Adrian crouched low to the ground, shoved the letter back in his pouch, and snuck around the corner of the building, bow in hand and spells ready to command. He could now see the two knights guarding the front door. This would be a difficult and trying battle if he attempted to take them in combat, and Adrian didn’t have many spells that could penetrate such a heavy plate as they wore. He would have to use his wit to get past these two.
I could risk using a spectral trap, Adrian thought to himself, but if they are Templar as well, that would be quarrelsome. So I need to take care of them quickly, both at the same time. Then it clicked, an actual and feasible plan was thought up. With a smirk Adrian slunk back the direction he came from, and sidled into the trees and bushes. He made sure that the prolific area he hid in was in their cognizant view, and placed his palm on the ground. Adrian was just far enough away that, if they were Templar, sulfur would not be smelt until close. He called upon Balyoan, and fire started to surround his palms where grass was. Soon, the fire spread to nearby trees and bushes. Adrian shirked out of the vegetation, and waited for the knights to investigate the occurrence of the fire. In minutes, while the fire continued to boil in its undeniable rage, the two knights rushed over, panic ensuing in them. Now was Adrian’s chance. He rushed to the front door at an indefinite speed, and when he reached the front door to the estate he held his hand over his eye and whispered a hex. He then held his palm up to the door. The spell allowed him to peer through a solid surface, therefore granting him the opportunity to make sure no one was on the other side, ready to attack intruders. Luckily, he could not see anyone with such intentions, an overlook in security by the Viscount. Adrian placed his hand on the knob and twisted the knob. With a resounding click the door swung open. He slithered into the building and quietly shut the door behind him. The opulent look of the estate was astounding, and in very good taste. The floors were in a black and white checkered pattern, and Adrian could tell that they had been waxed recently, for the shine was almost blinding. There were curtains strung over every window in a neat manner, and the lattices that covered the windows were made of gold.
Adrian quit gawking at the lavishness of it all and started to move once more. He stepped lightly on the deep red carpet, and with extreme caution proceeded up the oak stairs.
Odd, Adrian mused to himself, I would think that the Viscount would have more guards in here. He got to the top of the stairs and paused for a brief moment, unless he is trying to hide something from everyone, including his personal guard. That would explain the Templar, but why the templar, unless it’s something magickal.
Adrian started to move again, caught up in his personal blunderings. Now that he forced himself to tune into the thought, once more, that there could possibly be a magickal occurrence in the estate, he could feel a certain energy. A needle under his foot that just penetrated the surface, an itch under his skin that he couldn’t get rid of. He was now in a long hallway, and while it was well lit it seemed ominous now: dark yet bright, heavy yet light. The further he creeped forward, the more alien he felt. It was clear that he was an outsider. The paintings around him seemed to distort and twist, crack, fall apart. Adrian convinced himself that it was his mind playing dirty tricks on his brain, but the incessant digging of insanity told him otherwise. Nevertheless, he pushed on until he reached the end of the forsaken hall. Before him was a grand door, and what seemed to possibly be the door to the Viscounts quarters. He readied himself, and puzzled his thoughts back together -- he had a job to do. He cast the same spell he used on the front door and put his hand against the smooth wood, but a gloaming darkness was all the he was greeted with. This made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach as a realization hit him. Necromancy was afoot. This lit a fire inside of Adrian that could not be sated. Why would templars help a necromancer? He asked himself, anger bubbling in him like a cauldron. He stood up straight. There was no point in sneaking anymore. He grabbed the handle of the door and twisted the knob. With a tremendous creak the door flung inward, and air rushed out of the room. Adrian was hurled back, and his cloak was ripped from his body. Black hair fell in his eyes as he slammed against the floor of the hall. The ground started to warp beneath him, and he could feel his skin being drowned in a cascade of water. He looked around him, and realized that he was now in a flooded cavern, and water was rushing in from all angles. Adrian forced himself up, to avoid getting caught under the ever rising water. He felt sick to his stomach as nausea ran through his veins. There was a flash of light, and time seemed to move faster. Adrian was now alarmingly close to the ceiling of the cavern, and a lake of water surrounded him. He could feel the relentless tugging of darkness himself beneath him, and as the water reached the top he felt the demented hands of death grip his legs and pull him down. Blackness encased Adrian in her loving embrace and he could feel himself succumbing to her lullaby. Everything was slipping away from his grip, his muscles relaxed, his eyes closed, then he felt himself float. There was no water around him anymore, just the tranquil love of death. He felt at peace, no more fear, no more pain. Everything was alright. Then he slammed hard against a wooden floor. His brain was punching his skull, and his body felt as if it were shrinking, but he forced himself to his feet. All he could see was dark fog that surrounded him completely. There was nothing but despair here. Adrian could hear footsteps all around, spirits in the shadows waiting for a vulnerable vessel.
“Why am I here?” Adrian screamed to the invisible beings, “Show yourselves!” An echo of his words was all he got from the spirits, and bellows of laughter.
Then a man’s voice resonated in the back of his head, “The realm of the dead is a harsh place, spellweaver, but I’m sure you know that. Your type is always so dependent on spirits, yet you know not of their true nature. It’s always a dastardly fun game to show you uptight scholars the truth, no matter if you live to remember it or not.” It was the Viscount. “Do remember to enjoy yourself, Adrian.”
The moment the twisted voice of the Viscount left Adrians mind, all of the fog around him dissipated and he was back in the estate. Everything was dulled in color, and every material was warped, demonic. Stale dust flew through the grey air, entering Adrian’s lungs -- that first impression in the spirit realm, the taste of dust, brought back memories long repressed, memories that should not have been meddled with.
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