The group of six make their way through the forest, their intermittent chatter challenged only by the crunching of the snow beneath their feet. Aside from that, the forest is completely silent. While the thrum of insects being absent is explicable, there should be some signs of life, even in this frigid environment. The occasional chatter of birds, the movement of game animals, or even just the sound of wind passing through evergreens and the skeletal remains of shrubbery help make even the winter months (or every month, for the portions of the Crown that are tundra-like) seem like there is some source of life.
Here, however, there is nothing. The trees are all basically deadwood with few branches, no shrubbery grows to leave sticks and twigs to be tussled about by the wind, and there are no animals here, no birds, and presumably even during the warmer months, no insects. The only movement apart from their own is the falling snow that drifts down from the gray heavens above.
“I get why nobody likes going outside the town walls,” Cashew says, his voice muffled by the thick layers of the scarf that wrap around his face, the hood of his cloak covering the rest of his head. His eyes are the only parts of him visible and they dart around warily, watching for some kind of movement besides the snowfall.
“It is uncomfortably chilly,” Addy says, pressing her head down into her own scarf so that it covers as much face as possible.
“I think he means that it’s creepy out here,” Dahlia corrects. While initially excited to step outside of town, she has gotten progressively less cheerful as the group have walked.
“More like both,” Cashew mutters.
“It is creepy, though,” Wren says, looking worried. “Even back home there were birds and deer and foxes and the like.”
Kaz glances down at Dahlia and remarks, “Do you still think you’ll find some new type of fungi out here?”
“There’s no death without life,” Dahlia says coldly, eyes still scanning the forest. The flatness of the remark causes a faint chill, unrelated to the cold, to run up Kaz’s spine. The little Goblin smiles and continues, “But we know there has been death here. We just have to find it and we’ll find those that feast upon it.”
Kaz shifts a bit in her heavy armor, the combination of which it and the padding layers beneath doing a decent job at keeping the cold at bay. Eager to change the subject, she asks, “Addy, what do you know about Sir Southgate? Bernadette mentioned that he was a general, right?”
“Up until he moved to this place? A lot! He was born on Fathe 17th, 1938 3E–” Addy begins rambling.
“Aw, here she goes,” Demy mutters.
“–grew up in the town of Palofa–”
“Palofa these nuts,” Cashew cackles.
“–worked his way up to general–”
“I should’ve been more specific,” Kaz says apologetically.
“–son, Andrew, died in the Battle of Vorominsk–”
“Addy, sweetie, what about info related to why he would build a mansion here?” Wren asks, trying to focus the flow of information.
“–Oh, okay!” Addy says cheerfully, thinking for a moment. She responds, “No. The most common theory is that he wanted privacy to grieve after the years of combat and loss of his son.”
“I feel like he could’ve found somewhere a little closer to home for a lot less money and effort. Kattelox is enormous; surely he could have found some unclaimed wilderness to build a house on,” Kaz reasons.
“Grief is complicated, though,” Wren says somberly. “Sometimes you don’t want to be around anything that can remind you of what you lost. You want to be as far away as possible.”
“It’s never far enough,” Demy mutters under his breath.
The group goes quiet as they reach a clearing. At the far edge of it sits Southgate Manor, enormous and imposing. It is built in a manner similar to architecture of Tarn’s Rest, made of a combination of stone drawn from the nearby mountains and wood from mainland Kattelox. There are two, perhaps three floors, with room enough for an attic space, and it is wide and long enough to fit at least four Moonpeak Inns within its walls.
A stream from the nearby mountains wraps around the back of the estate, flowing onward toward Tarn’s Rest, where it will gather enough tributaries to become the Moonbow River and flow through the center of town.
The building is still in immaculate condition, as nature has made no move to reclaim it. No weeds, no vines, no wildlife exists here upon the Heart to invade the abandoned home. Even the clearing, which constitutes the yard of the manor, shows no signs of being overgrown. It all looks, oddly enough, as if it is simply waiting for its owner to return, as if Tarn himself had simply made a day trip to town and is set to return any minute.
But that is not the case. While some windows are shuttered, a few in the front are made of glass, which are still wholly intact and uncracked. No light shines from them, however. Despite the lack of decay, in spite of its preserved state, the building does not seem particularly inviting. It is eerie and devoid of warmth and life, to the point that even though the six are standing out in the cold, unsettling silence of the forest, it takes some effort to even approach the house.
“It’s huge,” Kaz finally says as the group slowly make their way across the clearing, breaking the awed silence.
