The Castle - B2

"I had expected fangs around my neck before long…" Gregory groans, for the benefit of whoever may or may not be there in the dark with him. He had been expected to have his throat ripped out by some awful, leonine avatar of Memnon. But this…

All the man wants to do is rub some warmth into himself; to pull his cloak and robes around his icy skin and massage life back into his body!

The candlelight… To feel the warmth of that candle on his skin was the one thing the man could focus on in the moment. He shakes at his bonds to see if they are worth attempting to break out of.

"Anyone there?…" he offers to the darkness! Before waiting for a response, he wrenches downwards on his bindings, trying to break free.

Frac opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the gloom. His breath catches in his throat as he feels the cold metal cuff around his wrist and the dull ache from hanging for who knows how long. His thin goblin frame dangles awkwardly, barely brushing the surface of the dark water below. His breath echoes off the damp stone walls as he surveys his surroundings, ears twitching to catch any sound beyond the steady drip of water and the faint snoring.

The air reeks of mold and rot, stinging his sensitive nose, and a chill creeps up from the murky water below, making his skin prickle. His large yellow eyes flicker to the single dim candle flickering outside the cell. It barely illuminates anything, casting long, sinister shadows across the broken bars. Frac can just make out the uneven stones of the floor beneath the water, though nothing else is clear.

The corrosion on the fetter holding him catches his eye, and he tilts his head slightly, inspecting it. Would he be able to grab the fetter and free himself without falling? As he was thinking about it, he hears a voice.
"I am here!" - answers Frac. - "Who are you?". He looks around.

Slowly coming to his senses Varos looks around and notices he is fettered. He tries to free his hand because he tell it is loose. If he can't get loose maybe he can reach the hidden lock pick he keeps. He vaguely remembers being attacked. he hear the sounds of others near by.

He hears someone and responds "I am hear, my name is Varos."

Gregory plunges to the water, taking a mouthful of the stuff in. He rights himself, and coughs up the dank water!

"I am… a friend, potentially. You’ll have to forgive me for not sharing my name as freely as… Varos, was it?" he speaks into the dark, stinking a finger into his ear to scoop out some of the water that had gotten in there.

Clarence slowly opens his eyes. A short while ago he was in a coach with some other folk, on his way to to meet the strange Count whose promise was impossible to ignore. Now, he finds himself in a rather interesting predicament. Taking in the scene, Clarence knows he can easily rip the shackles out of the wall. They don't call him "the Body" for nothing, after all. He notes the candle, but he's never been afraid of the dark. As he is about to flex his glorious deltoids to free himself, he hears three other voices.
Realizing that there is value in numbers, Clarence joins the conversation Well, now we are four. If one of us can catch hold of the candle and keep it from being splashed, I can rip the rest of us out of our chains.

Tibor's head swims as he regains consciousness, snapping him out of a dream. All he recalls of the dream the awful sound sawing sound. Back. And forth. Back. And forth.

He had been so eager to explore the castle and talk with the count. The only talk was of this curse and then the count had leapt - so fast and deadly. He hadn't stood a chance.

He groans as feeling comes back into his arms and shoulders. Hearing the voices coming from the darkness, he says "Best make that five," hoping he is able to keep his voice steady despite his growing fear.

"Five!" Gregory says with wonder, and then some puzzlement comes into his voice. "Do I remember a sixth carriage upon our arrival, or am I just faint?" he asks, standing up and sloshing through the water to reach for the candle.

His frightful smile is suddenly lit up for the others to see; the light bouncing of the grooves in his face that the knife had left!

"Ive got it! It’s quite safe in my hands! Get yourselves down from there." he instructs, shielding the light from both water and wind.

Clarence lets out a grunt and rips the fetter from the wall. Feeling peeved, he then rips the rusty manacle off his wrist. Looking at it, he doesn't throw it away in disgust, realizing it could serve as a very crude flail. He joins the man standing in the center and says Anyone else need help getting down?

Now that the candle is safe, Frac frees himself. He slowly drops into the icy water.
"No, thank you. We should see who had the privilege of a cage." - said the goblin, as he carefully approached it.

"A heavy sleeper, if nothing else." the wizard quips, pulling his robes closer around him and letting the candle sit closer to his face so that it might warm his wet flesh.

