Achlys Cemetary and The Crazy Who Lives There

Achlys Cemetary, a place that had haunted local legends for generations. Spanning several acres, the cemetery was a sprawling labyrinth of crumbling headstones, vine-covered statues, and ancient crypts, each hinting at centuries-old stories buried beneath the fog-drenched soil. A dense, gray mist clung to the land like a shroud, thickening into ghostly tendrils that snaked around the tombstones and trees. Moonlight barely pierced the fog, casting everything in a silvery hue that only added to the otherworldly beauty—and terror—of the grounds. Those who dared step foot on Achlys Cemetery swore they could hear distant whispers, soft cries, and the creak of old wood or the groan of unsettled earth just beyond the edge of their vision.

Throughout the cemetery, a faint, bluish glow emanated from small clusters of ghostly will-o'-the-wisps that drifted lazily above the graves, lighting the way for the souls who roamed aimlessly. Skeletal hands occasionally poked through the ground, twitching or gripping the soil, as if the dead were still trying to claw their way back to life. Here and there, phantoms flitted among the graves, their transparent forms barely visible as they floated in and out of the mist, haunting the land they once called home. Zombies, decrepit yet animate, could be seen shuffling near the edges of the grounds, trapped in eternal servitude to the cemetery's curse, their faint moans blending with the whistling wind.

At the very heart of this eerie expanse stood the Death's Handmaiden's mansion.

The mansion was an architectural marvel—a Gothic, sprawling manor with towering spires that clawed at the night sky like skeletal fingers. It was built of dark stone, its walls worn with age but covered with intricate carvings of mythical creatures, ominous symbols, and scenes of death and decay. Gargoyles perched at each corner, their stone eyes fixed on the grounds below, as if watching over the restless souls wandering the cemetery. The stone itself seemed to absorb the night, blending so seamlessly with the shadows that at times it looked as if the mansion itself were part of the fog, a specter bound to the land.

The front entrance was framed by an enormous archway, the doors themselves an imposing set of iron bound in ancient wood, inscribed with runes that glowed faintly under the moonlight, a barrier against both the living and the dead who might dare trespass uninvited. A row of tall, twisted cypress trees lined the main pathway to the entrance, their branches bare and gnarled, casting skeletal shadows across the cobblestone path.

Dabria Bellatrix Abdul hummed as she plunged her hand into the gelatinous body of a small, nonattributive ooze monster, feeling it wiggle and shudder with each touch. The creature, a translucent blob that shone faintly under the eerie lights of her laboratory, squirmed and jiggled around her hand, its consistency somewhere between honey and slime. Every time her [Death Touch] flowed through its body, it quivered in response, and Dabria giggled, delighted by its reaction.

"Oh, you are precious, aren't you?" she cooed, watching with a smile as the ooze wobbled, somehow looking almost confused as it absorbed the death attribute magic she was feeding it. She had devised a great plan: to create her very own death attribute ooze monster. After all, why shouldn't something as adorable as this little blob hold the power of decay itself? But achieving her goal was proving to be a delicate balancing act—too little death mana and the ooze remained a harmless blob, too much and… well, she would need another ooze. She was close, though; she could feel it.

As she worked, her skeletal servants clattered around her laboratory, moving with a mindless diligence as they carried out their assigned tasks. The space was cavernous and dim, lit by ghostly blue flames and filled with shelves upon shelves of dark artifacts, jars of preserved creatures, and piles of dusty books. Shadows danced along the stone walls, each flicker casting twisted shapes that seemed to move with a life of their own. The air was thick with the faint, musty smell of decayed parchment and the lingering scent of something cold, like frost mixed with smoke—a familiar, comforting atmosphere for Dabria.

Her laboratory was housed within her home, the #1 haunted mansion in the world. Perched atop the infamous Achlys Cemetery, the mansion had been a part of the cemetery grounds for centuries, its dark towers looming over rows of ancient graves. Achlys Cemetery was notorious; its grounds were rife with phantoms, wailing spirits, and zombies that had been wandering aimlessly since the ancient graves first filled. Those who dared venture too close spoke of seeing ghostly figures drifting through the fog and hearing the slow shuffle of feet and hollow whispers just beyond their line of sight. It was the very definition of a nightmare for most, and for Dabria? Pure paradise.

