Down the Aisle

As he turned in place to get his bearings, he found he was in a narrow stone corridor made even narrower by statues lining the walls. The statues were ancient kings and old heroes almost lost to the wastes of time. He saw the doors behind him, huge monolithic structures that gave a clear impression of inside and out. Glowing runes were carved in rows above the heads of the statues, but as Fred squinted and tried to identify them, they shifted and moved before his eyes could catch up. Magic. A door sealed by magic. Splitgrave had told him the wards would disappear when he died, but would Fred be able to move those huge doors? Probably not. Perhaps something else would, or they would open by themselves; Fred hoped so, because he had no way of turning back now. He could but hope that the doors would swing open when the orb was smashed. He clenched the enchanted hammer in his hand.

As he navigated the hallway, more dry air wafted in through black iron grilles set into the walls. Good to know that if he was trapped in here he wouldn?t suffocate. Fortunate.

He approached the end of the corridor. The orb still hung in the center of his vision. The glowing runes lit the statues, standing like vigilant sentries on either side of him. Their oppressive, stony gazes fell heavily on Fred, whose hand fell habitually on the pommel of his his trusty sword.

He heard a shuffling sound behind him. He was not alone.

1. Statues ripped themselves from their alcoves and stalked towards Sir Fred. He hastily draws his sword, but is surrounded on all sides...
2. A wraith, bound by insubstantial chains and clad in a grey shroud, levitated towards Fred, finger pointed in accusation.
3. Whirling, a surprised Fred found an aristocratic-looking young man, who looked similarly surprised to see Fred.

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