A Grave Problem (Closed to Miehm, Kryos, and I Am Zee)

[Spirit Hunters]

The Brokhert Farmlands were overseen by a Duke and his Duchess, second cousin to the queen of Scara Brae. He was charged by the queen to oversee the land’s most fertile farmland and number one producer of crops in Scara Brae. His Dukedom included a few dozen farms on the outskirts of Scara Brae City, a small company of cavalry, and a well-to-do family of two sons, two daughters, and a beautiful wife.

The most unusual plot of land owned by the young Duke was Autumn’s Leaves cemetery. The graveyard interred extended family of the Royal Bloodline and their servants for generations and was fairly well maintained as far as cemeteries went. Not a speck of moss marred a single headstone, and the walkways were red cobblestone and regularly repaired.

The cemetery itself was a quarter mile across and much of it was unsettled hillside. The farthest point of the rectangular property from the road that lead to Autumn’s Leaves, was shrouded by a grove of thick willows that almost completely concealed the Royal Crypt; a breathtaking marble building the size of a manor, with a large dome of brass peering over the tree-line. The heavy oaken doors of the mausoleum were slightly parted and torch light danced out eerily as the sun dipped shyly behind the hilltops.


-----------------------------------------

The black carriage’s door opened slowly and a delicate slipper touched the step and a second delicate slipper lowered itself to the ground gently and gracefully. Two figures emerged from the now stationary stagecoach that brought the two travellers from one of the many inns in Scara Brae. The travellers warily made their way to the door of the Duke’s manor, marvelling at the sheer grandeur of his palace. Pourquoi, the delicate one of the two adventurers, took off her long overcoat and draped it over one arm, her long black turtleneck emphasizing her skinny frame. She was young in appearance, probably no closer to her eighteenth birthday than she was to her twentieth. But her long tapered fey ears belied her deceptive youth. Pourquoi was an elf, having seen close to half a century, although still adolescent by elven standards. She was almost too skinny, appearing to be willowy, her long cherry and straw hued hair pulled back in a thick, heavy braid. Charms and bangles hung from her ears, wrists, neck, and hair, jangling ever so quietly as she walked. A line of swirling tattoos separated her hairline from her face and further emphasized her angled, honey coloured eyes and fragile elven features.

Pourquoi’s fellow adventurer was Qu’est-ce, a large man by most senses of the word. He was more than a head taller than the average man, and a small paunch was just barely concealed by a sturdy suit of steel chainmail. In addition to a metal shield, two bags of adventuring supplies were slung over the man’s shoulder, one for himself and one for his weaker and fatigued companion. A steel broadsword hung at the giant of a man’s hip, and his hands worked a dagger up and down his left cheek, shaving his beard into a neat line across his jawbone outlining his jovial face. The only thing of real notice on the otherwise uninteresting warrior were the two spirals tattooed on his temples, similar in style to the ones on Pourquoi’s face.

As the two made their way into the Duke’s manor foyer, the young elven girl removed a piece of parchment baring a wax seal, now cracked, the document having been read. Pourquoi’s golden eyes perused the letter of invitation from the duke, inviting the Spirit Hunters to the posh mansion to hear his proposition.


Dear Spirit Hunters! I was overjoyed when I heard that members of your agency were making a stopover in Scara Brae City. I have use for agents of your particular talents. If you have time to spare for a cousin to the Crown, please join my messenger in the carriage waiting in front of the inn, and continue reading this letter for a briefing of the situation.

A small plot of land under my control is home to one of the graveyards of nobles in Scara Brae and it is my responsibility to watch over my ancestor’s final resting places, but alas, tragedy fell two nights ago. A caretaker making his rounds, discovered one of the freshly dug graves for a palace attendant, unearthed and the coffin torn asunder as if by a powerful beast. The confusing part is, that although the coffin was destroyed savagely, shovel and tool marks can plainly be seen in the fresh dirt indicating more than just a grave robbing scavenger. More interestingly, the palace attendant that passed away was reported to be the keeper of the Royal Crypt, and would have been the only one with keys to access it. His death seems very suspicious in my eyes now, especially that the Royal Crypt has been invaded! Last night, the watch was doubled in case of another grave robbing, and one of the city militia soldiers reported seeing lights on in the mausoleum even through the thick trees of the grove. Some sort of activity must be taking place inside, and my old fashioned guards refuse to break tradition and enter the sacred grove of our elders.