“Wasn’t it just him and maybe some servants? You’d think he was building it for his whole extended family,” Wren says, baffled.
“Nobles have to flaunt their wealth, even if it’s to no one but themselves,” Cashew says bitterly.
“This place is wrong,” Dahlia warns.
“It’s definitely creepy,” Wren admits.
“No, not just creepy. Wrong,” Dahlia corrects, brow furrowed. “How long has this place been abandoned?”
“About twelve years, give or take a few days,” Addy answers.
“There should be some decay. Weeds and the weather cause damage, insects and mold move in, stuff like that. Where are the decomposers?” Dahlia asks, frustrated.
“You said it before,” Kaz responds, eyes scanning over the exterior of the mansion carefully. “Decomposers need death. There’s no death without life. Considering nothing seems to live here, it makes sense that the entire cycle is thrown off.”
“Purgatorium,” Addy mutters.
“What’s that?” Demy asks, frowning.
“It’s a place that exists between life and death,” Wren answers.
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“We were taught that it’s a place where the soul is prepared for its final destination, where mortal impurities are removed to prepare the person for an eternity of peace or punishment,” Kaz says, running her fingers over the front of her shield, which is embossed with the symbol of her deity: Kelathorne.
The sound of a door creaking open snaps the group back to reality: One of the large wooden doors of Tarn’s manor is wide open, with Cashew standing in the entryway, looking impatient. He holds the iron key that Bernadette had given them back in town, which is supposed to open most doors within the estate.
“Come on, we got stuff needs doin’. We can debate philosophy in the cold later,” Cashew says, twirling the key between his fingers. He continues, warning the others, “The entryway is clear, but try to be quiet.”
Demy, Wren, Addy, and Dahlia file through the door dutifully–and quietly. Kaz, on the other hand, stops beside Cashew. She stares down at him and he stares back, neither breaking the gaze.
“Pretty sure that key was in my pocket,” she says flatly. “Are your sticky fingers going to be a problem during all this?”
Cashew smirks and shrugs, admitting, “Just taking the initiative, Boss. Wanted to check the door for any kind of deterrent before one of the others started feeling up the handle with their dumb paddle hands.”
Kaz raises an eyebrow as she asks, “Do you think they would have just happened to forget to mention that the front door was trapped?”
“I figure people are lying until they prove that they’re honest,” Cashew responds. “Safer that way. Besides, that half-devil lady? Totally an orphan growing up, right? I don’t trust orphans–”
“–Because they’ve got nothing to lose,” Kaz finishes.
Cashew blinks in surprise and laughs, “See, you’re not an idiot. You get it.”
“Okay, but no swiping stuff. If we’re going to work together, we need to trust one another. And I can’t trust you until you prove yourself trustworthy, right?” Kaz asks with a smile.
“Fine, fine. You got it, Boss. I’ll ask next time,” Cashew says before he tosses the key back toward Kaz, who catches it. With that, he turns and slips into the shadows of the entryway.
Kaz chuckles and shakes her head, pocketing the key once more as she mutters, “You’re killing me, Smalls.”
She steps through the dark doorway and slowly closes the door behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~
If the exterior of Tarn’s manor was surprisingly well-kept, then the interior is practically immaculate. Not only are there no signs of decay or structural damage, there doesn’t even seem to be any dust or cobwebs, nor signs of habitation from wildlife. At this point, that isn’t surprising to the six, though it still seems to upset Dahlia.
What is within the manor, though, is everything. That is, it seems like nothing is missing, from what was originally here. From pieces of art that include paintings and sculptures that adequately convey to any visitor the wealth and culture of the owner of the house, to things like a few cloaks and umbrellas sitting off to the side in a small closet, the entryway appears to be frozen in time, left as it was the day that Tarn passed away.
“You would think a place like this would be picked clean,” Wren marvels, looking around at the opulent decorations.
“Literally anywhere else, it would be,” Cashew says, inspecting one of the paintings nearby, which depicts two men posing in military attire, one older and the other younger, though both share enough similarities that they must be related.
Demy sniffs the air a little. Normally, abandoned places like this either smell of rot or have the stale smell of stagnant air, but this place smells like the air has continued to circulate. Careful not to speak too loudly, he warns the others, “Doesn’t smell cooped up like a lot of old places. Must be an opening somewhere, or something’s come through recently.”
“Bernadette said that nobody has been out here in years, that she knows of,” Kaz reminds the others.
“Allegedly,” Cashew emphasizes.
