The room Anastacia had claimed for herself was more than five times the size of what now felt like a broom closet she had in Valor, and that was without counting the bath that was separated from the rest of the space with a sliding door. Dominating the room, the bed was enormous compared to what she was used to, and could easily fit a small necromancer as well as two simulacra on it. The overabundance of pillows and the pearl-white bedding were outrageously soft, so much so that King had to rescue Anastacia when she sank too deep into them to get back out. The other furniture in the room were more or less what one would expect to find in such a place: a couple of chests, a wardrobe, a pair of armchairs and bookcases, a writing desk as well as three sofas arranged around a coffee table. A curious detail that immediately caught the necromancer’s eye was that almost every piece of furniture in the room had been crafted in a different style. All of them appeared to have the same materials, dark wood, brass and fabric dyed red, yellow and green, but the manner which the wood was carved, the brass fitted and the fabric cut all differed vastly between pieces. Having none of the knowledge Gilbert possessed for identifying the styles, all Anastacia could say for sure was that none of them had been made in Mournvalley. Beside the bed, there was a pair of large windows with a door to the balcony between them. The scenery through them had long since been erased by the intense blizzard, and following advice from Gilbert and Iatum, the necromancer covered them with the thick velvety curtains hanging by them.
In terms of decoration and smaller items, the room had the usual array of decorative plates and vases that served no purpose, a large painting of a coastal vista by the door and a plentiful collection of books. While King moved around the heavier furniture to see if there was anything suspicious under them, Anastacia and Leggy started picking up and turning around the decorations in the hopes that one of them opened up a secret passage or something, but nothing like that could be found.
Moving on to the bookcases, the necromancer started reading the titles out loud while pulling on each book to see if that did anything. “Vineyards of The West, A More Perfect Suggestion, Life and Death of a Dormouse, Illustrious Order, Interrogation of A Dragon, Kleb…” Her hand stopped on the spine of a bright red book with golden lettering stamped into it. “A Forbidden Romance: Misdeeds of a Maid…” She plucked the book from between the others, handed it over to Leggy for safekeeping, and continued going through the rest of the works. Nothing struck her as suspicious besides the fact that somehow a ten-part series of naming suggestions for farm animals existed. Much to their disappointment, none of the books activated any hidden mechanisms. Having a reading corner with so many books that didn’t hide a secret entrance seemed like a waste, but at least she could read up on how the current eyepatch monopoly was formed if she got bored.
Having been stuck inside a coach with minimal chances to practice proper personal hygiene, the bath attached to the room became more and more tempting by the moment. “I mean, we have to check that it works, right? Would be downright irresponsible to not. Could be any manner of secrets in there.” Anastacia said to her two companions as if she needed to justify it for some reason.
While not as luxurious as a dedicated bathhouse, the bath and the nook it was hidden in was about as nice a wooden tub could be. Scented soaps and oils were arranged on a small table next to the bathtub itself, along with candles and incense one could use to set the mood as they wanted it to be. Mirrors, a pile of towels, perfumes and other complimentary implements for tidying oneself up were available, a lot of them completely foreign to the necromancer – who was more interested in which ones could be used in cleaning a simulacrum. Poking through a stone tile that was attached to the wall above the side of the tub, were a pair of brass faucets with no details to distinguish them from one another. As expected, when Anastacia twisted them open, one began to fill the tub with cold water and the other one with hot water – at least once she realized that she needed to plug the small drain at the bottom of the tub.
Watching the water splash into the bath and adjusting the rate at which the cold water was pouring in to counteract the far too hot water coming out of the other tap. “How does this place have running hot water?” She asked out loud as the steam began to fog up the mirrors in the room. Running water of any kind was already impressive, but as far as she figured, feasible with some kind of a tank in the attic, but scalding hot water with a twist of a faucet? Suspicious to say the least. Valor achieved such a feat through ludicrously high funding for infrastructure and all the aureun technology the officials no doubt utilized, but that was hardly in the cards for an inn in the middle of nowhere run by two people. However, on the other hand, a warm bath. The mouth of this particular gift horse would remain uninspected for now, but Anastacia did intend to ask about it at some point.
Looking over the soaps, oils and extracts provided, she found most of their floral and spicy scents pleasant and made the decision to use all of them at once, as surely that would lead to the most pleasant odor possible. Dumping a random amount of the liquid ones into the water, the necromancer’s patience with the slow flow of water ran out, so she discarded her attire across the floor and sat down in the half-filled tub for a moment of relaxation before it would be time to convene downstairs again. Though sizeable for a single necromancer and enough for two people assuming they were fairly intimate, the wooden sides of the tub held together with brass rings would have stood zero chance against either of the simulacra, if they were to join her, so she would have to come up with an alternative way to clean her companions during the night.
