The sounds of armored boots on stone echoed through the eerily empty corridors of Hanrahan keep as Sybyll stalked toward the great hall. Her footsteps rang off the cold stone walls of corridors that should have been bustling with servants replacing spent torches, or carrying messages to the important guests of the evening's feast, but instead she found only abandoned hallways lit by guttering torches that no one had tended for hours, likely since she first rang the warning bell to herald her arrival.
Twice she glimpsed the hem of a servant's dress or the edge of a kitchen boy's tunic disappearing around distant corners as the keep's staff fled from the approaching Crimson Knight. Doors slammed shut in the distance, followed by the scraping of furniture being dragged across floors as terrified servants barricaded themselves into storage rooms and pantries.
