A city lies before you on the rocky plain. Your steps are taking you towards it. You feel like you should turn around, but relentlessly your feet pull you southward, towards its menacing gates.
You feel exposed and vulnerable as you cross the open land. Hateful eyes are watching you, from above, from the jagged hills, and from within the city. There is nothing you can hide behind, and still, betrayed by your own feet you walk on. As you walk, you pass the enormous skeleton of a dragon.
Coming up to the gate of the city you become aware of the skulls covering the ground outside the walls. Thousands and thousands of them, small and large, broken and intact, so many they have to stem from the death of a people. You understand that the lord of the city will not be satisfied until the skulls of all the peoples of Argos litter these plains.
All of a sudden the portcullises start to open. Startled, you slip on the skulls and fall backwards, flailing out as you break the surface. Cold, dark water blinds you as you try to get hold of something. Anything. All sound is gone, you can hear nothing but the weight of cold water on your eardrums. Your clothes, soaked and heavy are dragging you down, and you know that soon you will have to breathe.
You wake up, gasping, and then you fall asleep again. You dream restless, haunted dreams for the rest of the night.
Storyteller's note: You dream this the last night in Septimus.
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