Lord Celic brushed aside a blonde curl from his forhead, smoothing out his sneer for a diplomatic smile at the ensemble of roughly thirty men assembled before him, torchlight casting haunting shadows over their rugged faces.
Under normal circumstances, Lord Celic would have avoided any association with these vagabonds at all costs, but these were dire times indeed. Carelessness with his gold had earned him a substantial amount of debt, with no way to pay it off. This was his last resort. To employ such ruffians disgusted him, but no other would join his supposedly reckless effort, especially for such small salary. He was loath to admit it, but these were the only men more desperate than himself. The only thing he could think of to be more distasteful than this situation would be to give up his lavish lifestyle, which was unthinkable.
His only redeeming thought for them was that at least they were expendable. No one would weep for their loss, should things turn south for them. In fact, he found it more plausable that their passing would be rejoiced, the streets being that much clearer of the riff raff everyone wished to avoid like himself.
Lord Celic was not so dense that he didn't give the rumors of the castle dwellers some merit, though a few were quite far-fetched. He doubted there was a creature that could withstand his practiced skills. He had received far too many praises to think of such a possibility.
He reined in his fidgeting steed, the last remains of his previously abundant wealth. It was his ambition this night that it would be rectified, but for now, his meager belongings were sufficient.
"Men," he called out to gain their attention, smoothing his tunic and squaring his shoulders. When they looked at him through vacant eyes, he continued, "You have each been selected for your...specialties. Specialties that will serve the greater good well tonight. For tonight, we take the castle. Tonight, we slay the monsters once and for all, no more to rise against us. Tonight, we will conquer what was meant to be ours."
"We're still gettin' paid, though, right," one called out, others murmuring their agreement.
Lord Celic barely avoided letting his disdain show through his facade. "Yes," He said carefully. "You will be handsomely rewarded for your valiant efforts."
"Well, then wot're we standin' round for," another called out. "Let's get on with it!"
Lord Celic spluttered as the men brushed past him, ahead of his mount, marching up the mountain without hesitation.
Turning his steed about, he followed close behind, hooves and feet grinding and scraping against stone, the sound filling the cool night air, labored breaths soon joining the symphony of the climb up to the castle's entrance. Soon, the came upon the gaping hole of the tunnel, standing hesitantly before the darkness that seemed to swallow all light and hope. Even Lord Celic felt the mists of doubt begin to creep and cloud his mind. Only the shifting of his skittish mount roused him from his turning thoughts.
"Onward," he commanded, dismounting. "Or you won't get your pay."
The threat seemed to awaken the men from their own doubts, or at least helped in brushing them aside as they stared forward in kind.
Torchlight revealed nothing ahead, only illuminating themselves and the tunnel walls that echoed the sounds of their motion dully, like they were walking into emptiness. Still they continued until they reached an end, carved doors looming before them, the fire's light casting eerie shadows that crept along the grooves and crevices that canvased their expanse. Celic himself stepped forward, attempting to push them in, his own strength failing before the mighty doors.
Covering for his failure, he glared at the men standing uselessly behind him. "Well? I'm not paying you for nothing. Open the doors!"
Some of the larger men shambled forward, pressing against the doors with their broad shoulder, opening them slowly, the action reverberating through the group's bones. Lord Celic and the rest each took up their own various stances of offense and defense, anxious for whatever lay in wait for them on the other side.
As soon as the doors opened wide enough, the more ambitious men surged forward, blazing torches held aloft as they let forth battle cries, Lord Celic and the rest following more cautiously.
Nothing. The men ahead let their shouts die out as they were met by no creatures, only the small echo through the castle's corridors responding in the otherwise complete silence. Torches swung around in the darkness, revealing nothing that resembled a monster. The castle was empty.
Still ever cautious, the men stood, remaining crouched in their ready positions, their ears attentive to any sound, only to hear nothing but themselves.
Suddenly, a laugh broke out, starting as small chuckles before graduating to something more raucous that rang through the air. The men all turned and stared at the man responsible, Lord Celic wiping a tear from his eye.
"So it was all superstitious nonsense after all," he exclaimed between wheezing breaths. "I should have known! Monsters! How preposterous!"
The men staid their silence. They had lived differently from the Lord--they knew what he didn't. Each had a sort of additional sense obtained from years of wandering through the less tasteful parts of the city that let them know when a quiet was intentional or not. It was an ominous feeling of heightened paranoia that more often than not proved to be true.
