"Some of it appears to be arcane formula, but for what...? The rest of it though makes no sense to me." Istivan says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
His extensive studies in the arcane arts are of no avail to Istivan. He simply finds the faint fragments of symbols too far gone to discern anything further.
At first...
When Christoph steps forward, his intense gaze scrutinizes the markings. If looks could kill, the huntsman's eyes would burn right through the very stone itself. And his patience proves fruitful in time.
Spotting the slightest additional traces of markings in addition to those already noticed, he coordinates with Istivan. The pair are able to piece together more of this puzzle after all.
The wiped scribbles upon the wall reveal that the partial arcane calculations and notations are accompanied by a crude chalk diagram. It depicts an iron spire atop a tower, with two strange apparatuses at its pinnacle. An arrow points to the larger of the two devices, next to the words “The Storm Caller must be activated to energize the Bondslave Thrall.”
Istivan is now able to furthermore identify several arcane symbols more clearly, weaving together a more comprehensive picture now. The arcane calculations and notations imply the existence of a magical device called the Bondslave Thrall. This device is of some very extraordinarily rare manufacture (unique in the world, to his knowledge) that is powered by electricity. It receives its power from another device, called the Storm Caller, which in turn is powered by lightning it attracts from the sky during storms. These writings do not go into much further (surviving) detail about the Storm Caller. But from the lingering notes on the Bondslave Thrall, you guess that it has the capacity to transform the power of electricity from the Caller into an arcane power capable of controlling distant magical devices of some kind, and from a very far distance... miles away, perhaps.
In spite of what the companions might think of the doddering mad Count, his questionable ethics, or his questionable concern for abiding by common bridge safety protocols, it is now crystal clear that the man is, or was once, a truly extraordinary genius.
...
Having taken several minutes to piece this all together, Waxwood now peeks back into the room from the ceiling trapdoor. It looks at the companions, and silently shrugs as if to say, "What's the hold up? "
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Christoph scowls at the wall as he finds himself admiring the ingenuity of the count. This was simpler when he was just a dangerous madman. And thanks to this, he's now a brilliant madman; an extraordinarily brilliant madman, even. One who still has a great deal of explaining to do. With a moments more lingering for anything they might have missed, Christoph shrugs and says, "We should be cautious. This just proves that the count is particularly brilliant."
He gestures to the waiting Waxwood, saying, "When you're ready, up?"
When Aliseya gets a peek and begins to see what they're looking at, her eyes open wide in recognition of the chalk depiction. Her mouth drops open.
"I... I think that's, like, the tower we're in. Like, right now. And the Storm Caller? It's, like... up."
She points upwards, at the ceiling.
"We, uh..." she looks at Zelda and Naught, "saw it already..."
Aliseya struggles to hold it together. Tears begin to well up again, but she's trying to be strong...
Alas, not before a second of your companions, the twin-blade dhampir warrior Aleks (Aleksander Albus), was simultaneously strangled to death and beheaded by one of its great saw-toothed claws at the end of a mighty tentacle/arm limb.
Istivan gave the three women who clearly had grief involved in memories here the comfort he could, which is to say the privacy they needed for their thoughts. Instead, he nodded to Christoph and began making his way up the staircase, doing his best to step quietly.
The companions continue their ascent up the spiral stone stairs after Waxwood. They find themselves in a tower chamber in complete disarray. The remains of an incredible laboratory and workshop have apparently been smashed and destroyed.
Like the room below, it is choked with huge webs. Above the webs, huge iron shutters close off the central portion of the ceiling. Huge chains ending in hooks dangle flaccidly from the ceiling 60 feet above. An iron ladder against the south wall climbs up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Next to the ladder is a metal lever.
As if all this were not enough to pique your interest, three curiosities stand out in the room which compel your attention further. First, a large iron idol stands against the north wall. Where there would be eyes, you see there are two empty eyeholes instead.
Second, the stitched body of an abomination most hideous rests upon the floor in the middle of the room. Apparently one of Caroumarc's creations, its head was apparently smashed in by some great force, and, fortunately, appears to now be truly dead. A mess of oily residue and blood pools around it.
Finally, a great glass bell jar of similar bulk to the iron idol stands against the eastern wall. The jar is filled with a yellow-tinted translucent fluid, and it contains... a human woman. She appears to have been beautiful in life, apparently finding death at the sadly young age of her early 20's. An elegant flowing dress adorns her figure... conceivably, you might imagine, the dress she wore to her own funeral. Her lifeless form rests upright, eyes are closed, her hair and dress wavering faintly in the fluid-filled glass coffin of a bell jar.
