Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 3.3

It was like waking from a dream. But it was also more like the dream becoming real. Ronclay stood inside a house, lit by a few candles. It was a quaint house, filled with simple decorations. He was shirtless, bloody, and holding the body of an older woman. She too, was covered in blood; her head was askew at a sickening angle, and her throat was ripped open. A trail of bood on the floor led to another body; a man, who was seemingly killed in a similar fashion.

He dropped the lady to the floor, and wiped his mouth fruitlessly. There was simply too much blood on everything to do any good. The house and all about him was silent, yet it seemed almost to be a bewildering cachaphony. Everything in his mind had been so quiet, everything else had been so distant.

The world now raced at him, along every conduit he had to the outside world; sight, sound, smell and touch. It all seemed familiar to him, but somehow everything felt different, as though he had slipped into another man's skin.

He looked at himself, and his body seemed familiar enough. The same hands, bloody as the were; the same dark hair getting in his face. However, upon his chest he found markings which were not familiar at all. All around his chest, shoulders and abdomens, there were red lines like burns. They were straight, with angles, forming complex patterns. In the center, there was a dark hole. Not a drawing of a hole; a real hole into his chest.

Normally, someone with a hole in their chest, such as the one in him that he was probing with his finger, would be dead. And when he thought hard, the last thing he could remember was dying. Though, he didn't remember dying from a hole in the chest.

He rummaged through the household as mind continued to awaken. Memories, skills, passions all began to surface in his mind. There was almost nothing in the house that interested him. There was food, but he already felt satiated in a strangely fulfilling sense. He found a wash basin out back filled with enough water to get all the blood off of his body. A second, and third, nearby bucket allowed for rinsing.

He then stole some clothing he could stand to wear, replacing his torn pants as well, found a cloak, and stepped from the threshold.

He walked only a short way when a call from above caught his attention. It was a crow, sitting among the branches. It called to him, over and over, as Ronclay stood and considered it. Finally be succumbed to his mad reality and spoke back.

"Yes I am feeling well, crow." It squawked further. "Of course I know where I'm going. I'll figure out where I am soon enough."

More from the crow.

"A failure?! Watch your tongue, crow!"

It continued and continued.

Ronclay reflected. "Oh yes, the mission. Punish their rebellion."

The crow went on.

"Yes, you're right. I was defeated, I would return in shame."

The crow ended with a scant few more sqawks.

"You can find them?"

The crow simply returned Ronclay's gaze.

"Then we have a deal, crow. Find them, and I'll kill them."