The Keep of Nightmares (M)

[Alegretto]

((OOC this thread is open by PM, so if you want to join in the haunted fun just send me a message. I'm also quite willing to have multiple people and even add folks later on if there is an opportunity. Also, feel free to invent whatever reasons you want people might have for visiting this place and don't be afraid to take liberties with descriptions of what lays inside.))

Dorphus Keep is a small castle located in Southern Connlaoth. It's part of the network of forts that dot the landscape in the war-torn country. It sits guard over one of the small mountain passes that can allow travelers to go between Serendipity and Connlaoth. It used to play an important defensive role, until one tragic day.

One of the tornados so common to Connlaoth was sweeping through the area, and all of the people from the local village entered the keep to take cover. No one knows why or how, but all the occupants of the fort were killed, leaving the entire region unpopulated.

This was not discovered until months later when a traveler going from Connlaoth to Serendipity through the pass found the border post unmanned. Finding the nearby village abandoned, the traveler went to the fortress. Inside, he found uncountable numbers of dead. They were uncountable because not a single body was intact, and there were more pieces than anyone could hope to count. The traveler immediately turned back and returned to the nearest fortress, alerting the military there.

The knights and soldiers there immediately launched a small expedition to check on the condition of the fort. Just getting close to the structure was enough for them to tell that the traveler was telling the truth, for upon opening the door the traveler had released a stench of decay and death that spread for miles. The small group sent a runner back to the other fort to confirm the travelers tale and request reinforcements, for it would require an army to clean out the number of bodies inside. That done, the small expedition ventured inside. There was only one survivor.

When the requested army arrived they found a single knight left from the expedition, trembling in a fetal position by the entrance. The man was renowned for his bravery and swordsmanship, but the army found only a broken shell of a man who could no longer do anything but speak a short phrase: "The Nightmare sleeps here." He died three nights later.

Needless to say, many of the men in the army were scared, but the force was five-hundred strong they reasoned. Four-hundred men went into the castle, the remaining hundred in reserve. Zero came out, but the screaming lasted the entire night. After that the remaining hundred soldiers gave up on entry. They tried to take the thing down. Using massive catapults and trebuchets, (this occurred before the invention of black powder) the left-over men attempted to smash the cursed keep apart. Their efforts were futile. Massive rocks bounced off the black stone walls like they were wads of parchment. The keep would not burn either. The group of frightened and disheartened soldiers gave up. They boarded up the entrance and left for home.

And so Dorphus Keep has sat, undisturbed for untold years as the events of that time have slowly faded into legend.

Until now. Whatever's inside has slowly been wearing away at the entrance to the keep. It is much weaker now, starved and exhausted from its efforts to open the keep, but it is far from beaten. The legend is awakening once again, and the keep stands open to snare the unweary. Tales of a mysterious fort that smells of death and swallows those who enter have once again begun spreading through Southern Connlaoth and beyond. Those tales have reached a few individuals, each with their own reasons for visiting such a horrible place. And now they gather. Another expedition to enter The Keep of Nightmares.



Turnrin Wist looked up at the foreboding, black stone fortress. He was taking a lot of risks visiting this place. Some he knew, some he was less aware of. First of all, the keep was located in war-torn Connlaoth, which was dangerous in of itself and especially so for Turnrin, for he was a Serenian and had slight magic power. It was also dangerous because of what lay inside the building, though of that Turnrin only knew rumors and hearsay. Of course, that was enough to attract the eccentric monk. He was sure that whatever was inside would make an excellent addition to his catalogue of the flora and fauna of Le'raana.

Turnrin was making ready to go in when he noticed that he was no longer alone. A stranger had walked near as he was lost in thought. Another traveler who had business with the haunted keep?

[Brisinger987]

Methusela examined the sky around him, and felt the storm forming over him. He examined the ground, and saw a keep, deciding to take refuge in it's dark clutches. He had no idea what lay inside, but he didn't believe it could be bad.

He landed in front of it, and saw that he couldn't fit through the door, and willed himself to change form, becoming a orange and black haired human, his eyes blazing orange. He looked around, and saw the monk.

"Good sir, a storm is brewing! Let us take cover indoors!"

[Anadwen]

Mordred looked at the sky with a grunt, and scowled at the dark clouds. He was in the middle of a road, and there was a storm coming... He didn't want to get caught in it, but the only shelter appeared to be an old keep afar. He brisked up as he pulled the hood of his cape on his head, and kept walking further.

