"My Lord, are you well?" 

The Baron's walking staff planked along the Long Gallery's floor methodically, rhythmically, and cryptically. His old bones and sunken skin gave him the appearance of the dead of which he protected through his wiles and deceits. Soon he would no longer worry of mortality. Even after the death of the Red Duke's wife, it had only embolded his master in his rise to power. All the Baron need do now was to open the gates and keep his foolish nephew and his men from the Aquitaine's chokepoints. The only outlier was the Contessa De La Tratio. A thorn in this old Baron's side if there ever was one. 

A pity he would have to see her killed. She was vivacious enough to be a good wife, though she would need to learn some obedience. Perhaps once he rose to Vampirism or Lichdom, he would turn her himself. The very thought aroused him somewhat, and he realized he would call for his current wife to bed. 

"My Lord?" the squire asked him, holding the torch aloft to keep the halls visible for the elderly baron. He had nearly forgotten the lad was there. It was good he did not speak aloud, or he would have needed to kill him. Even in his aged body, he had learned more than a few fell magics to silence any enemies or threats he needed to, when the need arose. This lad would be dead soon enough anyway, along with all of the other foolish knights under his vassalage. 

"Silence boy. Only speak when your baron wills it." he croaked, and obedient silence followed. Yes, the hills were filling with wights and wraiths, and the peasants were too frightened to even revolt, as was their usual custom when pushed to the brink. The Baron's mind caught up with him, and he realized his thoughts had wandered yet again. Where was he? Ah yes, his wife. 

"On second thought, boy. Once I am in my chambers, fetch my wife Melisendre after I am in my chamber." he said, turning the corner into the main hall. It was somewhat more well lit here, but only the smallest candles were still alight. After a moment, he rolled his eyes, realizing the conundrum he had placed the boy in. "You may speak." he remarked, stepping into a further darkened corridor. For a brief moment, he wondered why the squire had the insolence to not answer him, and the next moment, he wondered why he was now walking by the faint candlelight rather than the light of the torch.  

He turned as best he could, needing to place his walking stick upon the floor twice in order to summon the momentum to spin his decrepit body to fully look behind him. Blinking, he realized the boy had not followed him. The light of the torch still at the precipice of the other hall. "Boy!" he called, his rasping voice still full of command. And yet, there was still no answer. Confused, he noticed a shadow against the torchlight. A terrible wolfish figure that he saw with not only his eyes, but his mind. However, what stepped out of the hall was even more terrible than the shadow indicated. 

"...Y-you were slain! By Nagash, what are you!?" 

The beast did not answer him. Only reached forward, plucking the Baron off the floor by the neck as easily as one might pluck blade of grass. The old Baron tried to summon some magics, but the grip on his neck kept him from uttering any incantations, and feebly he resisted. Though even if he were 30 years younger, he would not have been able to escape the iron grip of the risen wolf, and with a strength as inexorable as the sunset, the beast of Cyrdic squeezed the life out of Baron D'Epee... 
[@Penny]