Opening the door reveals a narrow set of stone steps leading down into what you presume to be the cellar. The dark passage is blocked by thick, ropy strands of magical webbing: yet another of Lothar’s protective measures against intruders. But there is something else here besides; you cannot see it, but every nerve in your body can sense it with a certainty so profound it turns your skin to crawling gooseflesh.There is something utterly unnatural and fundamentally wrong about the darkness cloaking the stairs; it devours the light of Mercurio's torch greedily, causing it to flicker and wane while seeming to expand ever more around you, and you’re sure that you can feel the insatiable void siphoning away the warmth in your body, the vigor in your muscles, the very essence that sustains your life the longer you stand before it.
Yet it is difficult to tear your eyes away from that dreadful black pit of despair. Then, you see shapes emerging from the perimeter of the darkness: humanoid silhouettes, withered and emaciated, their arms and clawed hands reaching out toward you. In your ears, their ghostly voices murmur...
“...thosSudlowOrthosSudlowOrthosSudlowOr…”
“…OneofusOneofusOneofusOneofusOneofus…”
“…SohungryComecloserSocoldComecloserSohungry…”
For the moment, the despicable wraithlike things do not seem either capable or willing to stray beyond the inky blackness that shrouds them. But any comfort this limitation offers is short-lived as you become certain that the void is slowly spreading, and you realize that it is only a matter of time before night comes and the whole manor is plunged into darkness.
*****
MANOR MAP:
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After the haunting weave of ghostly voices, not only does Mercurio's flame seem to draw in on itself, but it also starts trembling. Mercurio clutches the torch tighter and closes his eyes. He lips move as if he were silently uttering something.
His eyes snap open and a smile returns to his face, albiet much weaker than any other.
"Roit, then, Orfos, sound like ya kin needja down at that. You peep it outs an' me an' Laurie stay back guard th' ressa you lot, aye?"
Salbadore has been drawing a rough map of the manor on a bit of stiff parchment.
He begins to loosen the loop of rope that is around his waist. Half-hissing in desperation, half-whispering an assurance to his companions, "I won't flee - I won't flee - but I shan't be caught!"
Salbadore rests one hand on the now limp knot at his hip, and places the other on the still-breathing Sudlow's shoulder. "Orthos," he asserts in a hush, "I am with you, but lead us with care. Downward? There can be no hearth below."
Orthos stands defiantly before the stairs for a moment, then says "No hearth here, let's keep searching for now."
He shuts the door hard, as if angry, and starts down the hallway again.
Orthos and the group continue down the misty hallway. There are three doors on the left, and one doorway on the right. Further down the hall, the mists lighten somewhat, perhaps indicating the presence of ebbing daylight.
With the same dread hush as before, Salbadore asks, "Is it the darkness that holds them back?"
He points over Orthos' shoulder to the room with the light. "There, that would have been a likely spot for entertaining guests. If we must check all these doors, then let us check them quickly. Whatever foul sort of man this Lothar was, I do not care to see all that he wrought in this place."
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