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You Give Us A Bad Name

Vireylda Saharn

Vireylda Saharn

Just wants to raise a family
Character Sheet
Secrets of Foresight
Xania.

A small village in Arium, indistinct and easy to miss. A place where hardworking people lived simple lives, and rarely made a name for themselves in anything other than the local tavern. Confined as a community, and humble. If the world was kind, they would have never been known for anything, lost to obscurity.

Except the world wasn't kind. At least, not to Xania. For whatever reason they were chosen.

Chosen, not for glory. Not a joyous occasion. No bountiful harvest, nothing good. No. Good meant nothing that night, 2 years ago.

That night, Xania found out what the demons in the darkness looked like. They got to see what lay behind the curtain of decency, through the shroud of normalcy they survived for so many years. An undead abomination crawled up from the ground, like blasphemy given flesh. Abomination, they called it. A perverse mixture of arcana and destructive force. A nightmare ripped from twisted genius. It came for the village, for whatever means were never discovered.

And that, was because heroes were born that night. Myriad of cultures and backgrounds, all banded together to answer the call. Help the helpless, save the town. And somehow, they succeeded. The monster destroyed by a glorious lightning strike, and a statue in the middle of the field left to mark it's passing.

Omak was destroyed, but it wasn't over.

The hooves of her horse clippped along the dirt road, kicking up dust as she approached.

Vireylda lacked the power before. That was no longer the case. She came dressed for war.

There would be a Reckoning for whatever animated the creature.

And she wouldn't leave until it was over.

Necromancy - L4
Healing - L1
Sword - L1

Staff of Arcana - (Interitus En Viridus)
Steel Arming Sword - Imbued with Entropy Blade effect activated by phrase "us-veles" - Imbuement, Journeyman spell strength with eight charges. (Essentially like an extremely potent acid along the edge of the blade, courtesy of Entropic Orb.) - Knightly sword - Wikipedia
Leather armor
Leather shield
Chain shirt
Stone Of Shadow Step - necklace - Holds a single charge that takes one month to recharge after use and uses the activation phrase 'barra unboi.' Allows user to 'teleport' between areas of darkness/shadow.

Necromantically infused ring created by Vireylda. Can hold three Initiate level Necromancy spells.
  • Acid Orb
  • Entropic Blast
  • Impotence
Activated by the command phrase.

3 Healing potions
 
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Vireylda saw columns of black smoke rising over the thatched roofs of the hovels and humble dwellings surrounding Xania's town square. When she reached the township, however, she was not greeted by sounds of distress or battle. Instead, the Mistress of Necromancy found a jubilant scene awash with colors and friendly faces. It looked almost as if she had wandered into Xania during Market Day. Food and fruit carts darted here and where; hawkers hollered and cried out their wares ranging from handmade jewelry to fried turnips and walnuts dipped in honey.

Several children waved at Vireylda as she trotted through the narrow, crowded streets. A few of them wore pointy black hats and a little girl pointed a stick of jerky in her direction, shouting, "Alakazam!" Her friends giggled and started pretending to cast hexes at the pale elf with their fingers.

After some effort, Vireylda was forced to dismount in order to better guide her horse. The villagers seemed in a pleasant mood. A few even offered to give her directions. The Necromancer found only warm smiles and bright faces all the way until she reached the town square. In the middle were three metal poles rising about two meters high surrounded by blackened hay and wood. Chained to each iron rod were charred humanoid husks, one of them still crackling with red and yellow embers.

Nailed to the top of each stake were the words: "GUILTY OF WITCHCRAFT".

"A shame that you missed the burning", said a rosy cheeked human as she handed Vireylda a small yellow flower. She was a plump woman, middle aged, with auburn buns. "The next is in two cycles." She smiled helpfully then moved to give flowers to nearby onlookers.
 
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Black smoke. Oh no. Her heart froze in it's rapid pace within her chest, transported back to the night that all of this began. Pace quickened, and she jerked the horse into action. Was the city under attack again? Were all their efforts for nothing?!

When she arrived, Vireylda experienced what it was like to gain startling emotional momentum in one direction, only to fall flat on her face when she had to abruptly turn around. She stayed atop her horse, surveying the microcosm of 'life-as-usual' for Xanian residents.

