I feel the pitch black dark swirling around myself, obscuring my vision with wisps of shadow, my body shaking and taking shuddering breaths for non existent air, its so cold, so so cold. The shivering doesn't stop, the freeze running itself up and down my bones, oh god please stop, where's the heat, where's any warmth? It feels like an age of being suspended in the numbing jet black, slowly though, I feel my senses return to me, silence is deafening in my ears, ringing and rattling my skull. Stale air breaks into my lungs as the darkness finally dissipates, eyes shooting open as deep coughs force itself from my throat, jolting up into a sitting position. After a while of coughing up my lungs, covering my mouth with my hands and lathering my gloves with spittle, I look up and around the room. The bed's definitely not the one I went to sleep in, a grey and light blue striped blanket covering the mattress, the word 'doona' brushing over my mind, I can feel its softness even through my gloves, wincing slightly as I accidentally brush my spit over it, whoops? I return my attention to the rest of the room, it's not large and its very box shaped, a desk is placed in the far left, it looks like it used to be a pure white, but it seems run down and old, parts of it eaten away by insects, termites most likely, or just covered in a dark mold, the wooden chair placed in front of it has metal legs, of which is bent and rusted. My nose crinkles as I look to it, gods, I'm glad I can't smell it from here, or anything at all it seems, I'd very likely detest it. Continuing my examination of the room, it's extremely messy, the carpet is torn and walls equally as molded as the desk, a book case opposite to me is stuffed to the brim with books, though I can't see the sides of it from here, the books seem to be in good condition considering the rest of the room. The last thing of note is a wooden wardrobe, a rusted chain looped around the doors with a single silvery lock between the door knobs.

I lift myself onto unsteady feet, taking a moment to adjust. It feels like the rooms just that little bit off, as if on a slant, and looking down on myself, I'm still dressed in the same clothes I slept in. 'Oh! I went to sleep... Is this a dream of some kind? It's so vivid' I think to myself, I raise my hands and move my fingers around, I can feel the leather of my gloves on my hands, and the air flowing through me as I breathe, god it's so stale in here, if it's a dream then it's a very vivid one. Stepping around the carpet, I can feel the dampness underneath my feet and I cringe, ew ew ew that's actually gross. Instead, I try to step as lightly as possible, at least some parts of the floor isn't a disgusting wetness, this entire room looks like a breeding ground for disgusting bacteria and other unhygienic things, at least I haven't dry heaved yet, I imagine being unable to smell anything helps with that. I approach the the desk, loathe as I am to do so, I do want to check it out a little bit closer. Doing so doesn't do too much, though I notice there's a cabinet stand under it, I almost didn't notice it because of all the damned mold. I kneel and look over it, the handle is at the top and looks as wrecked as the rest of the desk, it's something to open, sighing in resignment and wrapping my hands over it and yanking at it yields very little results, though, the rusted joints behind it grinding against itself with a small shrieking noise. I wince as the cabinet shrieks, ears flattening against my head, gods that's loud, alright Zeke, one, two, three! On the final count of three I grip the handle and heave myself backwards, the carpet underneath me almost tearing itself from its seams, but the thing finally throws itself open. It's screeching reaches a high as it reaches the end of its path, bouncing back slightly as it reaches its furthest opening, thank gods I flattened my ears. The handle was worn and molded, and extremely fragile, however, it snaps off of it as I launch myself backwards, landing on my rump with a small 'oof', clutching at the snapped handle. I look down on it, eyebrows raising slightly before tossing it to my side, I can't say that I expected it, but I'm not surprised regardless.

