Open Chronicles The Basilicus Keep

[Darkweaver]

Near the Cairou river, Anirian Territory, Western frontier

"Don't try and go near that keep, master carpenter. That infernal place be cursed - sure as the sun sets and rain falls. People that wander down there don't return these days, believe you me."

The old farmer adjusted a laced shawl over her shoulders, anxiously glancing past her farmstead to the castle of black stone lurking in the distance. Hugo turned away from the door leading from her humble porch into the cottage, pushing himself up by his hands and shading his eyes against the afternoon sun, following her gaze. The castle nestled deep inside a great cauldron of earth, allowing only its tallest structures to protrude, like some great splinter scarring the rocky plains where no crops could grow.

"Your door ought be in a right state now, Madame Ailore." He said this while his gaze lingered on the keep, before he remembered that he should demonstrate the validity of his words, and went straight back to her door, pulling down its handle and opening it. "See? New side of the frame here. Fits like a charm now. Took the liberty to oil these hinges too."

"Thank you, stranger. Well, you've certainly earned your keep, but you still haven't listened to my words, now have you?"

"'Course I have, madame. It's simply that I'd never dare approaching that keep in the first place, so I don't see why I should need such words." He brushed his hands off dirt and sawdust, then rewarded himself with a swig of ale from a nearby mug given to him by his host. This farmstead offered the best viewing point to Basilicus Keep by a mile. He was so close now he could feel his bones tingle with the anticipation.

"You're not the first scavenger to come through here, you know. Lots of 'em around, loitering, poking through rubble. Ever since his lordship fell into a great silence and barred his gates. We haven't heard from him in nearly a year, and it no doubt spawned all sorts of rumour. People claiming he up and left the keep with his whole retinue - to others blathering about dark magic being afoot, gripping the keep in some sort of sleeping curse or turned them all into blithering stone!"

Hugo smiled wanly at the venerable woman, tugging at his own beard in faux suspense.

"Who knows? Could all be true. I even heard the lord had cursed himself after betraying his fallen comrades. The very soldiers who had fought tooth and nail to conquer this castle for him, claiming it from the Cortosi. Some of those souls," he went on, planting his mug on the railing more harshly than intended, "are even said to haunt him to this day."

A pregnant pause emerged between them, where the woman stared at him as if he had gone mad. Hugo cleared his throat, deciding to make it plain that he was speaking in jest - clearly it hadn't been plain enough, so he added:

"It's either that, or he could be a devout royalist."

"Bah!" She threw her hands in the air, derision dripping from her stance and words. "None of those things, I'd wager! Nay, I suspect it to be much more devious. People talk too much, too often in the day and too full of themselves! Empty barrels boom the loudest, that's what me father used to say. Everyone's a bloody poet these days, I swear. But now you listen here, you'd best avoid those shady strangers. You might not wish to tell your name - and I have respected that wish - but you seem an honest, hardworking lad. Don't throw in your lot with those basket-breakers, these hedge-sleepers and twiddling ne'r-do-wells, you hear? It'll bring nothing but trouble for you, so praise the Republic."

Hugo drained his mug in a long, few gulps while she boomed her speech, then went to pick up his black beret - the one thing he hadn't been able to relinquish for his secret stash of equipment. It might have jeopardised his role as a simple carpenter, but fortunately for him, here in the far-flung Anirian reaches the farmers couldn't tell the difference between an old officer's hat and an artisan's headwear. He donned his hat with millitaristic precision, turning his head away from her so its insignia didn't gleam too brightly in the sun.

"No need to worry on that account, madame. I'll grant them a wide berth. I don't imagine them to have any need of my services. Farewell now, be certain not to let any rot fester again in that doorframe." As he departed, leaving the farmstead and heading towards the cave that held both the old tunnel, his meagre camp and the rest of his hidden equipment, Hugo muttered to himself: "But perhaps I could have need of their services."

 

[Vandor Colton]

Spoiler: Ambience OOC

It definitely wasn’t every day that a hedge-sleeper managed to find his way inside a cave of which to spend the day and night away. This one was no hedge knight in definition, not by any means, though there was some similarity. They both slept under hedges when they could find them, yet the man in question was no knight in status. Rather, he was simply a mercenary.

