A Shadows Tear

There is a little Sun Tzu in all of us.
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Tynerion
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Professional Farmer
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Joined: Thu Jan 30, 2003 2:40 am
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A Shadows Tear

Post by Tynerion » Tue Aug 19, 2003 3:34 am

Here is a story I just finished writing for a writing contest on ACRoleplayers.COM. I thought I would share it with you folks as well. The idea is to write about a certain object and include it in your story. Here's the full scoop if you want to check it out and see what the item looks like. Oh.. and be prepared. It's a long one.. :) (but a good one I hope)

http://www.acroleplayers.com/modules.ph ... le&sid=117


A Shadows Tear


PROLOGUE

It was a day of dreams.

The kind of day that stands out among all youthful memory, as one gets older. The sky was a deep blue, and wisps of cotton like clouds moved and changed shape as if they were part of an ethereal dance. The sun shown warmly upon the little girls face, as she reclined on a blanket. With her head nestled in her mothers lap and her eyes peering into the heavens, she smiled. Picking up the rag doll that was her constant companion, she removed a blade of grass that had somehow managed to entwine itself into the rust colored yarn that was the dolls hair.

“Mama?” The girl quietly spoke as if the volume of her voice might end the peaceful dream, “I love you.”

The woman smiled at her husband sitting nearby who had just finished eating the fish he had caught for his families picnic and started running her fingers through her daughters long red hair.

“And I love you as well my sweet one.” She replied and starting singing the lullaby that always left no doubt in the young girls mind that she was safe--and loved.

“My arms were made to embrace thee dear one;
My eyes to behold thy face so fair.
My ears were made for thy whispers so sweet;
My fingers to run though curly hair.
No evil can ever befall thee child;
No clouds shall come to darken the sky.
For my arms, my eyes, my fingers, my heart;
Shall ‘ere be with thee, ‘til all ends draw nigh.

The father loved to hear his wife sing. Her melodious voice was one reason he had been so attracted to her those many years previous. He wanted to hear her sing more and wished he could be here forever with his two special ladies; amidst the tall trees and near the babbling brook. But the sun was receding into the peaks of faraway mountains and soon it would be dark.

Standing up and shaking a fallen leaf from the fold of his tunic, he turned to the angelic pair beside him.

“It is time we should be going home, dear ladies. I would rather not be walking through the forest without the sun to guide us.” He said.

With heavy sighs, mother and daughter stood up and began busying themselves to the task of cleaning up the picnic site. As the man and woman gathered the utensils cups and plates, the little girl was sent to the stream to fill an ewer with water to put out the fire. Though this task was a tad bit difficult for such a small girl, she was happy to oblige and took pride when she could return without spilling a drop.

The path to the stream was not a long one, but wound through the forest causing her to lose sight of her family. At the stream, she leaned over and dipped the ewer into the cool pool of water. As she lifted it back out, she heard what sounded like her fathers muffled voice from where she had left them. Thinking that she was being called, the girl moved as quickly as she could up the path without losing all the water she carried and called back, “I’m coming Papa! I’m coming!”

But as she came back to the clearing, she did not see her father or her mother. Her mother’s hand woven basket lay neatly on the ground and the fire still smoldered within the stone ring. Otherwise, she seemed alone amidst the trees.

In confusion, she tried to call out to find where they had gone, but was stopped by a dark cold hand that came from behind and covered her mouth. Another ebony arm that seemed partially invisible grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up off the ground causing her to drop the ewer full of water.

Wanting to scream, she could not, and any struggle that her frail body could provide proved fruitless. Having no idea what was happening to her, she was carried by her shadow captor for what seemed like hours into the deeper part of the woods where the suns rays succumbed to the darkness beneath the leaves.

As the day ended, an owl awakening from its slumber focused his eyes to watch a procession of shadow beings entering the gaping maw of a dungeon entrance. With them were three humans. A man and a woman bound at the hands and gagged at the mouth, along with a little girl with long curly red hair and a little raggedy doll coming out of her pocket.





CHAPTER ONE

“Thunk.”

The misty dream that played through Stray’s head shattered and gave way to a light consciousness. His body stirred and he turned his head toward the sound that disturbed his sleep.

“Thunk”, came the sound once more, seemingly from the roof of his cottage.

He scowled deeply and pulled himself upright on his bed. He knew what was happening, and this time he would not be so lenient on the offenders.

Peeking through the window with his one good eye, he caught sight of two young boys, not quite at the age of thirteen, standing on the hill outside his abode. The one in front held a small rock in his hand and the one behind was advising him on what to do with it. Even at a distance, Stray could hear his goading.

“Keep throwing! He’ll come out sooner or later—and then we run—and run fast!!” Stray heard the youngster say.

Stray clenched his teeth and his nostrils flared, as he was apt to do when his patience was sorely abused. He pulled on his robe and quietly made his way to the back door determined to put a stop to this foolishness.

He had hoped to sleep in on this day after coming home from an extended excursion into the bowels of Mt Lethe; but it seemed that once again, the local children would rob him of it. For you see, Stray was the next best thing to a hermit. He disliked people in general and he doubly disliked children. He never had any use for them and wondered why anyone would ever want to bother having them in the first place. “Dirty, without manners, constantly needy, I’d take me a pet Moarsman before I’d even think of havin’ a child.” he would mutter.

The problem was; this attitude had made most of the towns children fear him. This in itself would have made Stray happy; but fear sometimes can have an unexpected effect. For as anyone knows, it is common for children to do things that will make them feel esteemed in the eyes of their peers. In some towns, this would be accomplished by running into the entrance of a supposedly “haunted” dungeon, or tormenting a Drudge Skulker until it came running after them. In Cragstone however, the test to prove your worth was to pelt Strays cottage with rocks until he came out screaming at the top of his lungs—always with his axe in his hands. If there was no screaming, or no axe, your quest was considered a failure and the escapade had to be repeated again at a later time.

