Transformation - Terror at Degraunce Keep

Sablefist drew the bowstring, focussed, held his breath for that split second, and let fly the poison-tipped shaft. He saw the body of the now former Captain of the 5th Nyrondese Battalion Guard flinch once, twice, as the arrow pierced his windpipe and lodge itself there. Then he watched the poison kick in as the skin around the throat turned green, then purple, then black, before the blood oozing out of the wound covered it completely. The mess hall of the Knurl border garrison erupted in a storm of chaos. Swords flashed and goblets tipped over as the guardsmen upended their chairs in their haste to react to the gruesome murder.
Without so much as an afterthought, Sablefist drew his next arrow, traced the line of sight to the balcony across the hall to where Faltennar, his teammate, was standing, and shot him through the chest, where the embroidered symbol of Hextor provided a convenient target. How unfortunate, Sablefist thought to himself. How glorious to die on a mission for one's country, the assassin coldly reflected. The priest had been a troublesome pain in Sablefist's side. His death was expedient, appropriate, necessary, Sablefist mused.  
Sablefist heard footsteps, and a sallow-faced, wiry man appeared tothe left of Sablefist. A lieutenant, by the insignia on his tabard, the assassin thought as his twin short swords flashed out of their scabbards to parry the deft swings of the Nyrondese lieutenant.  
"Die, Aerdy scum!" The Nyrondese used his shield to bear against Sablefist's blades while his sword attempted to thrust low and deep. The grunt from Sablefist told the lieutenant that the sword had hit home, gouging a wound in Sablefist's thigh. The officer had thrown his weight too far forward, however, and left his upper half less covered. The assassin's sword flew up and along the cheekbone of the lieutenant, trailing a red streak after it.
"Halstus! Where in nine hells are you?" A voice from further off barked.
"I've got one of the bastards up here!" The lieutenant shouted back. Sablefist let himself be pushed back by Halstus' swordthrusts, noted the window behind him, took another step back and backflipped through the fourth storey window...and gently floated to the ground like a feather.
To the far eastern horizon, a thundering of mailed boots on plain ground told him that Rosgarre had arrived with his hobgoblin raiding party. Sablefist was surprised that his Grace, the Herzog of North Province, had the means to hire humanoids from Bone March to harry Nyrondese lands, but Grace Grenell was always noted for his excesses in matters of the kingdom. The reddish glow emanating from parts of the garrison building suggested to Sablefist that their pyromancer, Shenine the Crimson, had let her imagination run riot over at the storehouses and the armoury. They were due to rendezvous back at the copse of trees a couple of hundred yards away and Sablefist picked up a healthy pace as soon as he touched the ground. He criss-crossed his pair of short swords as he rounded the corner of the building, held his head low, and thrust them straight into the bowels of the clumsy soldier who was running straight at him. In the direction of five other angry-looking guardsmen he hurled a pellet which exploded into inky magical blackness before executing a sharp turn and vaulting over the low fence and onto the fields beyond.

The five of them rode in relative silence as dusk threatened to come upon them. They were already east bound on the great rolling plains of the North Province, and could afford to travel at a leisurely pace. No one asked about the priest of Hextor. The rest would have assumed he was killed in the raid. Then again, they knew that there was no love lost between Sablefist and Faltennar, although for what reason, they knew not.
Getting into and out of Nyrond was not as difficult as it should be, especially because the triangular stretch of land framed by the Blemu Hills on the north, and where the Harp River and Teesar Torrent meet, was a hotspot of contention between the Bone March humanoids, the Imperial Army of the Great Kingdom, and Nyrondese-Almorian forces. Currently held by the joint efforts of Nyrond and Almor, it was a sore point, a thorn which pricked the side of the Herzog. Yet because the area was managed by a joint chain of command, in reality it meant that no commander, Nyrondese or Almorian, took full personal responsibility and care over the security of what was a small strip of land.
