Chapter 56: Nightmare |
Baron Whitback plopped down onto the soft couch, smugly opening his mouth:
"Good news? Of course it's fantastic news!"
"At today's council meeting, I stirred up old Clayton to impeach that pretty-faced Royal Magic Advisor in front of the king, and it actually worked!"
The Baroness paused mid-sip of her tea, casting an unexpected glance at her husband.
"The king summoned that dark wizard right to the council hall, tore into him in front of everyone, and revoked his appointment." The Baron's fat jiggled as he laughed.
He paused, a hint of regret creeping into his tone:
"Too bad that dark wizard got so scared he shat himself. He offered his most prized ritual dagger to Clayton right then and there to make amends. You should've seen that dagger—it was clearly no ordinary item."
He smacked his lips, the more he thought about it, the more regretful he felt:
"If I'd known, I'd have done it myself. Would've snagged a treasure for free."
"Don't be too harsh. That advisor seemed quite handsome, didn't seem like a bad person."
Baron Whitback's face instantly soured.
"Handsome?" He shot upright, eyes bulging wide, "What do you mean by that? Were you staring at that pretty face?"
"I... I just meant..."
"Shut up!" Spittle sprayed across the Baroness's face, "Looks like you're itching for a beating! Daring to praise another man in front of me?"
Cursing under his breath, he stood up.
"I'll sleep at Elena's tonight! Don't you get in my way here!"
-----------------
Late at night.
Baron Whitback eagerly pushed open his lover's door.
The Elena he'd been longing for was sitting on the bed with her back to him, her golden curls cascading down, stirring all sorts of fantasies.
"Little darling..." The Baron swallowed hard, lunging forward impatiently.
He wrapped his arms around that slender figure, hurriedly leaning in to plant a fierce kiss on her pale neck.
After making out for a good while, he suddenly froze.
The touch... rough, shriveled, carrying a nauseating stench of rot.
He jerked his head up, peering at the face of the person in his arms by the candlelight.
It was a shriveled, skin-rotted face, with dry, gray strands of hair plastered in clumps to her scalp.
That thing grinned at him, flashing a toothless smile.
"Ah—!!!"
Baron Whitback let out a blood-curdling scream, tumbling off the bed in a panic and scrambling out the door.
He stumbled out of the room, burst into the hallway, gasping for breath.
The once-familiar corridor now stretched endlessly, with flickering candles on either side casting twisted shadows.
Up ahead, a figure wobbled toward him.
Its steps were stiff and eerie, each one as if pulled by some invisible force.
Closer.
Whitback could make out the face.
It was old Clayton! The noble he'd goaded into impeaching the dark wizard!
Old Clayton's eyes were hollow, with a strange smile plastered on his face.
He held something in both hands, raising it high like an offering of some precious treasure.
It was a dagger.
"You... what are you doing?"
Old Clayton didn't answer.
He walked up to Whitback and slowly knelt down.
That hollow face tilted upward, reciting strange words in a voice that wasn't his own, each syllable scraping against the eardrums like a blade.
Then, he raised the dagger.
And aimed it at his own throat.
Squelch—!
Blood erupted, splattering all over Whitback's face!
Old Clayton slumped to his knees, a gurgling sound coming from his throat.
"Take... it out... take it away... it's yours now..."
"AAAAHHHHHH—!!!"
Baron Whitback jolted upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat.
Dawn hadn't broken yet. Outside the window, it was pitch black.
His wife, startled awake, hurriedly sat up and leaned in with concern, "What's wrong? A nightmare?"
Whitback was panting heavily, the terror still lingering in his eyes.
He stared blankly at his own hands.
No blood.
A dream.
It was all a dream...
But he didn't relax.
He threw off the covers, dashed out the door barefoot, and roared into the hallway:
"Someone! Someone!!!"
A few bleary-eyed servants scrambled over.
"What about the letter I sent to old Clayton today?!"
The servant paused in confusion, "Back to you, my lord... It's already been sent out, dispatched this evening."
Whitback's face turned deathly pale.
"Get it back!" He lunged at the servant like a madman, grabbing him by the collar, "Quick! Send someone to chase it down! Now!!!"
-----------------
The next day.
Allen, who had used Dreamweaving for the first time the night before to give those gossiping nobles a good scare, woke up refreshed.
His first move of the day was to glance at his attribute panel.
'[Character Name: Allen Prestor
Race: Human
Class: Wild Warlock
Strength: 14 (You're a once-in-a-lifetime martial prodigy!)
Agility: 16 (Who'd have thought you were a sickly weakling a month ago?)
Constitution: 17 (Kid, ever considered selling blood for a living?)
Intelligence: 28 (You'll earn the favor of the magic goddess Mystra.)
Perception: 27 (The world in your eyes is completely different from others: stones smile, flowers sing, and the gentle breeze actually whispers secrets only you can hear.)
Charisma: 32 (Stop adding more, just stop.)
Unallocated Attribute Points: 10
Learned Spells: Meteor Swarm, Chain Lightning, Dreamweaving, Communion, Polymorph, Anywhere Door, Communicate with the Dead, Knock, Tasha's Hideous Laughter, Grease, Speak with Animals, Shield, Tongues
Traits: Wild Magic Surge, Tides of Chaos]'
That's right, Allen hadn't yet spent the 10 free attribute points from his latest reward. First, he was worried that raising attributes too high might trigger something like Arcane Intellect that would cripple him outright. Second, he was also torn over whether to allocate the points to his physical stats first, since his only real weakness right now was being too squishy. Third, he might face all sorts of situations in the future, and different circumstances might call for different attribute specialties. Keeping some free attribute points on hand would let him go all-out in specific scenarios.
Plus, in the days right after unlocking Xal'atath's true form and defeating the Bloodfiend for his reward, he'd been feeling dizzy and getting vague headaches. After a few days, things improved a lot. It seemed his body needed time to adjust to the attribute boosts, especially the mental ones.
Putting away the attribute panel, Allen grabbed his packed bags and headed out.
Meanwhile, in Stormwind Keep's meeting hall, the atmosphere was eerily frozen solid.
Morgan stood at the door, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit a fist.
He looked at the silver-haired, pointy-eared high elf in front of him, then glanced around, then back at her.
Stella sat in a chair, her little head swinging from left to right, right to left, her gaze scanning over the elf.
She'd always thought she was the only girl in the benefactor's party.
But now, she took another look at Wen Laisa, at her face, at her figure, at her bulging coin purse.
Stella slumped her head in defeat—she was totally outclassed.
Comments 1