Heleion Archives

16^th of December, 123 NDE. The Abandoned Castle of the Groenningr Family, Hegranes Hemrad of Naireanth.

            There in the middle of the snow storm stood the once graceful castle of the Groenningr family. It was built in the lowest peaks of the Eptirrion Range just a bit from the chasm that separated the two roads going west and east. As ages passed, a wall grown around the castle than a small town where passing merchants or adventurers could trade their goods.

Now in the present day, it stood as a haunting remark of nothing ever lasting forever. The once pristine snow white stones lost to the ages – and vile rituals – leading to them slowly turning to hues of the night and the void that blanketed the sky during the long winter nights. The once eloquent edges turned grim and dark, resembling shapes of bones. Even ever grinning skulls appeared to decorate the walls now, keeping watch to whoever occupied the castle.

The local villagers often like to scare their children by telling the walls were built through vile necromantic rituals of infusing dead, misbehaved children with the materials. Which then led to the castle losing its original name to the Wailing Fortress as often the villagers hired adventurers after hearing wails travel down from the valley into their settlements.

“What a lovely sight.” Siruil a tall, slender snaelv Inquisitoroth of the Thorned Seekers muttered under her mask – that resembled a gorgeous elven woman’s kind visage.

The mask not just hid but protected her angular elven visage with skin tone ranging between perfectly fair and snow white, thick luminous red short hair combed backwards with only a few strands hanging over her gorgeous elven face.  A slim nose fitted nicely with the mask’s, pouty lips of a faint luminous red hue with soft gleaming cushioned texture and prominent elven cheeks.

Her slender well-honed body was encased in the three layers that made up her uniform. A dress like single breasted coat with snow silvery aetherna satin lining that reached down to her ankles made of dragonid leather with most of it being raven black except for the shoulders and the long and high slim neck that was hued in snow silver. Just like the headband part of her leathery nun headdress that reached down to the scaleless shoulders – a sign of their focused devotion of the Black Rose herself and Myelia.

The one thing they diverged from the others even within their small subsect was the spiked knuckles worn over their fingerless dragonid leather gloves. And that their coat didn’t have pockets and a utility belt. The only pockets she had was on her marigold aetherna satin blouse that cuddled her skin under as the coat and the corset vest pressed it.

Her frost hued eyes in graceful almond-shaped frames inspected the castle itself as she stood in the menacing shadow of the walls and gate while snow gently fell onto her. “Let’s start from the top.” She muttered to herself as she poured her mana into the arcane points located in her animus’s legs.

Her mission involved inspecting the castle for any possible necromantic activity. The past few months, numerous villagers and townsfolk nearby were kidnapped in the dead of night. At each location they found necrotic residue that led them to believe these villagers – only women strangely – were kidnapped by either a group or a singular but powerful necromancer. Which is why instead of a usual group of Justiciaroths – a group of Inquisitoroth were sent out to the nearby ruins most likely to be used by necromancers.

This included the Wailing Fortress where she stood alone – as she has drawn the shortest to her bad luck as usual. “Let’s finish this quickly.” As the inscriptions finished forming, her body leapt high into the air and with a few others engulfing her body like an aura, she guided herself to the top tower of the castle. She landed gracefully onto her both feet between the thick gloomy rail and the stylized dark window.

Without a care, she smashed through the window and started her investigation and hunt for the culprit or culprits.

**

Clanks produced by her combat boots echoed through the empty halls and corridors of the castle as Siruil descended further down. Webs covered corners and walls, paintings that dried and cracked at the faces of the subjects ornated the dark, wet walls. The long mauve and red carpet reached a state of almost complete decay. Yet the castle clearly showed sign of still being used.

Just after reaching down from the singular tower of the castle – she ran into a group of young maidens fitting the description of the kidnapped women. And while normally she may had asked them to follow her out, her first instinct was to bash their head in, cave their chest and so on. They were oozing with necrotic energies, even though they all looked relatively normal except for the drained, pale skin and dark lips. Even for the umbral elves she sensed the reason for them still being moved wasn’t their vitae – but necrotic energies animating their bodies.

These kind of undead were rare and because of their looks, the common folk of the pan-continent tended to call them the living corpses. That stuck to them to the point that even necromancers themselves used this name when writing their grimoires.

“Sorry for this. Will try to be gentle enough so your parents will still be able to look at your corpses.” Then as she reached the stairs leading down to the main hall, a mixed group of pristine zombies appeared from the shadows, lit by the white sunlight filtered through the cracked windows. Each of them was clad in leathery and silken clothing of dark and luminous hues and shades.

