He had, in fact, left halfway through their conversation, using the Soul-seed ritual to disguise the creation of an illusory double whilst he hitched a ride on one of the innumerable ley lines that the mansion was built on a crossroads of. They were not literal lines as many interpreted, but rather powerful currents of essentia somewhere between the material world and the Sea of Fog - in this case, and in most cases of their use for travel, Aer. In moments he would reach the next leyline intersection, upon which an ancient and - to the mortals of this world - poorly understood stone circle of his own making stood. A gate, which he would traverse to a warded endpoint in Willowdale’s underground.
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The great doors swung open without so much as another touch, beyond them an entry hall of appropriate grandeur and monumentality. A polished granite floor without so much as a speck of dust, somehow. Pillars all along the length of the hallway, the walls painted carmine-red and bearing horse-head themed, albeit simple lightgem-holders, the ceiling only truly ending where the roof demanded it to.
It wasn’t all carvings and statues, but somehow, the lack of opulent detail only added to the grandeur of it - to build something so great without falling into excess. The only things granted great detail here were the statues of horse-headed warriors that flanked each door out of the hallway - two each on the side walls, and a larger one at the end of it.
Knowing well how long this place would likely take to explore, that it likely held centuries of arcane legacy - and thus arcane hazards to go with it - she simply walked in, looked around for a bit while catching her breath, taking a moment to stash the key in Fog Storage… Five minutes. Not a second longer would she spend here, if only to create an air of anticipation amongst the spectators.
So it was that Zelsys ventured further into the hall, pulling out her watch, that she might keep track of time. Without any particular sense of urgency she strode through the hall, reaching the door at the other side, and past it, there was yet another hall, one much smaller in square footage but possessed of an upper floor to which led a double staircase. Architecturally similar though it was, this room was decorated in a manner more alike to what Zel had expected.
Statues and relic-filled displays all but lined the walls, not to mention opulent carpets and the tapestry of a rearing black horse which hung from the top layer, overhanging a set of double doors at the room’s far end. Unlike every other door within sight, these doors were sealed - in the most literal sense. No less than half its surface was covered by dozens, perhaps hundreds of seals at least five times the size and complexity of any she’d seen, spreading over even the walls near the door.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
In the center was one particularly long seal, effectively stretching from the top of the doorframe to the floor, covered in ominous symbology that converged on a single elaborate glyph enclosed within a circle, overlaid over the door’s handles.
Zelsys approached the door, taking in the atmosphere of her soon-to-be home.
It was all so…
Quiet.
Not merely in the absence of excess noise, but utterly devoid of outside sounds - even those that should echo in from outside.
As she neared those doors, the glyphs came alive - the writing on the smaller seals shone lilac, whilst that on the large one was… Black, somehow, yet it glowed, and it made her eyes hurt to look at it directly. Just like staring into the light of the Philosopher’s Heart, she thought. A door lighting up at her approach was a familiar sight by all accounts, ominous though it was.
Some outside force prodded at her mind, wordlessly implying that the door would open if she used the key.
There was something in there. Something important.
Something she didn’t have the time to deal with right now.
Back out the doors, back through the hall, and swaggering out those great doors she went.
“Entry ceremony or not, festivities are no time to go rooting around in dusty old scrolls!” she proclaimed. She quietly added, “...And I’d rather have my gun back before I risk fighting another horse-headed statue.”
The crowd all but erupted into revelry, the raucous noise only amplified by the band’s redoubled performance. When they had slipped into what had been effectively instrumental background music akin to that used in theatre, they now reverted to the same pulse-pounding rhythms and impactful vocals that had helped Zelsys focus in her battle with the golem.
She was greatly relieved to see that the crowd did not spill any further into the sect grounds, in fact most of it flowed out of and away from the courtyard once the spectators had gotten what they had come to see, and now sought to make their way either out of this place, deeper into the markets, or perhaps to the stage to watch the show. Despite the downright eclectic atmosphere of it all, Zel’s chief concern lay with getting the remains of her gun back.
Zefaris was, however, three steps ahead, having retrieved its remains whilst Zel had been busy with the entrance part of the entrance ceremony. Besides being torn clear off the harness and the wooden furniture being destroyed, the metal sections of the gaunt-cannon were undamaged, thoroughly fouled though they were with soot and unburned gunpowder.
“It’s as good an excuse as any to have a better harness made,” Zel said as she put the gaunt-cannon’s remains into storage.
“Ideally one with proper armor so you don’t get your arm bitten off again stuffing the gun down some monster’s throat,” Zef chuckled, fiddling with a small stack of photographs that were still giving off small silver wisps. The fotoapparat was securely in a leather case hanging by a shoulder strap at Zef’s waist, one that the beast-slayer hadn’t realized must’ve come with the device.