Oct 4. Eleanor Descends

Eleanor descends into darkness

Stepping carefully to avoid the water dripping from the roof, Eleanor pulled up the hem of her dress with one hand, and held out a smoking taper with the other. She had waited for several hours after the midnight bell before daring to venture into the bowels of the keep. Someone was being tortured down there, she was certain of it.

Not being able to sleep for more than five hours at a time, she had taken to quietly pacing the long hall waiting for the sun to rise and another day of kitchen drudgery to begin. Three days ago, in the dead of night, when the keep was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, the solitude had been broken by the sounds of muffled cries. Cries that seemed to be coming from beneath her feet. At the time it had made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Whoever had made that sound had been in terrible pain. For the first time since coming to the keep, she had felt afraid. Now, three days later, she was descending the stone tunnel that led beneath the great hall to find out what was going on down there.

The daily round of tasks above ground hadn’t changed much during the last three days. There had been no unusual comings or goings, no hasty graves dug. Night after night, she had been tormented by the realisation that somewhere beneath the feasting and noise in the great hall, a broken soul was waiting for her to help them.

A scraping noise in the corridor ahead had her dousing her taper in the puddle at her feet. Unmoving she stood still and listened with every fibre of her being. Heavy footsteps approached her position, dragging what sounded like a chain along the floor. The noise had her slipping back the way she had just come. After a few frantic moments retreating blindly down the tunnel, her path guided by a hand tracing the cold, slimy surface of the stone wall, she stumbled into a corridor she’d noticed earlier. Sliding around the corner, she waited, holding her breath as the sound of footsteps got closer and closer. If the guards found her she would be dragged before the Marquessa and questioned. The Marquessa practiced dark magic. Eleanor had seen the amulets hanging from her belt, symbols that called up death and its hellish minions. Her small magics would be powerless against such evil. She led her breath and waited, and prayed.