I have sent out two similar invitations to adventurers around Scara Brae, and I anxiously await your arrival at my country mansion. I pray you and the others I have summoned will be able to put a stop to the defiling of our family’s sacred resting place. Each day more and more graves are turning up empty and I can only imagine what horror is taking place in my ancestor’s crypt. Be prepared before answering my summons however, for many tales tell of workers disappearing after wandering too close to the grove and any but those of royal blood failing to pass through the willows alive to reach the crypt.

Please, I beg you to consider my plight. Help me and you will be compensated for your troubles and a fee will be paid to your superiors as well of course. Please help me save my deceased family’s honour.


-The Duke

[Miehm]

"Sure, it's big enough..." I commented idly to myself as I walked up to the gates of the fortified manor house. High stone walls and a thick gate told the tale of this places past. Now, however, the gate stood wide open, and only a pair of guards watched over the entrance of the courtyard. The broad cobbled expanse of the courtyard had obviously also seen more warlike days, but it was now no more than a training area, and maybe a place for the lesser servants to eat on feast days. The house was much of a sameness, thick stone walls, and another pair of guards at the doors.

A simple wave of my letter was enough to make them back off, and I strolled right through the door, rough stone crunching under my boots as I walked. A man and what looked like his trekkie daughter stood inside the house as I walked in and looked around. Please God don't let this be the other "Adventurers" the damn letter mentioned...

"Should I assume y'all was invited too? I'm honestly not sure what these guards defects are, but they'd be fired sure're n shit if I was in charge of 'em." I laid the accent on as thick as possible, trying to get a reaction out of the pair, and see just what I had to work with. My eyes lit on a guard in a slightly fancier uniform and I beckoned him over. "Why don't y'all make sure yer boss knows we're here?"

The entrance was just as fancy as these nobles always insisted on making everything. Still shitty trim work. You'd think they could hire somebody who could at least keep OG and Crown at an equal spacing. My eyes slid over the guards, noting the worn steel scale shirts and leather wrapped sword hilts. They were obviously as expert as guards got around here. At the very least they took good care of their kit and trained regularly. I noticed one thing that impressed me about the house. Even though it was obviously not a fortress any more, they hadn't removed the arrow slits and replaced them with better windows to light the room, and they instead relied on what looked like light bulbs put in torch sconces. Whatever they were, they worked, and they let this place be reasonably defended if it ever came down to it.

[Kryos]

Kryos will be his level zero form in this thread. However, recently I’ve made an updated thread of the Dwiilar. Full explanation of his powers can be found there (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17906).
The ports were busy. As usual. Sailors moved back and forth in a constant tide of motion, hauling cargo and supplies on and off the ships, barking orders and directing the passengers who stumbled about like blinds. Families reunited in squeals of delight as sisters hugged brothers and men shook hands, laughing and already speaking of the long journey on the ship. The constant crashing of the surf directed them onward, the beat that drove the activity on. And nearing a flaming horizon, majestic clouds aloft in vivid vermilions and blues, the sun beat down in shimmering waves while the wind, cool and saturated with salt, lofted through Scara Brae.

Kryos gritted his teeth. He would never wait so long to get off the damn ship again.

Pushing his way past the crowds and hoards of people, his dark form stood out against the brightly colored clothes of those around him. Indeed, his whole countenance seemed misplaced, what with the blazing sun glaring him in the face. The breeze messed with his hair, and he tried not to make eye contact with anyone he passed. If the onlookers saw his eyes, vivid as vicious red flames, they might panic. No, it would be best to just get out of the frenzied crowd.

As wooden docks slowly gave way to cobblestone streets and the claustrophobia-inducing swarm of people thinned, Kryos’ body relaxed. His shoulders dropped as the need for pushing past others deserted him, and his breathing deepened, mirroring his growing stride. Smiling as the breeze continued to dance along his skin, his mind wandered.

