The Memory of Pain

Keiran let out the breathe he had been holding back as the traveler walked past him into the tavern. As the air hit him again his nose wrinkled like a wolf smelling a dead carcass. In the darkness, his eyes glittered and smoldered. Amaras! There were few things he hated more.

When he closed his eyes, he could still taste the horrible acid flavor that had contaminated ever mouthful of air he had manage to gulp between the torturous pain. He’d tried to remain conscious because that was the only way to find out information about what they were doing to his body. However, the agony had frequently made it too difficult to remember anything, and he’d often fallen unconscious before hearing the answers he needed so desperately. The blue and white cloaked demons that capture him had bound him to a board with chains, then cut open his flesh, only to pour vile substances into the wounds. The wounds were left open to bleed as long as possible while they forced more liquids into the bleeding gashes. Finally they would bind up the cuts with clothes that were kept constantly saturated with something that smelled like a combination of acid, burnt hair, and blood. The only thing that kept him alive was the thought of saving his sister and a burning desire for revenge that grew stronger with ever slash of the knife. Almost a year after escaping now, he still didn’t know enough. All he knew was he had changed drastically. He was no longer the same human or even human at all.

The rain streaming down in incessant sheets should have made it impossible for him to hear anything beyond a foot or two, yet he heard clearly the traveler speaking to the tavern proprietor. While he’d been lost in memory a local villager had entered the tavern joining the Amaras. He now focused on the strains of conversation he’d been ignoring. “...trouble in the village.....raids....” It was the same story he’d heard at the tavern in the last village. What he needed were clues, answers to the whereabouts of his twin sister. Somehow he’d thought he would find them here.

Suddenly, he caught a fresh whiff of the Amaras’s scent. It sent his blood boiling and every instinct in him wanted to destroy the owner of that scent. It was almost identical to that of his captors! He struggled to resist, but his body lunged forward towards the door before he could stop it. There was nothing for it, he had no choice! Turning with all the will-power he could muster, he fled from the tavern with a long loping stride that would have put even the fasted horse to the test. It was just another thing that was wrong with him. How’d he’d gained this ability was more frightening then any of the experiments, and it was what he feared would eventually destroy him from the inside. It had happened twice now, once with the centaur and once with the wolf. The centaur had given him speed. The wolf had transformed his eyes into those of a hideous monster. Everyone who saw his eyes feared him, and everyone who didn’t distrusted him. Much as he hated it, he was beginning to understand what triggered the changes, and he knew it would happen again. He had to find out what they’d done to him and save his sister before it killed him.

A Young Eavesdropper

Zane peeked his head around the corner, hoping upon hope that what he was hearing was only his imagination. Someone was to take Kyria away! It couldn't be. He was so close to being able to free her – and now this! Sighing in frustration, he picked up his dust rag and dusted his way in the direction of the voices coming from outside her door, hoping to hear more of this outrageous idea.

“Get your things, you're coming with me. This castle has been found out, and it's too risky for you to be kept here any longer.” The authoritative voice of a man spoke loud and clear. 

Kyria's sad voice came quietly across the hallway, and Zane could barely hear her. “Where are we going? I had just learned my way around this-- ugh!”

Zane heard her fall to the floor, and assumed she had been pushed. Everything in him wanted to run to her aid, but he knew better than that, if he wanted to keep both of them alive.

“Just obey and no one gets hurt, alright? You're going to a place in the forest. A safe place, where you can continue to spin for me and no one will ever find you!” the man let out a harsh laugh.

Minutes later, Kyria walked by with the lord of the castle grasping her wrist. She was carrying a small satchel, presumably holding her few belongings.

“What are you doing here, boy?!” Duke Prosser nearly tripped over Zane as he stood dusting the banister outside Kyria's room.

“Merely dusting, m'lord.” Zane took a bow.

“Well then, see you keep your eyes on your dust rag, eh? I don't need anyone knowing where this woman is going, or that's she's going anywhere at all. Understand? Or it will be the worse for you.”

Zane simply nodded and continued dusting, mentally promising himself to never forget what he had overheard the Duke say earlier. There had to be a way to help her, despite the fact that she was being taken far away to an unknown forest. Sighing again in frustration, he dusted with a vengeance, thinking of a way to get to Kyria and free her, once and for all.  

