The Chase

Charles, the Baroness’s butler, said, “Chance Everston,” as he let the Half-Orc in a nice wool suit into the parlor. I took in the ambience.

The last lingering scent of delicate perfume was a whisper of violets and bergamot, softened by the faintest trace of powdered iris—a fading memory of elegance.

The fine wood carries the richness of aged mahogany and polished rosewood, laced with the deep warmth of cedar oil that clings to the air like an old secret.

And the Baroness’s parlor? It is a place where time itself seems to slow. The air holds the ghosts of sandalwood and amber, woven with the refined bite of black tea steeped too long in fine porcelain. The upholstery, velvet crushed by years of careful sitting, exhales quiet notes of dried lavender and dust, while the golden edges of forgotten books hum with the faint, intoxicating musk of leather and ink.

I stood at ease, my usual grin playing at the tusks coming out the corners of my mouth, but my green eyes, sharp as ever, took in everything. I wasn’t new to places like this, though I was rarely invited. The Baroness, draped in silks the color of deep wine, lifted her hand just so. A servant, quiet as a shadow, stepped forward and filled a crystal snifter with cognac, the amber liquid flowed like liquid gold as the cut glass decanter flashed in soft candlelight.

She did not pour. She did not ask. She merely offered, her gloved hand resting lightly on the stem as she held it out to him. A test, wrapped in civility.

I tilted my head, considering. Ale would never touch these fine-trimmed tables, nor would anything so simple as whiskey. No, the Baroness had made her choice for me.

With an easy smile, I stepped forward, took the glass, and lifted it slightly in a toast. “To good company,” I said, my voice smooth as I let the warmth of the room settle over me. Then I drank, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact.

The Baroness’s smile deepened, just a fraction. It was not approval—no, that would be too simple. But it was something. A recognition. An understanding that, for now, he played the game.

The candles flickered as the temperature dropped, the scent of old wood and perfume swallowed by an unnatural chill. The door to the Baroness’s parlor creaked open, though no hand had touched it.

And then, it was there. A phantasm of smoke and shadow, its form barely holding together, rushed toward the Baroness with inhuman speed. It had no hesitation, no moment of deliberation. It just had a singular drive, a command from its unseen master. The Baroness barely had time to gasp before it seized the crystal brain dangling from her neck, skeletal fingers of mist wrapping around both the gem and her throat.

I moved on instinct. I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate I lunged, knocking her sideways, my hand cutting through the phantasm’s grip. A surge of icy pain shot through my arm, but the effect was enough. The Baroness was freed, stumbling back with a sharp breath, one hand at her throat.

But the crystal brain was gone. The chain snapped, the delicate links scattering across the floor as the phantasm, its prize now clutched in its shifting form, whirled and fled. It moved with impossible speed, streaking through the open door that led to the low porch beyond the parlor.

I was already moving. I burst through the doorway just in time to see the phantasm slipping into the mist beyond the porch, a wraith dissolving into the night. It was getting away.

No time to think. No time to hesitate. I ran after it. My legs burned as the chase dragged on, my breath sharp against the cold night air. I came around a corner and it was gone. I could not see it anywhere.

Then down the street a woman screamed, “By the gods! What is that darkness!”

I sprinted toward the woman at the end of the street and I caught sight of it black formlessness. Beyond the last clusters of homes, where the city met the towering ring of mountains, the terrain grew treacherous. Massive peaks loomed overhead, their jagged silhouettes blotting out the stars. The land itself had shaped this place into a natural fortress, a great stone wall that had guarded the city for generations. Only one way through. The pass and above it, perched like a vulture waiting for its prey—Nox’s castle.

I slowed for the first time in hours, chest heaving as I reached the foot of the mountain pass. The phantasm was gone. It had slipped into the darkness beyond, where the looming spires of the castle rose against the night like twisted daggers that stabbed into the earth.

The air was colder here. Thicker. It felt wrong. I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I straightened. I body ached, my endurance stretched to its limit, but my mind was sharp. This had never been a simple escape.

The phantasm went into one of the spires of the castle. And now, standing at the entrance to the pass, I had a choice.

Go back, empty-handed, knowing the Baroness’s crystal brain was lost to the dark Lord’s castle. Or press forward, into whatever waited for me beyond the gate.

I picked a dark section of low wall with a near by tree. I climb the tree and got over the wall to a quiet court yard and I slipped into the spire without the orc guards seeing me in the shadows.

The castle stone walls nearly blending into the mountain side like a natural extension of the rock. My heartbeat thudded in my chest as I slipped though torch light passages but my mind was focused and calm. The phantasm had led me here, and now I needed to infiltrate Nox’s stronghold without being seen by the notorious orcish guards.

I crouched low against the shadows, moving with the grace of someone who had spent years in the wilds, where silence was the difference between life and death. The air was thick with the stench of damp stone, the castle silent as a tomb, save for the distant sounds of orcish patrols.

I had done my homework. I knew the orcs here didn’t follow a set patrol pattern—they sniffed the air, their senses honed by years of training. That meant I had to be more than just quiet. I had to be Invisible.

I could feel the tension building in my limbs as I approached the grand hall. The castle felt alive, its dark presence pressing down on me as if the very stones were watching. The scent of decay and ancient magic hung heavy in the air, the corridors twisting and winding like a labyrinth.

Just ahead, a pair of orcs passed by, their heavy boots creating a rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the stone floors. I ducked into a narrow alcove, hidden from their view, as they made their way down a different path. Their voices echoed in the corridor, talking about their next shift. They didn’t seem to care about their surrounding.

I slid past them, using every trick my instincts could provide. No noise. No sudden movements. I knew the castle had eyes everywhere, magical wards and scrying devices hidden in plain sight. My every step needed to be measured.

I reached the heart of the castle, the ornate double doors leading into the main hall. There, I paused. Through the slight crack between the doors, I could see the orcish guards, their hulking figures patrolling in the halls around the throne room, where Nox’s magic thrummed in the air.

But the orcs weren’t watching—no, they were distracted, their attention on what to eat after the shift

“I’ve a pair of ham hocks and bacon,” said one.

The other said, “Hmmm, I’ve only some pig hearts and sweet meats.”

“You save sweet meats I doubt it.”

They went around the corner. Now was his chance.

I took a final deep breath and, in one swift movement, slid between the doors.

I was inside. The heart of the castle. The corridors that led to Nox’s chambers were quiet, the air dense with magic. But the orcs would be back soon, and i didn’t have much time.

I pressed forward, staying low, silent as a shadow. I knew every moment counted now. If I was caught, Nox would know I was here—and the price for failure would be far worse than death.