The healing has no effect on the tortured figures strung up around, who seem to be beyond the reach of any healing. The two children stand a little taller, though the healing provides no cure for their undernourishment.
The Mighty Battle Floof sniffs at the both, wishing it had food to offer. He walks out of the closet and returns to human form.
"I have no food for them. Just moonshine," Hektir says, stretching out in human form. "Might be that we take them back to the spirit now and see what happens, maybe rest the night so that Mal's house magics can feed them."
"Oh, quite. There's enough food in the tower for dozens of folk. Oh! I say, what if we bring those poor souls Pemsworth froze along too? I think the tower would rather like being a refuge from thrice blasted witches and warlocks."
Pems nods. He turns to the children.
Tsin regards the entrances to the building, briefly, before turning her attentions back on the children. She almost lets them go to the conversation in the unknown tongue and to those in command of it, before she decides to look over both of the youth with her cautious eye. For their storied history, which includes doppelgangers, she can't be too sure.
If the children give off a shadow of evil, she remains fixed on them. If not, she looks through anything that can give her a vantage on the dullahan camp. She wonders if they've taken out all of them, or only a squad.
"We've not laid eyes on the dullahans' camp directly, nor have we looked into that smaller building across the yard." "Other than the evil, fenced-in mists, we may have turned over every other stone. So, we have children, and a dead body which lacks a soul, which sounds like every other dead body, if we're speaking freely here."
Tsin looks ready to bolt in any direction, given a cue from one of the men.
Hektir spits a manly glob on the ground, itching his arm. "Ayep. We should get these children to Serena. Might be that we rest there and get them some food. Shall we sneak out? Or can you blippy-blip them there, Mal?"
"Another night in the mansion sounds good to me. Should we create more chaos in the camp before we shelter for the evening, give them soldiers some more distractions to deal with?"
Malavarius turns to Hektir and nods, "I can whisk us back to the hut, or to the door to my tower where the maladaemon was, or back over to the building we found Serena within. Or I can just summon the door to the tower to us here. I am a very great wizard, after all." He then regards Quinn and tugs on his beard as he considers the idea. "Well, we've already riled the hornet's nest as it were. If you want to swat a few more of them before we tuck away for the evening, feel free, lad."
Hektir rubs the back of his neck, somewhat unused to his human form.
"Yeah, I think to the ghost. Maybe put the entrance there?" Hektir says, really not having a preference.
The girl nods hesitantly as Pems talks to her.
"I ... think I remember someone like that," she says, blinking as she clearly tries to recall. "But she's ... fuzzy. Like I should know who that is, but I can't remember."
The boy just glowers, but nods defiantly when he realizes the girl seems willing to go.
Neither radiate evil that Tsin can see.
"Foul witchy magic from the sounds of it. Hate the stuff. Worst of the worst. Pemsworth, lad, ask her if she'd be willing to let me cast a spell or two over her, would you? If she's got a curse wound about her that's robbed her of her memories of her mother, I might be able to break it."
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"A shame it isn't a curse barring you from remembering where you put your good hat, or you could do the same for yourself, Mal."
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"If only it were so simple, Tsin. I'm beginning to fear my hat doesn't want to be found." He sighs briefly, but his face brightens suddenly and he turns back to Pemsworth. "Oh! Ask the children if they've seen it, won't you, lad?"
Pems asks the young girl if she'd be willing to allow the nice old man to cast a spell to aid her.
Hektir moves to the windows to look out, scouting for danger while others cast spells and look for missing hats.
He spits and rubs his shoulders, not out of cold, but anticipation.
Quinn waits with Hektir, hoping the party goes to the drinking shack lavish mansion soon.
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Mal sees Pems ask about his hat in the strange language of these strange people ... and is thrilled when after a few moments the girl nods, answering the question in the affirmative. She knows where his hat is! After all these long days and weeks and maybe even months, his searching has finally paid off. The journey can now come to an end!
The boy babbles something else -- holding out his arm in front of his sister -- in their strange language and Mal can only wait for Pems to translate what he's certain must be the actual location of his long-lost hat, visions of recovering it and returning home to Heldren dancing through his head.
"Подождите! Что это за заклинание? У нас не будет грузовика с темной магией!"
