Someone: Hey I Noticed This Thing You Did In Your Writing!

Minecraft movie trailer was just a bad dream.

Half assed ms paint doodles

How the gentle wind,

Beckons through the trees,

As autumn colours fall.

Chapter 11!!! I'm getting close to having posted everything I've worked on up to this point. I NEED to get back to writing lol whoops.

This chapter explains a bit more of how Oryn came to be in the forest with the Witches in the first place.

tags: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

tw: mentions of death, war, abuse

Ch. 11

The man was rugged; not the image of holy ambition and sanctity by any means. May didn’t know what to expect—gilded robes, braided hair, hard posture—but he was none of it.

Flanked by both Demetrius and Oryn, he sat beside the hearth as if his very bones craved the warmth it gave. His bony fingers shook as he held his hands before the flames, his cloudy eyes glowing in the soft light. They were heavy, thinking and turning and never quite still.

He swallowed another sip from the flagon Demetrius provided, coughing as he choked it down. His legs sat at odd angles in front of him, his bloodied and bruised feet emanating a smell that could only be a festering rot. He’d trudged through the mud on foot for far too long to make it there.

The tension was thick, flitted gazes passing between Demetrius and May as a deep and boiling heat was stoked in Oryn’s core. They all but vibrated with the anticipation of knowing what was to come; the iron smell creeping its way through their nose and to their brain feeling like a coil being wound tighter and tighter with each breath they took.

May’s jaw tightened as she shifted where she stood, the weight of her armor clinking as she settled. She turned the pin over in her hand: heavy, weighted with a dark blue stone at its bottom, the rest of it a soft gold.

“I’m sorry for the lack of hospitality, Councilor, but with the ongoing siege I’d hope you’ll understand my hesitancy.” She studied his face.

His bones all but creaked as he pulled his legs underneath himself, settling into a slouch within his tattered robes as he scooted himself closer to the fire.

He wasn’t deaf; she saw the way the weight in his eyes rattled as she spoke. No beggar would calculate himself so.

May took a deep breath, looking towards Demetrius’s hard gaze before continuing, “I had sent word to our good King in hopes of… Well, support of a different manner.”

That elicited what could only have been a laugh from the High Councilor, his ragged wheezing behind a smile quickly descending into a coughing fit. It took a moment for him to catch his breath, but his smile never left his lips.

Oryn watched closely as he pulled a muddy and deep brown-stained sleeve away from his mouth, a small trickle of blood and pungent saliva running down his chin.

He wouldn’t look towards May when he spoke. “The good King Terrance did not send me,” he sputtered, struggling to put the flagon back to his lips.

Demetrius rolled his eyes, his hands laying on the hilt of his sword.

“Then you’ve traveled all this way on foot with no supplies but the robes on your back for…?” May shook her head softly.

The man sighed. “I heard of the death of some people very dear to me,” he said, sitting up a bit as he reached into his robes and procured a tattered piece of parchment. “They thought I’d perished, too, but were right in their suspicions of my… continued existence on this mortal plain, with the God’s mercy,” a small, sad excuse of a chuckle left his cracked lips.

Demetrius sighed, tired of the Grandfather’s games right as they had started. “You still have not said why you’ve come, sir,” he clipped, ignoring any honorific if not those of who he directly served.

With a blink his body had snapped towards May, his long and dwindling arm extended towards her, his skeletal hand holding the all but unreadable letter that he’d carried all this way. As Demetrius jumped where he stood, the old man shook the wet parchment.

“They left something to me,” he huffed towards May, his breath the smell of death and decay. “And I had to come and claim it.”

Demetrius let his sword slide heavily out of its sheath, the grating noise of steel on steel a warning to the man to step back.

May took a moment to study the man behind the tattered page before gently taking it from his hands and standing a bit closer to the hearth to get some better light.

Jonas,

We know not where this piece of parchment will find you, but know deep within our souls that it will.

It’s time to make pace, High Councilor. The boy has taken the last we have to give; we’re joining our sister and suggest you come to proceed to the next steps in this wretched plan of yours.

Do not mourn us. We wouldn’t have mourned you.

Maureen, Starla, Elisa

~

She clutched the babe close to her chest with all the might she had left in her small frame. Her legs shook exposed to the chill air, her feet numb on the frozen earth, her arms burning and tingling as she struggled to maintain to her grip on the bundle she carried.

