Shadows in the Night

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Among the animal kingdom, there is an order, a hierarchy. It is often referred to as the food chain. Some are at the bottom, some are at the top, some in the middle. But no matter what place an animal has upon this ladder, there is always another on the rung above, just waiting for the moment of opportunity to devour the one below.
Mankind, in his arrogance, has long assumed he is at the top of the food chain. But in the grand scheme of things, humans are young, as compared to other things, creatures that have inhabited the earth from its beginnings.

Among the elder kind, there are many beings, some whose allegiance is to the light. There are those whose allegiance falls into the realms of darkness. There are those who hold allegiance to none but themselves, the more nasty of the predators, for they hunt simply for the pure pleasure of the chase, the ecstasy of the kill. The vampire.
Arrogant, quite sure of their place in the world they inhabit, the line between living and dead. There is a certain poetic irony that a race known for its arrogance is hunted by another also known for their arrogance. One might also compare it to the blind leading the blind on a merry chase.

Both assume the world is neatly categorized, divided into demons and monsters, angels and devils. They assume the order is a universal constant, that it cannot be changed or altered. They are wrong.

For in this world of constant changes, patterns are disrupted and the course of lives is forever altered. There are murmurs, whispers, and echoes from the dim past of things, creatures which defied explanation. Creatures who existed outside of the known boundaries and definitions set down by those who came before. Myths. Even those who haunt the night scoff at the possibility such things could have ever existed. After all, they are the rulers of the earth; this is their kingdom. And none shall rule in their stead. There is little to fear when one lives on the top of ladder, is there?


Late in the night, a shadow passed over Myrkenwood. It flowed over the ground; silent and more deadly than anything the inhabitants of the lands below had ever known. Some unknown event, some unknown trigger had set it free, loosed it upon an unsuspecting land.
And now, it hunted in the dead of night to sate a hunger that knew no bounds. It did not understand mercy or compassion, right, or wrong, good or evil; these were alien concepts after so long a time. All it understood was the overwhelming hunger. Nothing and no one would be safe. Everything from vampire to troll to human was fair game.

Somewhere in the distance, the twisted laughter of a madman was borne along on the night winds.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

A week or more had passed, and life in Myrkenwood went on. People lived out their daily routines, went about their business as usual. The nocturnal inhabitants prowled the land, for they ruled the night. Life indeed went on, with all its triumphs and tragedies, both great and small. Great deeds came to pass, and children were tucked into their beds each night, their greatest fear was a vague and distant threat, a boogeyman who existed somewhere beyond the comforting and safe walls of their homes.
Somewhere, a sleeping form tossed and turned restlessly, twisted and horrific visions performed macabre dances at the edges of each dream, obscured, yet not unseen.

A solitary man walked to his home, making his way down a darkened, lonely road. His steps and movements hinted at the passing of many years, and still he labored all day, every day in his small tanning shop, making a passable living for his wife and himself. His children were all grown and gone, with lives and families all their own. But he kept on working, for it was all his simple mind and heart knew. Like his father and his grandfather, he was neither poor nor rich. He was naught but a simple, good man who made an honest living in an honest trade.

His steps faltered in their steady tread, his gaze traveled to the night sky. Terror such as he had never known in all his life, seized his heart, wrenched it in a painful twist and left the man gasping for air. There were no words to describe such fear, it shrank the soul and numbed the mind until his world had been reduced to little more than a quivering mass of fragile flesh, void of coherent thought and perception. His gnarled fingers, stained with the dyes of his trade, clutched at his chest as the pain constricted his heart and brought it to a grinding halt. He fell, silently and died alone, in the dead of night on a dark, empty road.

The vast shadow gliding overhead flowed over his prone body below on the ground, the man already silent and soon to grow cold. It had no form, no corporeal substance, this shadow of death gliding beneath the stars.

Yet.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

The young woman stood outside her modest home, her husband had not yet returned from his evening errands. The barking of the dogs that had drawn her out of the door, onto the porch where she now stood, peering into the darkness beyond her porch. Someone was probably raiding her garden again; no doubt some kids or perhaps a hungry traveler. Either way, she would not stand for this nonsense. So Lila set forth with a pitchfork in hand, determined to roust the trespasser from their garden, one way or another. She imagined telling the tale of her evening adventure later on, while her husband listened and applauded her brave defense of their small home.

“Best get out of my garden or you’ll leave with a few more holes in your body than you have now!” In her own mind, Lila sounded ever so brave, despite the slight shaking of her arms and hands that held the pitchfork, brandishing it in front of her. Silence greeted her ears, and yet the barking of the dogs had not stopped. If anything, it had become more frenzied, punctuated by deep, threatening growls rumbling in their chests. Maybe, this was not the best idea, she thought to herself. Maybe it would be better to turn the dogs loose, go inside, and bolt the doors. Whoever was out here, might have something much worse in mind than pilfering a few vegetables.
Still clutching her pitchfork, the young woman turned about and headed over to the frenzied, barking dogs. She forced herself to walk slowly, unwilling to show the fear she felt tickling the back of her neck. Better to act unafraid and casual, than run like a ninny and make herself look weak.

The first vicious stab of terror entered her mind, flooding her senses with the overwhelming urge to flee. Despite the mind-numbing fear, she slowly raised her head and looked up at the stars. A shadow sailed lazily above her, blotting out the heavens from her sight. For a moment, all Lila could do was stare, as her bdoy went numb and began to shake uncontrollably with a nameless terror. She watched, helpless to move or flee, until everything went utterly black.

The next morning, just after dawn, Lila’s mother pushed open the door of her daughter’s small home. Every week, the first day of the week, they made bread together, and sold the loaves in the market square. It proved them both with a modest income, which in turn, provided them each with fanciful little things they might not have otherwise.
There was an odd silence to the house; an eerie sound that sent a chill down the woman’s spine. Upon entering the kitchen, she clucked her tongue; a bit angered that Lila had not already started. She did not even have the dough mixed, which meant it would have to rise. This would cut down on the number of loaves they could bake and sell today.

