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"Beware those who are afflicted with MADDNESS. The BLIGHT has CORRUPTED their minds and TAINTED their souls." -Excerpt from an Apothecary's Diary found in the ruins of a fallen city

THE APOTHECARY

"Please Sir, we must hurry!"

The maid's voice shook as she ushered the aging apothecary inside the dark, rundown Lockwood manor.

Alaric could see servants standing nervously on the stairs and in the shadows, all dressed in their night-things. Their faces were as pale as ghosts; they whispered amongst each other.

The maid led the apothecary deeper inside. The candle in her bandaged hand flickering and catching the molding walls where the rain had seeped into the foundation. Rotting it from the inside.

They stopped at a set of heavy wooden doors. A large length of chain had been secured to the doors' handles. Two men stood guard on either side of the entrance. He noted that they too looked pale and unsettled, with wide tortured eyes- similar to those he had seen on the battlefield. One had a poorly wrapped bandage around their arm, their uniform torn and seeped with what Alaric could only believe was dried blood.

"This is where the patient is?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the door and the heavy chain.

The maid nodded fervently, her hair esacping from her bun, "Yes, sir, we had to put her down their as per the Master's request!"
He turned to look at the maid, "I was told that it was the Master who was sick?"

"Yes Sir, but Master Lockwood has requested a doctor from Inner Skáld to attend to him. The doctor is attending to him as we speak."

"Then who am I seeing too?" Alaric asked, confused.

It was common knowledge to those in the small village of Shriver that the master of the Lockwood estate cared very little from his children and and even less so for his wife, and the apothecary couldn't see the man toss a scrap of food to a starving servant, let alone call a doctor for a sick one.

So who could he be attending too?

"I fear that I can't disclose that information so as to not offend Lady Lockwood, Sir."

"If I am to attend to this patient, then I must have all the necessary information."

A look of uncertantly passed over the maid's face and she leaned closer to him, "It is the Master's mistress, Sir! She been afflicted with the same illness as the Master. Please sir, I can't say anything else!" and with that she choved the melting candle into his hand and hurried away into the darkness. Leaving him standing with just the guards.

One of them took the chain in his hand and carefully unwound it partially and opened it just a crack. Alaric waited for him to open it completely but instead the guard motioned for him to proceed inside.

"We can't open it any farther, we don't want the sickness to spread."

Licking his lips, but not protesting, he handed the candle to the guard and dropped his bag to the ground and slid it through the crack. The apothecary falled his bag, squeezing himself through, his belly and belt getting caught. He gave an embarrassed grunt and sucked his gut in the best he could.

The corridor he found himself in was dark, smelling of mildew and wet rocks. He turned to retrieve the candle from the waiting guards.

"Where should I go from here" he asked.

"Down the stairs." The taller of the guards said, pointing down the path.

He swept the candle through the darkness and sure enough, through the inky shadows was the start of a narrow staircase leading downwards. It resembled that of a gaping maw of a nightmareish beast, spikes and chains hanging from the top.

"Is there any other direction I should know about?" he questioned, and inkling of trepidation creeping into his soul.

The guard's face, grime and pale in the candle light just said, "Follow the scent of rot, you will know you're there when you can barely breathe."

And with that, the guard closed the door, leaving the old man in the pitch black with only a melting candle as his only source of light. He could hear them replacing the chains; the sound was enought to raise the hair on the back of his neck.

He shook the feeling away. He was a man and he would not be scared of death.

He desended down the stairs.

They spiraled downwards. They were not like the well-crafted stone that the inner house had, they were crude, jagged and narrow. Burnt candle ends were jammed into crevasses, hardened wax stuck to the stone walls and seemed to go on for eternity.

It was the scent of rotting flesh that told him that he was close to the bottom. It lingered heavily in the air and seemed to suffocate him. The staircase opened up into a dimly lit cellar. Barrels of mead were tipped on their sides and wine racks were empty; broken bottles and shards of glass littered the ground.

Tiny barred alcoves lined the walls, their gates locked and chained and all seemed to be occupied with servants in various stages of disease.