I rise back onto my knees, kneeling once more in front of the cabinet, looking inside of it revealing.. nothing, nothing but a deep inky darkness, static and glooming. I furrow my brow, surely there's something inside of this, right? The longer I look into the cabinets abyss, the more it begins to writhe and change, it begins to pulsate in a steady fashion, almost like it's breathing. It's unsettling to look at, it's almost organic, but almost magical, and entirely unnatural, though it's not doing much beyond existing. I look around the sides of the cabinet, there's nothing else to this thing sadly, and so I take a deep breath, the chills already tingling my spin. I plunge my hand into the writhing dark, my hand sinking deep into it. It's cold and feels how I expect it to, thick and almost requires effort to go through. It's deeper than it looks, reaching down almost to my shoulder, though I feel my gloves knock against it's sides, thudding hollowly, there has to be something inside this damned thing. I purse my lips in concentration, swirling and groping around it, traces of frustration touching the back of my mind, I'll find something in this mess if it costs the rest of this dream. After a while longer, I feel something brush the tips of my fingers, my eyes opening in surprise and a smile on my face, found something! I grasp at the object, the face of it's small, small enough to wrap my hand around it and pull it upwards, it feels like trying to drag something through sludge, finally pulling it free from the cabinet, the dark oozing off of my arm and dripping onto the floor, dissipating with a small 'hiss' noise. I finally look at whatever I just yanked after shaking the rest of the mess off of it, the object being a small deep blue book, the front of it is plainly made, but it seems to be made of leather, or fake leather anyways, there's a small black strap running down from top to bottom, keeping it shut.

'I went through all that for a tiny ass journal? Why wouldn't this be on the book case instead?' I think to myself, I'm only a little bit miffed, but I might as well go through the thing. I walk over to the bed and take a seat on it, the springs underneath the mattress squeaking under the pressure, it sounds worn but not rusty and old, why is the bed in such a good condition compared to the rest of the room? Not that I'm complaining, it's comfortable, physically and mentally too. It seems so.. familiar, the feeling of it is soothing even given the stale air. I pull the strap away and flip open the mini journal, turning to the first page, the design of it being an overly elaborate looking mini calendar, the top of the page emblazoned with the number '2018' and the font for each month being cursive, I can't tell if its hand drawn or done mechanically though, maybe it was copied from a hand made journal? The days of the months are scratched onto it with the same style as the months headings, though seemingly random ones have been crossed out with a deliberately intense pen stroke, almost covering the numbers themselves. I flip to the next page, and the next one, a heap of the initial pages are untouched and barren, there's no sign of whoever the rightful owner of this would be, sadly.

I hum to myself, turning back to the first page, there's no strikes on any of the days from January or February, and the pages are clean.. 'Maybe each strike is a page that's been used?' I think to myself, the first number thats been crossed out seems to be March the third, so I decide to flip to that page itself. Upon doing so, I do manage to see that it has been written in, it's done in a beautifully flowing cursive writing too, so whoever had a hold of this put in a lot of effort in their penmanship.

'The new recruit has shown an acceptable amount of promise and has such been an apt enough gift given the circumstances, other experimental factors and the difficulty of the task presented, we wish that there could have been a more timely circumstance to have implemented such a change, but this seems to be auspicious enough to complete the objective given' I read to myself mentally, the cursive is difficult to read at times, and I do end up scratching my head, the fuck does auspicious mean? Who writes like this? It looks like someone thats trying to sound smart, at least now I know there's no chance of it being mine, other than the whole language thing. Regardless, at least it's something from this bloody room. Speaking of the room, actually, I look up from the journal and look around the room, there's no windows in this place, nor is there a door, why didn't I notice that sooner? I guess it is a dream, the only way to leave would be to wake up.

I hum to myself, still holding the journal in my hand while my other cups my chin, fingers tapping against my chin. I have no idea why, but the entry seems familiar too, not in the way that the bed is, as if I've read this before. Maybe that's why it's in my dreams, because it's something I know, even if I don't remember? I shrug and flip to the next page, if I'm stuck in here for a bit longer then I might as well snoop through more of it. The first thing I realise is that the writing is immensely different, from an elegant cursive to a more childish scrawl, chicken scratches would be more legible than this, squinting hard enough and reading over the mess repeatedly makes it more decipherable at least.

