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"SSC4: Shadow Realm"

If you read this then cheers. I wasn't originally going to end it where I did but it was getting a trifle long.



The armoured, cloaked figure strode down the stone corridor of the castle, walking very much like a man who owned the place. And in fact, he did. For he was Sir. Dakek Ottenberg, Ruler of the Imperial West of Panlor. He stopped at the entrance to a room, flanked by two spearmen. One opened the thick oak door, unbolting the outside locks.
Ottenberg walked inside, pausing at the door and blocking the entrance to a soldier. “I need you not. Do not disturb us.” The soldier gave a curt nod, and closed the door.
In the room was a table, as well as two chairs, one on either side. They were similar, except the chair nearest the wall, on the far side of the door, had arm and leg locks as well as neck fasteners and thumbscrews. Ottenberg walked to the far wall and took a key from his cloak. He unlocked the chains fastening a raggedly dressed man spread-eagled half way up the wall, so that as the chains were released he fell in a heap on the stone floor. Ottenberg lifted the man and placed him on the torture chair.
“No need for the toys, methinks. You seem docile enough.” And then laughed, a sad laugh with no emotion in it other than cold hate.
“Now, the Guard tell me that they caught you pilfering in the market, Marcus. Is that true?”
The young man, who had previously been resting his head on his chest, looked up, trying to focus on Ottenberg, with what vision he had in the dull cell.
“All due respect, Sire, but your wages to me as a Candle Maker are not favourable.”
“Yet, you admit pilfering from market? Yes?” The black figure probed.
“Yes.”
“Ah, I thought so. But you may wonder why I am here. Well, when one of the Guard told me he had arrested a ‘Marcus’ for thievery, I was going to have you hung, drawn and quartered. But then I remember what a midwife told me, after you were born. She said you were born with a certain Mark on your chest. Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it means, boy?”
“It means that I can travel to the Shadow Realm unharmed by the dead that rest there.”
“Ah,” Dakek exhaled. “How did you know that?”
“My father told me. His father also had the mark. Ever second generation possess it in our line.”
The man collapsed in a fit of coughing and Ottenberg, as if waking up from a dream, hauled him to his feet and out of the cell. “Famished boy, you must be famished. Let us get you food and then we will discuss what you are going to do for me.”

*

Marcus now sat on an ivory chair in Ottenberg’s chamber. His Lord was sat opposite across a golden painted table.
In the middle of the room was a huge four poster bed with silken sheets and pillows, with embroidered duvet. Tapestries hung about the walls, showing either the Ottenberg arms or the Imperial flag. A map of Panlor was also on the wall. On pegs were also three spears, two swords, two crossbows and a mace. Two black suits of armour were at either corner, and thick animal skins lay on the floor as rugs. On one side of the room, beside a small window a table was sat, and on a stool a brown haired beauty sat combing her long lustrous hair. Marcus reckoned her about nineteen summers of age.
“Emerald, leave us.” said Dakek.
The mistress slipped out quietly through the door behind Ottenberg, slipping Marcus a suggestive smile and raising her eyebrows as she did so. Marcus winked.
“What the hell are you doing, infidel?” A gauntleted iron fist slammed down on the golden table, leaving a dint. Marcus’s wink was not quick enough to escape the sharp gaze of Ottenberg. “Now,” he said, composing himself again. Marcus detected the Sire had a short fuse. “This is your service to me. Complete it and I will let you go back to working in your shithole candle making shop, but if you fail, I will crucify your entire family. They will line the Imperial road from here to the border forts. You are to go into the Shadow Realms, and find a recently deceased Imperial Priest of the Orthodox Order. He died two days ago, when his ship sank off our coasts. He has an item I need. It is the claw of a dragon you may have heard of from fireside tales, Yagg Kragfin. Yes?”
“Yes, Sire, I have heard of it. But it was my understanding that he did not exist.”
“Well, he did. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I get that claw, and that is your responsibility. Right now the claw is on the sea bed. But there is also a form of it on that dead Priest. When you return to the living, after getting that claw, you will have the real form and it will no longer be resting at the bottom of the Enchanted Ocean. You have crossed over before?”
“Never, but I now the methods needed and what to do when I get there. But… there is something you need in order to cross. It is a cake, cooked by one of the Monks of Narcart.”
“Yes, I have that. Do not worry. I have a cheesecake baked this morning. You will eat that now and then cross the border.”
“I like cheesecake.”
“Shut up, idiot. Now, you have a pouch for the Dragon Claw, you need anything else?”
“I need a black candle, but I already have one. Without it the journey is perilous, for the living cannot see the world of the dead without the special light from a black candle.”
“Very well.” Ottenberg rose and walked over to one of the tapestries on the walls, pulling it back and revealing a wooden door, about five hand spans by five hand spans. He opened it. “This tunnel leads to a hidden part of the castle where you will find the cheesecake. Now, remember Marcus - fail and I will crucify your family. Every last one. When you have got the claw, return it to me.”
“Yes, Sire.” said Marcus, as he entered the secret tunnel. He heard it close behind him.”
“Bästärd.” he said to no one in particular. At the end of the tunnel he could make out a light and eventually he reached it and climbed out into a pantry, wiping off the cobwebs and dust that had adhered itself to his clothes throughout the tunnel. The pantry was a small place, no more than eighty hand spans by eighty hand spans. A brown robed figure stood in meditation in the middle with vacant eyes.
“Excuse me.” Marcus said to the figure.
“Uh? Oh. You must be here for the cheesecake. It’s a secret cheesecake. I baked it this morning. You can’t beat a good secret cheesecake eh?”
Marcus agreed that you can’t beat a good secret cheesecake and mentally labelled the man as a simpleton.
Strangely enough the cheesecake was still warm as Marcus started to eat it, and he felt with every chew a little part of his body leave and enter the Shadow Lands. Eventually, the monk was a blur that gradually disappeared and Marcus found himself in the cold oppressive darkness of the Shadow Realm. He lit the black candle and a pale iridescent glow came from its flame, which didn’t seem to flicker or burn but stay at a stationary angle and not vary in light, colour or shape. Marcus looked around him, and he could see several dark shapes looming closer - like flies attracted to the corpse, only this time it was the opposite - the deceased attracted to life and light. Marcus took a deep breath and plunged forward into the world of death.