On the surface, one would think that bombarding a half-blind, old mans house with stones was not a very good test of braveness and valor; but a rumor had started years ago that if you were ever caught by Old-Man Stray, that he would carve you up with his axe, put you in a pot with carrots and cabbage and eat you for supper. This had never happened of course, but it was enough of a fright to make their knees knock when they performed their ‘rites of passage’ atop the hill behind his house.

Stray was not to be outdone this time. Sneaking out the back door, he crept to the East careful to keep his cottage between him and his attackers. The intermittent sound of a rock bouncing off of his roof proved to him that he had not yet been seen making his way into the wood— and around the hill behind where the scamps had positioned themselves.

As he emerged from the woods behind the hill and his quarters, he saw that the two had become five. Four (including the thrower) were older, while one seemed but eight or nine years of age. Still facing the cottage, they had yet to see the short and stocky robed figure approaching them from behind.

“Blast them!” he thought. “It’s no wonder this land is going to Bael’Zharon in a barrel, when a child becomes a delinquent—barely after cutting his teeth!”

It wasn’t until Strays shadow moved before the boys cast from the morning sun, that any of them realized they had been flanked.

“AAAAIIIIEEEE!” one of them screeched. And the mayhem of scattering children in fear of their life ensued.

Stray tried to grab the boy that was originally throwing the rocks, but all he ended up with was a large strip of torn tunic in his hands. The boy would no doubt have to explain to his parents why his nice new shirt lost a quarter of its fabric; but this was no consolation to Stray, who wanted an example set.

Just as he was thinking that he might not catch any of them, one of the boys fell while running down the hill. It was the youngest, but Stray was not picky at this point. He loped to where the boy lay sprawled on the ground and picked him up with one arm; holding him tight like a sack of potatoes. He walked slowly into his house with the child kicking and bellowing all the while.

He hoped that at least one of the other boys would see him as he picked up his axe in his free hand, which leaned upon the doorpost as he entered.






CHAPTER TWO

Stray dropped the young boy unceremoniously on the floor and pointed to a chair by the wall.

“Sit and be quiet!!” he boomed.

The boy’s high pitched bellowing of “DON’T EAT ME! DON’T EAT ME!” lessened to a quiet whimper, but the pleading went on. “Please—don’t eat me—Please…” Tears streamed from his cheeks and his face was ashen white from fear.

Stray placed his axe on a wall hook and locked both of his doors. He almost wished his heart were cold enough that he could eat children. One less young rat might make this world a better place. But despite the fact that he held disdain for people and children, he was not a cold-hearted killer.

“What’s ‘yer name and who’s ‘yer parents?” He asked the shaking boy.

The boy at first seemed to have lost his voice, but eventually gathered enough pluck to speak. “Kane. And—And I have none”, he whispered.

Stray, who was fully prepared to light into the boy stopped at hearing the name. He had heard of this child. For where most children in Dereth were natives; born to parents that had been the ones to heed Asherons Call, this one was not. He had appeared just as the others who had come—shaking in the dirt after being ripped from his home world by a portal. Having no parents and a pronounced limp from an injury during his birth, he was provided for but not truly welcomed. For only the most menial and simple tasks could be assigned to him. Even though Strays irritation at the boy was obvious, deep down he related to the boy in a way. For Stray also had lost his parents at a young age—and an accident with a reckless hunting partner and a poorly shot arrow had partially blinded and disfigured him for life. Much of this led to him being the gruff and cold man he became.

Stray pushed off his feelings as he usually did and let his anger form his face into a scowl. “Hear this boy. I’m not gonna eat ya see.. Not yet anyway.” He growled. “But if I see yer face anywhere near my house again, you’ll be pot luck for sure!” Walking his way to the door, he unlocked and opened it allowing light into the musty room. “Now get outta here and tell your friends that Old Man Stray says he ain’t hungry today; but don’t count on that next time!” Kane didn’t take a second to bolt from the chair and hobble out the door. With no reply to Stray, he went back towards Cragstone as fast as his crippled leg would allow.

Stray closed the door again and took a deep breath and began preparing some rice and fish for his breakfast. Just as he sat down to partake, he heard another sound emanating from outside his door. Flabbergasted that the children would actually pull this prank again after what had just happened, he grabbed his axe once again and flung open the door expecting another scene to ensue. Instead, he watched as a fair skin man approach his door.

“Are you Dayen Stoutstaff?” Asked the man warily eyeing the axe yet held aloft in Strays hand.

This was actually Strays true name; though he had not heard it spoken that often by the people who knew of him. The villagers, because of his wandering eye had given him the name Stray. He had accepted the name only because he felt it represented him as a person as well—he was a stray, with no ties, and no desire to have any. Using his given name, the question lent stray to believe that he was about to be offered a job.

Strays livelihood consisted of going into places and recovering items of interest—particularly for those that did not desire to get their hands dirty—namely the Arcanum. So far he had never failed at any given task , and had become renowned for his tenacity in getting any job done. It wasn’t so much that Strays fighting abilities were that great; but more so that he thought nothing about dying. It was not uncommon for Stray to get killed twenty or thirty times while making his way through a dungeon or tower. Each time he would trudge his way back to the dungeon from the nearest attuned lifestone, find his body simulacra and continue on. With persistence he would eventually find his way to the prize and bring it back to his current employer who would generally pay him enough to provide a living until the next job came through.

Stray looked at the stranger and lowered his axe. “Wadda’ya want?” he rumbled.

The man now a bit more at ease seeing Stray move into a more relaxed posture, produced a scroll and handed it over. “My name is Calden Faldor, and I have been sent by the Arcanum to give this to you. They have asked that I not leave you until you procure an answer to their request.”, the man said in an even tone.

