Cemetary Crypt

[Shadowsong]

With Alalia out of sight, the next stop was at the inn. Well, she had been a sustained annoyance during their travels. Presumably a liability as well. Although trust was perhaps too strong a word, the partnership with Morsereg had proven effective, and obviously advantageous to both sides. Morality aside, both sides were far too clever for the knives of treachery to ruin their opportunities.

One loose end to tie up.

The night at the inn had ended, with all doors save the direct route to his own room locked. Not that a locked door would present any meaningful obstacle, but the bitter bile of disappointment was tasted. This would have to wait.

So gathering up his things, he began to the next building, an establishment with ill-kept secrets. It was a simple den of thieves and criminals. There was an understanding here - limited freedom to operate, provided that they cooperate. Mages and political threats would receive no sanctuary here.

Knock knock.

A slit in the door opened, with wary eyes peering out. "Password." he demanded.

"Flammable." answered Krevster, with complete confidence.

"Not the password." replied the eyes behind the door.

"The building. Flammable. Either bring me Severi or burn inside."

"You can't threaten me!"

"Really? Then what am I doing?" For a moment that sounded like a serious question. "Severi has information for me. Now do you stop hindering me or do I set fire to the building?"

"Do that and you never get your information." blustered the doorman.

"Have you ever heard of battlemages? We don't need any of you alive to answer questions. Get me Severi, and then I will be gone." Threats worked better when something was offered, when the other did not have to fully admit to defeat.

Soon after, Severi had come. "Yes?" he said nervously, to the psychopathic guardsman threatening to incinerate his guildhome.

"I was told who you could direct me to. He has purpose for me. He invited me. You directed him to me earlier."

Severi gave the directions.

Approaching the estate, a knock was given. Presumably there would be staff. After all, Morsereg had proven himself able to influence others, and there was a slight wariness of Krevster's own mind having been tampered with, so it made sense that there would be mortals to keep the house active in the day, through which the vampire could influence the daylit world.

Guided by whoever, whatever, appropriate, Krevster slept in the guest bedroom.

Then dreamed of blood and darkness.

Swirling clouds of blackness formed overhead, descending from above. When the shadows engulfed him, he felt himself, his body, his armour, turn slick with blood. He felt a blade in his hands, and the familiar joy of the slaughter come upon him, as he raised his sword and struck down into flesh. There were no faces, no names, only killing.

It reminded him of his berserker days.

Next he knew, he was sat on a bone throne, sheathed in gore, and with corpses strewn before him. Swords raised to his command in unison, and horrors of the night flocked to his side. What he felt, then, was a strange clarity.

And then he awakened.

Noble accomodations had their advantages, among them a long-unused bed of fine material, far softer than the barracks. A hot bath. Simple luxuries. The comfort was a surprise, and he found the pain of his injuries to be less than expected. In contrast, the mirror showed his face to be greyed and ashen, as if suffering an infection.

He was hardly suffering at all.

In place of stubble, he still had an afternoon shadow, but far deeper and darker than was common for him. It looked slightly more forbidding, so he decided to keep it rather than worry about the need to shave.

Returning home, to his simple accomodation, he replaced some gear. The heavy shield would go, being probably more of an inconvenience than anything else.

First of all, he used that special armour he had found so fascinating when he first tried it. Masterfully toughened leather which blocked blades, combined with metal plates strapped over. Very effective, and even very mobile. In a satchel worn like a baldric he kept a number of spare torches on his right side, as well as spare rations for the day. For his sword, he chose a huge blade of hewn black iron, with a hilt of solid ivory. Then a double-headed axe in a frog-loop on his belt, with metal langets on the haft. The shield on his back was made of plain wood, more disposable. A dagger was on his other hip, beneath the satchel, allowing a spare short-arm for emergancies. Finally, a spear, which he remembered needing against that blasted worm.

On an insight, he went out and bought a second satchel, this one containing spare rations and torches for Morsereg to keep hold of, in case of unexpected losses.

