The silence that blankets the Death's Head Orchard had always unnerved Simeon, right from his very first assignment in the fog-drenched woodland. Tonight, the leering skeletal faces growing from the grotesque, gnarled trees all around him seemed even more ominous than usual and the fleet-footed scout increased his pace through the thicket. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong, even more so than could be considered to be the baseline for "wrong" in the Black Forest.
That is when he came to a clearing in the otherwise thick undergrowth of dead vines and stopped in his tracks. Lit only by the pale gleam of the moon and the infernal glow from within its windows, before him towered a manor, decrepit yet grand in its own twisted way. The foundation of the building seemed like it rose directly from the boggy ground but the dark abode was stable in its place, as if defiantly ignoring the soft soil it resided on.
Simeon cautiously approached the large double doors of the manor, covered in tangled growths and speckled with gashes and holes, as if the entrance had been assaulted by axe and blade in some bygone time. He tugged at the large ring-like handles and, to his surprise, the doors began to open with a tremendous creaking. From within, a warm yet ominous glow spurred him on to investigate further, and so the scout stepped into the entrance hall. His greaves left clear footprints in the thick caking of dust that covered the floorboards, and he noticed a large painting hanging on a wall next to the staircase leading to a second floor, similarly obscured by dust.
Projecting into the Tapestrum, Simeon clapped his hands hard within the parallel dimension, which translated to a powerful gust of air in the real Nascindor that blew the dust off of the painting, revealing it to be a full-body portrait of a tall, surly man. His eyes were grim and sunken into their sockets and his face was adorned with a bushy handlebar mustache and beard. Cradled in his right arm was a small child, while his other hand clutched onto a cane topped with a silvery pommel in the shape of the head of a bird of prey.
Just as he was about to swipe the dust still clinging onto a plaque below the painting, Simeon was interrupted by a sound from the second floor. It was faint, but sounded like footsteps. Worried for the safety of anyone that would live within the borders of the Black Forest, Simeon began to ascend the stairs. When he reached the top of the staircase, a new sound made itself known. One that caused Simeon to grasp at the hilt of his sword. From behind the bend in the hallway to his left, he heard the distinct sound of something being dragged along the wooden floor. Something metallic, by the sound of it, accompanied by uneven footfalls.
A rasping groan announced the presence of someone, or something, behind the corner and Simeon drew his sword, the silvered blade of weeping steel reflecting the warm glow of the interior of the manor. He assumed a defensive stance as a foot, skeletal and clad in a sabaton of wrought iron poked out from behind the corner, soon followed by the rest of the osseous watchman. In its lax grip it held a chipped blade caked with rust, which dragged along the wooden floor as it shuffled along the hallway, patrolling it. Once it noticed the presence of Simeon, it's jaws cracked as they opened and a rune carved onto its forehead ignited, the arcane symbol ablaze with unnatural fire. This infernal magic also set aflame its sword, which it gripped in both of its bony hands, clearly intending to use it on the Seeker scout.
While he was a scout, Simeon was still a full-fledged Seeker, with all the training and experience of one. With a graceful flourish, he spun out of the way of the skeletal warrior's initial wide swing, bringing down his own sword upon the shoulder of his opponents left arm. The blow connected, but the heavy iron hauberk that hung onto the bones of the skeleton absorbed most of the force of the impact, leaving the undead guard practically unharmed. Another arcing swing of its blazing sword seared off a piece of Simeon's cape, threatening to set the fabric alight.
Simeon tightened his grip on his sword, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. He needed a new approach; force alone wouldn't work on a foe this heavily armored. With a swift motion, he pivoted on his heel, using the momentum to dodge a second strike aimed at his torso. As he evaded, he studied his foe for any advantage he could exploit. The rune on its forehead flickered and pulsed, clearly a source for its power, if not the very thing animating the skeletal warrior. Lowering his stance, Simeon waited for his opening. With a lightning-quick maneuver, he sidestepped another swipe of the blazing sword, closing the distance between himself and the undead sentinel. In a daring move, he aimed a precise stab not at the armored bones but directly at the flickering rune.
The sharp tip of his blessed sword breached the bone and slotted itself into the skull, through the arcane sigil. A flash of power pulsed through the walking bones before they crumbled to the dust of ages, only the heavy iron armor clattering onto the wooden paneling of the floor, on top of the pile of bonemeal. Simeon sheathed his blade and offered a silent thanks to the Progenitor for his victory.
