In Chains

[Teron_Ashfiend]

A shadow followed the relatively straight, northbound road that would eventually meet up with Derry Row. The forest provided ample cover from occasionally passing eyes that probed the trees, stirred by the possibility of having heard rattling chains in the wintering wood. It was enough for him to pause, this creature of memory and madness, within the wintering wood, to hush his bindings and still the curiosity of passers-by.

The horrendous storm of his master's mind beckoned to him through the simple perversity of having been created beneath the Ashfiend's shaping hands and spiteful will. Caught up in the sulfurous maelstrom whose unearthly shrieks echoed ever in his thoughts, he had learned swiftly enough of Myrken Wood's general geography - who had, in turn, learned it firsthand and from the wretched Uriel.

The road would take him, eventually, to Fitchton - a village of little specific import although it lay near the Derry border. Within the village there would be, of course, villagers - and their precious offspring.

Failing to remember the concept of childhood, save to know the frail things as not-yet adults, Valinor pressed forward through the trees, shadowing the road as his Master's shadow loomed over his bound unlife.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

Unhindered, a young boy sprinted the remaining distance towards his mother. As he closed his tiny arms sprang skyward, fingers splayed to allow the cold air to whip through. The delicately reckless crunching of his feet against the snow padded the small thrill that child bore for mother. For her part, the young mother bent and prepared to sweep up her child in slender arms hidden by layered, loose-fitting clothes. Homespun stitches marred weathered fabric in coarse scars that had brought wholeness out of age and ruin.

The witnesses to their pleasant affection loomed alongside the road. Tall trees whose boughs drooped from weighted snow that reflected the sun's distant glory to illuminate mother and son, honest joys, and the peaceful village nestled near Myrken's borders. Cradled there in cold gusts of wind the townsfolk slept and worked, to the sun's rhythms and the King's banner. Beneath a skyward veil of occasionally stirred snow, the pair gathered each other up in their arms and drew near as snowflakes gathered on Solstice Eve.

Overseen by the broaching twilight, the setting sun's rays sealing themselves away beyond the cusp of the horizon, the pair turned and meandered towards the waiting gathered homesteads, farms and shops. Their two feet trod together, in brisk and unbroken snow, homeward bound for father, sister, and the intimacy shared in faces lit in common hearth fire.

A livid stain of a man stirred within his chains and, in time, drifted after.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

The couple, mother and son, soon vanished into a squat household near the edge of town. Within the golden embers of a well-stoked hearth bled golden light and heat into the confines marred by aged, weathered wood and occasionally scattered straw disturbed from simple mattresses. Their heart faces occasionally hovered in the window, cast in fiery bronze, beaming and laughting and their joy muted by walls, distance, and the grim gaze of their voyeur.

A table rested in the family's midst, crooked and stained. It bore their steaming bowls and mugs as they spoke and laughed and cried. The roaring furnace of pleasant emotions, cradled in familial warmth, warred and blurred together throguh the thick, distorting window. It hammered laughter into fury, and smiles into warped tears. Through it all he stood in the shadow of a small tool shed, a withered statue for the elements to erode, a shadow hammered into shape through slavery.

As slumber beckoned to them, Valinor watched their hands join in communal prayer, broken by smiles and curious glances from one to another, joy and piety interwoven and worn like garish garments for the chained one's straining, darkened gaze. One by one the family went to bed, born along in remembered embrace to whatever dreams awaited them. Long after the house went dark, their visions of play seared into his memory, Valinor closed the distance towards the house.

The chain quietly tolled away in crisp, muted, graveyard tones. Its chanting readied them for the sepulchre of his blade.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

Darkness crept back towards the house with the last extinguishing of the flames within. It hesitated, the night, as if wary of some sudden gout of fire that would, momentarily, glare through the heavy windows and rake to a shadowy core. Valinor followed just behind the darkening tide that loomed alla round him, swallowing and consuming him in a quickening embrace to quickly overthrow the memories of light and fellowship that ached in an ancient and mysterious wound.

A gloved hand raised, waiting a moment, before settling against the side of the homestead. Layered fingertips, shapeless form, probed the sturdy wall to test the imagination. A dark seed waited to be planted in the busom of the family, a bitter blossom born by the chained wraith and watered by the hateful Ashfiend. The thought of the master brought the taste of dust to the mouth, it softly rustled the chains that bound and reminded, and drew a strangled hiss through the memory of a nose.