And crouched in a wobbly chair beside the glass jar rests a fragile old man. Dressed in old silken pajamas and slippers, he appears thin to the point of malnourishment. Gaunt eyes look pleadingly at the submerged young lady.
As you enter, you overhear the old man speaking sorrowfully and softly to the deceased lady through the glass. He palms the glass with one hand.
"...have failed us. Again, and again, and again! All these many long years, my love... how can I bear to go on another moment? Now, after all this?"
"...be strong ...husband ...I ...believe ...in ...youuu..." the deceased body responds (!) in a gurgle through the yellow-tinted fluid-filled glass jar.
Wait... IS she dead...?!
"Nib imnet hem maa," he mutters, seemingly more to himself, as a smile comes over his face.
...
Waxwood the winged homunculus lands near the old man, who now looks up at him. As your eyes take in the sights and smells before you, you cannot help but notice then that the frail Count Caromarc's eyes, as they now stare back at you, are bloodshot and have been shedding tears.
Count Caromarc looks back at the lot of you as you enter his ruined laboratory. Confusion, anger, and worry come over his face in swift succession.
"W-who... vhat is the meaning of this?!" he sharply demands of the trespassers in his thick Vielandish accent. For a strong moment, he projects a proud and noble persona.
Yet his face suddenly and completely softens a moment later. He gazes at Rhia as she enters the room, confused and... hopeful.
"Ceryse?"
After taking in the bizarre mix of sights in this room, it also occurs to you that the woman in the bell jar and Rhia bear a striking resemblance to one another. They're not exact look alikes, and one of the two looks... well, dead. But the likeness is nonetheless noteworthy.
Were it animated still, you wonder if your group would have been any match for it...
Indeed, you wonder likewise about whatever was capable of smashing its head in and... living to tell the tale?
The old-sounding words ring familiar to you. From a distant memory... one of the times you spent with Professor Lorrimor. One of his older musty tomes caught your attention.
"An ancient Osirian recitation," Professor Lorrimor told you of that very phrase. "'Remember what is learned,' it means. This motto teaches that all knowledge is valuable, and worth recording and sharing. What might be meaningless trivia to one might further the research or save the life of another."
The scholar closed the tome in a younger Istivan's hands. Istivan recalls the symbol upon its cover: a blazing eye, gazing back at him from the back of a golden scarab upon the breadth of Golarion.
"The Esoteric Order of the Palatinate Eye is no light reading, my boy." Searching for a less daunting book, he placed one half the other's size back into his empty hands. Smiling, "A fascinating society though to read up on. Another time."
You also recognize the body of the Aberrant Promethian, the wretched creature lying dead in the middle of the room. You had all ascended the ladder and encountered this very creature up there, on the rooftop. After it murdered your companion Aleks, you fled back down when Ali transformed into her newer angelic persona and levitated the three of you down through the window... you saw the Beast, or Mr. Golem, climbing up the tower at that moment to confront his brother... and though you knew he'd defeated the Promethian, you now see how he did it.
Christoph's flicker across the room busily. A great many things are there to be taken in and a great many possible threats to be evaluated: the monstrous creature is discarded as soon as it's confirmed to be dead; huge metal idol with it's gouged eyes dismissed as decoration, perhaps; and the man and the woman. These are where the Voice's eyes finally rest a moment and study in detail.
Not undead... but still communicating with her. An uncomfortable thing to do. His mouth tightens a little at the thought of interference with Pharasma's work. Confirmed to be a spellcaster. Be wary.
The thought occurs to him and his eyes again dash from his companion to the woman in the jar and back. Ceryse... the woman. His long dead wife and perhaps the catalyst. Unfortunate, but there are lines you don't cross.
He responds to the count, "No, Count Caromarc. Not Ceryse, unfortunately. Guests who have gone to great trouble to speak to you." He nods to Aliseya, letting her take the lead as he watches the situation carefully.
Istivan looked around, uncomfortable surrounded by the dark, if perhaps brilliant, tools of magic.
he understood the details of what was happening, but none of the context. Nevertheless, he whispered to his companions under the effect of his spell, "Nib imnet hem maa is a phrase from 'The Esoteric Order of the Palantine Eye'." Best leave the negotiations to those who have some idea of what is going on here.
