Camilla kept close to Cydric as she peered into the gloom. Experience had taught her that the safest place was as near as she could be to his great wolf hilted sword. Camilla was a dangerous opponent, but her skills were in speed and agility, her weapons too light to be a serious threat to heavy opponents. More than once in the north her only option had been to try to hold off heavily armored Northmen until Cydric could cut them down. Similarly with orcs and chaos dwarves, come to think of it most of their enemies tended to be much bigger and better armored than she was. The thought tugged her lips into something like a smile.

“What?” Cydric asked casting her a glance before returning to searching the darkened hallways.

“I was just thinking that it is funny that I’m still alive,” she replied, a nervous giggle escaping her in spite of her best efforts. Cydric gave her a look as though she had lost her mind but this was no time to stop and explain. Whatever clawed thing was stalking them ceased its movement, giving no sign of its presence beyond the putrid odor of death, not distinct enough to pick out from the background reek.  She had no real way to know where to go, but considering this place was built by Brettonians, it was a fair bet whatever troubled this place could be found in the heart of the great hall.

“Lets go,” she whispered and they moved forward. Cydric glared around him as though daring whatever was in the darkness to attack. The moved down the gallery at a walk. Though the hall was dusty, it looked as though it had been sealed up in perfect order. Tapestries hung in moth eaten glory, tables were laid out with mouldering books of hours and quills set in long desiccated inkwells. There were a few suits of armor, display pieces rather than true harness, that stood back to pillars, empty visors gaping like skulls. Now and again Camilla though she caught the sound of claws, though each time she tried to locate it the sound stopped. She gripped her elven blade tight, bunching and losing her muscles as the elves had shown her. 

At last the reached the great wooden doors that opened onto the great hall. The massive wooden doors were bound with verdigris bronze and stood open only a few feet. Camilla dropped back slightly and turned slightly to watch behind as Cydric slipped through the gap. It would have been a perfect moment for an ambush but only silence came from beyond the door. With a quick step Camilla too was beyond the door, stepping passed Cydric who turned to heave against the door. The great hinges screamed, the sound blasphemously loud in the gravelike quiet, and the door swung shut with the ponders weight of an avalanche. At least nothing could take them from behind without making it obvious. Since they had arrived in Brettonia Camilla had been subtly uncomfortable with the architecture. For all their silk and tapestry the castle was an ugly thing, a creation of necessity, built for war and inhabited only as a very distant secondary concern. The Great Hall changed her mind. Vast stained glass windows rose on all three sides, suspended by traceries of stone that seemed scarcely capable of supporting the intricately carved ceiling. The main window on the back of the wall was clearly that of the Lady of the Lake extending a sword to a kneeling knight. The changes of color were so subtle as to be almost painted, though each shard of glass magnified and refracted the light. A field of white lilies rose from the bottom of the scene in a work which would have been the culmination of any artists career, winding into the Lady’s gown as though she was clothed in them. The other two windows, each of them showing feats of arms, were equally beautiful, though slightly less grand. Camilla realised that they showed the three stages of Knighthood, the beginning of the quest, the search for the Grail, and its final fulfillment.

“It’s beautiful,” Cydric breathed, as surprised as Camilla was by the beauty of the place. At the center of the room was a small dais, a rich carpet making a walkway to a pair of small thrones. One, the larger one, was empty but on the smaller throne sat a woman in a gown of gold embroidered green velvet that was thick with dust. Her face was pale and beautiful and her brown hair was wreathed in a coronet of gold and emeralds that could have paid for a small mansion. Her eyes snapped open.

“Yessss….” the woman spoke as though her throat was dry with the dust of centuries. She stood up. Camilla started back in horror at the unexpected turn of events. The womans face seemed to flicker into semi translucence before hardening again, like a reflection in a pool of water that has been struck by a raindrop. The woman was heavily pregnant, a fact that the dress had concealed until she stood. A sword was buried in her belly, the gold chased hilt protruding a foot from her, the point exiting her back. The dress below the wound was black with ancient crusted blood. Her hand grotesquely cradled her belly as an expectant mother might do.

“Beautiful,” the woman-thing agreed.

“Have you come to right the wrong my husband has done me?”