"Wait! What is this spell? We will have no truck with dark magics!"
Pems holds up his hands.
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Malavarius' face darkens as Pemworths makes the boy's question clear, and the old wizard frowns. "They're holding my hat hostage! Good heavens, the children of this world are ruthless. Blast and bebother!" He tugs his beard and then explains, "The first spell is simply to determine if there are any magics on them to begin with. If there are any curses at work on them, the next will try to break it. But if they're sly enough to keep an old man from his good hat, they probably know all this already!"
Pems translates the non-crazy part of Mister Malavarius' message.
Hektir spits, partially paying attention to the conversation and partially focused out the window.
"Stop asking permission from children, and just do the damned deed already. You act as if we're beholden to them, when it's quite the opposite. They are valuable to Rasputin, so they are valuable to us. If you can jog either of their memories, do it. Do it now."
From Tsin's tone of voice, she is plum out of patience, and will grab someone's ear, child or halfling or geezer, to see themselves from the abattoir.
Quinn gives Hektir one of those 'this is going to be a long day' looks and opens a bottle of 'shine to pass the time. "Do you think Mal ever actually had a good hat? Maybe it just wore out and turned into a bad hat?"
"They're obviously frightened and I'm not about to go abducting children, whether it's for their greater good or not! Besides, if they're surprised by my spells, regardless of how great a wizard I am, there's a chance they might resist the effects." The old arcanist frowns then at Quinn's comment, but continues to focus on Tsin. "And I don't care who you are, how good you swing that fancy stick, or how uncomfortable being idle for a few minutes might make you, Tsin. Just because we're stuck on this blasted world dealing with all manner of horrible messes, doesn't mean we have to abandon basic manners!"
"We are hardly cursed," the boy shoots back in Russian, trying to pull himself to his full height to at least stand up to Pems, if not the rest of you. "God and his holy servants look after us!"
""They're obviously frightened and I'm not about to go abducting children, whether it's for their greater good or not! Besides, if they're surprised by my spells, regardless of how great a wizard I am, there's a chance they might resist the effects. And I don't care who you are, how good you swing that fancy stick, or how uncomfortable being idle for a few minutes might make you, Tsin. Just because we're stuck on this blasted world dealing with all manner of horrible messes, doesn't mean we have to abandon basic manners!"
Tsin growls low as the old wizard snaps at her. "We are in the middle of one of those messes, Mal. We do not have time to sit them down to a tea ceremony, and teach them the proper use of utensils. Not when there are explosions taking place just outside..."
Tsin grows quiet a moment. Something dawns behind her eyes. For the pause forced upon her by the wizard, she considers something. She recalls something.
"Pems. Can they understand us? As I speak to you here, will they know the meaning of our words?"
Pems shrugs. "I can translate if you want. The boy's convinced his god will protect them and they're not cursed. Not sure which god he's talking about, though."
"Oh, no, do not translate here, for a moment. I just remembered what Serena said. I have to weigh a dead woman's words against two children before us, not one."
"And the girl doesn't remember her mother, which is why I suspect black magic of some sort! Or are you also thinking that Serena refers to daughters the same way Baba Yaga does?"
"Pharasma welcome us, I do not know." Tsin looks over both children, and allows Serena's words to echo behind her eyes, while Mal takes his next actions, with or without their permission.
Hektir spits, wondering why we are arguing here rather in the warm halls of Mal's bud hole, with all the ale they all can drink.
He waits to go.
"We might not be safe here. Soon they might start searching for us. Might as well get to safety."
The boy glowers while the woman waits more calmly for you to finish your discussions in your strange tongue.
"We might not be safe here. Soon they might start searching for us. Might as well get to safety."
Tsin nods. "Yes, Mal, let's retreat to your abode. If you want to show them you mean them no harm, best remove them from the slaughter floor, and welcome them with warmth and sustenance."
Cleaning her falchion, she sheathes it, putting her hands up to show the boy she means them no ill will. For now.
Malavarius glances at Tsin then sighs, "Very well." With an arcane word and gesture of his hand, the door to his tower appears in the room.
"There. We can take refuge here, safe from any searches or explosions or whathaveyous, and we can figure out how best to save these children from that snake Rasputin!"