Rhia notes the assorted oddities, taking in everything until her eyes settle on the woman floating in the jar. Her eyes widen as she replies to the Count, though before she can cast a spell to detect the presence of undeath, she realizes the Count is using a spell to speak across the veil.
Far more disturbing though, is the woman's resemblance to herself, brought home even more intensely by the appearance of recognition when the count looks at her.
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"Count..."
Taking her cue from the others, Aliseya steps forward.
"...do you remember me? I'm Aliseya. You remember my friends, Naught and Zelda? We were here the other night. We found you in... that... torture, thingy. Over there?"
She points to the iron idol.
"Do you recall we freed you from it?"
"We've returned for good reason. And with a few new friends."
Motioning to Sookie, Christoph, and Rhia, "This is Ms. Clayten... and Speaker Metzger, of the Voices of the Spire... and also, this is actually Rhia. And she is definitely not your late wife, I'm afraid. But, she is a very cool person."
Rhia gets a wink and a smile from the diplomat.
"We'd... like to speak with you about some very important business, if you don't mind."
An uncomfortable look comes over Sookie's face as she scans around at the macabre cornucopia. She raises a brow and gives a look of knowing to the Speaker as they both spot the Count's subtle yet light necromancy and the Count's wife, who is unusually talkative for a dead girl.
Right. Be sharp.
Ready for anything, she lets Aliseya do the talking.
|
Smiling gently at the old man Zelda speaks softly." Is this... was this your wife? She was bueatiful. I am sure you miss her dearly. You seemed to have lived such a full life, I can only hope to live a life so full. "
Zelda pauses a moment to think of the right thing to say.
"
I know the whispering way was very cruel to you and you must want revenge on all of the pain and suffering they left you with. We want to repay them for all of the suffering they have caused. We are following them, but we must cross the ravine with our horses if we want to have any chance of catching up to them. Can you help us. Is there a way to cross the ravine with our horses?"
Zelda waits patiently hoping he can help.
Count Caromarc slowly stands, not releasing his stare at Rhia even to blink. He takes a few steps forward as Christoph informs him of his error. Blinking twice, the count grows confused once again. He looks back at the deceased young woman, then back again at Rhia...
"What ist this trickery?!" he angrily accuses, without any particular target other than all of you.
He takes a defensive stance, reaching into one of his several pouches. Waxwood, appearing to grow nervous, flutters over to the count's shoulder. Wordlessly, its body language pleads with the count. Apparently, the homunculus stalls the count from whatever he was about to draw from his pouch.
Then Aliseya steps forward. Her grace and poise seem to reach deep down into the elderly man's consciousness... or what remains of it. He stares back at the young Varisian dancer as she speaks. Zelda's compliment and words of sympathy as well have an effect on his mood.
At last, a look of recognition as his beady eyes open wider.
Relaxing somewhat now, he replies. "Ja, ja... I remember. Consigned on behalf of Magistrate Daramid, as I recall."
"Of course she ist not my wife!" He suddenly defends himself. "Meine frau ist dead! I know! As ist our child... I know... do you think me an imbecile?!" Waxwood again seems to have a calming effect on the man's volatile emotions. "I only, ahem, meant... well, look at her! The resemblance is most uncanny. Beeindruckend!"
After scrutinizing Rhia more carefully for a long moment, each of you in turn receives a long moment of scrutiny as well. Eventually, the Count sighs.
"More questions? Mädchen, you try my patience. Can't you see I am busy?! That schwine cultist has cost me greatly, there ist so much work to be done. So much damage has been done. So much has been... lost... so there ist much to make up for!"
"Waxwood! The homunculus becomes alarmed as the old man's sharp gaze suddenly pierces his own companion. "We have guests! Why are you not bringing us tea?! Und biscuits!" The winged creature hurries off back down the stairs.
Another sigh.
"Very well! Ask your questions."
After being gently reminded of Zelda's question, "Horses?!" He looks around. "You did not bring them into my home, I trust? Messy beasts. And I've not the facilities for them..." Though he certainly has the facilities for a wide myriad of other beasts...
"Hmpf..." the count ponders a moment. "Ja, there is a bridge upstream, just a few miles. It has been there for decades, but is crafted from quality basalt sourced from the river, and is wide enough for horses to pass over. Beware the orcs from Belkzen. It is not well traveled, but they on occasion cross on business in the Shudderwood. Dangerous brigands and schwine..."