'Bos give good moni for girl. hurt from gards. i like new gui.' The entire entry is littered with spelling mistakes, and it's almost baffling, but at least I manage to read through it eventually. At least they knew what a full stop was if nothing else, then again I don't think this is a good time to critique things. The entry itself is, curious to say the least, did this journal have multiple owners? It'd explain the difference in tone at least. What about the next page? Flipping to that shows another entirely differently penmanship, not as elegant as the first and not nearly as awful as the second one, it's smooth and nice to look at, but its written in a hasty and almost angry fashion, letters overlapping each other with ink stains blotted around them.

'Such disgusting mongrels, the sinfulness of their continued existence will be rectified, onwards!' I can't help but scratch my head at it, this sounds like something I'd almost say, though such a small entry leaves a lot to think about, there's no context to it. It's not even written like it should be in a journal either, and again with the different writing, the hell's up with this? I sigh to myself and shut the book, still keeping a solid hold on it and resting my head atop the thing, what's the purpose of all of this? A dream as vivid as this isn't normal in the slightest.

I rise to my feet and approach the book case, maybe there'll be something different there, despite the ickiness of the room, the book case as well as the books themselves are in an okay condition, at least on the surface level. I raise my hand and run it over the spines of them, eyes squinting slightly. They certainly feel like books, but they lack any wording on them, and given how similar most of them tend to be, it'd be near impossible to tell the difference between one and another, still, I pick out a random book and, after placing the journal on the shelf, open up the blank covered book. The front page is blank, as well as the page afterwards, and the page after that, skimming through each page yields nothing, each page is as blank as the last with crumpled edges, it's not a very large book at least. I feel a tinge of annoyance creep, I'm somewhat miffed about this, what about the next book? Putting it into its rightful place, I tear out the book next to it, equally as blank, equally as useless as the previous one throughout its entirety. The next book is the same, as is the next one, the creep of anger sneaking into my chest as I roughly shove the seventh skimmed book into its place. This entire book case is actually worthless, what's the purpose of books without words? My face contorts into an irked frown, this thing's just a waste of time.

Something inside my head or heart, though, compels me to push forward, this thing can't be entirely for nothing, right? I kneel to the lower parts of the book case, the thing almost feels like it's looming over me as I examine the lower shelves. They don't look different from the others, and yet... there's a pull for them of some sort, am I just imagining it? I reach out and grab a book, the far left one, it's as thin as a stick but tall length wise. I feel a sense of apprehension and dread run through me, but I force my tingling finger tips to tear open the cover of it, the pages flip and thrashes violently in a non existent wind, I yelp and drop the book, stepping away from it as it falls to the ground. The pages continue its aggravated flapping, pain flaring in my skull as I fall to my knees, the pain and pressure around it fucking hurts, I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh god it hurts, it hurts it hurts, I grab the back of my head and force my forehead into the floor, anything to distract from it, ithurtspleasesto-

The toll bell rings one final time, the crowd dispersing itself slowly. I stand straight and still, eyes glazing over the heads of the visitors, most faces aren't ones I recognise, other than the nobles from the surrounding areas. The mens sorrowful faces and ladies sniffling sounds, as well as their ruined make up, are very well crafted masks to disguise their likely uncaring, or perhaps even joyful true reactions to the funeral. Their eyes look over my face for few moments between each other, each reaction being either one of suspicion, disgust, or disinterest. Whatever thoughts they have is their own, and none of my concern after all. When the majority of them have finally left, I twist around and march towards the gate of the graveyard, small pockets of locals still idling around and drinking glasses wine, a generous donation from the Templars for the grieving family of the lost. They had been thankful for the gift, as well as the accommodation of protection for them, though they had been rather stifled in their expression of thanks, likely due to the rawness of it. In truth I know not who was killed, nor would I care to, I'm only here to provide protection for the ones thats arrived.

