Nurmengard

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

"Austria? Why're you going there?" Lia said, decanting a bottle of wine. She raised the decanter and asked, "You want some?"

"No, thank you," Quinn attached his pockets to the inner lining of his thin coat pocket. "As for Austria— I want to go mountain air-scaling—"

"What's mountain air-scaling?"

"Oh, you know, it's like climbing a mountain, but without actually climbing it. I'm going to scale the Austrian Alps by flying and hovering over the surface until I reach the top. When I get to the top, I'm going to jump from the top with a gliding suit that I stitched on my own. . . . Exciting activities and great weather are going to sum up to what I think will be a really great weekend."

"Oh, that does sound exciting! Maybe I should also come."

"Don't you have work?"

Lia sighed and poured her Bordeaux glass with aerated, unlocked wine and filled it a little too much over the one serving limit.

"Yes, I do. . ." she sighed. "Go to your stupid mountain air-scaling thing alone. . . . Argh, it sounds so much fun!"

Quinn calmly smiled. Saying half-truths mixed with half-lies was the best way to tell a lie. While he was going to Austria Alps and was going to scale a mountain— but in no way he was going to do it for a fun activity.

"Alright, I'll see you on Monday," said Quinn.

"Bring me something cool from Australia."

"Austria."

". . . I'm drunk. . . already?"

Quinn chuckled and exited the West manor with a pocket full of travel gear. Today was the day he was going to visit the impenetrable prison created by the most successful Dark Lord of the century, more successful than the current generation of the European Dark Lords: the Dark Lord of deceit, the one owner of the Death Stick— Gellert Grindelwald.

It had been a while since he had felt such a burst of excitement inside in heart. The pure exhilaration of unknown adventure with untapped potential. He snapped his fingers with a grin, and the gates to the West Manor melted away in the middle and remolded themselves back into shape as he passed through them.

"This is going to be marvelous."

He snapped again, which became the precursor to the loud pop that whisked Quinn away.

. . .

The Austrian Alps have the highest peaks of the entirety of the greater Eastern Alps, extending from the foot of the Bergamasque Alps at Lake Como and the Bernina Range in the Graubunden canton of eastern Switzerland along the Liechtenstein shore of the Rhine in the west as far as to the lower promontories east of the Mur River including the Hochwechsel in Austrian Styria. The valleys of the rivers Inn, Salzach, and Enns mark their northern boundary, the Drau river their southern border.

They had great weather around the summers. It was neither hot nor cold, just the right temperature with the glaciated terrain letting a cool breeze throughout the mountain.

Quinn perused the map in his hands and turned his eyes up to look at the Petzeck of the Schober Group of the Alps, standing at the height of 3,283 meters and the prominent location of the Nurmengard Prison. Quinn closed the map, stretched his legs, and jumped against the ground to push himself into the air. Winds surrounded him, and he flew at jet speed, shoveling the snow dust to the sides from the air pressure. He air-scaled the mountain and covered the ground faster than any or thing.

When he reached the location marked on the map, he rose up straight into the air and rose until he could see the flat hilltop part of the larger peaks. It was an assuming hilltop to others, but Quinn could feel the tremendous magic activity that was practically oozing out in every direction. Magic flowed into his eyes that shined in purple, and his breath was taken away as the Nurmengard Prison came into view.

Nurmengard was a stone fortress at the edge, overlooking a deep ravine where falling didn't have any other result other than death. It had a square-edged tower with a cone-shaped top, possibly a watchtower. There was a building connected to the tower that was slim with windows. It did not look impressive any right, and from the outside simply looked like any other rugged and unimpressive building.

But Quinn could tell the truth. Even from his place, he could tell the actual impressiveness.

He flew down and landed on the boundary of the wards and spells with the sole intent to keep unwanted, uninvited people out— and Quinn was precisely that, an unwanted visitor. He scaled a wall and stood on the top of it as he stretched his hand forward, and a layer of magic as it passed over his hand.

"One. . . Two. . . Three. . ."

As counting uttered past his lips, Quinn studied how the ward interacted with his arm. Every single detail that he could observe was taken in and processed to form conjectures and conclusions.

". . . Six. . . Seven—"

He pulled his hand back. Seven seconds was the limit unauthorized personnel could remain on the prison grounds without alerting the guards. . . . It made Quinn frown deeply. The ward was weak— pathetically weak for the reputation that Nurmengard held.

"I can break these. . . like this," Quinn snapped his finger, and a red spot appeared before him, illuminating the previously hidden ward. Quinn stepped forward and passed through the ward boundary into the "official" prison space.

Quinn slowly moved through the grounds, taking each step carefully. Who knew what crazy Grindelwald had planned into the prison. Suddenly, behind a wall, Quinn stopped on the spot when he saw a guard dressed in stark white appear from the corner. Quinn remained still under the guise of invisibility, watching the guard lazily and carelessly stroll through the grounds. Quinn narrowed his eyes, raised his arm, and shot a spell into the back of the guard knocking him out.