Mana flowed into her fists and formed into various inscriptions as she charged at the group of five zombies. As she marched towards them, time slowed down around her. First, her right fist engulfed in radiant flames found its way into the abdomen of the single stygian with a devilishly monstrous face, sending her into the air in which she hovered for a few minutes. The next were two humans whom appeared to be the most mature of the group appearance wise – already with a few gray strands – her right leg impacted them from the right. Their heads exploded while radiant flames spread down and devoured their whole bodies as she failed to adjust the spell.

The last got their throats crushed with the ‘killing’ blow coming from the radiant energies that snuffed the necrotic inscriptions. As the time spell faded, the she regulated back to the common flow of time. She continued onwards as the cacophony of the corpses hitting the floor echoed through the main hall in tandem with her clanks.

**

As she arrived down to the dilapidated underground section – prison, wine cellar and a hidden ritual room where the noble Groenningr family once prayed to the Gods for a good year were located – another group of the raised kidnapped charged at her. Like the previous three groups, she quickly mowed down the living corpses.

As she passed by the rotting doors of the prison she stopped in her tracks when she heard faint noises. Siruil pondered whether to continue on – as she was well aware that necromancers can see and hear through the controlled dead. In the end she caved in and entered the prison – a vast area with at least six cells.

In the first two near the door, each cell had four women – a snaelv, an orii elf, a stygian that retained its humanoid features, and a seossurion folk. Each of them was hanged by their ankles upside down, bound with brown enchanted ropes that sapped their stamina for the most part while a wide strip of gleaming black tape wounded across their lips and cheeks. Out of the four, only one still possessed vitae – the seossurian whose muffled groans she heard.

“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.” She grabbed the cold, dark bars and lifted them out from their place effortlessly then walked up to the scared looking summerborn with rich, amber hued long hair that cascaded down towards the wet floor. “I’ll come back for you in a few minutes. Just stay cal..”

Just as she said those words, a myriad runes of light bluish hue lit up under them. “Shit.” And just as she cursed under her breath, she felt her strength being sapped away in an instant. Her last exertion sent her tumbling down onto the dislocated bar laid on the floor. The pain jolted through her body as her eyes closed down. A short slender feminine figure coated in shadows stood over her with a wide, gleeful smile.

**

“Mrnnnmrrcr!” As her consciousness returned – she felt her blood flowing into her head. The cold wind of the underground tenderly caressed her face. She groaned at the slight pain of the enchanted ropes that tightly bound parts of her body where her arcane points were located – including the wrists, elbow and torso. Her cursing was prevented by the wide strip of black sealing tape that tightened onto her skin and lips – preventing her words from becoming understandable, while also sapping her mana and stamina.

“Good morning.” As her sight returned to sharpness from a blurry mess – she was greeted by Nea Groen, a descendant of the Groenningr family. She possessed a sunken-cheeked pale visage, thick long obsidian black hair that cascaded down onto her right shoulder. A bulbous nose, wide and dry dark lips and eyes with pupils tainted into a black shade with cracks of necrotic blue hue.

Her short, slender body was draped in the finest of noble clothing that included a thick, black velvety coat with snow silvery lining and frames, sewn with placket veiling the prominent buttons, double cuffed sleeves and an open, round neck exposing the chin high twisting collar of the snow white tunic. Glamorous black trousers and knee-high leathery heels. Five deep silver rings embedded with dark gems and engraved with arcane runes that strengthened her mana reserves and enhanced the strength of her spells.

“Hrnnrrnmr Hrchchrrh!” Siruil thrashed around as she struggled to loosen the ropes with what little stamina she had left in her body.

“You know I was a bit scared when I saw an Inquisitoroth leap over the walls. I was a bit unsure if my maidens will be enough to slow you down while I left. But then that trap I left for possible escapees came in handy.” Nea said as she slowly walked towards the raging Inquisitoroth. Each step she forced her legs to move as she was well aware of the tales her grandmother told her about the Thorned Seekers. How they brutally mow down not just the wicked beings, undead but even the living heretics who summon or control the former two.

“And honestly – I’m glad that the Lord of Luck smiled over me. For just having to deal with one of you. And for having a compassionate one who may risk saving or reassuring one instead of hunting down me like a relentless hound.” Nea inhaled deeply then grabbed onto Siruil’s hair and pulled her face closer to her own. Her eyes for a moment focused on marigold folded collars wedged between the snow silvery neck of the coat zipped down.

“Nrrhrh.” Siruil groaned in disgust as she sensed the rotten scent of Nea. Her nostril started burning up making her eyes tear up to the confusion of her captor.

“And finally for granting me such a magnificent subject. With your vitae, I’ll be able to mingle once more amongst the filth and the slaves of the arrogants.” Then she continued as the corners of her lips bent upwards. Her head slowly leaned closer to Siruil’s and Nea’s deathly lips locked onto her taped ones. A muffled whimper followed as she felt her arcane points lit up by the chilling flames of death and tried to break free as her eyes became even heavier, her breathing became slower as the kiss of death took effect.