"You would do best not to trifle with the Way, young lady," he adds some unasked for advice. "There is a powerful necromancer who leads them. Not many in this world could match his dark power. Even I could not thwart his will..." The Count grows quiet as he apparently contemplates a recent ordeal he suffered which must have terrorized him...
Suddenly, his mind shifts to a completely different topic.
"Have you seen the engineers, by chance?"
"Meine frau" = "My wife"
"Beeindruckend!" = "Impressive!"
"Mädchen" = "Lass" or "girl"
Aliseya eventually realizes what Istivan whispered. While the count is transfixed with staring at each of the companions one at a time, she whispers back to Istivan.
"... the Palantine Eye? Like, scarab-beetle-world-thingy symbol Palantine Eye?"
Aliseya looks at Naught and Zelda, whispering "Didn't we, like, give Judge Daramid a purple book about the Palantine Eye? From the Professor?"
Istivan whispers, "Just so, The judge also had a clock with symbols of the order on it."
To the count, he says, "Count Caromac, I am Istivan Langa, we have not met before. I find myself without a mount for the journey ahead, and wish to inquire if you had any servicable mounts..." Istivan considers what he has seen here and decides to be more specific, "... That is to say a horse, which you would be willing to sell?"
"Horses?! I don't have any horses! Or any other mounts for that matter."
Count Caromarc grumpily responds to Istivan.
"I don't get out much." he adds. "I've no time to go traipsing about on horseback! I've got too much work to do here!"
"And I deplore having to deal with people," he adds, saying 'people' as distastefully as another might say 'goblins.' It has of course become evident to you by now that he speaks accurately here...
Sookie's been quietly studying the Count from the back.
"Paranoid for sure. Possibly manic..." she whispers to noone in particular.
Still a bit unnerved, both by the resemblance of the woman suspended in fluid, and the Count's intense scrutiny of her, Rhia listens to the Count's response the the various questions.
"The Way, would you be able to go into a bit more detail on your encounter with the Necromancer?"
Christoph warily watches the count reach into the pouch at his waist and barely restrains his impulse to nock and draw an arrow. Don't... Teeth clenched, he exhales as the man seems to think differently. ... dangerous madmen... pfah.
The Speaker listens quietly to the other's questions, constantly watching the count in case he tries to do something foolish (again). When the questions begin to slow, he asks, "Is there a swifter way back across to your gatehouse? The foot bridge was not conducive to crossing."
Count Caromarc stares at Rhia for another uncomfortable moment.
"Yes..."
At last, he breaks his discomforting stare.
"That baroquely bleak wretch... Auren Vrood ist his name. He sent ominous word to me, claiming interest in making a deal. But I anticipated his thinly-veiled attempt at blackmail. BLACKMAIL!!" he suddenly yells, thumping his fist forcefully into his open palm.
"I sought to be rid of the dull-witted extortionist cultists: I agreed to meet them at midnight at the the Spiral Cromlech, but I sent the Beast." He smirks at his own cleverness here.
Then, his moment of joy grows sour.
"Yet the Way bested me. Vrood expected this from me... he took the opportunity to invade my home, subdue my creations, and hold me captive. Vrood had expected to use my freedom as leverage to control the Beast. But the Bondslave Thrall proved even more useful to his aims."
Scratching his gray-stubbled chin, "I underestimated the cultists to be the usual dull-witted religious lunes, you see. But Vrood, he is very, very clever. And very dangerous. He figured out the calculations required to employ the device..."
"And so with control over my Beast, Vrood commanded the golem to break into the antiquities department of Lepidstadt University and stole the Seasage Effigy. For what purpose, I know not. The caper went off without a hitch, and the cultists absconded with the statue. They then headed east into the Shudderwood, leaving me trapped for days inside of... that."
He points to the iron idol, with a shudder.
"With no more use for the Beast, the Whispering Way left my dazed child to be found at the scene of the crime. 'The Beast of Lepidstadt', as that city of fool peasant sheep call him, had finally been captured. The entire city was in an uproar over their farcical trial over trumped-up charges. Against my child... my poor, poor son..."
A tear streams down one of the old man's eyes as he looks away.
Sudden anger then arises, towards his own showing of weakness one might surmise. Suddenly stiffening up, he quickly grabs something from a pouch...
Christoph barely restrains his bow as the Count draws a small bottle, uncorks it, and drinks it in a single gulp. The count's eyes seem to sharpen immediately. His posture as well seems to straighten, and he appears more regal as he stands from his seat.
