Roland’s padded footsteps barely echoed through the corridor as he made his way through the manor. Even at times such as this, when he was alone, Roland moved as silently as was possible. This had originally been a method of practice, but had since simply become how he walked – it was entirely subconscious.
One of the first things that had become apparent during his meanderings, which at the moment had taken him to the upper floor, was the fact that the late necromancer had been a new arrival here. Barring the one room in which Faust had locked himself, there had been no signs of undeath in any of the rooms he had passed. Most of them had been bedrooms of some description, ranging from the lavishly decorated chamber of a lady of the house to the humble yet no less clean lodgings of a domestic servant. One room in particular had caught his attention – a study of some sorts, yet littered with open books and various semi-constructed mechanisms and gadgets. He surmised that the previous lord had been a budding engineer, or perhaps had studied as an engineer. He briefly wondered at the history of the man who had owned the manor. If he had been studying as an engineer, why did he return here to take over the estate? Had he been the second son, only to rise to the position of heir due to the tragic death of an elder brother? Regardless, he had brought his interest in engineering with him – Roland made a note to return to the study later, to see if there was anything valuable, or of possible interest to Faust.
Whatever the story, it mattered naught. The Necromancer’s extermination had been absolute.
After a while, Roland stopped his meanderings. He guessed that he was somewhere near the far end of the east wing. What had caught his eye was something that would have entirely escaped the notice of a regular man without Roland’s training– the tiniest partition in the wall, barely perceptible even at close inspection. Curiosity piqued, Roland drew one of his long knives and slowly worked the gap, eventually managing to pry the hidden door open. It swung open to reveal a thin, winding staircase that penetrated downwards into the earth. The stairs and walls seemed to have been gouged from bedrock itself; not a single seem was visible, although this could well have been due to the thick layer of dust that covered everything, even the long-abandoned cobwebs strewn across the ceiling.
Without any further hesitation, Roland descended.
* * * * * * * * * *
The staircase delved deep – Roland judged that it was a quarter of a bell before he reached the bottom. The stairs fed into a long, doorless corridor lit intermittently by strange, glowing panels in the walls that constantly flickered. Roland had a sudden flashback of another doorless, underground corridor. He winced slightly.
This can’t be the same... Nothing can. I swore as much. He strode off into the flickering gloom.
The corridor turned out to be not as long as it had first appeared. Before he had walked two hundred paces, the corridor ended in a wall. To either side a short hallway lead up to a door of blackened oak. He could see a thin patina of yellowish lighted seeping under the door on his right. The other door was completely dark.
I wonder what that light is... He strode over and, finding the door unlocked, opened it.
He simply stood there for a time, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing.
Eventually, he allowed himself to breath.
“Son of a mother duck,” he said aloud.
* * * * * * * * * *
The room before him was relatively large. It had the appearance of having been a dungeon of some description long ago– along each wall thick, rusted steel chains had been fixed. The chamber had no visible roof. Stacked up against the walls, nigh cascading out of crates, or simply piled up in the centre of the chamber was an astronomically large amount of gold. Statues, vases, necklaces, sceptres orbs or simple ingots, the various gold creations seemed to have come from a range of backgrounds. Roland cared not.
Whoa.
Laden with as much gold as he could carry – chains and jewellery stuffed into his hidden pockets, two obese statues under each arm, arms and neck heavily adorned necklaces and bracelets, a ring on every finger, and a petulant crown perched atop his head – Roland hurried down the fibrillating corridor. Then, nearing the end, his eyes fell on the stairs winding up into the darkness.
”Aww, son of a bitch.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Chest slightly heaving and arms not slightly aching, despite his training, Roland finally made it to the top.
I need to get these to that blasted rucksack... His eyes tracked down the long hallway.
Before his thoughts could travel any further, his belly growled in protest.
It’ll have to wait.
Shedding his precious load, he strode to the nearest room and approached the window. Looking out over the wooded it grounds, he saw the blooded sun on its way to the western horizon.
Time to go hunting.