This wasn't what she expected, but if anything this was the definition of 'pleasant surprise.' Xania had reverted back to it's original humble roots, with what appeared to be a small festival, hallmarked by brief snippets of magic? She took note of the crooked hats atop the children's heads, and even pantomimed casting back at the children, her mouth spreading into a wide grin. Then when the child sent the "Alakazam" at her, a hand snapped to her chest, exaggerated gasping leading quickly to staged death.

She waved at them after hopping down, grasping the reins of the horse, and following further into the town. The smell hit her first, that of charred meat. Oh, were they cooking too? Maybe it was a general town feast? Something off about it though, perhaps they needed to take the meat off the fir-

She saw them, forlorn figures cast in cinders, chained to a death filled with agony. Fire. Vireylda thought back of her family, their untimely demise caused by fire, and how she had narrowly escaped. The pale elf swallowed, all hint of jovial enjoyment thoroughly eradicated. Vireylda looked toward a nearby townsfolk. "Excuse me. Do you know who might be in charge of this? I'd like to speak to them."
 
"Why, the chief of course!", remarked the rosy-cheeked woman breathlessly.

She disappeared into the crowd without explanation. But just as Vireylda was beginning to realize how happy all the of the townsfolk around her were behaving, she saw the stout woman's buns bounding toward her once again. Trailing behind her was the old village chief that she recognized from her previous visit to Xania. The elderly human's eyes widened with realization as he adjusted his crumbled hat.

"My lady!", he exclaimed. "It has been too long. I do not think we were ever formally introduced."

The mousey human was bent and small. He wore a faded gray suit that may have been his best outfit for the occasion. A walking stick supported the old man as he limped closer toward Vireylda. Bright blue eyes shone as he did even as he smiled toothlessly at her.

"I am Abelard. Miss Roysia said that you were looking for me?"

Roysia offered a toad-like smile, clearly pleased with herself. "Perhaps we can speak inside?", she squeaked excitedly as she tried to usher Vireylda and the town elder into a familiar structure: the tavern that had once served as sanctuary to the survivors during Xania's dark past.
 
Did the woman enjoy the scent of roasting people? Vireylda outwardly smiled, though it was only a tad forced. Desperation mixed with unease into a pungent cocktail of anxiety. The woman left, and Vireylda found herself not at all missing her. Nothing was wrong with this unnamed woman thus far, point of fact she'd done nothing to warrant Vree's ire. Except, perhaps, the fact she took such glee out of violent, sadistic death. Or maybe she was just part of the bystander crowd, swept up in all of it.

Either the shadow elf wasn't too sad to see her go.

However, it took a few scant seconds before fate once again played her. The woman was back! And she brought someone else in tow this time. An older gentleman, who she remembered. The Village Chief. Good to know he still lived. "I don't believe we were, no." She smiled back, the friendly gesture hiding the suspicion germinating within her thoughts. Roysia, is that her name? Well alright then. "A pleasure to meet you, Chief Abelard." Vireylda bowed her head, just enough to make an impression. "My name is Vireylda, and yes that's correct."

She looked at the pillars. It took a force of will to tear her eyes away. "I didn't expect to see this when I returned. Has this been going on long?" She tried to remain quite neutral about the question, sticking clearly to the facts. Roysia's attempt to usher them into a tavern was met with no resistance. Wherever they needed to speak was acceptable.
 
Vireylda was getting good at politicking. She outwardly projected warmth, approachability, neutrality when she felt repulsion and anxiety.

"Vee-Rail-dah", the village elder repeated the word after a small struggle. "Well met, yes, let's speak inside, hmm?" The small, bald human waltzed next to the Necromancer with Roysia flanking Vireylda on the other side. They passed a prominent stone statue of a soldier leaping, sword drawn, into the maw of monster as they wove through the crowds to reach the tavern. A farmer held the heavy oak doors open for them and greeted the trio warmly before hurrying off to rejoin the festivities.

The tavern was almost exactly as Vireylda remembered. Some of the furnishings appeared new or refurbished. A sleek and oiled maplewood counter replaced the dingy corner where the bar sat. Nearly all the tables were full of happy, chatty townspeople. More cheers, 'Serales', and waves greeted the village chief, interspersed with a few "Hi, Rosie!" presumably aimed at the stout woman. When they at last found a free table, a serving wench delivered a tray of pumpkin flavored brew. It was surprisingly delicious if not a bit on the sweet side, should Vireylda opt to try some. Plates of cheese, salted beef, picked onions, and bean soup followed.

