The
four adventures strode down the cobblestone road leading to the foreboding
castle before them.
“Well, we’re finally here. And I, for one, am ready to
punch some vampires!” Syllia exclaimed.
“I’m amazed that we got here with so little opposition. I
didn’t really think stealth was our thing,” Thamior explained with a laugh.
“I didn’t think it was either, but I’m glad we got here
so unopposed, because I think we will need all our strength to make it out of
this one,” Sir Mark stated with a slightly nervous grin.
“This will make for some fascinating research!” Shandri
excitedly proclaimed.
“I’m sure it will,” Thamior agreed. “Now how shall we get
in?”
“The good, old-fashioned way!” Syllia shouted as she took
hold of the skull-shaped knocker and banged it against the door several times.
After a few seconds, the great double doors swung open.
Standing in the entrance was a wight. His
chalk-white skin and stringy, colorless hair stood in stark contrast to his dark
leather uniform and polished breastplate. His cold and dark, yet intelligent
and malevolent, eyes surveyed the strange visitors from within his polished
helmet. “Name yourselves and state your business,” Dorn rasped.
“Syllia Fenselor,” responded the fair-skinned elf standing
directly before him. There was an impatient edge to her voice and a dangerous
twinkle in her deep, brown eyes. She wore loose and flowing red robes,
spiraling golden bracers and brown boots with winglike designs on the sides. Her
chestnut hair was styled in a no-nonsense pixie cut, which was unusual for her
kind.
A human swordsman stepped out from behind her and bowed
deeply, flourishing an arm out to one side. “Sir Mark of West Argen, at your
service,” he announced in a smooth, self-assured, tenor voice. His leather armor
was similar to Dorn’s own, but significantly lighter in shade and impeccably
maintained. He wore no helmet, and not a hair on his sandy blonde head was out
of place. At his hip hung an embellished rapier, his hand resting dutifully upon
its hilt.
A second elf stepped forward. He was clad in leather
armor made from the hide of an owlbear, held a wooden quarterstaff at his side,
and bore a striking resemblance to his sister. “Thamior Fenselor,” he stated
tersely before stepping back into his original position. The druid had no
respect for the undead, as they were an affront to the natural world.
Sir Mark subtly nudged the last member of their party.
“Oh! Uh, Shandri Evenwood,” offered the human, her green eyes briefly glancing
up from the well-worn journal in which she was rapidly scribbling notes about
their current inquisitor. She was dressed in simple, blue and white robes, and
her flowing, raven hair was tucked behind her ears.
The wight attempted a pleasant smile. “Come right in. I
am sorry that I did not recognize you. The countess has been expecting you and
we should not keep her waiting.”
The four young adventurers shared confused glances, as
they had not thought that the countess knew who they were or of their coming,
and even if she did know, they would not have expected a warm welcome.
The group followed Dorn through the lavish, yet eerie,
halls of the castle. Soon they came to an exquisite banquet hall. They passed
between a pair of heavily armored skeleton warriors wielding glaives as they
entered. In the room’s center was a massive feasting table, above which hung
three ornate silver chandeliers. At the far end of the table, Countess Mara
Graycastle examined them with her piercing, ruby eyes. Her sleek, black hair
was swept up at the sides, save for a handful of ringlets that framed her flawless,
alabaster face. She donned a black, damask gown laced at the midriff and
accented with a crimson collar and dramatic, flowing, crimson cuffs. Underneath
shimmered a sanguine, damask dress.
“Welcome, adventurers. I have been expecting you.” Mara
cordially greeted as she set down the golden goblet she had been holding.
“How did you know we were coming?” Thamior nervously
questioned.
“Did you really think you were able to sneak into the
heart of the Empire of Undeath unnoticed?” the countess asked rhetorically, a
slight grin revealing the tips of her fangs. “No. You only made it here because
I wanted you to.”
“Wh… why would you want us to come here?” Sir Mark nervously
queried as he reached for his rapier.
“You will find out soon enough.” Mara cryptically stated
with a chuckle. “Now let’s get down to business. If I am not mistaken, you have
come here to kill me. Is that correct?”
“Indeed, it is!” Syllia boldly declared, audibly smacking
her fist into her palm.
“Well, that’s a shame… because I don’t intend to let you
try,” the countess mocked.
“How do you intend to stop us?” Syllia challenged.
Mara smiled at the adventurers and disappeared in a brief
cloud of silvery mist.
Before anyone could speak, there was a loud crash as a
figure leapt from where it had been clinging to the ceiling and landed upon the
table a short distance in front of the group. The tall figure was clad in a
suit of polished silver platemail, the fingers of his gauntlets ending in
wicked metal claws. Little of Captain Ivor Marsk’s face was visible from within
his helmet, save for his baleful red eyes. As the guard captain strode across
the table toward them, the adventurers took up defensive positions, Shandri desummoning
her notebook and pulling out her grimoire.
Dorn the wight drew a sword and shield as he pivoted to
face the adventurers. They turned to run but the two skeleton guards had
crossed their glaives across the doorway, barring the exit. At that moment, the
sound of doors flinging open echoed through the tremendous room as several
armed and armored skeletons swarmed into it through side entrances.