The setting sun shines upon my cauldrons, a shining silver in the dimming sunlight, Templar emblem engraved onto the chest piece. Black robe fluttering in the soft wind as I continue my slow march past the gate, turning a stiff left and proceeding forward. The Captain ought to be waiting down their somewhere, a gloved hand resting upon my sword hilt, I can still feel the broad side of the blade tapping against my leg even through the robe. I can see the Captain ahead, though he seems distracted by his chat with a lady thats approached him, I can see his bearded mug morphed into a grin. The lady responds to whatever the Captain said in a delighted manner, a polite titter is something I can hear through her politely covered mouth, light blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and her deep red dress is a needlessly elegant one, especially for walking around in. As I reach the Captain, he seems to notice my approach, his face turning stoic and professional, it's entertaining seeing how he can change his face at the drop of a hat.

"Rookie, you've finally arrived. Anything to report?" His gruff voice is one that rumbles through my ears, and the lady seems delighted to hear it though, a sigh escaping her lips as she leans against the Captain, his lip twitching upwards for only a moment. I can't imagine that the armour he's wearing is comfortable in the slightest, Templar emblem engraved onto the chest piece like mine, a crest placed alongside it. I shake my head and clasp my hands around my back, standing straight and to attention.

"None, sir." I reply to him coldly and stiffly. He hums and cups his chin in return, his attention turning to his apparent lady for the night briefly with a lecherous grin on his face. The lady flushes a deep red, a loud yelp coming from her as well as a flustered bout of words, a hand slapping against the Captains chest piece lightly. I hold in my sigh at the exchange, it's not my place to ask nor worry about it.

"Then you're done for the day, even a furred thing like yourself has to let off some steam, why don't you find a girl for the night? They're always looking for a lovely Templar, after all." He suggests, the lady in his arms giggling alongside him. I don't comment, only continuing to look straight into his eyes. After a while, he coughs into a hand. "Right then, I'll take that as your answer, I hope not all you things are this prude."

And with that, the Captain carries the girl bridal style, girlish giggling echoing in my ears as he sprints away with her, most likely to either his home or to an Inn. I sigh to myself and turn away, I already know where to go. If the Captain's going to be going home with the girl, I really hope his wife isn't there for his sake, I don't know how he gets away with that.. he's still the Captain for a reason, though,

Down the street, to the left, keep walking straight, second right street. The wind dies down slightly as I continue my venture, the locals staying out of my way. I turn another corner, the final one before reaching the hall, a brown blur running into my chest. Whoever it is, they're light enough that it barely knocks me back, however they're send planted onto their ass, a small whine coming from them. 'Them' turns out to be a deep brown fox keidran, a small and frail thing, their barely acceptable and ragged robe doesn't hide their lithe figure very well, though it covers the essentials at the very least. Their face is small and pointed, brown fur most of it, small white spots peppered around the mouth, short black hair covers the top of its head, its misshapen and seems likely cut with a knife. After a few moments of it rubbing its butt, they finally stand to attention, lips molding itself into a worried frown with the bottom lip trembling, its copper coloured eyes lighting up fear.

"S-s-s-sorry, Templar sir!" Its stuttering, shrill and high pitched voice forces my ear to twitch, I feel my lips form itself into a small frown. Why does their voices always have to be so loud. It lets out a small 'eep' of surprise as shes pulled backwards, stumbling back to a steady stance, a fat noble taking its place. He gasps for air, his chest heaving in his desperation for it, doesn't look like he gets out much, his face is familiar though, his second chin wobbles with his staggered breath, lips twitching his fuzzy moustache as his small beady eyes looks into mine.

"S-sorry for the girl, Sir Templar, I-I'll be sure to have her properly punished!" He barely manages to squeak out of his lungs in a slimy voice before jerking into a coughing fit, at least he recover soon afterwards, and doesn't get any spit on me. I look at the fox, their eyes watering and lips terse, I sigh to myself and rub at my temple, I don't want to deal with this.