When they saw him, they hobbled as far as they could and stuck their hands through the bars. Begging and pleading with him to save them. Through the dim light he could just make out the black veins spider webbing from their sunken in eyes. In one cell, a butler laid face down on the stone floor, blood pooling under his head.

Alarm pounded through Alaric, in all his years, he had never seen anything like this before.

"Are you the apothecary?"

He jumped when he felt a boney hand on his shoulder.

In the candle light, an older maid stood in her nightgown. Her hair was down and disheveled and her face seemed to have lost its color. A simple hemp handerchief was tied around her mouth and nose. The apothecary could see the fear in her red-rimmed eyes.

"Yes," was all he could get out. "Where is-" he was cut off when she grabbed his arm and pulled him farther into the cellar.

She dragged him to the last and biggest cell at the end of the narrowed hallway. Inside, it appeared that some of the servants had brought a bed inside, but that's not what caught his attention.

Tied to the bedframe was the Master's mistress. Her white nightgown was torn and open, leaving her breasts bare for all to see. She was balding, her hair falling out in clumps. The coarse rope cut into her wrists and ankles, peeling away the skin.

"We fed her a sedative." The maid said in a hushed whisper. "She bit one of the girls while doing so, but we were able to get her down. We've tried to keep her modesty but she just keeps thrashing! We have to speak in whispers or she'll jast wake up and continue her madness!"

Cautiously, Alaric stepped over the thresh-hold of the alcove. He tried to be discreet when the smell of feces and rotting flesh wallowed around him.

Black veins on her face traveled down her neck and onto her breasts. Her body gleaned with sweat, drenching her gown. it clung like a second skin to her body. Dried blood caked her cracked lips.

He began his examination. He took note of her quickened pulse and how hot and clammy her skin felt. Her breathing was shallow and gurgled as if she had water deep in her chest. As he moved his eyes down her body, he observed a dark stain that blossomed at the hem of her nightgown.

Tentatively, he reached and grabbed the edge of her negligee and moved to pull it up when he was stopped by the maid.

"Sir!" she whispered but stopped herself, her eyes flickering up to the lady strapped to the bed.

He patted the old woman's hand in an attempt to ease her worry, "I'm sorry, but I need to do a full examination."

He slowly peeled up the gown until it was at her knee. Bile rose to his throat at the smell that his him. Her ankle was completely mangled as if a wild animal had come and torn a chunk of it out. The black veins were present here as well. Maggots crawled in and out of the festering wound, feasting on decaying flesh.

"Was she attacked by something?" He was able to choke out through stuttered coughs.

The maid nodded, "One of the Master's hunting dogs was sick and had gotten loose while she was in the gardens."

"And where's the dog now? Is it still alive?"

She shook her head, "Not, the Master had one of the guards kill the beast and feed it to the hogs."

"How long ago was this?"

"About less then a fortnight, sir!"

He nodded and pulled a bottle of alcohol from his bag, along with a jar of honey and bandages.

"I will need to clean the wound, luckily, the maggots have taken care of the majority of rotten flesh." he turned to the maid. "I will need warm water to clean her. Bring it to me, now!"

The maid nodded and hurried from the makeshift cell, leaving the apothecary alone to tend to his patient.

***

What felt like hours ticked by without the maid coming back with the warm water and clean rags he had requested. He had brushed away the last remnants of maggots and blood with a part of the young lady’s gown before dowsing it in alcohol.

The sting seemed to stir the young lady, and she gave a low gurgled moan from deep in her chest. Her knees jerked weakly, the ropes attached to her wrist groaned against the wood. But she soon fell still and quiet again.

Upon further inspection of the wound, Alaric noticed something strange.

Moving under the skin, he noticed long black tendrils writhing inside the mangled meat. Thinking it to be maggots that had found their way deeper into the mistress's flesh, he pinched one between his fingers and pulled.

All at once the mistress squealed; a loud, blood curdling scream. Her body thrashing and pulling against the restraints. Still the tendril did not release from her body, just kept coming.

