Raven Lake University

Raven Lake University is a sprawling, unlikely institute of higher learning set atop a plateau well back into some of the most ancient mountains in the world. Chase Grimwald has no idea what he just stepped into: he applied late, accepted late, and arrived too late for the Orientation sessions. The campus itself is a set of ancient stone buildings, his dorm room is hidden away in a back corner of the uppermost floor of his dorm, and some of the other students are sleeping outside in tents. And who anchors their tent to a slope on the edge of a rocky cliff?

Strange things roam the halls at night -- and at least one of them has already tried to kill him. But was that because he hasn't yet learned the elaborate rituals that the other students use to protect themselves? Or does someone genuinely want him dead? And what about the lamprey-things in certain parts of the stream? Where are they coming from? Why do they drop off these weird, fleshy lumps before swimming back into tiny holes in the rock? And what was that bigger one behind them? 

A sensible young man would have opted right back out, but the students are friendly, the food is plentiful, and the education is top-notch... Oh, and the road is gone. The professors may be a little idiosyncratic, but Chase finds that enjoyable. Then a chance encounter with the Fenwick family who run the University leaves him wondering if he might not have some sort of connection to them, and he begins to realize just how far he's in over his head. He'll have to untangle old enmities and alliances, uncover secrets, and possibly negotiate an unexpected marriage if he expects to survive the school year with his grades intact.

RoH: Dinner in the Darkness

Remant stepped into the palace cautiously, though with Kalla and her family leading the way he didn't think he was in danger. The place was all high walls and stalagmite towers from the outside, dim light spilling out from the open doors. Everything here was stone and metal, or else an unfamiliar sort of cloth or leather. Limestone had been smoothed and shaped, ceilings carved into arches and set. There were no guards in evidence, which could mean any of several things. He hoped the Presbyterium realized that he came peacefully among them this time.

The light came from soft flames, set atop metal cones; similar to and different from the light-crystals the upper world had once produced. He would have loved to stop and examine their magics -- there were thing here that would be invaluable if he could reproduce them -- but this was not the time. Still, if he survived this gathering then he needed to return at some point simply for this. 

The scene inside was chaos struggling to become order: a double-dozen Undergray spreading out to find their seat at the carefully-arranged tables. 

"Honored Elders," Kalla said, her voice filling the space. "I present Remant of the Sunlit Lands, who is heir to our former master Huoron and also our savior from that mastery. We welcome him to Shadowguard, and give thanks for his company."

Remant was fairly certain that he'd never seen a room settle down so quickly. "I'm honored to be here," he said, forcing the words out but making them sound natural. "I regret that we were once enemies, and hope that we can be friends." 

One of the Elders raised his voice and lifted his glass. "Likewise," he said loudly. "We welcome you, and offer you hospitality."

That was binding, and with that reassurance Remant came forward into the room. "It is my honor and pleasure to accept," he said, raising his voice to make sure it carried. That was binding, too. It meant that he would be equally bound by the laws of hospitality. Any violation on either side was likely to be punished by the gods, even down here. Until very recently, Shadowguard had been hidden away from the eyes of the gods, but that was no longer entirely true.

"Then come and dine with us," said another Elder, and Kalla led him forward. 

RoH: Introductions

Remant had never been below the Grand Hall. When he'd come in here with the heroes, he hadn't needed to. Now, with Kalla leading the way, he found himself looking out into a sprawling underground city, scattered around the bottom -- and top -- of a massive underground cavern. A river rushed down the center of it, wide and shallow as it washed over the limestone floor. A few lights flickered here and there, some glowing faintly like distant stars, but mostly it was dark.

The structure she led him to was not far away, and he could see faint light within it -- not as bright as flame, let alone the sun, but some small glow to ease the way. Zara followed along, and as they walked another of the Undergray fell in beside them. "Durken," the man said, and offered a hand. "Kalla's husband, and Zara's father."