The Creation of Angels

The unknown stranger smiled and bowed as the two disappeared for a few minutes, turning to gaze into the fire without a word until the elderly man returned. Though the inn still looked a wreck, with chairs and tables overturned everywhere, the traveler did not ask or show any typical signs of curiosity, and seemed content to find they would put him up for the night and had goodwill in their hearts.
As the host returned, the blue-and-white clad stranger turned around regally, quickly noting the girl that dashed away hurriedly upstairs before turning to the man before him.
"I am sorry if I arrived at an...unfortunate time." He offered, "It seems as though you have had trouble here. Is there something I can do to help?"
He paused for a moment. "Also, could I ask for the name of this village and who rules here? I'm searching for a particular person in this realm and I wondered if perhaps you would know."
Gildor turned to pick up a chair and sit in it, as he saw a rough one lying by the fire, when a movement in the shadows caught his eye. Caught in mid stoop, he suddenly looked up suddenly, snapping his gaze at the darkness that was out of the fire's bright reach and near the entryway of the inn. For a long moment he watched the shadows there.
After a moment, a hand slipped down into his cloak where he sword was, in it's scabbard on his belt.
Gildor's eyes narrowed. "Who's there, hiding in the dark?" He growled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What Gildor did not know was that he was actually very close to the man he sought. Well, somewhat.

The darkness didn't hurt anymore. It seemed more like a friend than otherwise.
In the depths of a dungeon, however, things of that kind hardly mattered.
Some scores of leagues away, where the green, true forest gave way to a black, twisted wood made of more ash than life, and where the gentle quiet of the green wild stopped and the dead silence of a dead world began, there lay a tower built of stone. Though surrounded by blacken, dead woods and brown dusty flats on all sides for miles around, the tower itself stood up weirdly, built of a pale, silvery limestone that looked the color of dried bone from a distance. Though perhaps a low, mournful wind blew across the wasted forest once in a while, the land was otherwise dead and abandoned...except for the single tower. A straight, tall structure, there was not a window, balcony, or other opening to be seen except for a single pair of black double doors at it's base, no other entry or exit. Not a single mark or unique build distinguished the tower itself, other than that it stood twice as tall as any black tree around it. Long ago, though, that had ceased to matter. It got very, very few visitors those days anyway. Long ago normal folk had ceased to live near it.

But in it's dark, underground heart, the tower's dungeons were as black as the trees surrounding it. Flights of stairs, endless passages and dark, empty cells filled the roots of the tower, with the occasional red torch along to glow with a dim light. Dark, wet, and cold, the black dungeons of the unknown tower were a nightmare to those who knew them.
The sounds began again. He flinched and moved in his chains, slightly. The unnatural, unusual, disturbing sounds that seemed unreal continued to echo through the black corridors and somehow made it down into his own little cell, ringing in his ears along with the constant dripping of water in his prison. Up above, he thought he heard someone cry out...but it was muffled and obscure.
The chains seemed just another part of his hands now, they had been there so long. Had it been weeks? Months? Years? It was an eternity ago.
If light had been there to see, his sharp, pale features might have stood out. Unkempt black hair, now nearly shoulder length, fell over his face in a mass of knots as he leaned forward and bent over in his chains. His dark-eyed, clear gaze, eyes as sharp and piercing as a hawk's, were nearly blind for lack of light. Left hanging in tattered clothes and filthy rags, he barely resembled a human creature anymore, even to the grim captors who daily brought him his single meal. Just another prisoner of the tower, and the tower's master. A long hunted man, the master was.
A groan from some other cell further down made the imprisoned man open his eyes, again to see nothing but pitch black. Nothing. He moved his hand in front of his face, chains rattling as he did so. Still, nothing.
He muttered a single, limp word, something incomprehensible, and fell back against the wall.
"Ewan." There was a long pause, the quiet broken only by the sounds of the tower's workings above. Apparently the master of the tower was busy in his experiments that day...or night. Or whatever it might be.
"Ewan." He muttered again. It was his name.
Ewan, the prisoner of the tower for what felt like eternity, fell silent.
How had this happened? How had he gone from being a simple ranger youth in the forests, to being the prisoner of this tower? How had he exchanged his simple but content forester's life, for the life of a forgotten captive in the black heart of this monstrous machine?
The questions echoed again, over and over, mocking and laughing at him, as they did every day. He hung his head again, his face once again disappearing under a curtain of tangled black hair.
"...Ewan..."

