He dreamed of the hardest time in his life; the first two years after he came through the portal. Running. Hiding. And learning the hard way how the laws of Sanctuary differed to the laws of Heaven and Hell.

In Hell, the air was always warm and suspended in an eternal twilight. Food and water were not required to sustain life; although many demons took pleasure in feasting on the blood and flesh of new cursed victims, no nutrition was derived from it. Hell's minions never suffered from thirst or hunger, never needed sleep, and never faltered under muscle fatigue. They could fight relentlessly until their body was rendered incapable by an enemy's weapon; such were the Laws of Hell.

In Sanctuary, Mortis found himself facing every mortal element. The weather changed constantly, alternating between a bright time that was both warm and blinding, to a dark time that was very similar to Hell. Both times had glowing orbs in the sky, the dark time one more to Mortis' liking. It radiated a soft glow that illuminated the land with silvery beams. He travelled mostly under this orb, as the other burned his blue skin and made him squint.

Sometimes water fell from the sky, cold and wet, and other times it combined with howling wind and ice. He hid from it the first few times, fearing it's cold and the strange slippery feeling it left on his skin. Like blood, only clear. His mind could not comprehend where this liquid fell from.

Aside from coming to terms with what he later learned was "day and night", "sun and moon" and "rain and snow", he also had to face strange needs occurring in his body.

"Hunger and thirst" were things he learned from watching the birds and bests roaming around him. Water didn't exist in Hell, the closest thing being bubbling tar or the Lava River. By following animal example, he discovered not all water was safe to drink.
Streams were good, they ran fast and clear. Puddles and dams were not; they were murky and riddled with parasites. Though a demon could stomach almost anything, being host to a gut-full of these creatures could cause severe discomfort and pain. Not to mention unpleasant toiletry experiences.

He was forced to watch his body physically 'de-evolve'. He lost his enormously broad chest, and perfectly toned muscles. In Hell, it was easy to maintain such a physique, but in Sanctuary doing so would take half a ton of raw nutrition and enough exercise to consume most of the daylight hours. Mortis could only despair as his once powerful figure shrank, almost to that of an ordinary human.

Almost, but not quite.
He was still abnormally strong, and far taller then any human he met. And the surprising agility that came with this leaner form he found to be a necessity when hunting out in the wilds where he roamed.

Hunting also required new skills. In Hell, victims were forced to flee over flat, barren land with few places to run and even fewer places to hide. The demons could track them down at their leisure.
In Sanctuary, the landscape played an all too important part in the hunting routine. Trees, rocks, grass, burrows, hills: anything that could be used as cover was taken advantage of by the prey he sort. Mortis simply did not have the experience needed to hunt for himself.

So once again he followed packs of animals, picking on the remains of their kills. Over time he became more confident, and joined in on the hunt.

He always chuckled at the look on eagles' faces as he glided beside them.

The day he made his first independent kill was a great one. He revelled in it, gorged himself to the seams. And then became acquainted with another mortal trait.
Vomit was definitely not something demons, or at least Mortis's kindS, were used to. He'd panicked, believing his insides were now on the outside.

But he found that to be untruthful. Upon closer inspection, he realised it was merely the flesh of the beast he'd consumed, and he resolved that next time he'd eat slower, eat less and perhaps chew his food.

Oh yes, those two years had been a harsh time. He had lived with the wild things because, as he expected, any human he came in contact with fled in terror. He was as lost in this world as he was in his own.
But then he met a man who hadn't fled. A crafty, suave old man, highly skilled in many things. He had taken Mortis into his home, and taught him how to survive. Mortis would one day refer to this man as 'the Teacher'.

A cricket chirping in his ear roused him from his slumber. The dream faded quickly, for which he was grateful. They weren't the most pleasant memories.

Flicking the cricket from his shoulder, he unfolded his wings and saw that, once again, it was dark. The great domed entrance of the Citadel glowed slightly from within, and he could still see guards pacing in the torch light. Entry was going to be a challenge, but not impossible.

In one swift motion he leapt from the branch, hit the ground and bounded back into the air. To his disappointment he discovered there wasn't a breath of wind, so he was forced to beat his wings heavily to get appropriate lift. Although a fair distance from the Rogues, the sound still travelled to them, but it merely sounded like a flock of bats to their ears.

Reaching a height he thought would attract the least attention, he began to glide slowly over the massive Monastery.
The domed main entrance opened into a three pronged cloister, which then led onto what could only be a barracks. Even at night the women were continuing their vigorous training routines; firing a constant barrage of arrows at distant scarecrows tied to poles. It made him uneasy to see all the arrows in the heart or head locations.