Stray took the scroll and flung it back at the messenger who didn’t have the reflexes to keep it from bouncing off his head and landing on the ground at his feet. “Ya know,” said Stray, “you fools have been coming to me for twenty years and ya still can’t remember that I don’t read well! Boils and Banarots! Tell me what it says—and there had better be a map and some drawings!”

Calden regretted now that he had agreed to help the Arcanum to deliver this message. The little he had heard about Stray all seemed to be true. Reaching to the ground, he picked up the scroll and removed the colorful twine that secured it. Clearing his throat, he began to recite the flowing words; wondering all the while whether Stray would understand the colorful language or even care.

“Hail and felicitations to you, our dear Dayen! We, of the Arcanum do salute you and pray that you are most well!

Knowing that you have returned from your expedition to Mt. Lethe, we felt it an opportune time to ask but for one more small favor— which if performed— will of course produce the required boon, as is your fee.

Recently, we have come upon information pertaining to an artifact as defined by the picture included with this message. As to the artifacts worth, we feel it has little of consequence to any but ourselves. Yet we desire not to pass up any opportunity to learn more of this glorious land in which we live or the lore thereof.

Included with this scroll is a map to where we believe the item might be located, as well as a pictorial description of the item itself as previously stated.

If you are willing to do this small task for us, we shall not only be grateful, but will hold you in the highest esteem!

We would be most pleased to hear your answer post-haste from the worthy gentleman delivering this message. And in advance, if you decide to aid us, we thank you for your support in this matter and wish you well in your adventures.

With all affinity,

Terias Mafestia

Agent of the Arcanum – Cragstone


Calden peered over the top of the scroll to see Strays response to have his eyes met with a bored blank stare. He dreaded the thought that he would have to translate the message into something that the gruff bear of a man could understand; and was just about to do so when Stray held out his hand.

“Give.” Was Strays only remark.

Calden turned over the scroll and stood uncomfortably as Stray took the time to pour over the map and the pictures at the bottom of the scroll. Ripping the scroll in twain, Stray tucked the written half into the crook of Caldens arm; turned around and walked back into his house.

As the door closed, leaving Calden to wonder if Stray had made his decision clear and he just missed it, he heard a muffled voice from within the structure in a somewhat tired voice. “Tell them I’ll do it—and go away.”




CHAPTER THREE


Stray sat by the entrance to the dungeon and looked once again at the picture on the scroll. One thing he had become used to in this business was—not knowing what he was finding. In this case, he couldn’t even guess as to what the object was. Even as well drawn as it was by the Arcanum scribes, all he could gather was that it was some sort of stone with runes and drawings upon it.

“Ah well. Knowing my luck, the dungeon is probably full of stones and it will take me a year to find the right one.” He thought to himself.

He tucked the scroll into his belt and pulled out his axe from the protective oiled cloth that he carried it in. As sharp as a razor, the weapon reflected the light from the morning sun onto the trees surrounding the cave he was about to enter.

It had taken him forever to find the dungeon specified on the map. It seemed that this place had not been visited or used for many years. Hacking through small trees and underbrush, he had scoured the general area for almost three days before stumbling upon a rocky outcrop that hid a tunnel leading into darkness.

Lighting a torch and taking a deep breath, he began to make his way into the musty hole down some roughly hewn steps. The torch did its job well by illuminating his pathway and it wasn’t long before he came to an old oak door; half rotted from age and barring his way further. It was times like this that he was glad he chose the way of the axe. A bow or a dagger would do little good in the area of door bashing.

Within minutes, he had cleared enough of the door and crawled through to the other side. As he righted himself, he heard what sounded like far away whispers snaking their way through the darkness.

“Shadows.” He murmured with disgust. “Why couldn’t it have been rats or drudges?”

There were few things that Stray had a problem with killing when it came right down to it, but Shadows were one of those things. It wasn’t that they were more difficult to kill or that they killed him any faster than the standard fair of creatures. Rather, it was the fact that many of the shadows in Dereth had one been a living person. With every Shadow that he had killed with his axe, there was a part of his mind that wondered what kind of person the shadow had been. Did it live a normal life at one time? Once a shadow, had it lost all vestiges of its life as a human? It is not totally understood how all shadows came to lose their corporeal bodies to roam the land as dark, partially visible beings. Many where known to have come when Ilservian Palacost tapped into ancient dark powers and became the dark lord Bael’Zharon. His followers likewise were turned into shadows by the same powers and aided Bael’Zharon in an attempt to overthrow the Empyreans and make Dereth their own. However, there were others that this history did not account for. For Bael’Zharon was no longer a presence in Dereth; being defeated years ago by an Isparian affront to his power aided by the mage known as Asheron. Yet it was said that the darkness that begat Bael’Zharon was yet a subtle force in the land and its desires of conquest still burned; that it continued to build an army of shadow warriors by taking the lives of unsuspecting humans and converting their bodies and souls to dark service.

Shadows or not, Stray knew that he had to finish this quest. He had already worked too long and hard to give up. Testing the balance of the weapon in his hand, he called out to the darkness.

“All right you Shadows. Listen up!” He bellowed.

Now you’re probably wondering why Stray would do this. After all, it is not always the best idea to let potential enemies know you are coming their way. But Stray always hoped that one time, the monsters would listen to him and just let him pass without a fight—and several trips to the lifestone. So far, it had never worked, but by now it had become part of Strays style. Besides that, he was the kind that always took challenges head on. No punches pulled and everyone on the same page.

“I’m coming down see?” He continued, “And I ain’t looking for trouble! All I want is a funny little rock, and I’ll be outta your hair for good! Got it?” The whispering stopped and Strays call was answered in the form of three shadows brandishing daggers running down the hallway to where he stood. “Figures.” He sighed and dropped his torch in order to take on the onslaught.

