After first feeling, sensing what parameters he might obtain about his particular predicament, Grayell sighed and rolled his head back. Dream visitations by grand wolf deities was one thing, but this he wasn't thrilled with. Ever averse to magic and still, grown to be superstitious and a believer in the old tales, Grayell wasn't in a hurry to react.
Beyond showing his obvious disapproval. His teeth clenched and he growled.
::Grayell's experience with dream visions gives him the clarity to sense that some part of him is no longer in his bed. That the body he is feeling himself in is not his own. Whose ever body it is is on the brink of exhaustion. The only feeling stronger than that was determination to survive.
Grayell, gets the sense that he is bound and knealing on a hard surface. His head down, and eyes closed. There is a peculiar sensation in his right arm, as if it has been closed off from the rest of him.
As the door opens, he can hear the heavy footsteps of hardheeled boots enter and walk to stand before him.::
Grayell is unsure whether he has any control over this body or it's will. He may just be a spectator in whatever is about to play out, which brings some comfort to him though the experience is still unsettling. He decides to see whether he has any control over this situation.
His eyes open, and are imediatly assaulted by blinding white light. It takes a few moments for his vision to adjust to the brightness, but when it does he can tell he is in a small stone cell. Every surface, walls ceiling and floor, emit brilliant white light. Hitting from every angle, it would make even the tiniest shadow an impossibility.
Looking down, he can tell he is in a body that is not his own. While fit, it has none of the tone and muscle that heavy physical activity brings. Dark, possibly black, hair hangs long in his face. He is bound, ankle and wrist, to the floor in a way that only allows him to kneel. he can feel the arm that seems closed off held tight to his body.
His vision slightly off, perhaps from the glare but he's not sure, picks up a pair of white leather boots standing before him just out of reach.
He needed to know more. That arm was of immediate concern, so he tried to move it some. Just a little. The elbow, the forearm, the fingers. The light was interesting, not too many prisons or dungeons bothered with ample lighting, let alone this much. Unusual. There had to be a reason for it.
His body wasn't a waste, it would be lithe if anything. So long as it wasn't disabled, he knew how to move. Knowing meant everything if the muscle was capable. But he seemed quite well locked down. He shifted, only to disguise his giving the chains a slight tug, He wanted to test for slack.
Finally, he opened his eyes fully and looked up. He didn't look particularly thrilled with his circumstance, but wasn't altogether convinced he was in danger. Curiosity was still holding reign as yet.
::The chains that held him were short and thick. Looped thru rings bolted to the floor, pulling on limb would cause the others to shorten even more.
As Grayell tried to move the arm in question sharp pain was felt near the elbow and the patter of the something hitting the floor beneath him increased. Any attempt to move the arm from the elbow down met with no response.
A half familiar presence presses on his thoughts. Exhausted, but filled with a grim determination. The accent something only time and vast amounts of travel could create...
Forget... ...the arm... not important now...
Looking up, Grayell sees a tall man standing before him. Dressed in whites over highly polished plate armor the figure reflects the light bouncing around the room. The only adornment on the man tabbard being an eye depicted as a stylized sunburst. The man's face was that of a seasoned warrior. His demeanor, that of a leader. Long salt and pepper hair was pulled back tightly from his face. He stands before Grayell with his hands clasped behind his back. ::
I see the daemon still clings to life. Good. Many of my Fellows are calling for your head. They think me foolish for keeping you alive. However, I have some questions I wish answered prior to giving you to the Lord of Light.
::The man pulls his hands out from behind his back. In one is held a strange gauntlet, and again Grayell's mind is hit with that feeling of memories that are not there. Made for the right hand, it is covered in gems of various sizes and colors. And while obviously metal, its design is very organic. Almost as if it had been grown rather than forged. Grayell's eye is drawn to the open end, where his practiced eye can see the bits of blood and gore that still cling to the edges. ::
You will begin by telling me of this device. Its nature and how you came by it...
Speak, minion of the Stranger, for your destruction approaches with the coming solstice...
Grayell didn't like having not having answers. Buying time was not so simple when he had nothing to offer. But he had one thing to rely on of course, whether he held the answers or not. Grayell could never not be a smart ass, least of all when threatened. He didn't take kindly to that.
"That? Well it's great on those cold, lonely nights. You know, for a man such as yourself. I'm sure one day you'll discover wenches but until then..."
He was anticipating being hit. That was good. He needed to know what this body could take. His lower arm was missing, he knew that now. It wasn't a first for him and it was familiar at least. That glove was quite clearly attached to him prior, the blood told him as much.