The cabin was close—she could feel the forest closing in around her as she pushed forward, her blood boiling with the fear it instilled in all those who entered. She knew she could make it, if she could just keep putting one foot in front of the other, taking one more breath after that exhale…

You have to promise me, he’d said to her, you have to promise me with every part of your soul. Swear it on the Waters and Winds, swear it on the church, swear it on the love we share. Please, Grenia.

His pleading rang through her head like the bells upon the church towers, bouncing from one side of her head to the other over and over again, reminding her what her purpose here would be.

This is the beginning of it all, he whispered to her, pulling her hands into his own and leaning down to look into her eyes, into her soul.

I love you, Genia, he’d said, his voice but a murmur against the soft skin of her ear. He’d never said it to her before this, never once. Not when she’d saved his life at the Sanctum, not when as she cried in his arms, not when he’d finally told her about where he came from and his purpose was here at the palace’s chapel. Not even when he finally bed her, their first moment alone in the months since they had met, in a dark and cramped alleyway between a scribe’s office and the sanctum’s entrance.

She thought of it all now. Thought of it while she ran, while her feet bruised with each step she took and the blood trickled from the scratches and cuts across her arms and legs.

At first, the babe was silent. They lay in her arms all swaddled in blankets that must have been made with love by one wet nurse or another. Their breath was soft and steady, heat steaming from their tiny lips as they drifted into a deep sleep.

Now, though, they screamed. She couldn’t understand how something so small and fragile would wail with such strength for so long. The blood-curdling screams pierced her ears as she ran, mixing with the dark and malicious feel bubbling up inside of her as her thoughts bounced around in her skull.

Then, for a while, everything went black.

When the warmth started returning to her it was the soft linens and skins laid beneath her that told her she’d made it where she needed to go.

She shifted in the warm bed, her entire body beginning to throb and ache as it started to fully feel alive again.

“Easy! Easy,” Maureen shot up from the chair beside her, gently laying her hands against her shoulders to push her back onto the mattress. “Don’t move too much, it’ll hurt. And you get nothing for the pain until I know where you’ve been, what happened.”

The conversation didn’t start for another hour after she woke, needing to reorient herself before breaking into tears at the face of the sister she thought she’d never see again. But their reunion was short lived.

“The child, Grenia. Is… is he yours?”

She shook her head. Jonas’s voice rang in her ears. They must not know.

But how could she keep this from them all when she was asking so much?

She looked throughout the cabin from where she lay, the walls keeping all of the warmth and life of the forest inside of the dwelling for the four of them to feed their practice. It was a small space full of trinkets and bobbles of all sizes and shapes that could do any number of different things. Books and charts and maps were scattered across every surface, littered with sketches of the local flora and fauna, but also symbols and glyphs she knew weren’t holy.

That’s how the three of them found themselves out here, after all.

She swallowed the lump in her throat before looking down at her hands.

Swollen. Bony. The joints all red and enflamed, her fingers bend in odd shapes and the skin of her palms scratchy and rough. Those fingers, that just a few weeks ago were spinning threat and crafting needlepoint and practicing piano. Now so changed, so stained…

“You will not be happy with me, sister,” she said, her voice hoarse and full of sorrow.

Maureen nodded, standing to move the chair closer to Grenia, laying a hand on top of her own. “That’s alright,” she nodded, her eyes serious but soft, “What matters is you made it back home to us. To me. As long as we’re together, we can handle the messes you’ve made.”

Grenia’s eyes filled with hot tears as she looked up her older sister. She was both gentle and firm, loving and strict. She hated herself for knowing what she had brought here.

“The babe,” Grenia muttered, her breath hitched. “Is not what you think.”

And so, she told her.

Love train 🚂💗 Send this to all blogs you love!!! Don't forget to spread the LOVE! 💞🎉🫂🥰

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extraordinary ✨

"it's been a year, why are you still posting about him" because larian put the line "one night he tells you that these six months of happy memories are the counterweight to 200 years of misery" in their fucking game

Chapter 6!!! Is here!!! A direct continuation from the previous chapter, May is tasked with saving her new housemate only to realise she's being faced with than more than she'd first thought, MUCH more than she could've prepared for.

