The first sound he heard on waking was the birds singing and Nochlev wondered why the hell his servants hadn't gotten him up yet. Then he remembered that he and Yona were taking a day off, and he leapt from his bed with a grin.
That joy and excitement stayed with him as he dressed, his armor clicking and slithering as he got the scale mail over his undergarment. The colors were black and yellow, of course, since that was the family's colors. As he stomped into his boots, he relished even the thud of the heel against the stone floor. Today was going to be an incredible day.
The kitchen sang with the bustle of a well-oiled but busy machine. Evelyn scowled at him, pounding her fists rhythmically into her dough. "Lord Nochlev, you've missed breakfast."
"Only in Kryta, my dear cook." Nochlev knew better than to agitate the kitchen manager, holding his hands up in surrender. "Evelyn, I merely hoped that there were some scraps left over."
Her expression softened and she jerked her head toward the counter to the left. "Take what you wish, milord." The matter settled, she returned to her task, humming a rousing marching tune.
"My thanks," he said as he snatched up a heel of bread, a bunch of grapes and some cheese. A quick dodge into the pantry earned him some minotaur jerky and he darted out the door, Evelyn's song caught in his head.
Outside, he paused and gathered his magic, the gift of anyone of sufficient power in Tyria. A surge of desire, a firm will, and a small handful of magical components were sacrificed to transport him halfway around the world. So it seemed to him, for when he opened his eyes, he stood facing an Ascalonian ruin.
He stood before the fallen human city, feeling the cloying cold of the dead chill his skin. It was dark here, before dawn, but even at midday the sky would be dark. It was part of the curse leveled at the ancient nation.
Nochlev began to hum one of Grenth's hymns to stave off the trickle of fear in his heart. He'd been blessed by the god since shortly after his birth and the undead held no terror for the young noble. Despite his faith, he drew his sword – no point in being a fool about it.
Orienting himself, he turned and walked quickly toward the stairs he'd seen three weeks ago. He and Yona had been about other business at the time but the memory remained. They went up enticingly but even more importantly, he'd seen the Old Ascalonian markings for library on the keystone of the door.
Two ghosts hovered in his path and Nochlev skirted them respectfully. He didn't want to disturb the dead if it wasn't necessary. Once around them, he was able to dash to and up the stairs without running into another ghost. The landing was another matter; an armored ghost waited for him, ghostly blade gleaming in the darkness.
"Defiler." The voice alone sent tremors down his spine but he ignored them. He was blessed of Grenth and the undead held no true fear for him.
"I'm not," he said gently, knowing it was no good. The spirit was trapped in a place of empty vengeance.
With a hollow roar, the ghost charged, his sword raised high. Nochlev swept the great sword off his back and in an arc through the air, turning aside the blade. Against a normal man, the ghost would have had the advantage but the power of Grenth burned in Nochlev and he fought with the heavy weapon as easily as a boy played with a stick.
For a long moment, there was only the irregular clang of their swords meeting, their feet moving in an even tempo on the floor. Nochlev heard everything from the ghost as though the sounds were passing a chilling filter, turning the empty and cold. It seemed that the other man was echoing his sounds, changing them and returning them lifelessly.
A single upward thrust of his sword ended the fight, doing enough damage to the ghost to dissipate it. Nochlev stood for a moment, breathing heavily, waiting to see if another ghost would threaten him. When none came, he continued to explore the ruins.
The library was harder to find than he thought it would be, particularly because the stairs to the third level ended in a crumbling drop-off. Nochlev judged the distance to the third floor and opted to find another way. He poked around all the rooms, searching for another way up: an intact staircase, a ladder, or even a strategic opening.
The way presented itself as a window. The ornate ledge under the window was just wide enough for his toes. Most men armored in scale mail would have hesitated to edge out of the window and sidle their way across the wall but Nochlev did this often enough that he didn't pause. The ledge continued but Nochlev went only as far as the thick oak twenty feet beyond the window. For a moment, he hung silent, gauging the distance.
With a burst of power and sound, he leapt toward the tree, his fingers catching a branch. Grinning at his success, he hauled himself up until he was straddling the limb. He inched his way back to the trunk, his armor scraped loudly on the bark. At the massive trunk, he got to his feet and began to climb higher.
Once he was above the roof, he walked out on a thick branch as far as he dared and leapt across the open space. His boots thudded heavily on the roof as he landed, followed by the patter of debris sliding off the slope and to the ground below. Leaning forward and walking on his hands as much as his feet, he climbed to the tower in the middle of the building. It was easy to climb over the crumbling wall and he stopped to enjoy the flat surface for a moment.
The young noble glanced at the horizon and stopped. The sun was coming up and he was high enough to be above the gloom of the dead. Below him the hazy darkness resisted the light sliding over the horizon. Nochlev sat down on one of the parapets and dug out his food. It was beautiful, a glorious moment spent watching the sun rise. When he closed his eyes, he heard birds sing and the echoes of long-lost Ascalon. The world seemed to come alive in a swell of sounds as the light passed over them.
He settled in to watch the sun rise. The library could wait; he was content to listen to the song of Tyria.