Lewis Eskew knew he shouldn't have joined Ignatius Gunvaldsson's Court, but that night was one of the worst he had ever lived. It was your typical cloudy day, nothing special. He had been treading in the woods with a friend when unexpectedly and quickly, they found themselves ambushed by rain. Eager to find shelter, they hurried off with their lantern. That was their first mistake. Ashton, Lewis' friend, spotted a dark figure not far ahead of them and suggested they speak to them. Second mistake. It happened quick and fast, but Lewis could still understand what was happening. The figure slowly turned to look at them both. Its eyes were gouged out, its lower jaw absent, and its yellow, peeling skin rotting. Needless to say, in one swift movement it had Ashton. It took Lewis a few seconds to understand but the fact that Ashton's head was now on the ground and that said figure was feeding on his entrails, he figured he should run.
And run he did, for what seemed like hours and hours and hours. The thin and young trees slowly turned into gnarled, thick trunks and extended roots, seemingly located precisely to trip him. The small leaves turned into perennial leaves and the clear path into pebbles, weeds, and mud. He ran until he couldn't anymore, and it was then that he stopped to check his surroundings. How many hours had it been since the creature's attack? It was already dawn, which must have meant he had been running into the wee hours of the night. What had happened back there? What was that thing that had killed Ashton? So many questions were buzzing in his mind, but alas, nobody was there to provide any answers. Slowly, his mind began to burn away, his sight fading away, and his muscles let go.
When Lewis awoke, he quickly administered the cold and inhospitable atmosphere of a stone room.
This was his first day in Gunvaldsson Hall. A young, frail and pale woman wearing a nurse's uniform was dabbing a warm but wet cloth on his forehead. Her lips were pursed, her eyebrows furrowed. When she noticed his return to consciousness, she couldn't help but jump. "You live! We thought you were dead!" She whispered, adjusting her auburn hair, fashioned into a Castle Bob. Lewis' mind was pounding, his entire body hurting. He tried to get up, but the woman wouldn't let him. "Let me go-" He muttered in a surprisingly croaky voice. However, the woman was persistent. He found himself fading into sleep once again. When he awoke, the room was empty. He sat up in the simple bed and took some time to consider his surroundings.
It was a stone room, but not damp. There was a table in the corner, as well as a chair and writing material- not to mention, a candle. There was another candle on a small table right next to his bed as well. A scarlet carpet and tapestries decorated the walls and floor and directly in front of him was a wooden door- Simple enough. He sat up and put on some clothes he had found on the bed: they fit. He attempted to grab the handle but the door swung open before he could move his hand. "Ah, sir." A voice said. He looked around and managed to detect a man wearing a black suit standing in the dark corridor. "Follow me." Numbly and perhaps stupidly, Lewis followed. They walked for some time, and the man was silent for the entire trip. Finally, they stopped at a grand hall and the man left him to converse with who he assumed was their boss. He took a few small steps towards the double doors and knocked three times like the servant had told him.
Slowly and unassuredly, he pushed the doors open and left the suits of armor and dark corridors behind. When he entered, he saw what could only be described as one of the most sinister sights he had ever seen. Ignatius Gunvaldsson was sitting at the head of a long table and beside him were some silent persons, looking lost and rather terrified. Lewis, however, could only focus on Ignatius. You see, Gundvaldsson didn't look exactly.. normal. His mouth seemed to have been stitched together at some point in his life, because the threads were still there, and the tips of his lips were still stitched up. Skin pale as snow and teeth yellowing and strangely sharp. His wide eyes were dark and sunken, a strange malignant gleam radiating from them. His greasy hair was pushed back. "Ah!" Ignatius' accented voice boomed. "The sleeper awakes!"
