Once again walking back the way they came, the group walked slowly and cautiously. Their faces told of their anger, and while they walked through the many disfigured corpses of the feral Bloodsuckers, not even Bart felt regret for the sight. The revelation of Duncire in the castle, it had taken away those emotions that came with empathy. Rage ran through the group which had come in search of simple answers. They marched in silence.
Walking back up the long winding staircase, their thoughts were focused on Duncire. Hidden away, carelessly allowed to be the victim of the feral Bloodsuckers. Were his parents regretful of such a hideous appearance? Did they have a grand purpose as to the obvious disregard? What purpose so great could have given them the right to leave the village Bloodsuckers in ignorance and pain, for five hundred years?
They wanted to believe in the possibility that they were ignorant to the plight outside, but Duncire who had never even left the castle had seen the mercenaries and the kidnapping of Bart. Although he had not been aware of the greater situation, he knew they were suffering, and he ordered those simple creatures to find a way to help. The lord of the castle had done no such thing, nor his wife. Instead, they sat in abject apathy. Could any other interpretation be true?
As they walked up the stairs and back through the corridor to the main hall, they each took notice that the sun had set. They had been in the castle far longer than anticipated, due to their various battles and interspersed rests.
Prose was the first to speak of the group after they had left Duncire. “It seems we missed the day, Bart. I’d say your lord may be asleep but… It seems that him ruling over the day has no real meaning anymore does it?” A sharp remark, calling to his people’s misattribution.
Bart took no offense, only responding coldly. “Even if he were, we’d wake him. He must answer. He has no right to dispute an audience.” Any feeling that he had of the sanctity that his peoples progenitor carried, was now covered by the ever present veil of scrutiny.
The group continued on in silent agreement to Bart’s words. When they come back to the main hall, Epim looks at where they came into the castle. “It’s good that your people are afraid of the castle, Bart. They won’t send a search party for us. We can act as we please, when we find out the truth.” The implicit meaning of the words made Prose’s eyebrow raise, but he shrugged it off. He knew Epim was not a man of intrinsic violence, he was simply allowing himself to express the depths of the feeling that ran through him.
Still, Prose took note. He wouldn’t allow Epim to sully himself with an act of wanton violence, though of course he understood why he was thinking of such a thing.
The group headed deep into the heart of the castle, making their way to the castle where their goal awaited. Now, a winding staircase, much more grand than the one going down into the dungeon, lay before them.
Again in silent agreement, they made their way upwards. The Shade took the front, Prose flew close behind, his eyes scanning the walls quickly. Epim and Bart walked behind, their anticipation rising. Soon, they would have their answer.
The staircase came to its end, revealing a large room with a singular door. Windows lined the sides of the tower, allowing a generous amount of moonlight to light the room. There was no torchlight lighting the area, and yet still somehow no darkness took hold. The moonlight illuminated it all.
Standing in front of the door was a woman, a beautiful one. She stood tall, regal. She had gray eyes which were illuminated by the moonlight, instantly calling the group's intention to it. Her hair was white, it fell to her sides. Each strand of hair seemed groomed, and they combined into the beautiful flow that accentuated her frame. She stood tall, though it was obvious even through her thick golden raiments. Down the left side of the robe she wore, an image of a woman offering a heart to a dragon existed in a white stylistic ink. Her face was sullen, a great degree of pain hid behind her eyes.
It drew pity, certainly. It was an expression that could be refined through a lifetime and more of pain. For a moment, all the wants of aggression they had vanished.
Prose excluded, for his eyes paid no heed to the pride of a singular person. Instead, the masterwork of an enchantress entered his eyes. All along the room, sigils and symbols were inscribed lightly on the stone, invisible to the non observant eye. All the weapons flew off the Shade’s body, piercing all around the room without hesitation. They sunk in, destroying the delicate craftwork of magic on the walls and ceiling.
Her face nearly stayed the same throughout this show; however, she was the object of attention, and the slightest fear slipping into her eyes was not missed by any.
Prose flew upwards, bowing in the air. “My name is Prose, I’ve set the stage so we can have a peaceful talk.” Pompously.
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The Shade does not react, staring at the door in simple patience. Epim and Bart both wish immediately to solve what plagued them so.
“Miede, my name. You’ve met my son. You wish to meet my husband.” Her voice seems to strike the soul, the body was forced to give her attention. “But you can’t. He is sick. Visitors aren’t allowed.”
Prose’s wings shook in an odd non synchronous way, though they quickly steady. Bart shakes his head, feeling an otherworldly pull. Epim threw his hand forwards in an emotive sweep, catching the attention of the two as his voice raised. “We will! You may answer our questions and delay it, but we will still speak to him.”
She narrowed her eyes, turning her full attention to Epim. “And what question… may that be?”
