Westin tromped up the fragile-looking wooden stairs with a smile on his face. He had just shrugged off being burned with an evil Frisbee, almost carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and witnessing a murder. Maybe this sort of stuff happened to Westin all the time. The still naked man certainly seemed to be taking everything in stride.
Drake glanced at the mentally challenged fucker he’d just stabbed to death. He wasn’t stripping him of those robes. He wasn’t about to strip a dead guy, especially given his robes were covered in blood, filled with holes, and smelled like a toilet. He thought he should feel more guilty about straight up murdering someone, but at the moment he just felt... baffled.
None of this made sense. How could it? He didn’t even know how he’d gotten here.
He’d feel guilty about murdering this serial LARPer later. Right now, he would focus on escaping this place, whatever it was. But not naked. After another desperate survey of the dungeon in the low light, he spotted a dirty sheet in the corner.
When he pulled the sheet off what it covered, he recoiled. There was a human corpse beneath the sheet he’d just pulled off the pile, one absolutely covered in dried blood.
Goop that might have been organs filled the insides visible through the many holes torn in the body, and bloody flesh dangled from more than a bit of it. Its skull was visible, and its eye sockets were fetid holes. Its eyes had been plucked out.
This had been a person not long ago. A person reduced to a sopping mess of blood and organs and bone. Drake spat out the tiny bit of involuntary vomit and wiped his lips.
“I don’t know who he was,” Westin said from atop the stairs. “Or she. They were likely sacrificed for another summon before I arrived. Perhaps a denizen of Gloomwood Manor will know their identity. If we can, we should notify their family of their fate.”
Drake forced his eyes away from the horror beneath the sheet. “Sure. Because there are other people here.” Westin was just so randomly helpful.
This corpse assured him he wasn’t safe yet. These people—or the man he’d just stabbed to death—had murdered others, which meant the robed man had been a serial killer. So did the monk have friends upstairs? Other monks? Homicidal monks?
The implications of this dungeon were growing too horrifying to ignore. How many poor folks had that robed psycho abducted, tortured, and murdered? Had Westin helped?
Drake wrapped the sheet around his waist. He couldn’t keep it there without holding it with one hand, but at least his junk was no longer flopping about. He didn’t need anyone else calling him a specimen of virility. He glanced up the stairs in the dim light.
Westin waited at the top. He hadn’t opened the door. Was it locked?
“You should lead the way,” Westin said calmly. “I suspect the manor’s denizens still have orders from their former lord to attack me if I try to escape. When we leave this room, one of two things will happen.”
“What two things?”
“If Lord Gloomwood did name a successor I am unaware of, he and his blood thralls must be aware he is dead. They will likely recapture us, yet fear not. I am a son of Proudglade Manor, and thus highly prized as a captive. I will likely be ransomed, and as the man who saved my life, I will endeavor to have you ransomed with me.”
“Thanks, Westin. That’s just great.”
“But if the lord had no successor, as I suspect, and you do have divine blood, as he believed, then you are now the lord of Gloomwood Manor. You need simply update the orders of your blood thralls so they cannot harm me. They cannot harm you, but I would appreciate it if you would extend me that courtesy as well.”
“Sure,” Drake agreed. Why shouldn’t he go out first? What could possibly go wrong?
As much as he’d prefer to have Westin lead the way, he doubted the man would listen. Westin seemed utterly consumed by... whatever this was. This shared delusion.
So if there was a whole cult of LARPers living here, perhaps everyone else he encountered above would pretend this was all real. Would they really listen to the naked guy in the sheet who’d just murdered their former lord?
Only one way to find out.
Drake grabbed the still bloody dagger and cinched the sheet around his middle with the hand he wasn’t using. If anyone else tried to drag him back down here and shackle him to a torture table, he’d stab them too. He’d already killed one guy, so why stop at one murder? He still wanted to live, and these people might be as nuts as their now dead master.
Drake trekked resolutely up the stairs, holding his sheet with one hand and clutching the still blood-stained knife tightly with the other. If he had to, he’d drop the sheet. Embarrassment was better than getting killed because he was fighting one-handed, and anyone who saw his junk flopping about would be too busy getting stabbed to care.
