Her first thought was to curse.
Where the hell now, I thought I was to-
Thump! She landed, sprawled in some form of oddly angular, preparation or work room. Dark stones made the walls, and the barest of good-quality candles lit up the place. Huge wooden tables were shoved against the walls, and upon them were rows and piles and hunks of dead meat. Bloody, putrid, and in varying stages of decay they seemed to be identifying this as a pantry of some sort. A strong smell of rotting flesh was thick in the air, making a horrid miasma that could have killed if one was so sensitive. Stare was reminded of Vitruvion's ability to smell different forms of magic, much in the same way that she was able to see them. His were more general, however, and she began to wonder what exactly this scent would, or could, mean.
Necromancy, he murmured.
She sighed - at least there was some comfort he was still there, and paying attention. Despite his grumpy mood, he had some intention of keeping in contact and not allowing her to die horribly in this castle which was very obviously cursed. Evidence lay in the fact that she had felt the tug of teleportation enchantments spiralling around her as she had stepped through the dark void of the doorway. Her instinct had been to assume that Vitruvion was causing it, as that is what he sometimes did. But, no, apparently it was part of the castle.
Figures, he warned.
She saw two movements. One was a lumbering individual easing his broken way through swinging doors. Freezing in her steps Stare realised that it was nothing more than a zombie. It made the idea of necromancy all the more likely, and she tried to make herself as still as possible. Perhaps his stupidity would cause him to consider her a mere decoration. Beyond that ...
There was another movement. She spied it from the corner of her eye, in the peripherole vision. Tensing, she prepared to grab her dagger when needed and fly into a killing spree, sending blood and guts wherever it was required. Keeping both figures in check she waited, anxious and awkward, the zombie and the shadow, until -
Red hair. Dark eyes. Red -
Thank the kami, she sighed. It had to be Nevin after all - her dear friend who had been the one to centre all this action. The first one to stride in through the doors of doom to this haunted place.
Still though, she did not move. Instead she kept her eyes cautiously on the awkward sack of drooping flesh that made its way to a table. The zombie still did not seem to register her existence. Rather, it did seem to be that stupid. It took a dull metal tray with a thigh of carcass on it, into its hands, then began to turn. With a despairing groan it lumbered slowly back out the way it had come, not one notice to Nevin or Stare taking place.
And then her sigh of relief could come. Spinning around, she looked at the alchemist.
"Where in the worlds are we?"