"Haefaestus vardismar tirkan val musin gyltham et gylth..." a voice intoned from a dark corner, in a tone that evoked sleepwalking and dream-talkers. And then the noise of another prisoner awakening can be heard nearby "What? Huh! What is this? Who goes there!?"

Anton vaguely recalled the invitation, meeting the Count, and then... a curse? A dark, restless slumber? It all reminded of his childhood. There were many such episodes he unfortunately recalled. Drugged induced paralysis, actions half-remembered, trauma only recalled as dreams.

He looked about wildly, sloshing about, trying to make sense of the sounds around him.

Varos nimbly gets out of the fetters and lowers himself to the ground. "Well this sure is interesting."

Hearing movement and speech, Anton attempts to freed himself from the manacles. He’ll do so with little precaution.

"A detestable tongue for such a dark place…" Gregory says, clicking his tongue as he holds the candle up in the direction of the dark speech.

"Best we wake the heavy sleeper, in case he wishes to make good his escape along with us!" he says, motioning towards the figure with the candle. He waits for one of the burly men to handle the whole affair!

Clarence waves Gregory over, Shine that here, please. Clarence walks up to the sleeping figure, takes his broken manacle and chain, and rattles it near the figures ear. Wakey wakey, you've slept through breakfast!.

Clarence looks at the tallow candle and matches, then peppers the old man with questions. Do you want to be freed? How do you know all this? Where is the exit? Who are you? Can we find other light sources?

The last man to wake waded through the waist-high water with effort and distaste. He joined the others around the cage, an listened to the dark tellings of the captive within, without comment.

He might have spoken after the candle and bottle of perfume were handed out, but the muscular man was quicker, and the young priest — for his appearance and clothing clearly designated him as a man of the cloth — remained silent.

"If the law-giver wills it, I can make more light. I am Anton, servant of Madeera the Covenant."

While the group is talking with the older servant, Frac walks the perimeter and sees the doorway connected to a short T-intersection. He looks both sides. Are they all flooded?

"Where did you get this? This is my mother's perfume bottle. My father gave her this on their wedding night." It is blown glass in the shape of a heart with red accents in the actual glass. Her favorite perfume smelled of a mixture between rose and clover.

Clarence looks at the tarot card held in the skeletal hands. Which one is it, or is it one the shade had not shown the group.

"A servant of Madeera, you say? I had thought myself alone in that! Perhaps this Count detests the Covenant and seeks to send her faithful from this world…" Gregory theorizes, with an unhappy groan.

He listens then as the man reads their fortunes. He commits the things to memory so that they may be recalled later, when capacity to think thoroughly had returned. Now, they merely wanted out of this damned room.

"How steep a price might the door man seek?" he ponders, wondering the first riddle-prophecy.

Damn and blast! Clarence turns to the others inb the group, taking in the view. Well, what say you? Easy but painful? Lost and found hunt? Find the prayer dude? Bribe the big bird? Or go on a scavenger hunt for the ages whose almost certain result is our deaths or worse. Remember, this creepy dude here Clarence points to the skeleton says the last route has been failed by all who have tried it before. I vote for getting the HELL out of this place—or getting out of the HELL which this place is—as fast as possible.

Tibor will attemp to pull loose a cell bar to use as a weapon.

"As much as I want to get out of here," he pauses to grunt in effort as he pulls at the bar. "It would be a shame to learn. Nothing of this count or his curse and I fear the curse will not be so easy to escape."

Seeing how easily Tibor broke a shaft of iron for use as a weapon, Anton did not hesitate to rely on the burly man’s talents.

"Would you mind?" he asked timidly, pointing at a nearby rusted iron rod, jutting nearby.

Tibor grunts and hands the iron bar he just ripped out to Anton. He turns and grabs another bar with both hands. He growls and attempts to pull another bar free.

Anton holds the iron bar and observes the second attempt.

Clarence, watching Tibor struggle with the bar, casually reaches over and tries himself.

Surprisingly, the bars prove resistant even to "the body" himself!

Varos holds his mothers perfume bottle as he thinks fondly about her. Why is this here and what for he ponders.

Hit dice

"Try not to exhaust yourselves before we set foot out of the our cell!" Gregory warns the strongmen. The wizard would surely have need of the two fighting men before long, especially if they were to approach the sound of whips!

