Chapter 2

"Drink from me, and live forever."

-The vampire Lestat

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They stepped into a room of another place, another time.

Down a steep slope and in utter darkness, they suddenly stumbled upon another world.

The room had a traditional, classy feel about it. Dark, expensive silk and curtains laid everywhere. There were golden vases and other unrecognizable containers, all glimmering in the dim candlelight. A few lavish paintings were hung, one of a man, one of a ship at sea, one of a harbour. They were in a style which had…a disorganized kind of beauty to it, unlike the traditional clarity and detail he was used to. The style of painting might have been rejected by some. It was like viewing something through the foggy eyes of an old man. Yet, somehow these paintings captured beauty unlike anything he had seen before.

He made his way across the…tiled floor. It had been awhile since he had felt the hardness of stone beneath his boots. It both comforted and confused him. What is this place? Is this some cruel joke? Has the entire expedition been some test set out by his wealthy father?

"Ack, I didn't think I hit my head dat badly," the dwarf said sleepily. He blinked his eyes several times, then rubbed them roughly. However, he had a determined look on his face. "Nay, I've learned to trust me eyes over the yeers. Tell me lad, what is this place?"

He hesitated. "The home of a wealthy, wealthy lord, Bukloc. A human lord, that is." He noticed the thin, white candles that were set on delicate, silver stands, and saw that the place was not laden with dust, but actually very clean. "From the looks of it, he might still be here! We might just be in luck, dwarf!"

He proceeded farther into the room, with an expression that was like a child in awe in a candy store. This reminded him of home. Yes, wonderfully so. He noticed a book of poems by a poet he had enjoyed during his school years, and smiled to himself. Ah, a man of taste. He liked him already.

The dwarf joined him. "But don't yer think it's a bit strange, laddie? This island is supposed to be new…just discovered! No man lives here! I think this is foul magic, that's what I say!"

Marcel regarded him seriously. "I don't care if it's fair or foul, dwarf. Now, I just want a nice plate of chicken…maybe some veggies to go with it. I'm sick of rabbit and mice, and leaves that leave your mouth tasting like dung! Alcohol that is meant for machinery! Bread that is meant for wiping your own arse!"

"Hey, I liked that honey ale!"

"It's supposed be grape wine! That's how cheap it was!" He tilted his head, as if hearing something. More calmly, he continued, "Besides, it's uncharted by us. It could very well be an established colony of the other kingdoms. You know how communication is between them. Remember that time you heard about your niece's funeral after her daughter's? Yes, of course you do. Now come!"

With that, he wandered into a hallway, eager to meet the other wonders this place had to offer.

Once again, he was surprised as he stepped through the doorway.

Was it a room? Could you call it that?

It was more like a…recital hall, or a theatre, though that was clearly not its function. It was huge, with a ceiling that reached around three storeys up, and a floor that was vast, expanding miles outward. At one end of the room was a throne, one with an expensive set of marble staircase. It was lined with red velvet, but he noticed the red had a dark look to it, that of damp material.

On it sat a man in his thirties, with attire that showed wealth, status and taste. He noticed his hair was combed neatly, which was more than anything he had seen lately.

Again, he looked at the throne, and noticed it was made from pure silver. At one hand was carved a griffon, and at the other sat an animal that he didn't recognize. He noticed the long, slender sword that leaned easily against the metallic seat.

The man's voice was low and powerful. "Sir Lothar of Azeroth. This was the chair on which he commanded his legions during the first war between the orcs and the humans. Impressive, wouldn't you say? You may touch it if you like." His laughter was easy and soothing.

An educated man. Marcel was wondering if he was joking or not. He knew his history, that much was clear.

Most people did not meet anything more than an elf or a dwarf in their lives, let alone orcs. Surely, even sighting legends like Lothar was an opportunity of a dozen lifetimes. But sitting on his throne? And since when did the great Lothar have his castle on some isolated island?

Normally he would play along with the joke. But he did not want to offend this stranger, who seemed to be a man of great status, and who would ultimately be the one to provide him his chicken and veggies. Ah, to eat on a tabletop again, and with a knife and fork!

So he simply smiled politely, and extended his hand.

"My name is Marcel, and my friend behind me is Bukloc."

The man looked at his hand and smirked peculiarly. "Welcome, my prince. I have waited for you for quite some time now."

At his strange remark, he felt awkward, and began taking back his hand. However, the man grabbed his hand with a speed and weight that seemed as strange as his words. He laughed again, with more humour this time. But his grip felt cold, like stone.

"Come, Marcel. If you are as hungry as I, then you wouldn't want to miss the fine meal that I have prepared for us."

Who is this strange man? What is this place?

They couldn't refuse the invitation, and decided to follow.

