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The Chosen took the time to dip into the fitting area of Ashhand’s shop to don their armor.

“They did a good job. I can’t even smell the road,” Rory sniffed at his chest piece before throwing the leather breastplate over his head.
“Me either,” Layla grinned at him.
“Oh, fuck off,” he grunted.

Jack took just over a minute to don his suit of half-plate, then began helping Erin buckle up her Bastion of the Leviathan. Layla threw her combat robes over her head then started helping Rory cinch up the rest of his kit.

“So, Blackwicke Manor then?” Erin shook herself out, finally feeling a bit less naked.
“I’m a bit concerned we aren’t making an appointment, but we’ll see how it goes,” Rory grimaced.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jack smiled.

Ashhand’s smithy was about a block from the North Road, which first traveled through the farms surrounding the north side of Moryven’s territory, then to the winding lane that ended at Blackwicke Manor, and then eventually faded away to a seldom-used wagon trail that intersected back with the mountain road that led to Olvayn’s Lift.

As the four were walking out of the North Gate, a human merchant waved them down. The man was of average height and build, wearing the dark fashions that seemed typical in Moryven. In fact, the only truly remarkable thing about him was how unremarkable he seemed. Two boys, one who seemed to be in his mid-teens and another that couldn’t have been more than eleven, were loading his wagon with sacks of herbs and vegetables.

“Pardon me, I am Govan. These are my sons, Tavar and Sova. Would you four happen to be Hunters, perhaps on your way to the Manor, or the Silvergloom foothills?” the man asked.
“We’re on our way to Blackwicke Manor,” Rory answered, his gaze drilling into the man, searching for any hint of ill intent or nervousness.
“Oh, thank the Signs. Perhaps you would be willing to travel with us to the Manor? We are delivering supplies to the estate,” the merchant smiled warmly.
“Like an escort?” Layla interjected.
“Perhaps, not so much an… escort… but should we fall on ill luck and be attacked by goblins or beasts, I would be happy to pay the market rate for such a service?” he grinned weakly.
“So, you’ll give us a ride up to the Manor, and in exchange, if we have to fight in your defense, you’ll pay us what you’d pay a group of Hunters that you contracted for the service in the first place?” Rory’s smile wasn’t exactly friendly, and the other three felt the spiritual pressure of his presence begin to build.
“A thousand apologies. Nothing so crass, good Hunter. Simply, the Guildhall had no one who was available or willing for such a short trip,” the man bowed slightly.
“You’ll pay us half the market rate, then if we’re attacked, we get the rest,” Rory’s stern expression bore down on the merchant.
“A fair deal, no doubt,” the merchant reached out to shake his hand.
“Done,” Rory smiled, and the pressure suddenly vanished.

The merchant sighed in relief and gestured to the empty spaces in the cart where the four Chosen could sit. The younger boy joined the merchant on the wagon’s seat, and the older of the two took a moment to winch a heavy crossbow and check his short sword before climbing up into the front seat. He deposited the crank for the crossbow just behind the seat, on top of a barrel of goods.

“You gonna protect us, kiddo?” Erin lifted her helmet off and set it in her lap, revealing her grin.

The boy turned back to answer, his expression not entirely friendly, but lost his momentum to shock when the massively armored warrior that had nimbly climbed into the cart turned out to be a lovely, auburn-haired woman.

All things considered, he recovered quickly.

“I have the warrior and merchant classes, and I’ve killed nine goblins,” he replied sternly, hefting the big crossbow on his lap.

Erin: Kid’s a killer at fifteen.
Layla: Not our world, legs.
Jack: I’m betting kill-or-be-killed becomes relevant pretty early around here.

The ride to the Blackwicke estate took a few hours, and the merchant’s trepidation seemed largely unwarranted. The four spotted a few beasts in the distance, but once the low scrub of the pass started to give way to the forests of the foothills, nothing interrupted their trip save the raucous sounds of wildlife trying to get lucky.

The wagon slowed as they approached a fork, a stone pillar with an engraved sign proclaiming the left path to Blackwicke Manor and the right path to Olvayn’s Lift. The merchant steered left, and after another hour of gently winding wagon trail through pastoral fields, the forest thinned and the stately Manor home of Lord Eleazar Blackwicke and his three daughters was revealed in the distance.

“This is straight-up a goddamn Scooby Doo haunted house,” Layla blurted as they broke free of the trees.
“Wow… that is… super gothic,” Erin confirmed.

The Manor rose from the fields surrounding it, crouched on a low hill that caused the looming edifice to lord over the lands below. They immediately made out at least one extra wing on the eastern side, but rather than a dilapidated ruin, the estate seemed dark and foreboding, but immaculately kept. The walls were a charcoal black stone, with darkened windows hung with dark crimson draperies so deep they seemed black. A long drive led from the front gates, through what appeared to be alchemical gardens, cordoned off with signs warning that this plant or that were toxic, and this one was explosive unless harvested correctly. 

