Limberry castle
I admit, none of us knew what we would walk into when we entered the castle at the request of Lettie and Celia. The ghosts at lake Poescas should have given it away, though, as well as the eerie silence enveloping the castle itself.
There was no one left. And marquis Elmdore was a vampire, and his retainers… Demons?
We rushed in with everything we had, count Orlandeau up front. But he was put to rest by Elmdore himself, who made a quick escape when both his beloved retainers were struck down. I checked on Orlandeau, but he said he was fine. He was simply getting too old for this business. He just had to catch his breath and he’d be well to fight.
We chased Elmdore into the courtyard, where we were stopped by another ambush. Demon after demon appeared alongside… Argath? Really? Of all the people who could be brought to life, Elmdore chose that bastard?
The Burn
Ramza left him no quarter when he realised that Argath did not survive our battle all this time ago, but had bartered with Elmdore for his soul. A traitor, it must’ve run in the family. A burn well deserved. Of course, like all the others we’d encountered, Argath was still just a puppet. A living dead puppet, and one we happily slayed another time, with Orlandeau… Taking another nap?
On to the undercroft, in chase of… Uh… The marquis? Whatever we faced now, it could scarce be called a hume anymore. And seeing how it was tied up in metal contraptions, floating around among the headstones and ghosts, and laughing, I was loath to imagine exactly what had been the purpose of this undercroft.
Just as we were about to head on into battle, Meliadoul rushed in, finally convinced of Ramza’s words. Just in time as well, because the Lucavi named Zalera was coming at us and count Orlandeau once again took to tanking the floor. We needed another sword in here.
He was just old, he claimed afterwards. Not dead. Old.
I am Bathsua, questioning count Orlandeau’s age, and these are my memoirs.
Memoirs of a squire 