Remant nodded and clasped his hand. "I'm glad you're both happy." 

Durken grinned, squeezed firmly, and then released him. "I'm glad I finally get to meet you. I always wondered what sort of man you were."

"At the time? Desperate. I don't know how much your people knew of it, but up on the surface we were losing the war. Huoron's armies had wiped out most of the cities, burned out smaller settlements wherever they passed, and were laying siege to the last real source of organized opposition. The Gray weren't in much better shape, but my people had reached the point where even if we did defeat them, we'd have nothing left. Or if they won, neither would they."

"Ah," said Durken. "So they sent their greatest warriors away from the siege, to come here and slay Huoron himself."

Remant nodded again. "Exactly. Five champions, and the squires they accidentally acquired along the way. Two of the champions made it into Shadowguard; the rest of us were squires, replacements for the other champions: rich in magical blessings, but inexperienced, only partly trained, and utterly terrified."

"And only you lived," observed Kalla, sadly. 

Walking beside her, Zara gave a startled squeak.

Remant huffed. "Even so, I was much changed." He swallowed, then changed the topic. "What can I expect inside?"

Kalla hesitated, then said, "Reactions will be mixed, but not actively violent. Your intervention freed our people, but some of the Presbyterium still lost family -- close family -- to you and your friends." 

RoH: A Dinner Invitation

"I'd hoped to have you join us for a quiet family dinner," Kalla said. "Instead, I need to offer you an apology. As soon as word went out of your return, the entire Prebyterium began lobbying for a chance to host our savior."

"They're probably going to be disappointed," Remant predicted. "Still, I'm grateful for their hospitality -- and yours." 

"You'll do it, then?" She frowned. "You could just turn away. With a little effort, you could travel through this darkness like we do. Nobody would stop you."

"No, I..." he sighed, because to the left he really didn't want to do this, but to the right he was genuinely curious. "I'd like to meet your people."

"Don't sound so enthused," Kalla answered, gently ironic. "But okay, if you're still willing, come with me. They've been preparing for over an hour now."

Remant followed, making an effort to hide his reluctance. Zara followed them, holding on to a corner Remant's cloak.

RoH: Childhood Wisdom, and Wisdom Grown

Zara studied him closely. After a moment she said, "You look funny, not scary. Why is your skin like that?"

"Pale, you mean?" asked Remant. 

The girl nodded.

He shrugged. "Born this way. Among my people, it's pretty normal. Among yours, it may be funny-looking."

"Oh." The child looked thoughtful. 

Kalla knelt down as well. "Go and find your father, Little Curiosity. We need to finish talking about grownup things."

Zara considered that. "I can be quiet."

Kalla looked at Remant. He shrugged, rose. "All right. Walk with us, then."

Kalla said, "Back here," and led him in a wide circle around the altar. It was good to see that it was smashed, but what waited beyond was... wholly unexpected. 

The Undergray had emptied the niches of Huoron's visages, and used them to create shrines to each of the fallen heroes instead. Here lay the bones of the Aesil mage Elendor, surrounded by his robe, staff, and sword. The niche beside it held the last remains of Darik, the Vanil champion, the bones still encased in his gleaming golden armor, mace and shield set to either side. Next was Lisla, the Vanil squire who had taken on Winstala's blessing and equipment in a desperate bid to help win their battle; she was set between her daggers, and still wore her cloak. Her bow and quiver of arrows was set behind her. Last was Shima, who had boldly taken up the blessings and weapons of her Santu, the Mordil champion Gairlos. 

Remant found that he was on his knees. He could feel his eyes prickling.

"It pleases you?" Kalla asked. "None may touch the sacred weapons save the Presbyterium, and none may take them up save yourself. It is... taboo."

Remant swallowed, and forced the grief back. "It... Yes. It pleases me, that you honor them."

RoH: The Temple Revised

"I only came here to retrieve some gold from Huoron's vault," Remant said quietly. 

