The Castle - B1

Frac refrains from feeding. He will be disgusted by someone who does.Meanwhile, Frac searches the room for an improvised weapon for himself and... Garlic. He liked it, especially with rice. Maybe, after the Curse, he'll feel something new about that.

Varos seeing the blood feels a craving for it. This feeling disgusts him and he will refrain from the vulgar act of feeding on blood. He will search the body for anything that is not a weapon. Varos looks at the others."I will take this other dagger for throwing if no one minds. Clarence would you like this sword?"

Gregory turns away from the corpse! Not out of queasiness, or a weak stomach. The man had wrought enough destruction in his time that a ruined body was a trifling thing. No, it was that gnawing hunger at the back of the wizard’s mind that caused him to turn away!

This… This would be the test of the priest’s resolve, he thought. Did the man hunger for both flesh and blood?

Careful to keep away from the iron rich scent of blood, the wizard watches on as the others are tested by the scene also!

Once Tibor sees the body, he has a hard time taking his eyes off it. The way the light glints off the deep red pool around him makes it look so inviting - like the wine the Maesters shared between them on special occasions. The kind he served them but was not allowed to quaff himself.

He had suspected before and now he knows that the curse is already upon him, pushing him to give in and take this ebbing lifeforce into his own. It is just wasting away after all. And why should he fight the curse? This could be the chance for him to learn and experience something that few others had. This could help him be more than the third-rate scholar he was now.

He continues to stare fixedly at the bloodied man, his jaw clenched tight during this inner struggle.

Anton was glad to leave the submerged torture chamber, but his relief was short-lived. Trudging upstairs with his curse-companions, burdened by soaking-wet clothes, the priest entered the larder with an initial sense of satisfaction.

Then, the iron-tinged air, the smell of the fresh cadaver aroused conflicting, disgusting emotions in the young man. He was aware of his craving, the pain in his shoulder flaring up intensely, as if his body were calling his attention to the restorative properties of eating flesh and consuming blood. Even before he saw the corpse, he knew what it was and why he must resist his urge.

The powerful impulse was indeed resisted, but it recalled the young man’s obscure past, the shocking rituals he had witnessed, many of which involved such unholy feasting as well as sacrifices of blood and of flesh. Anton wanted to vomit, and wanted to feed. He felt dizzy and disturbed, but he kept his position and focused on calming the inner convulsions of his heart and gut. He muttered prayers under his breath, as he had learned to do when — waking from horrid recollection-dreams in his cell in the Temple of Madeera — his church elders had instilled in him the meditative practices that slowly settled the soul.

"The covenant is unbreakable, and my part in it is written," he whispered barely audibly to the others. "I shall not deviate, I shall not welcome the chaos into the world," he ended his recitation, speaking in a slightly louder tone.

Only then did he speak to the others. "Let us see if there is anything useful here, and move on. We will eat when we are away from this accursed place!"

Frac takes the crowbar. He's not a fighter, but after the previous encounter going unarmed wouldn't be smart.

"Unfortunately I don't know how to use other weapons, so I would like to keep it, as you already have one, ok?"

Frac gets the dagger and leave the other weapons for someone else.

"I’ll take the crowbar. It seems sturdier than this rod," the priest suggested, as no one else seemed interested in the improvised weapon.

"Sounds good Frac. We should all be armed." Varos will continue to search the dead mans body for anything useful. Who knows maybe he has a key or some such. Maybe he was a servant trapped here.

Can we tell where they are coming from? Is there maybe a hidden door somewhere?

After climbing up, Clarence takes in the scene. Responding to Varos, Clarence says "Yes, thank you. I've always preferred swords to staves." Clarence sets down the candelabra, takes the sword, and performs a few cursory passes. "Much better, thank you."

Clarence steps forward into the room, when he sees the corpse. Suddenly, his mind is filled with visions of his favorite food. Steak. Juicy Steak. Normally, he prefers medium rare, but the taste of rare steak fills his mouth. He feels the the texture of the flesh as his teeth chomp into it. The muscle fibers splitting between his tongue. The rich flavor and smooth texture of lightly grilled fat, as it melts in his mouth. Above all, he tastes the intense flavor—with that slight tang of iron—of the blood, the juicy, juicy blood. His mouth waters; he feels his incisors poke not-so-lightly into his lower lip. He knows that what is before him will taste even better than the rarest, rawest steak he had ever eaten.

He walks forward, as if in a daze, raising his hands to grab at the succulent neck, when his newly acquired sword—which he had completely forgotten he was holding—comes into his line of sight and blocks the corpse. That moment was what Clarence needed to get a hold of himself. He shudders, realizing just how close he came to slaking his hunger with the unholy curse of vampirism.

Taking a step back, he is relieved to have escaped the compulsion, only to gaze in abject horror at the hundreds of spiders that seem to have veritably erupted from every corner. AARRGGHH, I HATE spiders! Clarence commences to stomp uncontrollably, trying to crush the small horrors as quickly as they appear.

When Clarence steps toward the dead body, Tibor is able to snap out of his trance before the urge to feed overtakes him. He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. He scans the room for a bottle or cask of wine. Anything else to slake this thirst. But he notices the growing tide of baby spiders first and begins backing uneasily away from the dark specks, kicking at them with his worn boots.

"Perhaps we would be wise to move to another room. I am not eager to find out if these spiders are poisonous," Tibor says, his eyes darting from the arch leading to the apparent feast and the arch with the green glow.

"Okay, let's go before the candle runs out. Which way?"