Stray took on the first Shadow with ease. A few swings removed the arm and the head of the attacker. No blood, guts or screams; just a heaped mass of darkness upon the floor. The second and third were a bit more difficult however. While one kept slashing at Strays knees, the other seemed to be attempting a spell. He was unconcerned with the spell caster as his resistance to magic was unsurpassed. This had been one advantage to not knowing how to cast magic himself. All the time and energy that others had put into learning magic, he had put into defending himself against it. The second Shadow had managed to put a nice little gash on his right leg by this time which made Strays anger rise. He really didn’t want to leave a corpse in here; as the closest lifestone he could find was a four-hour walk from this dungeon. So he kept swinging his axe. And with every swing, he talked to his opponent.

“YOU…” (Swoosh)

“SHOULD..” (hack)

“HAVE..” (slice)

“LISTENED..” (crunch)

“TO..” (jab)

“ME..” (bash)

“FOOL!!”

Stray had learned this bantering trait from his father as a young child; who had done similarly while beating him for getting into trouble. With every lash, a syllable would follow intoning his father’s thoughts on the matter.

Finally putting the two remaining Shadows away, Stray tended to his bloodied leg using one of several healing kits he had brought with him. As the pain subsided, he picked up his torch again and continued on deeper into the dungeon.

It seemed that he would be fortunate since there was little resistance as he worked his way through the hallways. The resistance he did happen upon came in the form of average shadows with terrible melee skills. He followed the hallways methodically taking every turn and surveying every dead-end and room that he came to. Many had stones lying about on the floors; but they were just stones. Nothing matched his picture. Along with the stones were human bones, trinkets, old rusted weapons and packs of substances that might have been food many years ago.

He was just starting to feel that this quest was going to be too easy when the passage he was walking down took a sharp right. And as he rounded the corner, an Umbris Shadow standing in front of a stone door welcomed him with a fireball. Stray was not prepared for this onslaught and was thrown back against the wall. Umbris Shadows were a bad sort—they were very quick on the attack and their advanced skill in the magic of “Strife” was well known. Stray barely had regained his balance from the first attack when a streak of lighting aimed at his head came from the hands of his floating foe. Fortunately, Stray had enough sense to raise his axe, which took the brunt of the attack; but still, his face had been burnt on one side and he felt weakened from the electricity that managed to make it though his axe and into his body.

Stray had no option but to run—which is exactly what he did. All the while, the Umbris stayed on his tail attempting to catch him with another blast of magic. Whether the Umbris Shadow became tired of following, or the door that it was stationed at could not be left for long, Stray eventually found himself alone once again.

“Ya almost got me—didn’t ya? You piece of Shreth dropping!”, he voiced to the empty room he was in. “Well this time, I’ve got your number!”

Once again Stray tended to his wounds. He took his time knowing that he couldn’t take the Shadow off guard if he went right back down to where it was. After healing and eating some of the food he had brought with him, he slowly made his way back to where the Shadow kept its watch. He knew he could not last in a melee fight with this creature, so he decided on a different plan. Picking up a pebble off the floor and putting out his torch so that he would not give away his presence, he moved slowly and quietly down the hallway to where he remembered the turn and the Shadow to be. Feeling his way along the wall of the corridor, he estimated when he was within range and tossed the pebble directly in front of him. The sound of the pebble bouncing off the floor might as well have been an avalanche of boulders as it broke the still and deathly silence of the stone walled labyrinth. Stray just hoped it had effected the desired response as he brought his axe above his head with both hands and with all the strength he could muster, flung it straight down the hallway. He heard the sound of the axe as it flew end over end—slicing through the air as it went; and heard it come to the end of its travel with a crack and a hiss.

Stray pressed his body against the wall half expecting that his plan had failed and a retaliatory strike was about to ensue. When no magical bolts came, he quickly relit his torch and peered down the hallway. Toward the end, he made out the crumpled dark form of the Umbris with his axe still protruding from its chest. The mist that had once held the shadow aloft still swirled about its midsection like a vaporous dark cloud.

“Well wadda’ya know about that? It worked!” He said to himself in amazement.

Approaching the black mass, he noticed that the shadow had not yet met its death; but was soon to find it. As Stray pulled the axe from its resting place, the shadow whispered a curse and lay still.

Stray moved now to the door and saw no handle or keyhole, but was delighted when just a bit of pressure caused it to open inward. Through the doorway, the light from his torch showed that he would be entering a large expansive room. Moving cautiously inside, he looked around for any sign of shadow movement but saw none. On one wall hung many chains as you might see in a torture chamber that caused Stray to wonder who—or what they had been designed to restrain. They were empty of prisoners at this point however and showed the rust of age and non-use. Another wall across from the entrance seemed to be ornately carved with pictographs and runes in an unknown language. Interestingly, much like the runes and carvings he remembered to be on the item he was to find. Stray continued to move his torch to take in the rest of the room and noticed a large pedestal placed exactly in the center. Atop the pedestal sat an object. Strays heart quickened as he approached and he smiled when it showed itself to be the artifact he was sent to find. Now within his reach, he saw it to be dark piece of slate that was as long and as wide as the length of his forearm. It was intricately carved with designs and runes that matched his picture perfectly. The top right portion of the stone had what looked like a round stone dowel protruding from it; and since the item seemed well worn with age, Stray knew he had to take special care with it lest that piece break off in his pack.

Pulling out an extra oiled cloth from this pack he was about to pick the stone to wrap it when he saw movement from behind the pillar. Letting the cloth go to free his hand up for his axe, he watched as the form of a shadow came into the light. But this was not like the shadows he had fought along the way. This shadow was exactly three feet tall and came to a stop a few feet in front of him. It was a shadow child.

