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Northern Winds

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[X] Try to hide yourself.

Man, the atmosphere is wonderfully tense and creepy.
 
[X] Try to find another exit from the room.

There is no way this room has only one exit. If there is, that's just poor planning.
 
[X] Try to hide yourself.

If this is some sort of occult workshop, then the person could probably be too caught up in their work to notice us. The last slave girl probably tried to explain herself which is why she's dead.
 
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Chapter 7 - ᚱᛟᛖᛞᛞᛁᚾ ᚢᚱ ᛗᛁᚱᚲᚱᛁᚾᚢ
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    • [X] Try to find another exit from the room.
    ᚱᛟᛖᛞᛞᛁᚾ ᚢᚱ ᛗᛁᚱᚲᚱᛁᚾᚢ
    Chapter 7​

    You knew that you did not have any time to waste and would have liked nothing more than to run away, yet you knew knot where to. There had been no other door, ladder or anything that you had glimpsed while walking through the shelves and cabinets. Were you trapped? No. There had to be another way out of this place, whatever it was, and you had to hurry to find it. It would not haven take long for whoever had come to climb down the ladder and the moment they saw the sheen of your candle, you would have been just as done for as if you stood there and waited for them.

    With quick steps you went deeper into the room, hoping to find another door at the other end of it, though it was hard to find your path. The room was huge, likely an old storage cellar, but with all the shelves and cabinets, it might as well have been a labyrinth. As you walked, you no longer heard the steps on the ladder, your own accelerating in response. Was the person down here already? Would they open the door any moment now and see the shine of your candle above the shelves?

    Your heart nearly stopped when you heard a creaking sound, but after the first moment of fright, you realized that it was your own steps that had caused it. Below you, worm-eaten and mouldy planks groaned with every step, shelves swaying ever so slightly and tipping dust into the air. There was no time for caution though, so you almost ran over the treacherous ground. And just like that, you had finally found a way out of this room. Another hatch, leading down to another, deeper cellar. Or was it only a small crawlspace? Were you about to trade one trap for another?

    The choice was no longer yours though. With a bang, the door to the room was opened and someone yelled, "Halt!" They knew you were here. Without thinking, you snuffed out your candle and dove for the hatch. Heavy boots echoed through the room as you tore open the trapdoor, revealing an inky void beneath. There was light on the ceiling, but it was not of a torch or candle. It was cold and blue. It was getting closer. Blindly you swung your feet into the hatch, silently thanking every god there ever was when your foot caught the rung of a ladder.

    Quickly you lowered yourself into the hole, desperately trying to find the rungs without seeing them. The boots were getting closer. You drew shut the hatch above you. They shouted again, the voices coming ever closer. Then you slipped, your head banging against the ladder and making you lose your hold. Your shoulder broke your fall, hurting terribly, but you did not allow yourself to cry out. And suddenly, the boots went silent. They had heard your fall. They had to.

    Fighting down the pain, you began to crawl, not trusting yourself to stand up. You did not see anything, relying on feeling around to find your way. The ground was covered in dust and grime, your fingers constantly finding the dried-out remnants of bugs and spiders amidst the dirt. And then, suddenly you saw something. Through the gaps in the boards above you, like blue daggers dripping through the gaps, there was the light again. Someone was right above you.

    But the light also meant that you could see. More shelves were down here and as fast as your shoulder allowed, you crawled over to the closest on. There was not much in it, just some moth-eaten bags and linen. Enough space for you to squeeze in. Then you dragged the dirty cloth over you, throwing up another cloud of dust, but hiding you all the better. Your breathing was slow and shallow as you did not dare to make any more noise than necessary.

    Above you, the light wandered. The sound of boots was gone entirely, even though you could see how the light moved. How a shadow moved with it over the boards. The very boards that had creaked like a ship in a storm when you had passed over them, but now remained silent. Slowly, ever so slowly, the figure paced above you, undoubtedly still searching for you. The worst was that you could neither see, nor hear the person, only see the baleful light illuminate the room around you.

    Every time the light seemed to move farther away, you rejoiced. Every time it seemed to come closer again, it swung back to despair. How long had you been here? How much longer would this go on? You did not know and that was perhaps the worst of it. But the worst was yet to come, because at some point, you noticed the patterns on the ground to shift. The shadows cast by the pale light peeking through the floorboards moved oddly, then seemed to split apart, and it took your mind the longest moment to understand why. A second light had been lit. And then something creaked.

    You could not see the hatch from your hiding spot in the shelf, could not even make out the ladder, but you just knew it had been opened. And then, the light was down there with you. Moving. Searching. You stilled your breath and could you have done so, you would have stilled your heart. It moved around, ever so slowly, floating in the air without a person to carry it. And then you saw it, floating above a table full of rotten parchment.

    The skull of a bird, glowing blue runes etched into every tiny speck of its bone and casting their eery light into every corner it could reach. Except for one. Except for where its eyes should have been. There, you could see nothing except a pool of blackness and in their centre, two tiny motes of blue flame that shed neither light, nor warmth. But while you could see it, it did not see you. It turned in the air, those empty eyes searching the room, but found nothing.

    So, it floated on. Past shelves and cabinets. Past the skeleton of a bear, mounted to look as if it was ready to pounce. Past finely ordered and labelled stacks of bones. Past clay jars covered in runes and sealed with wax. Then it was gone, the light returning to the room above. And the figure above, his shadow cast down to you by the lights that followed him, just left, leaving you in darkness as the door shut behind him, keeping out the light.