"Do as you will, now get out of my way." I brush past the slimy noble, continuing back on my path. I hear him call out behind me, though I leave them be, a slave and their master is not my issue, either. I finally approach the hall, the guards near the door takes a look at me, then my armour, before quickly standing straight and saluting. I walk past them and open the doors into the hall, merchants and nobles muddled together discussing whatever subjects they wish to speak whilst the setting rays of the sun illuminates the floor, the stained glass windows colouring the floor in their artistical majesty. I ignore them, as well as the side eyeing nonsense they send my way, brushing past another fox slave walking around with food, its body tensing as they shuffle away from me. At least that has the decency to move away, unlike the rest of the horde around here, their gazing becoming more frenzied and their mutterings tumultuous. Keep going, keep moving, they're not important, just get to Her. I rush myself towards the end of the room, behind the set stage, whoever's playing that damned organ really ought to practise away from people. The guards stationed there are lax, paying little attention till my approach, their spears barely missing my face, the shafts tapping against my chest piece.

"Halt! What business do you have here?" The one on the left questions, the baritone sound of his voice sounds forced, and probably is, given how young his face seems to be, as if barely reached adulthood by the skin of his teeth, his chest puffed out and back forced straight. I only stare into the mans eyes, his gaze is unfocused despite the furrowed brows, the tremor in his arm is only slight, barely noticeable, I'd be impressed with his ability to put on a mask if he wasn't in the way.

"Templar business, none of your concern. Now move." I reply flatly, his eyes flash with concern for a moment as I continue to glare down to him. He exhales from his nose, it's short and tense, his hand squeezing on his spear.

"Listen, the Mayor's currently busy with a meeting, if you'd like to wa-" Whatever the man wanted to say is cut off as I grab him, pulling him towards me and smashing my head against his own, the hands wrapped around his shoulders really helping to bring his skull into the encroaching mashing, unfortunately for him he refused to wear a helmet. His partner steps back in shock, giving me more than enough time to repeat the process again and again, the man going limp and collapsing to the floor as I let him go, armour clunking against the wall and head lolling to the side, he'll probably live and wake up with a shocking headache. I turn to his friend, the guard shaking and stepping away from me, shaking spear tip pointed towards my chest, I stare into the frightened mans eyes and slowly lowered the tip with a finger, instead pushing the door open and stepping over the mans unconscious body as it flops onto the next rooms floor.

I see Her at her desk in the far end of the room, at least her hair, seated in front of her is a robe clad man, he doesn't turn around as I walk foreward, but She pokes up her head, one of her eyebrows raises as she leans on a hand, an amused but curious look in her emerald green eyes. The room's lined wall to wall with book cases and books themselves, mercantile related scrolls laid on the top of them and scattered around elsewhere, I can hear her humming to herself as I approach her, stepping next to the robed man, he's still silent, his hood obscuring his face.

"Oh my, I should have imagined you would have forced yourself through, but did you really have to brutalise my guard so much?" She questions me, her voice is the same velvety smooth as it usually is, but the soothing feeling from it is always welcoming. I twist my head towards the door, the still conscious guard dragging his friends body frantically out of the door way, closing it shut behind him. I turn back to Her and shrug, crossing my arms as I stare into her eyes, she knows why I'm here.

"Tsk tsk, I thought we were friends, I expected better of you my dear~ Or at least to be less serious, it's such a waste after all." Her silk voice is tinged with a bit of humour, and faux disapproval, I roll my eyes, but I feel the edge of my lips twitch upwards much to my own displeasure. The coo I hear from Her makes me groan aloud, she must've saw that twitch. She pushes herself from her seat and elegantly walks towards me, her deep red dress flowing and hugging at her body, even in the dimmer light of the room it sparkles elegantly, her slim hands cup around my chin, thumbs rubbing against my fur as she forces me to look down to her, a teasing smile on her dainty face. She's worn make up again, a part of her normal routine for meetings and other public events, emerald eyes lighting up with a teasing glee.