During travel, the burns running along her skin between her right shoulder and palm of her hand were always a bit of a concern because of the limited chances to clean them, but so far, they had not gotten infected once. Whether it was because of the ointments she used on them or for some other reason was unclear. Running her finger along one of the paths from the back of her hand all the way up to the core socket in her shoulder and past it as far along as the scar went, Anastacia realized that the pattern was once again expanding, even if the part on her arm had settled, it now slowly spread both down towards her chest and up at her neck. She could already hear the stern talk she’d get for it once it reached above her collar, not that it’d change things any more than the previous ones.
Trying to not already get annoyed by the perfectly valid concerns of her closest friends, Anastacia sank herself deeper into the heavily scented water and reached over to the faucets to close them with her feet. “You two should make yourself comfortable, I think this might take a while…” She uttered and leaned back more, so that only her face was above the surface. “Also, maybe keep an eye on me so I don’t drown.”
It took exactly twelve seconds for the exhaustion from traveling to get to her and cause her to fall asleep in the warm water, and less than thirty for King to have to prop her head up with his hand after she began sinking more.
Looking down at her hands, Anastacia no longer recognized them. They were much larger than before, and their skin much darker than she could ever get. The nails were well taken care of instead of the chipped mess they usually were. Looking up, she didn’t recognize her surroundings either. She stood at the grand gate of a palace entirely foreign to her in both architecture and location. Opulent marble tiles covered what beautiful mosaic arrangements didn’t. A lush garden with strange trees and flowers she had never seen lined both sides of the path towards the palace and the gate itself was constructed from large pieces of turquoise stone, wound together with gold. Despite its beauty and grandeur, the palace and the path to it filled her with dread when she so much as glanced at them while walking away at a fast pace she had no control over.
Beside her, walked a young man, barely more than a boy really. An elf with features she easily recognized from Solaria, but it was not him. Concern was apparent on his face, and he kept nervously glancing back, as if something from the palace was chasing them.
They walked along the path of marble through two more gates, past pools of crystal-clear water, statues and monuments sculpted from precious materials, until they came to the final gate. Closed unlike the others, so they had to work together to push even one side of it open. Seeing the massive door barely move made Anastacia realize that nothing in this world made the slightest sound. The hinges of the gate didn’t creak, the steps they took fell silently on the marble, her own breathing was dead quiet. It was not the type of quiet she enjoyed, it was deafening and anxiety inducing total absence of sound.
Slipping through the smallest possible gap between the gates, they found themselves at swordpoint. Five uniformed assailants, probably guards or something like that, held their weapons pointed directly that the throats of Anastacia and the elf. Behind the guards stood another elf, old, fat and lacking the usual grace his kin had, but also clad in fine clothing and more bejeweled gold than the necromancer had seen anyone wear before. He was obviously furious even though none of his yelling made a sound. Most of the hate seemed to be directed towards Anastacia, and she took a step forward to keep it that way, shielding the young elf beside her. The fear in her companion’s expression was just as apparent as the anger in the older elf’s greasy face. She, however felt no fear at all, even when all five swords were turned against her after the step forwards.
Interestingly, her step forwards also caused the guards and the elf behind them to take a step back, despite her being unarmed. Though their faces were mostly covered, the fear and hesitation in the eyes of the guards became easy to read after she took a second step towards them. This seemed to frighten even the older elf and he pulled out his own golden blade while seemingly giving an order to the guards – an order they had no time to act on.
With what felt like a slight gust of wind, where the guards had just stood, now stood five extremely confused birds. Soon after, five guards fell to their deaths from somewhere high up. Their landing making no sound at all, but the wet thumps still traveling through the bricks of the paved road. As the birds scrambled back up into the sky to join their flock, the old elf began to scream and carelessly swing his sword while backing away.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Anastacia reached down to a small satchel on her belt and pulled out something small to display it to the furious elf, causing him to calm down immediately and fall on his knees, pleading for something. Between her fingers was a gold coin, crudely made and worn down over what must have been centuries or even millennia. The imagery minted onto it had long since become impossible to decipher, but somehow it struck fear into him more than the deaths of his guards had. Anastacia flipped the coin up into the air and caught it as it fell, which somehow completely crushed the old elf’s spirit. Crying hopelessly and grasping for something in the distance behind Anastacia, now completely ignoring her and the younger elf. She glanced at the coin in her hand again, and saw that it had somehow turned into a freshly minted, though still crude version of itself.