"I understand," Kalla said. "We haven't touched that. We bargain with the Cobalts by offering late-night help with traders and would-be conquerors, in exchange for the food that helps sustain us more... naturally. So far, it's been enough."

Remant nodded. "If you need it, though..." 

"I'll keep that to myself," Kalla said. "Otherwise, my fellow Elders will find reasons to need it. But while you're here..."

She stepped back through the doorway to the temple, and a voice called, "Mama!" and soft footsteps rushed forward. 

Remant followed her through the doorway and stopped. The Great Hall had changed subtly. The Temple had changed dramatically. It was lit, for one thing, though the flickering light of the flames didn't pass outside the doorway to the hall. The sacrificial altar at the far end was broken, and a slow trickle of blood was seeping out of it. The dagger lay atop the shattered altar. 

Shocked, Remant came to a full stop as a small Undergray threw herself at Kalla's leg. She clung there, looking for a long moment, then looked up at Remant. "You didn't come back here to kill us?"

Remant smiled and knelt. "No. No, I did not. I'm actually glad to see that your people have survived."

"There were some concerns," Kalla admitted. "Mine were not among them, which is why I was the one who went out to meet you."

"Well you did," Remant admitted in return. "I'd have listened and dealt fairly with another, but it helps that I remember how you dealt with me when I was still wounded and far more vulnerable."

"Still dangerous, though," Kalla pointed out. She gestured towards the altar. "And that thing was still on the floor at your feet." 

Remant scowled. "It was. How did you get it onto the altar?"

Kalla's face went flat, then sorrowful. "A dozen sacrifices. They lifted it, moved it, and they died. After the first one, they were throwing it, even knowing what it meant to touch it."

Remant paused. "I'm so sorry. It should have been caged where it was."

Kalla shook her head. "No, the risk there was even worse. Here, with the altar broken, the dagger calls out the blood and lets us feed. Their sacrifice was needed so that we could survive in this." She paused, then motioned to the child at her side. "This is Zara."

Remant nodded. "Your daughter."

"Some time after you departed, I married Lorran -- whom you don't know -- and gave birth to Zara, who is the center of my world."

"I still want a sister," said the girl. "I know you have politics to do, but I haven't forgotten."

"How old?" asked Remant. 

"Four."

Remant rose, came forward, and knelt again. "Hello, Zara. I'm honored to meet you." 

RoH: Old Allies, New Negotiations

The woman nodded. Originally, she had been one of the Gray: the secondborn of the races that the dark god Huoron had created, strong and savage and completely under His control. But she, among others, had been chosen to serve in and help protect Shadowguard, and their time here had changed them. Unlike Remant and his companions, they had already adjust to the deeper darkness and could see perfectly well, their eyes shining like lamps. They had grown slender, even gaunt, skin and hair adjusting to a pale gray that vanished into the stone -- and likewise the darkness. Here, they would be all but invisible -- even to those who could ordinarily see in the dark. 

Unlike the Vanil, the Gray had been created to serve Huoron unquestioningly. Their wills were utterly subservient to his own. But when the god had fallen, they had also been among the first to feel the shock and find themselves freed. Kalla had been the first to approach Remant in the wake of his disastrous victory, when he was still in the process of trying to repair his damaged body and control his strange new powers. She had promised to leave him unmolested, and only asked that he do the same for her kin in return. 

Remant had agreed, out of what his own sense of caution suggested was necessity, and departed. He had no idea what might have occurred down here since then. "You've returned," she said quietly. "Do you mean to lead us?"

"No." Remant shook his head, disgusted with the very idea. "No, if you've managed to survive down here..." He hesitated. "How have you managed to survive down here?"

"Theophagy," she admitted. "We have water, and we trade with the Cobalts and others for surface food, but mainly we survive by draining tiny bits of the blood of the fallen god. It's transforming us, but it's slow and the Presbyterium believes we can keep it under control this way."

Remant cocked his head. "You're a member of this Presbyterium?" he asked.