“Lila? I hope you’re not still abed, you lazy child.” She was growing a bit more concerned with each passing moment, and had left the kitchen, intent upon awakening her daughter. Perhaps Lila had come down with a fever, this idea made a great deal of sense.
She heard the whimpering just as she set her foot on the bottom step. Alarmed, Lila’s mother followed the sound, and realized it came from the small pantry. She only hesitated a moment before turning the knob and pulling the door open.
She screamed, and leapt backward as the body tumbled out, and the man fell flat on his back. It was her daughter’s husband, dead by the looks of him. There was a pitchfork buried in his chest, and the congealed blood pooled on the floor, had long since grown cold.
Cowering in the far corner of the small pantry was her daughter; her hands were stained with the blood of her husband. She kept repeating a few incoherent words over and over; but it was the look her eyes that was most disturbing. She stared blankly at the floor, her eyes saw nothing but whatever nameless terror existed in her own mind. And there was very little left of her mind at that.

Several days later, the woman was placed in her mother's care, having been found to be completely, irrevocably insane. Her life had been spared only because her mother had begged and pleaded with the local magistrate. She had no one left in the entire world but her child.

Two days later, both women were found dead. Lila had stabbed her mother over forty times before turning the kitchen knife on herself.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Days and nights passed, uneventful, quiet, or in as much as quiet could exist in a world often filled with violence, sparked by clashes among the inhabitants. Perhaps the shadow had faded out of existence, or maybe it had never actually existed at all, little more than a figment born within minds, some hidden guilt, some repressed memory of some terrifying event made real. Few had seen it, save for those two poor souls, one had died from the fear, and the other had gone quite mad with it. So far, the more populated areas of this humble little wood had been spared, all going about their daily lives so unaware. So content were they, safe in their understanding and knowledge of the order of their small universe. The death of one old man and the madness of one young woman, events like this were not uncommon, for this itself was the way of life. People died, people were seized by a sickness of the mind, things happened. Indeed, it was nothing more than the normal progression of life, as normal as the birth of a child or the marriage of a couple.

The fortress was a blacker shadow upon the darkened ground, huddled and brooding with a different kind of fear. It was a kind of fear that moved men to act with more caution, questioning the motives of friends and foe alike. Sometime, in the late hours of the night watch, at the time when everything is still, the silence profound in one’s ears, a vast shadow glided overhead, passing by the fortress, it was enshrouded in a silence more profound than the deepest breath of night. One lone guard atop the east wall, felt its presence, his gaze drawn upward, a sense of terror such as he had never known, filled him, spilled from his pores like water forced from between cracks in a dam. His mouth was opened in a silent scream, for his ability to utter sound was stolen; a silent scream that only ended when his falling body shattered on the ground outside the wall where he stood watch.
The dark shadow that blotted out the heavens moved onward, passing on silent wings deeper into the lands. Its mind was unconcerned with the small men within the small fortress below; they were only men. It knew mankind for it had witnessed the birth of that race. It also knew what preyed on mankind.

Some time later, a scream rang out in the woods of Myrken. A woman, blood pouring from dual wounds in her throat, died alone upon the cold, muddy ground. The vampire, who had taken her life, was walking down the road as if he had not a care in the world. He was, as many of them are, smug and arrogant, secure in his belief that mortals were but cattle waiting to be slaughtered. And he, like so many of his kind, enjoyed singling one out from the herd, leading the unwary victim away from the safety of said herd, to his or her untimely demise. He enjoyed the game, the hunt and sated his hunger often and greedily.
The fear did not come to him as it had to others, it came as a dull, aching sensation of something amiss. Something . . different. His steps halted, he looked to his left, and preternatural vision saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked to his right. Again, nothing. His head slowly lifted to look up at the stars, as if the answer was offered there for him. Nothing but blackness, a huge shadow that blocked the heavens from his sight. By the time it had dawned on his mind this was wrong, it was too late.
The vast shadows shifted, all things within it converged and moved, it breathed and was born once more. From within the darkness above, a shimmering, scaled foot whose width and breadth was large enough to easily clasp a man in its grip, plunged out of the darkness and seized the vampire. Screaming with terror and fury, he was drawn upward into the swirling shadows above him; moonlight reflected off shimmering scales that appeared and vanished like a shining ghost. Cruel, razor sharp talons pierced his body and slowly ripped the vampire to bits. His screams went on for quite some time, for the vampire would not feel the merciful jaws of the beast, only the flesh-rending anguish of its talons. Others of his kind would never know the fate that had befallen him, for by the time those talons ceased their motions, there was simply nothing left. A scrap of bloodied cloth, perhaps a tattered boot, his only epitaph, scraps that had fallen to the ground while his body was shredded.

Its mind, its body, its very soul screamed out a clarion call of primal rage and defiance into the night. Long ago, before mankind, before the elder races, it had come to exist when the universe itself was born, like others of its kind, all part of a delicate, calculated balance. For eons had it slumbered, awaiting its call, waiting to serve in the capacity for which it had been created, patiently waiting for that precise moment in the evolution of life. When that moment came, it went forth and took on its new form, in spirit, and on occasion, appeared to those whose care and well-being was placed in it’s keeping, as flesh made whole. Like many of its brethren, it was charged with the duty of guiding, aiding and watching over mankind.
But all that had ended thousands of years in the past, severed from its purpose by the whim and will of a madman. Caged, forced and bound to another, its rage had grown slowly over all those years, until it knew no end, until its mind twisted and writhed in the clutches of insanity.
Now, it had remembered its purpose, and in that memory, found its freedom.

