259 Gossip

"Damn them." A voice cried. "Damn them. Damn them. God of Evil. I invoke your name in hopes they will be slaughtered by your hand. Spare none of those hypocrites. Those fucking humans, they'll pay." The dream was the same as before but the voice was more familiar. It was a man, but he had never sounded like that: angry, depraved, mourning.

Cerlius awoke drenched in sweat. He lept from his bed and scanned the room. The gunpowder was still on the desk with quills sticking out of it. He was still trapped. He calmed himself and prepared for the day ahead. The grey robe which he changed into was soft. The thin pants and shirt underneath were adequate.