For him to live, a witch must die.
Driven out of his village for the curse he possesses, Tavor is alone. With nowhere else to go, he must venture into the Eylderfell to hunt down the witch who cursed him.
But the forest is dangerous, wild with magic...
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Once again, he was alone.
Tavor stood in some kind of formless, empty space. A strange place, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
He started to walk, trying to force down the rising unease within him. As he moved further, he started to notice he wasn't alone. Strange figures floated in the space. Their bodies were odd, shapeless. But their faces were human. They stared at him as he walked past, unblinking eyes following his movements. He pressed onwards, but there were just more figures. Each one just looking at him.
What did he do? He could see the expressions on their faces perfectly. Fear, anger, hatred. All aimed at him.
He walked faster. But everywhere he went, the figures were there. Staring at him. He couldn't escape it. He glanced over his shoulder and saw some had followed him. The ones nearby seemed closer, too.
He was running now. But it was no use. The figures had surrounded him. Their bodies pushed against him, knocking him to the ground. Disembodied laughter grated through the air. He felt pain at his back, then his legs, his head. He cried out, but couldn't move. Over the jeering rose the loud sound of buzzing, so powerful it drowned the laughter out. So much noise. The air around him snapped like static. The faces around him contorted into terrible shapes. Tavor curled up, hands clenched desperately in his hair. Make it stop, he pleaded. Please, just make it stop.
And it did. Just like that, there was nothing.
Just screaming, and then silence.
ִֶָ࣪☾.
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