Author's Note: Hello and welcome! This is my first foray into Warehouse 13 fanfic. So, go easy on me, deal?
This is chapter one in the first installment of a series of fanfics. Each will have themes for the artifacts within.
For this one, we have a Poe theme going. I won't feature the same artifacts as in the show. These will be all new ones. Have fun and good luck making the ties to the Poe origin stories.
I shall not dither any longer, on to the show!
Enjoy! Please review once you finish reading! Your reviews keep me going and feel free to chime up with any ideas you may have for the artifacts in this story!
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"Nemo me impune lacessit." The young woman remarks softly as she descends the dark, rotting stairwell of this old and decrepit mansion in Italy. "Nemo me impune lacessit." She repeats, setting the phrase to memory, knowing she's going to need it if she actually finds what she's looking for.
She shines her flashlight across the uneven flags of the stone floor, looking around the space, taking note of the shelves upon shelves, racks on racks, each loaded with old brown and green dust covered wine bottles. Briefly she ponders opening one to taste, but she knows this would be a very bad idea indeed. If they don't poison her from having gone bad ages ago. The curse that lingers on these dwellings, it is rumored to have dire consequences for any that disturb the treasures within, it will kill her.
Continuing on past the racks, she picks her way across the flags. They get beyond uneven the deeper into these caverns and catacombs she goes. Soon showing jagged cracks, interspersed with large gaps of missing tiles or none at all. As the caverns open into the true crypts of the catacombs, the flags across the floor stop, giving way to hard packed rock and clay ground, unstable footing to say the least.
She moves deeper, passing multitudes of graves, ignoring each. She knows the one she seeks will be easy to spot. Following the narrowing path, she sighs softly as she sees the stone and mortar wall ahead so obviously placed by human hands.
"Now we're getting somewhere." She whistles as she steps up to the wall. Placing her hand on the wall, her fingers extend beyond the palm of the fingerless glove, so she can feel the cold stone of this crypt against her fingers. The deeper than normal cold of stone. It is the bone chilling cold of death, giving her quivers as she takes her hand away.
"Knock it off dolt." She mutters to herself, putting her hand back against the stones she closes her eyes, murmuring, "Nemo me impune lacessit."
At the sound of her voice, speaking the ancient motto of the family that once owned these lands long ago, the stones quiver themselves, beginning to twist and turn in their settings. Creating an archway just tall enough for her short five feet of stature and laithe frame to slip through.
She blesses her build, not for the first time, as she steps through the arch into a small cavern, maybe the size of a closet.
There, against the far wall, is her goal. Chains about the waist and hands hold up the remains of a human skeleton, close to fading into dust, the shackles and links of the chains are dark with rust.
Looking around the rest of the small space, she spots her target. A small silver flask, tucked in the corner. About the same size as her canteen, although slightly smaller and tarnished a cloudy silver in color. Inspecting it she finds the latin mantra of the House of Montresors. However this latin engraving continues beyond the original motto, given a deeper engraving it reads;
"Quicunque habet potentiam ferre dolio Montresor hereditate. Cave fabulam narrat toto corde tuo: quis enim potest Eppur Si praeconem in interitu vestro ridebo." The last of the engraving is faded beyond recognition she sighs at the precious words lost to time.
"Ah, hello there precious." Crooning softly as she kneels down. Drawing her backpack off she sets it on the floor beside the flask. "My, my, such a small thing that is so very deliciously dangerous, and disreputable."
Gingerly she places the flask into a felt wrapping and stows it in a secure pocket of her backpack. Standing again, she slides her pack on and steps from the small room, bowing slightly to the human remains as the arch closes up again. Knowing giving respect to the dead, especially those whom's tombs she has invaded, is paramount in her line of work.
She quickly retraces her steps back out of the catacombs and back to the main floor of the Italian mansion. Walking around idly she wonders on whether to try out the supposed powers of the object now in her possession. This isn't the first time she's encountered one of these articles, with strange powers, but the abilities rumoured of this one make her shiver in delight and curiosity.
