Crowlight Cartography

The Quiet Castle in the Woods

A dreary, old castle used as a point of contact between merchants and the local lord. It’s a place that no-one really wants to be. The checkpoint where all the bureaucracy of travel and trade is conducted. The commander himself was known to hate how quiet this castle was. He made no illusion that he wished he and his men had something to do. A bandit raid to defend from, an animal den to clear out, he’d even take a nobleman challenging him to a duel. Anything to deal with the quiet. But maybe… he shouldn’t have wished so loudly for his calm life to change. Especially when he didn’t know who was listening.

The Story of that Night

It was the evening of a cool summer’s day as the commander of this castle finished his duties—the worst thing any soldier could be forced to do on a daily basis: dry, dusty, and downright dull paperwork. The sound of heavy boots marching up and down the castle halls was the only thing keeping him awake, and even that was coming to an end. This castle was of no real significance to the rest of the kingdom. It hosted forty warriors and a few servants, sitting out in the middle of nowhere to ensure the traders had the proper licences. The commander knew it was a farce, something the local nobles thought up to make their governance seem better. But a job is a job, and the commander always made sure he did things right. As the clomp of warriors went quiet, the commander put the final stamp on his worst enemy and looked out to the sunset. That was one of the perks of this job. The area may not be important, but it sure did look pretty: rolling hills dotted with woodlands, all manner of creatures darting across the land, and from the commander’s office, a perfect view of the sun as it hid behind the hills. One of the servants had even placed a lovely batch of flowers on the windowsill. A bundle of bright, purple azaleas that glowed in contrast with the horizon, growing dim as the sun swept away and shining bright as the morning started anew.

Which is why the commander could not stop staring at them as the sun finished its journey, and the light of his candle only became the second source of light in that room.

The commander stood to investigate as the azaleas kept their shine despite the darkness. They were brighter than normal, overpowering the glow of his candle and only growing brighter. The fog creeping into the room, as it did every night, did not feel familiar. It wrapped around the flowers as if avoiding them, pushing to the corners of the room to keep its distance from the light. The commander shook his head in disbelief, checking his body for any sign of sickness. He must just be exhausted after a day of work, but… why did he feel frightened of a bunch of flowers?

The returning clomp of heavy boots outside his door broke the commander from his trance, a familiar sound to drag him back to reality. However, as he neared the door, his fear surged once more. The men are trained in a very orderly march, a second between each step to maintain their formation. The commander has been in this castle for so long that he can tell the sounds each step makes as it goes past his door and the tiny differences in sounds between the wood as the warriors march. What he could hear beyond his door was not that familiar set of noises but only one noise, the same noise, the same footstep repeating over and over and over again as it passed by the door. He could tell it moved past due to the volume, but the reverb and sound never changed. He swung open the door as he heard it pass again only to be greeted with nothing.

As he rushed out into the hall, there was no warrior in sight, no person in sight, no one who could have made those sounds. The hall was too long for anyone to disappear at a walking pace. It was… too long… The commander stared down that hall that he had walked through for countless years, and all he could think was that it was too long. There are usually three doors down one side, including his own, two doors on the other side with a statue in the middle, and a lovely bunch of flowers sitting at the corner before the hall turns away. But that turn was gone. The hall was longer. Every time he counted the doors, the number went up. There were six on one side, two statues down the other side, and… always that bunch of flowers at the far end. Every time he looked, it was longer. The commander drew his blade as he stepped down the hall. This wasn’t possible; none of this was possible, but he refused to believe he was dreaming. Something was wrong with his castle, and it was his duty to figure out what.

It took roughly 20 minutes for him to walk down that hallway before it finally let him go. The castle itself only takes 20 minutes to cross. Stepping out into the courtyard, he saw a grisly sight. Those azaleas were everywhere, growing in all the cracks, pushing through the bricks and… holding back the fog. While the castle was surrounded by a dense thicket, the courtyard itself was clear. He saw the carriages of merchants without their drivers but all their cargo intact. The weapons and armour of warriors lent against the walls as if their wearers had simply… vanished. The commander stood in the centre of his castle… all alone.

And if he were still alive, he may have wished to stay alone.

The azaleas started to rustle violently as if caught in the midst of a terrible storm even as the night stood perfectly still. Tearing their way from beneath the soil were the bodies of his men, desiccated as if all the water had been ripped from their skin. The azaleas clung to their bodies, the roots digging into the pores as the corpses stood on their own. They approached the commander slowly, dragging themselves as if still bound to the soil. The light of the azaleas grew bright as they approached until the commander was all but blinded. Surrounded by the puppeteered corpses of his loyal warriors, disbelieving what was right in front of him. This couldn’t be real; it couldn’t be. He had to be dreaming… and as if they could read his mind. Each warrior spoke in the same monotone voice. No inflection on their words, nothing that could distinguish them as anything more than a single being. It spoke directly to the commander through the mouths of his fallen people.

“This is no dream, Commander Zeno. You are not tired, sick or injured. You are here in the darkness of the night, and now we will give you what you want.”

The commander stared at each of his warriors in turn before speaking back to the horde. Gripping his weapon tightly, preparing for his last stand.

“And what would that be?”

By the time anyone came across the castle again, it had changed. The air hung with that same fog, and the castle itself was blocked from the sun. The trees had grown much taller, and azalea bushes wrapped around every trunk and even grew in the courtyard. There was no trace that anyone had ever been there before. No sign of inhabitation, no sign of life aside from the flora. But there is one thing everyone hears as they walk through this place. The sound of the wind as it rustles through the trees seems to form a word. The constant whispering of a bored voice saying,

“Quiet”

Next up?

Today’s story was earlier than the last couple. I’m still working out when is best to post them. But consistently you’ll get one per week. Speaking of which. The next map I’ll be showcasing is one i called,

“The High Pass Bridge”

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– Jakko