"The burnings were in response to some very unsavory discoveries", sighed Abelard after a few more rounds of pleasantries and niceties. Not even politicians could talk about the unseasonably fine weather and the state of the Empire's roads for longer than a few minutes. "Midwives. Crones. The usual suspects. We found a small coven of them. The women admitted to practicing witchcraft before the magister."

"Unfortunately, more of them cropped up. We couldn't hold them for too long, see. The magister visits the larger cities. Rarely passes by the towns and villages anymore. So ..." Abelard trailed off.

"Their foul practices have subsided since we started burnings", Rosie added happily, sounding far too pleased with herself again. "From dozens to a handful. We usually find their lot after a full or new moon. Like clockwork. Those demon spawn can't help themselves. Possessed, probably. Harlots to demons and worshippers of ghouls and --"

"That's enough, Roysia", interrupted Abelard in a weary voice. "I hope that you do not judge us too harshly, Lady Vireylda. After the ...incident two eras ago, we adopted strict measures to cull practices and traditions related to the Dark Arts. These women were given a fair trial. They admitted to raising ghosts and communing with the dead. Some were accused of hexing and cursing their neighbors. They were sentenced to death. By fire."

"Keeps them from coming back", Roysia added helpfully with another toad-like smile.
 
Her mouth quirked with brief amusement, though it was tempered with the humble smile. "Or Vree, if it's easier. I'm not one to stand on ceremonies." Nope, not when she had things to do here. Enough red tape could strangle someone, and it usually only lead to someone getting upset that another had a prettier title than the other. Not useful to productivity! That and, she forgot sometimes that humans had much simpler names. When one was raised in the elven ways, you forgot it could be harder to wrap ones tongue around.

Then again her preoccupation with this likely had less to do with issues involving syntax, than her own need to distract from the atrocities being committed around her. Abelard seemed an alright sort, she supposed, even if Roysia grew increasingly Rude. Judgemental, quick to cast blame but not discover the source of it. Jovial in her enjoyment of the suffering.

It was enough to sour her appetite, even as her own heart bouyed on a wave of happiness, at the livelihood of the tavern. She helped save them, and true a wave of warmth did spread through her chest at the thought, but it faltered just as quickly at the genuine joy Roysia seemed to take in such horrible practices.

Vireylda nodded when Abelhard began his explanations, probably expecting that she would demand some. Ah, alright. So they found some witches practicing their craft, and decided something needed to be done about it. Vree listened, remaining silent. She found that too many times people thought too much on their response to a statement, without giving it enough thought. "I see. So you took measures to address it."

Only when Roysia went on her diatribe did that composure shift, just a tad. Vireylda stiffened in her chair. She was just about to whirl on the woman, and inform her just how close to the line she tread when Abelhard interrupted her. She listened to the elder with displeasure, but much less bubbling hostility.

And now it was time to respond. Vree took her time in doing so, allowing the moments to pass by while she gathered her words enough to craft them into something palatable, and not soaked in bitterness. She finally blew out a sigh. "I..understand, your reasoning, wishing to protect those you care for from a perceived threat." She looked out, at the gathered people in the tavern. "A community is a precious thing to maintain, especially after all you've survived." She remembered clearly how broken Xania had been back then, with the scars of the night both physical and mental. It took a toll on even the shadow elf, who was used to such horrors. What might it do to the sheltered commonfolk?

She remained neutral by force of will alone. "I do not question your reasoning, merely the methods. I seem to recall a practitioner of the Dark Arts as one of the saviors that night." Vireylda knew better to announce her affiliation without gauging first the room. If the town at large was in the midst of 'burn first, ask questions later' it wouldn't do to loudly proclaim her abilities. "Such action would suggest that all of them aren't malevolent, and shouldn't be executed outright." She took a breath. That being established, I trust you thoroughly investigated that these women, all of them, had sinister intentions?"

The shadow elf flicked a glance toward Roysia. "Because the ones you have to look out for, are those who enjoy suffering, who take pleasure in killing for the sake of it. Sadistic, cruel, who wish to do harm. Those are the hallmarks of that which you label 'Evil'."
 
