I dream again.
This time the visions are more disturbing. A dark tunnel leading who knows where. A pair of blank white dots at the other end. The dots grow closer.
I'M HERE. The voice is evil, laced with sugar but almost pure arsenic.
A face, scarred, pitted, rough, the eyes blank, white and unseeing, the mouth opening onto a set of browned, broken teeth, the gums black, the tongue a flopping, limp, brown rag.
I wake up with a start.
Burushiru and Redfall are gone somewhere. The bedroom is silent. It is the middle of the night.
But I still hear voices. Not from downstairs, but from outside.
"...house is pretty," a low voice says.
"Worthless wood," another, more reedy voice cries.
Then the sounds of footsteps, of the door downstairs opening. A muffled snort.
Carefully, quietly, so as not to hint at my presence, I pick up a shovel from where it rests against the wall and creep downstairs. Crouching behind a chair, I watch the two people or things inspect the kitchen.
They're humanoid. However, no sane man carries a double headed battle axe around with him.
"This is good," I hear the deep-voiced one say to his colleague. From behind the chair I see the shape of a loaf of bread come out of the mahogany chest.
"Yes, indeed, and so are these," the second one says to the first one with the deep voice. Deep Voice hands the loaves of bread to Reedy Voice, who in turn hands him our supply of torches.
Raising the shovel, I aim it at Deep Voice, but Reedy voice cries, "Behind you!," and I find myself lifted bodily high up into the air and thrown into the far wall. My back hurts bad, but I fight to keep ahold of the shovel.
The men look like pigs who had carried themselves onto their hind legs and learned to speak and wear clothing. They have small piggy eyes, large flat piggy noses, and a mouth with sharp tusks sticking out of the bottom gums.
"The resident is angry," Reedy Voice warns Deep Voice, but too late. I leap up and hit him with the back of the shovel's head. Deep Voice collapses. He's obviously dead, for his skull is split.
Reedy Voice takes out an iron sword. It has been carved into an intimidating curved shape, and looks very sharp. Light glints off the edge.
"How's about we dance, little man," Reedy Voice bellows, and lunges. I catch the blow on the edge of my shovel and deflect it. Reedy Voice stumbles, and I sink the tip into his chest. He squeals.
"Fool!" And then he dies.
Blood pools around my feet, and I stare at what I have done.
I'm not a hero.
I'm not good.
I've murdered in cold blood.
What is my fate?