Stray was completely prepared to dispatch of the small shadow if it made any moves, but it did not. Instead, it stood there looking at him, almost like it was pleading. For its life or for something else, Stray did not know. But after a few minutes of the standoff he had to do something. There was no sense in him standing here forever engaged in a staring contest with a shadow.

“Bugger off you!” He blurted out and feinted toward the small form as if to strike it.

The shadow seemed to cower and moved back away from him and the pedestal to the carved wall behind it. Stray raised his eyebrow in response to the shadows actions and then turned to his task of retrieving the stone; always keeping the shadow sprite in his peripheral view. The only movement the shadow made however; was to extend its little dark arm as if to point at the wall. This made no sense to Stray and at this point he wanted nothing more than to get out of this place.

“Yeah, you go ahead and keep pointing shadow—just stay right there and I’ll leave ya to your wall as soon as I get what I came for.” He said as he reached for the piece of stone on the pedestal. As he placed his hands on the artifact before him—just as first contact was made, the lights went out and stray was no longer where he had been. Or was he?




CHAPTER FOUR

As quickly as the darkness came, it lifted. Stray reeled with utter confusion. What had happened? Had an unseen portal transported him—and if so, where was he now? Questions continued to flow through his already overworked brain as he took stock of his surroundings. In front of him was the same pedestal he stood by only a minute before—minus the stone artifact. In front of that, where the shadow child had stood pointing, the intricately carved wall was gone; basically doubling the size of the room he had first entered. The only other difference that he could tell was that there was much more light. Several torches lined the walls providing an eerie glow to the entire expanse.

“Oh. This is not good you old coot! I do believe—you’ve finally gone mad!” he said to himself.

Before he could answer himself, the stone door swung open from behind him and two shadows entered the room—one being an Umbris and the other a sort he had never seen before. Whereas most shadows retain their bodily form, this one was different. Besides the fact that it was twice as big as a human, it was almost as if the shadow wore black translucent armor. Dark spikes emerging from its shoulders and head told Stray that this one was far beyond ordinary. Stray went to grab his axe but found it missing. Wheeling around to face the expected onslaught, he put up his arms in defense to only have the shadows pass right by him! He knew that there was no way these two could have missed him standing there. Were they ignoring him?

Stray now started to feel the urge to run. Get out of this place and back to the surface. He would just forget the artifact—and leave this insanity. If he could just get to his home and his bed, everything would be ok—or so he thought. Backing toward the door, he was stopped once again as several other shadows entered the room. Moving out of the way with his back against the wall and with eyes like saucers, Stray watched as they led three people, bound and gagged into the room. The tall man came first. Following him was woman and a little girl. Again, the entire host seemed to ignore him as they passed by.

All of a sudden, Stray began to understand—nobody could see him! And it seemed that nobody could hear him either as his heavy breathing and his fearful gulps went unnoticed. It was as if he was watching a play. Or perhaps, he was in the same place, just at a different time—watching events as they had happened in the past or might happen in the future. It seemed like the former was more plausible as the chains on the wall looked freshly wrought, and the stone pedestal had fewer cracks than he had remembered. This thought allowed him to relax a little, and he decided that if he was not in immanent danger, that he might as well watch the events as they unfolded.

“Chain them.” A voice hissed from the far part of the room. “The time draws nigh—let us prepare.”

Stray looked to see the speaker and saw that the command had come from ‘Spike’. It made sense that this one was in charge. Perhaps Spike was a type of shadow that no longer existed in the present time. A general or a leader that had been defeated back in the war with Bael’Zharon.

The rest of the shadows reacted immediately to Spikes request. Pushing the man, woman and child to the wall, they shackled their arms and moved to join their leader at the far end of the hall which allowed Stray the chance to more closely study three now in restraints. He wondered who they were and why had they been brought here. The man stood erect with his eyes closed. The little girl with long red hair and striking eyes looked up at the woman and silently cried the tears obviously brought on by fear. The woman returned the little girls gaze and though her face also showed fear, her eyes seemed to emanate love for the child. Though gagged, the woman also seemed to be humming a song. The melody, soft and sweet struck a chord with Stray. He had heard the tune before, but could not place it. The little girl seemed comforted by the sound of the piece and even managed what seemed like a smile, though the cords that gagged her made it difficult to tell.

Strays heart went out to these apparitions of another time. He could not fathom why the shadows would take captives, much less why they would take a little girl. Why hadn’t they just killed them? No shadow had ever tried to take HIM captive! The ones he had met up with seemed only to have a singular purpose. To send him to the lifestone.

Stray wondered if he could make any impact in the situation he was in. He couldn’t be seen, but could he affect what was happening? He could only try and hope. As he crossed the room, he looked to the shadows, who all seemed to be standing in a circle around another stone object at the far end of the room. He hadn’t seen it before, as the previously present wall had hid it. He also could hear low murmurs coming from the shadows; sounding in unison as if they were chanting in an unknown language. The object they encompassed looked to be a table, or possibly even an altar. Like the wall and the artifact he had come to retrieve, it was also covered with carvings and runes. Some type of magical rite was taking place here, and the thought that these shadows might sacrifice the humans they had in chains horrified Stray. Regardless of the possibility that this scene had taken place long ago, it still filled Strays heart with darkness—such as a ghost story does when told to children around a campfire.

The old axer went to the girl first, partially because he felt for her the most. He had never seen such innocence and beauty in anyone as he saw in this girl. Also, the chains that held her were loose because of her size, and the manacles could easily be slid off her slender wrists if pulled hard enough. He reached to grasp the girls’ arm, but instead of an arm, his hand clenched empty air. Immediately the lights dimmed and the redheaded child dissipated into nothingness. Stunned for a moment, he turned to see that he had returned to the present. His axe leaning against the pedestal where he had laid it, the chains near his hands once more were decayed with rust. Even the little shadow stood back by the runed wall that had again returned to divide the room he had seen in his vision in half.

