Shouts and boisterous laughter echoed from within the small, jaded building. Within its rotting walls, tables of outlaws jested and laughed. The stench of stale bread and ale filled the room and wafted up into the decaying rafters. Men of various size and dress stood or sat a long tables, eating, drinking, and laughing with one another. A few seemed thoroughly drunk; others fingered their daggers hidden in their shirtsleeves and glared about themselves warily.

Amidst the odd group of felons and vagabonds, one man stood out. He neither joked nor drank, but sat silently brooding in a shadowed corner. The hood of his long, dark cloak was pulled across his face. The low flames of the nearby fireplace cast fingers of light that strove to reveal his shaded features. The other men did not speak to him, but stared and whispered rumors concerning the stranger.

One man in particular, a gaunt and foul criminal, noticed the cloaked man and strove to speak with him. His attempts at conversation were disregarded rather brusquely. The stranger gazed into the shadows, ignoring offered invitations to come and sit in the light.
After a time, the cloaked man stood and turned to the door to leave. The criminal leapt to his feet and rushed to block the man's path.

“Friend!” He smiled, “Surely you do not mean to leave? It is yet early and you have not yet eaten nor drank!” The man stopped and half-turned to face him, “I do not wish to drink with you. Let me pass.” His voice was ragged and worn, but with a strong commanding tone that made the man before him blench.

Outside, the wind howled louder than ever. A sudden
gust of air blew the door open. The cold air upturned cups and tugged at the men's clothes. The stranger's hood was blown partially aside, revealing for only a moment his clear, dark features. A half-grown beard framed his face and his green eyes glared like those of a trapped wolf.

The vagabond gasped, “Endrian!” He leapt onto a wooden chair to address the whole group.“This is Endrian, son of Andalaith!” he shouted. “The murderer!”

“You know not of what you speak!” Endrian exploded angrily, turning away to avoid the foul faces that surrounded him. The man leapt off the chair and pressed closer to Endrian. “You know what you did, we all know!” The eyes of the crowd burned through Endrian.

“You killed your own brother.” the low whisper came, soft and menacing. Endrian imagined he was the villain smile slightly.

The very shadows clutched at Endrian as he struggled to speak. His mind swirled as the words were strangled in his throat. In his mind, the ever present darkness clutched harder. Images began to unfold before him, strive as he may to strike them away. A forest. Shadows swirling in the mist. A dark figure, distorted by the fog, rising before him. He saw himself drawing his sword. He saw the panicked thrust. He felt his heart break as the mist swirled away, revealing his brother, dead, lying at his feet.

“No!” The shout echoed through the rotted building. The table cracked as Endrian threw his fist upon it. He screamed curses at the darkness, the shadows, the loathsome outlaws that surrounded him. “I did not kill Narael! I did not, I tell you! On my very life I swear it to you! On my life!” He spoke, crazed, to the shadows, not daring to look in the eye anything animate, for risk they would witness the fear that lay upon his heart.

Endrian rushed from the table and threw himself upon the decaying door. It gave way, casting him onto his face upon the cold, dank ground. A shadow fell across him. He looked up to see a man standing there. The man slowly gazed downwards, stunned. A fey mood overtook Endrian's heart. He lay unmoving, unable to speak. He lifted his eyes to look upon the face of the man.

A misty haze filled the air. The walls and structure of the building faded away and tall rows of trees replaced them. The figures of the other men were blown away by the wind as chaff is blown. Softly and eerily, the shriek of a raven was carried from afar on the chill breeze. Amid the transparent curtain of the swirling mist and fog, the face of the stranger before him was transformed. Endrian's heart stopped. He gasped to see the face of Narael. The phantasm of his brother flickered in the wind, as if made of mist or fog. His hair shone albescent and his features were indistinct and hazy.

Narael gazed down upon Endrian wordlessly. Slowly, as if in a dream, Endrian reached his hand upwards to his brother. Narael did not move.

“My brother!” Endrian cried wonderingly, “Brother!”
Narael slowly moved his hand to his side. As his arm shifted, Endrian saw a scarlet stain upon his coat. Narael gently pulled aside the garment, revealing his tunic beneath. A large hole was rent in it. Bright red stained his side.

Endrian felt a strange warmth on his hands. He looked down and saw blood streaming down his fingers. Narael spoke, his voice that of a wraith or shade, “Your hands are stained with my blood. You swore upon your life that you did not kill me, though you knew the truth. I have come to hold you accountable to your oath!”

The sound of steel rang through the forest as Narael slid his sword from its sheath. The blade gleamed maliciously as the cold sun reflected its brilliance off the metal. Endrian felt the dank breeze upon his cheek, and then no more.