The Shadows Creep

[Elad™ 560]

“Your thoughts kill you, don’t they?”

 

 

“You are broken.”

 

The shadowed sentiment echoed in the rivers of his mind, the patchwork of streams that made up his shattered psyche. Then came the shrill cries of loved ones, long from this world and without form, a stark and painful silhouette of his past misdeeds, his lack of concern.

 

The parasite had plagued his soul from the day he was born – attributing to an astonishing lack of discernment. His torment had come at the hand of his father’s tormentor; he was naught but a pawn in their twisted game.

 

“Crumena..” The elder elf breathed, vocalizing his understanding to the shadow within. He sat up then, head in his hands as his mind whirred, scanning the history known to him. Years of shadowy deceit, cruel manipulations, and the overbearing patriarchs. The Spider, Kalameet; His dark appendages had woven the groundwork for a shadow Empire; long since disappeared. The Mentor, Adorellan; He had pushed his ideals on the young elf in days of yore. The Reformer, Lorien;  The elf whose cunning brought upon a new era, to which this elder had wanted no part.

 

Their cruelty was unmatched to that of the Archmage turned Paladin, who cursed him so many years ago. Caedwen’s focus centered on his perception of his Shade forefather. This tainted image had warped and deviated from what he knew to be true. However, he expressed no doubts concerning the veracity of the figure. Though reformed, Ilwindior was the real monster of his past, the author of this gloomy tale.

 

“The Shadows will betray you because they serve me.” The firstborn Camoryn spoke, drifting to the mouth of the cave, he’d taken his overlong refuge. The abyssal orbs of his countenance were cast out over the expanse of mountains surrounding his home; he carried molten eyes and a smile made for war. “He will crush you.” The voice in his head berated, echoing out its opposition. “His enemies remain, and we will find them.” Rang back the son of Artimec, as he moved for the bag of his belongings - a dulled elven blade, and a dark gem, long past its prime and stagnant. At long last, the ancient one set out, a growing pond of stygian mist encompassing his lithe and withered form. A new era was on the horizon, the very same which he trudged towards; his frame was withered, weakened, but he would rally those of worth and bring an end to the reign of light.

 

“I’m coming for you.” Shouted the elf defiantly, his obsidian gaze fixated on the night’s sky. His head fell, at which time he sputtered out a mist of blood. “I-I’ll be ready for you.” The Father groaned, disappearing into the barren night.