Upon his return to the manor, it was dark and Morsereg had left, to await him at the tombs.

One business first.

No sign of Alalia, and the scapegoat would be useful. So he briefly stopped back at the inn. "People of Shim! Dire news. There has been the loss of the gravekeeper Jerem, no doubt a victim of the corrupted cat-demon among you. A tomb has been found open, and a search is being organised in the hope of finding him within. And if that tomb is now the lair of Alalia, the devil-cat, rest assured that she will be destroyed! Your safety is being seen to, but be vigilant for the creature. Remember, a woman with the face of a cat."

Few things were hated like loose ends.

Near the crypt, torchlight could be seen. Few people willingly lingered in the cemetary at night. After all, there could be vampires there.

Still, he was cautious, and held his spear ready. Finding the vampire through the crowd, he handed over the satchel with a nod. "In case things go wrong. Do you have a weapon you can use? We are best being well-armed."

[Morsereg Dindaedel]

Morsereg nodded, motioning to the sheath at his waist, which he had silently grabbed after his feeding. "It's an old blade...I haven't used it since I stopped breathing. I haven't had to. I don't think I will need it, on account of...natural weapons, but should it become necessity, it is here." He smirked, not mentioning the possibility of another worm.

He looked over the crowd, "Peasants from the shanty town. I charmed them into my company. They're here to aid our search...should we need extra manpower, or...should I need to feed." He then looked around the surrounding area, settling his eyes on Krevster, "Any word of the cat?"

[Shadowsong]

Oh yes, the cat. Funny that should be mentioned... "Aside from word that she is the cause of Jerem's disappearance, and has laired in this tomb, none." A shrug caused a gentle clank of his steel spaulders. "Well, she had her chance, and seems more of a danger than she is anything else. Kill on sight?" The suggestion was deliberately included with her offences, after all, it would not do to suggest killing allies to an intended ally.

As prudent in the case of the hex from the previous night, a thrall was sent in first, followed by Krevster. Although disposable, the unarmed and malnourished folk of the wreck that fell short of even the illustrious title of 'slum' would be little use in actual combat except to die in huge numbers. If there was battle, Darkheart wanted to be in the thick of it.

Once again he wondered why the ache in his shoulder was so distant, more the annoyance of a tolling bell from far away than shooting pains through his bones. Same route as before, no deviations, although privately the warrior found himself hoping for a new guide.

More torchbearers were handy. Of course, the night before had seen limited success from torches, creating only a dim hint of colour amongst the blackness to bring life and motion to the shadows. Still, the pallid flames made for an impromptu head-count.

Besides, the alternative was pitch black, and seeing movement offered something to strike. The vampire would know to keep clear of the swinging blade in combat, and accidents with the mindless slaves would be of no matter.

Now he begun the descent, hopefully finding the shattered cavern in which he battled the giant worm. From there, he could try to remember which way to go. Confronted with the urgent concern of a hungry approaching behemoth, he had forgotten much of Jerem's final words, though Darkheart did remember one way would lead to certain death.

Already Morsereg's slaves would have their uses.

[Morsereg Dindaedel]

"Yes, kill on sight," Morsereg nodded to Krevster. "No hesitation. The first chance we get, we rid the world of that abomination," He agreed. He did not wield a torch this time, to distance himself from the fire as a precaution.

Now that he had fed, there was a newfound vitality within him and he felt refreshed. Letting Darkheart take the lead, Morsereg followed, motioning with one wave of his hand for the sea of travelers to follow. "Watch your footing, Darkheart," Morsereg reminded him, "I'm unsure of how large the hole was when we dropped that wretched worm to its doom."

He knew his slaves were there mainly as meat shields, but that was what he had brought them for, was it not?

[Mavarion]

((NPC Post))


The journey back to the cave was uneventful. The disturbed dust showed only three pairs of footprints leading down, and two coming back up.

