Dark shadows flitted through the dense dying foliage as Lance shot awake for the third time tonight. His mind has been playing tricks on him lately. Suffering from a sort of audio-synesthesia where their suffering bleeds into all of his other senses. As the flames dance along his skin, he recoils back, grabbing his ears to quiet the flaming roar surrounding him.

Fuck this place. It won’t break me.

Deeper in Lance’s mind, the voices stirred.

Tell us— what is she like— yeah, what was she like— before she burned?

They spoke in a dissonant cacophony, each trying to get the last word before the pain proved too much to bear. As they finally finished their thought, the screams seemed to dull as they waited for an answer.

She’s not. She is fine.

A blazing crescendo of cries ripped through Lance’s head. They were not satisfied with that answer.

Mavis, one of the louder souls, shrieked out— Please, Lance—

Henrick interrupts with a shrill cry. Tell us a story. —

Wails of anticipation and agreement rang out from their despair, leaving Lance little choice.

With an audible sigh, Lance began, Right, well, 'Ona has always been the favorite. She’s responsible and doesn’t cause my ma and pa gray hairs.

Inquisitive rumbles began, Well, you don’t— you don’t do that do you— Lance? As Aaaaaaaaa

Lance continues, I wish I didn't, but I’ve given them enough for us both. Trouble has a way of finding me, but it’s alright because ‘Ona and I balance each other out. I caused the problem, and Iona fixed it. This time I gotta help her.—

Taking a moment to really let reality sink in, everything around him is foreign. He is trapped here. He is His prey. The shades around him flicker and dim before swelling. He sees the furnace, hears the screams, and feels the fire. Their voices are deafening. Howls of anguish converge with despair as the wails reach a fevered pitch. He stifles a scream with whatever is remaining of his subconscious, violently shaking from the strain.

With one last grab of his ears, he recollects himself as he begins. Years ago back home, there was a group of jackass wood elves that would swing through just to fuck with us. —

Lance finds himself somewhere else, surrounded by an empty black. He is alone. After a moment the emptiness began growing. Ephemeral smoke rose faster than it dissipated. The foggy black formed a silhouette with large pointed ears, and angular eyes. Each distant but familiar. Lance recognizes them as the wood elves he knew many years ago. Exactly as he remembered it. —

Those bastards can burn. They would come through handing out pixie dust and beating the shit out of anyone that looked at them wrong. Jax was on their bad side.—

Forming from the smoke stubby brown ears atop a stout body. Large blue eyes and dirt-brown fur. He’s cowering at their feet. The shadowy figures of elves are kicking him while he’s down. Exactly as he remembered it. —

They would’ve beat him to death. So, despite Iona saying “we need to be smart”, I had to run out there and try to stop them. I was a dumb kid, and ‘Ona was right.—

Iona forms instantly, in the flesh, he sees her large ruby eyes and tender expression as she looks over the terrible scene. The white splotches in her otherwise light grey fur almost seem to shine as she stands against the black emptiness. Her clothes, her fur, even the knick on her left ear from the encounter with the redcaps. It was her. She yells “Lance, wait!” as he leaps to help Jax. Exactly as he remembered it.—

I got beat half to death before Iona came over with the damn fey charter and started reading. Fey adore their rules. Breaking an Archfey’s rule is acting against them. —

A shock of crimson red shoots from the neck of one of the wood elves, covering Lance and pooling around Jax. A blood-curdling scream reaches Lance’s ears as he reaches up to grab his head. Jax looked awe-struck fear in his eyes. “L-lance, what are you doing?!” as the intestines spilled from the void of the next ethereal wood elf. The elf’s sharp eyes barely registered the wound before quickly falling dead on his knees burning to a pile of ash. The jitters in the last elf were palpable, his heart beating fast in his chest. Delicious. This is not how he remembered it.—

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That only seemed to make ‘em angrier, they stopped beating us and turned to ‘Ona. The charter cant do anything if nobody witnesses the crime. I started throwing rocks. Not my smartest move, but I wouldn’t let them hurt Iona. “Ey pricks, You’re the lowest on the elf pecking order so try to remember your place.” That set them off. —

The elf’s ears tensed, his eyes nearly bursting from the smoke. As he took a step back, Lance took one forward. “Please,” the elf said, “I am so sorry, I did not know, sir. Let me live.” Lance paused. The tension is palpable, thick enough to cut with an arm blade. Why not enjoy this?

“Run.”