Deep within Myrkenwood, a slender woman shivered while locked deep within her tormented dreams. Tossed about in the eerie dreamscape by macabre faceless dancers moving beneath blood-red skies, her mind’s eye was drawn toward that crimson sky to gaze upon a new horror, a thing she believed chained and bound, now once more freed, chains broken by the hands of macabre, faceless dancers.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Another week passed, and no shadow slid between the earth and the heavens, as if the thing had quietly faded into the night. It would have been so easy to believe it never really existed at all, perhaps even preferable to the reality of the truth. It is always so much easier to deny the truth and believe in the lie.

A restless night spent under the sheets, peace stolen away by darkly whispered, soulful admonitions, the attempt to placate her conscious awareness by wordless vows of humble supplications; a foundering litany of well meant promises destined to be broken. A night of disturbing visions that blurred and ran one into the next, visions of the ancient past, the ever-changing present and the unknown future. Fear. Sorrow. So many shades of regret and unspoken, uncompromising longing; cradled within the fragile tendrils of hope. The unintelligible, murmured words of a haunted woman, torn between one extreme of absolution and the other.

Things were changing; everything she knew seemed to be rushing toward a single point of convergence, a tumultuous, chaotic race in which there was no winners or losers, only survivors. Her nights had become a private sort of Hell, a war waged between the physical and the imagined. She could not speak of it aloud, not to the man whose life had become so intricately entwined with hers. To speak of these inner torments made them real, and so denial was the route she chose to take.
It is a test, she told herself, a test of my will, of my strength of spirit. How easy it is to lie to oneself in the deepest, darkest watches of the night.
He had enough to deal with now, who was she to lay all this at his feet? No one . . Nothing, whispered the darkness swirling about her mind, closer now then it had been in an age.
Late it was, when sleep finally and fully claimed the weary soul and body of Aeron. And with deep sleep, came the worst of her dreams, the faces of those who had suffered the torments and anguish of her ruthless brand of persuasion. If only it had been that, if only it was the murdered dead of the past returning to haunt her. A small child-like figure, bearing the rotting remnants of his wounded flesh, stood and accused her, the least and yet the worst of all her deeds.

“You were supposed to protect me, knight . .”

Deeper and deeper she sank into her dreams, plunging into the whirling chaos of her soul, as if somehow she would find the peaceful void of oblivion. The sky turned red, the dancers began their steps, whirling all around her, waving broken chains that they clutched in black-gloved hands. Aeron heard them laughing.

Darkness swept between the earth and sky, and on this night, it left a bloody trail of death in the wake of its passing. But with the coming of dawn, the remains of the creatures it had killed, would be little more than ashes and dust.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Her control was slipping away, and Aeron knew it, she could feel it. The beast was no longer an entirely separate entity, as if the two souls were bleeding one into the other. And it was mad, utterly, horribly insane, rage had twisted and warped it into something it had never been meant to become. Inwardly, Aeron pondered if this was not part of the grand design.
It made sense, if one knew the mind of the maker. She had little doubts as to the pleasure Lyrion derived from the writhing beast, from the anguish it was now suffering. This had been coming for years; she innately understood it, having begun to see it all now in perfect clarity. Sooner or later, she would lose control entirely, and Lyrion would finally have what he had wanted all along, the perfect weapon of destruction. Still, something had triggered this event, some unknown factor, something she had done, or something someone had done to her. Somewhere in her mind lay the key and perhaps, a resolution other than the obvious. It was not a coincidence. She was at a time in her life when contentment, peace and a dream were all within her grasp. No, this was definitely, absolutely, a maleficent design, and the only one capable of this was Lyrion. He would force her to choose between death for them both, and becoming his perfect weapon. To make matters worse, he knew she would push the choice off as long as possible, searching for an impossible resolution, a compromise, a way for each one to continue on.

A vicious snarl was let loose, what a fool she had been. Aeron had played right into his hand all along. All this time, she thought she had beaten him at his own game. The reality of the truth was she had not, instead she had perfected her skills, studied, learned and grown beyond the levels she could have while under his influence. Her eyes closed and she felt ill, the full impact was driven home with a vengeance. For so many long years, she had studied, learned and waged war, and now, only now, did she truly understand. He would use her again, but come that day, she would not be able to make the choice to walk away. He had allowed her to leave him, knowing the inevitable outcome. She saw it all, she saw his face, and heard him laughing. “No.” The word came out as a soft moan, a deep, terrible pain given voice. She could not, under any circumstances allow this to happen; it could never come to pass.

“Milady, what did you want me to do . .” The poor child Nia, never finished that sentence. Aeron turned on her and swung, a vicious backhanded blow that sent the girl flying across the room, into the wall. Her neck was broken even before the impact. For a few moments, Aeron could only stare in stunned disbelief, unwilling or unable to comprehend her own action. She felt rather than saw another enter the room, but she could not pull her gaze away from the crumpled form of the girl. Aeron watched the scene play out as if she were seeing it through someone else’s eyes. The old man, the mute she had brought with her, from so far away, walked over to the girl. He glanced but once at Aeron before picking up the body and leaving the room, his destination known only to him. The man had been with Aeron a very long time, his loyalty was without question.

She turned and fled the house, headed for the stables and her horse. An innocent. She had just killed an innocent in cold blood. They would hunt her down for this; there was no justification for killing Nia, even though it was an accident. Someone would miss the girl, for Aeron had hired her from the town. She had parents, a family somewhere nearby, for Nia chatted about them all the time with the other servants. Halfway to the stables, she paused long enough to retch out the contents of her stomach onto the ground, before she made it the rest of the way. A few moments later, horse and rider exploded from the barn, making a hasty departure across the fields. She needed time to think.