Definitley trying to add more bits and pieces of wolrdbuilding throughout, as well, so let me know if it flows well!

tw: blood, gore, fire, burning, mentions of war, death, bodily horror

Ch. 6

The laceration on May’s arm throbbed as blood gushed from the wound, only fueling her desire to cut down the man responsible for it.

There were no shouts of warning as the first volley of arrows was released into the main courtyard of the manor. The whistles of easily a hundred arrows arching with grace over the main wall, many hitting the cracked cobble at their feet and too many more sinking deep into flesh. A score of men downed in but a moment; she was caught with her backed turned. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

Her sword bit home in the neck of her opponent, sending a hot spread of blood back at her. Her men had started surrounding the outermost section of the courtyard, working their way towards the center and slaughtering everything in their paths as tight units of fifteen to thirty men. They were efficient; May trained her men to be deadly.

Her sword killed one man after another, the rage she felt becoming the passion of the Winds. Her heaving breaths of unbridled anger became the steady breaths of a woman singing in the Gods praises. Her feet were weightless underneath her as she spun and ran through entrails, the death rattles of the fallen a prayer to her victory.

Time both slowed and flowed faster, men seemingly growing old and dying as May severed an arm here and slashed across a chest there, a whirlwind of honed chaos. She continued pushing forward, a large group of her men now rallying behind her as they met the center of the courtyard. Their main advance would be towards the contingent of archers that managed to huddle towards the manor’s gate.

As May lifted a dead man’s shield from his corpse, instinctively blocking arrows as they headed towards her, she caught a glint of something from the corner of her blood-red eyes. Off in the corner, towards the right of the manor, smoke started to bellow from the peaked roof.

The attic.

She was smart to have listened to her instincts those few weeks back, vacating the few valuables from the room and cleansing it in whatever means necessary. Putting the remainder of the old texts and records either in the vault or the archives, the room was merely a little secret hiding space that made for a good saferoom in this particular instance, where Oryn’s safety was in danger.

Oryn? Why would this be about Oryn?

It didn’t matter. She needed to protect them—hide them—and Demetrius was the only other living person who knew of it’s existence.

Something much larger was at play here. Someone deeply connected to May and Ilucia had infiltrated the system she fought so hard to build, making her seem a fool. As she watched the first soft licks of orange cascade across the eaves decorating the attic, her resolve quickly returned.

“Squads four and nine, come with me! Everyone else,” she turned, her throat already horse from breathing in smoke and screaming as she killed, “Kill the rest of these bastards!”

Although she’d already seen more than a squad or two lying dead on the cobble, the morale in her remaining men didn’t waiver. They stood tall, weapons ready, in the exact formations they’d practiced. They stomped their feet in time, yelling their war-cry as praises for their Duchess.

She started towards the side door of the manor, the two squads called for quickly falling into a defensive formation around her. As they ran, May couldn’t keep her eyes off the roof being enveloped by the flames.

The manor itself was hardly damaged but for a broken window here or a scuff along the mortar there. It’s as if the goal here wasn’t to destroy, only to kill—and to do so quickly. The fact that the fire was now reaching towards the sky in only one part—specifically from one room—There must have been another motive, a plan…

Sprinting through the side door and running straight for the closest set of stairs, May noticed just how quiet the manor was now that all who are usually patrolling it took up arms to fight out in the courtyard. This is my fault, she thought to herself, but not because of the weight all of her fallen men; because Oryn was sat in a burning cage and it was May who had put them there.

Out of breath but nowhere near exhausted, they arrived at the top floor, May ripping the door off the closet. The heat was nearly unbearable, the immediate wash of newly born flames reaching from what was once the sealed entrance. May’s blood rushed through her, her heartbeat loud and persistent in her ears as the hum slowly started seeping into her skull.

The men behind her stood back, staring at the soft blaze set before them.

The clang of a desperate fight could be heard over the roar of the flames, someone battling for their life.

“Get me up there!” May screamed, turning to her men with her jaw set and eyes ablaze.

“But—”

Without thinking—without even a second to blink or take a breath—May’s sword cut deep into the abdomen of the Squad Four Commander, the hilt meeting the soft leather of his armor as the blood seeped onto May’s hand. Her eyes were dark, determined.

She turned to the other’s, their eyes wide and mouths slack.

“Get me up there,” she repeated, her breath low and hot.

Without a second thought, she was all but thrown by her men off the floor and up into the searing flames of the attic entrance.