He had finally arrived in the golden land. His new beginning. Still, it was a lot less grand and exciting than he had originally imagined. After he had escaped the confines of the Water’s Nymph and the harbor, Scara Brae was similar to any other capital. Besides the fact that everyone seemed happier than in other places, and of course the distinctive sturdy architecture, Kryos could have been back home.

His eyes tightened as he brought his errant thoughts to a standstill. He had promised himself to leave his past behind him when he arrived. Especially after his last night (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17566) at sea. And yet, the dream seemed resilient to leave him, even after the stressed and chaotic day.

This wasn’t good. He needed something to occupy his mind and time with. Finding the nearest tavern probably wouldn’t do, as he would probably just sit around doing nothing, hoping for adventure to find him like all the other fools who came here. No, he needed to write his own tale, one that didn’t depend entirely on chance.

As he had walked, the sun had drawn ever closer to its last moments. Kryos paused and looked up just when it vanished from the horizon, taking with it the glow of his eyes. As they drained of color and power, he shook his head, casting his ebon hair around his face to obscure his diluted eyes. Soon though, the Transient State passed and his eyes once again took up a piercing edge. This time, they gleamed silver.

Into the night Kryos wandered, letting the streets and numerous plazas take him where they willed. He passed the patrons of the twilight, mostly young couples sitting on benches or walking down the opposite side of the street, hands entwined. The looks in their eyes disgusted him; they spoke of nothing but desire and devotion, without a hint of knowledge about the world around them. Deep within his heart, he pitied them, the sheltered and ignorant children of Althanas. One or two of the couples, upon seeing his accusative eyes, hurried away where they wouldn’t be bothered. Fine with him.

Unsurprisingly, Kryos’ wanderings took him to a less populated side of town. The lanterns grew less frequent, and the alleys, narrower. He took to the shadows, moving silently and gracefully down the street. He passed another, even more constricted passage, spanning seven paces across, and stopped. Twenty feet away, a black carriage stood harnessed to twin, black horses, four flickering lamps affixed to the four corners. To the right side of the animals, directly across from the open and waiting door, two men stood, talking in low tones. One dressed in lightly colored robes and the other in a servant’s attire. Kryos snuck closer to investigate, moving swiftly into the blind side of the humans, next to the carriage.

“But, sir! What if there are zombies at the Duke’s estate? I’ve heard horrible things about them.”

“Oh, shut up, Lenard!” the robed figure barked. “I know what I’m doing. And trust me, zombies don’t exist, you superstitious fool. Know your place!”

“Yes, sir,” the servant whimpered.

“It’s just some grave robbers, nothing I can’t handle. Besides, Y’edda will protect me from danger. Where is your faith?”

The man said nothing. In the silence, Kryos made his decision. The two men had given him adequate information, and anything dealing with death, souls, or respecting the dead was of interest to any Dwiilar. He moved around to the back of the carriage and took a quick check. The apparent priest had one foot on the metal step, his back turned, while the other stood prostrated. Now was his chance.

He darted out of the shadows towards the priest, crossing the distance in a split second. His right hand wrapped around the man’s throat and yanked the robed, left arm between their bodies. As he pulled him back to the street, he cast a Bane spell on his hands, the midnight flames simmering against the “holy” man’s soul. His victim struggled, attempting to throw Kryos off, but he was already weakening with fear as hope was stolen from his soul. Lenard stood up, shock and fury clear on his face, but unsure of what do to. Kryos smirked at the incompetent subordinate, before releasing his hold. One-hundred seventy pounds dropped to the stone ground and Kryos quickly stepped into the carriage.

As the door snapped shut, he murmured, “Some god.” He looked to the driver before him and motioned with his hand for them to leave. The coachman may have argued, until he saw the cold steel that lined the Dwiilar's lunar gaze, daring him to argue.