The old man walked some distance from the house, deep into the forest. He dropped his burden on the ground, and glanced around, noting the absence of any other single being nearby. The dead girl twitched, her body blurred and began to rise, changing into something else entirely. It was elongated, its face stretched, its jowl hung down to its chest, dangling unused flesh and soft cartilage, and its arms hung to the ground, hands little more than stubs. Its legs were malformed, bent backward at the knees, and only half the length of its torso. It stank of rotting flesh and congealed blood, purple and blue-black veins were etched over its naked, hairless body like someone had attempted to draw a map of roads and rivers. The twisted, misshapen form contorted and shivered as it returned to its natural, hideous state, half the height of an average man.

“Well done. She believes it all. Now leave me.” The thing shuddered again, and croaked out a sound as it moved away from the old man, its motions clumsy. After a moment, the old man turned and retraced his steps, his shuffling gait becoming more apparent as he drew closer to the estate grounds again.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Of course Aeron had done as he expected, exactly as he mentally predicted she would do. She had confessed her crime to Donovan. But it was apparently not enough to make the man walk away from her, if anything it might have pushed him even closer. And as long as he remained, she would not break. This posed a problem for the mute, for he could not warp the woman if she did not break. Aeron was too strong-willed to be manipulated unless he destroyed her first. Tear her spirit down to nothing and rebuild it, along the lines of his design. He had done it once before, but she had been a child then. She was not a child now, and her resilience was a thing he had actually come to admire. Pity he had to crush her in order to make her useful once again.
But as long as Donovan was close to her side, the task might well prove to be exceedingly difficult, it was a challenge, one he had no doubt he could easily conquer. There had to be a way to push the man into the distance, and in that action, Aeron would be completely off balance. Of course, there was also the vampire; the strange friendship the two shared had not gone unnoticed. But he would be easy, for like all his kind, he had a master. Predictable creatures, he would be easily taken out of the equation.

The obvious tact would not due, for it would be a transparent endeavor at best. They were aware of him now, though not a one had any idea just how close he really was. It had been a fortuitous opportunity years back, when he happened to catch the old mute walking back to the keep alone one night. And Lyrion was never one to turn down an opportunity; you just never knew when it might happen again. It had taken him years to establish the ties of loyalty between this guise he wore and Aeron. But Lyrion was patient; he would have waited a hundred years or more for a chance like this. So far, things were moving along exactly as he wanted. She was slowly unraveling, and the beast was gaining more and more ground. If only it would start slaughtering some of the humans instead of just the demons that walked these lands. Pity that. As it was now, the creature was doing the humans a favor. But the demons were not total fools; sooner or later, they would connect the nocturnal hunts of the shadow above and the slender woman below. And come that day, well, all her choices would be little more than the taste of ashes in her mouth.

He watched the two of them, Aeron and Donovan, outside talking and walking in the garden, enjoying the day and each other. The mute smiled for he was enjoying himself. It was always the opening moves in the game he savored the most. In the beginning, there was always such courageous hope in their eyes, some more so than others. It literally radiated from the pair, and he found it absolutely delicious. His favorite part came next, that precise moment when the light of hope began to flicker and dance like a single candle flame buffeted by the wind, the moment just before it failed and the light was extinguished.

Then, she would be his as she had always been meant to be. He had claimed her long ago, broken her, taken her into the mouth of the abyss, and brought her back. It was time for Aeron to return home, back to the darkness where she belonged. Let her dance in the light of day for now, night was hovering on the horizon and this time, it was forever.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Sleep. Blissful, undisturbed sleep, a soul lost in the oblivion of itself. No dreams. No nightmares. No faceless, macabre dancers whirling underneath a blood red sky, the sounds of their laughter silenced tonight. And no shadow roamed on silent wings above the lands in or around Myrkenwood.
Her shame and anger were still hot on her face when they left the Dagger. She could have seriously damaged the cat-like creature, but worse, far worse, that unchecked rage had caused Donovan unnecessary pain. That alone was enough to drive her to an extreme by ingesting an undiluted amount of the sleeping potion kept in the small box beneath their bed. Aeron had hesitated a moment, a glance directed toward the sleeping body on the other side of the bed. There was no need for him to know, he would simply assume she was exhausted and sleep was the best remedy for fatigue or mind and body. Besides, perhaps it was best for everyone if she slept for a day or two. She might wake up and have regained her normal control over the rage, not to mention the beast.

When her breathing had deepened, slowed and clearly indicated the depth of her sleep, he moved out from the shadows of the room. Smiling, the old mute drew closer to the bed, a glance directed briefly at the man, before he came round to her side. One gnarled hand reached down to stroke her cheek, and the mute bent close to her ear.

“Yes Aeron, sleep your dreamless sleep tonight, and escape for the moment. You cannot run forever, can you?” His whispered words slithered around her mind, wormed their venomous way into her soul, and laid there, coiled, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She would sleep, oh yes, he had made sure of that. It was a simple thing to remove the potion she used and replace it with one of his own making. He had dumped out the previous contents of the vial and refilled it to the proper level. It was the same color, the same consistency and tasted the same. She would never suspect the loyal mute of any sort of subterfuge. Oh, but he knew her very well, despite what she thought. Lyrion had been right beside her for years now, watching her daily routine, observing her habits, and had come to reacquaint himself with the pattern of her thoughts, the workings of her mind. He even knew exactly which poisons she still ingested in small amounts on a daily basis, all for the sake of maintaining her immunity to each one. He could predict with startling accuracy, exactly what she would do along each step of the way.
Lyrion wanted her out for a couple of days, as he had plans to visit with the man sleeping beside her. In his truer form, that is. With any luck, his continued deception would go undiscovered. And even if by chance he were caught, by then it would be too late for her.

