Lord Omanes' gaze wandered around the walls impassively, reading the scrawling left there by the late High Mage. He swung to face Arathua, Captain of the Guards.
“And this has been verified?”
“Yes my Lord, by both of them.” The Captain replied, gesturing towards the two sorcerers in the corridor outside. Both had vomited and one still lent against the wall dry-heaving while the other had recovered his composure, although he was still pale.
Omanes read the message again.
‘He is coming.
He is coming.
Warn them, He is coming.’
The message adorned the wall opposite the door, and was scored into the rock with magic. A foot below it was another, drawn by an appendage heavily covered in blood.
‘He is here.’
It seemed the High Mage had come under sudden attack, so powerful that his layered wards began to break, the force of holding them tight almost literally tearing him apart before he had burst inside and finished the job. What was truly frightening was the fact that both messages had been written by the High Mage, and Arathua could barely imagine the force required to so damage a man even before he was physically touched.
Yes, that was the truly frightening thing, Arathua thought as hard as he was able, Not what was in the room, oh God of Mercy let me forget. He had thought that he had seen the worst injuries and scenes of carnage in his long career as a soldier, but he had been wrong. Horribly wrong. He had not believed there was that much blood in any one human being, not even in two or three, as was suggested by the amount of various limbs found discarded around the chamber.
Omanes swept the room with his stern gaze once more, then turned and began striding down the hallway, his bodyguards Zain and Faction on either side of him, eyes alert and hands on sword hilts, Arathua following behind at a respectful distance.
“Arathua, have the Castle evacuated, send every man you have to rearguard when we leave.” Omanes snapped out, thinking rapidly as he walked. “If they can kill my most powerful Mage, this war is already lost.” He stopped suddenly at an intersection and nodded to Arathua. “Captain, set things into motion. Keep everyone calm, our retreat must be precisely pla – .”
“Sire, please wait a moment!” Omanes frowned as the slightly overweight priest approached at a run – he disliked being cut off, even by a man of the Cloth.
“Yes Father, what is it?” He asked impatiently.
“It is not necessary for us to leave.” The priest huffed, trying to catch his breath. “The daemon-worshippers summoned one of their foul leaders to the High Mages room, but all other areas of the Castle are protected by blessings of the Lord our God. The daemon itself will have gone back to the hell from whence it came, having gluttoned itself on those poor souls.
“However,” he continued hesitantly. “there is still the presence of evil within the Castle walls. It is possible that members of the Order have infiltrated us and are poised to strike at any time.
Omanes rocked back on his heels, stared into the distance for a moment.
“Very well, new orders. Arathua, gather up everyone not in the ranks and bring them to the Hall of Justice. We shall have to kill the suspicious ones until there is no longer a stench of Evil. Father, I shall need you and your Brother’s help in sanctifying the late High Mage’s rooms, as they seem to be our only weakpoint. I shall address everyone in an hour.”
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"Loyal subjects, I have called you here because of a great calamity facing us. Not only must we worry about the daemon-worshippers at the far end of the pass, we must now also worry about them right here within our very walls!”
Omanes scanned the crowd from his dais, looking for any sign that an infiltrator might give away. But amidst the worried movement and muttered conversations, he only saw plain-garbed mercenaries, a handful of robed magic users, a few scurrying pages and here and there the plate-armoured form of a Knight of the Realm.
“I am afraid to saw I do not know each of you well enough to discern whether your loyalty has been bought or if your hearts are full of betrayal, yet hopefully your peers can. Therefore, to combat this menace, you shall vote on one person to be killed each day, until that taint of evil no longer stains our fair Castle.”
Omanes stared down at the silent crowd of horrified faces for a moment longer before turning and entering his personal chambers.
“Begin…” He said quietly, voice carrying to each man in the hall.
A second before the door slammed closed behind him the ‘discussion’ started – shouts of innocence and cries of accusation thankfully dimmed by the thick, steel-band oak door.
Re: The Castle
Originally Posted by Beskar
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