A lethargic sun slowly rose beyond the distant horizon; it's warm yellow light struggling and ultimately, failing against the Hamlets everlasting, murky grey. The gentle rays of light could not pierce the colorless veil yet cast over its broken, fractured houses and its people. And so it was not the light of day that tore you from your tense, deep slumber, but a few rapid knocks on your door. Stupefied from awkward dreams and half-processed poison in your veins, you stumbled to the door and tore it open. It was the caretaker. In his hands he held a small stack of pages, loose and unorganized, and that damnable leather-bound book. Wordlessly he shoved the bundle towards you. The haste in his moves betrayed the panic in his body. So brittle and shaking, you expected his bones to rattle. You felt a slight sense of unease wash over you, then anger, as you beheld the slim fruits of his labor. It was not enough. Especially given his ruinous state after the fact, you had expected he had produced vastly more. Otherwise, how did he justify a stance so uneasy, a mind so rattled. Disappointed, you accepted the body of his work, meager as it was. Of course you thanked the man and dismissed him officially, as it was now your duty and status. Without a further word or look the man shuffled off, to his rightful respite until you required his services once more.
As the sun began its half turn through the skies, you began your own study. The first few pages were scribbled notes, fragments and figments of momentary thought, taken as the writer had begun delving into the source material. Over time, the scribbles grew more lenient and small illustrations began to appear. Some you recognized. Some you were troubled by. Even knowing the journal itself was firmly closed beside you and the content you were ingesting was filtered and broken down through another human being, the lingering terror from the pages it was drawn from managed to fill you with stunning measures of anxiety. You cursed the old fool, for not relegating more of the ancestors influence to his own broken mind, instead burdening you. Another voice cursed yourself for being so weak that a mere word, a suggestion, could fan the flames of dread within you. What had happened to you that you were so feeble? How did you justify your unearned disquietude? You pushed the thoughts aside quickly as you reached one of the later pages. It was just filled with the same sentence over and over. "You shall suffer as I have. You shall suffer as I have." The meaning escaped you.
Deeper within the loose collection of idea and data you discovered, over time, a usable description of your first humble foe. He called it "the Necromancer" Birthed from some abominable ritual, the beast had re-awoken brimming with foul intent. Its connections and powers were explored in little detail, though a few passages mentioned "re-animation". You still found it challenging to reconcile with you the idea of such monstrous conceptions crossing that irrefragable border between horror tale and reality. The circle of life and death, perverted and derailed into a mockery of the natural order. If the word of your ancestor was to trust, it was true. You cared not for his word, not the slightest, even so all it took was a look around. This decrepit place, its lingering, horrid energy, it managed to confirm any suspicions, to deem them true, irrevocably and beyond the shadow of any justified, but ultimately powerless doubt. You found it creeping in the streets, saw it within every hollow-eyed gaze, every shambling motion. You saw it deeply and starkly within that damned ruin at the top of the hill. And you saw it within yourself. It had to end. Now.
The last page was a map. Depicting the crumbled ruins of the lower castle hold and the place where crazed villagefolk had last seen the gruesome results of the beasts "work". Awoken cadavers, seeking the light of life and eager to snuff it out. Bent on a rage against the living that none of us could ever fathom. A marking had been made on a larger room within the deeper, yet intact levels of the castle. There, so say the villagefolk, it must be. Laboring away, day after day, night after night, plying its cruel trade anew with every rotation of the sun around the sky. This map gave you all you needed to launch your first assault on the things that had claimed this land in their name. You would claw it back, in your own. And your warriors would be the ones to impose your measures, your will, onto this land as they were supposed to. Notes in hand you left your quarter for the main hall.
As you descended the wooden stair, the heroes were there and waiting on you. Enjoying, as much as that was possible, the midday meal they had been served by the tavern keep. Some eyed you as you approached, others were busy with their meal. The plague doctor refrained from eating entirely, mask still on her face she just sat there, biding her time. "Can we get to work?" she inquired as soon as you reached the table. You unceremoniously dropped the collected notes on the table before them and began outlining the first mission. The map was passed from soldier to soldier and interested looks were shared. First only with themselves, then with one another. Except for the knight and the rogue, the members of your troupe had no history with each other. Their first collective endeavor would serve as a test of their ability to cooperate and you needed them to do so. You had paid them to do so. They had enlisted for this very purpose. Yet the doubt remained.
No questions were asked after you had concluded your description of their target. The soldiers were as ready as they could be. Paracelsus was the first to rise from the table, the others followed suit quickly. Only Dismas spent another moment chomping down the cooked beetroot he had been served before slowly getting up and rejoining his allies. The reality of the task at hand had set in for some and you beheld them as their gazes scattered through the room, each busy with their own version of reality. They would have to unite, were they not to suffer failure and cruelty at the hands of whatever it was that awaited them.