She makes her way to the front of the house to exit. Standing on the cracking boards of the front deck, she looks out over the deserted drive and lawn shrouded in shadows from the dark night, determining it safe to exit.
The drive leading towards the bustling street is a short one, winding gently along. As she keeps to the shadows at the edge of the lawn she spots a set of headlights turn onto the drive. Ducking back into the shadows of one of the large oaks lining the drive, she watches as a black SUV scuttles down the rocky and uneven cobbled drive. She can't make out the figures in the front seat, but she has a good guess as to who they are. No feet, other than her own, have walked these lawns or the halls of the mansion in decades. There is no reason for someone to be here unless they know of who shouldn't be here; namely, her.
These must be Warehouse Agents. She frowns momentarily as she thinks. Someone has tipped off the right people, and buttons to dollars she bets, someone doesn't want her to succeed in this endeavor. An eerie feeling tells her, it has to be her employers who sold her out.
As the taillights fade around the next curve she shakes the thoughts from her head, and quickly makes her way up the last bit of the drive. Ducking around the corner of the gateway, the ornately wrought iron gates long gone, she whistles softly as she joins the throngs of pedestrians walking the streets of the bustling italian city. Glancing back she sees people skirt the edges of the mansion's drive, not even looking up at the inviting sloping lawns and cobbled drive.
The rumors of the old decrepit lands have not faded the fear of the place, even after the hustle and bustle of modern life and living have swept it by the wayside.
Smiling at the knowledge of having made it in and out scott free she resumes her walk, blending into the crowd and humming softly to herself as she aimlessly wanders her way through the city towards the outskirts. Near the river she knows she'll find her contact. In the meantime, why not enjoy the night's success?
She finds a quiet garden park and steps off the busy sidewalk, beginning to stroll through the park. Stopping at a bench overlooking a pond she draws out the flask once more and studies the engraving more thoroughly. Recognizing it as latin, she quickly translates it and frowns in puzzlement. Trying to decrypt the meaning of the old language and inscription, she is having a hard time distinguishing the exact meaning.
"Only one way to find out." She murmurs. Opening the flask she sniffs gingerly at the opening, the succulently sweet scent is intoxicating, making her want to take a sip. The flask is halfway to her lips before she comes to her senses and makes herself pause and take a look around, resting the flask in her lap.
Nearby there is a couple, a young woman, and an older man. Their entwined bodies, and the way he strokes her hair cause the hairs on the back of her neck to raise in wariness. Her brow furrows as she studies the couple; there's no doubt the older man is simply interested in the young woman for her looks. His posture, the way he holds her shoulder, even his eyes as they catch hers, speak of the jaded older man who's found his next prize.
She smiles coyly as she stands, resealing the small flask to prevent the precious contents spilling as she steps around the bench. She knows that look of the man's, the one of a predator, the girl is long lost. What she has planned for the girl is mercy.
Pausing behind their bench, out of sight of the couple, she gently opens the flask once more and, very carefully, pours out a single drop of the wine.
The rich red liquid drop splashes soundlessly on the dirt, it's effect setting off a clouded wall of black fog, the strange fog surrounds the couple on the bench, swallowing them in near instant darkness. Their cries of surprise are muffled by the fog as it begins to solidify, creating a smooth black sheet of a wall around them; glossless and solid to the touch, it does not give as she presses her hand to it. The same feel of death, ice cold death, resonates from this black shroud that resonated from the stones of the crypt.
Sealing the flask with steady hands, she marvels at the forces available in her grasp. This is sure to turn tide of her life. No more being at the mercy of the powerful, no longer will she be tasked with petty theft and contract killings for those in charge. It's time for her to be the one in charge of her life. She's her own master now.
Reverently wrapping the flask in its felt once more, she stows it in her pack as she walks away from the strange black shroud. Inky dark in the night, it seems to absorb the light around it and fade into obscurity.
Grinning malevolently, she walks along further into the night, the knowledge of the deaths she just caused leaves her with a sense of superiority. As well as a feeling as though her luck has just changed her fate for the better.
"Oh, Teri dear," She crows to herself, into the dark night, "You are quite the evil girl child…"