Addy steps forward, moving from the small entryway into the open foyer. A large central staircase ascends to the second and third floors; each floor has one or two sets of doors on either side, leading out from the foyer, which seems to act as the anchor to the rest of the house. A pair of large doors sit on either side of the base of the staircase; she thinks about the exterior of the house and compares it to the interior, trying to make a mental layout.
“Those doors must lead out back,” she says, motioning toward them. “Besides that, three floors, broken up into, uh… left and right.”
“West and East,” Dahlia corrects.
“I’m not good with directions,” Addy admits cheerfully.
“Three floors, broken in two sections each, so six–” Wren begins, but is sharply cut off by Kaz.
“Nope. We’re not splitting up,” she says sternly.
“Wouldn’t that be the fastest way, though?” Dahlia asks.
“Sure, but it’s the most dangerous if we run into anything,” Cashew muses.
“And if someone ends up dead, then we didn’t really save any time after all, did we?” Kaz asks rhetorically, crossing her arms.
“So we all stick together?” Demy asks.
“That seems excessive. Groups of two or three should be fine,” Cashew says.
“No, no splitting up at all,” Kaz states, standing firm.
“But that will take way longer for no reason!” Cashew whines.
“We don’t know how dangerous those creatures are,” Kaz counters.
The two argue loudly, with Demy and Wren joining in to support Cashew or Kaz, respectively. Addy and Dahlia, however, have their attention focused on the second and third floor landings of the foyer, seeing movement.
“Hey, loud people,” Dahlia hisses back at the others, gaining their attention. She points up above, where the group can see figures making their way down the stairs, others climbing over the banisters and vertically down the walls, sticking to the flat surfaces with little to no issue.
One of the figures stands at the top of the central staircase, staring down at the group. It is tall and humanoid, with a shape akin to a female, but no visible genitalia or other biological sex characteristics. It has long, scraggly hair and smooth, unblemished flesh. A pair of iris-less, soulless eyes survey the six; the creature’s neutral expression slowly shifts as it opens its mouth in a wide grin, showing rows of shark-like, serrated teeth.
“Uh, hello?” Kaz asks, slowly drawing her sword. “Can you understand us? We’re here on behalf of the captain of the guard.”
The figure opens its mouth wider, emitting a strange, inhuman sound, like a mixture of a person croaking and some kind of insectoid clicking noise. The sound echoes dozenfold within the foyer as more of the creatures answer its call. Behind the group, outside the front doors, more of the creatures begin making the shrill, alien vocalization.
“What do we do?” Wren asks through clenched teeth.
“It sounds like a dozen of ‘em, probably more,” Demy mutters, eyes darting around worriedly.
“Fighting that many in the open is suicide,” Cashew says quietly, inching toward one side of the room, toward one of the doors. Dahlia silently follows his lead, edging toward the other side of the room.
Kaz wants to argue, wants to rally the others and make a stand here against the creatures, but she has no idea what these things are or what they’re capable of. The sight of them, humanoid but somehow so far removed from being a person, coupled with their weird movements and the inhuman noises they are making, sends a chill up her spine. Every part of her body is screaming at her to run, to get away.
One of the creatures suddenly drops from above, landing in the middle of the group on all fours. It lets out a piercing shriek, awkwardly twisting its body to stand on two legs as its fingers crack and lengthen, bone piercing from its fingertips to form long, sharp claws.
This is all the incentive that Kaz needs to act.
“Run! Scatter!” She screams out, seeing the others bolt for the doors on either side of the room. In horror, she sees that Addy is not moving at all, standing perfectly still and just staring at the creature, frozen in place. Kaz moves quickly, grabbing the Elf with her arm and hefting her off her feet, bolting toward the nearest door. She can see Cashew holding the door open, frantically gesturing for her to hurry.
“They’re talking! I recognize some of it!” Addy cries out, but doesn’t resist as Kaz drags her away from the creatures.
“Live first, think later!” Kaz says admonishingly, seeing the strange humanoids scrambling to catch up to her. One, two–no, five, six of the things, from all sides, scrabbling down the walls, from the dark corners of the room, all clicking and croaking as their claws clack on the hard wooden surfaces.
With one final heave, she leaps through the doorway, holding onto Addy tightly. Cashew slams the door as soon as she is through, plunging the three into complete darkness.
Several bodies slam against the door, screaming and clawing at the wood.
Despite all odds, the door holds.
Then there is silence, leaving the three in a sensory void with only the blood pounding in their ears and the cold uncertainty of if the other three were lucky enough to get away as well. Addy sums the situation up rather succinctly as she softly says:
“Jeepers.”