Shandri awoke. She found herself in a cramped space, and
to her surprise she could see quite well despite it being pitch black. She was
lying on her back on comfortable bedding, but the narrow walls were made of
stone, as was the lid that covered what she guessed was a coffin. The last
thing she could remember was Countess Mara’s fangs plunging into her neck. Being
a researcher of monsters, it only took her a moment to realize what had
happened.
Rather than being horrified at the great likelihood that
she was now a vampire, Shandri was excited about the deep knowledge she would
be able to attain about the characteristics of vampires. She quickly resolved
to exit the coffin and see where she was, before experimenting with her new
abilities.
She thrust her arms up in an attempt to remove the
coffin’s lid. The lid was flung from the coffin with unexpected force and
slammed loudly to the floor. “I knew that vampirism came with increased
strength, but wow! I must test the extent of this later!” Shandri gleefully
pondered. The wizard quickly got to her feet and stepped out of the coffin.
The room was rectangular and made from finely crafted
stone bricks. On each side of the room were two stone coffins, each with its
occupant’s name inlaid in gold upon the lid. At the far end of the room was a
set of large, stone double doors. A small orb of green light hovered in the air
above the finely-carpeted floor. The ball of light seemed to take notice of Shandri,
and after observing her for a few moments it hastily flew upwards, passing
through the ceiling as if it were not there.
Upon further inspection, Shandri found the weapons and
magic items that the guards had confiscated from her and her friends. The items
had been placed on the ground next to their owners’ coffins. Shandri quickly
retrieved her grimoire and her dagger. She rapidly flipped through her grimoire
to make sure it had not been damaged. To her surprise, there were a few spells
she did not know. “This definitely isn’t my handwriting, but whose is it
then?”, she wondered to herself.
Shandri ambled to the nearest coffin and read the
inscription. “Sir Mark”. She easily lifted the lid and placed it upon the
floor. Mark was noticeably paler than he used to be, his chest was no longer bandaged,
and his wound was completely gone. Shandri grabbed his shoulder and gently
shook him awake.
His eyes fluttered open. They were crimson instead of
their previous emerald hue. “What happened?” Sir Mark groggily questioned as he
got to his feet and began blearily looking around.
“The Countess drank our blood and turned us into her
vampire minions. It’s not all that bad, though. We have enhanced physical
capabilities, rapid regeneration, immortality, and possibly other powers as
well,” Shandri giddily explained. “And best of all, this will be some of the
best research I have ever done!”
“I was really hoping to prove myself by defeating the
countess,” Sir Mark sighed. “But judging by her fight with Syllia, I would not
have stood a chance against her. At least my new abilities will probably make
me a better duelist,” he concluded resignedly.
Sir Mark strode over to Syllia’s coffin and braced
himself to hoist the heavy lid. He stumbled awkwardly backwards as he used far
more force than was necessary. “I guess that’s how he so easily stopped my
blade,” he mused.
Syllia’s eyes snapped open. She quickly got to her feet
and leapt out of the coffin. She stood for a moment, examining her companions
before realizing what had happened. The elf exhaled angrily as she balled up
her fists and kicked the coffin lid with all her might. It flew across the room
and shattered into several pieces. Syllia stood stunned as she looked down at
her uninjured foot, then back over at the pile of rubble. Her expression of
rage morphed into a sly grin. Oh, the possibilities!
Syllia remembered her brother and hastily ran to his coffin,
throwing the lid off. Sir Mark used his newfound lightning-fast agility to
dodge out of the way as it smashed into the wall. Upon seeing his sister’s red
eyes, Thamior screamed in horror and scrambled out of the coffin. He stood in
stunned terror as he took in the unholy sight his two other companions. The elf
turned his gaze to look down at his own pale hand. With an expression of pained
resolve, he walked dutifully over to Shandri, who did nothing to stop him as he
snatched the dagger from her belt. He stood for a moment, closed his eyes, and chanted,
“From dust I came and to dust I must return!” as he plunged the dagger deep into
his chest and collapsed to the floor.
As the others peered down at Thamior in confusion and
concern, the room’s double doors creaked open. Standing in the doorway was
Countess Mara Graycastle, flanked by Captain Ivor Marsk, and someone the group
did not recognize. The slightly translucent figure’s body and clothes were various
shades of blue and cyan, and she hovered a few inches above the ground next to
Mara. The ghost wore an elegant and formal, floor length dress and her long
hair flowed freely down her back. Three will o’ wisps bobbed through the air
around her.
“So, these are the new servants?” the ghost queried in a melodious
and genteel voice as she inspected the former adventures. The specter turned
her gaze bemusedly down to Thamior. “Get up and stand before the countess, boy,”
she commanded as she telekinetically tossed the dagger to the floor and lifted
him by his collar. The ghost set him gently down into a standing position.
The druid’s eyes opened as he realized he was, in fact,
not dead. Growling in frustration, he bent down, retrieved the weapon from the
floor, and violently thrust it toward his face.
“Don’t,” Mara sighed, rolling her eyes toward the heavens.
Upon hearing the order, Thamior found it impossible to
move the blade any closer to his face. With a resigned whimper, he opened his
hand and let the blade clatter to the floor.
“To answer your question, these are indeed the new
servants, Vesna,” Mara interjected with a pleased smile.
“How did they fare in the ‘interview’?” Vesna questioned.
“They held their own against the skeletons until the
necroguards stepped in. The elf woman gave Dorn a bad day, and they were all
clearly no match for me or Mara,” Ivor explained with a hollow laugh. “And this
one,” he stated, pointing a finger at Thamior, “. . . has potential. But I
think we have a fixer-upper on our hands.”
“Very well then,” Vesna affirmed before turning to
address the new recruits. “Greetings, new servants. I am Vesna, the seneschal
of this castle. Over the coming months, I will be working alongside Ivor and
Mara to train you to be better warriors and servants,” she explained. “Syllia
and Sir Mark, you two will become members of the castle guard. Shandri, you
will be the countess’ personal scribe and the librarian’s assistant. And Thamior,
you will become . . . the chief gardener.” The druid glowered.
“Why did somebody write new spells in my grimoire?” Shandri
questioned in an inquisitive, but slightly perturbed, voice.
Vesna’s glowing, cyan eyes settled on the young wizard. “You
will attend classes at the Grand Academy of Undeath in order to learn the art
of necromancy. I had those spells written into your book to prepare you for
your first classes. Now then,” she said, addressing the group, “follow me for
your first assignments as servants of the countess, and please, try not to
break any more of the furniture.”
