Disclaimer: I don't own RA, nor the characters used in this story.
(A/N): Eyyy! So I decided to start this little collection, À Corps Perdu, for all of my supernatural shorts that I want to share. The premise is the same as What If: none of the stories are connected in anyway, unless said otherwise. Same as What If, I do take requests. See my profile for more details ;) enjoy~
Monotonous colors bothered Horace. And sure, with age, nature, and misuse, the color had changed. Not all of it was the pure white marble anymore, some of it was worn to a greyish color, while other parts were darker or lighter. But it was still there. And it still bothered him.
Horace sighed, running his hands along the past-white marble, rubbing away dust and dirt that had been pounded into its natural color.
The only reason they were in Gorlan was to see if the castle was salvageable, and if not, to reclaim the land for another fief. Why assign two highly trained killers to examine a castle, though? Turning back, Horace saw Will's cloak slip around the corner, possibly heading off to another corner of the castle out of curiosity, or boredom. He hadn't said anything, but he must've made some type of noise, or Horace wouldn't have noticed him go.
"And now," the knight muttered to himself, "I am alone."
As he walked, he came to a doorway, shoved into an alcove. Glancing inside, Horace found steps leading downwards, deeper into the castle, as well as up. Glancing behind him, Horace looked around for any of the soldiers they had brought with them. They would still be at the beginning of the ruins, combing through everything diligently. He was alone. Shrugging, he put a hand on the hilt of his sword, and went down the steps.
He had been on the second floor of the remaining ruins, when he had started down, and he had noticed entrances and exits of the stairwell as he passed other floors. All of them were shoved into small, unnoticeable areas. Servant's stairwell, then?
The stairs ended, at a solid wall, the stone more dark grey then white if anything. The bowels of the castle were probably built of a less expensive stone then the white marble that could be seen above. Horace turned at the wall, seeing a doorway to his side. He looked into a long hallway, one door at the end of the hall behind him, and about seven others down the other end.
There was practically no light, being a floor below the ground. Horace didn't even have a torch on him, with the only light coming from the stairwell behind him. Sighing once more, he turned back to the stairwell, considering heading back up there to obtain a torch, and maybe some company in the form of a short, sarcastic Ranger.
A breeze made him pause.
Glancing to the floor, Horace watched as dirt and leaves were dragged across the stone by invisible fingers. The wind brushed against his face, made him want to pull his jacket and cloak tighter around him. Where was it coming from?
Something flickered beneath the door at the end of the hall.
Frowning, Horace stepped out of the stairwell, and walked towards the door. The wind got stronger as he approached, but nothing so bad that he had to turn aside or cover his face. He put a hand to the handle, and tried to push the door open, but the strength of the wind held it shut. Putting a shoulder to the door, Horace shoved harder.
The door banged open, the wind bursting out all at once, pushing him back. He stumbled, nearly falling. But then the wind was gone.
Stepping into the room, Horace found just a standard storage room. A large cabinet was shoved against the wall, while shelves in front of Horace were covered in old food and supplies. Crinkling his nose at the smell of the rotted food, the knight glanced around for whatever had been the source of the light he had seen, or even the wind. He walked around the open door, checking behind the door.
Another gust of wind slammed the door shut, the bang causing him to flinch.
Where was that wind coming from?
Horace looked at the cabinet.
There were cut marks in the stone around it, as well as more dirt thrown on the ground. Making his way towards the cabinet, Horace considered for a moment going to find someone, namely Will, who would tell him how irrational his fears were. But the darkness was kind of unsettling . . .
It wasn't dark.
The only light, before, had been from the stairwell, and now that the door was shut, it should have been completely dark in the room. Yet Horace could still see his hand, could still see details around the storage room. There was a light source somewhere, but where?
Looking back to the cuts and scratches in the stone, hidden behind the large cabinet, Horace decided to at least see what was behind the cupboard before leaving.
Putting his shoulder against the wooden side, Horace anchored his feet, and pushed. Nothing much must have been within it, as it moved easily. It scraped against the floor, pushing dirt to the side. The knight didn't have to move it much before he saw the tunnel.
It was old, obviously made before the fief had been abandoned. It was tall enough that he wouldn't have to duck if he decided to go in, but . . . no. Dark, enclosed spaces were not Horace's idea of a fun time. Either way, dirt and dust crumbled wherever he touched, not making him eager to get much closer.
"I could always order a few people to investigate it," Horace said to himself, tilting his head to look deeper into the dark tunnel, "as I'm sure Will would find it fun to go in there," he snickered.
Behind him, the door creaked open. Figuring it was either a few soldiers or Will, Horace turned, a hand raised in greeting.
What he saw, however, was not an Araluen soldier or Ranger.
The door was partially open, and with the racks on the other wall, that left a small opening around to the door. What stood in that opening made bile run up Horace's throat, and he gasped it back, stumbling back in horror. Morgarath, Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night, stood before him. His long, pale blonde hair ran into mats and tangles and held dirt and leaves. The former Baron still wore the armor that he wore when Horace had killed him, which was soaked with the blood that he had spilt, something that was burned into the knight's memory forever. Skin was basically stretched over his skull, with random cuts and holes, showing the bone. The eyes sockets were black holes, no eyes, along with the mouth, which just gaped open. The lips that stretched over his teeth were thin, but he could see the skull's grin through the opaque skin.
Clutched in his right hand, Morgarath's large sword scrapped along behind him, blood crusted onto the blade.
Horace shuffled back, unable to believe what he was seeing. His heel caught the lip of the tunnel, and he toppled over, straight into the lip of the tunnel. It was slanted downwards partially, and the Oak Leaf Knight slid partway, before he caught himself. Scrambling to his feet, he screamed out, not knowing why, "Will! Anyone!"
The last thing Horace saw before the cabinet was shoved back in front of the hole was Morgarath's grinning skull.
Darkness enclosed on him, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. No light, none at all. The walls were so close, so suffocating, crumbling. He was alone, and doubted that anyone had heard his scream . . . The walls . . . the darkness . . . it was all so . . . so deafening . . . so . . . so . . . Will?
Horace turned, sure that he had heard something behind him. Breathing, and footsteps. It must be Will . . . right?