Spawn of the Outworlder

Chapter 1-Begin Again

Graham Blackwell bolted up from his bed, his breathing heavy and labored. Instinctively, he felt at his body: arms, face, chest. As he searched, he saw no sign of burns or broken bones. He held a hand to his chest, feeling his heart race and sweat coating his body.

There's nothing. I'm fine. It was just...a dream.

Another cursed dream.

Graham held his head in his hands, his knees pulled closer to him to provide support. He'd begun to take slow, full breaths in an effort to calm the beating of his heart. The exercise had become routine at this point.

As he breathed, he attempted to gather his thoughts. Need to write this one down, he thought. Before I forget it. One final breath and his pulse was calm.

With his heartrate returned to normal, Graham became aware of his surroundings. It appeared to be just before dawn. The sky that could be seen outside of his window colored a mix of blue and pink just before the sun rise, the moon still somewhat visible. He was in his room, somewhat obscured with shadow. A humble space, it contained only his bed, a small desk and a cabinet for his clothing. The floor was made of a medley of various stones found throughout the village, most gray but with a shard of brown or black scattered out amongst it.

Graham stood and set his feet on the floor, cautious not to rise up too quickly. One step at a time. Don't want to faint. Not today.

Graham took slow, deliberate steps to his wooden desk and began searching through the drawers for a piece of parchment. With a piece in hand, he picked up his steel quill pen and checked the dispenser within to ensure he had enough ink.

He began to write:

Journal Entry of Graham Blackwell,

21 Marte, Month 3 of 12, Year of the Crescent Sun, 191

Another dream. Nightmare. Same as the other nightmares, I was in the body of someone else. I could feel both myself and the self of this other person. I was in some odd room, as a crowd of people screamed and howled at me in hate. Then, some odd device began to burn me away from within. A ritual, maybe?

If my older journal entries are correct, the nightmares are coming more and more. Before, the nightmares came once every month or so. Then, they started to come every few weeks. Now they seem to come every other night.

I wish someone in the village could help me understand these nightmares. Why they feel more intense, more real than the other dreams I have. And why they're so violent.

No two nightmares are ever the same scene, but all of them are so full of horror and pain. So much cruelty and death. Hate I didn't know was possible. Why do I dream of these things? I'd never hurt a soul. Not on purpose and certainly not like this.

I've gathered my older journal entries together and I plan to give them to Paul to take with him for today. Maybe there is someone in the Capital that can help me understand the cause of these horrifying visions.

Light, I pray that they can.

As he finished writing, Graham couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed of himself. 20 years old, a grown man, and still these nightmares have me shaking. By Abbadon's Eye, I should be so embarrassed.

Graham laid the parchment aside and brought out the bound-together journal entries. The entries were contained within a small leather folder, almost resembling a short book. Bit of a grim book, Graham thought to himself. Graham opened the folder to check on the note