“That’s it. This wasn’t part of the deal and I’ll be hanged if I spend one more minute in this accursed place!” Stray said, feeling that he had been ridden hard and put up wet. Quickly moving to the pedestal, he picked up the stone with his oilcloth; carefully this time so as to not touch it again with his skin. Sliding it into his pack, he glanced at the shadow—which had yet to move. “Little-Bit, I don’t know what’s goin’ on or if you had anything to do with it—but I don’t really care. I’ve got what I came for and I’ll be on my way. Good bye!” he said, turning away from the shadow and hastily leaving the room.

It took a lot less time for Stray to make his way to the top of the dungeon than it had in making his way down. His strong desire to leave this cursed dungeon and the absence of shadows barring his way helped his speed immensely. Reaching the top, he took a deep breath of fresh air and noticed that it had become dark. This also shook him a bit, as he thought that he had only been in the dungeon for an hour— possibly two. The added mystery he took in-stride however, and pointed his face toward home. There were too many unanswered questions; and he was in no mood to try and figure them out. He wanted to put as much road between him and this place as he could before stopping for the night.

Several hours of walking and several lengths traveled, Stray decided that he had come far enough and looked for a suitable campsite to wait on the morning light. He started a fire and laid out his bedroll. He placed his pack with the stone between him and the fire and his axe close at hand should somebody or something come along. He wanted to keep the fire going as long as he could, for he did not think he could truly sleep with all that he had just been through; so he went to gather as much wood as he could carry to keep the flames alive. Returning to the campsite with his arms laden, he dumped the wood. And let out a yell that reverberated through the woods.

“GAAAAAAH! What the… How did—you?…”, he blurted out as he backed away, tripping over his axe and landing quite squarely on his backside in the process.

There, next to the pack by the fire, sat the shadow child. Cross-legged and looking at him with an empty stare.



CHAPTER FIVE


Anyone who might of been passing by Strays campfire that night would probably have had a good laugh. For there sat Stray on one side of the fire with axe in one hand and his pack in the other. A constant stream of muttering spewed from his mouth as he kept his good eye focused on the shadow. He had tried everything possible to get rid of the creature. His threats of physical violence and actually pelting the shadow with stones seemed to have no impact; as the shadow would retreat into the woods only to make its way back to the campsite to sit by the fire—as if nothing had happened. After an hour of this shenanigans, Stray finally became resigned to the fact that he would not be rid of this pest, and succumbed to the standoff.

“Fine Little-Bit! Make yerself at home. But I warn ya, not one false move or I’ll do the same to you as yer pals in that dungeon!” he sneered; but the shadow made no response.

Fatigue began to take over Strays body, and he felt that if he did not keep active that sleep would soon come upon him. He dared not fall to it however; thinking that this was just what the shadow was waiting for—a chance to throttle him in his sleep. So he brought out some bread, his cup, some coffee and his flask of water. As he prepared his meal, he wondered if shadows ate food and threw a crust of the bread over the fire where it landed in the dirt next to his unwelcome guest. The shadow looked at the ort and then turned back to Stray and cocked its head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Said Stray, realizing that it wasn’t one of his brightest notions. Pouring some coffee grounds into his cup and filling it with water, he placed it neatly into the coals of the fire and waited for it to steep.

As the night went on and the moon made its way across the inky black sky, Stray found himself almost wishing the shadow would talk to him. Give him an idea of why it was following him. Maybe even help him make sense of what had happened in that awful room he had been in; but as much as he talked, the shadow remained silent. Sometimes it would turn its head, or even do a nodding of sorts, but it never let on that it understood anything Stray said.

Finally Stray stopped talking and just stared at the fire. This is truly a bad thing to do for someone who wants to stay awake and alert. For if you who have ever done this, you will know how a crackling fire in the middle of the night can hypnotize—even causing one to fall asleep. Which is exactly what Stray did. And while he slept, he dreamed. His dream was a peaceful one, but strange. He dreamed he was with the little girl he had seen in his vision. They were both in a meadow laying on their backs next to each other. A gentle wind blew across them carrying fluffy dandelion seeds that paraded before them like soldiers searching for a place of rest; and from a distance he heard a song. It was the same song he heard sung by the woman in the dungeon. Turning his head, he looked at the girl from whence the song came. The girl looked back at him with a smile and continued her verse.


“No evil can ever befall thee child..”

Immediately the scene changed. He was no longer with the little girl in the field. He was a young child himself now, sitting in his mothers lap. Her warm face nuzzled up against the back of his head and she sang him the lullaby he had forgotten for so many years.

“No clouds shall come to darken the sky...”

Once again he was back in the meadow with the little girl, still smiling at him and still singing.

“For my arms, my eyes, my fingers, my heart..”

Now he was at the campsite. Shards of daylight pierced through the leaves and the sounds of birds singing hailed a new day. Along with the birdsong, a little girls voice came through as if joining the birds in their aria.

“Shall ‘ere be with thee, ‘til all ends draw nigh.”

Stray jumped with a start and came to full wakefulness. Frantically, he looked around him for his pack and his axe and saw them both sitting upright against a nearby stump. Breathing a sigh of relief, he also noticed that the fire had gone out; or more precisely—had been put out. Besides this, the coffee cup and his water flask had gone missing. He shook his head as if to remove any remaining cobwebs that might hinder his perception and looked at the shadow, still sitting in the same position as it had been from the beginning.

“Were you just singing? What time is it? Where is my cup and water flask?”, he asked it, not really expecting an answer. And his expectation proved to be valid as the shadow continued to sit and stare at him like a statue. He told himself the song he heard was only the remnant of his dream. As for the time, the suns position told him it was but an hour into the day. And looking closer at his pack, he was surprised to see that his cup had been washed, his flask refilled and both had been neatly placed within.