The elf did not hesitate. This is not how he remembered it.—

I ran. They chased. I heard Iona shouting from behind but I didn’t have time to wait. I jumped from roof to roof and scurried through market stalls. I shoved my way towards the Underbrook, the main drainage line running through the city, made by the rainfall in Mythryn’s way. Unfortunately, they kept up. —

The elf ran. Lance followed. He stumbled haphazardly through buildings made of thick inky smoke. Iona shouted for him to stop but he was focused. He would protect her. The elf was heading towards The Underbrook. Unluckily for him, Lance had been through this place more than anybody else. The river was flowing crimson, boiling to the touch. The elf screamed as the blood splashed onto him, searing his wispy flesh. Lance knows that heat. This isn’t right. —

It’s tough to hide in Mythryn’s way because everything is brightly lit and vibrantly painted. Everywhere but the Underbrook that is. The lower city is always submerged. Wooden substructures, soon-to-be-evacuated campsites, and trash from above ; shit and people alike. I ran to The Sunken Hope, is a bar but they knew me. The Archfey owner knows the city better than anyone. I knew she would help, if only to anger the elves. I was out of time. —

Lance pounced as the elf collapsed, shredding his blotted form with ease. The elf struggled but he had no chance. There was a glint of horror in Lance’s eyes but it has been replaced with one of joy.

He was the predator. Not the prey.

It was invigorating!

The elf drew his final scream. Lance reached for his ears. The left reached its destination but the right… It was gone.

Blood flowed from the now vaporized corpse. Pooling in The Underbrook, a large lake of boiling blood surrounds Lance

He screamed.

This isn’t right. —

They caught up. They started kicking the shit out of me, I failed to crawl away but they pushed me deeper into the lake pooling around The Sunken Hope. The deeper I went the more I fought. I was going to die. All I could think was “Fuck this place. It won’t break me.” —

Submerged in the boiling heat Lance pushed forward.

He dove deeper.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of feet he kept swimming deeper. The fire scorched his flesh, bones, and soul. Nothing was spared. He gasped for air but the scalding fluid filled his lungs. It felt right. —

I sprung away and dove towards The Sunken Hope. A figure stepped forward. This was my chance. “This one is mine,” she said standing heads over the elves. Myrthromanne the Sunken Queen gave a maleficent smile. Teeth like daggers with gnarled horns jutting from her skull.“Have you brought me toys dear?” she looked at me with excitement in her eyes I couldn't have expected. The next moment a shock of crimson red filled the air. The next was disemboweled with the same motion. It was horrible. —

Lance reached the bottom.

He had overcome.

At the bottom of the sea, he was surrounded by nothing but his own fury. He could feel the pressure of the depth, but it didn’t matter anymore. The blood coagulated. The Devil Strahd, covered in a wreath of crimson smoke. Lance released a furious scream as he swam forward. Lance swung a left slash at the vampyr's leg. Deflected with a fluid grace unbefitting the sword he carried. Strahd countered with an overhead slash toward the hare’s right leg, hoping for another trophy. Ascending into a twist he barely moved out of the way of the attack as a dagger rips through the blood toward Strahd's leg. Moments before it connected, his body changed to the form of Morgantha. She batted away the dagger with a telekinetic flick of her smoky hand as she reached for Lance with a current of lightning bubbling in the blood. Lance dove to avoid the lightning but it singed his back. He shoots forward with a scream aiming a stab toward Morganatha’s gut.

The figure changes again. It's Lance. He’s crying, on his knees. Shorter than he has been in years. The small Lance looks up. As tears stream from his eyes, there is fear; weakness.

Lance readies his dagger to finish his prey. This was what he needed to do.—

Then I saw Iona. The last one was begging for its life as I heard

“Run.”

The elf didn't hesitate. Myrthromanne followed with a giddy laugh. She’s a monster. Iona swept me up in a deep hug as I began to cry. She saved me and she kept me tight for a long time. It was nice. —

He stopped and locked eyes with his prey. The dagger sinks in the blood. Iona’s ruby-red eyes stare back at him “Lance.” she says gently, “What are you doing here? This isn’t you.”

She stands. He falls.

She swept him into a deep hug as he began to cry. She had saved him and she kept him tight for a long time. This was how he remembered it. It was nice. —

Lance shot awake for the fourth time tonight. Beads of sweat covered his body, he mistook it for blood.

LANCE! — You didn’t— didn’t finish — your story!

The cold Barovian mists covered the ground. The light of the moon casting his shadow against the floor below.

It looked like a monster.

Lance shook his head and took a breath.

Fuck this place. It won’t break me.

She can save me, and I can protect her.