The castle opened to a great entrance hall. Its high ceiling was supported by large stone columns, of dark grey rock. The place was devoid of ornamentation. It was sad, empty and cold. The cracked walls, cried their lamentations.
They didn't linger here. Salazar barely managed to catch the presence of multiple doors, corridors and stairs as the sorceress led them down into the castle's stone guts.
It was a large staircase going straight down. Torchlights licked the walls in both sides, making their shadows stretch in a sinister dance.
At the rythm of their descent, air grew thick and warm, carrying the smell of damp stone and old dust.
Salazar walked with the watcher master, at the rear. He had long brown hair attached in a pony tail, and a decent grown beard. No scars noticed Salazar, and a pretty soft gaze for the dangerous beast he probably was. Salazar wanted to speak to him, but no words came. No one seemed in the mood to talk anyway, he wouldn't be the one to break silence.
They quickly arrived to the floor below and engaged in the corridor. But the stairs continued deeper, letting them wonder how far it went in the mountain's core.
Salazar counted how many they were to be butchered soon. Roughly forty boys and girls, he found. How many would survive ?
In the far front, he could see the golden-haired mage. She moved with a fluid grace, at odds with the grim procession. The children followed her like moths drawn to a warm, beautiful flame.
They came to a junction where the corridor split in two. The sorceress turned back to them and stood there, waiting as the watcher master came forward.
"Daughters of Nosgard, come forth." she said.
As they did, a gravelly voice cut through the shuffling.
"And boys, with me."
He jerked his head towards the left passage. And they had to follow the mutant, while eight girls — counted Salazar, and a tall hooded figure, seemed to escape their fatal fate with the beautiful witch… Although he knew there fate were equal, he thought he would prefer to walk the corridor of death with the pretty sorceress…
The corridor seemed curved, observed Salazar, as they went deeper and deeper in the castle's entrails. He then started to analyze the other boys, his fellow mutant warriors to be. Or not to be. Wondering if there were others, like him, from another world, or were they all NPCs ?
Salazar quickly ran out of distraction, and now the walk appeared boundless.
Boredom fueled his pessimistic imagination. His mind raced, cataloguing possibilities. Where were they going ? To a dungeon, to wait there for the trial ? A laboratory for the foul alchemy Morvid had spoken of.
A fighting pit ?
It was problematic. What if they had to fight to select the best suited candidates ? With his broken hand — and the maluses, he was already doomed… Deep down, he knew that he was supposed to survive, the game wouldn't make sense otherwise. But still… each step in this glorified slaugtherhouse shook his resolve a bit more. It was not the same to read and write, and to literally be in it.
While he was lost in his dark thoughts, the watcher master stopped, before a heavy door of dark, iron-banded wood. This was it.They will put us there and come back to check the survivors fit for the mutations…
The watcher placed a hand on the iron ring that served as a handle and pulled.
Salazar took a deep breath.
The door swung inward with a low groan, not on a dark cell, but on a cloud of thick, white steam. The scent of soap and something herbal, like lavender, washed over them. Beyond the steam, Salazar could hear the gentle splash of water and quiet, feminine voices. He blinked, his mind struggling to reconcile the sensory input with his expectations.
The watcher gestured them inside with a sweep of his arm.
"Enjoy it boys, it might be your last bath." he said with a touch of sadness in his voice.
One by one, the boys entered, their eyes wide.
It was a vast circular chamber, its ceiling lost in the swirling vapour. A large sunken pool dominated the floor, fed by dragon maws carved in stone. The steam rose from water that shimmered with an unnatural clarity. And stationed around the pool were women. Maids, dressed in simple, practical linen shifts, their hair tied up and away from their faces. They looked up as the boys entered, and their faces broke into warm, welcoming smiles.
His mind, braced for danger and pain, faltered. A bath? Gentle women with soft hands and kind eyes ? It was heart softening, inevitably. But Salazar was no fool. He saw through the obvious mascarade. A final indulgence before the slaughter. This Empire wasn't at its first hypocrisy. Thus, he advanced cautiously, and observed.
The boys were one by one, approached and guided to the bath. He didn't hear the talks with the water's lapping, but he could see the manipulative tenderness on these women's faces. And the boys fell for it so quick. Some were hugging the maids already. Another jumped in the bath, splashing water all over. Had they forgot where they were ? For what meal they were washed ? Ridiculous…
Salazar walked to a corner and crossed his arms. The warmth of the room seeped into his bones, it was a drowsy, pleasant heat. The bath would feel even better… But he didn't want to play that game ! So he waited.
Not for long.
A maid with a freckled nose and earthy brown hair tied in a clean bun approached him. She moved with a practiced ease, and her smile looked sincere. Salazar stood still.
"Come on now. Let's get you cleaned up."
She held out her hand.
"I'm fine." answered Salazar as firmly as he could, denying her invitation.