She smiled. "I'm it's leader." She paused for a moment to let him absorb that, then motioned him forward. "Come, let me show you something, and then come and dine with us -- ordinary food this time, cooked over ordinary fires." 

RoH: The Second Descent

Remant wasn't as familiar with this area as he was with some others, so once he was safely outside the gates he paused to invest a marker. Then he teleported back to... that place. 

The entrance was just as he'd left it, dark and seemingly empty. He entered and began the descent, retracing the way he'd taken just a few years before. He'd been younger then -- centuries younger, it felt like -- and armed and armored very differently. This outer area was composed of simple, natural caves, water-carved, damp, and dripping. He smelled the traces of Cobalts around him, silver-miners who'd retreated here and allowed themselves to be transformed, but they could see in the dark as well as he could. He had to pause briefly while they filled one particular cavern with song; but afterwards they retreated unseen, and he continued unbothered. 

It was beyond those natural caves where he found the opening to the deeper darkness, perpetual and impenetrable, and began his descent into Shadowguard. He'd only come this way once, but the way was burned into his memories. The shadow elementals waited, and when they thought he was unaware one of them attacked. He cut it in half with his blade, then called for a burst of light that sent them cowering back. He could have extended his own darkness, commanded them, but... no. He might have absorbed a portion of the fallen god's power, but he had no desire to use it. Especially not here, where the remainder of that divine power and blood had soaked into the stone below. 

The spirits drew back, and he continued his descent. 

At last he reached the Grand Hall, which was the central nexus of Shadowguard. All thing dark came together here. He remembered having only the vaguest impression of sight, when he and the others had first arrived. Now he could admire the full majesty of the place: the arched ceilings, the ornate columns with their carved masks looking down, the twin openings to the throne room and the temple. Huoron had made sacrifices only to himself, to increase his own power, but he considered that every bit as important as his throne, and at the height of the war the stream of victims who died screaming in the dark had been constant.

He hesitated. Something here had changed. As he watched, a figure emerged from the temple, paused to make sure it was seen, and then approached him carefully, hands raised and palms out. A good spellcaster could still attack from that posture, but Remant wasn't particularly worried. "Kalla," he said quietly. "You yet live." 

Holy Crap, My Dreams Are A Mess

Two part dream, or maybe three: 

Part One featured a very particular co-worker of mine having shown up at my house because I'd taken a mental health/vacation day and apparently we were supposed to be upgrading something and so we both needed to be in the office. Only it wasn't our current house, it was the home where I grew up, so of course my dad was there. The house also badly needed roof repairs and was leaking improbably amounts of water from several unlikely spots. (This had better not prove to be prescient...) Anyway, in addition to the water I was rushing around trying to locate my work shirts, socks, etc. because my Mom had moved things around, and we were already running late.

So the basic scenario for the second half was that we were on a large family trip, and due to head back out in the next day or two, so I was trying to get everything together for that. 

Only there were so many half-constructed Lego sets that I was trying to preserve, and the whole place was hugely crowded, and finally manage to hunt down one of the food cleanup guys. (They have those? Apparently they have those.) He gives me some seal-able gallon bags to put things in, so now it's just a matter of making sure all the little pieces make it into storage, along with the doll house, the little metal cars, the action figures... all of it, presumably, for the younger generation. 

(It didn't feel like mine, if that makes any sense, and I didn't feel like a kid in this dream. Though on the other hand, Beautiful Wife wasn't present neither were our kids; my parents, however, were. So I hypothetically would have been somewhere between eighteen and my early twenties, I guess.)

So having finally gotten all this sealed into bags, sorted into bins,  and piled onto a cart, and stacked on top of a couple of trays that we'd made the big family dinner on, even though we were in some sort of resort hotel, I guess? 

Anyway, after pushing the cart through probably half the hotel, I finally located my Dad. We'd just determined that we had everything here pretty much in order and he asked if I thought I was ready. 