Horrified, Alaric went to release the withering thing, but whatever it was, had wound itself around his fingers and was slowly inching up his arm. Terror tore through him as he leapt to his feet, and fumbled for the amputation knife that he kept in his bag.

He hacked through the tendrils. The ones still attached to his arm still seemed to move on their own, as if possessed. Frantic, he pulled and yanked them from his hand, tossing them in the ground. The black tendrils that emerged from Lord Lockwood’s mistress seemed to reel back into the flesh of her leg. The mistress had fallen silent yet again.

Alaric wiped his hands on his robes, trying to rid it of the black stain. He grabbed the half-melted candle that was flickering beside him. He pulled open the cell door and stepped into the dim cellar hallway.

It was eerily quiet. There was no more sobbing or begging. It sent a wave of anxiety tingling down his spine.

He walked briskly past the rows of cells, the candlelight catching ever growing puddles of crimson seeping into the cracks in the stone. The apothecary’s heart pounded in his ears.

Through the darkness, a pair of gnarled hands came rushing from one of the cells. They grabbed onto the doctor’s robes and dragged him to the bars.

In the candlelight, the doctor was able to see the face of the man that grabbed him. Blood gushed from his eyes like crimson tears, in his eyes the apothecary could see the same tendrils wriggling in the man’s reddened eyes, black veins stretched across his face, and more blood spilled from his lips as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Help…me! It’s wriggling… it’s hungry!” He croaked out before his entire body was wracked with coughs, spraying foul-smelling blood across the doctor’s face.

“I-I’m sorry but I can’t!” The apothecary stuttered out, trying to free himself from the man’s grip. But the man held on tighter and pulled him closer.

“Please! Help me!” He was screaming now, more blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

Fear shot through Alaric and he jerked himself free of the man’s hold, his robes tearing in the process.

“No! No! Don't leave me here! It’s eating me!” The man screeched again, this time his nails digging into the apothecary’s frail hand.

“Let go of me!” He screamed with panic, tearing his hand out of the sick man’s grip.

Once free, Alaric hurtled towards the stairwell. The candle- his only source of light plunged to the wet stone and extinguished, leaving him in pitch darkness…

…And from the darkness, Alaric heard the deep gurgling cries of the others. Their wails followed him up the stairs as if the very gates of hell were open wide.

When he reached the top of the stairs, his head was spinning and his lungs burned and his muscles ached. He took a moment to catch his breath.

He was shaking.

In all his years he had never experienced what he had witnessed down in the dungeon. He had seen war and looked death in the eyes, but this was something purely evil festering here.

It didn’t matter if Duke Lockwood had offered him double his regular price, he was leaving this hell.

“Open the door,” he pounded on the heavy wooden door, waiting for the guard to open the door for him. There was no answer.

He knocked harder, “Hey! Did you hear me? Open the door!” Still there was no answer.

He pushed himself against the door, it creaked open, the chain rattling and sliding against the wood. Peering through he was able to see that the hallway was empty. Alaric reached through and pulled at the chains in an attempt to loosen it.

The sound of iron hitting stone echoed through the darkness behind him. The pounding of foot on stone and the wailing grew louder and louder.

Panic flared through him and he squeezed himself between the crack of the doors. In his haste, his robes snagged and torn; splinters burrowing their way into the soft flesh of his stomach.

He tumbled into the dark hallway, the low-hanging moon his only source of light. The screaming penetrated the night, as the sick threw themselves at the doors. Alaric backed away as the doors strained against the chains.

In the sliver of the moon, Alaric could see them. Their faces bloodsoaked and their teeth exposed like that of angry animals. They screamed and spit and slammed themselves against the doors relentlessly.

He recognized the mistress, with her slender arm stuck through the crack in the door reaching out to him. She had torn herself free, her wrist were skinned and bloodied. Those horrible tendrils snaking from the exposed muscles and bone of her arms. Searching. Seeking.

Alaric didn’t recognize any humanity in her bleeding eyes.

And in the blackness of night, the wooden doors that kept the apothecary safe from their savage maws, started to bow and crack.