"Keep trickery at the forefront of your minds! This Count seeks to keep us here! The path most inviting is exactly the path we should most avoid!" Gregory goes on, meaning to approach the sounds of torture!

"We should go left. The gargoyle can wait, whoever is screaming cannot. Who is with me?"

Clarence swings his makeshift flail menacingly and follows the little goblin wizard. Right behind you, little one, he says wading cautiously towards the sounds of screaming.

Tibor finally catches his breath after heaving mightily at the second bar and wades through the water following the others.

That's bizzare. Little one, you are least likely to be noticed. Here Clarence unwittingly flexes his muscles for an imagined adoring crowd. Can you peek in and see if what we heard was real, or another hallucination like that creepy dead guy with the cards?

"Should we suddenly need to retreat, I shall bind the door behind us! Just ensure that you are on this side of it, before I cast my spell!" he warns the others, mentally preparing to beat a retreat back to the gargoyle if they are attacked while weapon-less!

Varos pulling up the rear is still wondering how the count got that perfume bottle. He wonders to if his mother is alright. The sudden stop of the sounds bring him back. "Another illusion?"

"Unlike my brothers, I am clumsy and not even a little sneaky. But I am smart and powerful. That's usually more than enough." - he says while casting an Invisibility spell on himself.

Assuming he succeeds, Frac will look inside.

Frac opens the door for the group to see and explain what happened.

Anton looked at the unfolding scene with no little discomfort. The figure’s unnatural exit made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. As the torture chamber was plunged into greater darkness, the young priest moved forward into the chamber seeking any immediately recoverable tools from among the objects half submerged in this place of suffering.

You know, if we take that big candle, we should be good for light until we get out of this godsforesaken place, Clarence muses. Little Wizard, do you think we can carry it? Clarence asks as he slightly twists his upper body and strikes yet another imposing pose, at least in his mind.

Varos will follow in behind and shut the door. No need for gargoyles sneaking up behind them.

"No idea..." says Frac, thinking about it 🤔 "My name is Frac, by the way. Pleased to meet you."

I’m Clarence, Frac, but you could call me "the body" if you want.

"Gregory…" Gregory mutters as introduction, trusting the lot enough with that much of his name for now!

"Some Body will have to fetch the Count’s candle from above! Surely that was him, observing our efforts to escape!" the wizard assumes, before going on!

"Perhaps if two of you stand atop each other, you could reach the balcony and the light source?"

"If Clarence would give me a boost I am sure I could get up there pretty easily."

Tibor stands by the door into the room making sure nothing tries to get in. Watching Clarence flex, he tries to discreetly strike a few similar pose and then frowns and pokes wistfully at his own muscles.

Clarence stretches out his arms and back and gives Varos the requested boost.

Clarence peers at the tall sconce, wondering how heavy it is. He doesn’t focus much on the bodies but is looking for something that would be a better weapon than the rusty length of chain and manacle he is still carrying.

Clarence drops the rusty manacle and chain and picks up the candelabra. Rotating it a few times around its middle and taking some practice thrusts, he exclaims Balanced like a drunk pig on a Sunday night, but a sight better than hitting with my fists. Vasco, see anything up there?

WEAPONS! Clarence cries out. Someone grab that dagger; someone else grab the hammer. Until everyone is armed, I'll stick with the floor-sconce-staff. I mean, no one else here has the musculature to use it, I reckon. Once again, Clarence takes a pose with the metal bar as if he was power-lifting.

Do we have a lightfingers among us? That pouch looks tempting. Gregory, when you rcandle gets low, come over so I can light the next one.

The pouch did look tempting, but the wizard doubted that they would be simply able to buy their way out the front door with the meager collection of coins inside.

Still, he slinks over to the thing, and inspects its heft!

"No sense in leaving it behind us! It could afford us a form of rapid transportation once we make our escape!"

Varos calls down from the balcony "There are a set of steps heading up. Not much else. I will take that dagger if no one else wants it."

"Oh…" the man says, suddenly a million miles away. The familiar waft of tobacco hits the man’s nose, and suddenly he sees his father there in the sloshing, damp depths of the castle.