Mortis glided on further, identifying what appeared to be the roof of a prison, but from the small size of it he gathered most of the building was situated underground. Another cloister separated that, the mess hall, and the very location he was looking for; the great spiralled peak of the Cathedral.

He floated quietly towards the roof, wondering exactly how to go about his entry, but at the last second curiosity got the better of him and he changed course towards the mess hall instead. He landed softly and peered about. A number of wide windows allowed viewing inside, and he silently paced up to one.

Pressing his hands carefully against the glass, he gazed down on the rows of tables below. The room was illuminated by large chandeliers and candles, and although he couldn't make out the words a steady murmur was coming from the happily eating women. They sat in small groups, dipping bread into soup, or chewing well cooked meat from the bone. The occasional laugh told him they were carefree and completely oblivious to the evil that lurked just across the cloister from them.

''Monster', thought Mortis. These women were so strong, yet so innocent in their faith. He ground his teeth as his eyes swept over the sea of feminine faces. And so young, some of them. Would they die before their time because of a priest's greed?

He suddenly realised his nails were digging too hard into the glass, and hairline fractures were beginning to appear. Turning from the window, he crouched, and with one mighty leap, cleared the inner cloister completely. He landed on the roof of the Cathedral with a thump, and almost staggered as the frail tiles shattered to dust under his weight.

''At least I didn't smash completely through' he thought with relief.

Carefully he stalked the outside of the roof, searching for a window or maintenance hatch, and annoyingly found neither. The stained glass windows on the walls of the building were heavily barred, so there'd be no going through them without a considerable amount of noise.
No, the only way he was going to get inside was through the front door. And that would mean going through the guards stationed out front.

Mortis got down on all fours and peered over the edge. Two female guards indeed stood at attention below him. Moving with exaggerated caution he slid off the roof and began to crawl down the wall, digging his claws deep into the stone for support.

He hoped to Hell no one would come into the cloister; they would die of shock at sight of a large, dark, winged being nestled above the heads of the guards.
'Like a giant spider, ready to pounce' he thought with amusement.

He hovered above them, motionless, so close he could hear them breathing. Gripping desperately with his toe-claws, he reached out his hands, ready to render them unconscious with two simultaneous blows.

And then one of the women spoke.

"Have you been dreaming lately?" she asked. Mortis jerked back with a start. The other guard made a 'tch' sound and shook her head.

"Oh gods, Quinn, not this again. Are we going to talk about the meanings of your stupid dreams every time we have guard duty together? I swear I'm going to ask someone on wall-watch to trade places with me, if you keep this up."

"There's no need to be rude!" Quinn said, sounding hurt. "They worry me, Karla, and it helps to talk about it."

Karla sighed.
"OK. Fine. What were they about this time?"

"Same as before, but stronger this time. More persuasive. It's still dark, and I can't see whose speaking. All I can make out is a silhouette. It looks human... but much larger. And definitely female. I can distinctly remember... red hair."

"Red hair?"

"Yeah. Red hair. It matches the voice somehow. She calls to me, or pleads with me, even acts motherly sometimes. I've only ever once got the feeling she was trying to command me, but I didn't like that so she stopped. It's not a disturbing dream... about the only thing that bothers me is the snakes."

"The... snakes? Riigghttt..."

"I'm not kidding! The silhouette has snakes all over it. At least, that's what it looks like. Long, whip-like snakes coming up over her shoulders and waving their heads around menacingly. It's really creepy actually."

"It sounds it." Karla shuddered, "Perhaps you should lay off shooting the wildlife. Sounds like they're after revenge or something."

"Do you think?" Quinn asked, sounding worried.

Mortis, still hovering above them, was completely intrigued by the conversation and had forgotten he was quite exposed in his current position. He quickly came to his senses and reached out again.

"Sorry girls," he whispered.

"Did you say something?" Karla asked her companion.

CRACK-

Mortis brought their skulls together hard, and the women slouched unconscious. He quickly dropped from the wall and dragged their bodies to a dark corner. The mission was in full swing now; it wouldn't be long before someone entered the cloister and saw that the guards weren't at their posts. Then the alarm would sound, and he damn well hoped Brent would be dead by then.

Laying them respectfully on the ground, he hurried back to the large Cathedral doors and tested the handles. Unlocked.

'Never know when one of the Rogues might have a crisis of faith' he supposed.
He pulled one side of the door open, thankful it moved silently on its well oiled hinges, and slipped inside.