As she added another careful infusion of death magic into her ooze, she took a moment to admire the view outside her laboratory window. The cemetery stretched on, an endless sea of tombstones partially obscured by dense, rolling fog. Skeletal hands occasionally poked through the soil, twitching with a strange, residual energy, and she could spot a few of her favorite phantoms drifting idly among the headstones, their transparent forms glowing faintly in the gloom. It was a magnificent sight, the perfect blend of eerie stillness and lively death.

She gave the ooze another gentle poke, watching it bubble and change color faintly, shifting to a deeper shade of gray. "You're so close," she whispered to it, as if coaxing it into evolving, "just a little more death mana, and you'll be ready."

Her skeletal servants shuffled by, each one assigned its specific task. One of them, an old favorite she had affectionately named Craven, was polishing the laboratory equipment with a focus that was almost comical, given that he no longer had eyes. Another was carefully arranging vials of dark liquid on a nearby shelf, its bony fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as it worked. She had long ago enchanted these servants with a sense of purpose, giving each a spark of personality that suited her needs and her love for the morbidly whimsical.

Just as she prepared to add another dose of death mana to her ooze, she sensed a flicker of movement near the edge of the room. One of her ghostly messengers, a transparent wisp of a spirit named Shade, floated in, moving with an urgency that suggested it bore a message of some importance.

Dabria paused, raising an eyebrow as Shade drifted closer. "What is it, Shade?" she asked, her tone curious. Messages from the outside world were rare, and even rarer was anything important enough to be brought directly to her while she worked.

The ghostly figure shimmered, its outline wavering as it delivered its message in a faint, whispering voice. "Dabria Bellatrix Abdul… you have been summoned… by the guild master of the Crimson Lions… Ryker Lios… Crisanto Forest… a basilisk… twisted mana…"

Dabria's expression lit up, her eyes widening with excitement. "Basilisks?" she repeated, her voice tinged with delight. "Oh, that sounds fascinating. And twisted mana, too… delightful!" She glanced back at her ooze, patting it fondly before she pulled her hand away. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait, little one. There's an even bigger project waiting for me."

The wisp continued in its faint whisper, "The Pestilence Sovereign will be there as well…"

Dabria's eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint. The Pestilence Sovereign—Visha Morticia Tanith. Now, that was a treat. The two of them were often spoken of in similar circles, but their paths had crossed only on the rarest of occasions. Visha's dark reputation intrigued her; her skill with toxins and miasma was legendary, as was her apparent distaste for most human interaction. But where others found Visha intimidating or strange, Dabria found her utterly fascinating.

"Oh, this will be marvelous," she said to herself, clapping her hands in delight. "A chance to work alongside Visha… and basilisks, no less! How delightful!"

The thought of joining forces with Visha and dealing with creatures as rare as basilisks filled her with an almost childlike glee. It was the kind of chaotic challenge she lived for. Twisted mana, deadly creatures, and two of the most infamous women the guilds had ever known, all in one place—what could possibly go wrong?

As she prepared to leave, she looked around at her skeletal servants. "Craven, keep an eye on my little project," she instructed, gesturing toward the grayish ooze still bubbling faintly in its container. "Make sure it's stable. And don't let it absorb too much energy—I'd hate for it to fizzle out before I'm back."

Craven gave a low, rattling nod, his bony fingers clinking together as he took up position beside the ooze.

With a final look around her beloved laboratory, Dabria stepped toward the grand, arched doorway that led to the main hall. She strode through her mansion with a regal confidence, her form passing through eerie patches of spectral light cast by the restless phantoms that wandered the halls. Her skeletal and ghostly servants moved aside, bowing in deference as she passed, their hollow eyes following her with a mix of reverence and fear. The walls were decorated with old portraits of long-deceased ancestors, their eyes seeming to watch her as she made her way to the entrance.

Stepping out onto the mansion's front steps, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the damp, cold air that clung to the cemetery grounds. Achlys Cemetery stretched out before her, mist coiling between rows of headstones, the low groans of zombies and faint wails of phantoms drifting through the fog. It was a place most would call terrifying, but to Dabria, it was home.

"Well, my darlings," she said, her voice a soft murmur to the spirits surrounding her, "I have some business to attend to. But don't worry—I'll be back soon enough."

With a last look at her sanctuary, she summoned the energy of her [Void Step] ability, feeling the world blur around her as she slipped into the shadows. In an instant, she was gone, a ripple of darkness spreading from the spot where she had stood.

Dabria Bellatrix Abdul, Death's Handmaiden, was on her way to Crisanto Forest, ready to face whatever chaos awaited.