And that raised an interesting point. He had his consciousness. He had no idea whether this body had any arcane ability so to speak, but the greater part of magic was will. He had his will. And he had more than enough blood presently. He did not know the toll it would take on this vessel, he had no idea whether it might even work as he was not a scholar.
But he had his instincts and that was where his blood magic lay. Primal and simple. Cruelly effective. Oh yes.
He sneered then, quite confident in that knowledge. He would play along with this charade. But patience was hardly one of his greater traits. Perhaps that voice would tell him more.
Use your brain... For more than keeping... Your head from... caving... in....
All I can do... to hold you... and keep from bleeding... out....
::The man before him speaks, and if he falters a bit, he hides it well. The daemon's voice seemed changed... And was its eye always blue...? A trick, it had to be... No matter, the thing would be given to the Lord of Light regardless. ::
While I can not say your resistance is unexpected, I was hoping for more. You should seek forgivness for your sins before the coming of the Light.
You can not escape.
A creature such as you no doubt has no friends. Even if you did they could not hope to breach our defenses here. We hold the Kerswin Pass, so none enter without our leave. There will be no rescue.
You must seek absolution. And if reason will not show the way, perhaps pain will.
::Withdrawing the gauntlet from reach, the man extends his free hand to the stump that remains of the body's right arm. Grayell is consumed by pain, and with the pain the light flares blindingly.::
::And is met with the crashing of thunder. Grayell is back home in his bed, twisted up in his sheets. The wind off the coast had brought a storm raging thru the trees outside. As he wakes he feels he is not alone. A tall shadow is cast into the room from the doorway... ::
He sniffed the air then and didn't know that scent. His home was far from Wistvale and unknown to the locals, it was deliberately kept from prying eyes. There was no reason for someone to be this far from the trail, let alone climb into the trees to reach their home.
He spoke as he set up, bit made no move for a weapon. He spoke almost flatly, a hint of menace in his words. You did not confront a wolf in it's den if you had a hint of sense about you.
::The shadow moves as small shape detaches from the darkness...::
::Neko steps forward into the room. She's rubbing her right elbow with one hand and clutching at her simple clothes with the other. Her face looks strange, and it's only as she continues to hesitantly approach that Grayell can tell she's crying, and looks worried and scared... ::
::She wipes the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand. The dream she had had been awful. She had woken in pain and fear, and in her fear had forgotten to grab her hood as she sought out the warmth and comfort of family.
She pointed to her head, then feigned sleep, hoping he'd understand. She was a little embarassed for herself at this display of weakness, but she didn't want to have to go back out there alone for her hood. ::
Grayell sighed then and pulled the blanket tighter about her. He eased her down and tucked her in with a smile, himself wide awake now. That dream had been unusual and here she was awake... but he knew nothing would be resolved in the night. No, it could wait. He had information to go on. He would learn something of it and then see what she knew.
He smiled at her and patted her head.
"You get some sleep kiddo. Everything is ok. Just wait til morning, the storm will pass."
::She curled up in her uncle's bed and tried to go back to sleep. Her thoughts were a jumble. Was that really Father, or just a bad dream? She had no experience with visions aside from things she's heard so she could not be certain one way or the other. It felt so real. Perhaps in the morning she would talk to her uncle about it. If it was real, maybe he knew of the place mentioned in the dream. If it was real, perhaps they could find Father and save him...
It took some time, the flashes of lightening reminded her too much of the blinding light she saw in her nightmare, but eventually sleep came. ::
Grayell haunted the balcony that night. Just outside the door, just inside the curtain of rain that spattered on the wood. It was warm enough, the weather somewhat tropical at this time of year. He watched the lightning flash and dance over the forest and the sea beyond it, remaining silent and still, his head filled with thoughts and confusion.
That damned familiarity had occurred once more. Like he knew that voice in his head, as though something hooked his gut and yanked on it. But no matter how he searched his memories, his dreams, nothing seemed true. It was an unnerving feeling and where it not for his being self assured, he would turn away anything that made him feel this uncomfortable. Renquist had almost killed him. Could have killed him. Neko, she was a friend. Family.
He didn't know what to make of the dream, of the person in it. But if it had haunted her as it had haunted him, something should be done. She was upset, terrified by it. She would have some answers.
But he knew where the Kerswin Pass was. He knew how to get there. And if something there needed his intervention... well. Their leave or not, he could get inside. He was very confident in that regard.