ANATHEMA - Inferno's Vow

Chapter VII: A Knock At The Door

In the hearth of the aged stronghold there burned a fire, crackling and popping with steam as the wet wooden logs struggled to stay aflame. The light from the flames fought back the shadows of the stone den, which crept along the trims and corners of the room, masking some of the further portions of the chamber in faint darkness. Along the walls were hung small lamps fueled by Vare oil. Vares, a blubbery and lethargic species of sea creature, were often hunted all along the river Brux for their precious, and abundant oil. The oil they produced was both efficient in expenditure, and bright when lit with a wick, making them perfect for lanterns. The interior of the stronghold was made of chiseled stone brick, trimmed with heavy wooden beams which were coated in a thin layer of Arkkon finish to protect them against moisture and mold. The fort itself was quite old, being erected in the early centuries of the great war between the Astari and Aeon. Its structure was forged into the earth, with the entrance being carved into the side of a small cliff. It had been long lost to the forest it was rooted in, forgotten by time and its irrelevance in the present. For many years it sat dormant, without a soul to care or inhibit its walls. That was until a group of wayfaring outcasts came about it, and made it their own. There were four to begin with, but over the course of a half-decade, they grew to a mighty six.

In front of the lit fireplace, there stood a young man, armed with an old wooden broom. He was busy with cleaning the den of the stronghold, having been commanded to do so under the auspices of being disciplined for his failure a few hours back. Even with the hours of work behind him, there was still much tidying up to be done by the boy during the remainder of the night. He had made a rather crucial mistake, after all. Being seen by a witness was nasty business, especially when it was a young one, and a starving one, moreover. Sympathy made it hard to do what needed to be done to keep their secrecy intact, and such were his thoughts filled with images of the boy as he worked. He was surely dead by now, eaten alive by the winter night.

"Damien, are you almost done in there?" Through the pathway to the kitchen there appeared Thaddeus, holding a piece of toasted bread topped with cheese. It was a southern spread, a mix of goat and cow cream from the eastern point of Akrsvon, and one quite popular with the people of Vimbaultir. As he ate, he took in Damien's work, deciding whether it was in need of a second sweep. It was done wholly, and there wasn't much to complain about. As with the rest of the work he had done that night, he took it seriously, meaning the discipline was working as intended.

The two archers weren't the only ones in the den at that moment. To Thaddeus' right, there sat Bella, snug in the seat of an old Lĕrvergan couch that predated their time in the stronghold. She had in her lap an old tome, flipping through its pages in search of some new or interesting information. Written in the language of the Ljósálffa, it was a treasured possession of hers, aiding her in her journey down the road of the Magii. Beside her on the couch was Nallia, who was soundly asleep on her side, snoring gently in her slumber. Being a Nyx, she took up only a small portion of the couch, leaving the rest to the studious woman. Across from them against the adjacent wall, there was their clan leader, Sylas. He was sitting on a matching couch, legs crossed, waiting patiently as he stared out the window next to the front entrance. The gentle flurry had picked up into a moderate snowfall, and the night had but a few hours left until it was vanquished by the sun.

"Yes, sir. I'm done," Damien made a few quick movements with his broom before turning to face his superior. "What's next?"

"Have you eaten?"

"No, sir."

"Well, get something to eat, then," Thaddeus waved him off as he sat down on Sylas' couch. "Make it quick, though."

Damien threw a few nods in his direction before making off towards the kitchen, stowing the broom in the supply closet in the far corner of the den. With the youngest thief's departure, the room grew quiet, save for the faint tapping of Sylas' shoe on the ground, and Nallia's snores.