Disclaimer: I own the characters of this story; Jastra, Eannin, Shaarona, etc. But I don't own the Dragonlance or Wizards of the Coast. Ok?
This is an introduction to the Bad Guys and another character. Getting there. By chapter 4 we'll be back with Jastra.
Told you I knew where this was going.
Dust and Shadows.
The man crept up the trail timidly, trying not to touch any of the dead, decaying trees that lined his path. How revolting they were, reaching out with skeletel white branches to brush against the skin of his face and arms, damp dead leaves clinging still to their mother. Heshuddered and wished, for the thousanth time, that he had never taken this miserable job, had never agreed to the disgusting contract, had never met the shadowy figure in that wretched, wretched alley . . .
But what was done was done; he had taken the job, signed the contract, met the shadowy figue. And now he could never go back. Would he spend the rest of his life, doing this . . . ?
It was a horrible thought, and Eannin shoved it from his mind. A thin, shaking, sharp-featured man, he crept along the trail in a half-crouch, clutching the bundle to his chest. Nervous pale brown eyes darted from shadow to shadow, and his thin lips trembled as a raven called out from its perch. Gods above, he hated those things! Hated them . . .
His musings came to an abrupt end as he turned to find himself facing a stone mountainside where the tail ended in a wild tangle of roots and briers. Ivy, damp and limp from the constant drizzle that fell from the grey sky, clung to the stone, rustling feebly in the horse wind. Eannin swallowed, his Adam's appled bobbing in his skinny throat, before he lifted a thin, pale hand to brush away a paticularily thick vine. Concealed beneath it, on a tiny ledge of grey stone, was an intricate rune of twisting lines and sharp, dramatic corners. Lifting his forfinger, Eannin pressed it into the exact center of the rune, over a delicate twist of lines that seemed, to the fanciful eye, to be depicting a moon wrethed in branches and claws.
"Edraa'ka ni bennkir sae gweyl aah vampyrr." his whispered, his voice cracking on the last word of the incantation. The lines of the rune began to glow a dark, sinister red, and the stone, ivy and all, shimmered and disappeared withoutso much as asigh of protest. A dark tunned gaped in the mountainside, and the whistling, moaning wind wet with rain called to him from its depths.
He hated this part. Just hated it. Shuddering with surpressed terror and disgust, Eannin crept forward, huddling against theside of the tunnel in a vain serch for warmth. There was none; the tunnel was dark, and wet, and cold. Cracks in the walls allowed water to seep through, and the wind carried rain that smacked wetly into his face. Coughing, cursing, he turned around a bend in the tunnel and kept going.
On. And on. And on. Down,up, straight, right, right, left, down, down, down, left, up, up, up, up, right, up. Sometimes the tunnel ran almost vertical, and poor Eannin had to seize hold of the uneven stone walls to keep himself from falling. Most times there were forks in the tunnel, leading off to pits of death and chain creatures with nasty, sharp teeth, and he was forced to backtrack many times. And sometimes the stone gave way to mud and dirt and he was left scrambling and clutching for a hold. And sometimes the water pooled out in dusty waves to fill the bottom half of the tunnel and he was forced to wade through, shivering in the knee-deep water. As he went deeper into the mountain, the cracks lessened and the wind ceased to blow through. A small blessing, as the silence weighed heavily on his ears, broken by the annoying plip-plot of a drop and his too-loud scurrying footsteps.
Soon, however, deep into the top of the mountain, he rounded a sharp turn and came face-to-face with a heavy, steel door. The same rune that opened the tunnel was inscribed here, in the center of the door. Eannin, licking his lips anxiously, lifted his forefinger and pressed it to the heart of the rune. He repeated the incantation, and waited.
He did not have to wait long. The rune glowed that ghastly color, and the steel door swung silently in. Eannin shuddered but nevertheless walked through the doorway, and down the corridor. For it was a corridor now, no more a rough-hewn tunnel but an elegent, straight corridor of stone. His footstepts rang out in the silence, and his heart beat so loudly that he clapped a quivering hand over it.
