Nightmares

Nomad lay on the thin mattress, a light blanket over him. He slept in this cheap flop house on the out skirts of town, the only place he could find. It was deep night outside and the Reaver slept, but fitfully...his body covered in a thin layer of sweat, though the window let in a cool draft. He tossed in his small bed and moaned softly...and dreamed...

A black sun hung over the misty shadows of his home world. He walked down the dirt track which served as a road in this small village. He was alone, the rest of his five man strike force having fallen at last to the 200 Elairinan troopers. Yet the Reavers’ of the Warlord Rython had won the day. This, the last Reaver slew the commander of the Elairians’...ripping out the creatures still beating hearts as it tried to flee. Now he was on his way back to the Warlord’s own front lines and safety. Still, he had one more stop to make. The villagers had hidden the Reaver strike force, fearing for their lives, but had betrayed them to the Elairians, and now they would pay. The blood and gore of battle still covered the Reaver, every inch of his body was covered in it, none of it his own. He came upon the village at sundown. His only weapon was a wickedly curved sword, some 5 feet in length, yet he held it lightly in one hand. Men and women walking about the village square, taking care of last minute tasks before they settled in for the dark night, were the first to see the Reaver. The women screamed, calling for their men, running for their rude huts. A group of men, unarmed, hands raised in a sign of parlay scurried forward, hoping to stay the Reaver with words...Their hope was an empty one. With out breaking stride the Reaver cut them down, his eyes not even reacting to their presence. So the rest of the town feel. Men tried in vain, wielding stout clubs, hunting knives and farming tools, any weapon they could find to defend their village. All died in vain.
The Reaver went to the first house, his sensitive ears hearing the screams of women and children inside. He took a branch from a near by fire and threw it on the dry thatch roof. Then on to the next hut he went, his face grim, eyes flat, emotionless. The heat from the burning village rose off in waves,. the sounds of the dying could be heard faintly over the burning timbers He dropped the flaming branch to the ground and began walking out of the razed village. It was then when he saw one last hut. From the back of the building the Reaver saw to figures emerge and start to flee. He raised his blade and sprinted after. The two fugitives were small and quick and they ran in fear of their lives. Yet the Reaver was faster, moving with fluid grace of a born predator. He saw that it was a young women and a small child. The child fell, the girl stopped to pick him up and then Reaver was on them. The women, perhaps the child’s sister,perhaps its mother, crouched down protectively in front, pleading for mercy. She found none. The dead body fell away and the child looked up, awaiting death. Tears streaked its dirty face and it trembled, coal black eyes wide with fear. The Reaver at last showed emotion...pleasure. A sick twisted grin of victory spread over his gore covered face and he raised his sword high...

And Screamed. Nomad woke hearing the pounding on the walls and the slightly slurred yells of someone telling him to shut up. His breath was ragged and chills swept over his body...he slowly laid back down, yet his eyes remained open... *What was that? Was that me?* He remained awake till the light of dawn lit the horizon, then with a sigh he rolled over and slept.