Drake pulled the door open to find, to his surprise, a well-lit and tastefully appointed interior hallway that wouldn’t be out of place in a historic bed and breakfast. The walls were dark wood with light-colored panels. Round wooden chandeliers covered in gently flickering candles hung from the high ceiling, and a lush blue carpet with a floral pattern stretched ahead.
Also, there were two women standing in the hallway like they’d been waiting there awhile. One was as tall as he was, busty, and muscular, though she looked younger than him, maybe 20. She was wearing what appeared to be a maid outfit, of all things.
Sure. Why not? Even serial psycho killers needed room service, and this girl could obviously lift.
The other woman was the same slim, dark-haired woman he recognized from when she’d darted across that highway in New Mexico in front of his truck. She was wearing the same maid outfit, which... did she work here?
Both women immediately bowed at the waist and spoke in unison. “My lord.”
Drake was standing halfway into the hallway, clutching a knife in one hand and his sheet with the other. He didn’t feel very lordly at the moment. Still... maybe? There was no one else in the hallway, so they might be talking to him. Hopefully one knew where the front door was.
“Hey.”
Neither woman answered his majestic and intelligent greeting.
“So... I’m your lord now?”
“You are our lord,” the dark-haired woman confirmed, her long hair hanging dangling around her face as she stared at the floor. “Long live the lord of Gloomwood Manor.”
Westin emerged and clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my friend.”
Drake suppressed a half-mad chuckle. “Did you two say that about the last guy?”
“Many times, lord,” the dark-haired woman said.
So... she was honest, at least. “Can you just stand up, please?”
No matter how much sense this didn’t make, Drake wasn’t remotely comfortable with random women in maid uniforms bowing to him. Especially if they were also crazy. He needed to keep these people calm, because otherwise, another one of them might try to stab him.
Both women straightened immediately, but only the one with the dark hair spoke. “Do you wish us to apprehend your captive, lord?”
Only the red-haired maid looked muscular enough to kick Westin’s ass, and neither of them carried a weapon. They also appeared completely unphased by Westin’s nudity, but maybe he and Westin weren’t the first two naked guys to stumble out of this dungeon.
“No.” Drake frowned. “And he’s not my captive.”
“Apologies, lord.” The dark-haired maid bowed low again. “It was not my attention to vex you. Is the fourth son of the Proudglade Manor now your guest?”
She really seemed intent on not breaking character. All these cultists must be like this. “My... sure. Let’s go with that. And again, could you stand up?”
The dark-haired woman straightened once more.
The red-haired Amazon stepped forward. “You appear to be injured, lord.”
Drake decided answering with “No shit, lady” wouldn’t be very lord-like. “I am. Do you have bandages? Gauze? Can you get me something to wrap my wounds?” He didn’t think he’d bleed out anytime soon, but he should probably stop bleeding anyway.
She blinked randomly. “You wish me to bring bandages to bind your wounds?”
Constantly repeating everything that came out of his mouth was going to get real tiring real fast. “Yes. Can you get those for me or not?”
“At once, lord.” The red-haired maid spun and took off like an Olympic sprinter. She could really move. As Drake put his jaw back in order, the dark-haired woman waved.
“Lord, there is a matter that requires your attention.”
“Not yet.” Drake glanced at Westin. “So hey, is this normal for you?”
“Is what normal?”
“Coming out of a torture dungeon to encounter random maids?”
“It is certainly not unexpected. The legendary battle maids of Gloomwood Manor are known across the realm. My siblings and I would often dress up in similar outfits when we played together as children, reliving the stories of the great battle maids.
“Battle... maids?” Drake really wanted to punch Westin again.
“I have two older sisters,” Westin said proudly. “And an elder brother.” Never had a naked man looked quite so proud of himself.
“And you’re the youngest?”
“To my dismay.” Westin sighed. “Still, I too have divine blood. That is why the former lord of Gloomwood Manor abducted me. If it’s acceptable to you, I should return at once.”
“Return to...”
“Proudglade Manor,” Westin clarified. “If no one has yet noticed my abduction, it is possible we may sweep this whole abduction under the rug.”
“Apologies, lord, but we cannot do that,” the dark-haired maid cut in. “That is the matter I spoke of earlier. Even now Cresh does battle with golden knights from Proudglade Manor. They’ve come to rescue the son of Proudglade Manor.”