"Absolutely", Roysia agreed quickly. She really fixated on the 'evil' parts of what Vireylda said, completely missing the bits that may have pertained to her own behavior. Her toad-like smile never faltered as she nodded, beady eyes bulging with rapt attention at the interesting new stranger. The woman had not been there on Xania's dark night. Perhaps she was a newcomer as well. Maybe she visited during market day and stayed for the burnings.

Abelard was about to respond when the plump woman noisily waved down a nearby serving wench. The girl glided over. She had freckles, dirty blonde hair, and forgettable features. "Yes, ma'am?", she asked, looking between the trio.

"This soup is cold", snapped Rosie. "Take it away please. And I'd like to speak with your manager."

The girl's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Fortunately, the village chief cut in, assured Roysia that 'Patrick' was probably busy and offered his still-steaming bowl to the woman instead. That was odd. Vireylda noticed that her bowl was already cold.

"As I was saying ...Vree", continued Abelard. The elderly human sounded like he struggled with her name regardless. "Xania remembers that certain ...skills were used to save our village. But these accused were guilty of using spirits and ghosts to harm and curse their fellows."

"Slippery slope!", hissed Rosie, her buns and chins wobbling as she shook her head with great displeasure. "If the stories are to be believed, that was one Necromancer under the employ of the Governor-General. These witches are rogue practitioners of the dark arts. Evil-doers through and through! Good riddance! And if the fires bring rains and plenty to our fields, all the better!"
 
Vireylda bit her tongue, on the grounds that if she didn't Rosie would likely be getting a mouthful of vitriol, and possibly a curse that didn't just damage ones ego. What would she look like suffering from plague, hm? Oh no, but that was something bad necromancers did, not good ones. She was good! Yes, absolutely didn't think these thoughts, restrain herself from teaching the judgemental bitch a lesson.

Wow, and rude to waitstaff. Rosie climbed a few rungs higher in her ladder of enmity. Vireylda also noted the soup. Hadn't it just been cooked? Hm. Something wasn't right here. A look around the tavern then, surreptitious in nature. Anything look odd or out of the ordinary? Maybe a general feeling?

Rosie was still talking. Vree didn't care. She focused instead on the less venomous words, the ones filled with reasonable precaution, and inevitable judgement instead. "Then you've at least done your due diligence, and condemned the guilty, not the innocent." She wouldn't try and protect those that actively went out of their way to harm, because wasn't that the whole reason she was there in the first place? To right a wrong? Put to rest whatever monster created Omak all those years ago?

Her frustration boiled over. Vireylda looked straight at Rosie. "Excuse me, but who exactly are you, and why do you take such sadistic pleasure in the suffering of others, regardless of the pain they themselves might cause?"
 
For a moment, Rosie thought that Vireylda was addressing someone else.

The plump woman even confusedly glanced around her, perhaps expecting that someone who took sadistic pleasure in the suffering of others, had wandered close to their table. When she realized that the elf was talking to her, contempt and color rose to her many necks and cheeks until she looked like an overripe tomato.

"WHY -- I -- NEVER!", she ejaculated with such force and venom that spittle and soup flew from her fat lips.

But the duel between the two women never came to blows. Not for lack of trying, though. For in that same instant, Chief Abelard rose suddenly to his feet as screams and shouts filtered from outside the tavern. "What's going on?", he breathed in a worried voice. Several townsfolk were now getting up from their tables and moving toward the sounds of panic. Their expressions were lined with concern and confusion.

Vireylda, still looking straight at Rosie, saw the woman deflate just as suddenly as fear filled her beady eyes. Behind her, the she heard cries and shrill ... laughter.

"WITCHES!", shouted a farmer as he burst into the tavern. "THEY'RE ATTACKING THE VILLAGE!"
 
Oh, she never? She never? Rosie's venomous rebuttal only angered the necromancer further.

The Esh'lahier were known for many things, but chief among them, was their mood swings. Vireylda was not immune to this, her general outlook remained steadfast in the controlled, logical side of things. Normally. Rosie's declaration, and subsequent refusal to admit her wrong doings pushed that vaunted, hard won control right to the breaking point. The heat rose in her cheeks like fire begging to be unleashed. Her tongue readied itself to lash the woman, to teach her a measure of decency-

So really, the commotion outside was a good thing, even if nobody knew it. Vireylda's attention snapped to Chief Abelard. "Keep the civilians in the tavern, I'll go out and deal with the witches." With a last, lingering glare at Rosie she went outside to see what the fuss was.
 