The pounding hum resonating beneath her skull got stronger as she hoisted herself up on burning beams into the center of the alcove. The smoke burned her eyes and left her in a wake of dense fog, unable to see much of the world around her besides the roaring flames slowly dissolving the wooden room. She gasped and hacked as the ash entered her lungs, burning her insides with a fierceness she hadn’t ever felt before.

“Oryn!” She called, her voice horse and meaningless amongst the raging fire. The fighting continued, the clanging of steel just barely making itself heard. She stepped forward, her own bloodied sword held in front of her.

She was getting closer, the battle sounds growing louder, her vision fading with each step she took, her skull vibrating as the pressure of the pounding built. She cried out, falling to her knees, the flames seeming to edge their way closer and closer to her with each passing moment.

There was a shriek of pain, something almost animalistic in nature. The ripping of skin, grinding of bone, tearing of sinew and blood coursing through changing veins.

Fuck, May thought, heaving up smoke as tears rolled down her cheeks Not here. Not now!

The pounding in her head slowly turned from raging, meaningless rumbles into the staccato beats of something being beckoned forth. She didn’t feel any pain, but the soft mush inside of her skull slowly separated, something new emerging from the inside. Her eyes snapped open as the rush of something powerful washed over her. She lifted herself from her knees, her vision steady and clear as she saw what unfolded before her.

Demetrius was fighting neck and neck with two soldiers May had never seen before, wearing the livery of a duke or duchess she didn’t recognize. Their faces were covered in what must have once been white linen, now burnt at the edges and covered in soot. Their skin had been scorched in places and was completely barren in others. How they continued to wield a swords was beyond her comprehension.

With a new weightlessness pushing her forward as the thrumming became a hymn in the back of her head, May threw herself alongside Demetrius, her own sword flying in beautiful arches over her head as she tried to even the odds.

Demetrius was worse off than those they were fighting, a large slash across his face leaking a garish trickle of blood. His leather plate was slick and oily, his hair plastered to his head as he swung his sword ruthlessly. There was nothing but the power and flow of the Wind behind his eyes, the battle rage holding his spirit.

As May ducked under a slash from the enemy, she quickly brought her sword behind the legs of him. As his tendons were cut deep and a spray of blood hit May’s hands, she stood and turned towards the hulking creature behind her. She made a final puncture to the soldier’s throat, killing him.

May could barely make out the full shape of the beast, her vision clearer than it should’ve been in the smoke but unable to focus on whatever Oryn’s form was. She could just hardly see Alec peeking out from behind what must have been the right shoulder of the beast, clearly hanging on to the protruding thorns and masses of skin running down its back. As it steadied itself on its two legs, finally meeting eyes with the fight between Demetrius and the other soldier—flames roaring just barely behind him— Oryn let out a deep, guttural cry.

Oryn leapt into the fight, Alec hanging on tight, trying to hide his face in whatever he could find to block out the smoke. The pads of Oryn’s feet hit the smoldering floor like a clap of thunder, sending shudders through the attic and bringing both May and Demetrius to their knees. It was instinctual: cover your ears. As Alec did the same, the pounding in May’s head ceased. She watched the remaining soldier bring his sword up above Demetrius’s bowed head as he knelt, readying himself for the killing blow.

His arms, strong and lean and glistening in the light of the fire—were steady, the linen finally falling from his face and being devoured by the flames. Then, something changed.

The silence finally enveloped May’s skull once again as she lifted her head to meet the eyes of the man ready to kill her most valuable soldier; one of her closest friends. Holding his glowing sword high above his head, his arms began to shake. The veins in his arms started to bulge, his skin draining to become a ghostly white. His veins started to move, the blood inside of them seemingly thick and collecting in places. As a slow drip of blood started to leak from his nose, his head exploded.

May couldn’t tear her eyes away. Blood and chunks of brain matter and shards of sharp skull bits flew with force from the viscera, a loud hisssss being heard as the fire licked the liquid into more smoke for them all to choke on.

She was yanked to her feet by something that wasn’t a human’s hand and lobbed over the beast’s shoulder, feeling a scared hand reaching out and holding on to hers as Oryn then picked up Demetrius, who was just as stunned by the scene that unfolded before them. Alec squeezed May’s hand, Demetrius gripped the monster’s ever-moving flesh, and Oryn barreled through the outermost wall, letting the group of them fall into the courtyard below.

