Castle Mroczna

Castle Mroczna

Samson still thought it was a bad idea. But a three-to-one vote meant he really didn't have much of a say. And it would taste of a lie to say he wasn't tempted.

He'd heard the rumours about the fineries of Castle Mroczna well enough, and more importantly, its supposed treasure.

Of course, he also heard the rumours about its inhabitants, and how people who trespassed had a habit of disappearing...

Guess he'd find out soon enough, trailing behind his more eager compatriots as they trudged through the brush, a thin layer of snow mostly melted into an icy, muddy slush. Not too deep, but it left Samson thankful of his cowhide boots.

It was mid evening, so the scrubs around them blended into the diffuse shadows, but there was no orange glow to the land either, mountains to the south west blocking some of the fading sun's light and disparate cloud cover bathing the world in a muted grey. Samson grumbled as a sharp twig from the encroaching trees scratched his cheek. They weren't towering trees, which probably would have been preferable for a less obstructive approach, but despite half of them lacking leaves, they offered better cover and concealment.

He made sure he kept close to the person in front of him, Oleg, a scrawny individual yet surprisingly fast, always eager to be the distraction or dash the distance for loot. He had a cap tugged down on his head tight, hiding his thin sandy hair. Whilst Samson sometimes felt Amelie's feet step on his heels.

"Don't lag," the slender woman chastised, prompting Samson to shoot her indignant looks; Oleg was fast, but even he could only go as fast as the environment allowed. And as fast as the one leading moved, a taller, thicker-set woman with curly hair exposed to the cold. Jasmine her name was.

They were all wearing thick coats made of wool and cotton, dyed with dark colours to better hide in the shadows, though if the stories about Castle Mroczna were true, they'd have to hope the shadows were long and deep in there; aristocratic types tended to have gaudy tastes.

Samson wiped down some moisture off his face using his own dark brown cap, scratching at his stubble. He hadn't had a chance to shave in a few days, and the regrowth had reached its annoying spiky stage. He wasn't lucky like Oleg, who seemed incapable of growing even a moustache, let alone a beard.

He wiped his face clean of any moisture before the cold air made his face sting. Not a few days back, his pale skin risked burning from a hot sun, but the many leagues they travelled to the remote village positioned not far from Castle Mroczna put them in a decidedly colder clime, even though it was just beginning that transitional period between winter and spring.

Samson didn't want to think how bitter the place would have been in the middle of winter proper.

As they forged through the shrubs and trees of the forest, Samson spied the nearby village of Dolina Mroku through the twigs and branches nestled in a small valley, a small hamlet of dour-looking houses, most with thatch-roofs, some wooden, with a few brick buildings here and there, particularly a small church with its steeple looking over the village, but most of the houses were wood construction.

He could see from where he was -- though elevated above the village, the trees and bushes hampered his view -- that the paths through the town were dirt and sludgy ice, with only a single paved cobblestone road, leading both out of the village towards -- and winding through -- the mountains to the Southwest, and meandering up the slopes of the valley towards Castle Mroczna itself, looming over the town with an ominous stature at the top edge of the valley to the east, only a short walk as the crow flies, but up the path, it would have felt longer.

As for the castle itself... well, it was slowly coming into clearer view as they neared the edge of the wooded area he and his compatriots were using to conceal their approach.

For the most part, it didn't look particularly out of the ordinary for an aristocratic castle; it had the walls and the crenellations topping them, the turrets with pointed steeples or crenellated tops, a gatehouse before the road leading from the village barring the way into the place via both large doors with a deep maroon paint and a thick iron portcullis barring the way.

But one could tell it wasn't a castle with explicit warfare in mind, the gabled roof of a glasshouse visible next to the southern wall -- the direction they had approached -- with stone buildings integrated into the walls, and masterful masonry etched into the outer walls... particularly carvings of bats and demonic figures, gargoyles meant to both frighten and display the wealth and prestige of the Family Mroczna.

Windows were visible in the walls, with some structures built outside the wall itself. To the east, there was a garden of sorts, hedges looking haggard through after the winter as they surrounded barren plots for flowers and topiary shrubs, another glass house, larger than the one visible from where he was within the castle walls.

