Oblivious to the world, the hunter lay motionless. His breathes were relaxed and even, confirming all the more that he would recover, though unconscious as of now.
The hunter's imagination stirred in his mind as he recovered, and in a vibrant dream he found himself in some sort of hall. It wasn't very dark, but it was plain, aged, segmented stone that hogged all shadows that could sit under curves. He couldn't tell at all if he's standing or sitting, and could barely sense a cold temperature in the air. His hood was down, and his mane of silver hair was little darkened by the hall. Beyond him was an end to the single hall, but three doors; a light pooling out of them and keeping him from seeing what's inside.
Curiously, as if but an innocent child in this dream, the scout stepped forward until he reached the path leading to the middle door. The stone wall gave way to what seemed to be stirring life. Plants littered the ground and obscured everything in an emerald tone, while vines hung from every tree branch that allowed it. Vines even hung from the door. The air wasn't humid or uncomfortable; it seemed like a sort of paradise he could step into, but before walking so eagerly in, the hunter paused and turned to the right. Not too far there was another door. He poked his head in slightly, eyes feasting on a beautiful hall. It looked royal, but it wasn't human. It seemed like the more decorative races had all worked together to make this one perfect altar. The walls were decorated vibrantly with designs. Royal blue cloths with a golden rimming hung from these walls and donned similar designs. Pillars were evenly placed, and their marble build only added to the scene Atoleir saw.
Then the hunter looked up. There was a dome-like ceiling; knights donned in armor, noblemen and women, and rich merchants circled around one bright amber orb. It was a sphere half-lodged into the wall, and it pulsed with a warmth similar to the light itself reaching out to the young hunter. The warmth washed over him, beckoned him to walk inside, enjoy his stay in the beautiful hall. Again, before he decided to simply enter one place, he turned away. Glancing briefly at the middle door, which was still wide open and welcoming on it's own, he turned to the final door. He expected something which, beyond the forest and cathedral of art, would be the best of all doors. That it would have the most beautiful of secrets to hide.
Atoleir was shocked. There was a hall similar to the one he just gazed upon in the right door. It was as if it was the same hall that was simply connected by this damp, cold hall. This room, however, showed horrific sights. The stench of death stung the air, even though the hunter didn't bear poking his head in again to see. The pictures in the place of knights and other royal figures were ravenous demons only his imagination could think of, feasting on and torturing the poor souls of peasants who did nothing to provoke the monsters. The dome ceiling was there, and the same macabre sights covered that. On the hanging cloth, there was an emblem; a crimson droplet in the middle of a black void. The orb that should be so warm, so welcoming and forgiving, was now an eye of death itself. It was cold, black, the very sight of the dim orb somehow intimidated the young hunter. He would have gladly turned, and ran into another room to escape his imaginary fears and demons, but his eyes snagged on a figure he didn't see before.
In the middle of the room, a naked figure of a young girl sat. Her own silver hair--dirty and knotted--covered her head while she sat in a fetal position and wept into her hands. Her figure, so delicate looking, so innocent, trembled at the fears she saw in the very same room. As if one of the demons became real and tortured her without actually giving her marks to remember it from. The figure was... familiar, and that sent a chill down the hunter's spine. Another figure walked into the room, his whole form shrouded under a dirty, dark brown robe. The man wore a belt covered in decorations representing death, and he approached the child with a dagger in his hand. In normal circumstances, the scout would have dashed right in, trying to save the poor soul who wept inside the chamber. He thought he could barely even breathe. He was frozen in place, like all nightmares should make him. The figure mercilessly dug the blunt dagger into the girl's back, and she screamed out of her sobbing and fell to the side. Then, the hunter saw her face and gawked. The girl died, and Atoleir realized who it was. It was too late. He screamed--in reality, though, he simply moaned--and gained control of his body again. He stumbled back, trying to get into another door. His back met a cold, shut and locked door of steel. He looked to the middle door, and that was closed too. The man stepped closer, making little haste in his approach as he raised the dagger slightly again.
The hunter met his eyes, and froze again. Such familiar eyes, so unforgiving, brutal, and yet devoid of emotion those eyes were. Cold orbs that were already stabbing into the hunter's nerves, even as the real blade thirsted for blood to spill out of his heart. He was like a child yet again, trembling, wide eyed, terrified by the demon walking towards him. The figure grinned maliciously, and brought the dagger to mockingly poke his chest. The man lunged--
And Atoleir came back to reality, tensing and letting his breath become more active.
You should meet my editor... sometimes I swear all he wants to do is 
but all he is trying to do is help me. I make small, silly errors all the time. You aren't alone.