Nobody stopped the Esh'lahier when she ventured back outside the tavern. She could already hear she shouts, screams, and commotion outside even before she reached the heavy double doors. But when they swung open, the Necromancer was greeted by quite a scene.

Instead of mayhem, death, and destruction like she expected, Vireylda found that the townsfolk were being chased by tiny green creatures. Instead of blood and gore, the fleeing, panicked villagers were covered in tiny little fang marks that were blossoming into pus-filled bumps. The Master Necromancer didn't need further explanation to sense that the creatures were Fiends conjured by practitioners of her sphere. They looked like goblins but the tiny horns, fangs, forked tongues, and pointy tails were telltale signs of their origins.

About a dozen of the creatures were now swarming the many stalls and stands surrounding the town center. Abandoned by their owners, the gremlins were having a field day -- eating all the fried snacks, sweets, and even tearing into the many little toys and goods that were not normally edible. Not that it stopped the fiends even a little bit.

Further down the narrow streets, Vireylda spied a trio of figures with black capes and pointy hats. Hovering above them were translucent shapes that appeared almost like a trick of the fading light. But the Necromancer saw the spirits spiraling and surfing from one rooftop to the next, scaring its occupants and filling the once-festive town with screams of horror.
 
Okaaaaaay.

She prepared for war, not this....odd assortment of stereotypes. As Vireylda watched the fiends - and she did designate them as fiends - she realized that this was yet another repeat of Portshire. These witches were necromancers, and they chose to befoul the citizens of Xania. Which meant, it was her duty to deal with it. Her chest swelled again with that cold sort of fury, though this time it remained firmly under her control. She summoned her staff. Portshire taught her more than one thing about moderation. She summoned an Adept weave to Dismiss the fiends. They were smaller, so hopefully she could influence multiple at a time.

"I'll ask you once, to stand down so we can talk about this." Vireylda released the spell, hopefully destroying a good number of the creatures. "If you persist, you'll find that it might not end well for you."
 
Vireylda's Staff of Arcana felt warm under her grasp. The smooth, familiar surface of the enchanted wood filled her with a heightened sense of stability and focus as she gathered the necessary entropy for her spell.

Dismissing fiends tended to require an equal or greater amount of energy. These gremlins were small but the Master Necromancer knew that fiends required at least an Adept to conjure. Could there be this many powerful necromancers hiding in Xania? At least a dozen of the green creatures were sowing mayhem before her now. Yet Vireylda might find it unusual that none of the creatures actually attacked her. When the villagers fled, they didn't pursue. The gremlins looked a lot more interested in the snacks and knickknacks that were left behind.

After what felt like a few minutes, Vireylda spent an Adept's worth of Vis to create a blast of entropy that swept across the gremlins in front of her. When the spell struck a group of fiends, the Necromancer saw them 'pop' like overripe fruit. From their flesh and scales erupted half-eaten treats and other items looted from the nearby stalls. It looked successful. But something didn't feel right. Vireylda didn't see essence shells exploding.

The nearby gremlins, however, reacted quickly to her aggression.

"Run away!", they screamed in unison.

"Away from the meanie!"

"Bad Elf! Bad Elf!", they chorused as they scattered.

Unfortunately, all this effort to deal with the gremlins meant that Vireylda was unable to catch up to the witches.
 
...what?

For the second time that day Vireylda slammed into a wall of confusion and surprise. They didn't exist to cause mischief, to befoul the populace that had taken it upon themselves to burn alive the condemned? Vree's stomach churned as she thought, Was this what they called malicious? Worth enough to murder? and it would not leave her upon creation.

The only thing she could do, was go after their supposed summoners. The gremlins were mostly vanquished, and she dashed forward after the witches. Carefully!
 
The remaining gremlins, perhaps six or seven, scattered in front of Vireylda. Some disappeared in the spaces between hovels, crawled and hid behind thatched roofs, and a few even unsuccessfully tried to hide inside a nearby well. The Necromancer heard their gurgled screams after the faintest splash.

She walked down the main path from the town square -- carefully -- making her way down the road that eventually led beyond the town. Before long, Xania was behind her and the fading light of the brightening cast long shadows against the farms and sparse structures that dotted the Highlands. Among a copse of trees, though, Vireylda spied the unmistakeable figure -- cloaked in black robes and shadow. Its pointy hat tilting at her approach before its owner turned and faded into the woods.