* * * * * * * * * *
Roland’s moccasins made not a sound as he slowly crept towards the oblivious deer feasting on the low-growing ferns. The doe had strayed from her herd, which was grazing in a clearing a few hundred paces away. When Roland was within range, he silently dropped to his knees. As he slowly withdrew his small yet powerful collapsible crossbow, he mused on why the doe had wondered. As it was at the beginning of winter, the deer would be begging to look for mates. So why not this one? Perhaps she longed for solitude, wished for a peace away from the socially bustling herd.
Something we share. Thus, the ever-present link between hunter and prey...
The crossbow bolt punched through the doe’s neck at the base of her skull, killing her instantly.
Roland straightened.
He withdrew the bolt and wiped the blood on the grass. Looking into the doe’s glazed eyes, he smiled a little.
Thus, the circle of life. One life extinguished as mere fuel for another. Again and again. His eyes fell on the ferns the doe had been eating.
Over and over again.
* * * * * * * * * *
Smoke from the fire wound up between the trees – he could find no wood dry enough to prevent it. Fortunately it did not matter too much, as the night was well under way and the smoke would not be visible against the midnight sky, and the densely packed trees surrounding the clearing would at least partially disguise the firelight. Roland’s eyes tracked the pillar of shadow upwards as he finished of the honey-roasted venison.
The gutted carcass lay to one side. He had eaten as much as he wanted, and would do so again in the morning, before leaving the remains for passing scavengers. Once the bones had been picked clean, they would slowly sink into the earth and eventually become part of the soil. Nothing would be wasted.
As Roland gazed into the flickering flames, he ruminated on why they had come to the manor in the first place. Faust had always been a moralistic man, with a scholar’s ethics – such as his contempt for slavery and the like. But since his... turning... this contempt had become no less than an obsession. As soon as Faust heard from the people of a nearby village about the psychopathic necromancer who had just recently ‘taken residence’ in the landlord’s house, Faust insisted on investigating, and then one thing led to another... Of course they could hardly have expected any less while in Sylvannia.
Ah, Sylvannia. Ever since Roland’s return to the Empire, he had tried to learn as much as he could about his homeland. Despite the fact that he was almost never in The Empire itself - more commonly fighting off sorcerous sentries in some godforsaken wilderness – he had developed his own peculiar form of patriotism. And he had come to learn that Sylvannia was infamous for its undead, especially vampires. Although neither of them could have expected some vampire deciding to turn Faust... Although for some reason Roland was not bothered at all by his companion’s vampirism – perhaps it was loyalty, or perhaps it was the fact that Faust’s rucksack contained all of Roland’s accumulated wealth.
From what Roland had seen so far, Sylvannia had seemed like a pleasant enough place, hardly deserving of its horror-stricken reputation. However, this was before making acquaintances with the necromancer. It seemed the shadows still held danger in this land...
Of course, Sylvannia was no longer part of the Empire. The Carstein Vampires and their ‘Triumvirate’ or whatever it was, had carved land out of the surrounding districts with all the leisure of a man carving roast turkey, while the so-called Emperor cowered in his purple nightgown. Roland spat into the fire, feeling a pang of satisfaction at the answering sizzle.
Roland’s mind thought back to the reason he and Faust had come to Sylvannia in the first place. Faust was looking for information on where to find the next piece of his project, which for some reason brought them to Sylvannia. Roland had no idea what Faust was building, and frankly he didn’t care. It probably wasn’t relevant, possibly some contraption to help him read his books faster.
Roland’s yawn broke him out of his reverie. Settling into a lying position, Roland willed himself into the light sleep he had been taught, allowing him to wake up were anything to attempt to sneak up on him, while still maximizing rest. If anything approached too close, he would know.
* * * * * * * * * *
A dark Corridor. Unlit but for a scattering of torches boast sickly golden flames. On the other side of the walls He could here shuffling, shuffling... At the end of the corridor a figure regarded him. Stooped, the silhouette cast by the open doorway.
Come.
Closer, closer, details could be made out. Bloody pus seeping from a network of cracks in the skin. Two bulbous, balefully glowing eyes inset in a bald head. A severed head gripped in steel claws, blood dripping. Dripping, dripping...