He was still smiling as he withdrew from the area of the bed and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Yes, give the lad a day or so to stew, and then, well then the two of them could have a nice little chat, perhaps over a drink. After all, Lyrion knew exactly were to find Donovan. And, he knew his weakness.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

In a time when the world was still young, and the elder races lived in peaceful co-existence with one another, magic was the blood of life. Pure and untainted, it was a powerful force, and those who wielded it, were held in the highest regard. Their work brought about many of the foundations of the properties of magic; what could be done, what might be done, and the things that were forbidden because of the consequences. As with all things, there is a price, and magic is among the most costly.
Long ago, in this age of great and definitive achievements in magic, there were those few who delved too deep into the forbidden areas; blood was the component they used to enhance the magic they wielded. For these adepts soon learned, as magic was to their existence, so was the blood flowing through their veins. At first, they drew from their bodies, but soon learned the folly in this action, for death was swift and inevitable.
The most natural thing to do was use the blood of others, an act that enraged the other adepts of the elder races. It was decreed that any mage or adept caught in the act of using blood magic would be banished into exile, upon pain of death.

Lyrion was very young then, and considered to be among the most brilliant of students. He was utterly dedicated to his art, and spent every spare moment of his life studying the theories and hypotheses of those who came before. His people had high hopes for this brilliant young man, already an adept by the age of 30, in human years. They expected great and extraordinary things from him, but no one could have foreseen the turn of his destiny.

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Blood. Forbidden by the joint conclave of the elders, Lyrion was sure it was the conduit and the solution to one of his theories, for all else had failed. He could increase the flow of magic by this means, thereby increasing the potency, a discovery he had made during controlled experiments performed in his lab, using animals as a blood source. One night he talked some fellow adepts into going for a walk. He told them he had discovered something unique about the properties of the stones used in building gates. And as he expected, his invitation was met with no resistance; they followed him willingly, like lambs to the slaughter. Lyrion killed them all; a simple spell of disorientation was used while he slit their throats, watching eagerly as the blood seeped into the ground all around the gate.
Maybe he really did not know, most doubted the young adept could have anticipated the devastating results of his action. Lyrion set into motion, a chain of events, for by contaminating the gate with blood, he also tainted the line beneath it, and over time, this taint spread, seeping into many lines and pools. This event brought about the downfall of the civilization of his race, his people, and much knowledge of magic, of science, and of the elder races was lost. The taint spread across the lands, infecting many adepts, until war broke out among them. Lyrion’s betrayal was discovered during this time, and he was banished, for he was now also greatly feared. Eventually, the elder races vanished entirely, those that were left after the great wars.

When Aeron stepped through the gate in Basilisk Keep on that fateful night, over a year ago, none of the unfolding events were happenstance. These were all the intricately planned machinations of a madman, one who nearly wiped out his entire race. All this done in the name of power, the one thing coveted the most by any being.

Now, he was so close to achieving his goal, Aeron really nothing more than a means to that end. He had extracted from her lips a promise; Donovan would live, and she would meet him on his own terms. Love was a weakness she could not afford. He had told her that many times, her own council had said much the same thing often enough. But Aeron had refused to accept this to be a truth. She fought against it, as she fought in battle, passionately and fiercely.

Magic has its price, but so does love. Lyrion had used it as means to barter for what he wanted the most.

Aeron.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

The valley ahead was quiet; the ill-used path leading into it was empty, and few, if any travelers ventured this way. There was but one way in and one way out, Aeron had chosen it specifically because of that reason; anyone traveling down this path would be easily spotted. She kept her mind focused on the task at hand, her meeting with Lyrion. Having arrived early, Aeron was currently hidden off to the right side of the faint track, waiting. Lyrion was not walking about as himself, no, clearly not. He was under the guise of a face that, by all evidence, was close to her. There was no other way the mage could have the inside knowledge he had, the details only someone in her house would know. She intended to find out exactly who that might be. He expended power in order to accomplish this feat, and any little bit of power she could make him continue to spend, gave them an edge.

“Really Aeron, I must say, I’m a bit disappointed in your lack of imagination.”

Her back stiffened at the sound of his voice coming from behind. So much for gaining an edge on him today, it was simply not to be. She forced a smile and slowly turned around to face Morthaneous.

“Are you? I do apologize for my lack of foresight. I should have known I could not deceive you.”

“So, what shall we talk about today? The weather? Your health?” Aeron had to suppress the urge to wipe the smile off his smug, arrogant face. “Oh wait, I know. That new toy of yours, the male you sleep with these days.” He waited the right amount of time before adding more, the words that would push her anger fully to the surface. “By all accounts my dear girl, I have heard he sates those voracious appetites of yours quite well. Quite well indeed. Tell me, do you plan on limiting yourself solely to his devices, or have you already grown bored and taken your pleasure with others?”

Aeron moved swiftly, her arm and hand rose upward to backhand Lyrion’s cheek. But, she never made contact, for he blocked the attempted blow and delivered a brutal one of his own in return. Mage or not, he was as strong physically as she was. His blow sent her sprawling on the ground and shattered the cheekbone on the left side of her face. She lifted her head up from the dirt and spit blood and a broken molar back at him. Lyrion laughed at her show of defiance and lowered his tall, lean body to rest on his heels.

“There you are, there’s that defiant streak I was never able to completely break. Now come girl, enough of this dancing about and let us discuss my terms.” He smiled, and savored her inner reaction to his words.
“Two days my lovely child, I give you two days. You will come to me with your decision.”

“Marvelous. And what exactly am I to decide? What plane of Hell to send your pathetic soul into?”

“No dear, not at all. In two days you will make a choice, you will choose to come with me of your own free will. Or . .” his voice trailed off in a tone she knew all too well. He was stroking the edge of her anticipation of his next words.

“Or?” She supplied, knowing he was waiting for it.