It was a castle that was more of a manor, than a fort.

Some of the windows glowed with yellow light, showing that someone was home.

That made Samson a little nervous; the rumours were never clear about whether the place was abandoned or not. Some said it was, others said it wasn't, some were a disconcerting blend of both suggestions, with the castle being unoccupied by the living, but inhabited by spirits that lent the place an unnatural maintenance.

What really unsettled Samson was the truth was... hard to ascertain. All he and his fellows had been able to find out was that Castle Mroczna was built as the family estate for House Mroczna, who claimed ownership of the lands within the valley, including the village of Dolina Mroku. Yet for all intents and purposes, House Mroczna was no longer recognised by any of the nearby Duchies or Kingdoms. The Family had simply... faded into obscurity.

Yet, no one dared claim this small patch on a map as their own, content to let it remain as is... almost treating it as abandoned but not worth taking.

It made Samson wonder just what was going on in this cold, gloomy valley. And there was no opportunity to ask the locals, since they had all agreed to steer clear of the village, lest they alert the owners of Castle Mroczna, whoever they were.

Assuming there was anyone living in that village... Samson hadn't yet seen any lights or wisps of smoke from chimneys.

Whatever the case, getting caught wasn't exactly on the top of his list... or that of his comrades.

They were just less worried about it, which annoyed him.

"Here we are," Jasmine said, looking up at the looming wall of the castle, a pale grey in colour from time and recent frost. Her voice had a soft but rich inflection, her accent putting her from a subtropical land somewhere to the south, but she never did say where specifically.

"Looks like the rumours were true," Oleg added, his voice as scrawny as it looked, his thick accent sinking into the Rs and Us. He pointed to a window near the base of the wall, darkened and cracked, looking into what they believed was a cellar... or a dungeon. "There's our way in, just as they said."

"Not exactly an easy fit," Amelie said, her accent giving her a sense of snobbishness, befitting the aristocratic city she hailed from. And she certainly had that air about her, of being used to luxury and class, but Samson knew when things called for it she could get dirty. That didn't mean she had to like it.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Samson himself repeated. There was nothing special about his accent, his people found all over the place, far from home.

Oleg scoffed.

"You need to relax, friend," he said. "You shouldn't believe all the rumours you hear."

"But there aren't any laws here, you don't know what they could do to us," Samson argued.

"Like they wouldn't throw us in a dungeon to whither elsewhere," Amelie retorted. "Or are you afraid they'll torment us in so many ways we'll beg for death?"

"It's not like we're thieves here," Jasmine assured.

"What do you think we're doing?" Samson had to call that one out. "We're here to rob the place."

"We're here to find treasure," Oleg cut in. "Nobody claims this place, there's no title, no deed, nothing. And maybe it's just squatters living in comfort."

Samson didn't quite abide that logic. Though it was true they were adventurers and treasure hunters, breaking into a castle that looked inhabited was basically burglary, not treasure hunting.

They, however, didn't see it that way; there was supposed to be a legendary treasure here, secreted away somewhere in the Castle. They were of the mind that any current owners, given how little recognition there was for this place, likely knew nothing. And that made it fair game, as long as they didn't take anything other than this rumoured bounty.

And if, somehow, despite the lights, the castle was abandoned, then it was all fair taking.

Admittedly, he could understand the logic, just a little. The wealth of the treasure horde was tempting to be sure, even to him.

It's how they managed to convince him to come along in the first place. That and a sense of camaraderie with his companions.

"I don't know... let's just get this over with," he muttered, prompting Jasmine to clap him across the back.

"That's the spirit," she said, and Samson had to admit that her rich voice was very encouraging.

They approached the window, only a few feet above the ground. Samson could hear the whistle of wind through the cracks in the window's glass.

Jasmine walked up to it, and with a few grunts of exertion, she managed to open it after working out how, the whole frame and its multiple panes twisting on an axle.

That wouldn't help them get in, it was still an obstacle, but it did let Jasmine see inside. Samson could see too, the window only just below his eye line.

