When the moon was high in the sky, its light shrouded with murky clouds, a lone silhouette wandered the hallways. Their footsteps were quieter than the squeak of mice. He swept through the floors, his white figure a ghostly presence crawling through the marble. He moved without a word, until he stopped near the grand staircase.
"I could've sworn I heard it from here… the language of a god." Muttering obscenities to himself, he began to go up and down the steps. Through his nearly-blinded eyes, he started his search.
The mana trail was faint, but obvious. He swore he felt it just earlier in the afternoon. Where was it coming from?
"Are 'yer done already, Beetle? You've only drank half a dozen pints after waking up from that nap earlier!"
Laughter roared from downstairs, where the candle lights flickered as if it was a ritual. The old man continued his ascension up the staircase, letting his keen nose carry him.