“Or you will agree to conceive a child with this male of yours and, upon its birth, hand it over to me. These are my terms, Aeron. Choose one or the other, and Donovan will live out all his days. Deny me, and I will visit upon you both such pain and anguish, as all the demons in Hell will gather to watch. And the devil himself will envy me.”

Aeron bravely pushed herself up from the dirt, and stood, swaying a bit from the pounding of her head and cheek. She did not say a word to him. She did not have to. The look in her eyes said it all.
He smiled at her, and made as if to place a tender touch to her throbbing cheek. Aeron pulled her head away from his extending hand.

“I’d put a cold compress on that if I were you. It’s already swelling and I’m sure it will leave quite the mark.” Lyrion gave her a feral smile, and she saw victory dancing in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked away, vanished from her sight. For a while after, Aeron stood there, waiting, thinking, and finally left as well.
But she did not move swiftly, rather took her time, following the faint path out of the area of the valley. She had not told Lyrion where the path led, she had only told him how far down the path she would be. About two miles along, she stopped beneath a large tree and spoke.

“You can come down now.”

There was the sound of someone scrambling about in the branches, and a scant few moments later, a young, skinny boy dropped down onto the ground at her feet. She smiled at him, and a fresh wave of pain washed over her. Still, it was not something Aeron could not handle. She had endured far worse than this, and gained far less.

“So, what did you see? Did anyone come down or go up the path? Anyone at all?”

The boy nodded his head with a great deal of enthusiasm, one hand held out, palm up, to receive the promised gold for his watch.
“Yes milady, someone did. An old man came down the path and it was the damndest thing I ever saw. One minute the old man was walking along, then suddenly he wasn’t an old man anymore.”

She smiled again and gently placed the gold coins in his palm, slowly closed his hand with both of hers, and held onto him.

“Tell me exactly what you saw. Every, single little detail . .”

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Passion. Perhaps among the most complex of all emotions, it enslaves mortal and immortal alike. It roils inside us with all the hell-bent fury of a raging storm. It is the indrawn breath before the first kiss, the electric thrill of the first touch. It tells us we are alive; it is, for many, their greatest strength and their greatest weakness. Without, we are little more than empty shells, a pitiful mimicry of existence, barren and devoid of life.
For Aeron, it was both curse and blessed gift, as she was once more experiencing a painful reminder of the full depths of her own passions. These emotions, this last bit of humanity she refused to deny, had brought her to this state. It had been more years than she could even remember, since anyone had beaten her so viciously and walked away from it. Anger writhed beneath the surface, fueled by pride and ego.

Was she not above all this by now? Had she not earned the right to walk above all such things, to discard an archaic set of ethos and morals? Bound to a sense of honor that meant nothing anymore, to anyone but her. Was this the folly of a woman’s mind, or the deception of a heart that longed for what it could never truly have? Was it not better to feel nothing, to envelop oneself in a field of snow, locked away inside ancient ice from the world?

I am not meant for this . .

Her own words, albeit spoken in delirium, perhaps a truth she had refused to voice, a truth she denied existed inside.
There were no answers forthcoming, not in the wind, not in the sky, and even the night refused to speak to her. She was sullen, dismayed and questioning everything she had done in the last months. Her anger did not fade, though the pain faded down to a dull aching sensation. A simple fae glamour concealed the bruises from anyone’s eyes. Aeron kept to herself all during the long night and the equally long day. It was not a hard thing to do, given that the servants avoided her when she was in these moods. And he was absorbed by his studies, utterly engrossed to the point of almost total distraction.

She had risen this day with the taste of blood in her mouth, blood not her own, no less. That was a minor concern however, paling in comparison to the choices she must now make.
She had played the game, wove an intricate ruse, and still had not gained as much as she had hoped to gain. All her efforts had come to naught thus far, and this only added to her silent, cold anger. She had done things, taken actions most uncharacteristic and none of it sat well with her at this point. In simplest terms, Aeron had allowed her emotions to rule the day. Everything she had done had been little more than a means to an end. Now, that end was at hand, and she had damned little gain to show for all her trouble.

It was all of course, what Lyrion wanted, he wanted her to question everything, every choice, every decision, every action. For if she doubted her own mind and instinct, he had her.
The present was shifting, it was almost the past, and the future hovered on the horizon.

A deeply troubled woman left her home this night, searching for something, and she had no idea what it was or where to find it.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

I am not meant for this.

Her own words uttered from her lips. Simple words, but they haunted her to a degree that was disturbing on many levels. She had done the unthinkable, gone and walked right into the stronghold of a sworn enemy. Why? Because, there were things Aeron truly needed to know, despite the previous evening’s events, she still had unanswered questions in her mind.
The gate still stood, unused and untouched by anyone. She seriously doubted a single individual even had a clue what it was, other than an arched opening in an old stonewall. That was the illusion; anyone who might happen to pass by this way would never have guessed.
For nearly a quarter of an hour, Aeron had stood there, staring at the stone arch, and weighing in her mind the consequences of this path. If she went through, she might be held against her will. She might never return.

I am not meant for this.

Finally, her mind made up, the foreign, delicate words of magic were spoken, the trigger for the gate. A few moments later, the power humming in the air rippled and snapped, and Aeron was gone.

Hours later, Aeron returned, untouched by his hand, but her mind was filled with the images of what he had done, what he intended to do. Now, she knew why he was so desperate for her return. He had shown her all his plans, all his intentions and chosen a new tact. Seduction. Like it or not, Aeron had enjoyed power, though deny it she might and most likely would. Lyrion had offered to her, more power than she had ever known, but at what price?