Roland screamed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Roland’s eyes snapped open. His palms and forehead were sweaty, his heart was thumping quickly in his chest. He had not dreamed for many, many years, not since his childhood...
This was troubling. Something must have triggered it.
But what... Roland scowled.
It can’t have been anything important. Some magical feedback from the necromantic wizardings or something...
He rolled onto his side. The sky had a faint glow to it, signalling the imminent approach of dawn. Roland rose to his feet.
I’d better get back to Faust and make sure he hasn’t blown himself up.
Once he had eaten - nothing fancy this time, just a simple marination followed by a boiling and a stuffing of various root vegetables – he set off for the manor.
* * * * * * * * * *
Deciding to save time by bringing the gold with him to Faust, he headed down the hallway towards the hidden staircase. As passed the study with all the mechanisms, a thought struck him, and he turned into the room.
After rummaging around for a short time, he found something that suited what he was looking for buried under a large pile of books. It was a square, flat platform, each side about an arm in length. On one side of the platform, at each corner, were wheels.
This should do it.
As Roland made to leave the room, another object caught his eye, if only due to its relative inconspicuousness. A black sphere slightly larger than a clenched fist, seemingly made of obsidian, with no features barring a congruous button inset on one side. After inspecting the sphere for a few moments, Roland gently pushed the button with a single finger. As soon as he did so, a large, red number appeared on the glossy surface -
2000. Every heartbeat or so, the number dropped down one. Shrugging, Roland stuffed the sphere into one of his coat’s larger pockets, and turned back towards the door.
Once he had loaded up the platform with the gold he had left on the hallway floor, he saw that there was still plenty of room, and so decided to make one more trip down to the gold-filled dungeon.
I could always bring Faust down here... although it’s always good to have a back-up store, just in case.
When he returned to the dungeon, he immediately espied a large, golden statue that looked like it would fit in Faust’s rucksack.
Probably. The statue depicted a cross-legged yet unusually slim Buddha whose arms were stretched above his head, palms facing outwards. The Buddha was smiling giddily. In the centre of each palm and in place of eyes were multifaceted, sparkling rubies.
That will do nicely.
As he moved to pick it up, his eyes fell on the dark-swathed door opposite. He sighed.
I’ll never get to sleep if I don’t investigate. And anyway, It can’t be anything dangerous, else it would have attacked me already. Nevertheless, his hand played with the hilt of his long knife as he approached the door. Although at first the door’s lock denied him entry, a swift kick sent it swinging on its hinges, the magical wards having decayed long ago.
The circular room, only a few paces in diameter, was entirely empty, baring a lone, undecorated pedestal. On the pedestal lay an amulet. Roland walked over. The amulet was simple, an octagonal onyx stone encircled in bronze, with a bronze chain threaded through a hoop at the top. Regarding it for no more than a few heartbeats, Roland slowly reached out to touch it. Feeling no horribly gruesome death befall him, he grasped the chain. When that left him still very much alive, he lifted the amulet. Still breathing, he shrugged, pocketed it, and walked away, leaving the door open.
Hefting the statue over one shoulder, and staggering slightly beneath its weight, Roland approached the stairs.
At a point he guessed was approximately a third of the way up, he groaned.
Perhaps... I’ve bitten off... a bit more.... than I can chew......
Finally, he reached the apex, and carefully set the statue down on the platform, which bent slightly. With the weight at last off his back, he groaned and rolled his shoulders.
Right, let’s get moving.
Nothing happened.
He glared at the contraption.
And the contraption, entirely oblivious to Roland’s wishes, glared back.
Growling, Roland kicked the platform sharply.
Spluttering with indignation, the contraption creaked into life, and began to make it’s clicking way down the hallway.
After a hundred paces or so, Roland heard something crack inside the machine, although it didn’t cease its progress. Frowning, Roland moved closer. Suddenly the platform roared forwards, causing the statue to rock and leaving Roland behind. As he sprinted to catch up, he heard a sharp crack and the platform ground to a halt, sending its cargo flying. Wide-eyed with horror, Roland surged forward, but just as he arrived the statue struck the floor, splintering the worm-eaten wood, and Roland was falling, falling...