He saw the other two quickly, and his frown deepened. One of them was definitely not human, and the other, older one, also had a weird smell around him... He sighed, and saluted the two when he was only a few feet away.

"It looks like it's going to rain. Is that open?" he asked, pointing at the door of the keep.

[Alegretto]

Turnrin looked at the two newcomers. Much to his consternation, they both appeared human. He noticed that the storm was worsening. The rain started, and the monk nodded at the taller man. "Yes I believe so, let's get inside." He led the way, just as the thunder and lightning started. He spoke over his shoulder as he led the pair into the keep. "I'm Brother Turnrin, and it's a pleasure to meet both of you." As he entered the keep and the other two followed him, he turned around to address them. And the entrance vanished. In fact, the whole room changed. They were suddenly in what appeared to be an ancient drawing room. Turnrin looked about, completely confused.

((OOC: Me, then Hormagaunt987, then Anadwen posting order. We can add more later if other people want to get involved.))

[Brisinger987]

"Methusela. A pleasure to make both your acquaintance." Methusela smiled at the monk, although he was wary that both people could easily be a threat to his health in this form.

Methusela followed, looking to his left as he entered the huge keep, feeling drawn to a fixed point on the wall. When he turned back to look for both of his new companions, they were gone, and he stood alone in a gloomy corridor, lit by a single orange torch.

His first instinct was to panic, trying to change to dragon form to gain some sort of control, even if it brought the whole keep down on him. The second instinct, was to panic further when he didn't change form, and instead he looked around frantically, before he thought he saw something move further down the corridor.

"Hello?" He called out to towards the place of movement, terrified to exit the light of the torch for fear of whatever lay in the shadows.

[Anadwen]

"Mordred Caeras, at your service." he introduced himself. Not a word about pleasure, he entered the keep with a frown - but that was immediately replaced by a surprised expression of horror. The room was completely different in the moment when he entered.

"By the name of Ansgar!" he cried out when he found himself in a long corridor. A light of a torch was somewhere in the distance, and with slow, cautious steps he approached it.

Fortunately it was only one of the two men.

[Alegretto]

Turnrin looked about the musty drawing room. There was dust everywhere, coating the place like a film. The functional table and chairs spread about the room once maintained guests of the fort, but now they held only massive quantities of, surprise surprise, more dust.

The room was empty other than him, and there was no sign of his companions. He called out, "Hello, Mordred, Methusela, anyone around here." Ringing silence confronted the monk's words. Alright, first priority went to finding those two. There was a door by the corner, and Turnrin started making his way toward it.

As he opened the door, he thought he heard some kind of laughter, playing at the edge of his conscious, but he dismissed it as hearing things. He stepped outside into a long corridor, and saw a light at the far end of one side of it, around a corner. It looked like a torch. Hurriedly he made his way to the light, but when he turned the corner, it was suddenly extinguished. He found himself in another room, what appeared to be a storage chamber. And he was definitely not alone this time.

((OOC: Feel free to make it one of your characters, or not. It could be something far more sinister...))

[Brisinger987]

((OOC: Lots of sinister happenings gonna split the three of them up, lol))

Methusela saw Mordred walking towards him, and he stepped forwards towards him.

"Mor-" Methusela stopped speaking when the torch went out, and he heard scuttling behind him, terrified of what was going to happen. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the scuttling and the sound of rasped breathing.

Then it stopped, and Methusela eventually dared to open his eyes, and found he was in a bedroom, completely enveloped in darkness. The windows were the only source of light, and lightning crashed outside, making Methusela jump.

"Hello?"

[Anadwen]

In the moment when Mordred stepped into the light of the torch, it was suddenly blown out. Something grabbed his cape, and pulled him back, almost ripping the fabric from the clasps on his shoulders. A gust of cold wind enveloped him, and he instinctively closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was in a dark dungeon - a cellar, full of chains and skeletons. He stepped away from a pile of blackened bones in disgust, immediately rushing for the door on the other side. A couple of lanterns with dim green light burned around...

He pushed the door open and ran into another wide corridor. His hands grabbed one of the green-flamed torches, leaving a trail of acidic fumes behind as he bolted through the tunnel, and entered a large hall.

