57th of Winter 513 AV
Edwyn woke up with a start, what a strange dream he thought to himself as his body drew itself into human form. Staring up at the cracked ceiling a line of sweat trickled down his brow like a salted tear, it wasn’t the dank cold air clawing at his exposed skin and ravaged through the small room that troubled him, neither was it the horrifying impression that the ceiling could come crashing inwards at any moment. No, instead it was the horrors and night mares lurking inside his mind that chilled his heart. Quickly though, as with all dreams, this one slowly melted away, its twisted path through Edwyns’s fears sifting through the hands of his imagination and with it so also left the dreams reality and precedence.
Shaking his head in a dog like manner, he pulled himself upright. The room had an almost cell like quality to it, little space, stone walls, windows were nonexistent, the only light came from the hallway or sometimes the hearth when Edwyn lit it, though now the room seemed caught in a dim twilight. Edwyn moved carefully as to not step on anything as he retrieved his clothes from where they lay littered about the floor with most of his other possessions. Pulling a dingy shirt over his speckled hair then down across his chest he glanced around the room for his cloak. Another dusty gust of cold air rippled down the ventilation shaft making Edwyn shiver as his eyes finally found there mark, there underneath his pack spread open across the floor sat the worn piece of cloth and beside it a harshly carved wooden flute, sides lumpy and at points rather uneven because of the apparent haste in which it was made; yet for Edwyn the piece held a surreal beauty.
He picked them both up, throwing the cloak over his shoulders to ward of the cold and then slid his flute into a small pocket at his side. Not quite sure where he was going he simply wished to get out from the room as he thrust open the door and trotted off down the long narrow hallways of Syliras…