“Stop saying Proudglade Manor,” Drake ordered irritably. He turned to Westin. “So your folks are here to rescue you? That’s good, right?”
“Oh no,” Westin said mournfully.
“It’s not good? Aren’t those your people out there?”
“This means my abduction has been discovered.” Westin grimaced. “My father will demand justice for your crime. I’m so sorry, my friend.”
Drake glared. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. I’m getting out of here right now.” He looked at the woman in the maid outfit. “You, what’s your name?”
“I am called Lydia, my lord.”
“And you’re really going to listen to me?”
“I am bound to obey you, lord.”
“Great, that’s great.” Lydia truly sounded like she believed that, so she was part of this shared delusion as well. “Where’s your phone?”
“My phone, lord?”
“You use it to call people.” He mimed picking up a receiver. “And you talk to them. On the phone.”
“We do not have any phones here, lord, but I can see if we can acquire one?”
“Never mind. Can you show me the way out of here?”
“You should not leave the manor, lord. Battle continues outside.”
“What battle?”
“Cresh is even now fighting the knights who came to rescue your guest.”
Drake stared at her in utter exasperation. “Well could you ask them to stop?”
Lydia stared in visible confusion. “You wish Cresh to surrender?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “Tell the guys at the gate that Westin’s safe, and tell them all to stop fighting. Oh, and tell them Westin’s coming out.” Delusion or not, he didn’t need people beating the shit out of each other over a misunderstanding.
Lydia spun and ran off at a sprint without another word. Her outfit, while ornate and dressy, was about as modest as you’d see at any major hotel chain. Drake had processed a lot of weird shit today, and he wasn’t ready for improbably sexy maid outfits.
“We should follow her,” Westin said. “Perhaps there is still time to negotiate a peace.”
“Peace? Yeah. Let’s do that.” It sounded like Westin was now both planning to lead him to the doors and get him outside, which would be the first step in getting out of here and finding a phone. “You know this place better than me. So... lead the way?”
Westin jogged past him, bare-assed as ever. “Follow me!”
Westin tromped up the fragile-looking wooden stairs with a smile on his face. He had just shrugged off being burned with an evil Frisbee, almost carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and witnessing a murder. Maybe this sort of stuff happened to Westin all the time. The still naked man certainly seemed to be taking everything in stride.
Drake glanced at the mentally challenged fucker he’d just stabbed to death. He wasn’t stripping him of those robes. He wasn’t about to strip a dead guy, especially given his robes were covered in blood, filled with holes, and smelled like a toilet. He thought he should feel more guilty about straight up murdering someone, but at the moment he just felt... baffled.
None of this made sense. How could it? He didn’t even know how he’d gotten here.
He’d feel guilty about murdering this serial LARPer later. Right now, he would focus on escaping this place, whatever it was. But not naked. After another desperate survey of the dungeon in the low light, he spotted a dirty sheet in the corner.
When he pulled the sheet off what it covered, he recoiled. There was a human corpse beneath the sheet he’d just pulled off the pile, one absolutely covered in dried blood.
Goop that might have been organs filled the insides visible through the many holes torn in the body, and bloody flesh dangled from more than a bit of it. Its skull was visible, and its eye sockets were fetid holes. Its eyes had been plucked out.
This had been a person not long ago. A person reduced to a sopping mess of blood and organs and bone. Drake spat out the tiny bit of involuntary vomit and wiped his lips.
“I don’t know who he was,” Westin said from atop the stairs. “Or she. They were likely sacrificed for another summon before I arrived. Perhaps a denizen of Gloomwood Manor will know their identity. If we can, we should notify their family of their fate.”
Drake forced his eyes away from the horror beneath the sheet. “Sure. Because there are other people here.” Westin was just so randomly helpful.
This corpse assured him he wasn’t safe yet. These people—or the man he’d just stabbed to death—had murdered others, which meant the robed man had been a serial killer. So did the monk have friends upstairs? Other monks? Homicidal monks?
The implications of this dungeon were growing too horrifying to ignore. How many poor folks had that robed psycho abducted, tortured, and murdered? Had Westin helped?