“Look upon them lovely one, look upon their faces and weep. Imagine what you can do, can you not see this land trembling at your feet as never before?” His voice was so sweet, so full of promises unspoken, it hinted at victories not yet gained. Aeron had stood upon the wall, dismayed by the vast army Lyrion had assembled. She understood intuitively what purpose this army had been gathered for, but more importantly, she knew he would not stop here. No, this land would never be enough for Lyrion. Once, he had conquered almost every kingdom on this continent, and even that was not enough. Aeron knew it would never stop, never end, until his need for control and power was sated, or he was dead. One or the other.
She had listened to him for hours as he went on about the days to come. He knew her weakness, knew more intimately than she did, what she truly was, and what she was not.

“You are meant for this, Aeron. You were born for this, and I made you ready for it. Will you turn your back upon greatness for love? Is that who you think you are? Do you honestly believe you can live out your immortal days in the shadow of a man?”

She had left him, without a fight, he let her go; Aeron had given him her word she would have an answer soon. Oddly, Lyrion did not question her; he merely smiled as if he already knew what her answer would be. In his mind, he could not conceive of choosing to walk away from so much power. He risked much, for now she knew of his intentions, even though he had not spoken of them in their entirety. But, Aeron was no fool, she was cunning, perceptive and her intuitive leaps were often more accurate than the educated guesses of others.

I am not meant for this.

Haunting words, they crouched in her mind, waiting to leap out of the dark at her. Faithless words, and truer words than any had spoken to her in months. She stood by the still open gate and pondered all she had seen this day, weighed this against those few words spoken in her mind and echoing in her heart.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Fate. Destiny. Two words with quite similar meanings; so much so, they were often used interchangeably. One single choice can alter the fate, the future, the destiny of not simply one individual, but many.
The river rushes forward, plunging along the path carved out by century upon century of its relentless, driven, tumultuous course. Small rocks are moved, branches tossed about, and the river crashes into the immovable boulders, gradually eroding away even their formidable surface.

I am not meant for this.

This is what you were meant for.

Two choices. One decision. Time ran on, laughing, amused by the plight of an immortal for which time meant nothing, until now. It was down to days, perhaps only hours before all her future moments would come to rest upon one choice. Aeron knew this seemed like such a simple choice to make, to others, perhaps. But not to her, there was nothing simple about this.
Despite her conversation with the odd male the night before, whose name she had never been given, she still had so little faith in Gods. So, Lyrion was causing problems for the Goddess Donovan followed, ergo her avatar’s intervention. She had to assume that is what the male was, an avatar of this Mystra. Of course, he would move to thwart any bid for power made by Lyrion. The face of the bidder could change, it would make no difference; the avatar would do what he was created to do, serve the purpose he was meant to serve. It just so happened that this time the face was Lyrion’s, and she was intricately connected to all of this.

Aeron had been riding for hours on end, sorting all this out in her mind. An easy out would have been to deny them all what they wanted, Lyrion, Mystra and this nameless male. Let them battle it out, winner take all. But no, Aeron knew it was not that simple, and she could not just remove herself from the board. It was all a game to them; of this, she had little doubt. The truth was, she should have moved to overthrow Lyrion long ago, before it all came to this dangerous state of affairs.

That last thought echoed, and Aeron reined her horse in so sharply, the animal tossed its head in protest against the painful jerk of her hands on the reins. She sat there, for several long minutes, while her mind slowly wrapped itself around the concept.
All his power was rooted in fear, an emotion he wielded like a weapon, like a warrior wielded a sword. A malignant smile gradually crept over her ageless features as the beginnings of an intricate, deceptive plan formed in her mind. It was only a question of timing on her part. She could not bind or banish Lyrion; that was now in the hands of others, those with a kind of power she no could no longer wield to that degree. The woman could lure him to a place where they could work their magics, this was the role expected of her. But, it was an unexpected twist that no one, not even Lyrion, could have anticipated; another role she would play in this dangerous game. If Lyrion won or was able to retreat, she knew exactly the place to where he would withdraw. She was the only soul in this entire land who knew.
Aeron would not be a pawn for anyone, not Lyrion and she would be damned if she would be a pawn for this Mystra and her avatar. She owed this Goddess nothing, and had no intention of bowing to any of them, let alone doing their bidding. Aeron cared little about the balance in the world of the Gods; it was neither her concern nor her problem. Let those who fought for the Gods tend to their needs, obey their will and live by their whims. She was not one of them, and in that moment, absolute and utter refusal was her answer. No puppet strings for her, not today, not tomorrow, and not ever.
Love? That was a different question entirely, and the answer was oh so easy. She was a warrior, a leader, but wise enough to know the purest desire of her heart. She would have it all; power, love, and damn the consequences, damn the Gods.

The horse she rode snorted and stomped an impatient hoof against the hard ground. In answer, she wheeled him around, clapped her heels to his sides, and headed back in the direction of home. No longer undecided, no longer torn between what seemed to be right and what seemed to be wrong, the path she had chosen now beckoned like a brilliant, guiding light as it cut through the whirling maelstrom of this raging storm. There was no absolute right or wrong in any of this, because at the core of it all, this entire clash was about power. Who held it and who sought it, the struggle to gain it and the fight to keep the largest measure of it. In the end, it was really, just that simple.

This is what you were meant for.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Mere days it would be until the four of them acted to remove the threat named Lyrion. Not just from her life, but from all lives, in all places. Aeron had concluded, his power was waning, his hold upon his magics and this world, slipping away. Perhaps he had used too much magic over the years, or maybe it was something obvious and simple. Lyrion was ancient, in the truest sense of the word. He had existed, in one body or another, since the world itself was young. His lifespan was far beyond what anyone she had ever known could claim, and Aeron had often shuddered to think how many had died so that Lyrion could live on. The number had to be in the thousands, tens of thousands really, for he had always chosen humanoid beings to inhabit. Curious, if one thought about it long enough, as the human body was more fragile than most. It was an oddity for which there would be no answers forthcoming, a mute point in light of their intent.