It was some sort of store room, one of many no doubt, full of sacks and jars of pickled goods and other preserved stuffs. It looked quite dusty, the shelves covered in cobwebs.

Jasmine scanned the room carefully, and once satisfied there was nothing dangerous awaiting them, she turned to Samson.

"Your turn," she said.

Samson nodded and took off his small leather backpack, which contained some camping gear, a small amount of supplies, and his tools.

He took out the leather-bound toolset, three sections folded together and held by a small strap. Undoing that, it unfurled to show off its various tools, all small and meant for more precise work.

He was the 'safe cracker' of the group, so to speak, but he didn't like being called that. He was used to opening safes, locks, chests, all sorts of things... in abandoned places. All but forgotten about, unclaimed and fair game.

This was different, but he tried to shove those misgivings aside, producing a small hammer and pick.

Windows like this were meant to be removable, or fixing them would've been a major pain. But given how much effort Jasmine needed just to open it, time probably made it a very snug fit.

He began tapping away at the edge of the window where its dowel rested in the small well to allow it to pivot. Sure enough, the metal was quite tarnished and the stone degraded from years exposed to the elements.

Eventually, however, Samson managed to make some progress, finding the small notch near the pinion's hole that let him tap the window out at an angle. From there, he was able to slide the whole thing out, grunting when its weight proved more than anticipated, but Jasmine was there to grab it before it crashed to the ground and made a whole lot of noise.

They nodded, and looked over to Oleg.

No words were needed, he knew the drill. He moved up to the window, and hauled himself through it, fitting quite easily. Samson heard him set foot on a wooden table which creaked, a few unseen items rattling around on it. The floor was quite a bit lower than the ground outside, so the table being there was fortunate.

He reached back through to grab the window, setting it down near him, before ushering Samson in.

Samson replaced his tools, and handed his backpack through to Oleg, before climbing through the window himself, Oleg helping to keep him steady despite his scrawny stature.

Another bag was handed through, Oleg's, before Jasmine did the same with her own, and began to climb through herself. She had a bit more difficulty with the window, but with Oleg and Samson's help, she was through and soon pacing about the storeroom, further checking for danger.

Last was Amelie, curling her lip a little at the state of the room but making no remark.

It smelled quite musty, with a strange mixture of aromas from all the preserved goods within, though Samson was at least thankful nothing seemed rancid. But already he was having to stifle coughs from the dust, just stepping on the table enough to stir up a good lot of it.

The wind was starting to pick up, howling through the now exposed window, some flakes of snow swirling in, but they didn't replace the frame, hoping to exit this way as quietly as they entered.

"It doesn't look like anyone's been in here for years," Amelie remarked, nudging a nearby crate full of jars filled with preserved something with the tip of her foot as if it were something unpleasant.

"That's good then," Oleg insisted. "Means we might not have to worry about the owners."

"There's still someone here," Samson repeated, keeping his voice low. "Don't forget the lights."

"We move slow and quiet then," Amelie remarked, handing everyone's bags back to their owners. "And be ready to move fast."

Samson didn't like the idea, but he was in too deep now. He murmured in worry before following Jasmine as she made for the wooden door leading out.

The heavy iron latch took some effort to open quietly, and the door creaked as it was pushed ajar. Jasmine peered out of it, and then pushed the door open a little more, seeing no danger.

There was a passage outside, dusty with cobwebs in the arched ceiling, with brick construction for both the walls and floor, though the floor was more like rough tiles.

There were candle holders made of brass affixed to the walls, with old candles that were nearly entirely melted away, long-overflowed wax spilling over the small dishes for the candles and leaving stained messes on the floor.

It was dark, with no natural light to reach like the storeroom, but ahead, there were two wooden doors, one directly in front of the passage, and one to the right that was raised a step, perhaps leading into a stairwell.

The door directly ahead seeped light through in a strip at its base.

Normally Samson would've suggested they take the other door, but Jasmine seemed to have other ideas, heading for the one with light on the other side.