He didn’t even bother to ask whether the shadow had been the one to put the fire out and to tidy things up. For he might as well of asked the tree behind him. And who else could have done it? Stray thought for a minute and shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps having a shadow around is not such a bad thing after all.”, he mused.

“Time to go Little-Bit. I figure if you came this far—you ain’t gonna stop now. Just don’t get in my way.”, he said in the nicest tone he had used with the shadow up until now.

Picking up his stuff, he gauged the direction he should head and started off while glancing behind him to see if the shadow followed. And sure enough he saw a little ebony form trotting down the path behind him some thirty feet back.

And as the old man and the shadow headed to Strays home, one thought kept crossing Strays mind. “How in Asherons name am I gonna explain this to the people at Cragstone?”, he thought, and could only imagine how he would be talked about.

“Old Man Stray has a pet shadow! Let’s burn down his house and run him out of town!”

“That’s fine.” He grumbled, “That’s just what I need.”



CHAPTER SIX

It had just turned to nighttime when Stray and the shadow made it to the cottage. Throughout the day as they walked, Stray had progressively become sick. Each step brought him increased weariness and a fever began to rage causing him to experience cold chills. His pack also seemed to become heavier and heavier causing him to stumble on many occasions. Each time, the shadow would come to his side, seemingly wanting to comfort him. Stray blamed it on the stone he carried; since from the beginning of his encounter with the artifact, he felt as if it emitted darkness. And as he had never felt ill in his life, he began to attribute his infirmity to having the stone near him. Almost as if the blackness of the stone had entered his body, seeking to destroy him.

Opening the door, it was all Stray could do to remove the wrapped stone from his pack and put it on the table. Once accomplished, his last strength was used in flopping onto his bed still in his armor. Before his eyes closed and he succumbed to the feverish sleep that called to him, he watched as a small shadowy hand place a cool wet cloth upon his forehead. And as he fell into darkness, he heard himself say as if from a distance, “Thank you Little-Bit—thank you.”

Strays dreams consisted mostly of delirious visions that night. Fever induced horrors passed through his dream world taunting him; keeping him ever unsettled and restless until he stepped into what some call a waking dream. It was exactly the same as his vision in the dungeon. So real that he could smell again the musty smell of the dungeon— the smoke from the torches that lined the walls. Even the sounds of clinking chains were crisp and clear—he was back. Standing next to the pedestal once again, he saw that things had changed since his last vision. The carved wall again was still missing, but where the man and woman stood against the wall in chains; they were no longer there and the manacles were vacant. Only the little girl remained, and she was no longer crying. Instead, her face was frozen from fear and shock as she looked to the huddled shadows still standing around the dark altar.

Stray now wanted to see what was happening. After trying to ignore the happenings of the last few days with no success, he began to feel like there was some purpose in him seeing these visions. Some scheme; orchestrated by darkness or light had been thrust upon him, and would not let him go until he witnessed what it wanted him to see. So he went to the altar where the shadows stood to see what was happening—and his heart stopped cold. If he had felt sick upon going to bed, what he saw now caused him to feel like his entire being was riddled with the worst of diseases. Upon the altar was the woman. Stripped of her clothing, she struggled against the bonds that held her tightly to the table. Her struggle had caused the ropes to bite deeply into her wrists and blood issued forth causing a thin film of red on the altar beneath her. The shadows around her were chanting as the great shadow Spike held his great hands together before him and over the woman’s chest—as if holding an item within. As the chanting continued, it became faster, and the shadow voices became more frenzied. When it got to the point where Stray almost had to cover his ears to prevent the madness of the dark verses from eating his brain, the chanting came to an abrupt stop. Upon which, Spike opened his hands to reveal a very large green glowing gem that to Stray, reeked of evil. The sickening green luminescence of the stone began to intensify within the massive dark hands as Spike moved it toward the woman’s heart. Stray wanted to leave in a terribly bad way; but could not. Neither his body nor his mind would cooperate as he watched the horrible shadow with terrible force plunge the stone into the woman’s chest. No scream came from the woman. Only a gasp issued from her mouth as the stone worked its deathly magic from within, causing her body to dissipate into nothingness. Her mortal shell seemed to turn into dust, leaving only a writhing form of a shadow woman upon the altar.

“NONONO!!! You bastards!!!” Stray screamed. And as in his previous encounter, it went unnoticed by the shadows for he could not be heard.

Things started to come clear to Stray now. Little by little, pieces of the puzzle started to fit together as the events of the last few days ran through his thoughts, mixing in with what he was now watching. These shadows from yesteryear were making more of their kind. Converting humankind to creatures of emptiness. Recruiting their hordes though force and dark magic’s. These people were probably a family that was waylaid by these very shadows and brought to this very place of sacrifice. It was not as much the bodies they needed for their sacrifice than it was souls. Forever tainted to be slaves of whatever dark evil created them.

And then the thought came. “But what of my shadow? Little-Bit is not…” he stopped in mid sentence and then his heart collapsed. Now he had an idea why he was shown these events. And now he knew what was about to happen next; and hated whatever it was that was forcing him to watch it.

As if Strays revelation had just provided the cue to shadows before him, he watched as they pushed the still convulsing shadow woman off of the altar and onto the floor. There she landed next to another form that Stray had not noticed was there. It too seemed to be in great pain and lay on the floor in what seemed like a fit of epilepsy. Then two of the shadows left the altar to retrieve the little red headed girl, brought her up in front of Spike and started to strip off her clothes.

