Dere woke to a half-dozen familiar sensations and another dozen less familiar ones, all of them unpleasant. His head throbbed. His hand stung. His stomach rumbled. His throat rasped. And he was sore, so very sore. Ignoring it all for the time being, he looked around. He had landed in a small room. Shadows covered every wall, and the only light came from a hole in the roof. Suspicious, he rolled over and looked at the ceiling. A hole of curiously similar proportions to himself beamed light back onto his squinting eyes, almost tauntingly. “Well, that answers one question.” He thought.

Still on his back, he glanced around the room another time. Despite the sunlight trickling in through the hole, the walls remained bathed in half-shadow. From what he could tell, it looked like a bedroom, unused for some time. A small dresser and a bed he missed by a sparse few feet provided its sole decoration. His body groaned at the taunting proximity to a softer fall. Still though, there were worse landing spots.

Noticing a stinging pain on his palm, he held his hand in front of his face. Through the dark he could see a cut trickling a small stream of red liquid down his arm. It was blood. He narrowed his eyes, confused. Then, in a single moment, everything clicked. Desperately, he tried to draw upon the shadows of the room, to bring them to him, but they didn’t respond to his call. Ilu never did make idle threats. “Oh, Dere, you’re in it this time.” He muttered.

As the revelation struck him, footsteps of armored men clanged past the door and broke him free from his daze. Trying to shake his weariness off and ignoring the now fading footsteps, he turned over once again and pushed himself up. His body protested every step of the way, but he managed to steady himself on two feet. Instinctively, he stretched, hoping to fix the awful soreness. It only served to further aggravate his aching back. With a defeated sigh, he decided to try and remedy his raging stomach and parched throat. Those, at least, he knew how to fix.

-------------

He exited the room into a stone hallway dotted with doors of the same design as the one he left. The hallway's structure reminded him of a castle or perhaps a large manor, probably the servant’s quarters, judging by the simplicity of the design and architecture.

“If it’s castle it might have a...” He sniffed the air and caught a whiff of something savory. Excited, he followed the smell down the hall and to the left where he found a modest kitchen furnished with a few cupboards, some tables, and a brick fireplace. On the central table, fresh bread, meat pies, and other dishes, sat abandoned, nobody around to guard them.

“That’s a little alarming.” He muttered to himself. Not alarming enough for him to not eat the food, of course, or, for that matter, to not enjoy the half-empty bottle of wine nearby. He devoured the food with little ceremony and washed it down with a healthy swig of wine, providing immediate relief to his stomach and throat. A few days ago, he would have sneered at the bland meal but not now. In that moment, it was the best thing he'd ever had.

As he feasted, the clanking of chainmail alerted him to several more armored men running past the kitchen door. They didn’t see him as they passed, and he felt no need to draw their attention. It would be both far too much trouble, and would, perhaps more importantly, interrupt the most satisfying meal he'd had in ages. He allowed them to keep running and turn a corner, disappearing into the depths of the castle while he finished his food.

After dining to his stomach’s content, he left with a loaf of bread in one hand and the wine bottle in another, betting the soldiers would be long gone. To his relief, that bet proved correct. Unfortunately, as he strode through the empty corridors, he ended up running into someone else. Another soldier, mid-thirties and square faced, almost bumped into Dere as he sprinted down the hall. Dere dodged to the side and the soldier reeled around to face him.

“Halt! State your business. Who are you?” He drew his sword, pointing it in Dere’s direction.

“Oh, please, put the sword down. I’m not in the mood for this.” To Dere’s annoyance, the sword stayed very much up. The man glared at him behind it, a familiar energy emanating from him. One Dere couldn’t quite place.

The soldier continued his questioning. “Are you one of the insurrectionists?”

Dere took a gulp of wine, unconcerned with the rather sharp blade pointed in his direction. “Well, first off, I wouldn’t tell you if I was. Secondly, no, of course not. Never been one for politics.”

The guard sneered.“Thief then?” He nodded his head towards the wine and bread.

“That might have a smidge of truth to it.” Dere admitted with a little reluctance. The guard advanced with intent, sword steady. “Oh, relax, you have much larger priorities than a bread thief.” His slow advance didn’t halt. “Off the top of my head, I think the likely insurrectionists that went running that way certainly seem to qualify.” With the hand holding the bottle, Dere pointed down the hallway towards where the other men had run. That, at least, stopped the man’s deliberate advance.

“Describe them.” A hint of panic leaked into his tone.

“Dressed rather like you, actually. Armed with halberds, I think, or one of those long pointy things that can also cut. I get confused. Seemed in quite the hurry. Probably trying to successfully complete a coup would be my guess, though I’ve just dropped into the middle of this, so it is only a guess. But, by all means, ignore them and arrest me.”

Doubt contorted the guard’s stony face. He looked at Dere, glanced down the hall, glanced back, cursed, and muttered a single worried word. “Marcella…” With that, he left Dere and ran.

Dere watched him go. “Rude fellow.” He remarked. Wanting nothing more to do with the man, he turned in the opposite direction and walked away. This whole thing did intrigue him a little, but he refused to waver from his general rule of avoiding all mortal affairs, even if he now was one. After all, he had more important priorities to worry about. He needed to prove his innocence and not die before he did.