Hello, Everyone!
Did you see the post about the upcoming Q&A? We're waiting for your questions!
How are you doing? I'm still recovering from the intense encounter with Correlon Entivio, a.k.a. Kloth, a.k.a. the-person-responsible-for-Mary-almost-dying-(twice!) Last time, our heroes managed to finish Correlon off and dispel the necromantic ritual he’d started.
When everything was done, the elven forces flooded the scene, Tiriel Elainre started giving orders, and Balaine Endoras came to our heroes to find out what happened. After a brief conversation, they headed out to try and find the elven maidens that were (hopefully) still alive somewhere in Kloth’s laboratory.
Entivio's home was just as cold and depressing as the first time they visited it. One of the keys Bruno'd found was able to unlock the front door and they entered, undisturbed. The latches clanked on the inside of the door and Mary remembered thinking how weird it was for an elf to lock their home so thoroughly.
Now that they knew more about his crimes, it made a lot of sense.
They walked through the dark corridor and, passing by the covered mirror, Mary took the drapes off. Maybe there was a hidden entrance behind it.
Instead, a horrible sight met her eyes. A ghostly-pale girl with dark circles under her eyes and blood on her… everywhere… stared at her, terrified.
But it wasn't a ghost.
It was her.
Mary stared at her reflection, unable to look away. She ran her hand on her neck, hovering over the wound where the undead had bitten off a good chunk of her flesh. This was going to be a permanent mark on her body. Mary blinked a few times, trying to process that, but then someone called out. They'd found a secret tunnel in the pantry.
It was just a hole in the ground, straight down, with a ladder bolted to the wall. Without hesitation, Balaine Endoras jumped straight in.
Mary and her friends couldn’t do that. The impact itself would finish them off. Instead, they climbed down the ladder, and even that was exhausting. Mary didn't want to think how she was going to go back up.
The tunnel they ended up in was tall but narrow, small tree roots showing through the dirt. They were all white, as if drained of their colour. About fifty yards later, they reached a stone-covered room. It had a desk and a bookcase, but almost all of the floor was being taken up by a big ritual circle.
"Don't step into the circle," Mary said, almost by habit.
Three smaller circles were inscribed into the big one, and one of them was thickly covered with dark stains – the dried up blood of many, many people.
There were three openings coming out of this room. One of them was blocked by iron bars. Through them, the eyes of countless undead were following their every movement. Men, women and even children. They were just… standing there, one next to another, cramped in a space that would be too small for them if they were living. It was as if they were waiting for an order that would never come.
Until now, Mary hadn't realized the toll the undead attacks had taken. In Pamagos, Captain Roche had told them that there were a lot of victims, but she never imagined...
She felt her hands grow colder.
The second door was heavy and made of metal. It had two flaps installed on its surface – one on eye level and another set down by the floor. It looked like a prison cell.
Inside, they found the kidnapped girls. Lying in their own filth, hands shackled above their heads, they looked weak and malnourished. One of them, who was still conscious, raised her head and stared at them in disbelief.
While the guards that accompanied the party were breaking the chains and carrying the girls out, Balaine Endoras led the rest of them into the third room.
The smell of death there was atrocious. Mary’s stomach turned, but, covering her mouth and nose, she managed to hold it in.
Corpses. Many, many corpses lay on the floor. Judging by the markings on their bodies, they had been turned into undead, and then just… dumped.
Two very familiar caskets stood in the far end of the room, and beside them, tied up to a heavy chair, was an elf they didn't know.
He looked tired and bruised, his hands scraped from pulling against the ropes that bound him. His mouth was stuffed with some cloth, and when they removed the gag, he started screaming, in a terrified voice. It wasn’t his fault, he pleaded. The creature had said that he was going to be the next Maquiel. But it wasn’t him, he didn’t do anything, please, please, please… Balaine Endoras kneeled to his side and whispered something in Elvish. Relief spread over the man’s face.
“Let’s check the coffins,” Bruno said. “There might be something of use inside.”
Mary swallowed hard. She didn’t want to see her parents’ faces again. They’d looked like they were sleeping.
(What she wouldn’t give to see them wake up!)
No. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. Lilly and Bramble were her family. She didn’t even know Dalia and Halas. She couldn’t feel a loss, because there was nothing she had lost. Right?
(Then why was there a lump in her throat?)
“We already know what’s in the caskets,” she said flatly. “We don’t need to check again.”
Bruno looked at her with compassion but opened the lids nevertheless. Mary averted her eyes.
Right then, out of the next room, a creaking noise came, almost immediately followed by a loud metal clank. They rushed out and found one of the elven girls, eyes wide with fright, wordlessly pointing at the room she’d been held in.
Oh, my! Such a creepy place, and filled with so much death and horror! I hope Mary doesn’t start having nightmares again.
Don’t forget to ask your questions for the upcoming Q&A!
See you next time! Until then,
Take care and be well!
(Also, here's a link to the Chapter Guide and the Glossary for the series. You're welcome!)
An important disclaimer: These are my notes from a D&D game turned into a narrative. All the worldbuilding and NPC encounters belong to our DM, and all the actions of the other main characters (Aurum and Bruno) belong to my co-players. My contribution to the story is only everything Mary-related (actions, reactions, inner thoughts), as well as the writing itself.