True enough, when Lyrion was banished from this world, this plane, she might also cease to exist. There was that, and it was merely one possible consequence. But Aeron had shoved aside the thought, whether he died or was banished, it was all the same. His power would be gone, his works would be undone, and many lives, both now and in the future, would be spared.
She was at peace with all this, knowing he would be forever banished, little more than a wicked, impotent whisper in the wind. Aeron had lived far beyond her years as well, and not all those years or those times had been bad. There were many faces she remembered fondly, many adventures, many triumphs and many losses. Yes, the lady had lived a very full and very rich life, the kind most would have or might have envied. Aeron had worn more masks, seen and done more things than she could even begin to name. Granted, she bore the many sins of her actions as well, but, if in this one selfless act, she lightened that burden, then it was all for the best. She had remained silent on all this, not spoken much about it to any of those who selflessly sought to aid her. The possibility had been mentioned one time, and then Aeron herself had dismissed it as unlikely. But the truth was, she simply did not know what would become of her when this was all over. She would either cease to be, or go on as before, albeit without the darkness pressing so close to her soul.

There was a certain sense of freedom in knowing things were about to be settled, be it for good or for ill. The lady felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her slender shoulders, and she even seemed to walk taller, no longer born down by so many cares, worries and concerns. There was no need for the ruse any more, the fits of explosive rage, the attitude, it all melted away to nothing. She could be, once again, the person, the woman she was, though a paler shade of that woman. Too much had happened, too many things had come to pass for Aeron to turn back from this point. Some wounds just never heal, and those are the ones we carry forward through all our days. They simply recede into the quieter places inside, and lie there, tender to the touch.
But, Aeron could smile once more, with a greater ease than in the last years. She could laugh, and jest, and savor the peaceful moments spent with friends. In the end, when all one’s days are spent, and the shadowy tendrils of the long dark night creep closer, that is a comfort.

Aeron was at peace, for perhaps the first time since Lyrion had taken her from her family, thousands of years in the past. Come what may, she was ready, having left regret and the rest of the baggage where it belonged.

It was all left in the rotting tomb of the past, where all such ghosts should find eternal sleep.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Aeron had slept for three full days, unconscious for the entire time. It was peaceful in that place; there were no questions without answers, no trials, no tribulations. There was only silence and solitude, an inner sanctuary where she was locked away from the world. But even such an unlooked for peace breaks eventually, gives way to the physical demands and needs of the body.
On the evening of the third day, her subconscious began to retreat to the place inside where it rightfully belonged, forcing her conscious mind back to the surface. It was a slow ascent, for she wanted to linger in this safe, warm place. But, eventually her eyes reopened to the world, or rather to her bedchamber.
Aeron had, upon waking, a rather unique and clear measure of clarity for someone who had slumbered so deep for so many hours. She did not question how she had arrived, and only briefly pondered how and why she was alive. The wound Lyrion had inflicted should have been fatal. There was no remorse either way, she did not mourn living, nor long for death. It was just a calm acceptance of her present situation, despite beating the odds; she was neither overjoyed nor displeased.

For long moment Aeron laid there, reacquainting herself with the land of the living, as much as one could from bed, that is. She was alone, and not surprised to find herself so. Instinctively, Aeron knew the threat Lyrion had posed no longer existed. She also knew the three; Donovan, Vulspeth and Seraph had beaten him at his own game. This was all a somewhere vague recollection in the misty, dim recesses of her mind. To Aeron, it meant but one thing; she was free.

She had spent an hour soaking in the heated pool, indulging her body and mind in the soothing and relaxing warmth. Tonight, she took a particular sort of pleasure in the scented oils that were rubbed into her skin afterward. So much had been taken for granted; every little luxury now seemed to take on new meaning. Her evening meal tasted incredible, and Aeron made sure to mention it to the cook. The wine she drank with her meal was like liquid ambrosia. All this and more, and yet, where did her life now go from here? She had no answer to that question, not really even sure there was an answer.

Later that night found Aeron dressed and standing before the gate, staring at something on the other side in wonder. Lyrion’s stronghold was gone, completely gone. All that was left of it was a great, gaping wound in the earth, scorched and burned around the edges. She could only guess at the cause, for he must have set something magical into motion before leaving. Whatever this might have been, it apparently worked quite well. If she went through the gate, there would be no way back from that land. So be it, this was something beyond her control.

She turned aside and mounted her horse once again, urging the beast forward into a slow walk back down the track. The future had been changed, her destiny was now truly her own, more so than it had ever been. What it might bring, Aeron no longer had any idea, she only knew, it was waiting to be written. Maybe that future would be written in these lands, maybe not. She could not say for certain, and strangely, she felt disassociated from it all, as if her mind and spirit had been completely washed clean. True enough, Aeron might have felt differently had she known that Vulspeth was in possession of Lyrion’s soul. Oh indeed, she would have felt very different about things. But, she did not know, not at this time, so there was a deep sensation of ease throughout her mind. Even the beast within was at peace, as if by vanquishing Lyrion, justice had been met. It no longer rumbled, and she felt it moving closer, as if the two were merging in a way never before possible.

Inevitably, her mind moved toward the one reason she had remained in this land. And that thought drew forth a quiet, soft sigh from her body. He was the only reason she had stayed, and most likely, the only thing that truly kept her here.

If that changed, Aeron was not sure she would remain. The words of her former seneschal rang in her mind, his all too accurate prediction. At least it had been accurate so far; maybe his words would be proven wrong.

It was a long, quiet and thoughtful ride back for her; she had a great deal to think about along the way. Even so, from time to time, an unbidden smile came to her face. One single thought kept repeating itself as often as possible, even daring to interrupt any other thoughts she had.

I am free.