The log split beneath his axe as one more half moon fell to the wayside. A cool lick of air came off te lake to take the edge off of his current exertion. Wiping sweat from his brow another log rise to sit on the old trunk waiting to be split like its friends while smoke rose from a nearby shed where several strips of deer hung above a hickory fire pit. He'd eat well tonight.

Another swipe at his brow before Sylus set the axe down to put a fresh log into the smokehouse then move towards the water to check his netting in the small hatchery that lay a the water's edge.

"See a few cats, still more time yet." A curt nod to himself as steps turned towards the simple one room cabin. Built of his own hands the cabin was centrally heated with a storage area below ground, well sealed against "guests". A four post bed made of the same wood as the cabin sat pushed against the far right wall, simple sheets of cotton lay rumpled in need if being made. At the foot of the bed rested a large oak chest, locked and sealed wit a layering of dust on the lid. Across the way was a simple four by four table and three chairs, a rocker sat facing the eastern window.

The surrounding forest was mercifully quiet. A natural quiet where birds still sang,wolves cried out to Luna, and his dreams were empty. The brass falchion imprisoning Efreet hung on the northern wall with two other "mementos".

As the sun slowly set in western Millenia, Sylus moved back outside to stow his work and ready an evening fire within the cabin; fully intent on spending the night alone in solitude he looked to the east where Rhydin lay, mountains away and breathed a sigh of content.

They came like thieves that night, their silent footfalls barely disturbing the summer foliage but still he knew they were there. Awake in his bed Sylus heard neither the owl screech or the crickets play. All was silent as animals knew blood would spill this night. But who's?

A shadow slithered past the west window in a failed attempt at moving with the branches on the wind. Six in all his ears told him though at least two were of the same build. They were surrounding the cabin, typical. Faint light played from the east, burn him out first must be their game. Amateurs.

He feigned sleep a moment longer until he heard someone shout "Now!". Up in a flash he burst through the closest window in time to catch a flaming bottle.

Reflexes snapped his wrist, casting the projected object to the feet of two unfortunate souls. A grim shake of his head as their screams disturbed the night.

A bolt skimmed just in front of his face as Sylus came out of his silence. Ducking the wide arc of a slashing lance he advanced on the crossbowman just as he finished reloading. A swift snap of his heel sent the man careening into the now smoldering smokehouse. Twisting around, he leveled the crossbow and Mr. Lance-Happy and fired, not bothering to follow the shot for confirmation as a fifth would-be attacker rushed him swinging a heavy flail, its spikes glinting silver in the night.

Sylus stepped wide and caught the man across his jaw with an outstretched hand. Clamping down he flung the man effortlessly out onto the lake, his head skimming like a stone before snapping violently and falling beneath the surface.

He caught the faint whistle of wood and silver flying through the air as adrenaline pumped through his veins. There had been six. The leader having stayed back to watch and wait. As Sylus fell, he felt the twin shafts of silver burn his flesh as one lay severing his spine, the other boiling in a lung. He lay there wracked by spasms as his blood slipped away into the soil of his homeland.

"In a place where such occurances happen daily, they seem hollow to me." Still he could not rise and wished they would get on with the point to this. The thought must have been mre open as his mother shook her head.

"He certainly takes after you dear, least Artemus knows when to listen if not how." Her hand fell from his cheek reluctantly.

"Its not your time to die, but the time to live is long passed. There is a rough trip ahead of you, and it will require every tool of imagining. This trip is inside your own soul and mind Sylus, the sleep of an age is upon you."

As his father's words fell over him, sylus felt a heavy weight settle atop hm and slowly the living world darkened once more but this was not the darkness of oblivion. This was the darkness of a mystic slumber.

Time seemed to pass slowly as leaves and vines began their meticulous task in covering his body. From where he lay Sylus watched his cabin raided by all manner of animals though scavengers avoided him like poisoned meat. Cold, wet, snouts brushed over him as though he were suddenly now part of their buffet. Yet none would dine. All of this he saw and felt but could do nothing about. Anchored to a body that continued to heal, and bleed out yet unable to move from his position. It was a sad existence he had now. One that he knew would wear at his mind. Though anchored as he was, his spirit could still fade into nothingness. That is if he didn't go completely mad beforehand.

Storms came and went, the lake flooded and bathed him in chill water, and still he lay there through it all feeling as the dead surely must. The ones who were trapped in their graves and unable to wander. "Your time in this world is not yet done, but the time for living is passed" What the hell did that mean anyway"

Days moved into weeks and he began to feel the effects it had on his...body' Or was it more correct to say corpse" In any event he felt muscles atrophy, his skin became sallow and the overall frame emaciated with malnourishment. Still his heart beat with the slowness of a snail, perhaps one strong beat every ten to twenty minutes. Blood still existed in his veins but had congealed into pudding. How long would this state last before his mind became lost' And still he knew nothing of what this was supposed to be about. All he wanted was a life without needed to carry his blades any longer. Was this a case of why we should be careful what we wish for" That we may get it if not how we thought"

Beneath his blanket of leaves and vines and dirt, Sylus tested the anchor holding him down, looking in hopes that it could be stretched. He reached down that connection and visualized taking hold of the chain. Imagined holding it in his hands and pulling. Pulling it up, fighting the pull to stop and let it lay. He heaved and hauled it up, length by length, feeling it stretched like so much rope. Perhaps to hang his metaphysical self.

Thinking he had enough to test on Sylus let go of the chain and felt every bit of it slam back through his core. His mummified body jerked beneath its trappings as though punched by the earth. Sylus's spiritual self fell with the chain, pinned to the ground and his own body once more. There was a great weight at the end of the anchor. He would need to find some way of lightening that grounding if he ever hoped to be free of this imprisonment.