Bart sprang forward, to her surprise. His voice left his mouth, uncorked and primed with a long sealed pressure. “Why! Why did you seal the gate five hundred years ago, and cast us all out!” Although the case of Dunire pained him so, the legacy of his people could not be ignored.
She looked at him in silence, and turned her head upwards.”Our son was born. Did you not see it for yourself?”
Epim nearly called forth his scythe and struck forwards, the answer grating his ears. Prose through his hand out first though.
“How about this, Gatekeeper Miede.” Her eyes flickered at this title, and her reserved look nearly breaks. “Speak the full story, brief as you like but with no lack of detail. We’ll answer your riddle, as moral or not, and you’ll let us through or we’ll break through.”
She scans the room, taking them all in. Her eyes stop on the Shade and Epim, and she sighs outwards. Her breath is visible, something that differs greatly.
“Our son was born sick. Struck by disease since birth, it was something vile. We thought it was dangerous. We sealed him away and sent you out, to protect-” Her voice quivered, as a blade had flown up to her neck. Prose looks her in the eye, his red eyes dull and unemotive. “We sent you out, afraid of the sickness as an omen. We sent you out to quarantine, both you and ourselves.”
The logic did not hurt Bart, it was an answer that felt right to his sensibilities, that is, his sensibilities that had come from his long life in the village. Now, his experiences in the castle proved that there still was a greater darkness to be spoken of.
She continued on. “And then, we learned what could curb my child’s sickness. The very same thing that gave you all life, my husband’s blood.”
Prose eyes opened in shock. The blade staggered in the air, dangerously close to her neck, but it stopped itself. The answer was shocking to the group as a whole, but it seemed specifically to strike Prose to a greater extent than the others.
As the blade staggered in the air, Miede’s eyes caught his shock. She continued, her voice drawing their attention back.
“Of course, he would pay any cost, and he was a man with great vitality, he believed he could. For a time, there was peace here. Truthfully, my husband cares for the Bloodsuckers. He didn’t want the sickness to spread, and we had determined that it very well could.”
She paused, Prose’s eyes had returned to hers. He was searching for something in her eyes, and it unnerved her.
“As time went on, my husband grew weaker and weaker. Of course, it was inevitable. Bleeding himself by the day, more and more to satisfy our growing son. I could see his death approaching, and with him gone, our son would die.” She lowered her head, the blade being forced to move itself in an effort to avoid cutting her.
She closed her eyes. “So, I made a choice. To continue my husband’s life, I would pay any price, make any deal. At any cost.” Her eyes opened, and Prose felt his wings freeze in midair. His control over the blade slipped from him, and so did his ability to fly as he plummeted towards the ground. His limbs wouldn’t respond to him, her eyes seemed to have grabbed onto his very essence.
He hit the ground with a thud, the group was unable to react as they too felt the pressure, though not to the extent Prose did. “I destroyed the symbols…” Prose muttered.
“It's folly to believe your power is omnipresent.” She spoke as arrogant as he did. “You allowed a line right back to yourself, and you think people wouldn’t take advantage? Foolish.” She turned to the other three, preparing to deal with them as well. She was considerably shocked as the Shade’s fist closed in on her face.
She tilted her head slightly, and the Shade missed by a hair. It tried to pivot and deliver another punch, not a lethal one, but before it could Miede’s hand landed on its side. “Sleep, for now.” Its eyes went dark, and its body fell to the ground with a thud. Miede turned her eyes to Bart and Epim now. Epim had taken a position in front of prose, who was still on the ground undergoing paralysis.
Bart stood still, his teeth clenching together. His body felt heavy, and his mind cloudy. It seemed like Miede’s voice echoed inside his head. She compelled him, ordered him to claw at Epim and tear the throat out of Prose. He felt his claws extend on their own, he felt his primal instinct begin to take over. And he was going to give in to it, until the words of Epim dispelled it with a simple word.
“Attack all you want, your story is incomplete! Coward! Are you so uncertain of your own actions you have to stop us from even hearing the truth!?”
Anger flared in her eyes, and a loud shrieking could be heard from outside. Two feral Bloodsuckers smash their way into the room through the windows, quite a big bigger than the previous ones. They were taller than Epim, they’re forearms bulged with oversized muscle, and their teeth too were quite a bit larger and sharper than others.
Bart quickly closed the distance to Epim’s side, willing to protect him with his life. The temporary control and temptation Miede had over him was dispelled, and if he ever felt it again he prepared to take his own life were he to even think of harming his own companions.
The monolithic feral Bloodsuckers closed, and Epim called his scythe to him. It took his ephemeral form, and his eyes squinted, focusing on the one in front of him. There was no question in his mind the one behind him would kill Bart without a second thought, and while he wished to prevent that, he was unsure if he could prevent the same from happening to himself.
And he felt the most danger from Miede, for even though she only stood in front of the door with no motion, he felt as if he were in the palm of her hand in the face of those cold, emotionless gray eyes.