I'm back 😈

Here's chapter one! The prologue has been heavily edited, up to chapter five lightly edited. So please be nice with all the grammatical errors if you find them! (Also feel free to point them out; I've obviously missed them as of this far lol, much appreciated!) Thinking of maybe doing a character post regarding the main characters you meet here, Oryn and May.

tw: mentions of death and funerals/burial, grief, blood

•

•

•

Our dearest Oryn,

Our faith is strong. Knowing it’s unorthodox means nothing; our souls don’t fear the plaguing nags of Chaos any longer. You can’t harbor any doubts as to where we will go once our souls leave our bodies: know they will all find their homes with the Gods. You needn’t waste your breath praying for us.

Knowing you, this cabin will soon find itself empty. The home we built together will be barren. It’s okay—you can go. We trust you. But remember who you are. Remember who we raised you to be. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, remember what we taught you. You’re too smart for the world, so be prepared for the way they’ll treat you. It won’t be kind. But don’t let that discourage you. Know that here, in the forest, there is always our home waiting for you to return. Let it be your haven.

There are no others like you. You know what the world does to the things it’s never seen. Don’t go looking for answers in places where none will be found, even when it all becomes too enticing. That lure, that pull at your soul, it’s Natural Chaos slowly wrapping you in its snare. Don’t let it.

You’ve been loved, and in turn loved us. If you’re going to take anything into the world with you, let it be that.

Maureen, Elisa, Starla

Ch. 1

It seemed like mere moments, yet the two of them sat there for hours. As the sun bathed the sky in its hues of oranges and reds and purples and pinks, they sat in front of the three fresh graves in silence. Oryn turned the unlit torch over in their hands. The forest wasn’t mourning; it was empty. The life that the three of them had built here didn’t stop with Oryn or what they gave May; they kept the forest here full of purpose. Without them, it was like every living being knew that Oryn wouldn’t stay, so they didn’t need to, either. Once they left, they’d have nothing to protect anymore.

May wanted to give Oryn all the time they needed but didn’t know how time worked for them. She didn’t know how time worked for any of them; everything she seemed to learn about the three women they were about to bury only unearthed more questions that she never had the nerve to ask.

As the sun made its final dip over the horizon, Oryn stood, lighting the torch. May didn’t have the chance to stand before they dropped it in the first grave—Maureen’s.

The flames roared to life, like they knew they were releasing a soul to the Waters and Winds. Lighting two more torches, Elisa and Starla joined her.

May shuffled where she stood, clearing her throat. “Did they want us to perform any… rites? Or say any prayers?”

Oryn took their time to respond, making sure May understood their conviction. As a solitary tear ran down their cheek, they barked, “No.”

“You need time,” May nodded.

“No,” Oryn said. “Let them burn and fill in the graves. Then, we go.”

They stood their long after dusk, letting the flames turn to ash before filling the graves they sat in. Amongst the flowers and herbs and fruit trees would be three women who defiled every god in the name of building a home.

The silence surrounding them wasn’t one that bode dread; it was like the subtle breath of your lover lying next to you as you slept. The forest was letting them sleep in peace.

As May untied her horse from the post near the hut that was both Oryn’s home and prison, she could hear the wood sigh with relief.

They took their time leaving the forest, knowing they wouldn’t be back any time soon. The footpaths seemed to bleed into the plant life surrounding them, slowly rotting the roots and bushes into dust. It was a slow decay, the trees slowly dropping their leaves and petrifying within the few hours of travel it took for them to reach the forests’ edge.

“You should know,” Oryn said, clearing their throat as the steed took its’ final step from the forest into the field, “I don’t sleep well.”

As the crackle of the final trees solidifying rang behind them, May turned over her shoulder. “And by that you mean?”

“I talk sometimes,” they started, “and other times I’ve broken a few things.”

“In your sleep?” May asked, Oryn nodding a bit. “Should be fine. You’ll be on the other end of the manor so I’m sure it’ll be no bother. And there’s not much in the room to break, anyway. I’ll let the guards know not to worry if they hear you mumbling.”

“Guards?”

“Just a few,” May started. “They patrol the manor at night. Since I started commanding the New Guard…” she trailed off, her jaw tightening. “It’s just better to be safe.”

