04-28-2017, 09:22 PM
Gaining entrance to Harnburg Castle turns out to be surprisingly simple.
The main gate is on the easterly side of the castle walls, facing the top of the valley, and consists of two one-story-high slabs of black iron, studded with rivets and mounted on hinges as big around as my thighs. They fit snugly between a pair of stout, square towers, built from the same red stone as the walls they adjoin (and, for that matter, almost everything else in this valley!) Together with a narrow terrace laid between their parapets, they form a sturdy gatehouse, facing a broad market-square. Torches are set in brackets on either side of the portal, lighting the entrance to the castle grounds with an oily orange glow. The iron doors are barred for the night, and as much as it galls me to admit it, I don't think I have the power to force them open without ascending first - I imagine them flying off their hinges beneath a barrage of golden lightning, molten, twisted and useless as the gatehouse explodes into stony shrapnel, and the echoes of anticipated destruction make me tingle.
There's a single wooden door with a large shiny lock at the base of one of the towers, atop a small set of steps. A guard stands beside it, looking dumpy and nervous in the torchlight, with a set of keys hanging from his belt. He's fat, his tights don't fit, and his chainmail is spotty, and when he sees me step into the light, my lustrous hide beaming incandescent as it captures the torches' flames, he slams into the wall in his haste to back away.
"I am here to see the Duke," I announce, showing my fangs. "Open the door."
He doesn't argue - though he drops the keys twice before the lock clicks open. Making a mental note to track him down later (to learn more about how someone so unsuited to the job becomes a soldier, and what secret dreams he clings to) I mount the stair and step inside.
The gatehouse is sparsely furnished (which is a word whose precision I admire), and reeks of unwashed humanity. There's a stone staircase leading to the parapet, a splintery wooden rack filled with useless weapons, and a thick piece of iron propped against one wall, forged in the size and shape of the door I've just come through. Another door presumably leads to the castle grounds, a table and chairs are pushed up against the staircase, and a lantern hangs from a hook upon the ceiling, casting soft, smoky light throughout the little room.
I slam the door offhandedly with enough force to crack the frame and shatter the lock. Behind me, and just slightly to my left, someone sighs. I whirl, nearly tripping, and astral charge rises in my gullet from the sheer indignity of surprise. A short, gray haired man is leaning in the corner. He was hidden by the open door, and now that I've closed it he stands revealed.
"I suppose we were going to replace that anyway," says Chatterly. "But you and I really should have a talk about not damaging the Duke's things."
The main gate is on the easterly side of the castle walls, facing the top of the valley, and consists of two one-story-high slabs of black iron, studded with rivets and mounted on hinges as big around as my thighs. They fit snugly between a pair of stout, square towers, built from the same red stone as the walls they adjoin (and, for that matter, almost everything else in this valley!) Together with a narrow terrace laid between their parapets, they form a sturdy gatehouse, facing a broad market-square. Torches are set in brackets on either side of the portal, lighting the entrance to the castle grounds with an oily orange glow. The iron doors are barred for the night, and as much as it galls me to admit it, I don't think I have the power to force them open without ascending first - I imagine them flying off their hinges beneath a barrage of golden lightning, molten, twisted and useless as the gatehouse explodes into stony shrapnel, and the echoes of anticipated destruction make me tingle.
There's a single wooden door with a large shiny lock at the base of one of the towers, atop a small set of steps. A guard stands beside it, looking dumpy and nervous in the torchlight, with a set of keys hanging from his belt. He's fat, his tights don't fit, and his chainmail is spotty, and when he sees me step into the light, my lustrous hide beaming incandescent as it captures the torches' flames, he slams into the wall in his haste to back away.
"I am here to see the Duke," I announce, showing my fangs. "Open the door."
He doesn't argue - though he drops the keys twice before the lock clicks open. Making a mental note to track him down later (to learn more about how someone so unsuited to the job becomes a soldier, and what secret dreams he clings to) I mount the stair and step inside.
The gatehouse is sparsely furnished (which is a word whose precision I admire), and reeks of unwashed humanity. There's a stone staircase leading to the parapet, a splintery wooden rack filled with useless weapons, and a thick piece of iron propped against one wall, forged in the size and shape of the door I've just come through. Another door presumably leads to the castle grounds, a table and chairs are pushed up against the staircase, and a lantern hangs from a hook upon the ceiling, casting soft, smoky light throughout the little room.
I slam the door offhandedly with enough force to crack the frame and shatter the lock. Behind me, and just slightly to my left, someone sighs. I whirl, nearly tripping, and astral charge rises in my gullet from the sheer indignity of surprise. A short, gray haired man is leaning in the corner. He was hidden by the open door, and now that I've closed it he stands revealed.
"I suppose we were going to replace that anyway," says Chatterly. "But you and I really should have a talk about not damaging the Duke's things."