[I Am Zee]

There was an undeniable irony in an undead gazing upon tombstones. Zee could certainly appreciate it. This particular tombstone told the brief tale of a young man named Edward. Poor kid was even younger than Zee when he passed. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately depending upon one's perspective, young Edward stayed dead. Zee couldn't help but wonder what kind of person Edward must have been. Was he a good person? Or was he a bad person? Perhaps, as most people are, he was something in between.

Zee rose to his feet and took a moment to pay his respects to the dead. Though Zee found himself caught up in a dance between life and death, he still had his morals, and any loss of life was just that- a loss.

The sun slowly retreated beyond the horizon, giving way to the stars and the moon. The branches of the willows hung low and swayed to and fro with the soft breeze. Two days Zee had been hiding beneath their branches, surviving off rats, roaches and any other small vermin that ventured closely enough to him. What he wouldn't give for a fresh chicken- newly dead, nerves still twitching and blood still pumping. Zee had grown accustomed to his carnivorous nature, but thankfully had not succumb to it's power.

In his time in this hallowed ground, Zee had done well to keep himself hidden from the groundskeepers and any other passer by. He did not feel home here, nor did he feel sheltered, but in a way he felt that this was where he belonged, where he should have stayed. Perhaps here, amongst the dead, he would find answers to the riddle that was his existence.

As the moon began to rise in the night sky, Zee began to wander. His slow, dreary walk was befitting of the living dead, though he tried his best to keep a steady pace. As he passed by the many stones that lined the vast yard, he spotted an open grave. Someone must have died. The young undead approached the grave and peered within. Oddly enough, there was indeed a coffin inside, but it had been opened. More than that, it appeared to have been broken into, or perhaps out of. It was difficult to tell.

Zee peered over his shoulders, unable to shake the ominous feeling that had overtaken him. He wasn't sure if he was being watched, but he knew he was not safe here. The young undead ventured further into the graveyard, seeking out the shadows. They were his guardians, his sanctuary. He did his best to stay out of sight, and to stay out of trouble. Something was amiss in the land of the dead. Whatever the source, Zee wanted to stay clear.

[Spirit Hunters]

Nearly an hour had passed since their carriage arrived and the two travellers had settled on one of the Duke’s down filled couches. Not long after they arrived, the second recipient of the Duke’s call to arms arrived. He was a dangerous looking man, and a bit unkempt. Pourquoi privately wrinkled her nose in distaste at the man’s slovenly manner. The man addressed the pair shortly after settling in. His words grated on Pourquoi’s sensitive ears, his accent thick and rural. She nodded as the man posed his question. And chose to ignore the confusing order to summon "their boss".

“Yes. We are also here to investigate the cemetery,” she stated mildly. “We represent the Spirit Hunters guild. We act on behalf of The Company and investigate possible outbreaks of evil that could threaten The Balance. The Balance is the force that keeps heaven in heaven and hell in hell, and Althanas free for all the races to live their lives as they see fit.”

Pourquoi blushed as she finished her explanation to the newcomer. Qu’est-ce patted her back and chuckled as the elf turned a deeper shade of red. She was so enthusiastic about her this assignment and continued employment at The Company. After her close call in the frontiers (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=18226), and her job and partner at stake, she managed to acquire a newfound power and convince her superiors of her usefulness to the Spirit Hunters.

She hoped she hadn’t come off too strange to the newcomer and turned to her partner and tried to change the subject.

“Do you think that it’s some form of necromancy or something like that? Corpses being removed to be animated as skeletons and zombies, Pourquoi shuddered, thinking back to their encounter with the horrid Necromancer Galleoyn a few weeks before. The young fortune teller had her fill of the undead. “Or do you think its grave robbers after the royal swag?”

“Tough to say,” Qu’est-ce replied scratching his chin and shrugging at the third person in the room. “I would at least say it has something to do with the fact that it’s the graveyard where a lot of people in line for the throne of Scara Brae are buried.

Pourquoi laughed.

“Another conspiracy theory?”

The huge man put up his hands defensively. “Hey. This one makes sense, you have to admit. If someone were to be able to forge a fake thread of the bloodline to the throne using items, bodies, and possibly rejuvenated versions of the nobles themselves, they could slowly climb the ladder of the hierarchy and get in line to be crowned king or queen of Scara Brae. Its totally possible!”