Oryn nodded, taking the two flasks from the small bag they carried. “We should drink these before we make it into town,” they said, reaching their worn hand over May’s shoulder and handing her one.

May slowed their horse, coming to a stop on the path in the lush field. Here, all the living things were normal, singing and chirping and fleeting from one patch of grass to another. She took the flask, holding it up to the moon to see the cloudy brown liquid inside. Taking a deep breath, she smelt something that took her back to the puddles of blood staining the manor’s floor.

Her hands started to shake, the brass ring she wore clinking against the flask. “How many times can someone take this?” she struggled, her throat and tongue contorting as each word barely made it from her mouth.

Oryn sighed, running a hand through their braids. “I know,” they said, downing their own concoction and gagging on the aftertaste. “It’s safe. It won’t break what you’ve built here.”

May sat up straighter, her free hand tightening around the reigns. “You know?”

“I know they gave this to you before,” Oryn stated, “and I know it worked. Drink it again and it’ll work now, too.”

May hesitated.

“I’m Oryn,” they started, their voice flowing freely and with a quality anyone would strain to hear. They starting listing prices for goods they didn’t know anything about, naming duchy’s they didn’t know existed and comparing them to men they’ve never heard of.

May wasn’t concerned if it would work. The hair stood on the back of her neck as the thoughts of the broken bottle and pounding feet ran through her mind; the gold sitting in the cove dug underneath the stairs in the manor by her grandfather. There were things worth killing over.

She put the flask to her lips, letting the taste of tar slide down the back of her throat.

“Good!” Oryn chuckled, a low hum droning in May’s ear. She gagged on the taste and dropped the flask, Oryn reaching around her to tug the reigns. “It’s sealed now. But you know that already.”

-

The cracking of wood rendering itself to splinters rang down the hall, sending another shiver down Alec’s spine. He turned to his lieutenant, looking up at him the way small boys do.

“Dutchess said not to worry,” he started, a yawn creeping from the back of his throat. “Besides,” he sighed, “we have to stay alert for real threats.”

Glass shattered, followed by a metallic grating that could only be a nail ripping itself across the stone walls. A deep hum started creeping its way up the base of Alec’s neck.

“But, sir,” he said, his brows furrowing. “Somethings not right.”

His lieutenant rubbed his temples before conceding, nodding at Alec and starting down the hall towards Oryn’s bedchambers. Alec followed in his wake, his falchion gripped the way he was taught.

Reaching the door, Alec stepped forward when he was gestured to and slowly grabbed the knob. The soft click as he slowly started to turn the handle made a bead of sweat start dripping down his back, the low drone of humming building pressure in the back of his skull. But, after a point, the handle wouldn’t budge.

“Locked,” he mumbled to himself, turning back to his superior. “We shou—”

Alec was flung back down the hall, the shreds of door shielding his front half from whatever came barreling down onto his Lieutenant. He couldn’t see it, but Alec heard the snapping and creaking of flesh tearing from bone mixed with the screams and pleas of his superior, which were cut short by a quick pop of his head. His gray brain matter hit the wood Alec was shrouding behind.

There were footsteps hitting the ground immediately heard down the hall, quickly running to the source of the commotion. As Alec trembled and tried to remember how to breathe, another man’s hand was yanking him up from the ground and pulling him back down the hall.

The beast was of no shape that any of them had ever seen. In a matter of moments, more guards were thrown back against the walls, the demon’s shrieking echoing off the stone. If anyone in the manor happened to still be asleep, they weren’t now.

As one guard after another went with spear after falchion, their meaningless cuts and stabs were rendered useless. As the thick, opaque blood started seeping from the gashes, the skin would mend itself, transforming itself into something new.

The hulking mass of meat and bone would grind, creak, and snap as its limbs changed, its agonizing cries of pain accompanying the transformations. The skin would contort itself, stretching and thinning to contain everything within.

May came barreling from her quarters, untied robes messily hanging over her old nightwear, sword brandished and glowing in the dim light. With a look of determination on her face—the one her men always looked to—she barked out an order and shouted the command calling the bulk of the guard to her back. As the echo of May’s voice started bouncing off the cold walls, a rush of wind flew through an open parapet, the torches amongst the walls hissing into darkness. The soft sigh of relief amongst the darkness turned into a quiet sobbing.

“I’ve…” there was a soft shuffling of skin on stone, a hiccup of a cry emanating down the hall.

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