“There’s definitely a vampire, or a ghost, or an old man who’s trying to steal his elderly sister’s inheritance in there,” Jack lifted the hood of his cloak to get a better look at the dark house, crouched like a gargoyle across the fields.
“And they’d have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling immortal millennials,” Rory chuckled.

The other three were broken out of the Manor’s spell as Rory’s dry delivery shattered the tense moment. Layla giggled, which got Erin started. Jack put his arm around Rory’s shoulders and squeezed the salesman, then pushed him down the bench, several feet away.

“For when you’re struck by lightning,” he smirked.
“I think if big noodle was gonna strike me down, he’d have done it when I called him a giant kidnapping homewrecker and told him I was an atheist,” the salesman replied.

Layla and Erin’s heads turned slowly toward Rory, the horror-movie creak almost audible. Jack just smiled, biting his lip to stifle the laugh.

“We have arrived, my friends,” Govan called back.

Layla: This seems like a fun place.
Jack: I’m sure everything will be-
Layla: Don’t you fucking say it.
Rory: Did you just… interrupt him… in the telepathic chat box?
Layla: Yes. Don’t you dare say what you were going to say.

A group of field hands and servants emerged from the grounds, helping the merchant to unload the wagon. Strangely, they sang a jaunty field song as they worked, and none of them seemed malnourished, afraid, or generally downtrodden.

“Who’s that?” Erin pointed up at the steps of the Manor.
“Lady Vysanna Blackwicke, the Lord Blackwicke’s daughter,” the merchant replied.
“And the human wall next to her?” Layla asked.
“Her guardian. She calls him Devrahn,” the merchant answered nervously.

The Lady Blackwicke was a waif of a girl, perhaps seventeen, five-three and a hundred pounds, dressed in an exquisite black and red outfit that flattered her lean frame and matched the house’s decor. She had bright blond hair and icy blue eyes, and her expression announced that she knew she was in charge. Next to her, a massive warrior in a titanic suit of black fullplate that made Erin seem lightly armored, stood silently watching the events unfolding on the grounds.

“Govan. I see you’ve brought company. Will you be staying for tea today?” the Lady called, her crisp voice ringing across the grounds.
“Unfortunately, my Lady, I have another pickup at Split Watch today. I must be off,” he called back.
“Will your guests be accompanying you?” she had begun to walk down the steps, the warrior trailing behind her with heavy clarion footsteps, hobnail boots ringing on the stone.

Rory leapt down off the wagon, accepting the coin the merchant tossed him with a graceful flourish and a nod.

“Actually, Lady Blackwicke, we’ve come to call upon your family. I hope we’re not intruding by arriving without an invitation or notice,” he gave a small bow.
“Not at all, Master…” she smiled.
“Rory Poole, merchant and adventurer, though I’m not the one in need of your services,” he replied, dazzling her with his best smile.
“Master Poole, custom dictates we must entertain guests before any business is done. Refreshments will be served in the library, if you find that agreeable,” she made a half turn, taking a step toward the stairs.
“Of course,” Rory replied.

The four followed Vysanna up the steps, into the manor. For all its gothic decadence and gloom, the vestibule and then the grand hall were cozy and inviting, warmly lit and seemingly designed for comfort as much as appearances. As they passed through the grand hall, they turned to the right, passing a massive staircase leading into the manor’s upper floors. Past the stairs, the massive armored warrior gently opened a pair of double doors and stepped into the Blackwick’s library, a great, open, two-story affair packed from floor to ceiling with shelves of books and several sets of stairways, ladders, and crosswalks. The cloudless afternoon sky was visible through the enormous skylight that comprised the ceiling.

“I think I’m in love. Erin, hold me while I swoon,” Layla proclaimed, leaning against the dreadnought.

The Lady Blackwicke chuckled politely, then rang a bell next to the entrance. The massive warrior walked to the grand fireplace and began loading logs onto the wide grate in the firebox.

“My apologies, our longtime family maid passed away very recently, and the new girl hasn’t adapted to the rhythm of the Manor yet. She’ll be along shortly. In the meantime, we have a variety of teas and alcohol available. Do you have any preferences?” Vysanna addressed the Chosen, before daintily sitting next to one of the grand tables and lifting a book from where it had been left.
“Quite alright, my Lady. Tea would be lovely, yeah?” Rory turned to the others, who nodded.

At that moment, a young woman entered the library. She was short, even shorter than Vysanna, but seemed older than the Lady Blackwicke, not as a result of her girlish features, but in the way she moved and the confident, level gaze. She had long, raven hair that reached her mid-back, and chocolate eyes that lingered on each of the Chosen.

“Yes, miss?” the maid asked.

“Roshana, good of you to join us.”

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