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The two of them made their way deeper into the Castle. The pathway was devoid of both the dead and the living, with no one mounting a final defence of their Duke. The dozen White Grail Knights who had been protecting the man were gone, and Lucian could guess that the Peasantry who were living had died when the plague had struck them.
Such was the foolishness of Evil. To willingly consort with the most foul entities that brought about the destruction of their own was something that Lucian expected now. As he understood, the most stupid of this was considering the Skaven even a halfway trustworthy ally in all of this.
The Grail Chapel, perhaps because of the folly of the man who built it, was one of the many rooms that were joined within the Castle. Such an action might have seemed to be sacrilege to those who followed the Lady but the idea that the man was the Husband of the Lady gave him as good an excuse as any to host it within.
Lucian knew that they arrived when the two of them arrived at a pair of massive doors with the grail etched and painted upon the great doors themselves. He reached forward and snared the handles with his armored hands, ripping them apart to open the doorway and allow the dead air that was within to wash over him.
There were bodies everywhere. The corpses of all people, let them be man or Skaven, were strung out around the walls underneath the ornate and decorated colored glass windows. The man had transformed a Chapel into a mass grave, the sickness of death brushed upon Lucian. The winds of Shysh were strong in this room.
Lucian walked through the cathedral and towards the foremost walls of the Chapel. There, in the middle of what looked to be a bloody rite of damnation, was a Grail which still shone with unblemished golden white light.
Next to it, sitting in a wooden chair that was remarkably less luxurious than the Grail itself, was a Knight whose own armor appeared to be made from blackened Steel. Lucian noticed that the black cloth he wore was not because it was dyed as such, but that it had become blackened thanks to all the blood which soaked into his cloth.
This man was Duke Maldred of Mousillon, diseased and dying upon a wooden throne next to his relic of power.