That was when the dream moved into full-on, high-grade nightmare fuel, in the form of body horror. 

'Cause, see, I couldn't leave yet: I suddenly noticed that I had these wide, unwelcome flaps of skin growing out of my upper right arm. They were maybe an inch wide and three inches long, with little white wiggly things coming out of the ends. Which, yes, some kind of carnivorous, parasitic worm. So my Dad figures out how to squeeze them out the end of the tube -- "Thank God I remembered which way to go." -- and onto the stone walkway of the hotel's garden. I have apparently picked them up during the trip somehow. 

And, of course, now that we know what they are (sort of) I can see where they've moved down to my elbow and trying to form another tube there, only they're just under the skin so we have to squeeze them out a lot more carefully. And then there's a line of them down my arm towards my hand, so we have to pull those out, and the opens a gods-awful long slice all the way down my arm, right through the skin, so I'm sitting there looking at it and thinking, I'm going to need to get to a hospital or all this is going to get badly infected.

Fucking subcutaneous worms, man. You can probably even guess which particular book series likely inspired that bit of the dream, at least if you've been reading it too. It happens right at the beginning of book two.  

RoH: The Deal

"I do most of my work in my laboratory in the basement, or else out there in the gazebo," Dirimant Acklin, the former Viscount Durzen said quietly, "and of course we aren't looking to provide housing for our descendants if Lariza plans on moving to Foringelt. I could cede the entire north wing to you, if it would let me hold the manor."

Remant nodded. "I doubt I need more than a single floor," he said. "A bedroom, perhaps a study and a library. I travel a lot, but it would be nice to have a base of operations to come back to."

"Ah," said the dead man. "You fought in the war."

Remant nodded, and patted the sword at his side. "Now that you're dead, you can no longer be the viscount... but it's possible that I could, and simply direct that income to you to dispense as you see fit. Steward isn't as prestigious as Viscount, but as a practical matter it would probably amount to the same thing. And being dead doesn't disallow you from stewardship, so long as the property has a living owner."

Dirimant swallowed. "Why are you doing this?"

Remant shrugged. "I'd like a place to settle, or at least some place I know I could come back to. And I like it here. Your servants seem happy to serve you even now that you're dead, which suggests that you've treated them well, and..." He sighed. "I've already done enough killing to last me a lifetime and more. Probably more."

"Very well. You have yourself a deal. Purchase the house, leave us be, and take the north wing of the house; the servants will acknowledge you as their master, but me as the steward in day-to-day matters. I will see them paid and maintained. I take it you aren't looking to profit from this?"

"Not particularly," answered Remant. "I just want a place to settle."

"Done," said Dirimant Acklin, and put out his hand. "See if you can become the Viscount Dirzen; that would help. But even if you cannot, I believe we can manage." 

RoH: Death Trap Ballet

He was halfway down the path, hands still up, when they rose from the ground around him: a trio of wraiths, misty and half-seen in the midday light. "Call them off!" he shouted, and drew his sword. 

They moved, and he danced through them. Wraiths were hard to kill; ordinarily, they could allow a blade to pass through them without making contact. Remant, on the other hand, had been very specific when he had commissioned his blade: it wasn't all that powerful, but it could damage anything. The first wraith was dispelled before it knew what had happened; the blade sliced through its ghostly presence as if it were ordinary flesh. 

The other two hesitated, and Remant used that pause to cut down a second wraith. The third one tried to come at him from behind, but he spun and thrust. Impaled, it wailed its death-cry and dissolved. 

He sheathed the sword and walked towards the gazebo. He was aware that the figure back there had tried -- and failed -- to attack him with a spell when the wraiths attacked. "Don't do it," he warned. The figure -- the Viscount Forzen -- backed away, but didn't flee. He's planning something else, Remant decided, and stopped at the foot of the steps. "Former Viscount Forzen," he called up. "Will you step forward and speak to me?"

