I'll be back in half an hour,
he had said.
Just let me scout around,
he had said.
Now it was two hours later, and no sign of Hans. More worrying still, the man was normally punctual to a fault.
Ivan peered around the corner of the hallway. There was always something in ruins like this -- orcs, basilisks, wild animals, or something else that would rip out your throat soon as look at you. He and Hans had been making runs like these for the past two years, and they worked well as a team.
Having another pair of eyes, sharper than your own, and a reliable blade to guard your back was invaluable. They typically brought in a third or fourth mercenary for tougher jobs, like the mage sitting back at their camp outside the ruin's entrance. The man had decided not to come looking for the wayward scout, and Ivan couldn't blame him -- traipsing about unknown territory wasn't in the guy's job description.
Ivan sighed, shifting his grip on the torch he was holding, trying to peer a little further into the gloom. There was the chalk mark on the wall -- Hans had been this way. Ivan followed the narrow hallway a short distance, keeping his back to the wall as he moved and eyeing the pair of ancient wooden doors on the other side of the hall; Hans wouldn't have checked them while he scouted.
There, stairs down. Had the man not scouted the other wing of the first floor? That seemed a little off, but maybe he'd planned to take care of it on his way back. Ivan hesitated for a moment, rechecked the chalk markings, and began making his way down the crumbling stone stairs. His friend was down here somewhere, damn it. Maybe he was pinned down, taking shelter from some marauding beast, or even captured. Ivan wasn't going to just leave him to die on his own.
The next floor opened into an expansive gallery, barely illuminated by the sickly green glow of magelights that had weathered the passage of time. Carvings of shapely men and women adorned each of the pillars. Once, they might have offered an elegant viewing space for exhibiting the vast array of paintings on display, but these had been claimed long ago by mildew and decay. Ivan tried to imagine the place, courtiers of some long lost kingdom drinking and mingling in the vast, silent chamber, now a shadowy sepulcher clinging to the faded remnants of an ancient civilization.
There were eight different exits from the room, but after brief survey by torchlight Ivan was able to find his friend's chalk markings on the far left doorway. He began moving through the hallway, noticed that one of the doors had rusted off its hinges, and risked a look inside. Bedchambers, it seemed, perhaps for guests; the rooms were too large and lavishly decorated to have been a servants' quarters.
Ivan covered his mouth and nose to avoid a lungful of dust, then continued down the corridor. Light was spilling through the crack in the doorway at the end of the hall; Ivan quickened his pace at first, then forced himself to move slowly. No cause to rush into things, end up with both of them in a bind. If the man was dead -- heavens forbid -- then there was nothing to be done. If he was alive, caution would serve them both better than rushing blindly into the room.
He slipped down the hallway, careful to make as little sound as possible. After reaching the door he knelt to look at the keyhole. Damn, something covering it. Ivan put his ear against the door, straining for a sound. It was quiet, but he could hear a voice, maybe murmuring something. Then a sound -- Hans, it had to be. The seemed in pain, from what he was hearing. Ivan fought to keep his composure. His friend was being tortured, most likely.
Ivan slowly pulled his axe from the loop at his belt, steeling himself for the worst. It would be best to do it quickly and make the most of his ambush. He'd free his friend from whatever creature had imprisoned him, or else die trying. Weapon held white-knuckled in his right hand, Ivan slammed the door open with his left and stepped inside.
Hans was there, still alive and seemingly unhurt, but something was wrong. For one thing, the man wasn't wearing any clothes, and his eyes were distant and unfocused. He hadn't even noticed the door crash open. The other thing was that, for some reason, Hans was extremely... aroused. Full mast, rock hard, and intently focused on something just out of Ivan's vision.
Ivan could see black and gold silk cushions and pillows set on the furs covering the floor. Unlike the rest of the ruin, the trappings in this room seemed new and well-maintained. As he watched, Hans stepped forward among the cushions, out of sight.
Why was nothing happening? Was the man poisoned, or maybe ensorcelled? Ivan was nervous. They'd never run into anything like this before, but damn it he had to do something. Hardening his resolve for a second time, Ivan stepped around the corner.
He froze. It wasn't just a monster. It was so much worse.