At the end of the hallway, he spied a door that was slightly ajar, a brighter and perhaps softer light spilling through the gap. Approaching it cautiously, he sidled along the opposite wall in an attempt to get a peek inside before having to get close. Inside he saw a round bed draped with white cloth, next to it a bedside table with a silver pitcher and a candle on it. Detecting no imminent threats, Simeon entered the room. In one of the corners, on a dresser, a music box played a gentle melody that gave the room an air of tranquility which felt very out of place considering what he had seen of the manor thus far. Hung on the walls were paintings of the same man from the entrance hall, this time posing with an older but still young girl.
Simeon approached the bed that was the centerpiece of the room, peeking into the pitcher on the table beside it. It was empty and, judging by the dust and cobwebs within it, it had been empty for quite some while. He reached for the fabric veiling the bed.
"No."
The deep, sinister command was the last thing Simeon heard before his consciousness left him.
The next time he opened his eyes, Simeon felt cold. Chains with wicked hooks at their ends dangled above him and he found himself unable to move in any capacity. It felt like he had been fastened onto some kind of a stone slab with a vice that kept him utterly still.
"Ah, the trespasser awakens."
It was the same unnaturally deep and foreboding voice from before. Simeon was unable to move his head to see the speaker, who was behind him judging by the direction the voice issued from.
"What have you done to me? Release me at once! Do you not know the crest adorning my armor?" Simeon chided.
"I know of your order, Seeker." The voice answered, and the sound of metal grinding against metal set a deep unease in Simeon's chest. "Did you think that what you are would give you the right to intrude into my home, into the room that is most dear to me? To ransack the little I have left in this accursed world?"
There was a scraping, like a chisel against stone and it maddened Simeon that he could not turn to look at the sources of these sounds. A flicker of amber light preceded a raspy groan behind him. Then, into view shuffled another skeletal warrior, its skull emblazoned with that same fell rune he had seen on the other one. It hobbled past the table Simeon was fastened onto, as if completely oblivious to his presence and disappeared from view.
Then Simeon became aware of a throbbing pain originating from his left, just in the periphery of his vision. He strained his eyes to look at the source of this new sensation and when he did, his eyes were stabbed with a searing agony moments after he had laid his eyes onto a shifting gray orb on a pedestal.
"What is this place? Who are you?" The scout blurted, blinking his eyes, panic beginning to well up in his throat. He felt more than heard his captor step closer to the table. Gauntlets of black metal dug into the stone table on either side of his head, and into his field of vision appeared an equally sable helmet, three red eyes like infernal rubies blazing through the slits on it. There was palpable malice in their focused gaze and Simeon was rendered mute via sheer terror.
"Questions, questions. This is why I prefer the husks. They do not irritate me with idle chatter."
Those gauntleted hands adjusted the pressure on the vice, tightening it even more. Simeon felt like his head was going to crack open like an egg.
"Stop! STOP! What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?" He shrieked.
"What do I want? Let me tell you. The cursed waste around us, the Black Forest as you simpletons have dubbed it, took everything from me. The light of my life was extinguished in this damned place, and it is all due to the demented dreams of a god trapped in its festering core."
Simeon heard some sort of implements being placed on the table next to his head.
"So, what I want..." The master of the manor adjusted what looked to Simeon like a bladed clamp in his hands. "...is the death, no, the utter destruction of this abominable god. I will stop at nothing to do this. No method is too vile, no sacrifice too great to deter me on this path. Even if it takes every last drop of blood on Nascindor, I will see the Adversary erased from this world and removed from the realm of the possible. I will relish rousing it from its sleep and forcing it to look me in the eyes as I end it. That... is what I want."
Momentarily stunned to silence, Simeon eventually snapped out of it.
"You... you seek to challenge a god? To disturb the slumber of the Adversary?" He almost whispered.
"Yes. And you are going to help me do that."
With that, the dark stranger sunk the bladed implement into Simeon's forehead, the sharp point digging through flesh and into bone. Then, he began to carve.
The agonized shrieks of Simeon echoed from within the funereal abode, only the shades of the Orchard to hear them, before the manor vanished, seemingly blinking out of existence.