[Alegretto]

((OOC: This is now officially a contest to see who can write the creepiest/ most sick and twisted :P))

Turnrin spun a full circle, trying to take in his surroundings. The storage room was in much the same condition as the drawing room before it, though it seemed to the monk that there was more dust, if such a thing was possible. It was odd that there was a carpet and a hanging light in the room, but maybe they were being stored as well. There was, however, one key difference. He couldn't see a door in this room. All four walls were stacked high with piles of crates. He sighed. He hated physical labor.

Slowly, laboriously, he lifted one of the crates and set it down in the center of the room. It was shockingly heavy, and he couldn't help but wonder what was inside. His curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to take a peak inside. The wood was ancient and rotted, so it wasn't a challenge to pull the lid free from the nails holding it in place. Turnrin tried to peer inside the box, but it was too dark to see inside. He leaned in closer to get a better look...

There was nothing there. Which was decidedly impossible considering how heavy it had been moments before. He lifted it again to confirm his suspicions and without a doubt it was lighter. And then he heard something skittering on the floor. He dropped the bin, and it landed with a hollow *thunk.* Now that was odd. That wasn't the kind of noise a solid wood floor made when it had something dropped on it. Turnrin pushed the crate away and rolled up the carpet, revealing a trap door. He smiled. Maybe he wouldn't have to move all those crates.

What Turnrin had failed to notice during his exertions was that something had cut him, just a little bit, by his ankle. It had hungrily absorbed a bit of the monk's blood before skittering off with the precious drop of the red liquid. And it had brought it to something else. And now something else had woken up.

Turnrin had the trapdoor open and was about to go down the ladder when he thought he heard something rattling above him. Something inside him, some instinct or half-finished idea screamed at the monk to go down, close the trapdoor, and never look back. However he couldn't do that. Not when there might be something interesting up there, some new species. Turnrin looked up.

Then he screamed. Then he was down the ladder and had the trapdoor shut faster than was probably actually possible, and then breathed a sigh of relief. What he had thought was a light fixture, what his brain had refused to take for what it was, now lay trapped. That thing couldn't possibly go through the trapdoor, he was safe.

But he knew he wasn't. Even as he was thinking that another part of his brain was wondering why he'd traveled through the trapdoor properly and ended up in the right place, as opposed to what had happened each time he'd gone through a door before. Another part of him knew why even as he was thinking that. Because the floor, or now the ceiling, was just like the crates. It was far rotted and thin with age, and there was no it would hold up to strong assault. Turnrin ran, faster than he would have thought he could. There was a green light at the end of the hall, and a figure silhouetted by a doorway. If he could just get to that door.

He heard a crashing behind him, the splintering of rotting wood and a dry clattering sound that would haunt the monk's nightmares. He turned, reluctantly but almost as if compelled to, and watched with morbid fascination as the huge monstrosity that had come through the ceiling oriented itself. A flash of lightning illuminated the huge figure only very briefly, but that and the instant he'd seen it in the storage room was more than enough time for the monk to drink in almost every twisted detail.

It looked like a massive, black spider, probably eight feet long and sixteen wide. The creature was made entirely of ebony bones. Human bones. Turnrin had heard of necromancy, but never of anything like this. What must have been four ribcages were interlaced into a kind of abdomen, and the thorax comprised of several pelvises stuck up against one another. The entire body was held together by spinal cords wrapped around the disgusting mass of bone. Eight legs splayed out from the body, constructed uniformly of one leg, jammed hip end into the body, clutched by one arm at the ankle. The arm than extended to rest on the ground, creating the spider's "feet" with the end of the humerus.

Turnrin screamed again. Or he thought he was screaming. Then he realized that his mouth wasn't open and that there was no way that his vocal chords could create the four-pitched cacophony that shook the hall. Another flash of lightning revealed four skulls protruding from the creatures "thorax" like some kind of eyes. Each had their mouth open and was emitting a piercing screech the likes of which Turnrin had never heard before.

The monk ran. This time he was sure of what he was doing, and he didn't look back. He heard the screaming behind him, getting closer, and the dry rasp of and clatter of bones grinding against each other. Somehow that noise stood out even more than the screaming.

He gestured to the figure at the end of the hall holding the green torch to get inside the doorway. He just hoped that whoever it was waited until he was through the portal before closing it.

[Brisinger987]

((OOC: Excuse me, while I proceed to scare Ana to death with the following tale. Lol, bone spider. Nice.))