The cave was dank, dark and misty, just as it had been left. The occasional patter of rocks shifting and dirt dribbling from walls could be heard, but much of the noise had settled. This, of course, left only the faint roar of the waterfall and the eddies of mist created from the water's passing.

The many torches helped light the area more than the few the party had carried previously. The terrain was much rockier than before, piles of dirt and rock spread throughout, with stalagmites poking upwards toward the ceiling through the debris, like majestic towers soaring over the slums of a city.

Further searching would reveal a few broken torches, as well as worm-gore and the spatters of blood from Jerem's torn torso, though the body of the gravekeeper was down the gullet of a very large, likely dead, worm.

To Krevster, the sudden sense of a presence would be oppressing, and probably strong since he was likely actively looking for it. A voice rang in his head, and a picture followed. A blurry image of a slick, moss-covered path leading behind a falling body of water which flashed for the barest of instants.


Come! was all it said.

[Shadowsong]

At last!

The power was speaking to him. Him! Finally he was winning favour. Soon the key to power would be within his grasp! There were two paths, obviously since Jerem had made it very unclear which path to go down.

The entity, however, was being more helpful.

Although the image was less than perfect, one path matched the image more than the other. There was indeed a falling body of water which could easily hide a path or tunnel. Idly, Darkheart wondered why there were always tunnels behind waterfalls. Actually, he knew too little of waterfalls for an accurate estimate but he had heard that it was always the case.

Four slaves were sent first, to 'provide light.' The lie masked his true intent for them as sacrificial lambs, as he did not know the limits of Morsereg's control over the creatures. Already he envied the vampire for his power, for his ability to command loyalty from the unwilling. Again, that sparked unwelcome thoughts concerning the security of his own mind.

Or maybe another had already lay claim to that.

The four torchbearers, only two of which had torches, were staggered ahead of him. If something were to emerge out as an incarnation of destruction, he would be given sufficient warning by the time it had past their broken bodies.

Ever the warrior, he considered the path as a battleground, evaluating the width offered to him. Was there enough space to fight? To move? What if he needed to retreat? Would those behind him be obstacles? A wider cavern could have the minions spaced out to allow him to retreat.

Now the spear dipped slightly, warily readied for battle as he proceded, with expendable tools marching ahead.

With contact returned, something more needed asking. Have I proven myself? What do you command of my sword? He knew he would have to kill, he always did. The thing had led him into battle with a giant worm, so he knew there would be a price. Yet it was power that he craved, and it pulled inside him.

And the more contact with this force would bring him closer to this power.

[Morsereg Dindaedel]

Morsereg nodded silently as Krevster ordered the handful of torchbearers to lead, to provide light. He knew what Darkheart's intention likely was, and knew that if something, such as another worm, were to appear, the fear in the minds of his slaves would be deafening to himself.

He made sure to tighten his hold on the slaves, so that they would not suddenly break free in the chaos that would ensue, and run off. They would understand now that, should anything happen, they were to stand their ground unless told otherwise. A few of them, those who were infact more cowardly than the others when in control of their own minds, felt cold hands upon their shoulders as if ready to hold them in place, though they were going nowhere. No, they were under the thrall of Morsereg...and they could not leave if they wanted to.

The vampire began surveying their surroundings, all the while keeping an eye on the torchbearers as they neared the waterfall. "What do you think, Darkheart?" He asked, shuffling closer to him in the dark. "Think we'll be experiencing a bit of déjà vu here, with these fellows in Jerem's place?"

[Mavarion]

((NPC Post))


There was simply no response to Krevster's questions. Whatever had contacted him seemed content with the direction things were taking.

The path was three feet wide, dangerously covered with wet, slippery moss. Nothing leaped out, but the path itself was treacherous enough, as one of the torchbearers found out. Placing a foot on a particularly slipper piece of moss, the man was suddenly drifting downwards, his scream buried in the mass of water as he was pummeled by it.

