As she walked, her eyes kept straying to the odd markings carved into the stone walls. Were they merely for decoration, or did they serve some arcane purpose? Liirah tended to trust her knife and crossbow more than she did magic, but she still gave them a wary glance as she passed. At the end of the hallway, her search was stopped by a heavy door, rusted bands of iron crossing the cracked wood. It had taken a real beating, it seemed, judging by the marks gouged into the surface and the old arrows and bolts embedded deep within it. Here, perhaps, was a clue as to what happened here years ago. A siege would have explained the piles of rubble and destroyed furniture. That still raised the question of who had owned this fort, though, and who they had been defending against, but it did serve to soothe her nerves somewhat. Maybe the tales the villagers had told were exaggerated--there was no curse over this place, only the shadow of a battle fought centuries ago.<br/><br/>She knelt to peer through one of the larger gaps chopped into the door, squinting down the hall on the other side. She could barely see anything for the darkness. Liirah paused for a moment, considering, then set her torch against a nearby fallen stone and backed up a few steps. She drew in a breath, then charged the door, slamming her weight into it near the rusted lock. The door let out a thunderous boom as her shoulder collided with the wood, and she winced at the bruising pain, but she threw herself against it a second time, then a third, until the ancient hinges finally gave way. The door swung open with a shrieking of metal, half-hanging off its hinges, and Liirah stumbled through, rubbing her shoulder. Retrieving her torch, she continued down the hall. Judging by the narrower passage, she guessed that this spot wouldn't have seen much traffic in peacetime, it was only during a siege that the narrowness would have been useful, preventing a larger enemy force from using their numbers as an advantage. Against one lone hunter, though, the empty passage could threaten with little but the darkness, and even that was banished by her torch as she pressed in deeper. Her free hand brushed against the crossbow at her hip, as if seeking reassurance that it was still there. Everything was cold and silent this far into the castle, and the air smelled stale and dusty. The stillness was almost oppressive in its intensity, and her soft footsteps seemed out of place, an affront to the shroud that blanketed this place.