"I can say you are not, and I can understand why. But you deserve a bit of joy before the trial awaiting you. Come, sweetheart."
She uncrossed his arms and took his hand. And he… let her do. Disarmed, powerless against this foe he faced so rarely in his life: kindness.. The maid guided him to the edge of a basin and began to unlace the grimy tunic he wore. He felt a flush of embarrassment, a phantom of his adult self recoiling from the intimacy of a stranger undressing him, even if his body was that of a child. But he was too weak, the temptation to let go was too great. So he just let her do, looking at his surroundings to beat the cringe…
And it worked somehow as a flicker of light beneath the water's surface snagged his attention. He leaned closer as she slipped the ruined shirt over his head. Etched into the stone floor of the pool were intricate, geometric patterns. Runes. Faint red lines of energy pulsed within the grooves, a lattice of silent power. A constant, near-invisible hum emanated from them, the source of the heat that turned the water into a soothing bath. And looking closer, past the steam, to the spouts sculpted as dragon heads, he saw the same light, but blue, gleaming from the beasts throats. These runes were generating the water.
This was it. Magic. Not a grand, fiery spectacle, but a quiet, functional utility. This was the sort of information he needed, the fundamental mechanics of this world he had to master. He stared, mesmerised, committing the shape and flow of the symbols to memory.
"Alright, in you go."
The maid's voice brought him back. She helped him over the edge and into the water. The heat was a shock, a deep and penetrating warmth that made his weary muscles sigh in relief. The water was silky, and he watched as weeks of ingrained dirt began to lift from his skin. The maid took a soft cloth and a block of soap that smelled of pine and began to wash his shoulders and neck.
Salazar was torn. A part of his mind, the primal, adolescent part of his original self that still lurked within, was acutely aware of the woman's proximity, the slide of her hands over his skin. The other part, the dreamy fantasy loving boy, was intrigued by glowing symbols, the magic. He could die, again, in the next few hours. What did he want to bring to his tomb, the fantasy or this fleeting moment of confused arousal ? After all, he had never touched a woman, nor has been touched by them. And it was a fantasy of sort to boys like him…
The maid's touch was gentle, but thorough. Her fingers brushed against his left hand, which he had instinctively kept half-closed.
"My word," she breathed, her fingers hovering over the swollen knuckles. "What happened to your right hand, little one?"
He glanced down at the bruised, misshapen hand.
"I fell… my… lady."
The lie wasn't convincing, but the role played medieval courtesy was even worse. He would need some work. Was I even supposed to call a maid, "lady" ?
She made a soft, sympathetic sound, her touch impossibly gentle as she washed around the injury. Her cloth moved to his side, and he flinched as she brushed the deep, purpled bruise blooming across his ribs.
"And this? Was it a bad fall?"
Her voice held no accusation, only a current of quiet compassion. He didn't answer, just stared at the other boys, he recognised bully boy among all. The culprit for his wound. He was having the time of his life, while most of the boys here were sobbing in the maids arms.
The one with Salazar sighed softly and moved on, her hands working the cloth across his back. She stopped. He felt her fingers trace the raised, crisscrossing lines of flesh that the whip had left. They were old wounds, mostly silvered scars, but the most recent were still angry and pink-red beneath the grime she was washing away.
It triggered a sort of narcissical satisfaction in Salazar. He couldn't admit he broke his hand punching a wall and that another boy broke his ribs, it was lame. But these scars, these were badass. I did well to add them in my lore ! he thought chuckling in his mind. It should impress her, perhaps she will even stop talking to him like a little helpless boy now, he hoped, silly.
But she didn't utter another question. She just went to another boy, after a warm caress on his head. Hey don't go away now… But she didn't hear his thoughts. Traitorous, like all women ! And then he sighed, and went down under water. Only his nose and the rest of his head were out.
He started to reflect on the situation. At this point, this "benevolent emperor" could have given them a bit more than mommy cuddles, he thought in frustration. Actually there was nothing benevolent in this. Blue-balling them before the Mutations ? Screw this sick fuck emperor, or whoever decided that. He sighed again, and expelled bubbles.
His eyes went on bully boy. This bastard was shamelessly touching the maids. And the women seemed barely annoyed. It should have been me… he thought, silly again.
This guy had the excuse to actually be a children, right… Salazar went down a bit more under the water, only his eyes were out, like a crocodile. But little by little, his predatory thoughts faded away, and he relaxed.
The Torment of Abstinence as he named it, lasted a long moment. But it got to an end, at last. They got all dried and then dressed in immaculate white tunics. Like angels ready for heaven… But they were actually leaving heaven for hell, and these steps out were hard and heavy, even in these light woven sandals they now wore. As they left, the maids gathered to bid them farewell and good fortune.
Bully boy was the last to leave, he said "See you soon ladies", and Salazar had a fleeting but terrible bitter thought: he hoped this guy would die in the Mutations…