Finally, the now first torchbearer, one of the two who actually had torches, reached near the center of the falls. He turned and waved everyone one, shouting to be heard above the low rumble of the falling water.

"... metal door... .... ... rusted! ... do na ... .... open it!"

The man continued to wave excitedly, then stepped towards the wall and was hidden by a corner.

[Shadowsong]

"Careful steps!" ordered Darkheart, shouting above the water, careful to enunciate every word clearly to avoid an echo blurring the message. While the mind slaves were there to be killed, silly and needless deaths such as these would waste them in the event of greater dangers.

So each step was now measured and careful, tentative even, before putting his full weight on the leading foot.

Most men would find the blatant manipulation of the unseen entity annoying, and resent being used. No warning was given to the dangers ahead, no explanation. Any ordinary man would consider this entity something best locked away in the dark, with only horrific worms for company.

Not Krevster, however. He saw power, and nothing else. What vague part of his mind registered the influence of the presence only thought of it as proof of the power that this thing could offer, the might and glory to come.

Then the torchbearer spoke.

"An answer to your question?" quipped Darkheart to his undead comrade, finding amusement with how quickly one of the mind-slaves found their way to the next door and how similar he sounded to Jerem, espescially the strange excitement.

In fact...

"Can you tell if any of them are being influenced like Jerem was?" Darkheart whispered strongly to the vampire, hoping to be undisturbed by the others. An effort was made to strike a compromise between secrecy and overcoming the noise of the water. Whispers also carried well.

Rounding the corner that hid the man, Krevster gave it sufficient distance to not be reached by most means while passing. This should have given him both a clear view of the hidden mind-slave and safety from anything else that might have been there.

The spear began to dip, and was held closer to the blade. Feet were planted very firmly, moving slowly in a braced stance. All in all, he was preparing for some other peril, since the guide was not offering safe passage.

[Morsereg Dindaedel]

Morsereg quickly followed Krevster as he made his way towards the slaves, making sure he too watched his footing, so as not to fall. Unless at the end of that fall would be sunlight or fire, it wouldn't kill, but he preferred not to take the risk regardless. "They are not being influenced," He assured Krevster with a nod, "It is no easy task to pass my control over these peasants and take hold of them yourself. It is near impossible to do it without my knowledge. They're still under my control, no influence from whatever had taken Jerem." And soon it was that they came upon the slave, who was staring at a rusted door much like the one he had torn off the day before.

However, this one...was different. It had no bars, it was a true door. It was also much more rusted...much more fragile. He surveyed the door, looking for something to grip. Morsereg approached the door, running his hands over it a few times until he found small places which he could hold onto. It was perhaps easier than the one the day before, as it was more rusted, and in due time, the rock that the door was so devoted gave up on it. The door came off its hinges in Morsereg's hand as he looked at it, dropping it (and causing a very loud noise by doing so) before he looked to Darkheart with a look that said 'Shall we continue?'

[Mavarion]

((NPC Post))


The sound of the rusted metal door hitting the ground reverberated in the hallway behind it, barely overpowering the sound of rushing water a few feet from the party's backs.

The hallway behind the door was dark, the torchlight nearest only revealing the first few feet ahead. Odd carvings could be seen along the first few feet of the wall, depicting scenes of violence, torture and sacrifice.

The air that drifted from the hallway was stale, and smelled of rot and decay. The moss covering the floor gave off it's own odor, that of plants kept in deep, dark places. A faint glow could be seen further down the hall, just past the torchlight on the floor; upon further inspection, the moss on the floor would be discovered to glow.

[Shadowsong]

Sending the same hapless souls ahead, he advanced, spear leading. Something told him to expect a trap in the stonework of some sort, and he preferred to observe such destruction than experience it first-hand.

Many horrible things had been seen by this man, he had been the cause of most of them.

The glowing moss was a welcome change, and the scenes of atrocities intrigued rather than distressed him. Did any of the stone in the carving stand out? Were there different materials in place?