For how long had his parents broken their backs for Gregory to afford his life of luxury in the city?…

How long had the scent of the leaf sat beneath his fingertips, reminding him of their toil as he bought his books and scrolls and arcane implements?…

The goblin’s voice is low and cautious as he replies to Anton’s question. "Yes, I think he was literally gliding," Frac mutters, his small, sharp eyes darting around the dark room as if the figure might suddenly reappear. "Like... floating in the air." His brow furrows slightly. "No footsteps, no sound... just moving, like a shadow slipping across the wall."

Frac then grabs a rope and adds a hook to it. He goes to investigate the area of concentrated bubbling about two feet wide in one corner of the room hoping that the cloaked figure does not returns.

Tibor takes the light hammer, clutching it tightly in his hand. I guess you can have that iron bar after all, he says to Anton, giving him the bar he previously ripped out.

My name is Tibor by the way, he says to the group. Stairs leading up sound appealing. I wouldn't mind getting out of this water. Although I'm not sure I'd want to run into that ghost... He says with a shiver.

Clarence watches everyone scurry about. He stayed in the middle of the room, twirling his new staff, imagining hordes of adoring fans watching him. Wizard Frac, any thoughts about that bubbling oozing pudddle in the corner? Looks nasty!

Anton took part in the search and observed what the others were finding and seeing. He could have used the hammer, but an improvised iron rod could certainly serve as a mace, or club of sorts. The lighting they had was clearly insufficient. He thought he ought to try and produce more light to facilitate their escape.

‘Madeera willing’, he had said earlier. It was time to ask his goddess for her assistance.

Clutching his holy symbol in one hand, he began intoning the prayer of orderly luminescence while gesturing at the tip of the iron rod. As he finished his prayer he opened his hand and moved it forward in an unsheathing movement.

Varos will drop back down and grab the dagger and stick it in the built in sheath in his boot. "As far as I could see it was just stairs in the balcony. Any other exits down here?"

"Keep back!" Gregory calls to the goblin wizard, wincing as the thing grasps for the goblin with murderous intent!

He has a spell for such an occasion, but it was a risky proposition with some much wet and slime about! The flames may not catch properly…

Varos seeing the zombie lunge out of the water will pull his dagger and throw it . Missing terribly Varos keeps his eye on the dagger so he can recover it. Must have been all that time hanging from the fetters, That has to be it.

FEAR THE MUSCLES OF CLARENCE "THE BODY" BODIUEX rings out as the musclebound fighter charges with all the grace of a wounded rhinoceros. Clarence lashes out with his off-balance staff.Clarence a solid blow on the shambling, water-logged corpse. Take that you putrid corpse! You have run into "the body" and now you will die. Again, I guess. For the second, or third, or HOWEVER many time!

Tibor hefts his newly acquired hammer in the air and lets out a battle cry as he charges the zombie.Struggling to get in a good position due to the water, Tibor swings the hammer wide of the zombie. whoosh

"Make way! Make way!" Gregory commands, as he steps forward and pulls his hands in close to himself! Even then, fire begins to lick at his palms, and the heat at his chest begins to rise!

He shoots his hands forward, and lets loose a torrent of fire on the wet, clawing zombie!

Frac complains and casts a protection from evil spell. He fails.

Satisfied with the powerful light flowing from the iron bar thank to Madeira’s edict, Anton moved forward to assist in the attack, swinging the light-bearing rod with what little strength he had.

Besides making strange shadows move all around the flooded torture chamber, Anton’s attack was entirely ineffective.

Did Varos see where the dagger went? Or is there something else at hand he could throw?

Seeing Anton being pulled into the muck, Clarence lets out a bellow and rushes the hideous beast. Body shot to the body by "the body" yells Clarence as his makeshift staff hits home.

Varos looking around for a weapon see the skeleton on the table the femur is broken just below the knuckle and has a nice point to it. Must have been broken during the torture. He grabs it and feels it weight judging about 3 lbs. He takes aim and figures the wet rotted skin it should penetrate easily. After throwing the femur and scoring a solid hit he reaches over and grabs the other which is whole and probably weighs about 5 lbs. He now has a club and will start to move around the get the dagger.

"Watch out…" Gregory shouts, a moment too late as he sees the thing lunge for the priest. He winces, as the thing pulls free a large chunk of flesh!

When the thing is finally beaten down, he rushes over to the stricken priest and examines the wound!