Suddenly, the man stopped dead in his tracks. Too late. Marcel bumped into his back with full force, but the man didn't bulge. It felt something like walking into a stone wall. He did not look it, but judging from that, the man carried much strength. Did he hunt as a hobby? Was he an outdoorsman? Perhaps enjoys talking daily horse rides through the terrain? Most likely, he was marksman, stalking prey everyday for sport. Well, how else would you explain such solidity?

He didn't look it, as from what Marcel saw, he seemed more of the type of patron to indulge in his studies constantly, spending day after day in his library, never having time to participate in much physically demanding activities. Yes, that description fitted him better. His clothing, his paintings, his poems…it made more sense.

The man seemed not to notice Marcel running into him. He was busy with something else.

Amazed and taken by surprise, Marcel peered over the man's shoulder to find a stone giant. It was a humanoid made from solid rocks. He had read about this, these magical entities were called golems. This one was a rock golem, to be specific, and it was amazing beyond comprehension. Only true mages who practised magic readily could summon and exert control over something such as this. He had read about them, read about horrifying instances where young mages had lost control of them and as a result, had these strong, solid beings turn on them.

He had read about them, but never had the chance to actually see one with his eyes. This one seemed under control, he thought. It even had a mouth! That was peculiar, and even more impressive.

"What?" the man said impatiently, and it sounded somewhat demeaning.

"Master," the golem began, his jagged mouth closing and opening like that of a real man. "We have intruders."

He seemed to be deep in thought. "Do you recognize them?" Could such a thing recognize people?

"Yes, it is Sebbman and his minions. With him he has brought elves."

The man suddenly lost his calm and exploded, though it was still a contained kind of outburst. "Damn! Not now!" A pause. "I shall have to get rid of that Sebbman…" Then he was quiet again, in thought.

"Come, Marcel and Bukloc. Come!" He hurried through the dim hallway as the golem stepped aside to let them through. Then it followed them, taking the rear, forcing both of them to keep forward, with the fear of being crushed by those incredible boulders.

Finally they reached another room, a little lighter than the dark, vast hallway from which they came. There was no conventional light source, and Marcel observed that the room was lit only by the faint, red glows that emanated from all about the room.

Under each red glow was a circular pad, with runes and designs that were foreign to him. Yet he knew that they were some type of portal device. Perhaps they allowed instant transportation, as it was a common concept amongst magical users, from what he heard. However, these were somehow different from what he had learned about. For one, they gave off red sparks of light. As impressive as they looked to him, he didn't trust them.

This was some sort of portal room, he concluded, where he could access different parts of this place. It must be a fortress then, if its master required a chamber just to be able to travel to its different parts. Exactly how big is this place?

"Make sure he gets to Solace. Then, when he is through," he paused, "guard the way so they can't reach him. Make sure of this! They mustn't reach him!"

The golem retained its expressionless face, and showed no sign of acknowledgement. But the man didn't seem to notice. Instead, he focused on Marcel with a troubled expression, and stepped forward.

For the first time, he saw the man's face clearly. It was very pale, very white, as if he had just seen a ghost. But besides that, his features were smooth, perfect. His skin looked smooth, and his hair was neat and had a smart look about it. His eyes…were commanding, a little troubled, but seemed to show content. It was an educated image, a look of wisdom and intelligence.

However, all these things didn't truly describe him. What was the word?

Timeless. The man was timeless, whatever that meant. Yet it seemed to fit. He seemed to be unaffected by time, and the burdens of reality. His expression was so perfect that he seemed like a statue, a perfect sculpture, unchanged by the wear and tear of age. He was a man removed from the world, dwelling alone in his home at a small corner of the universe.

He moved towards him, appearing to do something but stopped. Then he eyed the dwarf behind them.

"Mr. Dwarf, please excuse us for a second. Would you so kindly step in through that portal beside you? Yes, that one."

"I ain't steppin' through sum-"

The man snapped again. Grunting impatiently, and bearing his teeth, he lunged forward, grabbed the dwarf, and threw him onto the magical pad with a strength that seemed unnatural.

Then he faced Marcel again, composed.

"Please forgive me, my prince," he began. "It was meant to be better than this."

What? What is supposed be better?

"But I'm afraid this must do now, for something came up, as you can see. I must attend to some errands, so please forgive me."

Marcel was about to open his mouth to question, but the man hissed. He clenched his teeth to reveal…fangs of some sort. Long fangs that looked sharp. Without a moment's delay, he snapped his muscles with a lightning motion, and sunk his teeth into his neck area.

Horrified, Marcel stood helplessly as he felt his life being drained out of him. He felt the warmth leave his body, the heat leaving his arms, his legs, his face, his fingertips and leaving with his blood. What is one supposed to think at a moment like this? He regarded the golem that just stood there, watching them quietly.

Help me! he screamed in his mind. Get this man off of me! What is he doing to me?

I feel so helpless…

Innocence.

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I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze...
 
               -William Wordsworth
 
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