And there I was, silent as death. Which was easy to know of because I had no memory of death. Therefore I knew it to be very silent indeed.

Around me was a forest of shadows and twisted trees. Harsh spires rose to the sky and let little light to the floor below. The ground was a carpet of dead leaves, that crunched beneath foot if you stood on them, but I was careful. The trees themselves were cruel shapes, taking in the emotions and emboding the land of which they were a part. It felt as if they had a stern interest in poking holes in the universe and declaring themselves master when others really were.

Such as the gods of the land, the demon lord rulers and the kings. The Tular Plains were such that no one power existed, though some might contest that. What I had found in my time here that each devil, each dark spirit and vampire (and so on) had his claim, and there was simply too many of them for one to be declared true leader. I served under Sabazios, admittedly a lower demon but still one who had a temple and followers. Vindrexis was merely a friendly half-god who had hung around Sabazios for slightly longer than was polite.

In a way it was his temple now, and in a way he was the one truly in charge. But none, not even me, his trusted creation, dared to raise that. Because ... Because of many things.

From what I understood and had gathered, Vindrexis Quansaldo had come in the quiet of a night and made his place in the temple. One day he had appeared, striding right in as if he owned the temple and began to talk. He had told Sabazios of the truth of his people and their desires and that had been that. The half-god had stayed because it was now his home. He had made it so.

There were mixed opinions from the villagers, but they seemed to keep their negative views from me when talking direct to my face (not that I did mucb talking back). Instead the darker thoughts I overheard in the mutterings in the single pub of the village, which was really just someone's back room. I had still not told Vindrexis. The reason why I had not was to do with their lives. I feared at what he might do. If he ever asked me directly about their opinions, of course I would answer honestly, as my loyalty to him bade me. But for now it was secret from him.

I trudged over dead soil like a ghost who should not exist. After about three hours of walking I began to see the shimmers of firelight between the trees. Keeping my naginata close I set off towards the trail of charcoal - the most common smell of a camp. My nostrils twitched, trying to decide for a moment if the burnt scent was death or actually something on fire. As I gained nearer, I began to see a defined outline of people, and flames, with curves picking out the beings from the trees.

Still I remained quiet, and I took pause before deciding how best to approach this. I could try and watch from the shadows, determine if this group was the one I desired, or climb a tree and listen to them talk. I could wait for time to pass, and see if more came, or scout in a wider berth and ensure this was the area near the castle. Decisions were hard, and I knew I was alone and so only had myself to ask advice from.

I took a few more steps and began to hear murmuring. Many voices, perhaps six or so, intermingled together of various genders, races and ages. It would take some concentration to determine which was which. They were like a small hub-bub of the hoi-polloi.

Taking two silrnt steps forwards was the furthest I dared without being detected by normal mortal means. I now stood roughly twenty metres from the fire. It took me that long to realise the ghost of a giant castle on the horizon, rising above the campfire on a small, gradual, upwards slope. As I paused and looked at it a smile came to my eyes, knowing that I had to be at the right place.

Here were the people, there was the gothic palace of doom.