Ghosts of the past

Thrane's thoughts before falling asleep had all revolved around his desire to live on past this ordeal, to overcome and nor become another unmarked grave or worse, one of the many undead which roamed these lands without purpose. Of course there would be no respite from worry when sleep finally did claim him, his already exhausted mind left him open to influence, as it had every time he'd slept for the past five days, just as it had every time he was knocked out in a fight through that same time period.

It began with a single pair of glowing eyes regarding him from an impossible darkness, piercing ice blue. They were some distance away, perhaps forty to sixty feet away, unmoving in his sleep; though they would steadily approach when fallen in combat, slowly coming closer and closer until he was mercifully restored from the cusp of death by one of his companions. Everyone who had been brought low while in the city said they saw those same blue eyes, yet only he was subjected to them at night.

They watch with unknown purpose. Was it judging him? Mocking him? Had he been marked vulnerable by the many (yet temporary) curses which had befallen him while they collected the keys? The answers would never come, nor had any attempts at communicating with this presence been answered.

Tonight the rogue would see far more than he wished as the eyes faded with the darkness and he found himself standing in the air some distance above the ruined city. However, the scene was different from what he recognizes, the jungle had not overtaken the homes and roads, the bridge laid in pristine condition and people walked the streets in colorful garments.

It was as though he saw the city as it would have been at its height of prosperity, the alters and temples busy with worshipers and sacrifices being offered to the many gods of their pantheon, carts laden with goods, people and tools occasionally moving along the roads and a market full of stalls and throngs of people partaking in the scene. A far cry from the burnt husks, collapsed buildings, wild growth, abandoned temples, and predatory monsters which roamed the city while he'd picked through it.

Then without warning, a shadow appeared over the city like thick fog, the temples began to overflow with people petitioning the priests with their offerings, pleading for the aid of the gods in some mutual threat to their being. Even though Thrane knew they would fall, a part of him wanted to see them succeed and overcome the inevitable. A pointless wish that was soon dashed as the darkness thickened and all he could make out were vague figures moving in the fog like a disturbed anthill, there was activity everywhere and seemed to go in every direction.

Just as soon as the changes had come, the movement stopped and light returned to shine on ghost town. It appeared to have been sacked as many roofs had been burnt and stalls smashed to pieces, blood had been spilt generously throughout the streets. This brought him to stare in confusion as he could not find a single body in all the mess, instead there was now crater near the center of town big enough to fit a mansion inside. Was this the cause of their sudden removal from history books? The question had hardly entered his mind before movement drew his gaze to the treeline, the townspeople were there!

Even before Thrane could confirm the sinking feeling in his gut, he knew they were already dead. He'd seen enough of their kind to last him multiple lifetimes. The shambling movements only an undead could possess. Within moments he could make out torn and blood stained clothing as well as vicious wounds that littered their bodies, no doubt about it; something had come and slaughtered the entire city before turning it's sizeable population in the soulless husks that roamed the land to present day.

'But why am I seeing this?' he wondered. What purpose does this hold? It's clearly no normal dream but some sort of message. Did the blue eyed presence send it to him or was this residual energy in the area? So many questions, yet no answers that would come forth.

Instead of anything that made sense, his vision pulled from the scenery to an unfamiliar face carved in stone. A man with mouth opened impossibly wide to a nebulous void, lips framed by the curls of a beard and two horns upon his brow that curl outwards it's expression seems to be one of anger, and the figure grows impossibly large as it approaches.

Try as he might the human couldn't turn his gaze nor move a muscle as it approached him, he was full of dread and a primal understanding that if it were to swallow him then he would cease to exist, as surely and quick as a snap of the fingers; to pass those lips is to forfeit both body and soul.

Thrane couldn't speak, he couldn't even breathe. This was it for him. Death in every possible use of the word. Unable to save himself the adventurer gazes in despair as the void meets him, causing him to violently jerk awake.

All it takes is a confused look from the person on watch duty for him to shakily exhale and wave his hand to dismiss any alarm his action had raised. His clothes were damp from his sweat and his body ached as though he'd just run a marathon, the sleep he'd gotten could hardly be counted as rest; to hide from any further nightmares he simply gets up and sits next to the guard. Seeking to settle his nerves while taking comfort from the proximity to a fellow party member, even if that party member happened to be Pices.

The wizard had shown some unhealthy interest in what could objectively be called 'evil' rituals and spellcasting, collected various large bones like the skulls of a sword fish and crocodile, as well as the skeleton of an ape. All piled together in a duffle bag. He'd also sought to be given an ink jar they'd looted which contained specially preserved human blood for the purpose of transcribing new spells into his arcane tomb. Despite these red flags the man had shown himself reliable in combat and his ability to manipulate dirt had provided them with great protection during their many nights in the jungle, after all it's hard to spot a campsite when it's below ground.

"So… You sure you don't want to share why you're collecting bones?" It'd become a game almost for the party to joke and guess about what it was that Pices intended to do with his slowly growing bone pile, each one had been carefully selected by the wizard and he seemed to derive joy in how his little project had captivated the others.

"Wait and see." The same answer he'd given them every time it was brought it.

"Oh come oooon, if you told me what you were building then I could help you find the bones you need to finish it!" Thrane pushed the subject out of habit more than anything, the conversation was soothing his nerves and it kept the topic from why he was staying up hours before it was his turn on watch duty.

His complaint only earned a grin of superiority from the robe wearing wizard, but it's followed by yet another rejection. "If I tell you then it would ruin the surprise."

It's such a childish reason to keep it from everyone that the rogue couldn't help but sigh, after all the times people had nearly died, Pices still liked to hold a few things back while everyone else had laid everything out in the open. Everyone here trusts one another with their lives and the trust had been built upon them fighting together and working with one another on a daily basis for three entire months, if they didn't support one another then the cracks in their unity would have already broken through the core of their strength.

Of course, that isn't to say there hadn't been fights. Bhrams had slugged Thrane once for dragging him into a particularly bad spot and warned that he could expect another fist should he do so again. Pices had needed to defend himself twice for his shady actions to the party and had done so through pointing out his many contributions and swore that what he was working on would likewise be a contribution to their effort. Bhrams got Thrane cursed by triggering an obvious trap, which turned the rogue into a bird right as a pack of giant apes attacked the party. As a whole they'd spent many tens of minutes in contentious debate on how to approach certain combats, setting ambushes, and collectively stumped for hours on end trading heated insults while trying different ideas to solve what should have been simple puzzles.

Despite these events, they worked together for a common goal. More or less… The party never did give Pices the bottled human blood. That's just creepy.