"Alirght, I suppose the rest shouldn't be a problem, then," Lord Celic said, cockily strutting forward. When the rest remained where they stood, he looked back with a frown. "Well, come on. Don't tell me you're all afraid."
Chagrined by the lord's cavalier attitude, however foolish they believed it to be, the other men followed reluctantly.
"Split into groups," the nobleman commanded. "We'll cover more ground that way."
When the men begrudgingly divided themselves accordingly, Celic gave each a direction, and they went their separate ways.
"I gots a bad feelin' about this," one man muttered as the nobleman led them on through the cavernous hall they had been directed to.
"We'll be done soon enough," another spoke seriously, his face stony with determination. "The treasure will be worth it.
"If there is a treasure," a third snorted quietly. "Could be a ruse like the monsters."
The stony-faced man glared at him. "Do you really believe nothing has been keeping others at bay this long?"
"Wossat," the first man hissed in a whisper, looking around frantically.
"He said--"
"No, no," the man hushed him. "Listen."
Lord Celic paused, noticing the men had all come to a halt yet again. His patience with the thugs was wearing thin.
"What is it now," he asked irrately.
"Shh!"
The nobleman's temper flared. They, the lowest scum of society, no better than the dirt on his boot, had the audacity to shush him, a man of noble birth, whom no one else would ever conceive to attempt to silence? No one told Lord Celic what to do.
"You dare to silence me," he shouted at them, drawing his sword. "You'd do well to remember your place and hold your tongue before I rem--"
"WHO DARES TO ENTER THIS PLACE!"
Lord Celic and the men crouched suddenly, whipping their heads around, looking every which way to find the source of the booming voice that filled the halls with sound, but found nothing. When the echoes died out, Celic gulped then raised his voice.
"Reveal yourself, fiend."
"OR WHAT?"
The loud challenge was offset by quieter, eerie snickering that chilled the men to their core.
"Did you see that," one of the men asked in a quivering voice.
"See what," Celic hissed.
His answer came soon enough as a white form drifted across his vision, ethereal and haunting as it loosed a cry of anguish.
"What's happening? Who are you," Lord Celic continued to ask as dread seeped in.
Erdim and his cursed brethren laughed from the beams that criss-crossed atop the hall, humored by the intruders' reactions. They always enjoyed instilling a little fear in such men, especially with something so simple as a bull's horn and bedsheets on strings. And it added to the effect when they let loose a few moans here and there.
Ylvir watched from the shadows, waiting, calculating. Some of these men would run, as always, but he knew he would have to step in for the few that stayed, unafraid of "spirits". One man in particular caught his attention, though he was unsure why. He looked no more conspicuous than the other three men, except for the one clothed more richly that held out a sword with trembling hands, ceaselessly shouting questions to the disembodied voice. Perhaps it was the stony look on his face, or the fact that he did not tremble like the others, his green eyes scanning the darkness almost as calculating as himself, but Ylvir had an inkling that it was something else. He just couldn't put his finger on it quite yet...
"LEAVE THIS PLACE," Erdim bellowed from above into the hollowed horn in his hand, his voice warped amplified.
Just as Ylvir had predicted, the men scrambled away, the outspoken blond one even crying out a yelp and tripping on his way. But just as he also thought, the undaunted man remained. Ylvir studied him as he continued forward, ignoring the "spirits" and searching though the halls of the castle. Ylvir followed closely on silent feet, trying to puzzle out what seemed so familiar about this man he had never met before.
He briefly considered that he might recognize him from a previous invasion, but quickly dismissed the idea. After breathing in the man's scent he knew he hadn't encountered it before, but something about it still nagged at him. Ylvir sniffed in again, studying the scent more carefully. There was nothing unusual, except...
Spring. He smelled like spring when they were well into autumn. It was faint, but still present. And Ylvir knew it was not his own.
He studied the man again, his eyes in particular. He had only seen that shade of green in one other pair of eyes before.
Ylvir's chest rumbled, his growl thrumming deeply throughout the castle, scaring off those men that remained scattered throughout, and giving the man before him pause.
