Mist filtered out of the cavern opening giving a slight chill down Ivars back. He stood there in the heavy chain mail armor trying to motivate himself to go in. Fear ruled his body for what reason he did not understand. He felt his gut telling him that the one he searched for was there. That gave him courage, with a renewed goal he walked into the cavern. As he moved through this mist filled cavern snapping and low sounding crunching came to his ears. He stopped and looked around and then down to the cavern floor. There he noticed dried grass, twigs and old rodent bones littered about. They would snap under his heavy weight in the armor that he wore. His sword hand sweated in the leather metal plated gloves and even the shield started to feel heavy. Even though he began to get week, Ivar took a deep breath and pressed onward.
Deeper into the cavern Ivar could hear voices and soldiers talking. Some in a frightened tone others in a cocky, aggressive grumble. But one voice in particular drew his attention, one he had hunted for years. Trying to avoid breaking any more bones or twigs Ivar slowly crept his way through the mist to reach the end of this cavern.
Something seemed strange, the mist became thicker and the wall markings seemed familiar like he had passed through here before. Then again he heard the same voices and tones along with the voice of his revenge lust. Frustrated he marched on still being careful not to break any bones but with a little more conviction in the pursuit. A third time Ivar returned to the same spot even though the path he took turned down a different tunnel. He wondered if it were some sort of magical trick being played on him. He had become annoyed and this time not caring about the bones he hastily walked forward through the mist once more. This time he marched down the tunnel of the first pass but thicker mist blocking his vision. With his sword hand forward feeling for a wall or any type of guide, but only to find an iron gate. Behind it laid a garden, a garden full of fruits and beautiful plants. Great trees were scattered throughout the garden with massive roots digging deep into the earth. Further into the garden voices could be heard echoing towards Ivar.
Quickly Ivar pushed the gate open running to the sounds of the voices. Once in view of the source of the voices he mercilessly slew them all. On till the man of his nightmares was the one standing in front of him ready to meet his fate. He turned around put his visor up and blew air into Ivar’s face with the breath that smelt of all the dead men Ivar had slain. Their faces and cries ran through his mind causing him to drop the sword and to his knees. As he fell to the knees Ivar’s shield crumbled from the clench of his hand into dust as the nightmare spoke. “Maybe you should have stayed home to watch your father die too, old man. The Valor of Battle has left you.” With this Ivars head began to feel hot. He reached up and pulled down the chain mail coif letting his old decaying gray hair fall free. His head began to ache with pain, trying to ease that pain he reached back to his head. Grabbing his head with both hands he noticed something different. He pulled his hands away with gray clumps of hair in his gloved hands.
Once more Ivar awoke from these horrid dreams of faces and the events that caused their untimely deaths. The night tunic that he wore was damp with sweat following the dreams end. For a while he stared up at the bed’s tapestries that draped over the hand crafted frame. Silk like in fabric, light purple color, lined with gold knitting’s. A ray of light from the moon shown down through one of the windows from across the room casting its pale blue glow onto the dark stained wood floor. Ivar slid his battle scarred legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He then slowly leaned on his right hand taking some pressure off the left leg. The beautiful elf woman that lay in the bed turned over noticing that Ivar had woken up. She sat up and scooted close to him placing her head on his shoulder. Then she reached around to the front to place a chilling hand on his warm chest to ease his mind of fears.
“Let those events be in the past, My Love,” she said as her head rested.
“It seems as many times that I do try, they become as clearer as the day before. My dear wife, you have been so good to me even though I was such a monster with so much hate.” Ivar turned his head to look at her.