After only the briefest of instants his interest in the carvings took a turn for the macabre. Sacrifice? To who? What for? A great warrior could offer oceans of blood, and that was exactly what he intended to do for power.

With great admiration he studied the carnage on the wall, cherishing the thought. Glory. That was what he saw. Glory. For the brutality was glorious, a sign of the power commanding the sacrifice. Favour was won through death and violence, something a warrior could offer in spades. Oceans of blood could be given in offering, to quench the endless thirst in exchange for endless favour.

Hatred. Destruction. Death.

Blood.

Snapped back from his momentary reverie, he found a new respect for his vampire companion. This was a creature of blood, something sacred and exalted, purified of the corruption of mortality and made into something greater than man.

Then he knew.

This was his ally. He had been favoured already.

Searching the hall slowly, rummaging through anything that could catch his interest with the spear, he decided to follow the moss, deeming it as good a sign and guide as any.

[Morsereg Dindaedel]

As the stench of death overwhelmed them, and his servants became disgusted with the little senses they had control over, Morsereg found himself almost like he was at home amongst the death and decay. He noticed also the moss, and that it seemed to be a good sign - they hadn't sign much, if any, plant life on the way down here, although he could have been mistaken. He never did pay much attention to foliage.

He lifted one thin hand to run his fingers just above the carvings, not touching the stone should that set off a trap. His teeth made their presence known for only a second as they formed into a sadistic grin with a quick intake of breath. Such pain...he could almost hear it cry to him as he looked over the carvings, telling of sacrifices and death...

He only half-heartedly noticed Krevster following the moss, as he was wrapped up in the carvings himself. Morsereg did watch Darkheart out of the corner of his eye at all times, however, so he never got separated from the Guard.

Before long, however, he found it necessary to tear his eyes off the dreadful carvings to watch the path ahead, as one could never know what would lie around the corner. He did not want to be caught looking at those carvings as another worm came raining upon them.

[Mavarion]

((NPC Post))


The carvings were in a variety of hands. Some were well carved, others simply crude etchings of people with weapons. Many seemed to be of sacrifices made or in the process of being made.

The oddity was, the walls and ceiling were almost perfectly smooth other than where the carvings were. It was a rounded cavern tunnel, but some force had smoothed those walls so carvings could be placed on them.

The tunnel was long and straight. As the first torchbearer reached the first slight curving in the tunnel, two inch holes opened in double rows from floor to ceiling. Immediately large pointed metal spears drove across the tunnel and into the far wall, where they stuck. The hapless torchbearer was pinned to the wall in an extremely awkward position, and the rest of the tunnel was blocked until the spears could be removed.

The torch fell from the dead man's hand, hissing and smoldering on the carpet of wet, slightly glowing moss.

[Shadowsong]

More blood. Well, that one had served his purpose.

For a moment, Darkheart made ready to control any reaction from the others, to intimidate into submission any who had breached the vampire's control. Seeing each other die would surely give them cause to fight against their psychic manipulation.

Leaning his own spear against the wall, he approached the collection of spears and began trying to wrench them out of place. Assistance was welcomed, where it could be provided.

"Everyone without a torch, take a spear. Once we cleared them, two of you will push the body along the floor with spears." A pressure plate could be just as easily activated by the weight of the corpse, and men a spearlength behind the body would be relatively safe from most of the traps. Of course, if that failed it was of little importance, but even so, best to spread the casualties out and gain more use of the trap-fodder.

Conveniently enough, the broken spears would make adequate improvised weapons for the others in an emergency. Perhaps then the others would not die in such droves when a battle came to them... so they could be spent on the traps afterwards. Besides, armed distractions were more use.

Ironic, every situation encountered so far could be countered with the unhallowed strength of the vampire, along with his dominion over mortals. It was strange, perhaps a sign of guidance or favour. Yet it still left the mortal man feeling vulnerable.

And more in need of new power.