Sure, the farmland had farms and farmers, and farmsteads had plenty of pigs and chickens and fish if a body of water was given. Yet such nourishment wasn’t the mission of one particular person in this environment. Cavernous. That was the word for it. Made sense given that it was a cave and had a camp in it even if it was under someone else’s name.

The mercenary had lit a fire. After all, there was plenty of tinder and kindling already and only a fool wouldn’t use the fuel. Or would he? Either way, he needed something to cook his meat, and it was squirrel on a stick for his efforts. Granted, this might just be one encampment in a number within the labyrinth, but he didn’t care.

Could care for the hare though. Alas, that blasted rabbit had escaped his crossbow. The squirrel was less lucky though. Less meat, a bit more lean, but it would serve its purpose for the sellsword’s meager feast. He was hungry, he was thirsty, and he had mead and water already amid his pack, along with armor on his person, a sword sheathed at his hip if no helmet on his head.

All he knew was that the old tunnel led to his destination and, in the heat or the cold, Vandor Colton would reach his quarry one way or the other. So, in his black cloak and basking in the glow of the cookfire, he watched his meat roast, but looked to the cave’s ceiling, higher to the sky, and wondered.

Darkweaver

 

[Darkweaver]

Trekking the half-mile journey back to his camp, Hugo froze in his tracks upon seeing the cave.

Smoke. Faint wisps of it curled up from the mouth, like the nostril of some sleeping drake. These crooked fingers of smoke gently danced away from the cave, beckoning him to enter with glee.

From here on out, Hugo treaded with more care. Coming closer, he rolled the soles of his boots gently from heel to tip with each stride, sliding quietly across the otherwise crunching soil. He hefted the one tool in his arsenal that could be used as a weapon - his hammer. Not much of a weapon, but it would have to suffice.

When he sidled up next to the entrance of the cave - part of the hill that rose like a dark mole on the skin of the earth - the smell of cooked meat reached his nose. For once, his belly was mostly full after working for the farm. Still, another bite couldn't hurt.

He perked up his ears, trying to gauge how many rested inside his camp. A minute or so passed with this, but by the gentle shuffle of feet and clinking of metal - a pot being stirred no doubt - he gathered it was likely to be some lone sentry. Two at most, and a silent pair at that, which seemed unlikely.

One or two he could possibly handle. He considered whether he should hide above the cave in the wild shrubs and sparse trees, observing these campers until nightfall, but he saw no horses outside, so if they proved too many and too hostile, he could always run.

Running, he had come to learn, was the single best tactic to survive when you lived by the sword. If only he could have told his younger self that.

For now, he decided he would try his gift of the gab. Not all strangers were enemies, after all.

"Ho there!" he cried in his army voice, befitting a sergeant calling his men-at-arms to snapping attention. "I see you have taken the liberty of employing my camp. I trust the bedding is soft enough to your liking? Worthy o' this feast of yours, eh?"

At that, he stepped within the entrance of the cave, rank in posture as only the Guard shaped one's spine, squinting his eyes and glancing down the length of his nose at his uninvited guest. The hammer was hidden behind his back with his arm.

Vandor Colton

 

[Vaezhasar Drakspae]

A cobalt shape skimmed the windy spine of the Cairou like a barbed manta twice-removed from any ocean. Needle-spurs studded its velvet wings; twin tusks jutted from its prow like the business end of some grotesque caliper. Yet the creature’s most arresting cargo was the figure who chose to stand, not recline, upon its ridged back: Vaezhasar Drakspae, sorcerer, opportunist, and—if tavern gossip held a grain of truth—perpetual thorn in propriety’s side.

Spell-plate gleamed around him: deep cerulean lacquered with gold, inset here and there with emerald cabochons that winked like sardonic eyes. His helm, a horned thing fit to crown a minor deity, narrowed to a visor whose slits hid whatever speculation flickered behind them. Lightning crackled between his fingertips in idle semaphore—a magician’s equivalent of tapping one’s foot. Why waste a perfectly good dramatic effect?

Below, the river wound through patchwork farms, each field a neat square of straw-colored industry. Farther on, Basilicus Keep thrust its black parapets out of a sunken bowl of earth, the whole edifice resembling a splinter lodged in the land’s gray hide—an uglier sight than any mountain but somehow more fascinating.

At an unspoken command the sky-ray slowed, beating the air with lazy dignity before settling on a hummock overlooking the cursed fortress. Vaezhasar stepped down, armored soles biting the turf; the familiar gave a respectful shudder and dissolved into blue vapour, as though embarrassed to linger after its master had dismounted.

Hands clasped behind his back, the sorcerer studied the keep—its silent towers, its rumor-haunted gate—much as a jeweler inspects a flawed gem in need of prying. Then, with a satisfied inclination of his horned helm, he started down the slope.

“Hm.”

The word rattled round the hollows of his horn-crested helm like a pebble in a bronze cup. “I was promised something rather more … dreadful,” he mused, gauntlets resting on his hips. “If the local yokels are to be believed, one should find a sucking maw into Hell itself where that pile of stone now sulks. Instead”—he flicked a gloved finger at the keep—“we’ve only a gloomy mortgage in need of paint.”

With that mordant verdict delivered, Vaezhasar resumed his measured advance, spell-plate chinking in quiet amusement at the peasants’ flair for overstatement.

 

[Grul]

Grul stood up from collecting a couple of morel mushrooms adding them in the same pouch with the wild herbs he also gathered today. As he stands up and dusts his hands off he looks down the road and from this vantage point which is a slight Hill he can see the keep a bit of the ways away. It's spiers sticking up out of the Hill like fingers reaching out of a grave. The sights and shivers down his spine but also made him wonder what sort of secrets it held.

During his travels through the area a few of the locals, not seeing him as he'd traveled through the thicker underbrush when he saw others walking down the road, had gossiped about it in hushed tones. They said it was cursed and given his... particular interests in all things magical he couldn't help but be drawn towards this ominous keep.

Grul had kept an ear out for any other mutterings of the keep or what sort of curse be felt but those were very far and few between with the locals however those traveling through the area or to the area seemed to talk about it a bit more. However even with his eavesdropping he couldn't learn anything solid about the keep or the supposed curse or hunting as some believe. And this just made him even more curious. What could he learn? what secrets did the dark keep hold? He couldn't just leave these questions to linger and so he made up his mind he would investigate this keep, though he would do so as carefully as he could.

"I wonder what sort of magic could curse a keep so thoroughly?" He said thinking aloud. Grul had encountered quite a few curses on his journey but none as supposedly powerful is this. "Of course the locals could be blowing it out of proportion but even so you can never be too careful with curses." He mumbled to himself as his hand absent-mindedly rubbed a scar on his left arm thinking about how he learned that the hard way during the early days of his wanderings.

He snaps himself out of his almost daydreaming state as his stomach gives off a low growl. You should really look for some place to make camp and get some food in his belly. Grul which is to his belt where the plump body of a dove hangs still relatively fresh from only a half hour ago when he killed it with a well aimed Rock launched by magic. He doesn't want to be anywhere out in the open because of fire would draw attention if it was out in the open. So he cut off the path and headed into the forest doing his best to stay low and silent.

It was another 30 minutes before he saw a cave in the distance. Caves are good shelter would hide his fire from most from a distance and if he was lucky they'd have some edible shrooms and maybe some nice Moss for bedding. He moved forward however as he got closer he started to smell a very familiar sent, it seems this cave is currently occupied. He stood stuck still still a good distance from the cave and thought about what he should do. Grul decided to get a closer look to see what sort of folk we're currently laying claim to the cave.

Using his small stature, his skill in Bushcraft to stay silent, and his species natural talent to camouflage he got as close as he could so he could try and make out any details or over here any conversations inside of the cave when he saw someone standing in the entrance. Grul saw a man who was seemingly calling to someone in the cave and had a Hammer held behind his back as if to hide it from view. Grul knew trouble when he saw it but for some reason he didn't immediately leave, who was this man and who was in the cave that he was calling to? Curiosity was both his calling and his weakness and so instead of leaving like a sensible person would he instead hunkered down in the tall grass and the bushes a couple of feet away from the entrance and listened and watched to see what would happen.

Darkweaver Vandor Colton

 

[Hugo Farlance]

Immediately, the stranger got up on his feet and made a dash for it. Not for the exit, no - indeed, he ran deeper inside the cave, boots crunching hardened earth, his form swallowed up by the darkness, leaving little behind except the smell of cooked meat.

