chapter 4

The manor house was old, and monumental in scale. its baronial turrets and grand hallways were of cathedral-like proportions. Gilt door handles and stained glass windows commonplace in the air of absolute wealth that suffused the building. it sat on the crest of a hill, overlooking the sprawling estates it dominated. woodland, pasture and lakes all fell beneath its sway. But, like with all buildings of a certain age, it was not without its more secretive splendour.

Far below the elegant halls and marbled floors of the manor house, down the spiral staircase that cored deep into the earth, a secret room lay. It was large, with walls of stone carved with delicate depictions of the world of the Faceless by some hand with a greater craft than could be known. Wooden tiered seating was arranged in a large semicircle around a pit. The pit was deep, with only one armoured door, and flawless stone walls and floor, dressed so that there were no handholds, no cracks, no way out.

The seats were filled with dozens of men and women all dressed in cowled black cloaks. On the cloaks, over the heart, was the symbol of the Faceless, sewn in silver thread.

One seat, higher than the others, held a tall man in finer robes than any of the others. His face was shadowed by his hood, and a silver chain was wrapped around his neck.

They all sat with a solemn silence that seeped to be tangible in the damp air of the chamber.

The door in the pit opened, and a thin, bedraggled man was thrust into the pit. His suit had been nice once, but now it was torn and ragged, stained in a dozen places.

The man with the chain stood up. “Velice Kismet?” he intoned, his voice echoing all around the chamber. 

The man squinted up at the chamber, and flinched as the voice struck him like a lash, “y-yes sir….”

“Do you know why you have been brought before this court?”  

The man winced as he answered, “n-no s-sir…”

A dribbled of blood ran from one of his sleeves and dripped down onto the stone floor. He didn't seem to notice.

“To answer for your crimes.” Said the man with the chain. His voice was deep, and sonorous, but also cold and flat, without empathy or emotion.

“C-crimes….?” Stammered Kismet, confusion and pain in his eyes.

“Crimes!” roared the man with the chain, suddenly flying into a fury. He gripped the sides of his said so tightly that the wood creaked ominously. “You are nothing but filth! Filthy scum who has sinned and profaned this pure world with your filth!”

He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath, regaining his composure,

“Read the charges.” He growled.

Another cowled figure stood up, and read from a file, “my lords faithful,” he announced in a solemn tone, “the criminal before you is charged with sins most grievous.”

“Read on.” Ordered the man with the chain, glaring down at Kismet.

“Yes, Judge. The first charge is a relatively minor offence, the sin of heresy.”

“Heresy?” wailed Kismet, “but I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Be silent!” screamed the Judge, veins standing out on his face, “or I will have your tongue torn from your verminous head!”

Kismet fell back into beleaguered silence.

“Read on.” Intoned the judge.

“This man is a catholic, my lords. A worshipper of a false god. The sentence…is death.”

“No!” cried Kismet, falling to his knees, which wept blood onto the ground,

“continue.” Ordered the judge.

“The second charge, my lords, is the charge of impeding the return of the dark gods by interference in the holy work of their followers. To whit, he was part of a sanctuary team that combated the Diablerie. The sentence…is death.”

“Please…” sobbed Kismet, revealing a mouth of broken, bloody teeth.

“The third charge, my lords,” continued the reader, “is of a failure to repent, despite all mercy placed upon him by our jailers.”

“I repent!” cried Kismet, sobbing in terror and agony, “please, god, I repent!”

The Judge smiled cruelly, “god?” you mock us still. You do not repent.”

“No…” moaned Kismet, “please…you can’t do this…”

The judge ignored him, and got solemnly to his feet.

“You stand accused of these crimes. Your guilt is without question.” He intoned, a bright light filling his hand. “You will now be judged.”

“Please!” shrieked Kismet, scrabbling at the door with bloody fingers, “please, no! let me go!”

“die.” Growled the judge. He opened his hand, and the light flew forwards, latching onto the frail figure of Kismet like an enormous parasite. Kismet shrieked and screamed and thrashed as his skin melted like butter, and the marrow in his bones boiled. His screams lasted for an instant that lingered in infinite, unending agony, before he slumped forwards and fell face down on the floor of the pit with a wet crunch.

The Judge bared his teeth, “Court adjourned.”

He turned to the others and smiled, “now, let us go upstairs and continue the festivities.” 

The manor house began to come alive, as light and sound filled its grand halls and vast rooms of ornate furniture. servants scurried too and fro, carrying out their tasks with rigid discipline. The sound of erudite laughter and soft music began to seep from the house, and the smell of rich food was carried far on the breeze to tantalise the minds of the less fortunate. all the while, beneath the shadows of one of the great oak trees that surrounded the manor, another pair of eyes watched the splendour with amusement...and hunger. In the darkness, beneath the benevolent shade of the ancient tree, the nightmare watched, and waited.