"Are you mad?" Samson hissed quietly.

"I'm with the worrywart on this one," Oleg said with a hushed voice. "Shouldn't we stay away from places with light?"

"Noise carries in a place like this," Jasmine reasoned. "Anyone not trying to be sneaky is going to be heard. I'll listen first. If I hear anyone, we'll check the other way. If not, we'll check it out. It might lead somewhere more likely to have the treasure."

Samson hated when Jasmine got logical like this. If only because she was near-impossible to sway from her course. She was thick-headed like that.

Amelie made no comment, only frowning and rolling her eyes, knowing the decision was made before anyone could vote on it.

They crept forward through the passage, until Jasmine was against the door. Oleg dropped down onto the floor and slipped between her feet. In most circumstances, a woman would likely have stomped Oleg's head into the floor for such a seemingly invasive manoeuvre, but Jasmine and he often did this when checking for danger through a door; she would listen, and he would try and peer underneath or through a crack.

Oleg mumbled something in his language.

"Can't see much," he whispered in words they all understood. "There's a rug in the way. Fancy looking one."

"I can't hear a soul," Jasmine added, and the two backed away from the door. Jasmine tried the latch, and though there was difficulty, it opened a little more easily than the storeroom's door.

It creaked open quietly, and Samson saw Oleg's lips make an inaudible whistle of appreciation.

Personally Samson didn't think a hallway was worth that kind of awe, but it was luxurious.

Maybe not ridiculously so, but the walls were covered in a dark, rich wood which seemed to shine in the flickering light from several wax lanterns hanging from the ceiling, giving off diffuse reflections.

There were supporting pillars in this same wood built into the walls, the carpentry precise and masterful, fanning out into elegant curls that helped support the roof, which was white plaster and painted with fleurs de lis in the corners.

The floor, a hardwood not unlike the walls but paler in colour, was covered in a long, deep red carpet with golden trim on the edges, though it did look a little aged.

Spaced intermittently along the wall opposite the door they'd exited were small tables made of mahogany, some bearing vases with wilted flowers, others with decorative pots or abstract wooden sculptures.

There was an odd smell, giving a sense of age, and closer inspection of everything showed a similar 'oldness' to it like the carpet did.

Yet it was all clean. Used. But cared for and maintained.

That made Samson uneasy, as that was a sure sign as any that this place wasn't abandoned.

"I think someone lives here," he remarked, hoping that he might subtly convince his peers to leave if he didn't directly make the suggestion.

"Well, guess we're gonna be burglars then," Amelie remarked, her eyes scanning about the space with appreciation.

It made Samson feel a little dismayed that she was so ready to be a criminal -- even if they technically already were with some of the places they'd looted -- instead of taking the safer option.

More and more he realised his friends were set on this treasure. He sure hoped it was going to be worth it.

Jasmine took the lead again, taking the right turn down the hallway, which seemed to stretch a good ways before there was another set of doors, one directly in the way, and one to the left, leading out of the hallway.

Compared to the simpler, older wooden doors of the storeroom and the stone passage, these ones were rectangular, made of more rich wood, a shiny ebony in colour. They were more shows of exquisite carpentry, the simple carvings in them, dividing the doors into quadrants, showcasing expensive expertise.

The knobs appeared to be made of brass, dimmed over the years through use, textured with stylistic embellishment.

Jasmine paused at this door, putting her ear to it. Oleg dipped between her legs again to try and see beneath it, but he grumbled quietly, retreating and shaking his head.

"Can't see a thing, crack's too narrow," he whispered.

Jasmine was quiet for a little longer, and then nodded to herself.

"I hear nothing though. I think we are safe."

Samson really didn't think that was true, so he tensed when Jasmine turned the knob slowly, and inched the door open.

Compared to the first two doors, this one was much quieter. It still groaned a little, but typically so.

At first Jasmine peered around to look for danger, but soon her eyes widened and slowly scanned the space, looking taken aback.

Then she carefully pushed the door open into the space, and let out an exclamation in her language.

"Whoa," Samson added as he and the others followed Jasmine into the great foyer beyond.