Nightmares, and a terrible nights sleep..

Maybe it's the cold Northrend air, or the unpleasant attempts of the Innkeeper to make food with the strange meats available and the limited amount of vegetables, but that night is marred by some very peculiar dreams for the weary adventurers...

"I sleep on the edge of dreams, at the feet of the victors"

A city rises from the ice, a handful of impossibly tall figures standing watch over the gleaming golden spires. They seem almost perfect in every way, beautiful figures with the backs turned against you. The largest, a masculine form turns his impressively bearded face towards the city and raises a thin staff. The whole complex is covered in ice almost immediately, like the ground itself had simply swallowed it whole.

"My blood curses the land..."

Visions of tunnels spill into your mind, spider like creatures tapping away at deposits of black fluid, pulling away various chunks of it and chattering to themselves as they wander off towards industrial size forges. Yet their actions seem erratic, some fighting amongst themselves for a chunk of the strange almost fluid looking rock.

"I died, a thousand times..."

Suddenly the view changes to some sort of beast, writhing in a forgotten pit as a group of warriors seem locked in battle with the thrashing tentacles. Half of their number look dead, Mages throwing spells mixed with the screams of pain and terror as people lose their lives in this violence.

"Yet I remain"

The sound of wind rips through empty corridors, devoid utterly of life. Yet you can feel something in those ancient halls, a vile presence that feels like it's behind you ready to cut you to ribbons in a heartbeat. You turn frantically, yet nothing is there except the ever-howling wind.

"You will suffer...."

A thousand cuts appear on your body, agony tearing through your muscles like you was ablaze with felfire. Stumbling forward you fall to your knees, vision darkening as you look upon something terrible...

"You will die..."

Every one lays dead before you. Every member of the Braves contorted in the throes of death, limbs severed and strewn across the floor. No one has survived and the blood pooled on the floor looks old, gone from red to a dull rust of aged remains.

"Flee...."

You awaken, startled, sweat coating your body like a film... what had that been? ((Feel free to respond to this post IC, im going somewhere with this, trust me...))

Baylan

Baylan wakes up and lets out a fierce howl, for a second the faint magic and alchemy that keeps him protected from that feral part of him dissipating. His mind is a fog, reeling in the darkness as he flashes claws and teeth in an astounding act of savagery, the mattress and sheets cut to ribbon and tears in seconds.

Regaining control of his senses he blinks a few times, his single eye flicking around paranoid in the darkness before flopping back onto what remains of his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Aladrian

The mighty Paladin awakes rapidly, his hand already on the hilt of Deliverance before his bare feet hit the ground. He glances through the gloom and spots Thea sitting upright, half as dazed as he is and frowns as the other Braves wake up one by one.

He twirls around quickly as he hears the Worgans rage filled howl and the shredding of the bed, but it's over before he can intervene. By the Light, what a terrible dream...

Tacitus grabs for his sword at his bed and looks around himself with wild eyes. He breathes heavily, taking a while for himself to calm down.

"Fucking hell.... I hate this place...."

He shakes his head a few times and goes to grab his sizzling flask, opening it and taking a long swig before closing his tired eyes to try and get back to dreamless sleep.

Wakes up to the smell of smoke, looking around a few seconds confused before realizing his bedsheets are on fire. He swiftly puts them out, listeing to his beating heart telling himself "Phew, it was just a dream." He gets up, starting to prepare himself for the coming day.