Tsin doesn't hesitate to walk into Mal's tower, for the second time. She finds the means for cleaning herself of the interlocutor offal which still adorns her pant legs. When she feels more presentable, she returns to Mal and his magical dissection of the amnesiac girl. The only one mentioned by Serena.
She waits for Pems and Mal to engage the adolescents and come to some kind of understanding.
Quinn finds a comfy chair and lounges with a bottle of 'shine while the others tend to children and do responsible things.
Hektir takes the 'shine from Quinn's hands even though there is plenty of other 'shine around because that's what men do: share booze and women. He takes a good sized swig and offers the bottle back to the man.
He looks around the mansion for a second time.
"Mal, this place have a bath? A hot bath? This isn't one of them s$$@hole hotels without a bath, is it?" Hektir offers with a spit on the polished tile floor. (He was aiming for the potted plant, but missed.)
"And we're going to need more boooz...oh nevermind," Hektir's eyes catch sight of the table o' booze in the corner. "Yeah, that'll do nicely."
Hektir will grab a bottle of hooch and head off for the baths. He will also grab a few sammiches on his way out.
* * *
Cleaned, pooped, and fed, Hektir is finally able to turn his attention to the children.
"Any progress with them yet?" Hektir asks Pems.
"The boy is surly and the girl seems strange, innocent but distracted, maybe controlled?" Pems mutters. He smiles at the children, keeping an eye on them. "I don't quite know what to make of the boy. Bravado or something else?"
The teens look awed as Mal casts his spell and Hektir and Tsin disappear, but they can be convinced to follow you, looking around in amazement as the new setting.
"We could ask Serena, I suppose. Perhaps offer to reunite the two with the woman's ghost, and see what occurs. Hear what she has to say about what stands before her." Tsin wonders if Serena will still be there, should they return to Rasputin's manor house.
Her mind plays with antagonizing the boy, suggesting that only the girl be brought to Serena, but to what end, she can not be sure. In the end, she thinks on the camp more than she does the two children, and where they might encounter a stolen soul. The one-legged man missing a soul seems likelier to result in some deeper understanding of the camp, and what Rasputin seeks to accomplish here.
"I wonder how often Rasputin checks in on the children. We may not have much time, now that I think about it, until he comes looking for them."
Tsin eventually stands to leave, expecting to escort the children to Serena to hold audience with the chained specter.
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"A bath? Of course there's a bath! Why didn't you make use of it last night?" Malavarius' face wrinkles in disgust even as one of the formless servants drifts over to clean up Hektir's spit from the floor.
He turns to Pemsworth then and nods, "Protective of the lass, at the very least. And good for him! There are folk like Hektir about and his standards seem to lower every time we step out of that thrice-blasted hut." Shaking his head, he sighs. He waves Tsin over and speaks quietly with her and Pemsworth, though he does give a start when the halfling comes close. "Goodness, Pemsworth. Sometimes that new face and body of yours startle me. How are you adjusting, by the by? Wait. Before the thought escapes me, let's ask the lad and lass about that ghost again. Alex-something? Alexdrina? Alexandra? Yes, I think that's it. Blast Hektir and those cauliflower ears of his. If Alexandra is to be believed, the lass there doesn't have any relatives. So if the boy says he's a brother or some such, something fishy's afoot!"
He looks up then at the children still gaping about in awe and he waves a few servants over to wordlessly present them food and drink, the latter being a warm, creamy drink made of chocolate and milk Biala had loved years ago.
Hektir listens and waits, using a table linen to squeegee his ear with his pinkie finger.
Tsin nods, glad of Mal's words, and Pems's translation. The task is a lengthy one, back and forthing in foreign words, but she expects to hear the boy bluster again, and the girl to chase phantom butterflies with her eyes.
Should the words fail to find their mark, Tsin encourages another visit to the Tsarina, hoping to resolve the girl's amnesia quickly.
The girl startles, as if she were remembering something, but then blinks, whatever it was seeming to have flitted away.
The boy, however, nods, and replies to her in Russian.
"Yes, she is our mother, the Tsarina of all of Russia. Remember, sister? You must remember."
As Pemsworth explains the boy's claim to siblinghood, Malavarius intones a quick spell to scrutinize the girl and her escort.
Hektir listens and waits, trying to find a way to help.