Synopsis: The Watcher's Sign

Under a leaden sky heavy with dark and ominous cloud, a single survivor awakened delirious. Opening bleary eyes crusted with blood, he blinked repeatedly as his vision adjusted to the sudden onset of light. His head hurt and, mumbling to himself, eased an arm heavy with fatigue from under his body to touch his scalp. Gingerly he ran his hand over his skull. Matted hair caked with mud caught at his fingers as he explored the deep gash. Some of his skin was hanging free, he pushed it back into place as best he could, gasping as the nerves in the tender flesh rebelled at their unnatural treatment. Breathing deeply through gritted teeth he closed his eyes and focused on nothing for a few moments as the pounding in his skull receded to a dull ache.
After a time he opened his eyes once more, staring dully at the sky, strangely fearful to move as he watched the swirling patterns in the clouds above. With a suddenness that jars him to the soul, an image flashed into his mind. A studded mace swinging down on him wielded by a gloved arm, his hands raised warding.. He drew his legs into his chest, ignoring the pain that caused and gasping with fear, a fear born of knowledge. There are more memories, flashing. He doesn’t want them. A sound arose, a murmur, a ragged humm, a travesty of a tune, eerily repetitive. He listened mindlessly for a time, before loosing a lonely tear. It was him, he knew. His own voice, almost unrecognizable in the soulless sound. He can’t stop, this noise, this tether to reality, this acknowledgement of his presence. It was a bitter comfort and he couldn’t stop, Not yet.