The man turned around slowly, vibrant green eyes meeting enraged red. The man quickly steeled himself as the beastly monstrosity moved towards him ever so slowly, revwaling itself in his torchlight. It was like nothing he had ever seen or even imagined. Black as sin, large as a standing bear--an amalgamation of the most terrifying parts of so many creatures, fangs and claws and spines all sharp as the daggers he hid on his person at all times. It was horrific. Thinking quickly, he whipped out a dagger and aimed for where he suspected the thing's heart would be--if it even had one.
Ylvir dodged it easily, snarling. "You know the red-haired dancer. Where is she?"
The man stepped back as the thing stepped forward, chilled by the fact that it spoke--and of his daughter at that. But she hadn't danced in years. Not since the attack. At least, that's what Raela told him. He didn't speak a word if it though, stepping further away. But before he knew it, he found he no longer could step away anymore, his back against the wall, the beast still approaching. On instinct, the man drew another another dagger and threw it again, aiming for the same spot.
Once more, Ylvir stepped out of the dagger's path, striking a thickly muscled arm out, his clawed hand wrapping around the base of the man's collar, lifting him easily against the wall, elevating him to his own hieght. He watched as those green eyes filled with fury and fear as they met his own, a hand pushing uselessly against his. He dodged quickly to the side as he sensed yet another hidden dagger swipe towards him from the man's other hand. Snarling in outrage, Ylvir jerked the man towards him, only to slam him roughly against the wall again and drop him. The man wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him, crumbling in a heap and going limp, the dagger clattering to the floor beside him. Ylvir crouched down, grabbed his head, forcing the man's rugged face towards his own as he scented the blood oozing from his scalp.
"The dancer," his gravelly voice reiterated, reaching the man's ears vaguely through the throbbing in his head.
It wasn't a question, but the man knew he should answer. "M-my daughter..."
What a turn of fate, Ylvir thought to himself. His mind ran through so many scenarios, recognizing this as his chance to finally get back what was rightfully his. He had needed the girl to come to him, as he would not go back to the port, being far too risky. Just as it would be far too risky to send this man for her to bring her to him. Whether the man would outright refuse out of his duty as a father, or as Ylvir suspected to be the more likely scenario, agree then, only to disappear to save his own neck as soon as he left, Ylvir knew that way would not get him what he wanted.
He could only think of one more suitable option that did not involve resorting to unnecessary violence.
"What did you come for, hmm? The treasure," he asked the man.
When he didn't answer, Ylvir gripped his head tighter, causing him to groan out in pain.
"Answer me," he said, relaxing his hold again.
"Yes," the man panted. "I came for...the treasure."
"Very well," Ylvir said. "I will give you what you seek, so long as you stay."
"W-what," the man asked. Perhaps he his head had been hit a little too hard. He must have been hearing things.
Ylvir growled, his patience near its end. "If you stay here, in the castle, I will give you the treasure you seek."
"Why," the man asked dubiously. There had to be a catch. There always was.
"That's for me to know," the beast's awful voice intoned menacingly.
"How long, then," he asked, still wary.
A hot breath released from the creature's snout in a huff. "Until your thief of a daughter shows herself and returns what is mine."
"Raela," the man asked, confused. First Hemorra, now Raela had somehow involved herself with this thing? Just what had his daughters been up to?
"Is that her name," the beast pondered aloud.
"She won't come fer me, if that's what yer thinkin'," the man chuckled darkly. "She knows better'n that."
"Then you'll just have to stay here," Ylvir rebutted with apathy. "Indefinitely."
"How do I know you won't kill or maim me before or after I leave," the man challenged. "It would certainly make things very easy for you. You get to keep your treasure and kill the father of your thief as revenge. I know I would do it."
A guttural rumbling emanated from the creature close enough for him to feel it, striking the brief fear that maybe he wouldn't even live past that question.
"Do not presume me to be anything like yourself. I am nothing like you," the beast hissed, then gruffed, "No harm will come to you from myself or my men. You have my word."
"And what is the worth of a beast's word," the man laughed again.
The hand around his head squeezed as the beast looked at him directly with a baleful eye and said with its dreadful voice, "Far more than the word of a thief."
The man swallowed thickly, any other questions going with the action, instead he pondered the beast's offer, a rough plan formulating in his own mind. "Riches fer my daughter, then, eh?"
"If you must put it that way," Ylvir grumbled caustically. "Yes."
The man smiled, revealing crooked and yellowed teeth. "It's a deal."