He always knew just what to do to make Pourquoi feel better. He was the big brother she never had. And now he sounded a million times crazier than she did and hopefully the new addition to their party had already forgotten about Pourquoi’s earlier rambling.

The young elf pulled a marble from the front sweater pocket of her sweater and lobbed it into the air in front of her. It began its decent for a brief moment before being halted by the force of Pourquoi’s power. She wondered how far this new harnessing of her mind could go and with a flick of her thoughts alone, sent the marble zipping around the room, almost accidentally hitting the new gentleman in the ear. The marble finally came into contact with a vase on the banister of spiralling stairs, and the orb fell to the ground with nothing but a noisy clank. The young elf was slowly getting a handle on her telekinesis. Hopefully, she would be able to harness it into an effective tool to assist her in combat in this mission if it came down to that. A gentle push on the young woman’s psychic sensitivity told her that something, or someone, was out there, and it was that something what might be the key to whatever the problem was that they were facing. When the time came, this time the young Spirit Hunter did not want to sit on the sidelines and watch.

[Miehm]

These people are nuts. "Alright Mulder, Scully, calm it down." The vulcan-wannabe was playing with some kind of rock, and while she fiddled, it suddenly went zipping around the room, nearly hitting me in the ear.

"Hey, watch what yer doin. You hit me, I hit back just as hard." I already had a mild dislike for this odd pair, and her antics, throwing a rock at my head, weren't helping.

I reached into my pack, and pulled out a pencil and sketch pad, and started drawing, occasionally darting a nasty look at the small woman who had slung the marble at my head. I was sketching out a rough design for a weapon I remembered back from the bayou, called a powerhead. It was effectively a tool to put a bullet into an alligator with a swift jab from a long pole. Around here though, it could put a shell or a slug through plate mail from a safe distance. The only problem was, you only got one shot. These people were worse than the damn Japs though. If there was a way to get it to hold more bullets, they'd figure it out. "They had some kinda safety pin back in the day... I don't really see as I'd need that though..."

I was muttering to myself as I worked. I had dimensions marked up on the side of the paper, and had a complicated math problem going along the side as I calculated the bore diameter of a twelve gauge shotgun, since I'd forgotten in the last two years. "Density of lead, volume of a sphere... Gauge is a number of spheres of lead, each having the same diameter of the bore required to make one pound... Twelve... Pound divided by twelve, converted to grams... The hell was the density of lead?"

[Kryos]

Kryos stared out the small, rectangular window, one leg over the other and his chin resting against his hand. The narrow streets clattered by with the uneven bumps of the street, and his moonlit eyes watched the change. Houses gave way to mansions, who then in turn transformed to fields and high trees. The salty, sea air dispersed as well, gone with the presence of the city and replaced by the rustic, full-of-life and down-to-earth stain of grass and willows. He glanced upward as the thin blanket of dust from the city was wiped away, letting the stars shine all the more brightly. And the mildly warm, night air swept into the carriage and ticked his nose.

This was what Kryos had imagined. The liberation from worry and the whole world before one’s feet. Perhaps there was a reason why people called this place the Golden Isle.

But the time of reflection came and went like the landscape, sweeping away into his past and, perhaps, his memories. But most likely not. He wouldn’t remember sitting in a carriage at night and going who knows where.

A half hour passed and Kryos became restless. They had passed by a dozen large estates, and now they grew even further isolated. He leaned forward.

“How much farther to this Duke’s estate?” he asked, keeping his tone even despite his annoyance. The driver turned from his seat behind the horses.

“Just a little further. His is the next one up.” The man’s voice was sharp and high, like a hyena’s bark rather than a bear’s growl that the dwiilar was used to, and whether that was his natural voice or if it was tweaked with intimidation, Kryos couldn’t tell. From his short time observing on Scara Brae, the men seemed to be either sheltered to the point of royalty, or had seen a life full of trials. It didn’t help his perspective of the nobles, in any case.

