A short story (that may turn into something more) about a castle in Sylvania and its owners.
Too Small a Castle
Banners flew above the crumbling Castle Nurendorf. They fluttered limply, despite the strong wind, as if they simply wee no longer interested in their duty. A fair enough decision, as the castle was in little better shape. Most of the outer wall was ruined, the buildings within damaged or destroyed. The inner keep was strongly warded and stood proud, but even the windows there showed signs of cracking. It was a sad sight.
Emilia's dismal assessment of her home warred with joy to have returned at all. As she made ehr way through the thick forest towards the main entrance, surrounded by an ancient retinue of Grave Guard, bound to her will by the simplest of magic, it felt good to be home. She sat astride a skeletal steed, what remained of her prized warhorse. After years of training it to accept her nature, she was unwilling to discard it and restart the process, at least for now. If nothing else, she didn't need reins.
When she arrived at the front gate, it unexpectedly opened. A short, stocky man with a not at all welcoming smile greeted her.
"Lady Emilia. My mistress has informed me of your coming. She cannot wait to meet you again after so many years."
Emilia raised an eyebrow.
"Your mistress? Who is she? What is she doing in my castle?"
"If you would follow me, you will find out."
He turned and walked deeper into the castle.
Emilia dismounted, concerned, and had her Grave Guard surround her. She wasn't scared. She was just disconcerted at someone else moving in during her absence. The echoing footfalls of armoured boots was reassuring.
She and her retinue followed the man into the castle, into the main keep, wards crackling with energy as Emilia passed through them. Then downwards towards the lower levels that served for the masters of night. After all, if going out in the sun was difficult, why not just conduct all your business underground anyway?
The interior was in no better shape than the exterior. The carpet was rotten and ragged, the paintings faded. It smelled of decay. But it was home. Though, apparently, home to someone else, too. That sent a shiver down Emilia's spine. Who dared usurp her castle? Who had gotten through the wards without breaking them?
She reached for the wards, and realised that wasn't true. These weren't her wards. She hadn't thought about it, but these were new wards, commanded to permit her entry. Her old wards destroyed? Her talons drew her own blood as they extended from balled fingers. Someone had some explaining to do. Preferably with those talons in their neck.
Finally they made it to the antechamber of the throne room. The short man gave another disingenuous smile.
"Wait here. I shall inform my mistress you are here."
"Who is she?" Emilia demanded.
"Don't be so impatient."
Emilia wanted to tear his throat out, but knew that would be petulant. She held her nerve, forced her hands and talons to rela, and drank up as much of her own accidentally spilled blood as possible. It was dead, not nourishing at all. Ugh.
After some time, the man returned and the doors opened.
Emilia stepped through the threshold with her Grave Guard. A new chord of anger struck within her at the sight of a figure on the throne. Her throne! This was too much. Pushing past her retinue, she stormed towards the seated figure, who was wrapped in a black cloak.
"Do not be so impatient," said a familair voice.
No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. She was dead.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my castle?"
The short man stood to the side of the throne, his smile even worse, if that were possible.
"My mistress says you would know her by now. Or shall I remove her hood?"
Emilia growled, drawing her sword and pointing it at the cloak figure.
"Reveal yourself."
Suddenly, swords were pointed against her own neck.
"Welcome to my castle."
"This is my castle."
"Oh dear. This will be difficult. It's really too small for both of us." The figure pulled back her hood. "Isn't it, sister?"
Too Small a Castle
Banners flew above the crumbling Castle Nurendorf. They fluttered limply, despite the strong wind, as if they simply wee no longer interested in their duty. A fair enough decision, as the castle was in little better shape. Most of the outer wall was ruined, the buildings within damaged or destroyed. The inner keep was strongly warded and stood proud, but even the windows there showed signs of cracking. It was a sad sight.
Emilia's dismal assessment of her home warred with joy to have returned at all. As she made ehr way through the thick forest towards the main entrance, surrounded by an ancient retinue of Grave Guard, bound to her will by the simplest of magic, it felt good to be home. She sat astride a skeletal steed, what remained of her prized warhorse. After years of training it to accept her nature, she was unwilling to discard it and restart the process, at least for now. If nothing else, she didn't need reins.
When she arrived at the front gate, it unexpectedly opened. A short, stocky man with a not at all welcoming smile greeted her.
"Lady Emilia. My mistress has informed me of your coming. She cannot wait to meet you again after so many years."
Emilia raised an eyebrow.
"Your mistress? Who is she? What is she doing in my castle?"
"If you would follow me, you will find out."
He turned and walked deeper into the castle.
Emilia dismounted, concerned, and had her Grave Guard surround her. She wasn't scared. She was just disconcerted at someone else moving in during her absence. The echoing footfalls of armoured boots was reassuring.
She and her retinue followed the man into the castle, into the main keep, wards crackling with energy as Emilia passed through them. Then downwards towards the lower levels that served for the masters of night. After all, if going out in the sun was difficult, why not just conduct all your business underground anyway?
The interior was in no better shape than the exterior. The carpet was rotten and ragged, the paintings faded. It smelled of decay. But it was home. Though, apparently, home to someone else, too. That sent a shiver down Emilia's spine. Who dared usurp her castle? Who had gotten through the wards without breaking them?
She reached for the wards, and realised that wasn't true. These weren't her wards. She hadn't thought about it, but these were new wards, commanded to permit her entry. Her old wards destroyed? Her talons drew her own blood as they extended from balled fingers. Someone had some explaining to do. Preferably with those talons in their neck.
Finally they made it to the antechamber of the throne room. The short man gave another disingenuous smile.
"Wait here. I shall inform my mistress you are here."
"Who is she?" Emilia demanded.
"Don't be so impatient."
Emilia wanted to tear his throat out, but knew that would be petulant. She held her nerve, forced her hands and talons to rela, and drank up as much of her own accidentally spilled blood as possible. It was dead, not nourishing at all. Ugh.
After some time, the man returned and the doors opened.
Emilia stepped through the threshold with her Grave Guard. A new chord of anger struck within her at the sight of a figure on the throne. Her throne! This was too much. Pushing past her retinue, she stormed towards the seated figure, who was wrapped in a black cloak.
"Do not be so impatient," said a familair voice.
No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. She was dead.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my castle?"
The short man stood to the side of the throne, his smile even worse, if that were possible.
"My mistress says you would know her by now. Or shall I remove her hood?"
Emilia growled, drawing her sword and pointing it at the cloak figure.
"Reveal yourself."
Suddenly, swords were pointed against her own neck.
"Welcome to my castle."
"This is my castle."
"Oh dear. This will be difficult. It's really too small for both of us." The figure pulled back her hood. "Isn't it, sister?"