"Meanie! Meanie!", the cackling voices cried out from above her. Vireylda saw the gremlins flying high overhead.

They were riding on broomsticks, rakes, and other farming implements likely stolen from the villagers.

"Bad elf! Blad elf!"
 
The entire situation was beginning to grate on her already chafed patience. Rosie's vehemence from earlier ground glass into an old wound, and this was just salt liberally dumped on top of it. She struggled to understand what was happening while dashing forward after her quarry. The figure in the pointed hat was leading her away from Xania, the village she swore to protect. Was this the best course of action?

Normally she would have stopped, reassessed the situation, but the childish antics of the gremlins gave her pause. They weren't trying to actively harm anyone. From what she saw, there was no malicious intent here. What then of the village that burned the witches? Was this the horrific crime that damned them to the pyre? These questions could only be answered by the figure she chased.

So without stopping, Vireylda kept onward.

"Stop! We can talk about this, you don't need to run!"

She shouted out, hoping the figure might stop, but even if it didn't Vree grit her teeth and addressed the Gremlins riding on...various farming equipment? In the air?!

"You attacked the village!" She yelled up, into the chorus of chiding childish voices. "You brought it on yourselves!"
 
The figures did not stop. But chasing after the gremlins on broomsticks, rakes, and hoes led her to the edge of the woodlands.

Vireylda thought that she could still hear the taunts echoing as she found a game trail leading deeper through the trees and undergrowth. This was an ancient growth, she realized soon enough, and even the trees along the perimeter of the small forest was largely untouched. In her experience, Vireylda knew that woods like these were frequently used to harvest lumber and kindling, especially since it was so close to a village. Yet everything she saw indicated that the townsfolk largely ignored or perhaps avoided this place.

It didn't take long to see why.

She must have only gone less than a quarter mile when she found the first totem of animal and human skulls. The pile of old, yellowing bone sat undisturbed in the middle of the game trail she was on. There was no writing on this "Do Not Enter" sign but the message was clear. Vireylda saw fresh tracks moving over the mud and moss further ahead. And since she found no other path, it was unlikely that that witches went anywhere else.

Above her Vireylda heard the soft patter of wings and saw an albino crow landing nimbly onto an awaiting branch. The white-feathered fowl cawed and watched her intently with pale red eyes before flying away.
 
Probably would be a better idea not to follow them into this. Common sense dictated this wasn't a smart venture. That and, uh, all the skulls. Vree never understood the appeal of using that as one's decorative choice. Yes, it sent quite a statement, but then you had to deal with the complications of rot. Nobody wanted to deal with picking up sloughing eyeballs or other disgusting detritus from a decomposing skull. Granted, this concentration on the inefficiency of the sign was likely shielding her from the fact these witches - if they were indeed responsible - had firmly jumped into threat.

Which meant she had to deal with them, however that might play out.

Vireylda sighed, and walked past the sign, into the forest.
 
Smart ventures and skulls tended to be distinct from one another.

While Vireylda criticized the coven's choice of decor, she also realized that the witches were perhaps as evil as the townsfolk thought them to be. Why else would they leave totems such as these? It was a little on the nose but Necromancers were not exactly low key. At least, not the ones that she's been running into lately.

The Esh'lahier entered the forest, past the sign of skulls, and into the thicket of trees, roots, and dense undergrowth.

There was a certain wildness to this forest that Vireylda had not seen since the Loremark. Enormous ancient growths of sentinels, oaks, birch, and evergreens rose taller and taller around her. Even the younger trees seemed immense and soon, Vireylda was immersed in the song of the woodlands. She heard chirps, hoots, and the light scurrying of smaller creatures darting from her path. Thanks to her infravision, she could see despite the deep shadows as night fell. The trail was still present but the Necromancer found herself having to retrace her steps here and there, doubling back when she unintentionally deviated from the trail as the moss, lichen, roots, and leaves continued hiding her path.

She was a few candlemarks into her trek when Vireylda reached a small clearing with a wooden cabin. It looked largely abandoned with weeds, vines, and even a few saplings sprouting through what was left of its skeletal roof. A stone well in similar state of disrepair stood nearby.

And perched on the well was the albino crow again. It cawed, tilted its head questioningly, before its pale blood-colored eyes continued to study and watch the newcomer.
 
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