But the coachman was correct. Leaning against the side of the carriage, he could see several farms come into view, followed by an impressive looking stone mansion, light belching forth from the windows. This was his destination, no doubt. As the horses turned off the main road and onto a well kept, cobble entryway, he prepared himself. All his belongings were in his possession, and he felt that his mind was in a stable condition. Nothing he couldn’t handle. While he had seen combat and hard situations before, he was still fairly inexperienced at the whole mercenary business. Appearances were vital, but skill saved one’s neck.

The coach stopped outside a black, wrought-iron fence. Kryos pulled the handle and the door opened, letting the night air in completely. Stepping down and leaving the carriage open, he passed through the gates. Neatly trimmed lawns opened up on both sides of him, wrapping around the main building and passing through other gates into courtyards and countryside alike. Tall willows guarded the land, five in Kryos’ present view, their long branches draping down like midnight curtains. The estate had that majestic feel, the natural way things should be. Except the manor was impossible to forget, disrupting nature’s work as it was. It rose to the height of three stories and had a slight Coronian style blended in with the usual Scarabrian architecture. Very rugged, with large stones making up the walls and large oak doors one might expect to see at a palace. Whoever this Duke was, he no doubt had considerable power.

Approaching the electrically lit doorway, he grew uneasy. Kryos was new to electric power, having come across it during his time in Alerar and Corone. He’d never been a big fan of it, and though he never understood how it worked, he could appreciate the usefulness. That didn’t mean he trusted it.

The two guards, as he approached, grabbed their hilts, but didn’t pull out their blades. They stared Kryos down, waiting for any sign of aggression. They were probably wary of his weapon, strapped to his back. Kryos was tempted to engage them, show them how men of the world truly fought, but it was two against one, and it probably wouldn’t make a good impression on the Duke.

“I was summoned by the Duke. Let me pass.” His voice was soft and clear, but lined with razors. The two guards hesitated, glancing toward the carriage, then back to him, then at each other.

“Fine,” they grunted, backing down. Kryos smirked at their own eagerness to get into a fight. Maybe, after the job was down, they’d battle just for fun. Or he, at least, would have fun.

He strode forward to the gateway and saw the Duke’s crest, one half on each door, inlaid in the wood and containing a falcon shielding itself from a scythe with its wing. A strange symbol, no doubt. He pulled the heavy iron ring, clutched in a lion’s claws, and the great door opened slowly and soundlessly. He passed through the opening and into a brightly, technologically lit chamber. Instantly, the clean, refreshing smell of the country air gave way to the domesticated essence of order and manners. Three characters sat on the numerous chairs and couches that spotted the foyer, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He didn’t care who they were. The Duke obviously wasn’t here, so he would wait. He didn’t take a chair. Rather, he leaned against the wall next to one of the windows so he could still be close to the night and the alluring fragrance of the land. He crossed his scar-traced arms and lowered his head slightly, black hair falling about his face. He could still see everyone in the room, but this was just more comfortable. Just then, the room rang with the sounds of a bell. The hour had turned. Midnight was approaching, just a mere hour away.

[I Am Zee]

Shuffling steps fell silently onto the soft, green grass. No softer grass nor soil had Zee ever set foot upon, than the grass and soil in a graveyard. Perhaps it was the rot from the carcasses- the festering filth left behind after the maggots and worms had their fill, that nurtured the soil and made it fruitful. Or perhaps it was something supernatural. Perhaps the souls of men were caught in the roots of the grass, as a fly is caught in a spider's web, and their souls, free from their bodies, softened the earth. Yes- surely it was the souls of men that Zee tread upon now. If that were the case, perhaps he was the lucky one. The fly who slipped through the web of the spider.

The young undead shuffled along the tombstones, his filthy hands resting in his pockets. Now that night had overtaken day, he need not hide himself. He could stroll leisurely through the gardens, as though he were just an ordinary man out for a stroll in the park.