He drifted along the house's perimeter, leading with the coarse, gloved palm while aged steel found a home in his opposing, empty grasp. The scarred steel remained faithfully in his tightening grasp, even as he rounded the corner to find a dog chained to a nearby post. Even as he ended the creature as it began to stir, a growl rumbling low in its throat that quickly choked upon itself.

The dog's chain drew Valinor's attention for several pregnant moments.

Having consumed he approached the nearest window, framed by wintering trees that sprang heavenward and the lights from moon and stars the framed him in cold, blue illumination. The tip of his sword tested the window's lip, wedging, prying with a steady hand and creeping leverage while the chains grew blissfully silent without reminder of the life he had once lived, nor the treachery he had once visited upon the Ashfiend.

The way opened, he began to slowly crawl inside.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

One foot touched softly upon the solid floor, remaining still and solid as he finished bending and shifting through the window. A coarse, unfinished windowsill scratched against the rough length of a dark brown cloak that flowed and lapped against the wall before tumbling down around the spectral figure lost beneath folds and layers. The darkness within embraced the wraith, save for the occasional link of chain that crawled across the breadth of narrow shoulders and arms.

Beyond lay the children, wrapped up in sloppy familial embrace as the pair slept: a young, energetic boy and a slender weed of a girl who drew near to womanhood. They shared straw-colored hair that ran together along their pillows, and delicate ears that whispered of a humanistic attempt at elven imitation. As one's chest rose the other's fell, creating a constant, heavy, slumbering breathing that filled the constrictive chamber.

Steel binds rattled against his frame as he crept around the side of the bed, his shadow joining those that already crawled across mingled bedsheets: shaping his hood as a mountain and shoulders as foothills dominated by a perforated serpent. The girl stirred, her head listing aside and eyelids fluttering as the quiet footfalls of doom encroached upon the innocent bliss of slumber.

A slumber that soon descended into darkness with the heavy landing of his sword's pommel upon each child.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

Dead weight shifted in the dead one's arms, encumbering further upon a figure bent beneath ancient chain and unending curse. Valinor hauled the pair to the base of the window through which he had crept, and stood in half-shower of starlight that cast a squat, shapeless shadow upon the floor.

Thoughts of the long road, without shelter to conceal the wraith and his anthema burdens brought the creature to a pause. At any moment a child might weep and give away the deed. At any moment a child might cry, or refuse to cooperate, and prevent him from crossing the border.

It was a risk that Valinor could not afford to take.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

Having rid himself of the possibility of detection, at least by frantic cries and unfortunately-timed mad dashes for safety, Valinor had departed by the same path he had entered. He kept to the forest that lined the southward road towards the border, pausing and waiting as needed for patrols and peasants alike to pass by some distance, but still visible, along the path. Tireless, he hefted the paired burden without complaint. There, indeed, was nothing such as a complaint any longer, nor a compliment, nothing save the burning anger of his master.

And the endless burden of the chain.

The ponderous links swayed and dissonantly jangled in mock sympathy as he crossed the river under cover of darkness. The water languidly caressed his heavily cloaked frame as he drove a slow but steady path through the midnight-darkened murk that sought to rid Myrken of his stain. The occasional wave forced him to affirm his grasp upon his burden that curled in awkward stillness within a pair of simple sacks.

Even as he approached the Heath border he knew that preparations were underway. Soon, Myrken's vile trade secrets would be conveniently uncovered.

Soon his master would drive another nail into his enemy's coffin.

[Teron_Ashfiend]

Carrying its precious cargo, the wagon rolled off along the road towards Threminor and the servant who had been bribed through coin, and fear, who waited there. Valinor watched the conveyance rock from side to side and heard the dull creaking complaint of stout wheels that struggled in the remnant of an ill-maintained road that would, eventually, join up with the major trade lanes of Heath.

Accompanying the present were a quartet of skilled but delightfully expendable men who bore a short length of rusted chain - the fashion by which one identified his, or her, allegiance to the Chained Lord whose name some had begun to whisper in the neighboring environs of Heath and southernmost Myrken Wood.

Let them whisper, he considered, as the wagon crested a hill and began to drop out of immediate sight and concern. Soon there would be a much greater conflict to deal with - that of malevolent Myrken Wood who had evidently begun to trade in its own children.