Drake wrapped the sheet around his waist. He couldn’t keep it there without holding it with one hand, but at least his junk was no longer flopping about. He didn’t need anyone else calling him a specimen of virility. He glanced up the stairs in the dim light.
Westin waited at the top. He hadn’t opened the door. Was it locked?
“You should lead the way,” Westin said calmly. “I suspect the manor’s denizens still have orders from their former lord to attack me if I try to escape. When we leave this room, one of two things will happen.”
“What two things?”
“If Lord Gloomwood did name a successor I am unaware of, he and his blood thralls must be aware he is dead. They will likely recapture us, yet fear not. I am a son of Proudglade Manor, and thus highly prized as a captive. I will likely be ransomed, and as the man who saved my life, I will endeavor to have you ransomed with me.”
“Thanks, Westin. That’s just great.”
“But if the lord had no successor, as I suspect, and you do have divine blood, as he believed, then you are now the lord of Gloomwood Manor. You need simply update the orders of your blood thralls so they cannot harm me. They cannot harm you, but I would appreciate it if you would extend me that courtesy as well.”
“Sure,” Drake agreed. Why shouldn’t he go out first? What could possibly go wrong?
As much as he’d prefer to have Westin lead the way, he doubted the man would listen. Westin seemed utterly consumed by... whatever this was. This shared delusion.
So if there was a whole cult of LARPers living here, perhaps everyone else he encountered above would pretend this was all real. Would they really listen to the naked guy in the sheet who’d just murdered their former lord?
Only one way to find out.
Drake grabbed the still bloody dagger and cinched the sheet around his middle with the hand he wasn’t using. If anyone else tried to drag him back down here and shackle him to a torture table, he’d stab them too. He’d already killed one guy, so why stop at one murder? He still wanted to live, and these people might be as nuts as their now dead master.
Drake trekked resolutely up the stairs, holding his sheet with one hand and clutching the still blood-stained knife tightly with the other. If he had to, he’d drop the sheet. Embarrassment was better than getting killed because he was fighting one-handed, and anyone who saw his junk flopping about would be too busy getting stabbed to care.
Drake pulled the door open to find, to his surprise, a well-lit and tastefully appointed interior hallway that wouldn’t be out of place in a historic bed and breakfast. The walls were dark wood with light-colored panels. Round wooden chandeliers covered in gently flickering candles hung from the high ceiling, and a lush blue carpet with a floral pattern stretched ahead.
Also, there were two women standing in the hallway like they’d been waiting there awhile. One was as tall as he was, busty, and muscular, though she looked younger than him, maybe 20. She was wearing what appeared to be a maid outfit, of all things.
Sure. Why not? Even serial psycho killers needed room service, and this girl could obviously lift.
The other woman was the same slim, dark-haired woman he recognized from when she’d darted across that highway in New Mexico in front of his truck. She was wearing the same maid outfit, which... did she work here?
Both women immediately bowed at the waist and spoke in unison. “My lord.”
Drake was standing halfway into the hallway, clutching a knife in one hand and his sheet with the other. He didn’t feel very lordly at the moment. Still... maybe? There was no one else in the hallway, so they might be talking to him. Hopefully one knew where the front door was.
“Hey.”
Neither woman answered his majestic and intelligent greeting.
“So... I’m your lord now?”
“You are our lord,” the dark-haired woman confirmed, her long hair hanging dangling around her face as she stared at the floor. “Long live the lord of Gloomwood Manor.”
Westin emerged and clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my friend.”
Drake suppressed a half-mad chuckle. “Did you two say that about the last guy?”
“Many times, lord,” the dark-haired woman said.
So... she was honest, at least. “Can you just stand up, please?”
No matter how much sense this didn’t make, Drake wasn’t remotely comfortable with random women in maid uniforms bowing to him. Especially if they were also crazy. He needed to keep these people calm, because otherwise, another one of them might try to stab him.
Both women straightened immediately, but only the one with the dark hair spoke. “Do you wish us to apprehend your captive, lord?”
Only the red-haired maid looked muscular enough to kick Westin’s ass, and neither of them carried a weapon. They also appeared completely unphased by Westin’s nudity, but maybe he and Westin weren’t the first two naked guys to stumble out of this dungeon.
