“It appears that the banshee has returned, It is out there, waiting...for you.”
Lord Ambrose did not like the sound of this, A banshee meant many things in Terrin folklore, Good luck was not one of these things. Lord Ambrose’s Sea Green eyes glanced around the courtyard which was brilliantly lit by lanterns and nighthawks at one point, but it was all pitchblack now, the darkness of the night made his skin crawl, goosebumps formed on his skin, he could not see at all and then, above him, a grey light appeared, The Banshee said to Ambrose in a shrieking voice. “SAVE THEM! SAVE THEM!” Ambrose covered his ears as he flinched. “Who am I to save?!” Ambrose yelled to the banshee.
The Banshee flew up in the air and disappeared into the cloudy night. Ambrose let out a sigh of relief and rest and turned to walk back in the corridors, as the large wooden door shut behind him, the loudness of the door shutting echoed through the empty halls, filled with emptiness and sound. The wax from the candelabras dripped onto the floor and onto Ambrose’s light blue cape, he huffed as he walked even faster down the hall, the long ornate carpet covering the cold stone floor on which Ambrose walked went all the way down to the end.
At long last, he reached the end of the hall, as he opened the wooden door, the cold metal door knob creaked and squeaked which rang throughout the corridors. “It has happened again, Eckhart!” He said as he shut the door behind him, in a quick manner. The figure that was hidden behind a leather bound book shut it with a dusty thump, revealing a bearded brunette haired man with green eyes as Ambrose walked in. “I shall write it down then.” He opened the desk drawer, on which he rested his arms upon, and got out an ink holder and placed it upon the desktop with a small tap from the ink holder as it made contact. Next was the quill, he got it out with a piece of parchment. Ambrose paced back and forth in the room, the room was well lit by candlelight from the candelabra up on the ceiling, and of course the candles that rested upon the table.
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“3rd Blindman’s Moon, on Juniper fourteenth. The banshee was out in the courtyard again, it spoke to me as usual, but this time it said to me ‘Save them’ ‘Save them’ it repeated this twice. I asked ‘Who am I to save?’ and the Banshee did not answer me. It merely floated away into the grey clouds of the night...Did you write that down, Eckhart?” Ambrose said as he stopped pacing and looked at Eckhart with his left brow raised. “Every last word.” Eckhart said as he put the quill back into the inkholder where it rested. “What could this all mean Eckhart, Is it the ghost of Iago coming to haunt me? I’ve done no wrongs, Why do the gods damn me with such an accursed creature?”
Eckhart looked at him with a rather concerned look, he thought to himself ‘Was Ambrose a mad man?’
All that Eckhart managed to utter was “I cannot think of anything or anyone that would curse you, My lord.” Ambrose paced around the red spiral carpet once more. “It could be...It could be anyone! Could be our neighboring countries! Custril, Iscath, E-even--” He stuttered “It could even be the Katashi clan in the south!”
Eckhart shook his head. “I doubt any of them would want to curse you, Lord Ambrose.”
Eckhart looked up to the clock, the hour hand struck ‘II’ and then he stood up from his wooden chair, the chair creaked as he stood up. “It is the middle of the night, My Lord. Good Night.” Eckhart left the room, and Ambrose stood there with his hands placed on his hips.
Two was such an odd number to stop writing at, everything seemed odd to Ambrose at this moment, he was alone, afraid, anxious, it was only a matter of time before he was driven mad.
Everything seemed to move slow, the ticking of the clock, the tapping of his foot against the carpeted floor, he had to do something about this whole debacle.