i finished the draft for the first chapter of my medieval fantasy ghoulcy fic and i just hope folks are ready for this to become my entire personality. preview under the cut!
The walk was littered with blackened torches, this part of the dungeon rarely patrolled. Maximus continued until he was at the end–the last cell. It was silent inside. He glanced at King Henry, who nodded solemnly, his own eyes focused on the darkness. He lifted his torch through the bars, partially illuminating the pitch black cell.
A figure laid flat on the floor at the edges of the light, face covered by a weathered wide brimmed hat. Their hands were folded over their sternum, their ankles crossed. Their cloak was splayed beneath them in a tattered mess, the fabric crawling across the stone floor like reaching tendrils. They wore a pauldron on their shoulder that boasted long, sharp spines. Their armor was so dark, it didn’t glint in the firelight. It swallowed it.
There was no fog of breath, no sign of life within the figure. Maximus felt a chill of nervous anticipation roll up his spine. While ghouls were aplenty, an affliction of the cursed magic surrounding the kingdom of Vaultence, there was only one entity that was referred to solely as The Ghoul, and for the first time in his life, Maximus was looking directly at him.
King Henry stepped forward, cloaked in heavy furs to abate the chill of the dungeon. “Rise, Ghoul,” he said, standing closer to the bars than Maximus was comfortable with.
There was no answer. The figure did not move.
The king’s lips pursed. “I know you can hear me.”
Deep laughter echoed in the darkness. Slowly, stiffly, as if reanimating from death, the Ghoul rose into a sitting position, hand catching his hat to slide it atop his bald head, turning to look at them. It took everything in Maximus not to wince at the sight of him.
The Ghoul’s eyes were deep set, pitch black in the shadows cast by the fire. His skin was dry and gnarled, lips pulled in such a way that his yellowed teeth were perpetually on display. In the center of his face, a great black hole served as his nose.
“Well, well, well…” The Ghoul drawled in a low oily voice. He had the accent of a man from the Outer Ring of the kingdom, where the livestock and crops were farmed. “How long’s it been this time, Hank?”
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