"Stay for just a moment longer." The caretaker had once again appeared beside you without a shred of noise or commotion. Hearing his raspy, creaking voice behind you so suddenly gave you a start. Since you had last beheld him he had regained at least some composure. "What is it?" you inquired. "I have some equipment at my disposal that you might find rather useful on your journey." Interesting. Torches and bandages and invigorating powder had been acquired in large quantity during your arduous preparation, though he knew that. He possessed something else, something he thought to share. Intrigued you motioned the soldiers to follow the eerie old man to his house.
Within the small and decrepit abode your collective eyes found more cobwebs and skittering insects than pieces of furniture. That which remained of the small inventory had broken and rotted like the village it was part of. The state of this place suggested years if not decades of neglect, though the caretakers key had opened the lock effortlessly. This is where he lived, if one could even refer to his prolonged existence as such. Inside, your host quickly scrounged through one of the scattered wardrobes and produced a large case. Though it was as dusty as the rest of the interior, the items within were pristine, as if they had been sealed away from the world at some point long in the past. There were vials inside the case, small and sealed with a cork, filled with a black fluid. Looks wandered from the vials to the plague doctor who met them with a simple shrug. All looked back at the frail old man. "It calms your mind," he said softly, "please take them". He held the open case content in your direction, but you quickly deflected the gesture towards the adventurers. With expressions somewhere between confusion and mistrust, each took a vial before leaving the small house on the edge of the village.
- - -
The gloomy village some miles behind them, the heroes marched stoically towards their first embarkment. The sparse information their host had given them did not spark confidence, the desolate surroundings only amplified this effect. The fields were dead. Their path took them through rows of corn and crop, reaching higher even than the crusader, but all decayed, contorted and decidedly lifeless. Howling wind swung them back and forth, tossed and turned them in its grasp and blew away pieces that had rotted loose. Grey and brown tones dominated the bleak scene around them and a lingering fear crept within every desiccated stalk. No one knew what was lurking out here. No one had told them what exactly awaited them. But the dead fields, the broken, overgrown pathways and the constant absence of any vivid, living color took a toll on their minds before they had even reached the castle hold. The tingling unease of apprehension tested their composure with every step. Some were visibly more used to the chaos of the world than others. The knight in the armor that had long lost its shine had taken the helm and marched ahead, stoically and with seeming indifference to the perilous lands surrounding him. The figures that followed were a mixture of unease, apprehension and quiet disinterest.
After several hours of bleak trudging, the soldiers had finally arrived at their destination. Their path had lead them through evermore decayed vegetation and rows of unliving crop, though a few more old houses and fortifications had joined in on the scenery. All broken of course, expired under the swirling chaos that had taken hold of this realm. Not a single living thing, be it person, rat or bird had crossed their path in hours. And the heroes assumed it would remain this way. What used to be the great outer fortress, a stronghold of power surrounding the manor, lied right before them now and their journey had reached its first stop of many. An impressively large structure, ruined too by the gnawing ravages of time. Half collapsed towers, once sturdy walls reduced to a pile of rubble - a magnificent, yet bizarre sight to behold. The entrance portal, made of reinforced wood, thick and powerful, had fouled away in part and hung, demolished, in its hinges.
The route they were to pass following the grand entrance portal was rather short; a good sign for an early quest such as this. Though none of them knew what exactly it was that awaited them at the routes end. Within the large foyer two doors would lead down two corridors, combining into another large room at the end. The heroes simply were to travel down the left hall about halfway, where the cellar door was located. Lower beneath the earth, they would retrace their previous steps there, to end up right beneath the foyer where, so it was said, the beast for which they hunted went about its labor. As they perused the map again it only settled then that they were, supposedly, perched right atop the beasts lair at this instant. The hard mud underneath them, the marble steps before them, they marked the place where, should the map be truthful, the monstrous creature lurked in a subterranean lair. Only a few feet of stone and dirt sheltered them from its influence, right at this moment. The Necromancer, as their host had called it. Could such a thing even be possible? Reanimating those that had left the world behind? Clutching them back from the gates of the afterlife into a body that has deceased and decayed? Junia shuddered at the thought. And yet there was a hint of curiosity, which was smothered the moment she became aware of it. Pondering loathsome queries invites loathsome answers. She had learned that lesson before, she would not need to repeat it.
The mighty wooden gate emitted a distinct creaking noise as Reynauld pushed it open. His sword drawn, he was ready to take on the next foe that would cross his path. The remainder of the group kept right behind him, ready for anything that might lunge at them from behind the door. Pistol, blade and baton drawn, they found relieving disappointment as the portal opened completely. As the dim sunlight flooded the extensive hall, nothing could be seen within, that would demand any kind of reaction. Antique wooden furniture littered the room and a few rats scattered quickly, fleeing from the light. The mercenaries gradually advanced inside. "Follow me!" Dismas whispered to his companions as he headed towards the next point of interest. The leftmost door at the back of the room. Both were still very much intact. The frames and the surrounding walls were covered in a thin film of dust. Cobwebs clung to the walls in long strands. Nobody had travelled these halls in a long time. The crew gathered next to the threshold and Dismas slowly pushed the wooden barrier inwards, disturbing the peaceful stagnation of years, if not decades.