The old man’s pathetic cries didn’t seem to be of any interest to the necromancer, as she simply put the coin into her pocket and started walking onwards again, as if the whole ordeal hadn’t occurred. Gesturing for the young elf to follow her, she passed the groveling mess without so much as looking down at him, but a few steps later a chilling feeling took her over and she quickly turned around. Though she herself was out of harm’s way, her companion had stopped briefly next to the old elf, who was now slowly reaching for the sword he had dropped. Without hesitation, she snatched another coin from the satchel on her belt and flipped it into the air, catching it as it fell like before. This time, the coin had hardly changed, but nothing but dust remained of the old man.
This obviously disturbed her companion, who stared at the pile of dust in his feet on the verge of tears. Though it had not stirred anything inside her, she decided to give the boy a moment while staring back at the palace with a smirk on her face – or rather, at the ancient remnants of a palace that had been claimed by time and decay to the point where barely more than a few walls still stood.
A sudden feeling of pressure around her legs distracted her from the view, and in the briefest of moments possible, she saw bundles of brass wires coil around her legs before they yanked her through the dreamscape and she flinched awake in the bath.
The sounds of water splashing and the gentle whirr of King had never felt more calming than after even such a brief moment of complete silence. She grasped onto the arm of the simulacrum who had been keeping her head above the surface during her nap and instinctively pressed it against her cheek to calm herself while making sure she was still where she remembered being and not in some dank Mournvalleyan cell. Despite being startled, she had the good sense to commit everything she could into memory so that she could report them to the rest of the party later, after all, strange dreams were very much the theme of their trip and shouldn’t be ignored.
Leggy put down the book she had been flipping through despite probably not being able to read a word and rushed to the necromancer’s aid.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay…” Anastacia repeated to convince both herself and the simulacra. Waking up was still one of her least favorite things in the world, even if it was just from a nap. “We should get back downstairs.”
Unsure of which of the fancy scented bars of soap to use, she took them all and spent a while softening them in the hot water and mushing them all into a large orb of soap about as big as her head. Using the multicolored lump, she got rid of the filth and grime accumulated over the course of their trip, and once all done and rinsed, she left it behind in the tub for later use. A bath and a fresh set of clothes did wonders to counteract the anxiety caused by the dream, and she really felt like a whole new person as she headed to the door.
However, something caught her eye just as she was about to push on the door, causing her to backtrack a few steps. What she could have sworn was a painting of a coastal scene, had now turned into an image eerily similar to the palace in her dream. The cracks on the surface of the oil paint and the noticeable yellowing suggested that somehow the piece was at least as old as the one it had replaced. Below it was a small brass plaque denoting the name of the piece and its painter: Dreams are unruly as of late, do not get lost – Unknown.
The necromancer let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh man, Gilbert is going to hate this one.”
On the way downstairs, she knocked on the doors of the rooms Gilbert and Solaria had chosen, but neither answered, which she took as a sign that they had already left for the common room. Only halfway down the stairs, when she saw the mage, did Anastacia realize that knocking on Solaria’s door likely didn’t achieve anything in the first place, even if he had been inside.
The mage was sitting by the bar, presumably having a wordless chat with the innkeeper over a drink. The shade of concern over his brother and apprentice was still visible in his expression, but he seemed to be having a good time. Gilbert at least appeared to finally be content with the state of things, actually seeing the old king face to face must have brought things into perspective. He was sitting by the fire, calmly puffing away with his pipe in silence as Anastacia sat down next to him.
“There’s bullshit afoot.” The necromancer reported her experience.
“Always is.” The old adventurer sighed and was about to continue, but stopped to cover his nose. “I take it there were some complimentary perfumes in your room?
“Several, and scented soaps, I combined them into one large soap for efficiency.” Anastacia stated proudly.
“I guess no one has told you that you’re meant to put a couple of drops on a napkin and dab it on?” Gilbert said, keeping his nose firmly in his palm. “What did you mean by bullshit?”
Anastacia recounted her dream as well as she could, including the painting. Before she got too far along, Solaria joined them and immediately seemed very concerned by the whole thing.
“This all came to you in a dream?” He inquired with his tablet, and when the necromancer nodded, he nervously wrote down another message, clearly both puzzled and worried by the whole thing. After almost every word, he paused and his gaze drifted into the void as he tried to comprehend something. “That is a memory of mine. The only people who know of it are me and my brother. It has been decades but it does still appear in my dreams at times. Though the brass is not a part of it.”
“Might I be allowed to interject?” Iatum suddenly said, stepped towards the group but was taken aback by something. “Oh goodness… That is a powerful scent, honored guest. But regarding the subject of your discussion, that I happened to overhear. I may be able to unravel some of the mystery here. Inside these walls, The Lodge protects you from all hostile influences, which I suspect is the cause for the abrupt end of your dream. It is, however, concerning that the dream could still transpire at all.”