Methusela stood up, realising he had been sat on the musky bed of what appeared to be the master bed room. Ancient pictures, kept in perfect condition adorned the walls, and the chandelier on the ceiling was pure and crystalline. He smiled for a second. This room was truly beautiful, even if the rest of the castle was terrifying to be in.

He walked over to the huge window, that stood taller than he did, and looked out upon the storm outside. It was nearly pitch black, rain, high winds and thunder and lightning marring what was usually a beautiful Connlaothian landscape. Again, he smiled, feeling safe here.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck just in front of the balcony blinding Methusela with  the flash, the thunder ringing in his ears. He stumbled backwards, stunned entirely by this sudden act of violent weather.

When it finally cleared from his eyes, and the ringing was gone from his ears, he looked around at the room again. It was rotten, decrepit, a mere shadow of the glory it had been not 30 seconds ago. The bed sheets were ruined, the chandelier stained with blood. Methusela backed up, before he felt something touch his back.

He spun round, and screamed, falling backwards. The half rotted corpse of a young woman hung from the ceiling, her face warped into a deathly smile. Methusela fled, running from the room, until he thought he found another haven.

It looked like a large kitchen. There were butchers knives, and the smell of fresh raw meat filled the air. He reached for one of the knives, feeling it was best to prepare himself in defence of whatever monstrosity came next.

Lightning flashed again, and Methusela instinctively closed his eyes, terrified of whatever change would occur next. He only opened them again because he had no way of knowing how to exit this room.

This time, the layout changed. What had been a kitchen, became a morgue, and corpses lay on every table. A single lantern sat in the centre of the room, next to Methusela. He saw that each corpse looked ancient, like this room was their grave, and for a second, he heard a sound that wasn't from the outside. He heard something crunching, as if feasting on flesh and bone.

Methusela scanned the room, looking for the source, terrified to look, but not wanting to give whatever horror lay in this room a fighting chance.

Then from the darkness, it came.

Its skin was pale white, covered in blood stains and viscera, the ridges of its thick hid stained deep red. Its serpentine body propelled it forward, and it reared, the point folding back to reveal ring after ring of sharp teeth. It had no eyes, and the hiss it made would haunt Methusela forever.

For a split second, Methusela didn't know what he was looking at. Then he realised, it was a giant, nightmarish worm.

[Anadwen]

(((OOC: warning, gore ahead!)))

Skittering on the floor echoed through the hall, and Mordred instinctively dropped the torch, turning on his heel and running back into the corridor. There were numerous black doors lining it... He bashed right into the largest one, and threw it open.

It banged behind him, and he was surprised to find himself in a beautiful dining hall. It was lit with chandeliers crafted into incredible beauty, its beams reflected and refracted by the crystal glass, glowing with a bright white light. Behind the tall windows, made of stained glass, hundreds upon hundreds of colorful shards in a perfect mosaic in each, cracked lightning, and the tears of rain ran down their surface, but inside the hall it was comfortably warm and calm.

A huge dinner table was amid the room, spreading with two large wings on each side. It appeared like a wedding, with exquisite dishes before the guests, sitting still and quiet on their thrones. Atop the table stood a couple of larger, finer ones. In one, a beautiful young woman sat, garbed in an exquisite white gown of a bride, and the wisps of her silky black hair were covering her shoulders like a veil of shadows. She had a perfect, pale face, lips full and red like wine, and her blue eyes stared somewhere into the indistinct distance.

He was drawn to her. It was a bride without a groom... Her sad eyes turned to him, and an elegant hand gestured towards him to come closer. Mordred, staring at her enchanting beauty, stumbled forth, watched by the guests behind the tables.

The bride's hand picked up a long knife from the table, and as he found himself before her, she crawled over the board with her fingers on its hilt. It was lifted to her head...

Its tip was aimed into her eye. It dove into it, blood streaming as she gauged her eyeball out, her white cheeks suddenly colored crimson, and the same knife cut out her other eye, too. A couple of black hollows was staring at Mordred, and her bloodied hands reached after him. With a loud scream, Mordred flinched back from her.

A sudden crash of lightning blinded him, and he stumbled on his feet and fell on his back. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the room has changed rapidly - the windows were blood-stained, cracked and broken, large parts of the glass missing and hollow. The dishes were thrown across the room, the plates broken and stained. All of the room was full of weapons, cracked and broken upon the floor and tables, and smoke was rising from now blown out chandeliers. What was once guests in majestic attire were now only corpses, laying across the tables and their bloodied bodies hanging from the thrones. They were pierced with weapons and arrows, and many a severed head or limb lay in a pool of blood in the hall.