That was their loss, Sablefist thought. That corridor of access had been extremely convenient for him and his  men, both for intelligence activities against the kingdom of Nyrond and the Prelacy of Almor. His mind went to the sabotage of the garrison, situated a few miles from the Teesar Torrent itself,  just a few days ago. Shenine did indeed manage to destroy their supplies and set them back for a few months. Kemper, the weaponless martial expert, had gone with her to protect the otherwise combat-vulnerable mage. Kemper was a strange one, Sablefist thought.  He didn't even know that such a level of mastery could be attained with weaponless combat, nor that the Order of the Malachite Palm, which Kemper claimed he was from, even existed. Kemper did not even look pure Oeridian, but certainly had Suel blood in him.
Rosgarre of Bellport had joined up with them two days ago. The humanoids had been paid a pittance for their efforts, but were promised the spoils of anything they looted and pillaged, and they left a swathe of destruction from the garrison to the Hills. Sablefist wondered privately if Rosgarre should have gone with the humanoids instead of returning to the group - Rosgarre's ancestry definitely bore some orcish, even orgish blood.
"Degraunce Keep is just over the next crest." The last member of their entourage was Plandarn Reshefer, more thief than bard. He was responsible for raiding the garrison offices for documents on troop movements and instructions. He played the role of the dandy, and made wild overtures for Shenine's affections, but Sablefist mentally made a note to himself that this Plandarn was more dangerous than he seemed. Besides, it was Shenine herself who climbed into Sablefist's own bedroll just two nights ago, clad in nothing more than one of her cantrips of warmth.
"I'm headed south from this point, Rauxes is soooo exciting this time of year." And with a florid bow, Plandarn Reshefer picked up hishorse's pace and veered down the right fork of the road.

It was mildly insulting to say the least, Sablefist thought, as they stood at the large oaken doors that were the entrance to Margrave Degraunce's home, to have the Herzog's finest operatives running what was essentially an errand of collection and transportation. But, the Herzog's advisors insisted, His Grace would be most pleased and most pleasantly surprised with what the Margrave had discovered. Persuade Degraunce, threaten him if necessary, to hand over the amulet and ring of Asr'adin, and remind him that his levies are overdue.  
"Welcome. My lord is glad you are here and invites you to join him for dinner." The pasty-faced, balding stump of a major-domo flashed his teeth at them and bowed. He did not look particularly healthy. In fact, if it had not been for the glow from the torch-ensconced walls, he would have looked very pale, almost white. "If you will accompany me to the dining hall."
"It is just me, or is this place freezing?" Shenine sneered as she drew her cloak about her more tightly.
"It does seem to me much colder than the autumn nightfall outside."
Kemper observed as the four of them trailed slightly behind the obsequious manservant through the hallway, the main stateroom, up the stairs and finally through a set of double doors into a dining room with a long dining table traversing its length. At the head of the table sat a pallid, gaunt, bearded man  who Sablefist presumed to be Margrave Lindenn Degraunce of North Province.
"Welcome, my friends. I assume you are here under the auspices of Grenell himself. You must be tired after your journey. Come, join me for dinner. Let me introduce you to my family. Please stay the night. Enjoy the hospitality of my house. Tomorrow we can discuss affairs of the state." Degraunce nodded towards the places which had already been set for them for dinner, Sablefist took the seat of honour to the right of Degraunce himself, while the other three sat alternately between Degraunce's wife, a pleasant-faced but anemic-looking woman of indeterminate age and his two daughters, one a flowering lass, the other a waif of a child.
Sablefist saw that the amulet and the ring had been placed on a silver tray on the table in front of the Margrave.  He wondered why Degraunce put them in full view of all of them. He was sure Degraunce must have been informed of their coming, but he also knew from reputation that the Margrave was a cunning, scheming man who hoarded his possessions and the fruit of his lands very avariciously. The Margrave was not known for his courtesy, nor for his graciousness. Something was amiss, Sablefist considered, but everything seemed ordinary, except for the insufferable cold that permeated the walls of the keep.
Sablefist discreetly looked around the dining room. Manservants and maidservants stood around, bearing trays laden with what appeared to be Aerdy delicacies. The room should have been brightly lit - the lampstands were fully lighted, as were the chandeliers. Yet the light they gave out was not golden in colour nor warm in atmosphere. Instead a weak, ineffectual bluish-white tint coloured them and cast itself limply on its surroundings. Everything: the crockery, the furniture, the residents of the keep, looked devoid of colour. The hot soup that was laid before Sablefist, and he could have sworn it was piping hot, grew cold almost immediately in front of the assassin's eyes. Sablefist looked at his companions, seasoned veterans, and saw them shift uneasily in their seats.