"How does it feel?" the man asks, checking the priests eyes to check for any signs of a hunger for flesh!

Varos will walk over and retrieve the dagger and place it back in his. He will strip the zombie of the armor and wash the insides as well as possible while Gregory works on Anton. " I will take this armor if no one else wants it. It seems no worse for wear."

Anton groaned in pain as the zombie ripped his flesh and tore through muscle and tendons. Fortunately it was taken down swiftly by far more competent warriors.

When Gregory approached to check how Anton was doing, the young man straightened up and answered, an edge of anger mixed with shame in his tone "I'm fine! Fine I say. I've had much worse...". His attitude suggested the last part of his statement was probably untrue, but the young man tried to present an exterior toughness. "I can heal this later on," he continued. Only then did he notice the wizard's look of more prospective concern, as if he thought the priest could become a threat. "What are you looking at, Gregory?", he asked, taking a step back.

Varos looking up from his tasks says"I have always heard that a bite from a zombie isn't good. That people change somehow. But I don't know for sure."

"Superstitions and old wives' tales!", the priest snapped back immediately, showing obvious irritation at these stranger's suspicious attitudes. "We should look for a way out, that way," he added, pointing at the staircase beyond the curtains atop the balcony.

Frac's yellow eyes widen with surprise, then warmth spreads through his chest despite the cold waters as he recognizes the book from his childhood. It’s stained and warped, but unmistakable—a book that has always meant more to him than simple stories.

Because this wasn’t a storybook at all. It was a sketchbook belonging to a long-dead ranger, likely forgotten in the wild. Frac had found it decades ago in the remains of a destroyed camp deep within the forest. The drawings inside were rough, hastily scribbled, but they sparked a flame in Frac’s young mind. Monsters, both familiar and strange, filled its pages—dragons, trolls, elementals, even goblins like himself—but one sketch stood out most of all. A beholder.

The crude drawing depicted a massive, floating eye surrounded by smaller eyes on stalks, its gaping mouth lined with sharp teeth. Frac had been captivated by the eerie creature, imagining the horrible and wonderful stories that could be told about it. He often pictured himself outwitting such a beast, or using magic to bind it to his will, even though, in reality, his skills were nowhere near enough to deal with such a monster.

So, yeah, it was also a storybook.

Anyway, the book became his childhood companion, the place where his dreams of power and adventure took root. Each night, under the safety of his bedroll or in the hollow of some twisted tree, Frac would turn to that page and lose himself in fantasies of magic and might. It was more than just a keepsake—it was a reminder of where he’d come from and what he aspired to become.

As Frac carefully retrieves the waterlogged book, the familiar weight of it, even ruined as it is, stirs old ambitions. He runs his thumb over the distorted cover, a half-smile curling his lips despite the dire situation.

With the Beholder still vivid in his mind, Frac feels a surge of determination. The Castle may be full of horrors, but so were the stories he once imagined. This book was a reminder that anything could be defeated with enough cunning, even monsters worse than what lay hidden within this cursed place.

Frac slips the book into his damp robes, feeling the comforting presence of his childhood dreams close to his heart. He looks around at the group, his sharp eyes focusing on the red curtain in the distance, concealing whatever may lie beyond.
"I agree. Let's get out of these foul waters."

Tibor stands quietly watching the exchange between Anton and the others, rubbing his chin in thought. He tries to remember what he read about zombies during his time at the grand library.

Once everyone starts talking about leaving, he says "I agree we should continue on. The stairs would get us up and out of this fetid water. There was another path back the way we came, but who knows where that will lead us."

Varos will keep his eye on Aton just in case.

Seeing so many pairs of eyes turned to him, the priest clamped down, choosing silence. He realized he ought to control his temper, he would need these people to get safely out of here.

The climb back up to the balcony in easy for one of Varos's skills. "Do we have something we could use as an improvised rope?"

We can shred the armor we found and make an improvised rope, but it probably with snap.

"Oh, I have a rope and a hook. Here. Please throw it."

"I can climb back up and secure it for the rest."

Gregory puts his hands up in a motion of surrendering the point when the priest looks irate. Still, the man kept his spell of holding in mind!

Should the priest look to be turning foul, as his temper had already done so, then the wizard would at least keep him in place long enough to put the holy man out of his misery!