Led by the succubus Namara, Windsor descended the spiraling stairs. The moment he stepped underground, the clamor of The Grim Guzzler was shut out above the floor. The old marshal cautiously tightened his grip on the dagger at his wrist. When he looked back, the scantily clad succubus had already disappeared into the passage.
"All right, a secret gathering."
The old marshal scoffed, rubbed his still-aching abdomen, and strode into the darkness.
Two minutes later, a mahogany door appeared before him. Windsor looked to either side. No hidden doors, no ambush. He was somewhat puzzled, but after a few seconds of thought, his military habits still prompted him to reach out and push the door open.
It was a room with simple, old-fashioned furnishings. Strange works of art stood on the mahogany shelves around it, and flames danced in the fireplace. The room was small, so Windsor took it all in the moment he opened the door.
A high elf in a long blue dress, with beautiful orange hair, stood beside the sofa with her arms folded, one hand resting on a one-handed longsword with a green hilt. A black-haired human sat on the sofa with his back to Windsor. Opposite him sat a gloomy fellow in black robes. Windsor had seen him before.
His impression was vague, but that was certainly Duke Ebonlocke's eldest son, who was said to have been missing for almost ten years. His left hand rested on a green scythe as tall as a man, with a black shaft and a sharp, curved blade. The back of the scythe formed a skull with its mouth open, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. Small carved skulls adorned either side of it.
Even an old human warrior as ignorant of magic as Windsor could see the dense