“No.” Drake frowned. “And he’s not my captive.”
“Apologies, lord.” The dark-haired maid bowed low again. “It was not my attention to vex you. Is the fourth son of the Proudglade Manor now your guest?”
She really seemed intent on not breaking character. All these cultists must be like this. “My... sure. Let’s go with that. And again, could you stand up?”
The dark-haired woman straightened once more.
The red-haired Amazon stepped forward. “You appear to be injured, lord.”
Drake decided answering with “No shit, lady” wouldn’t be very lord-like. “I am. Do you have bandages? Gauze? Can you get me something to wrap my wounds?” He didn’t think he’d bleed out anytime soon, but he should probably stop bleeding anyway.
She blinked randomly. “You wish me to bring bandages to bind your wounds?”
Constantly repeating everything that came out of his mouth was going to get real tiring real fast. “Yes. Can you get those for me or not?”
“At once, lord.” The red-haired maid spun and took off like an Olympic sprinter. She could really move. As Drake put his jaw back in order, the dark-haired woman waved.
“Lord, there is a matter that requires your attention.”
“Not yet.” Drake glanced at Westin. “So hey, is this normal for you?”
“Is what normal?”
“Coming out of a torture dungeon to encounter random maids?”
“It is certainly not unexpected. The legendary battle maids of Gloomwood Manor are known across the realm. My siblings and I would often dress up in similar outfits when we played together as children, reliving the stories of the great battle maids.
“Battle... maids?” Drake really wanted to punch Westin again.
“I have two older sisters,” Westin said proudly. “And an elder brother.” Never had a naked man looked quite so proud of himself.
“And you’re the youngest?”
“To my dismay.” Westin sighed. “Still, I too have divine blood. That is why the former lord of Gloomwood Manor abducted me. If it’s acceptable to you, I should return at once.”
“Return to...”
“Proudglade Manor,” Westin clarified. “If no one has yet noticed my abduction, it is possible we may sweep this whole abduction under the rug.”
“Apologies, lord, but we cannot do that,” the dark-haired maid cut in. “That is the matter I spoke of earlier. Even now Cresh does battle with golden knights from Proudglade Manor. They’ve come to rescue the son of Proudglade Manor.”
“Stop saying Proudglade Manor,” Drake ordered irritably. He turned to Westin. “So your folks are here to rescue you? That’s good, right?”
“Oh no,” Westin said mournfully.
“It’s not good? Aren’t those your people out there?”
“This means my abduction has been discovered.” Westin grimaced. “My father will demand justice for your crime. I’m so sorry, my friend.”
Drake glared. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. I’m getting out of here right now.” He looked at the woman in the maid outfit. “You, what’s your name?”
“I am called Lydia, my lord.”
“And you’re really going to listen to me?”
“I am bound to obey you, lord.”
“Great, that’s great.” Lydia truly sounded like she believed that, so she was part of this shared delusion as well. “Where’s your phone?”
“My phone, lord?”
“You use it to call people.” He mimed picking up a receiver. “And you talk to them. On the phone.”
“We do not have any phones here, lord, but I can see if we can acquire one?”
“Never mind. Can you show me the way out of here?”
“You should not leave the manor, lord. Battle continues outside.”
“What battle?”
“Cresh is even now fighting the knights who came to rescue your guest.”
Drake stared at her in utter exasperation. “Well could you ask them to stop?”
Lydia stared in visible confusion. “You wish Cresh to surrender?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “Tell the guys at the gate that Westin’s safe, and tell them all to stop fighting. Oh, and tell them Westin’s coming out.” Delusion or not, he didn’t need people beating the shit out of each other over a misunderstanding.
Lydia spun and ran off at a sprint without another word. Her outfit, while ornate and dressy, was about as modest as you’d see at any major hotel chain. Drake had processed a lot of weird shit today, and he wasn’t ready for improbably sexy maid outfits.
“We should follow her,” Westin said. “Perhaps there is still time to negotiate a peace.”
“Peace? Yeah. Let’s do that.” It sounded like Westin was now both planning to lead him to the doors and get him outside, which would be the first step in getting out of here and finding a phone. “You know this place better than me. So... lead the way?”
Westin jogged past him, bare-assed as ever. “Follow me!”