"Awh, even a dear such as you can smile, you really should lighten up some more." Her voice is low and serious, but the smile on her face is almost genuine. I feel my cheeks flare up at he contact, close proximity is not what I'm used to.

"I'm just here for what I need, My Dame." I force my voice low to avoid any hitching, coming off far huskier than what I wish. Her full lips form a mock pout, giving my cheek a small pat before twisting and returning to her desk, hips swaying purposefully as she reaches down to open a cabinet at it. I pinch my eyes together, this lady's going to be the death of me, damn her. It takes a few seconds of silence from myself and the robed man, who's still deathly silent and still, his cloak barely moving with his breaths, but she finally turns around, a large and sturdy book in her hands. I take it from her, the heft of it is nice, and not too heavy given its size.

"As you requested, my dear, I truly with you gave me more chances to toy with it, but it's yours now." She re-seats herself as I flip through the book. The pages are all clean and crisp, plenty of space to write and draw whatever I need, nodding and stuffing it under my arm pit to carry it, I give her a small bow, she deserves such respect. I hear her tittering, and I can imagine the smug smile on her face.

"Is that all, my dear? You know you can always ask me for anything you need, or want~" I feel myself flush once again, coughing into my hand as she titters again. At least the robed man has the decency to be silent through out this. My business here's done at least, I make my way to the door and push it open, neither guards seem to be around anymore, the one left awake likely dragged him away.

"Don't be a stranger~!" She calls out from behind me as I close the door, a tingle going up my spine as she speaks. Gods damn her, the woman's too open with how she acts. I ignore the rabble around me as I reach the town hall doors, pushing them open and into the town itself-

I launch myself into a sitting position on the bed, clutching my head in its throbbing pain, though it dies down quickly enough. I look around the bed, the sheets are thrown around in a disordered manner, hanging from the bed itself or plain tossed around the room, shaking my head and taking in deep breaths to steady myself, wiping away the beading sweat from my face. I groan and lay back into the, resting my head against the pillow and collecting my thoughts, rubbing at my temple. The dream, memory thing, that's what that was right? A dream straight into a section of my, or Zekes memory at least. God, it's nice to remember something, but Jesus Christ I was an asshole apparently. Is that what Anna said when she said she saw something different in my eyes?

I return to a sitting position, my clothes feels damp from sweat, ruffling my face with my hands to wake myself up. Was that guard alright, why did I remember that part specifically? And that lady... A shudder goes up my spine, at least I had good tastes in chicks, wish I learned her name, was she my boss, or a secondary boss or something? I stand up and move towards my bag, opening it and rummaging around, eventually finding the journal. I wipe away the miscellaneous dirt and muck from the bag on it, this is the same journal I got from the lady, why was it so important to me, or Zeke, am I still Zeke?

I groan and rub at my head, stuffing the journal back in my bag, it's too early for existential questioning, and I want food. Speaking of journals, though, what about the dream journal there? The things in there didn't seem like an entry of any kind, so what would it be?

And that caged wardrobe.. the hell could that mean? How would I even unlock it? If I smack it hard enough with a hammer, maybe it'll open, do I want to see whats inside? The rumbling of my stomach knocks me out of my thoughts though, clutching my stomach for a moment before standing up. Right, food stuff, that's important. I take the next few minutes to tidy up the bed, even if I don't like the bartender, I might as well be kind enough to fix a little bit for whoever else works here. I throw on my chain mail, as well as my cloak and gloves, they're at least a comforting reminder of my friends, strapping my bag onto my back and pushing the door open into the hallway, there's few people entering and leaving their rooms, some with food, others empty handed and going about their business.

I take in a deep breath, and then let it out, stretching around a little bit, my bones cracking as I do so. I feel a kind of hope swell up in my chest, I'm not sure where it's coming from, but other than the rough start to the morning, I think today's gonna go just fine.