The sun burns red on the horizon as the moon fades to gray. An elven horseman appears on the hill, staring down at your farm. His presence is comforting in a way, soothing to know that the new protectorate from the elven nation of Highguard has taken such a keen interest in the affairs of the average man.
As you watch him finish his morning patrol, up and down your lane, up and down along each fence row and boundary, you note a change in the matriarchal family structure of the elven people. In the past, you have watched elven women move away to live alone, in hopes of avoiding the struggles of raising a family. No longer. The women of Highguard have banded together, forming a strong matriarchy, their husbands a near submissive unit.
You also note that some of your neighbors have changed, growing sharper as they age, more inquisitive. They watch, they wait, they listen, and you wonder if you have become paranoid.
Before you know it, it is time to go and meet with the other farmers in town to harvest their 2018 crops. You ride to their farms on your horse, gathering tools, hauling tools, and making the way back in an afternoon. The weather remains warm, even hot, the sun doing its part to dry the fields. The ground turns to hard high-pressure cement, only slightly softened by the heat from the ground.
It is evening before you cross the farm gate, yet the sun burns gold-red on the horizon. Blinking against the light, you slow the horse to a stop thinking on how oddly the last bit of the day looks. ‘What the hell is going on?’
In the distance, before you make the bend to your lane, is a single man. He is staring across your land. You are sure it is the same man you have seen every day, yet this time there is something different. This man looks melted, contorted, odd. His face is stretched and stretched, his eyes bulged, his mouth stretched so far it looks like his chin is where his forehead should be. His face is red and grey and it looks like his eyes are burning.
You try to call out, to get his attention, but your voice does not find its voice. The fear and shock of the moment finds you voiceless.
Your horse becomes restless, unsettled, moving unsteadily from the single man. It snorts against the smell of burned flesh, whinnies and nickers against it. You find yourself suddenly and slowly realizing how alone and there you are, out of sight and away from the farm. The sun burns gold-red on the horizon and even that light is gone. Ahead of you, through the fog and dizziness of senses, is the single, strange man.
You try to run with the horse but your legs are so weak they can not follow. The horse stops to do the same, creating a momentary break as the odd man approaches you. He is a creature of melted fat poured over bone, bright red and brown and burnt.
He raises his arms to you and you try to scream, to get his attention, but your voice does not find its voice.
The world falls into darkness.
You wake somehow, unable to hold the thought of your mind. Your head swims and you turn to look over your shoulder, only to see the melting man is still coming towards you. Somehow, he is walking and his arms no longer raise to you but rather hold a wooden staff. The staff flies through the air and strikes your face. Your ear feels as if it has been pulled from your head, breaking on its journey.
Pain tears your mental state away from you. You howl and scream and your voice finds its voice. You throw yourself from the horse and sprint, sprint. In your sprint, you push through dizziness, through pain, through fear and shock. You push towards your family, your home and the protection you need.
You arrive at your home and the door is empty, open. You run to the window and find it dark, only the quiet breathing of creatures sleeping, no rushing of the wind outside to tell you anything.
You turn and worry at the open door, holding your head and looking about for what has been taken from you. You are confused that the door is open and not shut, curious to no one is here. You call out, yelling your voice bitterly at the sound of your throat. Nothing, no sound, no expression comes from your throat for answer.
The distance to your family does not seem far at all. Your breathing grows faster as the distance increases. You think on the bad decisions you made, the actions that caused you to become a wanderer, alone and without a place to stay or a place to go.
Arriving at the open door, you call out again, to be answered. Nothing, no sound, no expression. Breathing with an increased pace, your hands shake. You run to your bed, standing gently.
The bed is empty.
You sit, sear the ground with your feet, attempting to balance, to use the bed as some base of support. The room is empty, the furniture too, bare and unmoving. You try to call out again and find you cannot. You stand and turn, noticing a door at the end of the hall.
You run, feeling the silence. Unbeknownst to you, it is this silence that you have been hearing, this no bursts of sound, this lack of life that bothers you.
The door, far away yet ever so close, is opened for you. Just as your fingers, clenched into hatred and fear, reach out for the handle and heave the door open, it slams in your face.
You stand, turning and looking, seeing the door coming closer. You do not turn to flee but places your hands upon your head, expecting the pain. Instead, bright light envelops you, blinding, wearing you down and out. You stand and fall. You stand and then fall. Over and over again. Until you wake up in your bed, staring at your wife and daughter as they sleep in their bed.
You blink and close your eyes, then open them again. In front of you are two figures, one big and one small. They are coming closer. You feel the bed shift, feel the cool air as the two figures reach out for you. Hands gently touch your face, pulling your attention from one to another as you are cradled from the bed. You look up, seeing nothing but white and blue, further up, seeing more white and blue. You try to speak but no sound comes. You try to grasp, to push the figures away, but your fingers are weak and move awkwardly.
The figures grab your arms and push you to stand. You grip your arms, looking at the figures, finding them armored and riding horses. One is a man, one a woman. In their arms, they each hold a sword, pointed down at you. They pull you into motion and point you towards the door.
As you exit, you look over your shoulder and see the empty bed. Your eldest daughter and wife are gone, taken near as you slept. You look and break down, weeping, pleading for the figures to stop, to give you a moment.
They did not stop.
You are pulled through the village, through the streets where you ran so many times before. You try to call out but only tears build in your throat.
The ones you knew and loved, passing you in the early morning, have gathered and look. Their eyes tell you they know, they see. You knew they knew and it was that knowledge that kept you at home.
Now they see you vanish, taken by unknown men and women, tall and armored, riding horses. You hear the creak of armor and leather. You feel the grip of a steady hand holding you, the other swinging you back and forth.
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