The time of comforting non-discoveries had ended. The adventurers found a scenery inside the following hallway that left their eyes widened and their jaws clenched. None made a single noise. The flooding light of the evening sun that had travelled with the crowd had now, at last, been choked entirely in this very hallway. Hampered and obstructed, it could not reach the end, but it did yet manage to illuminate the outlines of the way down - a small doorframe leading to what the map described as the stairway into the cellar - the next step of their journey. It also revealed the monstrous hole right before it, where the floor had collapsed and crumbled downwards, barring both this corridor and the corridor below. This impasse was an unplanned frustration that would take some improvisation to get around - the crew was not prepared for a longer stay. But what justified the abrupt and burdening silence, the single bead of sweat that had formed on the rogues forehead, the abject look of terror on the vestals face, were not the broken cobbles. It was the outline of the thing, standing right behind it. Hunched, breathing heavily, moving slowly. Taller than any man, huge and heavy. A creature like none of them had ever seen before. Standing on two legs it could almost be mistaken for a monstrous malformed human, were it not for the claws growing from its long, spindly hands. A mane of wild, blackened hair sprouted from its head. Its face was not visible as it, thankfully was turned away from the troupe. Every inch of that creatures form spelt wild, lethal energy. Every twitch in its mountainous muscles, every hair on its body. A beast of this world. Regrettably, so the adventurers realized, presumably just the first of many. Dismas carefully closed the door and left the monster alone in the broken hallway.
Apprehensive looks were shared as the implications of the sighting settled. Junia looked around, searched for similar affects within her allies' faces, but found none. The plague doctor was looking right at her and though her eyes and expression were hidden behind that terrifying beaked mask, Junia saw nothing but quiet, disgruntled countenance within her, despite the beast they both had just witnessed. So she did her best to swallow the fear, swallow it all and joined her colleagues around the map they had produced. If any of their hearts were beating as fast as hers, they were hiding it well.
The map confirmed what the heroes were already suspecting; unless they were to uncover a secret corridor, their variety of options was slim indeed. They would have to take a detour through the other corridor. Join the main room at the back, confront whatever creature, curse or calamity awaited and only then reach the way down from the other side - given the clawed demon had not torn them apart by then. Quickly they understood that the floor below would be compromised through the exact same disaster as the one above and the same path around was in order to bypass it. Resigned and frustrated, they resolved to push ahead on their new route. A threefold increase in steps came with a considerable increase in risk of combat or injury. Though with the lack of information they possessed they found this to be their best and only option.
"Never been in a foray so ill-prepared," Dismas gave voice to his frustration, "This is a waste of time." "Then why are you still here?" came a razor-sharp rebuttal from the plague doctor. "What did you say, beakmouth?!" "You signed up for this, highwayman. If complaints are your only strong suit, you should leave now. I for one intend to leave this place victorious" The rogues eyes narrowed to hateful slits, "I intend to leave this place alive. Perish at your own discretion."
"Silence." The crusader's voice bellowed. There was no attempt to conceal his fury at the squabbling soldiers, "we have a task and we will see it through." Even as he spoke to them, he was not looking their way, already advancing to the rightmost door to put their reformed plan in motion. "Keep your foolish quarrelling for later, if you so must."
An irritating glare is all that Dismas caught of the doctor before he followed the knight. Junia had just stood by and watched the scuffle unfold. "Ill-prepared", she scoffed to herself silently. She found it hard to see the rogue's rationale. Where he saw a detriment, she only saw another test. One of many. One of hundreds. And she would see it through.
As the troupe reached the door, the crusader handed out torches from his satchel. "We brought enough light to illuminate this entire fortress. Up to this point we were strangers, but from this point forward, we must be a unit. Until the devil's end, we must fight as one." Residual rage in his speech made the words ring hollow to Paracelsus, though she appreciated the knights conviction. Without hesitation he leaned against the door, his gauntlet on the handle, and motioned his comrades to take up their vigil beside him. Though conflict brewed and motives were nebulous, they were now on the threshold into the abyss. Their discord would spell their undoing. This dark fortress would reward each schism with more grievance and death.
The metal gauntlet descended on the handle and slowly the portal opened. Flickering torchlight trickled into the hallway beyond. Empty and intact, it seemed suitable for their mission. With slow, deliberate steps the team stepped inside. Their eyes darted through the darkness, cognizant of any danger that might lurk within, and then, ever so often, to each other. Aware and conscious of their conflicting views, there was no continuity in their movement. And as they began plumbing this castles depths afraid and illuminated only by crackling torchlight, their hearts and steps fell into a bitter disharmony.