CHAPTER 2
"For how long have they done this? Are you putting me in some kind of ruse?"
"It is not as simple as that. They don't pay me anything, but it is not like I have the men to storm that keep of theirs. The moment I saw you I was relieved, you see."
"I see I have more to gain here by helping you than by leaving; after all I reckon the dog is not leashed properly."
"That would be a good deed. But you see, that dog is quite old. I won't dissuade you from this. But believe me when I say that a quick bolt to the neck can end this. "
"Then why not do it? Just sneak in."
"I have not been able to mount enough courage to do as I have described. I have 15 layabout men, but counting only the good ones? They would sum up to 3 or 4."
The tower stands dark-blue, biting overcast with metal teeth over the party of five. You see almost, above you, a green shimmer; a nameless battle stands overhead among pale complexion and dark runic steel.
"This was once the tower of the singleminded wizard that struck fear upon Stygia. Krum had a deal with him, that when the seventh day struck, he would give a virgin to him in exchange for safety. Betrayed then, yet not wholly sudden I believe; it was in that moment that he had dealt the blow to the Dragon. Now, the cowards we see have taken the tower for their own." Grell explains to you and remaining troops.
"The dog is a much older creature, but nothing is know of its origins. The cravens found him deep in the bowels of the tower and ensnared it, whipping. The Rod is the key. But the thing is old, and has lost much of its power."
You clutch the rope and climb unto the surface of the tower. It is cold and smells like fish; it is so that you catch the piercing beams of light coming from a barrel-window. You pry it open. Standing on the interior of the tower, crouching then on the inner side of the rounded window, so thick that you could sleep in it: you pull out the beastbow.
On the throne then, sits a gaunt yet bloated figure, bare chested yet leather-clad, masked yet with piercing eyes of a green raven spirit; twin yellow horns bellow out of the black-hide mask and it is as it his clawed hands of grey corpse skin melt unto the vinethorned throne. And it seems that the throne extends insofar as to cover the entirety of the room. In the middle, a black pit that seems without bottom. Brooding men in black leather masks bearing spears watch the pit broil.
There are others by the corner, drinking a dark brew, eating legs of meat and joking about and even singing. There are no less than 25 men here, armed to the teeth and hardly starving. You see a few women too and they seem, you see their faces, a mix of content, displeased, sad and joyful. There is then the dog-haired man next to their leader, that listens intently, for he has come out of a small room next to his throne
He looks at you. His eyes are silver-plated and inhuman.