Chapter 10: The Watchman's Warning
After the initial shock of reading my uncle's letter and grappling with the eerie sensations it had stirred within me, I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. The night air was crisp and biting, a stark contrast to the oppressive stillness of the graveyard where I found myself. I scanned the area, paranoia gripping me as I looked for any signs of movement or prying eyes.
Satisfied that I was alone, I resolved to leave this eerie place under the veil of night. The last thing I needed was to attract attention and be questioned about my presence among the graves. As I made my way towards what I hoped was the exit, my eyes caught sight of a towering wooden gate, short but broad, marking the boundary of the cemetery.
Approaching the gate cautiously, I prepared to climb over it. With a swift movement, I threw one leg over the top, ready to vault to freedom. But just as my other leg dangled mid-air, a cold sensation crept over my shoulder. It felt like the touch of death itself, a chill that sent a shiver down my spine.
Before I could react, the touch turned into a firm pull. Panic surged through me as I was yanked backward with surprising strength. I stumbled and nearly fell, my heart racing. Turning around, I saw a figure emerge from the shadows—a burly man dressed in the uniform of a graveyard watchman.
The watchman's eyes bore into me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. His face was weathered, marked by years of late-night vigils among the tombstones. His gaze seemed to penetrate my very soul, searching for something that I couldn't comprehend.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was gruff, suspicion etched on his features. "Are you here to steal from the dead again?"
Panic rose inside me again at his gaze. He would notice the dirt all over me and realize something was wrong. Even if he didn't think I had come out of the grave myself, maybe he would think I was digging someone's grave. Damn it.
I struggled to find my voice, caught off guard by the unexpected confrontation. "No, no," I stammered, trying to collect my thoughts. "I'm not here to steal anything. I… I was just passing through."
The watchman narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing me. "Passing through, eh? At this hour?" He crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. "You look like one of them city folk. What brings you to our graveyard?"
At his word of choice, I frowned and realized there was something wrong with my own train of thoughts. I looked at myself and was surprised—there was not a single stain of dirt over me. My attire was as clean as new. Forget crawling out of the earth; I might have looked like a noble of some kind.
Following the watchman's gaze, I found a golden brooch with a feathered design over my own chest. The intricate design gleamed faintly in the moonlight, exuding an aura of wealth and mystery. The watchman's eyes widened slightly as he saw the brooch, and I realized why he had called me city folk.
The brooch was an heirloom, passed down through my family for generations. How it apear here? I questioned. I haven't even worn, when i had went to trust cursed masion out of habit. However it had apeared, i was glad it did. The feathered design seemed to shine in dim moon light, as if asuribg me of it's prsence and aware of the danger surrounding us.
As I tried to gather my thoughts, the watchman's expression shifted from suspicion to something more sinister. His eyes seemed to darken, and a strange smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "A noble, are we? What brings one of your kind here, I wonder?"
Understanding the situation, I mustered up a small smile, hesitating as I tried to gauge how much to reveal. "I… I was visiting someone," I finally admitted, choosing my words carefully. "Someone important to me."
The watchman's gaze softened slightly, as if sensing my sincerity. "Well, you shouldn't disturb the resting souls of the departed," he said gruffly. "Best be on your way before someone else spots you."
I nodded gratefully, eager to leave this unsettling encounter behind. "Thank you," I muttered, taking a step back towards the gate.
"And stay away from here at night," the watchman warned, his voice stern. "There are things in these shadows that even city folk like you shouldn't meddle with."
With that ominous warning ringing in my ears, I turned and hurried through the gate, leaving the graveyard and its mysteries behind me. The night air felt colder now, laden with an unspoken threat that lingered in the darkness. I glanced back once, catching a glimpse of the watchman still watching me, before disappearing into the labyrinthine streets of New Albion.
As I walked, the events of the night swirled in my mind. The cryptic clues from my uncle's letter, the chilling encounter in the graveyard—it was all part of a larger tapestry, woven with threads of magic realism and dark mysteries that I had only begun to unravel. The Fool's journey had thrust me into a world where the boundaries between the living and the dead blurred, where ancient secrets whispered in the shadows, waiting to be uncovered.
But unbeknownst to me, as I left the graveyard, the watchman's gaze remained fixed on the spot where I had stood. His expression was troubled, as if he had witnessed something deeply disturbing. Without hesitation, he strode in the direction I had come from, his footsteps echoing softly among the gravestones.
In a secluded corner, an open grave caught his attention. The earth around it was freshly disturbed, as if something—or someone—had clawed its way out. He knelt beside the grave, pulling aside a tattered blanket that covered the open pit. His face grew grim as he examined the soil, his fingers brushing over a faint, glowing symbol etched into the dirt.
With a heavy sigh, the watchman reached into his pocket and retrieved a brass coin, its surface etched with intricate, arcane symbols. The coin glinted faintly in the moonlight as he held it up, speaking softly to himself.
"Captain, Another one of the marked has risen," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "The curse is spreading."
His words hung in the stillness of the night, a testament to the unseen struggles that unfolded beneath the surface of New Albion. The watchman's duty was a solemn one, guarding not just the graves of the departed, but also the ancient, cursed secrets that lay buried within the city's shadows. He knew that the rising of the marked heralded dark times ahead, and the city would soon face horrors beyond imagination.
The chill in the air deepened as he stood, casting one last, lingering glance at the open grave before turning away. The cemetery seemed to close in around him, the shadows whispering secrets of old as he made his way back to his post. The night was far from over, and the watchman knew that his vigilance would be tested in ways he could scarcely comprehend.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone