Cool stagnation filled the massive chamber that had long been exempt from the passage of day into night. Dry preservation etched the lack of decay across smooth, but simple mortar. Lucidity had begun to flee in ripples across tombs that no longer embraced the dead. Instead, whispers born from those who treaded the space between the living and the damned fell slowly into peace...
A sharp gasp suddenly rang out in the dark.
“Carmichael?” Unease painted disbelief upon the woman’s voice. The air churned as she sat up. Soft palms wrapped their fingers around their owner’s neck. Once chaste silence now raged across the crypt.
“Someone is here.”
Viktor stood atop the gentle slope of the last rolling hill. Shadows clung to his eyes like a bandage from beneath his broad hood. The throes of a day condemned to die cast feeble rays of twilight against him. A kerchief, the same mossy shade as his heavy coat, had been draped across the bridge of his nose and tied behind his head. Black gloves rose to ensure it fell well beneath his chin.
The vampire began his slow descent upon the sprawling burial before him. Crude headstones and rusted iron left the land pockmarked by signs of dereliction. “A field watered with the blood of peasants,” he said, to no one in particular. It was little more than a glorified mass grave: a battlefield too condemned to serve as anything more than an army’s final resting place.
At the center stood a simple stone monastery. Promises of abandonment flashed against its walls even at a distance. The entire sight would have been underwhelming to anyone without their specific task.
“I suppose I should tell you why it is that I volunteered for this assignment,” that was clearly meant for the powerful witch whose company he shared. “I had every intention of traveling North with the others.” He continued his steady pace towards the monastery as he spoke. A handful of lesser necromancers by comparison were also in tow. But, for the vampire: they were exceedingly uninteresting.
Viktor cast a glance towards the hulking monstrosity at the relatively-young elven woman’s side. “You certainly do not require any notion of extra protection.” Only a fool would entertain the idea that the homunculus was not capable of dismembering him with ease. An even larger victim of intellectual degeneracy would mistake the runes swirling across her skin for aesthetics.
The front door finally met them. Peeling paint and stiff hinges failed to protest the way his hand came to rest against its handle. His wrist, however, remained still. “I doubt that the crypts below this monastery are uninhabited.” A wholly unnecessary sigh escaped his nostrils in emulation of someone dismayed, yet uninfected. He turned his head over his shoulder so that amber eyes would meet the pale glow of her own.
“I intend - one way or another - to recruit them.”
The door swung open. Dust danced across beams of light corrupted by aging stained glass. Pews alternated between alignment and broken ranks; one lay tipped on its face. Soot had gathered in the corner in a wordless reminder that squatters had come and gone...
Consumed, Viktor thought to himself.
Uncharacteristically heavy footsteps for the bard paced him further into the belly of the building. Inch-by-inch, the sun continued to vanish behind the curve of the horizon. Darkness began to flood into the room behind them. At its center lay a large square opening in the floor, boasting a worn marble staircase for teeth.
Celeste Tenebrea Grimr
A sharp gasp suddenly rang out in the dark.
“Carmichael?” Unease painted disbelief upon the woman’s voice. The air churned as she sat up. Soft palms wrapped their fingers around their owner’s neck. Once chaste silence now raged across the crypt.
“Someone is here.”
Viktor stood atop the gentle slope of the last rolling hill. Shadows clung to his eyes like a bandage from beneath his broad hood. The throes of a day condemned to die cast feeble rays of twilight against him. A kerchief, the same mossy shade as his heavy coat, had been draped across the bridge of his nose and tied behind his head. Black gloves rose to ensure it fell well beneath his chin.
The vampire began his slow descent upon the sprawling burial before him. Crude headstones and rusted iron left the land pockmarked by signs of dereliction. “A field watered with the blood of peasants,” he said, to no one in particular. It was little more than a glorified mass grave: a battlefield too condemned to serve as anything more than an army’s final resting place.
At the center stood a simple stone monastery. Promises of abandonment flashed against its walls even at a distance. The entire sight would have been underwhelming to anyone without their specific task.
“I suppose I should tell you why it is that I volunteered for this assignment,” that was clearly meant for the powerful witch whose company he shared. “I had every intention of traveling North with the others.” He continued his steady pace towards the monastery as he spoke. A handful of lesser necromancers by comparison were also in tow. But, for the vampire: they were exceedingly uninteresting.
Viktor cast a glance towards the hulking monstrosity at the relatively-young elven woman’s side. “You certainly do not require any notion of extra protection.” Only a fool would entertain the idea that the homunculus was not capable of dismembering him with ease. An even larger victim of intellectual degeneracy would mistake the runes swirling across her skin for aesthetics.
The front door finally met them. Peeling paint and stiff hinges failed to protest the way his hand came to rest against its handle. His wrist, however, remained still. “I doubt that the crypts below this monastery are uninhabited.” A wholly unnecessary sigh escaped his nostrils in emulation of someone dismayed, yet uninfected. He turned his head over his shoulder so that amber eyes would meet the pale glow of her own.
“I intend - one way or another - to recruit them.”
The door swung open. Dust danced across beams of light corrupted by aging stained glass. Pews alternated between alignment and broken ranks; one lay tipped on its face. Soot had gathered in the corner in a wordless reminder that squatters had come and gone...
Consumed, Viktor thought to himself.
Uncharacteristically heavy footsteps for the bard paced him further into the belly of the building. Inch-by-inch, the sun continued to vanish behind the curve of the horizon. Darkness began to flood into the room behind them. At its center lay a large square opening in the floor, boasting a worn marble staircase for teeth.
Celeste Tenebrea Grimr
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