Zee felt a loosening of his ribs and stopped in his tracks. Reaching into his coat pocket, he removed a small cloth pouch. From within the pouch he removed a small vile, filled with a clear, thin liquid. He removed the tiny cork that shielded the preservative's escape, and downed the liquid with a quick tilt of the small vile. The clear liquid worked it's magic quickly, for Zee could feel his muscles tighten again as his ribs slipped into their proper places. The young undead held worry in the back of his mind. He worried what would happen to him the day he ran out of these seemingly insignificant bottles of delay. Would he too become one with the earth beneath his feet? He shuttered at the thought, and continued on his way.

Zee had been walking for just a few moments more, when he came across yet another open grave. He peered inside, to see yet another open coffin. Though, this one was different. There were no signs of a broken entry, or exit. It was as though this one just, popped open..

That same ominous feeling overcame the young undead, and he found himself worrying about more than his own rotting body. Hastily, Zee marched on, deeper into the graveyard, deeper into the shadows. He was deep within the bows of the willows now. The darkness had overtaken him. But in the darkness he felt safer. If he could not be seen, he could not be harmed.

The young undead's footsteps came to a halt when his eyes met with a strange sight. He inched his way towards the foreign objects. Silky white strands seemed to have consumed the inner forest. From left to right, all that could be seen was a sea of white silk.

" ..What...is all this? "

[Spirit Hunters]

((This post was a bit rushed so i could get it up and keep things moving. I've been really busy the last few days but everything should be back to normal from this point out. Sorry for the inconvenience))

His body was a mockery of the miracle it once was. His heart no longer pumped life-blood through his circulatory system, and his lungs could no longer feel the midnight breeze. They were all different, the undead. A thousand different strains, some caused by disease, others by foul magics, and a slightly fewer souls just could not accept death and had to return and fulfill one last wish before they could move on to the nether-realm.

He would have been handsome in life, if nothing else. The undead stood over an unearthed grave and sniffed the air around it. The coffin lid rested on the soft earth at the figure’s feet and bore the same crest as the many tapestries within the Duke’s manor. Two golden rapiers crossed over a shield divided in four, each corner containing one emblem of the four first adventurers to discover the land of Scara Brae. The royal crest.

What the creature wanted with the body of a Scarabraian Noble one could not know from the grim scene, as the shadowed creature appeared to ponder the situation. In haunting words as the scene spiralled skyward and then descending suddenly in a copse of willows, the Prophet of Dreams spoke as he had a hundred times before.

Beware the rester that does not rest.
Four, and then one, will come before the citadel of brass.

Encounters need not end in bloodshed, but there is a time and a place for anything.
Two swords crossed ten times will spell the end of one chapter and the dawn of the next.

The dreamscape shifted away from the willows and tombstones, and a few indecipherable memories and subconscious thoughts flashed by, the waking mind unable to organize them into a picture.

Pourquoi rose from the couch with a start, the prophecy from her premonition still ringing clear in her ears. The young elf took a moment to catch her breath as she attempted to relax her mind and make sense of the cryptic dream. Even as a girl, Pourquoi was sensitive to irregularities in the flow of the balance. Great forces of light and dark called out to her, channelled through the Prophet of Dreams, a long forgotten deity whose portfolio was lost to the ages.

The young elf rubbed her subtly angled, honey-hued eyes. It was still dark, the clock in the entry hall had just struck midnight recently and the other three figures still waited for the arrival of the tardy Duke. A fourth figure had joined the gathering resting silently by the window. Another summoned by the Duke presumably, but strange in comparison to those who normally answer the call of the mercenary, and he did not outwardly appear to be part of any guild or faction.

Pourquoi’s attention was taken from the new comer as a brightly dressed lady-in-waiting entered the hall bowing politely to the guests.

“The master has not yet returned from the royal court. We know it is late, and we apologize for keeping you waiting as long as we have. There are many guest rooms on the upper level of the manor. Please accept our beds for the evening and should the master of the house not return by morning, we bid you to start your investigation on your own.”

The woman expediently retreated from the room avoiding any potential protests or gripes from her manor’s visitors and disappeared into one of the mansion’s many corridors.

Pourquoi did not miss the note of urgency in the woman’s voice as she mentioned the Duke’s absence. It was not however the Spirit Hunters mission to investigate missing Dukes. Not when something much darker lurked less than a quarter mile away.