He came to another door; this one was wood, simple but elegently carved with skilled hands, and with no runes this time. No. This time in the place of a rune there was simply a skillful drawing of two slightly slanted, luminous eyes in a narrow, elegent face with a thin nose and full, curving lips. Hair drawn up in a delicate, twisting headpeice framed the lovely face. The eyes glowed red in the darkness. Eannin pressed his globe of light into his pocket, and it obediently winked out.
Stepping forward, he lowered his eyes swiftly, bowed to the image, and crept closer. "Your pardon, my Lady, but may I ask passage through your halls?"
A brief pause which seemed to last an enternity to the wretched man ensued; Eannin was about to turn and run when the face nodded imperiously. The carved eyes closed for a minute, and the wooden door swung open.
Eannin licked his lips. Bowing, he scuttled past, feeling all to clearly the mocking, crimson gaze following him inside the Castle.
The castle was an old, abandonned stone keep once known as Alfguard Keep. Now renamed Deepshadow Keep, it was a dark, gloomy, grim place. The unnatural chill of the stone walls crept into your skin; the abnormal silence weighed on your nerves; the shadows leered and hid everywhere. Eannin shuddered as he stepped into the bottom halls.
"Excuse me!" he called out horsely, his voice ruff with fear and his eyes darting. "But I must request an audience with Shaarona!"
The silence mocked him.
"Excuse me!" his iron collor hugged his neck. "Excuse me!"
"You are excused, human."
Eannin whirled around. Although he had been expecting the cool, calm voice, it still shocked him. He stood, quivering, as she approached.
She was, to all eyes, a beautiful one; a Silvanesti Elf with long, black hair and white skin. Graceful and lithe and beautiful, with full lips and slanted eyes. But those once-delicate features wereferal and sharp; those once-gentle eyes hard, their dark depths echoing with a crimson light. Her full, thick, ruby lips parted as she spoke, and two slender, slightly curving, thin teeth slid down over her bottom lip, pearly white as the rest of her teeth and needle sharp. A delicate tongue licked her lips and teeth, making them shine in the torchlight. Dressed all in black, hooded and cloacked, the vampiress's cruel eyes settled on the shaking human.
"Th-th-thank y-you." stuttered the poor man, shaking as she drew nearer, her eyes fastening on his and her tongue running over her fangs. "B-b-but I-I need to t-talk to - to -"
"Shaarona." her lips hissed the sshhh, rolled the rr, whispered the onaaa in that cold voice as her lips and teeth and eyes shone.
He nodded. Why could he not control his stuttering around these vile creatures? "Y-yes, the M-mistress."
"Mistress of Deepshadow Keep." her eyes never left his as she nodded her head.
"Aye, Mistress of D-Deepshadow Keep." Eannin agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
"What business do you, puny mortal, have with Shaarona?" she drew closer.
"I-I have . . . it . . . " his voice faltered, "she . . . sent me on th-the job . . . to get it . . . and . . . " his voice faded to a whisper as her eyes bored into his.
"Do you have it?"
"Y-yes." he held out the bundle. In one swift moment she swooped forward and snatched it from his hands before he had time to blink. Shivering, he let his arms drop limply to his side as she tugged the cloth away, revealing the treasure inside. "Aaah." she hissed, eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes."
So occupied was she with the contents of the bundle that Eanning plucked up the courage to ask. "C-can I s-speak with Shaarona?"
"What?" her eye were on the bundle. "No, mortal. You delivered the goods - what more do you need to do? We will, as always, contact you when we are in need."
"Aye." he nodded.
"Leave us now." she waved him away with an imperious gesture. Eanning bowed.
He looked upon the human baby resting in the vampiress's arms,eyes closed in magical slumber. He had stolen that baby, crept into her home at night and swiped the baby girl from her cradle. Guilt stabbed him as the vampiress swept away, the girl-child in her arms, lips glowing with anticipation. Squaring his shoulders, he reminded himself of his own six children, the children that the Vampires of Deepshadow Keep had promised to leave alone if he did their errends. He also reminded himself of the many, many children that that farmer had; the baby wouldn't be missed.
But, as he crept back through the tunnels, the memory of two small, infant eyes peering up at him from the cradle that he stole her from shook him to the very core.
It always did.
What did you think?
Please review. Please, please, please review, if only to tell me what I should improve or something.
Danke.