After a thorough mental search, Quinn found the answers he was looking for. The grounds were harmless enough if the correct paths were followed; the real danger laid inside the prison. . . especially for those who were spell-marked as prisoners.

Quinn followed everything the guard did to traverse the prison, knocked out the equally careless guards in his path, and eventually reached the topmost floor and, thus, the topmost cell while feeling that something was very wrong. Before he stepped in front of the cell, he put on his Noir gear and mask.

The cell was a standard cell with bars in the front, and behind those doors was a man. He had no hair, his teeth were rotten, his fingernails had turned yellow, and the man looked like a sack of skin hanging over a skeletal frame. His piercing blue eyes, sunken into the depths of his skull, were the only feature that time had not faded.

"Hmm?" a hoarse voice came from behind bars— as if they hadn't spoken for ages. "Who might you be?"

". . . I am Noir," said Quinn. Even though he had been termed as the Invisible Vigilante, he wasn't the one who came up with said moniker.

"Noir. . . I see," the man got up from his cot, almost falling over as he did so. The man looked like he would keel over by the gentlest of winds. He came to beside the bar but didn't touch it. "And, Noir, why have you come to Nurmengard. . . this place isn't much of a sightseeing location.

Oh, forgive me. How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name's Gellert Grindelwald. . . but you must know that already; after all, I'm the only one who lives in the castle."

Gellert Grindelwald had designed a prison so formidable and terrible – both from the inside and the outside – that the International Confederation of Wizards had deemed it too cruel to use on common prisoners. Only the leaders of his Dark Army had ever been imprisoned here. His army, more than any others, knew just how much effort their master had put into the spells guarding these walls. . . all of those leaders had long past away.

". . . Why're the enchantments outside so weak?" asked Quinn.

"Oh? They're weak," said Grindelwald, and Quinn quirked his brow behind his mask when he heard the voice getting smoother and less hoarse. "ICW and Dumbledore. . . Do you know Dumbledore?"

"Yes.

"Good. ICW and Dumbledore made changes to my masterpiece, soiling my creation. Dumbledore did a decent job," Grindelwald looked at the bars in front of him, "he added his own enchantments to this cell. . . I haven't had the chance to witness those; he hid them quite thoroughly. I wonder what they do.

It wasn't necessary, though. Mine are enough to keep even me. . . at least me of now inside.

The ICW— those guys infuriate me," there was a heated passion heat in his voice, "I always assumed they made mistakes. . . I haven't been outside of this cage ever since I got in, so I never knew," he smiled with his rotted teeth, "thank you for telling me. Those nitwits couldn't comprehend my genius and soiled the perfection that I had created. . ."

Indeed Grindelwald's mind, one of the greatest in the history of the century, had continually upgraded and improved upon his prison over the entire course of his campaign. Gellert knew of every enchantment he placed on Nurmengard, and he knew there was no way around them. When the ICW first sent their team of enchanters to increase the security of his cell, they thought they found several flaws in his containment spells, as Grindelwald knew they would. They tried to correct the flaws, only to spend their last moments alive wondering why their necks were bleeding. In the years that would follow, no less than five guards were killed as they attempted to fool around with the prison's enchantments. The last death led to the virtual abandoning of the upper levels of the prison; house-elves were left to deliver food and remove any waste from the few surviving prisoners.

"It was a surprise to hear footsteps on the cold floor. It has been ages since I heard human footsteps— I thought I had forgotten them," Quinn tapped the side of his head, "but it seems they were still there."

Quinn had no doubt in the statement. Grindelwald's eyes gave it all away. Unlike every other part of his being, the eyes shined like gems— they were intelligent, deep, focused, and a reminder of the man that had once been.

"I apologize if I seem talkative, but I haven't had a guest in so long. Just your presence in front of me is the most interesting thing that happened to me in decades. Why don't you speak some more? I would like to hear your voice. . . your real voice, and not the altered one. . . would you please offer this old man this small wish."

There was a silence for a minute before Quinn opened his mouth in a normal voice, "Hello, Gellert Grindelwald—"

"Your real voice," Grindelwald cut him off at once, his eyes taking what seemed was clear to be anger. "I may be old and frail— but don't disrespect me by thinking that I do not understand magic— I can still feel the fluctuations magic this close to me. . . so do not jest with me."

". . . My apologies," said Quinn, this time in his real voice.

"No worries, no worries. May I ask why I have the pleasure of your visit?"

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West - MC - Feeling a mix of emotions.

Gellert Grindelwald - Ex-Dark Lord - This is. . . interesting.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Was hella tired yesterday. 2(out of 8) weeks done @ internship. 3rd week is on. . . . The work is. . . eh, okay. Am learning a lot though, so can't complain a lot.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!