The floor was spilled with knifes and short swords. Shields adorn the wall on one side of the room, spears and javelins on the other. In front, three targets were spaced out evenly. The figure picked up one of the knives, weighing the weapon in his hand. The boy was young still, perhaps not more than 10 winters old. He flipped the knife easily in his hand, flicking the metal up to one of the last beams of light that streamed in from the only opening in the stuffy room. It was a small window that looked out on the docks. You could see the slaver boats if you knew how to look from the attic, and Gorlen often looked. It was where the boys trained and sharpen their skills.
The boy was alone that evening, everyone leaving early to catch the fishmongers and what they could from the gathering crowd. Gorlen decided to stay, there was still room for improvement and he remembers there was something else, but it strangely eluded him. The straw of dummy in front, filled from the old rat feasted crap that mostly plagued this side of town, was already pealing out of the arms. In the darkening gloom that started to fill the room, the straw began to move, it seemed. Slowly, it seemed to take on shape, a shape of a man. It was vague and surreal. Gorlen looked around, finding the door behind him gone, a slate of pure wood. The window closed in on itself and the figure in front began to grow bigger. All around Gorlen shadows started to dance as his father, in all its pompous grandeur and riches, stood now where target beckoned, it's head fold down where a blade must have slit its throat.
This uncanny visage soon transformed into a familiar room. A room Gorlen has tried to avoid. He was a young man now, a man that has tasted and a bit more of life's misery and joys. Sun beamed in from the widow that overlooked green grass and wives and children go about their morning chores. He heard geese and the call of birds from outside. It was a balmy day. Strangely too perfect. If ever there was, it was a golden day. In front of him Eva was cradling their child. Her smile so sweet, full of love and happiness. The infant had dark hair, like both of them do. He could imagine it had its mothers eyes. There was no telling if it was a he or she, but the life that shone from its new soul was beyond words.
Gorlen took a step closer, calling out her name. Eva looked back up at him, her eyes milky white, skin pale and puffy, decomposing like the reeking and bloated corpses did in Long Lake. His child, when his horrified eyes drifted down, afraid of what they might encounter upon the frail corpse she held. The solidness of the infant, with the soft white sheets wrapped around it, shifted and spread like sand or water, down in between the strange and grotesque simulacrum of the woman he once loved. Her skin, an ominous and pale colour, shifted and slithered with the void that spilled now from her eyes. He could feel how they disappear, drift in to the unknown of time and handed to the claws of chaos. He knew he could not protect them anymore. The man took a step back and closed his eyes, letting out a deep and long pent up breath.
The soft and gentle glow of the moon crawled into the room, laying its white brilliance across Piperel's bed. It must have been early morning, just before the sun rose, when Gorlen woke up. The pain in his back noticeably less. The last cold embers of the dream died down as he turned, folding one hand over Piperels shoulder and fell back to sleep. This time, for a bit longer than usual.