In the second throne, empty before, was a corpse of a man with a crown on his head, and a blade of a large battle-axe in his skull. Mordred stared at him in horror, when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

The bride sat atop the table, her hollowed eye sockets still staring at him with their black deeps. Her attire was now ripped and blood-stained, and her hands were cut and bony. The knife in them was still there, and she pointed it at her chest.

Frozen by horror, Mordred stared as she skewed it in, and with inhuman strength ripped her ribcage open. Her hands took her heart, pierced by the blade, from beneath her lungs, and ripped it out, streaming with blood, offering it to the mordecai.

The knight screamed, and he screamed and screamed as he rushed towards the door. From the sound of cracking bones he knew that she was following, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw her stumbling behind, still holding out her heart.

[Alegretto]

((OOC: Plot post, not really creepy at all  :())

Turnrin saw the figure drop the torch and run through the doorway. At least they left it open. The monk was pretty sure that the spider... bone... thing, was still behind him. He kept running and didn't look back to check. He passed through the doorway and shut it securely.

Like that would hold it. Turnrin was opening one of the black doors in the corridor just as he heard the sound of splintering wood behind him. He ran inside.

And found himself outside. In a cemetery. "What kind of fort needs a cemetery!?" The monk screamed out to no one in particular. The lined tombstones were in one corner of a yard on the inside of the fort. Turnrin could see the high, black stone walls arching up on two sides of the cemetery and iron fences gating off the other two sides. He also saw an actual gate as well built into the fence. He went towards it. Quickly. No way he was staying in a cemetery after seeing that bone... spider... thing.

He didn't get very far before he felt something grab his foot. He didn't even look down, he just pulled, hard. He felt the resistance to his movement cease. He still felt something grabbing his foot though. He kept going, slamming into the iron fence and shoving it open. He ran through.

And found himself impossibly on the battlements. Also impossibly, it wasn't raining. It hadn't been in the cemetery either. Turnrin looked up and what he saw made him gasp. The rain was still falling, but it stopped a bit over the top of the battlements, like there was some kind of invisible roof. Turnin looked down and spun about. He didn't see any immediate danger. He sat down on the black rocks and pulled out some ink, parchment, and a quill. Time to make some sense of this place. He was going to draw a map.

Turnrin was pretty sure that each of the doorways/gates/portals in the keep teleported the passerby into a different room or led to the correct place. He was also hoping that these teleportations were set. It seemed like a safe bet, considering he hadn't gone through any doors that just led him right back to the bone... spider... thing and certain death. He started drawing. He had gone through the enterance and ended up in a drawing room...

[Brisinger987]

Methusela thought he was dead. He had no idea where he was, what nightmare this was part of.

And it broke him. He lashed out violently at the worm, terrified of the creature, kicking it and jumping on it, screaming and yelling at the vile beast, feeling ill at the sound of crunching flesh and carapace as his form beat the worm to death. Eventually, the worm ceased movement, and Methusela eventually stopped, panting and wheezing.

He looked down at the mush that used to be part of the work, and he was immediately sick at the sight. The sight of human bones and organs inside this thing.

Eventually, when he'd recovered, he stumbled away, still terrified and sickened, and headed back to the master bedroom, where he went and sat in the corner of the room, rocking. He wanted to leave, as soon as possible. The woman was still hanging, with that eerie grin, but Methusela paid it no attention, too shocked, scared and disturbed by this place.

"I wanna go home..."

[Anadwen]

The corpse-bride reached out after Mordred's cape, and her fingers grabbed onto it. She fell onto the floor, tripping over a whitened skull, and the knight kept running towards the door, pulling her behind.

"Wait... Don't run... I'm not trying to hurt you... Hear me out!" she cried out after him. Mordred's steps slowed down a little. She stood up, and soon reached him, her bloodied attire still threading behind her. Throwing herself at the door, she blocked his way out. "Don't go out there... Please, don't! It's cursed, it's cursed!"
"And you look like you're cursed, too!" he shouted back, reaching after the handle of his sword and pulling the long weapon out.
"This keep is my curse... This keep is my bane..." she whispered, and pushed the heart in her hands towards him. "Just hear me out, I beg you!"

Mordred took a step back. "Speak..." he called upon her, sticking his chin out in a proud pose.

