The Break in the Bond
Andiron hovered on the brink of insanity. All of his life he'd known tragedy, but nothing even close to this. This eclipsed them all.
He lay down on his bed, trying to collect his thoughts. It was useless, though, and as he lay there he only became more confused. The big man jumped back up and started swearing loudly.
"Is everything alright?" It was a voice that Andiron recognized, but he couldn't quite put a face to it. Then the door opened, revealing Randir, a serf that lived in his village. "I heard screaming from your house, so I just wanted to check on you, sir."
Andiron was a Church Knight of Virynon. But an unfortunate series of events led to him being exiled to this pathetic village on the outskirts of Lorostote.
Randir, an ugly man with a very pronounced cleft chin, stood in the doorway with a concerned look on his face. Andiron tried to speak several times, but only strangled, gargled noises escaped from his lips. Eventually, after several moments of struggle, he managed to get out, "Get out."
The ugly little man listened, immediately ducking through the wooden door and out into the dark, dusty, all-but-deserted village. Andiron grunted.
The smell of blood was beginning to permeate throughout his house, coming from a small room in the cellar. Andiron flinched painfully when he put his hand to his nose. He wanted to clean the room, but Andiron could not bring himself to enter into that wretched place.
He looked up at the yellow thatch roof. There were several holes in it through which large droplets of water fell into his house. It was a dank place, vaguely reminiscent of a cave. Andiron hated this place even more ever since those horrific events in the cellar. He was sure to be expelled from the Church Knights if they ever got word of this.
Andiron once again tried to sort out what had happened. He had heard screaming from the cellar, and then... it was horrible to think of. Andiron cringed.
Then his fear was replaced with frustration. That was soon replaced by anger. Even that didn't last long, and soon he was fuming with pure, white rage. Andiron paced around the little house - shack would be a better word - breaking everything that he could find. He eventually wore himself out and sunk down into his comfortable bed, the images of what had happened replaying in his head.
There was screaming, so much screaming. The shrieks coming from the cellar were pained, agonized even. Andiron went swiftly to the corner of his little house and swept away the straw over the cellar door. He lifted up the trapdoor and climbed down the ladder, the smell of blood assaulting his nostrils.
He walked quickly over to the side-room where the screams were coming from. He wrenched open the door, revealing a terrible, terrible sight. There was a woman, completely naked. She was lying on the floor, blood pouring out of numerous wounds all over her body. She whimpered painfully.
Andiron ran to her side, trying to help her, but a wave of overpowering evil hit him like a slap in the face. It pushed him away from the woman. He looked at her and saw one large mutilated section of the skin on her neck. Her golden blonde hair was sawn off at this point. She looked ghastly, but Andiron looked at her with disgust. There was the symbol of the flaming hawk on her upper left arm, the symbol of his enemy.
Then the whimpering stopped short. The woman's eyes went totally blank, her pupils disappearing entirely. She opened her mouth and spoke, "Andiron. We meet once again, my friend." The voice was deep and booming. It laughed when it saw the grieved look on Andiron's face. "She did this to herself Andiron. This is a dedication!"
Then Andiron saw the knife at her side. If he could just reach that knife, he could end this sorrow for the woman. But he didn't doubt that this young woman now possessed the immense strength of his enemy, of Ailden. This would be a difficult task.
