“I cannot feel my body...”
It was the sudden, alarming realisation that jolted Hadric awake. Not the raging thunderstorm outside his cabin, nor the violent downpour that crashed cacophonously against his windows; rather, it was the real, inexplicable fact that he could not feel, nor move, any part of his body below his neck. Befuddled, he glared around him, even as he recognised the surging onset of panic, rushing to overtake his compromised composure.
He could clearly remember going to his bed last night; yet he presently found himself sitting in his recliner. He could clearly remember putting out the fire; yet it blazed soothingly in the hearth, his cooking pot hanging above it. A flash of lightning lit the skies, momentarily illuminating the small interior. From the corner of his eye, he registered a faint movement. “'Tis but a shadow cast from the flame,” he quickly thought to himself, but the pounding of his heart betrayed his rising dread.
He weathered the rolling rumble that followed, even as it shook his lodge to its very foundations.
It was the whisper after, that succumbed him to terror.
“Hello, Hadric.”
The familiar voice startled the fisherman more than any storm could ever hope to do. “You!” he screamed, his voice quivering, “what did you do to me?!”. Both of his impulsive reactions -fight, flight-, were taken from him. He felt a knot rising to his throat, and a dizziness gripped him. In his subconscious, his instinct of survival thrashed wildly. The answer was already known to him. It was none other than the man before him, that had taught him the toxin; Hadric himself had used it before. The uninvited guest slowly dragged a chair across the wooden floor, sitting in front of his host.
A moment was drowned in silence. Patiently, the stranger awaited for Hadric to look at him; something the fisherman actively tried to avoid. Eventually, he succumbed to the man's wordless demand, and met his gaze. The spark of defiance had fizzled. As if through sheer force of will, the stranger's unblinking stare commanded Hadric's fluttering one to remain glued on him. “Where is my shipment, Hadric?” The stranger's tone was unnervingly warm. He spoke slow, as if he had all the time in the world, yet he exhibited none of that patience when the reply was not delivered instantly. Hadric stammered an incomprehensible array of sounds, cut sharply by his interrogator's sudden outburst. “Where is my shipment?!” the man roared, bolting up from his chair. He leaned forward, grasping his captive's jaw in his gauntleted claw. “Speak,” he whispered softly, as he creeped uncomfortably close. A faint scent of roses tickled Hadric's flaring nostrils.
“I-it was the H-hi-hill-hi-hillm-mmen!” He struggled to stutter, his face still tightly held in the man's unyielding grip. He felt his forehead sweating. A bead involuntarily dripped by the side of his cheek. “They st-sto-stole i-it!” The uninvited guest's piercing stare lingered for an eternal second. “Stole it,” he repeated Hadric's final words, tasting them as they left his mouth. He frowned at their sourness. With a shove, he freed the fisherman's face, and slowly started walking towards the hearth. “How noble of these Dunlendings to leave you gold behind. Compensation for your losses?” Unflinching, he unhooked the boiling cooking pot, and spared a glance of contempt at his paralysed host. A whisper wormed its way out of Hadric's mouth“Please..”. A whisper that, like the final crack on a disrepaired dam, foretold the flood that followed.
“You have disappointed me, Hadric,” he heard the man say calmly, as he found himself unable to hold back his rising tears. “I saved you from Aelle's rightful noose, and this is how you repay me?” Heavy footsteps approached him somberly, as he abandoned himself into an uncontrollable sob. The stranger placed a compassionate hand on Hadric's head, stroking his hair comfortingly. With pleading eyes, the fisherman gazed up at him, his trembling mouth opening apologetically.
Hadric managed nary a sound. A sudden pull of his hair violently jerked his head back, and he heard the vertebrae of his neck snapping. As he opened his mouth to scream, his captor's second hand grasped the open jaw, breaking it off with a swift, decisive push. His last thought was how painless it all felt.
The clouds dried. The storm passed. The cabin was undisturbed. Nailed on its front door hanged a tongue, human to the discerning eye, encased in molten gold.
[Originally written by the player of Crow (Derakoth)]