To be continueth..

Bit cliched but good anyway. :) I'd only say that you kinda slapped the cheesecake into the story, instead of basing the story around a cheesecake which is what I was hoping for. Good though.

RoJ wrote:
> I changed the name halfway through from Vaspar to Marcus. I knew I'd
> miss one!

Heh, I noticed that when I read it the other day and forgot to comment, but my thoughts are similar to the other two's, I thought it was a great, and well-written piece. Well done.

Thanks for reading people. I don't know whether I will write anymore though. I have some ideas..

How the hell could you stop?

> To be continueth..

* puts life on hold, taps foot and waits patiently *

I changed the name halfway through from Vaspar to Marcus. I knew I'd miss one!
Thanks for reading.

I was ... enthralled.
Usually this kind of stuff gets on my nerves - but no, my nerves are un-touched, and my lips turned upwards.

That would be smiling, then.

Although:

RoJ wrote:
> “Famished boy, you must be famished.

Muh?

>Vaspar winked.

Who?

>You can’t beat a good secret
> cheesecake eh?”

Indeed, sah, indeed.
I did love when the cheescake came in - I was thinking 'how the hell is a cheesecake going to fit into all the shiznit?' but there it was, and wonderfully placed.

Yummy.

If you read this then cheers. I wasn't originally going to end it where I did but it was getting a trifle long.



The armoured, cloaked figure strode down the stone corridor of the castle, walking very much like a man who owned the place. And in fact, he did. For he was Sir. Dakek Ottenberg, Ruler of the Imperial West of Panlor. He stopped at the entrance to a room, flanked by two spearmen. One opened the thick oak door, unbolting the outside locks.
Ottenberg walked inside, pausing at the door and blocking the entrance to a soldier. “I need you not. Do not disturb us.” The soldier gave a curt nod, and closed the door.
In the room was a table, as well as two chairs, one on either side. They were similar, except the chair nearest the wall, on the far side of the door, had arm and leg locks as well as neck fasteners and thumbscrews. Ottenberg walked to the far wall and took a key from his cloak. He unlocked the chains fastening a raggedly dressed man spread-eagled half way up the wall, so that as the chains were released he fell in a heap on the stone floor. Ottenberg lifted the man and placed him on the torture chair.
“No need for the toys, methinks. You seem docile enough.” And then laughed, a sad laugh with no emotion in it other than cold hate.
“Now, the Guard tell me that they caught you pilfering in the market, Marcus. Is that true?”
The young man, who had previously been resting his head on his chest, looked up, trying to focus on Ottenberg, with what vision he had in the dull cell.
“All due respect, Sire, but your wages to me as a Candle Maker are not favourable.”
“Yet, you admit pilfering from market? Yes?” The black figure probed.
“Yes.”
“Ah, I thought so. But you may wonder why I am here. Well, when one of the Guard told me he had arrested a ‘Marcus’ for thievery, I was going to have you hung, drawn and quartered. But then I remember what a midwife told me, after you were born. She said you were born with a certain Mark on your chest. Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it means, boy?”
“It means that I can travel to the Shadow Realm unharmed by the dead that rest there.”
“Ah,” Dakek exhaled. “How did you know that?”
“My father told me. His father also had the mark. Ever second generation possess it in our line.”
The man collapsed in a fit of coughing and Ottenberg, as if waking up from a dream, hauled him to his feet and out of the cell. “Famished boy, you must be famished. Let us get you food and then we will discuss what you are going to do for me.”

