“As the great Fort Bloodspire drew ever near,

We struggled with our rising fear.

In nightmares, I often still recall,

That which dwelt within its walls.”

“So what do we all think of the castle?” Garassk asked. “Abandoned? Haunted?”

“Damned if I know,” Rathorn grunted. “If the castle is really abandoned, then the worst of what we’ve been told is probably just superstitions that peasants made up. If there’s someone in there, then he’s doing a poor job of protecting his people. Passage to the castle should be safer than this.”

“Unless he doesn’t want people coming to the castle,” Garassk said. “Maybe we should keep going. Surely there’s somewhere more inviting we could bed for the night.”

“We’re here now,” Rathorn snorted. “We’re not checking somewhere else. There’s no time for that.”

“Famous last words,” Garassk mumbled.

“Perhaps we should take some care to hide our fortunes before we enter,” Rathorn said. “I don’t know what’s waiting for us in there, but I don’t trust it.”

“What do you mean?” Arra asked.

“If the lord of the castle thinks we have money, then he’ll likely try to extort us,” Rathorn explained, turning to Garassk. “Garassk, hide the pommel of that sword. And the coins too. If there’s anyone in that castle, I don’t want them to think that we have anything of value. Best let them think that we’re just travelers or mercenaries that are down on our luck. They’ll want our weapons at the door, of course, but we don’t have to give them our money.”

“Right,” Garassk said, sneaking the pommel and coins into the inside of his gambeson. He then put the sword on the ground, and pressed down, repeating the process on the other side, until the whole sword was coated with dirt. He looked up to notice Arra looking at him with a confused look on his face.

“It will be easier to sell that we have nothing of value if the sword doesn’t look impressive,” he explained, returning it to its sheath.

“Oh,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

The city walls towered above them as they drew closer. Every inch of them looked to be coated in rust, and the gate looked no better. Rathorn pounded it with a fist, and Garassk was surprised that he didn’t punch right through the other side. What didn’t surprise him was the silence and inactivity that followed.

“I’m beginning to think that Arra was right,” he said. “Looks like there’s no one home.”

The door let out an ear-splitting creak and opened.

“Or maybe there is someone on the other side,” Rathorn said.

“I’m not sure that that sounds better,” Garassk muttered, sauntering in after his crippled companion. A hairy, but well-dressed man stood before them.

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“So good of you to arrive,” he said in a barking voice.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Garassk asked.

“This way please,” the man said, beckoning them forward without answering the question. Garassk wanted to press the matter, but a faint feeling kept him from doing so. He tensed up and stepped forward.

The inside of the town wasn’t any less unsettling than the forest and village outside of it. A thin fog obscured most of it, and nobody seemed to be doing anything outside anyway. Much like the village, nobody seemed to even be there. There was a small path that had no fog around it. It was like some unseen force was trying to make sure that travelers went exactly where it wanted them to go.

“Am I the only one who feels like there’s something leading us to the castle?” Garassk asked.

“No, I feel it too,” Rathorn said.

“Agreed,” Arra said.

“Good. Just so long as we all agree on that much before whatever is in there tries to kill us,” Garassk said.

It didn’t take them long to reach the castle itself. Fort Bloodspire was a daunting sight. It seemed to get narrower at the top. The individual towers hung off the sides of the main fortress, all of them pointed spires. The castle itself looked like it wore a crown. The gates swung open, beckoning them in. Wind whistled around as they entered the castle, and cold hugged Garassk’s body closely.

“Weapons please,” their guide said. Garassk and Arra dropped their sword and bow to the ground without a word.

“I wish to make an exception for my club,” Rathorn said, tapping it on the ground a few times. “I use it as a walking stick, and won’t be able to move, otherwise.”

The man glared for a few minutes. Garassk thought he heard a faint growl before he finally spoke.

“Very well,” the man said. “You may keep that. The rest wait at the entrance.”

The three of them gave their weapons to their attendant, as asked, creating a large pile on the floor.

“Now then, follow me,” the man said. He turned around and guided them through the rest of the castle. Garassk didn’t know how many peasants had actually been in the castle, but the interior lent a lot of credibility to the idea that it had been abandoned. Cobwebs adorned the walls, but he neither saw nor tasted evidence that a single spider was among them. Dust clouded every layer of the castle, and their footsteps echoed through the halls.

He knew that they’d finally reached their destination when they entered the main hall, the only place in the castle with any signs of life. He tasted the scent of food long before they were in the room, but still staggered at the sight of the feast at the table. The man seated at the head of the table was the only other person to be seen.

“My lord,” their escort said. “I bring guests.”

“Very good, Lycaon,” the man said in a faint whisper. “Leave us.”

“There’s something you should know,” the man said. The lord waved him forward. The hairy man approached the lord, and leaned close to whisper something in his ear. Garassk thought he heard the words “club” and “wood,” but couldn’t hear enough of the conversation to piece together any importance. The man glanced briefly at the three newcomers. His gaze gave off the impression of a cat or hawk observing prey before hunting. Finally, he spoke.

“Very good,” he said. “I will deal with that when the time comes. You are dismissed for now.”

Lycaon bowed and walked off. Where he went, Garassk could only guess, but he clearly wasn’t meant to be part of the feast. The lord at the table turned to look at the newcomers.

“Hi,” Garassk said, raising a claw awkwardly to wave.

“Welcome,” the lord said in a deep resonant voice that shouldn’t have been as loud as it was. “I am Lord Victor Zaroth. It has been a long time since I’ve had visitors.”

He beckoned toward the table.

“You must have come a long way to reach my castle. You are, no doubt, tired and hungry. Come. Seat yourselves. For tonight we feast. Tomorrow is when the fun really begins.”