The older gentleman, Ledofrick, looked the stranger over for a moment before he finally responded. "Yes-yes of course. You are most welcome to stay here tonight. Since I see that my niece has already brought you something to eat and drink. Please, excuse us while we go to prepare one of our rooms for your use, good sir." Ledofrick swiftly whisked Mariead out of sight and into the kitchen pantry.

"Uncle? Is...is there any news?" Her eyes were wide and her hands trembled with anticipation.

"Nothing much, child. Just that, for now, we believe they have passed by. The rest of the townspeople are coming out from hiding. We must be on our guard at all times."

"I was worried when that man came in, but he must simply be an innocent traveler, right Uncle?" Ledofrick gave her a reassuring nod. He gave her small hands a squeeze before releasing them. "Everything will be alright, love. We must go on as we always have. Now, go fetch some linens for our guest." Mariead scurried off to do as her uncle had asked her. Now out of his sight, she began to cry. She was frightened for so many reasons. The terrible wars of close villages had turned the townspeople into frightened animals. Her town was peaceful and innocent. An easy target for supplies. The "invaders", as they were referred to, would never think twice about ravaging her home, her honor, or even taking her life.When Mother and Father were taken, she thought, she had to be strong. And she could do it again.

Ledofrick tried to remain calm and collected as he made casual conversation with the inn's newest guest. But his thoughts, not unlike his niece's, consumed him.

Alarming Discovery

   Though the rain fell incessantly, and the thunder cracked over head, the small group of rangers still managed to find the trail they had been following for two days. It appeared that they were gaining on their prey, but without the aid of horses, or some other form of living transport, they were still behind what they were hunting. All six of the rangers had been tracking all day, and wanted to rest their feet, and eyes. Soaked to the skin, and barely being able to see because of the dark clouds over the forest, the head ranger signaled for the halt.

   Without a word, Alaran, the head ranger, thrust his bow and long knives under a patch of low hanging ferns. The soft bed of dry needles he found under the large leaves was an inviting sight. Resting on his arm, he began to rummage through his travel pack. Bringing out some dried meat, he started chewing the half wet morsels, and watched as one of the other rangers crawled under the ferns.

   “Master Gavin.”

   The newcomer simply nodded to Alaran, and began eating some of his own dried meat and fruit. The two sat in silence for some time; each with their own thoughts on the day's tracking. Finally, Gavin spoke.

   “Alaran, that young Quinn, he doesn't know too much about tracking, or being a ranger.” His voice was calm, but yet firm.

   Alaran smiled in the dark. “He will learn in time.”

   “In time. That's what you always say about everything. If I am right about what we are tracking, then he won't have enough time to learn the ways of the forest!” Although Gavin's tone had risen in volume, he still kept his words under a calm control.

   This time Alaran did not smile, but looked hard at Gavin's face in the dark. Being almost entirely of elven descent, Alaran could see nearly as well in the dark as a cat. The slight look of fear and unawareness he saw in the ranger’s eyes, made Alaran ask.

   “You know what we are tracking.”

   “I fear what I have seen, but the signs have to be wrong. There are no…”

   “Master Alaran, Gavin. Evraan has returned. And he brought with him this.” Holding out his hand, Quinn, the younger ranger Gavin was talking about earlier, showed the two a thick strand of gnarled black hair. Hair, that was clearly not human.

Strangers

The unusually-clad stranger glanced around idly at the mess that was the inn, taking in the damage with a steeled gaze until he was interrupted by the entry of yet another. Glancing up sharply, he studied the newcomer.
After a long moment, he stood up, and drew back his hood. The stranger nodded politely.
"Well met, good man. I am just a poor traveler passing by and stopping for a rest."
The man who wore the odd colors of white and blue was not the tallest of men, but he carried an air about him of being considerably...stronger, taller, and more potent than he seemed at first. Not a young man, his soft brown hair and light beard was tinged a little with silver, testifying to some slight age. Despite the silver hair that glinted in the firelight, however, he still appeared to be a very able and strong man. A mix of young and old, with a very particular set of eyes...strong, steely gray eyes that never wavered and seemed to had a touch of youth in them. His ragged cloak, tunic, and dusty boots alone kept him from looking like a strange kind of elf.
He bowed lightly, nodding to the man, and bowing a little lower to the girl they called Mairead, the one that was so like his sister. A little bit of his forelock of gentle tan hair fell over his forehead.
"I hope I am not intruding?" He glanced about at the mess, "And that I may stay the night with your kind permission?"
He glanced around further, looking back up to the man who had entered. "Is there trouble, good man?" The fire crackled red upon the hearth.