“And the painting?” Gilbert asked.
“A warning, Winter-born. I fear the foul winter might be the least of your troubles.”
“We must assume that we are already under the influence of whatever is causing the nightmares, which my brother’s party sought to end. Though I wouldn’t call them nightmares, it would seem that this influence is able to replace our dreams with those of others. I would also ask that the contents of that dream remain in this room. It is personal.” The mage wrote and immediately took out his notebook to begin theorizing on the nature of such a power. It did not escape him that it meant his brother had failed, but lacking other courses of action, that just fueled his desire to know all he could and be as prepared as possible.
“That doesn’t explain my dream though. Anna seemed pretty sure it was from an aureun.” Gilbert pointed out.
Anastacia sighed. “I’m almost sure it was King, or the aureun he used to be, Fah Raja. I haven’t had the chance to confirm but it sounded exactly like the stuff he used to do.”
The old adventurer glanced up at the simulacrum standing in watch beside Anastacia. “You used to be an aureun?”
“Both of them did, and neither remembers anything about it, that’s not how it works.” The necromancer groaned, annoyed by having to share things she would have rather kept secret.
“I won’t even bother to ask how you know that, so instead I’m going to ask why is she reading smut?” Gilbert accepted the explanation and pointed at the red book Leggy was flipping through again.
“I don’t think she can read.” Anastacia leaned over to look at the pages to see if they had illustrations or not. “But how do you know it’s smut?”
Gilbert shrugged. “You could say I’m well-read.”
A sudden horrifying realization came to the necromancer as she finished reading a few sentences over Leggy’s shoulder. As of late, she had exactly two types of dreams: nightmares of still being in Mournvalley, and dreams she would have to kill people over if they ever got out of her head. Granted, the chances were massively in favor of nightmares, but that wasn’t how her horrible luck operated.
“Heyyyyy… How about we make a pact? None of us will sleep for however long this takes? We’ll all just drink tons of coffee and conserve our energy and… and…” She suggested while nervously gesturing for the spriggan to make her another drink. “We’ll all just stay here and wake each other up whenever it looks like someone is falling asleep. That sounds like a good idea to me, right?”
“I would suggest the opposite. For as long as we are here, we should rest as much as possible and gather information on the power influencing us. Though I would also suggest that whatever we might see, never leaves this group.” The mage pitched in.
“Fair enough. Deal.” Gilbert was quick to agree.
Now screaming internally, the necromancer agreed as well. “Okay… Okay? Okay! Sure, yes, deal… Also, if one of you sees something that is in no way relevant to anything, only tell me first, okay? Cool. Great. Thanks! We’ve all agreed on that. I don’t want to have to silence anyone, but I will if I need to!”
With the matter seemingly discussed, the party returned to whatever they were doing. Solaria chatted with the innkeeper, Gilbert pondered things by the fire, the simulacra idly wasted their eternal time and the necromancer was having a meltdown over the possibility of her dreams leaking into someone else’s head. As the weather outside somehow kept worsening, the constant whistling of the wind slowly changed to more resemble the howls of hundreds of people crying for their lives. No one but Gilbert paid much attention to it, but the image it conjured in his mind was very clear.
Without a warning, mostly because the necromancer was otherwise occupied, the door of the lodge crashed open and someone stumbled through it. The same creature of brass, black cloth and leather that had guided them to shelter stepped in with what seemed like the very last of its strength. They struggled against the wind blowing from outside, but just barely managed to close the door and collapsed against it in exhaustion.
“Sam!” Iatum yelped and rushed to the creature’s aid with not a hint of the care they had put to their graceful and elaborate movements.
“I am fine. This one is harsher than usual.” The creature spoke in a voice so clear and melodical that it could have passed for a song, despite the clear exhaustion.
Even just the brief gust that had gotten inside had stolen all the heat from the room, to the point where Anastacia noticed that her breath caused a cloud of fog to appear. A sudden sense of loneliness came over everyone present, even while sitting within arm’s reach of one another, in that moment they all felt so miserably alone in a cold and uncaring world. The roaring flame in the fireplace shrank down to almost nothing as if it was taking shelter in its embers while the lesser fires of candles and lanterns were simply blown out. However, the flames were just as quick to relight themselves the feeling of warmth and comfort returned to the lodge.
Slowly stumbling up from the floor. The seemingly mostly mechanical creature of brass bowed so deep that the wide brim of his helmet hid their entire body. “Apologies. I am Sam of The Lodge, the doorman.” He introduced himself while Iatum cleared snow off his shoulders.
