There he sat, atop that hill that overlooked the manor and the fields.
There he sat, atop that hill with a watchful eye casting an insidious gaze upon the family there.
There he sat, atop that damnable hill to cast his curse upon all who worked the fields and all who slept in that accursed manor.
Twas the Hanged Man, mocking the Lochborne family as the wind brushed against the body ever gently and a blackened sky casting even further frightening messages to the nobility. His glowing gaze stared into their hearts and knew their intent to cut him down from his tree, to end his most insidious curse. Yet, none had been able to make the journey, none has been able to reach the swaying corpse and none have escaped his curse without madness and despair. Ever so, the Hanged Man brought with him a fog, to surround him, but not to obscure his view of that damnable manor. He held the desire of watching their downfall first hand.
Malcast’s days have been deteriorating, becoming a squalid city of hopelessness and diseased despair as the curse crept through its streets. The curse took the children, gently and silently into the night was their life extracted. Such was the way of the Hanged Man’s curse and, perhaps, it was some modicum of mercy for the children so they would not have to suffer through what plans the corpse had. Such thoughts were the ones working through the mind of the Lord of the city, unable to bear the thoughts of his own coming struggles with the peasantry and freemen becoming hopeless to work and leaving the city in destitution. He could not bear to think of what monstrosities could have taken hold of his illustrious manor and he could not bear the thought of that Hanged Man, swaying ever gently in the breeze within his dreams.
He could not remember the last time he had slept nor did he care to remember what had kept him from sleep, but it was taking its toll upon the man. The life was draining from his skin, leaving him pale and disheveled as he shut himself away from even his family, hearing conspiracy around every corner. It was the grip of that lamented man, turning everyone against him and bringing his wrathful plight to those who were undeserving of this torment.
Hedlef ran a hand along his chin, feeling the pricks of his hairs along his coarse fingers. He stared out into the darkened city that was Malcast, from his manor within this city of which he ruled. And from his window, he could see a small crowd of peasants demanding answers to what was happening and why rationing of food had been called into effect. The nobleman let out a sigh as they rattled against the iron fence around his home, guards keeping a watchful eye to make sure none tried to enter. They could not be allowed to know unless a panic ensued, he could not allow it for such suffering and violence would only provide more fuel for Hanged Man.
Then, for once in a long while, he allowed a smile as he saw a carriage, drawn by four horses, come along the cobbled road to his city manor. It was carrying those friends of the family that he had sent for, perhaps his last hope to end the blight that afflicted the crops, the cattle, the people. Hedlef watched as the guards pushed through the crowd of the peasantry, swords drawn and shouting orders for them to move or die. Normally these fine guards would not have been treating these people in such a way, but tensions had spiked dramatically and even the orc slave would rise in protest over the mysterious happenings. However, these were tragic days and any means needed to be taken to keep the peace, even if it meant that a man needed to die for sticking his nose in his business.
A peasant shouted the words rang out clearer than any he had heard in a long while.
“What have you brought upon us?! Why has the Maker forsaken us?! Why have you forsaken us?!”
His answer was a sword through the back, Hedlef watching emotionlessly from the safety of his manor as the peasant dispersed and ran screaming from the guards. At least now there was silence in the stone streets as the carriage was pushed through the gate of the manor and brought to the courtyard. Hedlef could not see them all, but he knew who had answered. The Lord turned from his view and made his way to the entrance hall of his home, knowing that the family was likely preoccupying themselves somewhere else along the grounds of the manor. The candlelit halls were dreadfully silent and as he passed by portrait after portrait of familial members, he could feel their long and forgotten gaze along his back.
He brushed off his worn down coat, gray and being torn in some places to reveal a blood-red undershirt. The entrance hall was dark, only illuminated by what little light came through the stained windows, standing as one last means of nobility that have yet to be turned against him. The servants rushed forwards passed him, moving to the doors and awaiting their lord’s command to have them opened. Hedlef knew that these people had come a long way and that they had likely come to the walls of the city only to be detained before the others arrived and checked for any sign of corruption. No risk could have been taken, no exception could be made, not even for friends of this once noble family.
With a silent nod, the servants opened the doors to reveal those that have arrived to him, and there he stood with a smile as warm as he could muster upon his worn face. Hedlef saw the guards behind them all, motioning for them to go back to whatever task they had for the day before the servants ushered the group in and closed the door behind them.
“Welcome to House Lochborne. I am sorry for the long wait to come here, but things are dire,” he hoarse voice stated. As he examined each of them, the elven cleric, the Taran scholar, a dwarven warrior, and an outcast. A motley crew but one he appreciated to have.
A servant came to him and whispered into his ear, and the smile that had been on his face dropped as he looked to the servant with a confused expression. Hedlef looked to the group before clearing his throat and speaking in a solemn tone, “I must apologize, but I will have to wait on explaining the situation to you all, but if you would like to wait in the dining hall then I will be with you all momentarily.” With those parting words, the noble turned away from the group and followed one of the servants out of the room and allowing the others to be led to a dining hall, lit by candle and adorned with great shelves that housed many books.
However, a feeling of dreaded corruption was in the dining room even though symbols of the maker had been plastered around the room and those books appeared to have gazing eyes on their spine, though looking at the books made the eyes disappear. The servant seemed skeletal out of the corner of the eye, and he looked to be plotting in silence as he drew chairs for each of the guests. The additional silence made the room all the more ominous as a fog crept to the window only for the servant to close a crimson curtain and keep the dreaded fog out of sight.
“The master will be with you all in a moment,” the servant said before retreating to a corner of the dining room, only to stand there and gaze forwards in an unblinking gaze.