There was a momentary hesitation, and then the Viscount presented himself. Remant counted that as a minor victory, but not yet a winning move. 

In the light of the sun, the former viscount wasn't obviously undead; it was no wonder the servants failed to fear him. The signs were there, to a trained eye: very slightly sagging skin over slowly-thinning flesh, bluish undertones to the skin, dark circles around the eyes. Nothing yet that couldn't be attributed to advanced age, if one were inclined to ignore the signs. 

"You mean to take my home," the former viscount said indignantly. "Explain to me why I shouldn't destroy you here and now."

Remant sighed. "I suppose I could have done this the other way around, but here's my proposition: I buy the house outright from your niece, and basically ignore the fact that you're still here and effectively running the place. The servants seem pretty loyal to you, and you seem to be taking care of them as well. Is that still possible now that you're no longer a viscount?"

The dead man hesitated, then said: "I forget that I am dead. The spell to convert me was triggered by my death, and so for me I felt my chest clench, saw the darkness draw in, and then was... just lying there on the floor, untouched." He sighed. "It seems an unfair way to take my home and position away from me."

Remant chuckled. "I suppose it would," he said, looking up at the older man. "My question remains: without your position, could you still support your staff?"

"I believe so," said the dead viscount. "I am rather an accomplished spellcrafter, and even selling potions and scrolls would bring in good money. It would be demeaning to resort to trade, but I believe I could manage it."

Remant considered that, then nodded. "Your niece, who inherited this place, wishes to sell it and move to Foringelt. As it happens, I have money enough to buy it from her, and I have no objection to leaving it in your keeping -- if I am given a place here, perhaps a wing of the house for my own."

The dead viscount Dirimant Acklin regarded him from the top of the steps for a long, long moment. Then he came down. "Don't set foot up there," he warned. 

"I wasn't planning to," Remant told him.  

RoH: The Rear Garden

The back doors gave way to a long brick walkway, flanked by regular pairs of columns and leading to a massive gazebo. Sculpted trees and flowers were discreetly arranged around gravel paths to either side, but clearly the path forward was the one intended: there was a human -- or humanish -- figure waiting in the shadows under the roof of the gazebo. 

Oh, this is so very definitely a trap, Remant thought. Aloud, he said: "That is the former Viscount?"

"Lord Forzen, Dirimant Acklin," the servant confirmed. 

"Then you've done his will and brought me here," Remant said. "You should go back inside and close the doors."

The man swallowed. "Do you mean to kill him?"

Remant shook his head. "Not if I can help it," he said quietly. "I'd rather work something out."

The manservant touched his sleeve -- cautiously. "Then take care as you approach. The first two the solicitor sent here came armed as you are, and tried to put him down. Our lord was... not kind to them."

Remant sighed. "Legally, he's not a lord anymore. The dead cannot hold office; neither can they lay claim to the properties they held in life."

"He's still our lord," the manservant said, with a stubbornness that Remant couldn't help but admire. "And he's an accomplished spellcrafter."

"I'm walking into an ambush, I think," he told the man. "Don't follow me. Go inside and close the door. You've done your duty. If I die, that's on my head, not yours." 

Remant started forward, holding his hands up as he approached the gazebo.  

RoH: Entry Achieved

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when the door opened again. Remant had spent the time in quiet meditation, reviewing spells and tactics in his mind. Most of the undead he'd fought previously had been relatively minor: skeletons, a few zombies, a chained ghost. During the war, he'd mostly fought living opponents. 

"M'lord?" asked the manservant. 

Remant turned, keeping his movements relaxed. "Yes?"

"His Lordship the Viscount will see you now." The man motioned him inside, and Remant moved forward. 

"He bade me take you to the gardens in the back, if that is acceptable." The foyer was beautifully appointed, and Remant glanced idly around as he followed the servant across it and through the doorway at the back. He hadn't grown up with such luxury, but he'd been introduced to it later in life and knew the basics of navigating in Society. A maid looked up from dusting a bookshelf in the library as they passed, then quickly looked away. 

