Hello again. I dreamt last night.

I, I saw...

My brother, I...

I can't...

I just can't.

These cursed screams won't let me think.

GO AWAY!!!

*****

The Food Giver has gone to cry and mutter in the corner. Again.

Allow this great one to regale you with the tales of my conquests while he weeps like a small child.

I recall one time, in the long ago. The sun tried its best to outshine me, though it was doomed to fail as it always does, and the wind sang of sweet clover in the fields. I was just a child then, and not as great as I am now, though I was still very great indeed.

I had newly left the den of my kin. Small, weak, and unloving of the wonderful fire. They could not understand me, and I could not understand them. There was no regret in that parting. I was crossing a great plain at the time, stopping now and again to partake of the clover around me.

Such sweet clover those fields held, I almost wish I hadn't destroyed them.

Almost.

This great one was then accosted by a idiotic and uncouth beast of the two-legs. The unwashed and unmannered beast attempted to end this great ones life with a paltry bow and arrow. No doubt seeking my resplendent and glorious fur. For which it can not be blamed. No doubt such splendour was unknown to it.

His arrow flew true, and wounded me greatly. For it was my first time seeing such a thing and I did not know to turn the air to fire when shot at. Stunned, and in great pain, I was unable to respond as the unworthy hunter let out a great cry, and snatched me up by my lordly ears.

Such an indignity! Even now I rage at it!

Braying loudly and uttering many praises unto itself the foolish hunter brought me to its village.

The unwashed masses gathered around my limp bloody body, and I was poked and prodded as the foolish creature who had shot me bragged about its conquest.

I believe it was here where my pain and shock became utterly consumed by my wrath and rage. My glorious flames arose, and I burned that village of hovels to the ground. I turned the villagers into just so much soot and ash, and left the one who wounded me alive.

With its arms and legs burned off.

And then I continued on my way. Oh, the fire spread some, consuming the clover fields. Learning pains I suppose. Even one as great as me cannot learn without the rare occasional failure.

*****

Uh, ok. Wow. Julius had been through some stuff too huh?

Ok, Onica and Lena just gave me a pep talk, and Fen zapped my ass. I'm not certain which of those knocked the screams out of my head. But I better write fast before it comes back!

Now, where to start. I guess the beginning? Some of the details and faces are still fuzzy. Most, actually. But I remember much more now. So, I was a mercenary captain, and my vice captain was my little brother. Whose name and face I can't recall. But I remember his voice now, a calm and rich baritone, unsuited for his thin reedy body.

He was much smarter than me, but I was much stronger than him. Even without my tingles. I led our men into battle, but he led us to the battles, and negotiated our pay, and made sure we had enough food, water, arrows, armor and all the other stuff a small army of drunks and degenerates needs. He was the person keeping us going, basically. If the mercenary company itself was the body, then I was the spirit, and he was the mind.

Together, I believed we were unstoppable. We fought in many a battle, and managed to make a name for ourselves, though I couldn't tell you what that name was. Eventually, we got our last job. We helped a slimeball of a lord take out his enemies, and he granted us all knighthoods and parcels of land in his domain. As far as mercs were concerned, that was the dream right there. We had made it. We disbanded the company, and most retired.

I don't know what I did, but I do remember that one day my little brother came to visit me. He was scared, and angry. I had never seen him get angry before...

Anyway, the members of our former mercenary company were vanishing. Just disappearing into thin air. We started looking into it.

Things got bad. My dreams became blood and fire and screaming. Not the hoarse roars of men in battle. The bellows of rage and assured immortality young men fling at each other to hide their shaking knees and watery guts. But the pained shrieks of tortured children. They claw at my mind even now, half remembered, and entirely reviled. I do not know where we went, what we did, or what we found. Just the haunting screams, the choking blood, the clinging flames...

There is but one memory that stands out as clear as mountain air. My brother, with my knife buried in his throat. My hand still wrapped firly around the hilt.

Oh gods...

What have I done?

I wish I could have the belief that someone else had done it, and that I had merely remembered me removing the knife that had struck him down. But, no. I had no such luxury. The look in his eyes... The shock, the betrayal, the disbelief. I am sure it was mirrored by those poor brothers I saw cut down yesterday.

I had done it. I had killed my own precious little brother.

What happened?

Why would I do such a thing? He was my brother! I loved him, and yet I...

It's back. The screams are getting louder, and I can't THINK!

I need...

Something.

I can't do this right now.

Goodnight.