*

Marcus now sat on an ivory chair in Ottenberg’s chamber. His Lord was sat opposite across a golden painted table.
In the middle of the room was a huge four poster bed with silken sheets and pillows, with embroidered duvet. Tapestries hung about the walls, showing either the Ottenberg arms or the Imperial flag. A map of Panlor was also on the wall. On pegs were also three spears, two swords, two crossbows and a mace. Two black suits of armour were at either corner, and thick animal skins lay on the floor as rugs. On one side of the room, beside a small window a table was sat, and on a stool a brown haired beauty sat combing her long lustrous hair. Marcus reckoned her about nineteen summers of age.
“Emerald, leave us.” said Dakek.
The mistress slipped out quietly through the door behind Ottenberg, slipping Marcus a suggestive smile and raising her eyebrows as she did so. Marcus winked.
“What the hell are you doing, infidel?” A gauntleted iron fist slammed down on the golden table, leaving a dint. Marcus’s wink was not quick enough to escape the sharp gaze of Ottenberg. “Now,” he said, composing himself again. Marcus detected the Sire had a short fuse. “This is your service to me. Complete it and I will let you go back to working in your shithole candle making shop, but if you fail, I will crucify your entire family. They will line the Imperial road from here to the border forts. You are to go into the Shadow Realms, and find a recently deceased Imperial Priest of the Orthodox Order. He died two days ago, when his ship sank off our coasts. He has an item I need. It is the claw of a dragon you may have heard of from fireside tales, Yagg Kragfin. Yes?”
“Yes, Sire, I have heard of it. But it was my understanding that he did not exist.”
“Well, he did. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I get that claw, and that is your responsibility. Right now the claw is on the sea bed. But there is also a form of it on that dead Priest. When you return to the living, after getting that claw, you will have the real form and it will no longer be resting at the bottom of the Enchanted Ocean. You have crossed over before?”
“Never, but I now the methods needed and what to do when I get there. But… there is something you need in order to cross. It is a cake, cooked by one of the Monks of Narcart.”
“Yes, I have that. Do not worry. I have a cheesecake baked this morning. You will eat that now and then cross the border.”
“I like cheesecake.”
“Shut up, idiot. Now, you have a pouch for the Dragon Claw, you need anything else?”
“I need a black candle, but I already have one. Without it the journey is perilous, for the living cannot see the world of the dead without the special light from a black candle.”
“Very well.” Ottenberg rose and walked over to one of the tapestries on the walls, pulling it back and revealing a wooden door, about five hand spans by five hand spans. He opened it. “This tunnel leads to a hidden part of the castle where you will find the cheesecake. Now, remember Marcus - fail and I will crucify your family. Every last one. When you have got the claw, return it to me.”
“Yes, Sire.” said Marcus, as he entered the secret tunnel. He heard it close behind him.”
“Bästärd.” he said to no one in particular. At the end of the tunnel he could make out a light and eventually he reached it and climbed out into a pantry, wiping off the cobwebs and dust that had adhered itself to his clothes throughout the tunnel. The pantry was a small place, no more than eighty hand spans by eighty hand spans. A brown robed figure stood in meditation in the middle with vacant eyes.
“Excuse me.” Marcus said to the figure.
“Uh? Oh. You must be here for the cheesecake. It’s a secret cheesecake. I baked it this morning. You can’t beat a good secret cheesecake eh?”
Marcus agreed that you can’t beat a good secret cheesecake and mentally labelled the man as a simpleton.
Strangely enough the cheesecake was still warm as Marcus started to eat it, and he felt with every chew a little part of his body leave and enter the Shadow Lands. Eventually, the monk was a blur that gradually disappeared and Marcus found himself in the cold oppressive darkness of the Shadow Realm. He lit the black candle and a pale iridescent glow came from its flame, which didn’t seem to flicker or burn but stay at a stationary angle and not vary in light, colour or shape. Marcus looked around him, and he could see several dark shapes looming closer - like flies attracted to the corpse, only this time it was the opposite - the deceased attracted to life and light. Marcus took a deep breath and plunged forward into the world of death.

To be continueth..