The last chapter Alex had read had made her turn pale. It left her
to ponder whether or not she should avoid going any further to keep from
going insane. But curiosity painfully egged her on, forcing her to get up
and look around the room for any sort of clue. Pictures of churches and
strange cities, with that strange wooden head and the hideous pile of human
bones, but nothing particularly intriguing.
As her searching in that room drew to a close, she noticed a large blade stuck in a portrait-type frame as the second chapter page had. She took it off the wall, and removed the sword. Something about the heavy weight of the steel blade and the dingy polish of its old hilt gave her a sense of security. She sliced the air, feeling the aerodynamic swish of the blade. After a brief moral battle of whether or not this would be considered stealing, she left the room to explore other areas of the house.
She went over to the door to the right of the stairway. It was locked. Remembering her key, she took it out. Oh yes, it was broken. But then she remembered the strange magic used by the messenger in the story. The spell that magically fixed his pots. Could the same thing work for the key? She stuffed it back in, but felt something else. It was smooth and heavy as she picked it up. It was that gold coin that the squire had vividly described let him cast spells. She examined it for a second, looking for the odd runic symbols, and sure enough, they faded through. Like a small palm pilot, she fingered through and placed the three runes in to make the spell. The green one, Xel'lotath, and the two odd ones- presumably Antorbok and Magermor, connected, made the same electric zap. She chanted the words out loud, holding the key in her other hand.
"Antorbok, Magermor, Chattur'gha!"
The odd little symbols appeared on the ground, and little flecks of light bathed the key in a green glow. It pulled together, the crack in between shining before disappearing altogether, leaving the key both clean and sturdier than ever. Plugging the key in, it didn't work, but it did in the upstairs lock that had barred access to the second floor of the mansion.
She opened the old twin doors to come to a dank, dusty hallway. She was assaulted by a large and very beautiful portrait on the wall in front of her, right in the center of two hallways to the left and right. She looked at it; it had a fairly striking contrast to the dark, dingy mansion-it was lightly shaded, a peaceful mountainous scenery on a bright blue sky. She heard a pattering sound on the carpet to her left. She saw blood on the ground. She checked herself for wounds, and heard the noise again. There was blood dripping from the ceiling. She looked up to see the fleeting image at a mutilated corpse.
Shocked, she turned and strode the other way, looking back to see nothing. She turned around again. The blood was gone, and there was nothing on the ceiling. What was that? Was she hallucinating? She backed into the wall, then walked over to her left, where yet another hallway, sporting a large stained glass window at the end, opened up. Walking over, she began to hear en electric hum. She moved closer to the stained glass window, which now hummed loudly, and frightening whispers could be heard. It began to glow red, and she decided she would not fool with it. On the wall to her right, she saw an indentation in the wallpaper. It was square-shaped, like a doorway, but the paper sagged inward as if it were uneven. She knocked on it with her fist, then knocked the wall next to it. The caved in section reverberated with a hollow thump, while the rest of the wall made a plaster-solid knock. Odd, she thought. She dismissed it and headed back to the front of the hallway, but entered the room on the way. It smelled of old books, and was littered with old treasures of various sorts. There were the usual photos of Roivas ancestors, there were hanging confederate flags from 250 years ago, old books and scriptures, little boxes of what looked like gun ammunition and an old cabinet and bed. An odd site, indeed. But it all seemed to fit together. A cold wind caused her to spin around. Nothing terrifying, just open windows. But then a fluttering that was not the curtains, but rather a small piece of paper stuck behind a portrait of an eastern-looking man in a turban. She pulled it out, and sure enough, it was another one of those obnoxious chapter pages. Looking at it, it gave her the urge to go down and place it into that large book again.
After a short while of exploring the little museum some more, she went back downstairs and into the secret study to insert the chapter page. Opening the heavy book, she slid it into the place just after the end of the messenger's chapter and before the change in heading at the top of the page. It fit nicely, and she was whisked off to the next part of the story.
As her searching in that room drew to a close, she noticed a large blade stuck in a portrait-type frame as the second chapter page had. She took it off the wall, and removed the sword. Something about the heavy weight of the steel blade and the dingy polish of its old hilt gave her a sense of security. She sliced the air, feeling the aerodynamic swish of the blade. After a brief moral battle of whether or not this would be considered stealing, she left the room to explore other areas of the house.
She went over to the door to the right of the stairway. It was locked. Remembering her key, she took it out. Oh yes, it was broken. But then she remembered the strange magic used by the messenger in the story. The spell that magically fixed his pots. Could the same thing work for the key? She stuffed it back in, but felt something else. It was smooth and heavy as she picked it up. It was that gold coin that the squire had vividly described let him cast spells. She examined it for a second, looking for the odd runic symbols, and sure enough, they faded through. Like a small palm pilot, she fingered through and placed the three runes in to make the spell. The green one, Xel'lotath, and the two odd ones- presumably Antorbok and Magermor, connected, made the same electric zap. She chanted the words out loud, holding the key in her other hand.
"Antorbok, Magermor, Chattur'gha!"
The odd little symbols appeared on the ground, and little flecks of light bathed the key in a green glow. It pulled together, the crack in between shining before disappearing altogether, leaving the key both clean and sturdier than ever. Plugging the key in, it didn't work, but it did in the upstairs lock that had barred access to the second floor of the mansion.
She opened the old twin doors to come to a dank, dusty hallway. She was assaulted by a large and very beautiful portrait on the wall in front of her, right in the center of two hallways to the left and right. She looked at it; it had a fairly striking contrast to the dark, dingy mansion-it was lightly shaded, a peaceful mountainous scenery on a bright blue sky. She heard a pattering sound on the carpet to her left. She saw blood on the ground. She checked herself for wounds, and heard the noise again. There was blood dripping from the ceiling. She looked up to see the fleeting image at a mutilated corpse.
Shocked, she turned and strode the other way, looking back to see nothing. She turned around again. The blood was gone, and there was nothing on the ceiling. What was that? Was she hallucinating? She backed into the wall, then walked over to her left, where yet another hallway, sporting a large stained glass window at the end, opened up. Walking over, she began to hear en electric hum. She moved closer to the stained glass window, which now hummed loudly, and frightening whispers could be heard. It began to glow red, and she decided she would not fool with it. On the wall to her right, she saw an indentation in the wallpaper. It was square-shaped, like a doorway, but the paper sagged inward as if it were uneven. She knocked on it with her fist, then knocked the wall next to it. The caved in section reverberated with a hollow thump, while the rest of the wall made a plaster-solid knock. Odd, she thought. She dismissed it and headed back to the front of the hallway, but entered the room on the way. It smelled of old books, and was littered with old treasures of various sorts. There were the usual photos of Roivas ancestors, there were hanging confederate flags from 250 years ago, old books and scriptures, little boxes of what looked like gun ammunition and an old cabinet and bed. An odd site, indeed. But it all seemed to fit together. A cold wind caused her to spin around. Nothing terrifying, just open windows. But then a fluttering that was not the curtains, but rather a small piece of paper stuck behind a portrait of an eastern-looking man in a turban. She pulled it out, and sure enough, it was another one of those obnoxious chapter pages. Looking at it, it gave her the urge to go down and place it into that large book again.
After a short while of exploring the little museum some more, she went back downstairs and into the secret study to insert the chapter page. Opening the heavy book, she slid it into the place just after the end of the messenger's chapter and before the change in heading at the top of the page. It fit nicely, and she was whisked off to the next part of the story.