He could smell something cooking already, and the scent grew stronger as they reached the rear of the manor. Light came from old-style enchanted crystals in sconces; they glowed coldly, and their light could be covered but not extinguished. It was an enchantment that had largely been lost in the war; this place was old and well-preserved. 

The war had only brushed against Verovia. The invasion of the Gray had approached the city, but been turned aside by a gathered army of Vanil, Aesil, and Mordil led by mage-commander Verna Wendilar.  With reinforcements from the city, she might have prevailed; instead, she damaged the invaders so much that they were unable to successfully assault the city. 

Remant turned his attention back to the present. The servants were still employed, still being fed and housed and paid, and if he had some way of approaching them elsewhere he might have been able to learn a lot more about what was going on here. Still, he supposed there was something to be said for the direct approach. 

RoH: The Price of Entry Is Patience

The man who opened the door wore a servant's coat over a respectable shirt and slacks. His hair was gray, but his face was young. He looked Remant over, then asked: "May I help you, Sir?"

"I'd like to speak with the late Viscount Forzen," he said. "My name is Remant."

The manservant's expression changed only for the barest flicker, but he asked politely, "Have you come from that dreadful solicitor?"

Remant held up a hand. "I have, but I've come to talk. If the master of the house would spare me a little of his time, I believe we can resolve this."

The manservant held his ground. "We were given very specific instructions to turn away anyone that woman sent."

Remant paused to consider, but the manservant moved to close the door in his face. With a sigh, he stuck his hand in the opening, then forced it back open. 

"She appears to have the force of law on her side," he said, as the other man gaped at him, "along with enough money to make a compelling argument. I don't wish to see you punished, but I do need to speak to the former Viscount. So..." He thought as quickly as I could. "I will wait out here. You will go and tell him that you turned me away, but that I remain waiting outside to speak to him. Would that be acceptable?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" asked the manservant. "You could smash right through this door if you wanted. I couldn't stop you."

"Yes," answered Remant, "but that would be rude. And this is good mahogany, beautifully crafted. It would be a shame to damage it."

The other man swallowed. "Wait out here, please. I'll tell the Viscount."

RoH: The Mansion

Remant paused on the road up to the mansion, then dismounted and led his horse the rest of the way. There were ruins, artfully built and no older than the house itself, off to one side of the drive; there was a rambling garden off to the other. 

The stable was empty when he reached it, but it still held feed; he led Peregrine inside, found a stall, and set out food and water. Then he approached the main house. 

It stood three stories tall, with wide, two-story wings to either side and marble steps leading up to the dark mahogany doors. He saw no signs of movement through the windows, but then the servants should have been given their final wages and recommendations and dismissed after the death of the Master of the House. At least, that was how things had worked before the war, and Remant assumed that the aristocracy hadn't changed much since then. Having the Master return undead might have complicated the situation in any number of ways. 

He checked the sword at his side and the dagger in his boot, flexed his armored left hand beneath the soft leather glove, and sighed. He'd left the bow and his pack with the horse; he didn't expect this to be that sort of job. Mounting the steps, he lifted the knocker and let it fall, three times.

The sound echoed through the manor, and after a time he heard footsteps approaching. 

RoH: A Haunted Mansion

"He's supposed to be dead," the solicitor explained, "But he won't go to a grave, he won't turn the house over as his own will demands, and now he's summoned things to keep people out. It could be centuries before his descendants manage to claim it."

"So you want me to... enforce the will?" Remant asked. He wasn't bothered by the prospect; he'd dealt with undead before, though not frequently. 

The woman nodded. "My client -- his niece -- needs the house to be habitable, so she can sell it off. She plans to move to Foringelt."

"And she's offering one hundred gold from the sale to whomever makes it possible?"

"Yes. We have it on hand, ready for whomever completes the job."

"Huh." Remant considered that. "I'll right, I'll take it."