Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 178: In The Dungeon.

Chapter 178: In The Dungeon.

Night.

Anonymous.

Critic -Ishire.

**************

Fire crackled as the night deepened, and the anticipation among the group of witches grew palpable.

Each member of the coven maintained a vigilant watch, their eyes darted between the shadows, awaiting the arrival of their royal spy. He had to have news.

Their forms, cloaked in tattered robes adorned with symbols of arcane power, bore an unsettling resemblance to ancient magic practitioners, their presence exuded an aura far more nefarious than any mortal raider.

Atmost, twenty of them sat around, their faces obscured by shadows, they huddled around the flickering flames, their eyes gleaming with an unholy fervor. Each member of this coven possessed a gaze that seemed to pierce the veil between worlds, it revealed glimpses of the darkness that dwelled within them.

The eerie atmosphere thickened with every passing moment, as if the very air was charged with malevolent energy.

The forest they occupied seemed to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hooting of owls.

Yet, within the circle of witches, there was a restless energy, an eager hunger for the impending message.

In the dim glow of the fire, the witches tended to their gruesome feast, skewering their catch over the crackling flames. The air was thick with the sickening scent of charred flesh mingling with the pungent aroma of arcane herbs and incense.

Their voices were guttural chants and eerie whispers, rose and fell in a macabre symphony as they performed their unholy rites.

The rhythmic cadence of their words echoed through the trees, sending shivers down the spines of any unfortunate soul who dared to draw near.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness, moving with an almost unnatural grace.

It was their spy, and she was cloaked in shadows and bearing news of the outside world.

With a silent gesture, the witches beckoned the spy closer, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"We have retained Intel" a voice that said ’I am a large man’ without needing to see the owner broke the silence.

Their spy who was actually a fake maid in the castle, dropped the hood of her cloak revealing a fiery red hair, she had been the maid to offer twisted nice words to Lydia. with a grin she yelled. "Pour me a drink first, those humans never seem to have anything strong"

Roar!

They did, everyone wanted to give her a cup and it was only magic induced and the only reason they got seduced into drunkness easily.

The spy started. "Lady noble has been arrested for something, I am sure death would not be the answer so we ready ourselves for their arrival"

The spy continue to whisper words of betrayal and treachery to the kingdom, detailing the vulnerabilities of their enemies and the perfect opportunity for attack.

A wicked grin spread across the faces of the witches as they absorbed the information, their minds already plotting their next move.

They all nod, smirks on and thoughts running.

"We have to be ready" Looper said eagerly, a dangerous glint lighting his orbs.

A nervous looking Striker asked. "What about the Hound? He has caught quite a number in the past ten days we have to be active" that knowledge had spread to everyone since the lord travelled to the citadel. Hound had been busy eliminating rogue and trespassing witches, it is rumored he is with a black teenager, something must have messed with his mood and it wasn’t favouring the witches.

"Alright, listen up, lads. We’ve got word that the traveling lord is one guard short. The Hound himself is not with him, This might be our chance to finally end him." Abel announced, he was second in command to Zamora.

"The Hound is not with them this time, and there is a lady for them to protect so... leverage" with a nod of approval, the leader of the coven signaled for action.

The witches rose from their seats around the dwindling fire, their movements swift and purposeful.

"We shall In the darkness of the night, they vanished into the depths of the forest, their intentions cloaked in shadows and their thirst for vengeance driving them forward.

"I cannot wait to be in our lady’s presence" a tall witch confessed his grin dirty and lewd.

"Looper, it is the lord we are grabbing, what is your deal with the lady?" Striker asked with a disgusted frown.

Looper shrugged as he grabbed a chunk of meat, "What? we are not about to leave a lady alone in the forest without her darling husband, we have to provide for her what she has lost" he talked through the food in his mouth.

"Lady theodore is commander Zamoras’" Abel chimed in silencing the spiralling witcher. "We are going to deliver the lady to our commander" he added.

"We are to be revered soon" one of the lower witcher mumbled as he drank with the others.

Swisher heard and with a smirk he let out a howl. "About time!. Commander Zamora’s been itching for this for ages. And we can’t afford to wait any longer, not with Azul’s return looming."

"Agreed. We strike now while he’s vulnerable. But we need a solid plan. Ambushing him outside his territory is our best shot." Striker

"Let’s split into two groups and flank him from both sides. We’ll catch him off guard and outnumbered." the lower witcher who was obviously trying to upgrade himself added.

Swisher grunted in approval. "And we make it quick. No unnecessary risks. We want him subdued, not dead... yet."

"Understood. Move out, everyone. Tonight, we put an end to the traveling lord once and for all, as Commander Zamora commanded." Abel hollered, his aura dark and ccmmanding.

The witches after singing for awhile, laid their heads and stared at the starless yet bright sky.

"What about J?"

"He has something going on for him, I shall get to him after this mission, he would be so proud of us" Swisher said with a smile.

And there, under the inky shroud of night, amidst the haunting whispers of the forest, more than a dozen of itches planned and ready for the downfall of Critic-Ishire’s strongest man.

*

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Evening.

Dungeon, Citadel.

Critic Citadel, Critic-Ishire.

****************

In the dimly lit dungeon, the air hung heavy with the scent of dampness and despair. It inspired a chilling feel down its occupants’ spine. Lady Lydia Theodore of Critic Arley.

The stone walls, rough and cold to the touch, seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of isolation.

Alone in the darkness, Lydia sat on a small, musty straw mattress, her mind swirling with fear and uncertainty.

Her arrest by the royal guards had been swift and merciless. She hadn’t been prepared, she could never be prepared.

Accused of stealing a crown she had only caught a fleeting glimpse of, she was dragged from her chambers before she could say one word to be heard, her protests falling on deaf ears.

The accusation felt like a cruel joke orchestrated by the very royals she once admired.

Admire would be stretching it but they were the royals! She knew something went wrong but she didn’t know when or where.

The place was dark she could barely see her hands. As she huddled in the corner of her cell, her thoughts turned to her husband. Theodore.

She longed for his comforting presence, his reassuring words.

She clung to the hope that he would come for her, that he would see through the lies and machinations of the royal court.

But as the hours passed, the silence of the dungeon enveloped her, and doubts began to gnaw at her resolve.

Her surroundings offered little solace. With the pungent smell the place offered and there were groanes she was sure was coming from men in this dungeon with her and it terrified her.

The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the damp walls, their light barely reaching the darkest corners of the cell. She tried for a deep breath but it was poluted.

The sound of dripping water echoed ominously, a constant reminder of her precarious situation.

Each creak and groan of the dungeon seemed to mock her, amplifying her sense of vulnerability.

Despite her fear, anger burned within her.

How dare they accuse her, imprison her without a fair trial? She was a duchess, her husband alive and a prince"

How could they separate her from her loved ones based on nothing but suspicion? Or was it perhaps confirmed by someone?

The injustice of it all fueled her determination to fight, to prove her innocence and reclaim her freedom.

But as the hours stretched and the darkness overwhelming, her resolve began to waver. She was going to spend days here, she mused with a bitter laugh.

Doubt crept into her mind like a creeping vine, entangling her thoughts with fear and uncertainty.

Would anyone believe her side of the story?

Would her husband ever find her in this labyrinthine maze of dungeons and corridors?

Or would she be here a while.