Laughing In The Night

Poking and forcing her way through the growth, Aubrey stumbled and fell to the forest ground. Picking herself back up, she noticed smeared blood over her hand. She dabbed at her cheek and found a long, thinly bleeding scratch. The thornbush nearby became the recipient of an angry glaze from Aubrey. At least she had the river next to her to wash it clean.

Aubrey had been following the river ever since she awoke earlier in the forest. She had a headache and, worse, amnesia. No matter how hard the effort, she couldn't remember anything about herself or her life. Excerpt her name. Thank...something...I remember that much. The river had sated her thirst and provided a reasonable direction or path to follow, but it was incapable of squelching the hunger she felt. So she followed the river, hoping to find either clearly edible food or decent civilization.

For several hours of effort, all she had gotten was a scratch to the face. What miserable journey does this be? She made her way to the bank of the river and squatted down. She splashed water on her face using her cupped hands. It felt good. Additionally, the thin scratch had stopped bleeding. She stared upstream into the moving current of water for the longest of times.

It was then Aubrey realized the length of the shadows. She quickly turned to face the other way, to look at the sun. To her horror, it was indeed sinking and had barely begun to touch the horizon. Nighttime would be upon the forest before too long, a forest she knew nothing about. For all she knew, the forest could be either deadly or harmless, filled with wild predators or cute herbivores.

There were two choices. The most conventional one was to find a place of shelter and sleep out the night. Humans were at a sensory disadvantage during the night; they were also usually tired after having done a day's activity. The other was to continue walking through the night, keeping her senses alert and avoiding trouble. Even in the most secure shelter, being asleep was still a disadvantage because of the near-comatose state a person was in.

Aubrey kept walking. She'd only been awake for part of the day; she wasn't tired. The double moons in the sky lit up the night enough for her to blaze a trail. Blazing a trail was unnecessary though when she realized that she could just walk downstream in the river. What a stupid genius I am!

As the night wore on, there was nothing to be heard. No insects, no animals, nothing. It seemed as if the forest was dead. Aubrey worried. What was wrong with this forest?

It was then she saw the shadow in the sky. Aubrey spun around, pulse quickening, swirling the water around her feet. There was nothing in the sky but the double moons. Slowly turning around, she pressed on. She still couldn't help but casually glance behind her. Was it really something, or just the tricks of the eye?

The rain poured down, thick and fast. Hearing rumblings of thunder and seeing distant flicks of lightning, Aubrey abandoned the middle of the river and resumed merely trailing parallel to its banks. She had to go on.

A flash of lightning, a shape in the corner of her eye again. Once more she spun around to face it; once more it was nowhere to be found. Cold and wet, she shivered. She didn't know if it was from her body or her mind.

The rain came and gone; the lightning and the thunder departing with it. Distant, it could still be heard and seen. Aubrey was about to breath a sigh of relief when a new sound invaded the forest's silent sanctity. Shrill, incoherent, laughing. All around her. It came from flapping shadows in the night sky.

Strangers in the Shadows

Keiran Ethelwin leaned close into the shadows of the tavern. Just a few short minutes ago he'd been walking up the muddy road headed towards the building when his keen ears had begun to twitch. As he heard faint footfalls coming up the road from the opposite direction, he'd melted into the shadows of the tavern wall. Now he leaned there, intently watching as a stranger leading a horse approached from the distance. Through the rain as the cloaked figure drew closer, Keiran saw what appeared to be a seasoned traveler, and in the darkness his keen eyes began to discern the odd blue and white colors of the figure's clothing. As the traveler stepped into the beam of light streaming from the tavern window, Keiran held his breath. If his face could have been seen at that moment, it would have registered a look akin to relief. Though it may have seemed ironic, the relief was for the traveler, not himself. Keiran was used to being wary at every turn; it came from months of looking over his shoulder in fear of pursuit. However, the fear had long ago disappeared and been replaced by steely courage and grim determination. He was now the hunter, not the hunted. Keiran loosened his grip on the blade in his belt. The traveler passed inside without noticing the still silent figure shrouded in a black cloak. If he had looked, all he would have seen was one glowing peridot-green eye.