"Daddy, I shall sing our guests a song for dinner." The younger of the two daughters, a fair, lily-white complexioned girl stood up from her seat to delighted smiles from her parents, and forced smiles from the guests. Sablefist turned his eyes and inclined his ears politely towards her, and noted that her irises were neither blue, nor brown, nor even green. In fact, Sablefist thought to himself curiously, they had hardly any colour.
Then she began to sing. 
It was a strange keening sound that began softly, but grew louder and louder into a most horrible, maddening, intense, jagged, mind-piercing scream that tore into the minds of the four of them as if a thousand shards of glass were being poured into the skulls of those listening. Sablefist stared insanely at the girl, and then at Degraunce again, his mind unable to think or comprehend what Degraunce, who was wearing the most beatifically evil smile on his face,  was saying to him. The Margrave put his hand on Sablefist's arm...
...and Sablefist felt his energy, his warmth, his lifeforce leech out of his body through that arm. It was so excruciatingly cold - Sablefist's mind tried to register the fact, but the keening was incessant, the cold overwhelming. Sablefist felt so weak, so drained, so enervated. From the corner of his eye he saw Rosgarre doubled over, mouth agape. Degraunce's wife had embraced him in a bizarre fashion, as did the manservant who was standing behind his chair. Kemper had leapt out of his seat and spun around madly in a flurry of arms and legs, warding off four of Degraunce's men-at-arms who surrounded him,  their arms outstretched, their faces deathly ashen. As they closed in on him Sablefist saw the monk flinch in anguish from every hit he dealt the four around him, and in a matter of seconds Kemper seemed to run out of all vitality and life and Sablefist lost sight of him as he crumpled, debilitated, to the ground, the four men crowding over him.
Sablefist's mind refused to comprehend what was going on in the room.
All at the same moment, his eyes turned from Degraunce to the amulet and ring of Asr'adin, his right hand drew his sword, and he forced his numb left hand to grab the amulet before him as he threw himself backwards, toppling himself and his chair into the spectral majordomo who stood behind him, arms poised, fingers extended to wrap around Sablefist's neck.
Then the explosions began. It was Shenine the invoker who madly cast a series of fireballs wildly in all directions. It was Shenine, who had been screaming - an angry, emotive wail of pain - when the young girl wrapped her arms around the pyromancer in the most innocent, and most macabre, of childlike hugs. The splintering of wood and the crashing of chandeliers and the bellowing roars of agony could be heard among the clamour of the explosive magics, and above all the chaos, above the shattering of window panes, above the clattering of plates and knives and trays, above the fiery thunder of Shenine's dying spells, the nightmarish keening, the dreadful high-pitched doomsong, continued to bore into Sablefist's sanity and soul.
Sablefist's left palm regained its warmth the moment it clasped itselfaround the amulet. Immediately he saw the Margrave give him a blank look of incomprehension, as if he was not there at all. The majordomo brushed against him without being aware of it, but he felt no loss of essence. The concussive force of the next fireball threw him against the edge of the wall next to a window that had blown itself outwards in the chaos.
Again without thinking, Sablefist took a dive and sailed through thewindow, away from the dining room, away from the draining cold and blistering fire, away from the horror of his spectral hosts, away from the deathly curse of Degraunce Keep.

The Herzog dispatched a troop of military men and a contingent of Hextorian priests to lay waste to Degraunce Keep. Sablefist watched them return to Eastfair with the news of their success; his hand absentmindedly reached to his throat and touched the strange amulet around his neck, the one that saved his life. And, strangely stirring within the recesses of his heart, was a feeling Sablefist had not previously felt before. A tear rolled down the side of his cheek as Sablefist, possibly for the first time in his life, felt the tug of sadness, and regret.
He could not have noticed that the sapphire in the centre of the amulet pulsed a pale blue light in response to his emotion. Once. And then remained dark.