Chasing Memories

Havermouth, Present Time, 1.5 weeks after Retaking Havermouth From the Van Helsings

Men were yelling. The sounds were distant, echoed off stone, but he knew that they were hunting him. He did not know how it was that he knew that, but the knowledge was ingrained, the bone within his flesh, the blood within his veins. They sought him, and he needed to wake up and pull himself together, or they would find what they sought.

He lay upon stone in a wet place, the drip of water a constant rhythm to pace his heart against. It was wet, filthy, and it stank.

His body hurt. It was more than an ache and less than an agony. Not the soft pain of a bruise, nor the sharp pain of a slice – he knew both although he could not recall suffering either. This was a pain that began deep in the marrow and seeped outwards. The wrongness began within. Poison, his brain told him. He was suffering the after-effects of poison.

He knew those after-effects well but could not recall how it was that he had come to kn