[Farrah Lee]

Heat was all he felt. The seasoned warrior gazed around the building he was trapped in; there was a hard pressure against his back. A slab of a table formed out of gray stone, hard enough to break someone's bones but still fragile enough that if hit correctly, it could send millions of tiny shards underneath his skin. He blinked a few times to try and clear his head. It didn't work , he tried to rise to his feet but quickly felt the harsh denial of shackles around his feet and arms. He tried again to get to his feet, but again got the same result...and this time he foolishly slammed the back of his head on the stonework behind him. He let out a muffled curse as his vision blurred some, noting the walls all around him and far off in the center of the room rested a small opened cage barely large enough to contain any human thing in it, amongst all of the seemingly random dead maggot-filled corpses hung from the ceiling by a rope. It seemed he was moved here without knowing. Then the pain returned to his cranium and he felt the warm liquid of blood rolling down the side of his face. His chest heaved and it wasn't long until one of the Dremora guards showed up on the spiral staircase with a wide grin on its face. He stared back blankly as the humanoid cackled, "Ah you still alive, meatbag. Ha! Thought I was done with you??" the being teased and walked over clad in a greenish robe, clenching a hand into a fist and staring at the man on the table with pure evil intent. That was when Shademyth started to feel the sensation of being on fire. The Caitiff ran its hand over the warriors exposed bluish gray flesh and the natural reaction of fleeing did the male no good in this case. The more he struggled, the more potent the smell of his burning flesh became and it made his stomach churn. Finally he could take no more and started screaming at the top of his lungs, but that never made the pain cease.

Shademyth awoke with a start, almost jumping up out of his seat from fright in the middle of the inn, Dead Man's Drink. His face felt like it was searing but a quick assessment of the situation deemed he had just dozed off in the company of a roaring fire--and staying in one position the entire time only made the feeling of his face burning off worse. Thus, he stood anyhow and once turning from the fireplace he ventured outside for a minute to cool himself off. He rubbed at his face to get the imagery out of his mind. "Oblivion..." he muttered to himself with great reluctance his green eyes peering out at the darkening clouds. That segment of daedric realms wasn't for the faint of heart, and it was a wonder he had made it out alive those times he had gone into them. But lately something had been pestering him. The feeling of a Gate...and the nightmares. They were starting to all come back. Sometimes they'd repeat..and at other occurrences they'd leave faint vague signs in them, probably all Azura's doing. Shademyth was convinced of it.

He let out a heavy sigh and a puff of vapor from his mouth followed. Falkreath was always chilly and it was a rare occurrence for a warm day. The elven-looking man stared out towards the town's cementary, leaning on the banister in his enchanted Daedric armor. Skyrim was an unforgiving land and he learned right away that they thought not much of him here--or any stranger for that matter who looked anything remotely elven. The truth was that Shademyth couldn't reveal what he was..in part due to the average citizen's weariness of approaching him. It must have been the look he wore on his face, a battle- hardened veteran who showed no mercy to the enemy, nor to any individual who had yet to prove themselves to him of their trustfulness. Immortality would do that to a man...and then some.

Shademyth reached into his side bag and pulled out the piece of sigil stone he kept on his person at all times. The stone was circular, deadly sharp around the edges and it hummed with a mystical pulse that only he could feel. It took everything in his power to not discard the piece right then. It hadn't brought him luck of any kind; however, there was a part of him that felt like he needed it. Why was it bothering him now? The last time he dealt with the energy of an Oblivion Gate was...

That was it, wasn't it. An Oblivion Gate. It was...calling to him, through the stone. But here in Skyrim? It was odd to think of a single Gate being present here but the idea wasn't entirely mad. An a Gate meant Mehrune must of had enough power to either reach through the Void, or he was back in business in his realm. The idea worried the black-haired man and a frown settled on his features. Shademyth was not looking forward to dealing with any Oblivion Gate again--that life was behind him. He was a changed person. The past few hundred years of his life had been nothing but hardship. Although residing on the porch as a light rainfall scattered throughout the area, the bittersweet reminder of his wife entered his mind. She was the biggest loss he had had recently, give or take a few centuries...but her loss still felt like it was yesterday...and the frost dragon that slew her was still out here somewhere. He'd have to avenge her untimely death. But with both thoughts of pressing matters on his mind, the man couldn't decide on his own just yet of what to do. Given any luck he might have some decisions made by the morning tomorrow. For now, he'd enjoy the evening and keep an eye on the brewing storm.