"What the-- oy! Where you going?!"

The only answer Hugo received were the sounds of receding footsteps, disappearing underground. He sighed and dropped the hammer near the cooking pot, adding a clink of disappointment as it hit the other camp gear. Just another thieving scavenger, then. Hopefully they hadn't found his secret stash further inside.

A smell caught him then, overpowering the whiff of his exploited camp. He crinkled his nose at its pungent odour, turned his head and sniffed, trying to identify it. Somewhere between fungus-filled socks, crushed herbs and rotten meat. He followed the scent, turning to face the opening. This elicited a rustle of grass. Another one, he thought, wearily.

"Well, you can come on out, skulker. I seem to have scared your friend away."

Grul​

Vaezhasar Drakspae​

 

[Grul]

Grul froze as the man seemed to call out to him, or at least he figured it was him because otherwise if there was another person or thing hiding in the grass he had more troubles than the man. And from what the man said the other occupant of the cave wasn't with him and had left after being confronted, and it seemed he assumed that other person was with Grul. Grul was torn between whether he should run or reveal himself. He understood this wasn't a good look hiding in the bushes near someone's camp. He thought about running for a few seconds but that would probably make him look even more suspicious. However he also didn't know how this man would react once he showed himself.

Grul tried to think of a way to get out of this in a way there wouldn't be a chance for confrontation or trouble. After a few moments of thinking he sighed as he didn't see a way to do this without either making someone's extremely suspicious of him or more suspicious of him or putting himself in a position where he might be in danger. So he slowly got up and walked out of the bushes and tall Grass. He gripped his staff with his right hand tightly but tried to make himself appear relaxed as he walked forward about a foot so that he could get a better look at the man and so they could better Converse without yelling.

"I ain't know or with whoever was in the cave. Listen I don't want any trouble, I've been walking for a while and wanted to find a place to get some shelter saw the cave from a distance and figured it'd be a good place to camp. Then I saw you yelling and how you had that hammer held behind your back and well....." He said as he did his best to look up into the Man's eyes from his diminutive stature. "Should have just left when I saw the commotion, but I've always been too curious for my own good and so I hid and watched to see what was happening."

Hugo Farlance

 

[Hugo Farlance]

Hugo couldn't help but to take a step back at the sight of the goblin, ambling up from the taller grass with a staff in tow, satchels and moth-eaten pouches dangling from his slight frame. The human's hand twitched for a blade, but as the goblin spoke the common tongue and engaged with some civility, his position slowly relaxed.

A more elaborate ruse, then. Goblins rarely came alone, so he could only imagine what scheme this one might have concocted. But if there was a gang of them nearby, they must fear others of his own ilk might rest in the cavern with him - otherwise they would have attacked long ago.

Two could play at this game, he decided.

"If shelter be what you seek, I wouldn't do so in that cave, goblin," Hugo pointed inside the cave, a momentary crazed glint going through his eye, matched by a lop-sided grin. "There's things in there that would give you a run for your toadstool - or whatever it is you trade in."

 

[Grul]

Grul tightened his grip a little more when he saw the human's hand twitch towards the blade. However it seemed the human felt better of it and instead he warned him of things inside the cave. No the human could be lying for one reason or another but Grul was never the best at reading people so he didn't really know. However whether it was a lie or the truth that just made the cave all the more interesting to Grul. If it was a lie, why would the human lie? What was he hiding? If he was telling the truth then what are these horrors he is speaking of? Are they some sort of magical creature, maybe a curse of some kind, what could it be if not either of those?

"Horrors you say?" He asked with a wide smile that shows his sharp mouthful of teeth. His eyes squint slightly but look past the man and into the cave glinting with curiosity. And then I thought struck him and he looked at the human with a bit of suspicion and a closed lip smile and raised eyebrow. "Then let me ask you this if they're a horrors in that cave like you're saying then why were you yelling while standing right at the mouth of it?"

This just got more interesting, Grul was leaning more towards that the man was lying or at least hiding something. However he didn't know for sure and he didn't want to antagonize him too much. The man was much larger than him and while he had taken down people larger than him before he'd prefer to not get into conflict today if it could be helped.

Hugo Farlance