Then Stray lost it. There was absolutely nothing he could change about what was about to happen—what had happened long ago. But the sense of hopelessness caused by that fact, coupled with the extreme anger that had built up within him watching the innocent being damned by the vilest of evils, caused him to go berserk. He wildly started to flay his arms as they lifted the child and put her on the altar. He tried to go after Spike and his body passed right through the specter as if the great shadow wasn’t actually there. As the chanting grew louder, Stray tried to pull a chain off of the wall; but along with the beings there in the room, the chains remained hanging while his hands passed through them.

As the color of the room changed to take on the poisonous green tinge of the soul-stealing gems light, Stray dropped to the floor in resignation to the fact that he was impotent to help the little girl. That it was too late. It was ages too late. Next to him, a rag doll lay on the floor peering up at him with a stitched smile.

“My God.” He spoke to the merciless power showing him these things. “I’ve seen enough. Don’t make me watch anymore!” But the power did not deem to heed his cry; as he remained long enough to hear the last breath of a little girl, as her life was taken and her soul devoured by a sinister darkness. That breath contained words that Stray could not deny hearing as it set strongly upon his heart.

“’til all ends draw nigh.”

And for the first time he could remember since being a child; this man who had never shed a tear, cried.




CHAPTER SEVEN

Like a loaded spring, Stray jumped up from his bed. His fever had passed and his mind had cleared. His first thoughts were that he had to go back to the dungeon with the stone and the shadow child. There was something she wanted him to see when he first encountered her. Yes— her. Stray now knew the shadow was in fact the little girl he had seen in his visions. She sang the lullaby at the campsite that had brought him out of his slumber, he was certain of it now. She followed him because he had the stone. He still didn’t know what it was, or what it represented to her, but he didn’t take the time in the dungeon to find out; and now he must.

Looking around the room he did not see her anywhere.

“Little-Bit! Where are you?” he yelled, trying to pick out his shadowy companion from the dark corners of the room. It was then that he noticed the stone was missing. In its place rested a pile of pyreal notes and a parchment. Picking up the parchment, he attempted to decipher the words scribbled upon it. Some of the words he could pick out, but most remained an enigma. What he could read went as follows:

“Dayen…. Thank you .. stone…. sick…. notes… table….. Calden.”

“BLAST!” Stray hollered, and went to the window to look at the sun. It was but a few hours before noon and Stray had slept much longer than he had thought. Besides that, he had slept through having his house infiltrated by that moronic Arcanum messenger! He had probably come by to see if Stray had accomplished his quest. Seeing him home but with no answer to his knocks, he probably opened the door—took the stone, and left the payment for it all on the table. And with the stone, went the shadow.

Then fear rose up within him. If Calden saw the shadow following him, what would he do? Stray knew exactly what he would do. If he had the means, he would kill her, and Stray couldn’t accept that. Not after what he had seen and what the shadow girl had done for him. He rushed out, still in his armor; and ran as fast as he could toward Cragstone. He hadn’t gone far when he crested a hill and beheld a wondrous sight.

And Stray laughed. He laughed harder than he had ever laughed before. For before him stood a fairly small tree atop of which precariously perched Calden Faldor—grasping the stone in its package. Below the tree on the ground sat Little-Bit, cross-legged and staring up at Calden as if waiting for him to fall out so they could continue their journey.

“Dayan!” Screeched the unfortunate messenger, “Thank Asheron you are here! Please dispatch of this vile creature, I beg of you!”

Stray walked up to the base of the tree and smiled at the wee shadow that responded by waving at him. Bending over, he whispered something to her that caused her to stand up and move a few lengths away from the tree; and once again sat down. Now Stray looked up at Calden and smiled. “Now, what do we have here?” he said. “Big birds like you should pick bigger trees to perch in I think.”

“This is no time for foolery Dayen! What did you say to that monster? What is going on?” was Caldens reply.

Stray was truly enjoying this far more than he should have, but decided to take it just a bit further. “You see Calden, this here shadow is a friend of mine, and it does whatever I tell it to, as you can see. It’s a good thing ya jumped up in that tree too, cuz it would just as soon tear ya from limb to limb as it would spit in yer eye.”

Calden took a glance at the unassuming creature sitting on the ground and looked back at Stray. “I don’t think it’s quite all that—but I have no weapon and I have never liked shadows.” He replied, trying to recover at least a little dignity.

“Well, I’ll tell ya what, you give me back that stone you took and the shadow and I will leave ya be.” Said Stray.

Caldens brow furrowed and his response was filled with anger. “What do you mean? This artifact is what you were sent for! You have been paid Stray—now get the shadow out of here and be gone!”

The only reaction from Stray was a smile as spit into his hands and began rubbing them together. Hefting his axe, he took a few practice swings toward the trunk of the tree.

“What are you doing?!” howled Calden. “Stop it! Stop it at once!”

“I need the stone Calden. I think you should drop it before you end up at the lifestone.” Stray replied matter-of-factly as he swung his axe around taking a chunk out of the trunk of the tree.

“You’ll pay for this Stray! You will never do a job for the Arcanum—again!” sputtered Calden putting emphasis on his last word, as he began to lose his balance atop the shuddering tree.

“I don’t plan on it Calden. Oh—and here’s your money for this one!” spat Stray as he threw the notes on the ground and prepared to make another pass with his axe.

Calden started to feel the tree waver from the first strike of the axe, and knew it would only take a few more before he came toppling down.

“Fine! Fine! Stop it! Here’s your precious stone!” He said, trying to drop the package straight on Strays head.

Stray expected it however and dropped his axe so that he could keep his prize in one piece. Stowing it behind his breastplate, he grabbed his axe and went to where his shadow girl still sat. “Come Little-Bit. We have a long journey ahead of us—we should get going.” He said to her in a soft tone.

As he went back over the hill away from the still cursing Arcanum messenger and toward the dungeon of shadows once again, he felt a little cold hand push its way into his own great paw. And though it was cold, and strange to the touch, he smiled. It was ok with him.

Locked