ RUN!!?? ~The chamber door disappears behind him into the rock.  He hears a muffled scream at the end of the room from a large box standing upright, big enough to hold a tall human.  ~ ABLE? ~Vale whimpers and begins toward the box.  His feet drag as if through mud.  The box shakes.  He hears another muffled scream...then a gurgle...and then the sucking sounds.  And then, almost as quickly, he hears the last vestiges of life slump against the inside of the box.  Then he sees the hand...or more aptly, the claw, gripping the top of the box.  Dumbstruck, he can not speak.  It's fingers are long pale white talons, attached to a long, skinny arm with the tattered remnants of a jersey or blouse.  Then the long, grey hair, waving like feathers atop the edge of the large box, a black pit with two bright red eyes for a face, rising out of the box.  Long and skinny and unholy pale, Vale is frozen in fear.  He looks down in his hands to see his axe, and draws comfort.  His hands look like a child's hands.  Smooth and young, even for a dwarf.  They grip the axe as the skinny devil comes out of the box, landing on their feat.  The dark face recedes quickly into a twisted mesh of jagged teeth.  Rows of fangs drip fresh blood, dark and wet and messy on the face and chin, dripping down the dead thing's neck and chest. ~ Is that a smile on your face?  Are you laughing? ~Vale cursed, but he did not hear his own words.  Only the heavy rasp of the thing in front of him heaving breaths, steam rising from each breath such that Vale realized he was freezing cold.  The thing looked back at him curiously and gestured for him to come closer.  Mocking him.  He looked back down at his axe, a bright blue hue eerily illuminating the front of him, fighting for control of the light with the torches, now burning out one by one.  He looked back up.  The dead thing had moved?  Or had it?  It was closer, but he didn't see it move.  It pointed at him and crouched, placing it's index finger and thumb together at its mouth.  It coughed, and it pulled something from its mouth.  It tossed the object at Vale's feet.  Vale didn't have to pick it up.  It was suddenly in his hand.It was a heart.  Able's heart.  Without a word, rage and horror compelling Vale...he ran at the thing with axe in hand, cleave it's head from its shoulders in a single stroke.  He continued to hack at the thing with the axe until the blue light faded from the axe.  Covered in wet, thick, viscous blood, in his hair, on his face, his hands, in his mouth, he hacked at the box until an opening appeared.  He was crying and devastated and angry, as he frantically searched against hope for his friend.  He found a body of a dwarf.  He dragged it to the light to see...~ Behold, my friend is de...~He wrenched the last surviving torch from the wall and held it where he could see.  He saw...himself.  Desiccated and bloodless with deep gashes, but himself nonetheless.  In shock, he turned back to the hacked mess of death a few feet over.  He put the torch close.  ~ Able... oh no. ABLE!!! ~He looked back at the axe.  It was glowing blue again.  More were coming.  He shook himself awake, confused, in a cold sweat, his blanket drenched.  He jumped from bed and went to his washbowl.  He noticed a light, perhaps from outside?  He saw his batteaxe.  It was glowing blue.  He heard the gurgle and scratching at his door.  Turning, he saw Gus, flayed open in an open doorway, a pale white hand with long talons petting what remained of Gus' head.   And he awoke from his slumber with a startled snort.  He heard birds chirping.  It was early morning, perhaps 5am.  He could smell the cooking in the Inn.  The innkeeper had delivered his laundry during the evening.  He sat up and put his feet on the cold floor, his gout painfully rejecting his intent to rise.  He rubbed his feet and looked at Gus asleep.  He looked at his axe and the new mace in the corner with his armor and vestments.  He collected himself, dressed, had a quick breakfast, and walked with Gus at his side to the Dwarven Temple.  There, he prayed for an hour, restoring his spells for the day and then, taking his silver holy symbol, placed it into the axe head, praying for a half hour for guidance and fealty to this weapon.  Perhaps it was time.  He would name the weapon Able.  A good name.  He hoped the axe liked it.  It ought to; its namesake was once the best of brothers, until Vale killed him.  Or what was left of him anyway.~ ABLE.  I miss you, brother. ~</blockquote>

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