Ivor leapt from the table and slashed at Syllia with his
clawed gauntlets as he fell. The elf nimbly leapt out of the way and hurled a
radiant bolt from her hand in retaliation. Captain Marsk’s hand glowed with a menacing
black energy as he contemptuously swung it through the flying bolt, destroying
it in a flash of light and dark.
The
captain thrust his left hand forward, easily blocking Sir Mark’s incoming
rapier with his claws, then he knocked it aside with a lazy swipe. As the
swordsman moved his weapon back into position, the dark paladin drew his own
wicked blade with his other hand. The two warriors’ blades flashed through the
air in a flurry of strikes and parries. Mark was doing his best, but his foe’s
strikes had an air of boredom to them.
Syllia nimbly sidestepped a swing from Dorn and turned to
face him. She leapt forward, hurling an uppercut at the wight. He barely
managed to dodge the blow before retaliating with a shield bash that sent the
elf stumbling back. Dorn then followed up with a slash that the adventurer
blocked with her enchanted bracers.
Shandri readied herself as several skeletons advanced on
her. She began rapidly flipping through
her grimoire and frantically chanting arcane words. Three bolts of magical
force shot from her outstretched hand, swerving through the air to evade the
front skeleton’s shield. The undead warrior collapsed into a pile of bones as the
young mage unleashed a thunderous blast, flinging the next two skeletons away
from her. She then summoned a suit of translucent armor around herself just in
time to deflect a skeleton’s sword.
Thamior muttered a short string of words as his foes
approached. The wooden quarterstaff he was holding glowed with a green energy
as it was blessed with the power of nature. The druid deftly deflected the
first skeleton’s sword before driving it back with a blow to its shield. Before
the monster could recover, it was struck in the jaw by the weapon and flung to
the ground. The elf pushed a second skeleton back with a gust of wind, and sent
a third to the ground with his quarterstaff.
Sir Mark feinted to the side with his rapier, then suddenly
slashed in the other direction, catching Ivor with his sword out of position. At
the last moment, the captain caught the blade from the air with his off-hand. The
rapier had slashed through his gauntlet and left a deep cut in his hand. However,
Mark realized a moment too late that, despite the injury, his foe had a death
grip on the blade and possessed superior strength. Before the swordsman could
free his weapon, he was slashed across the torso by the vampire’s dark-energy-infused
blade, which cleaved a massive gash through Mark’s breastplate and left a long,
diagonal cut across his chest. The skin around the wound looked pale and sickly
from the dark energy that had washed over it. Mark let go of his rapier and
collapsed to his knees. He was only alive because Ivor had expertly pulled the
blow to prevent it from being too deep. The gash in Captain Marsk’s hand
rapidly healed as he spitefully kicked the defeated adventurer to the ground.
Syllia nimbly maneuvered around the wight, striking him
in the back with a spinning kick. Dorn staggered a few steps forward and braced
himself on the table. He was barely able to interpose his shield between
himself and the elf’s flaming punch. The blow created a fiery blast and flung
the undead soldier onto the table, flinging the sword and shield from his hands
in the process. Syllia leapt into the air and punched down at her prone opponent
as she landed. He rolled out of the way and grabbed her wrist, letting out a
hollow laugh as a portion of her lifeforce drained from her arm and into his
hand. Before Syllia could retaliate, the wight kicked her hard in the chest, knocking
her off of her feet.
Shandri clumsily pulled a dagger from her belt and used
it to desperately fend off the skeleton’s attacks. Suddenly, she felt a hard
blow to her back and stumbled forward as one of the guards struck her with the
shaft of its glaive. As she recovered from the blow, Shandri was knocked flat
as the skeleton brought its shield down upon her head. Before she could get up,
the undead knight placed the blade of its glaive on her neck, preventing her
from moving.
The second skeleton knight charged at Thamior with its
glaive. He deftly blocked its sweeping strikes with his quarterstaff. Suddenly,
one of the other skeletons grabbed hold of his arm and wrenched the weapon from
his grip. Before he could react, the elf was struck in the stomach by the butt
of the glaive. With the wind knocked out of him, he was unable to prevent the
other skeleton from grabbing his other arm. The undead guard held Thamior’s
hands together behind his back as the skeleton knight placed its weapon to his
throat.
As Dorn the wight stood over her, Syllia launched a bolt
of radiant power from her hand. Her unprepared foe was struck in the chest, denting
his steel breastplate. Syllia struggled to her feet and narrowly sidestepped a
punch from the wight, then sent him sprawling with an uppercut to the jaw.
“Take that, you rotting corpse!” she triumphantly shouted… just before an
armored hand closed around her throat. The elf struggled against the iron grip
as she was hoisted into the air. She kicked at her assailant’s chest but was
not able to muster much power. Ignoring the feeble attacks, Ivor slammed Syllia
down onto the table, leaving long cracks in it. The elf was quickly subdued by
her attacker’s bladed fingertips pressing against her neck.
Go to Chapter 2 ⏩
