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?"