"My father found a book. He found a book that was cursed. He was a duke a long time ago, many, many years have passed... And we were not friendly with the dutchy in our neighborhood. But the son of that duke loved me, and I loved him. We took refuge in this keep and married here without his knowledge. It was not always a keep... It was our home! But he found out, he found out... And brought this cursed book that killed us all, except me. Save me, please! I don't want to stay here on the edge of death for one more day!" She fell to her knees and begged him.

He raised a brow. For an unknown reason, he believed her... He watched as she stood up, and returned the heart to its place, leaving the knife in her chest. "I know this castle. I know the way around... Follow me, knight." she spoke, and pushed the door open.

In the moment when they left the hall, she was beautiful and young again, even her garment was clean and whole. "Don't lose hold of my hand, otherwise you will get lost!" she warned him, and started running towards the end of the corridor.

In the middle, she suddenly stopped, and pressed a finger on her lips. "Stay still..." she whispered, and bent down to open a door in the floor. It revealed a staircase, spiraling and covered in webs. She stepped in, and followed by Mordred, they took the long way down.

Suddenly, they crossed a veil of shadows, and found themselves standing in a doorway, leading to a large bedroom. A small figure was sobbing in the corner, and a skeleton hung from the chandelier.

[Alegretto]

Turnrin sat on the battlements quickly sketching out his route so far. It seemed as if certain doorways were one-way portals that teleported him, while others had been doorways that led to the proper place and would presumably put you back again in the proper place if you re-crossed them. He sketched out his observations on the map by retracing his own route and assigned names to each of the rooms. When he came to the battlements he was currently on, he realized he didn't know which side of the fort he was on. He looked up to consult the constellations, but realized that it was still cloudy and raining. The odd protection the fort provided made him forget that. He decided to just label them east for now and work it out later.

The monk stood up and admired his handiwork for a moment before stuffing the parchment in his robe. The battlements seemed like a safe place, but he couldn't be sure, and he'd never get out of here if he just sat in once place. The monk went over to the doorway on the opposite side of the wall and opened it up. Inside he saw only unnatural blackness. A portal then. He labeled it as such on his map before stepping through.


((OOC: Tunrin's map (so far)))

[Brisinger987]

Methusela saw the two figures exit the shadows, and his now feral state of mind made a connection as he saw the pretty woman, and remembered the illusion of the well kept kitchen, how it had disguised the worm and the hanging woman, who had degraded quite rapidly into a skeleton.

He lunged at them, yelling.

"I WON'T LET YOU TAKE ME! YOU MAY HAVE TAKEN THE OTHERS, BUT NOT ME!"

[Anadwen]

Mordred stepped in front of the bride, brandishing his sword, and shoving Methusela back with a push of his shoulder. "Don't be mad!" he shouted back. "It's only me, Mordred." he reminded him calmly. The woman peered at Methusela from behind his back, gripping his arm with her ghastly fingers.

"We are here to help. We can't divide, unless you want to risk losing each other, and never, ever getting out of this castle again... I know this keep. I know the way around it. I have led him," she pointed at the knight, "and if you let me, I will lead you, too."

He gave her a nod. "Yes, she led me out. Don't be afraid, she's helping us." He offered Methusela a hand, shifting the sword closer to its sheath.

[Alegretto]

Turnrin found himself in a crowded room full of bunks. This must be the barracks, he realized. He was going to mark it so on his map, but then realized that it might not be safe. In fact, now that he thought about it, the piles of armor around him seemed to be moving...

Time to go. He searched around the room for the nearest door. The armor was definitely stirring now, collecting from pieces into full suits. These barracks were large, they had to be to fit the soldiers of the fort, and each room he ran into was a doorway and not a portal. He heard a *swish* and ducked as a sword passed by above his head. He kept running and spotted a closed door. It looked different then the other ones, it must have been an exit. He banged it open, and saw blackness. A portal. He jumped through, though he felt something cut through the back of his habit.

[Brisinger987]

Methusela scramble back, and suddenly felt the floor underneath him, rotten and damaged from the effects of time give way, and he fell through into the barracks, and for a second, his eyes flashed into their draconic form. He had landed straight in front of Turnrin, rubble crushing an armour set that was forming in front of his path.

Then his eyes flashed to another form. A pale, ghostly white form, and then, suddenly, something spirited him away, removing him in an instant.

And like that he was gone.