    For a while, you just lay there, carefully breathing the air you had denied yourself and which now tasted better then sweetest honey. The person was gone. You had not been found. The thought made you giddy. All you had to do now was to leave, return to the kitchens and pretend you had never been in this place. Easy. Simple. Or maybe not. You were not sure if you only realized because the euphoria was lessening, or if the realization banished the joy. You were still in the cellar you could barely navigate with a candle in hand, but now there was not even the slightest bit of light.

    It took a moment for you to leave the shelf you had crammed yourself into, your shoulder protesting all the while. The good thing was that you could still move your left arm, so it seemed to only be sprained, but every movement was hurting as if a hot needle was pressed into your flesh. Suddenly even climbing the ladders out of this place seemed like a daunting prospect. Not that you had a choice. You could not stay here.

    Slowly you stood up and stretched out your hands, desperately trying to remember what little you had seen of this room. Had you fallen far from the ladder? It did not feel far, but you had not been able to see it from your hiding spot. Your hand found the shelf and within, a pile of bones that softly clinked when you touched them. It sounded strange though.

    The sounds were dull and hollow, reminding you of the moment when you had first found the hatch with the runes. Of the silence that was not. The stillness that seemed not like an absence, but as if something were swallowing the sounds whole. Which seemed to whisper something just at the edge of your hearing. You had not understood it then. Neither did you now. But right then and there, you had the feeling that you were no longer alone. That something was there with you in the darkness.

    Your hand came down on the shelf as your attempts to find your way gained some urgency, but you regretted it immediately. There was broken glass on the shelf, and you had cut yourself on them. The pain was not the problem though, only a dull imitation of the agony in your shoulder. It was the blood. When the first drop was hitting the ground, it sounded like a drum being struck. Another drop fell, another beat. You were not alone. Something was here with you. A third drop fell, but it never struck the ground.

    Your blood was like ice in your veins. Your heart barely beating. A scream caught in your throat, the sound itself afraid to come outside. For the briefest of moments, you saw it. Not with eyes that needed light to see, but something else. Something deeper. Something that understood the thing you saw in a way that mere flesh could not. It was hatred given form. Madness given purpose. It was, yet it should not have been. Another drop fell from your finger, and the darkness hungered.

    But then you heard a sound. A voice. It was the whisper, but this time you understood. "ᚠᚨᚱᛁᚦ ᛒᚢᚱᛏ, ᚺᛚᚢᛏᚢᚱ ᛉᛖᛗ ᚦᛖᚲᚲᛁᚱ ᚺᚹᛟᚱᚲᛁ ᛚᛁᚠ ᚾᛃᛖ ᛞᚨᚢᚦᚨ. ᚦᚢ ᛗᚢᚾᛏ ᛖᚲᚲᛁ ᚷᛖᚱᚨ ᛏᛁᛚᚲᚨᛚᛚ ᛏᛁᛚ ᚦᛖᛊᛉᚨ." The emptiness seemed to recoil at the words. More blood ran down your finger and never had you heard a more joyous sound then when the drop struck the ground.

    "ᚠᚨᚱᚦᚢ, ᚺᛚᚢᛏᚢᚱ ᛉᛖᛗ ᚹᛖᛁᛏ ᛖᚲᚲᛁ ᛊᛃᚨᚢᛚᚠᚨᚾ ᛉᛁᚷ. ᚦᚨᚦ ᛖᚱ ᛖᛜᛁᚾᚾ ᚨᚲᚲᛖᚱᛁ ᛉᛖᛗ ᚺᛖᛚᛞᚢᚱ ᚦᛃᛖᚱ ᚺᛃᛖᚱᚾᚨ." The voice was weak as it intoned the word, yet it felt as if they were being shouted at you. You stepped back from the shelf where you had cut yourself, nearly falling over from the haste of the movements, and the voice spoke on. "ᚠᚨᚱᚦᚢ, ᚺᛚᚢᛏᚢᚱ ᛉᛖᛗ ᛖᛁᚦᛁᚱ. ᚠᚨᚱᚦᚢ ᚨᚠᛏᚢᚱ ᛁ ᚠᚨᛜᛖᛚᛉᛁᚦ ᚦᛁᛏᛏ ᛟᚷ ᛖᛏᛁᚦ ᛊᛃᚨᚢᛚᚠᚨᚾ ᚦᛁᚷ."

    From one moment to the next, it was gone. The thing that lurked in the silence had been driven off, though you could feel it in every fibre of your being that it would return. Banished, but not vanquished. There was only you and the voice now, and ever so quietly, it spoke again. Not in the tongue of the Northmen. Not in Imperial either. It spoke a meaning so pure that you had no doubt that even the deaf would have heard and understood.

    "Help me," it said. Weakly. Faintly. The power from its words was nearly gone. You had no idea what you were supposed to do at first, but then you understood. More blood ran from your wounds. Another drop formed on your finger.

    [] Offer your blood to the voice.​
    [] Try to flee.​


    AN: This took much longer than necessary, due to me having to sort out some mechanics. Needless to say, the rolls were not on your side here, though you managed to hide in the end. From the person at least.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] Offer your blood to the voice.
    We are so going to die... but I can't help myself :V

    This is getting exciting.
     
    [X] Offer your blood to the voice.

    Hellsing: Norse Edition is a go!
     
    [X] Offer your blood to the voice.

    Both success or failure, it's a progress away from being a slave, so.
     
    Oh, yeah, we're getting somewhere! I don't know where, but it's exciting.
    We should thank our saviour(?).

    [X] Offer your blood to the voice.

    Btw, is there a trick to transliterating the runic speak, or are we supposed to not understand it? I know, it's a bit late to ask^^
     
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