The water rises, filling your eyes, ears and mouth. You instinctively hold your breath, frantically searching for an exit. The room has no doors, no windows. It is not your burning lungs that scare you, it is that you are out of options. No escape from the inevitable.

You jolt awake and immediately take a deep breath. It does not take a dreamreader to tell you the meaning of that one. You know. The Mendicants are dead. You fought men and monsters to bring them here. Hells, you nearly went mad and still it meant nothing. Just more bodies for the pyres. The plague had spread through them like wildfire. Their precautions, herbs and ungents could not save them. The few who had survived cited malefic powers and dared not return to the infected areas that grew larger every day. You could not blame them. Whatever it was, it was beyond their craft. Perhaps beyond anyone's craft. You shake your head straight, that kind of thinking gets you killed. There is always another way, you tell yourself, as the dream flashes in your mind once more.