Keen, attentive eyes hone in on Christoph after the Speaker asks the next question.
"No, I'm afraid not."
"The engineers were supposed to have completed the renovations by now..." He scoffs aloud. "Contractors! Hmpf."
"I wonder, have you seen them?" He asks. "They were residing in my guest room while rebuilding the fallen bridge."
"I've not seen them since the Way was here. I suppose they were either killed or managed to flee." Scratching his chin once more, "I will need to find new engineers..."
The count seems less volatile now, more even-keeled, since drinking whatever was in that bottle...
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Zelda looks at the count with sympathy,"I afraid you will have to replace your comtractors. They did not survive the way. I think qe should be on our way. Thank you so much for your help count I truly wish you the best. Take care. " with a final fair well Zelda leave the count to his dead wife and begins the journey to leave these premises.
"Hmpf," the count gruffly responds to Zelda with a nod of acknowledgement.
Before she can pass through the doorway, his gaze once more locks with Rhia's, and he asks the ghost whisperer:
"What is your name, dear?"
By his tone, you imagine he's looking for the right answer. Or rather, the answer he's looking to hear.
"Your family name," he clarifies.
"...not evil, though?"
Sookie's been largely focused on observing the count since entering this room. She eventually whispers the completion of her earlier sentence fragment, with a look of mild surprise in her eyes at this revelation.
Unsurprised at the lack of a good horse for sale, Istivan watches the exchange, positioning himself a bit out of the way to the side. Having little input for the events that had transpired before, he maintained a pleasant neutral expression. He did though, keep wondering if it was some poor doomed engineer scratching at the door back there.
Never in her entire life, had she felt dread at the idea of giving her family name. Pride yes, occasionally reserve or resignation, but never dread...until now.
"Van der Geist...Rhia Van der Geist." she says, her gaze shifting between the Count's now sharp stare, and the inert woman in the glass chamber.
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The Count's eyes widen. Whatever sharpness he seems to have acquired from his potion, it now gives way to sentimental feeling.
"You... look remarkably like your aunt, my dear..."
He turns to the body of Ceryse once again, his watery eyes now red.
"Remarkable..."
Waxwood returns with a proffered tray of tea and biscuits. He pauses, hovering a few feet into the room. Looking around at everyone's expressions, he seems to be wondering what he missed.
"I think you look more like your mother, Rhia."
The voice seems familiar, somehow. A voice you haven't heard in a very long time...
You turn and see her. You sense a wisdom that belies her appearance of youth. Her gown and hair flow, as if submerged in a lake that cannot be seen. You recognize Ceryse. Not the deceased corpse that has barely decomposed in a glass jar for decades. But her, her spirit, appearing as she would in life. Though, she is not quite alive...
She smiles warmly back at you.
"I think you look more like your mother, Rhia."
You do not see anyone there, however...
Aliseya's eyes widen as well as she listens to the conversation unfold. With a gasp, she turns to look behind Rhia...
"Aunt Cerise...Mother always said that you two could pass for twins. So the count was...someone close to you?" she asks, gazing at her aunt's ghost with the smile of one having seen a relative after a long time apart.
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Rhia turns around to speak with her Aunt Ceryse. But Waxwood along with the rest of you look around to see who Rhia is speaking to, and find that nobody appears to be there...
The Count begins muttering to himself during the uncomfortable pause as you all look around for the invisible aunt, and then quizzically at each other. Something about his "enemies" plotting some kind of "treachery"... it would appear that, whatever he drank a moment ago, if it's his mental health medicine, it's starting to wear off.
Aunt Ceryse gives her niece a knowing smile. A smile that wordlessly admits, Yes, I married an older man.
"My you've grown. Has it been... so long?"
She genuinely looks a bit surprised. Her gaze momentarily looks away as her voice trails off.
Returning to meet Rhia's eyes once more, "Oh! And you've grown so beautiful... and smart, I can tell... and, obviously, you have the gift."
You see pride in her eyes. She seems about to embrace you, but restrains herself, perhaps remembering her own ethereal form would prevent that.
"Marrying the Count of Vieland, at the time, was a good move for the family. Or so your grandparents thought..." She returns to your question after all, answering it more thoroughly than you'd perhaps want to hear...
"It helped that I was attracted to him." Looking at her living husband, she adds, "You wouldn't think it now, but in his prime he was quite handsome. And with an intellect to match. And, in his way, he was quite witty, with a clever sense of humor."
A look of sorrow then comes over her face as she gazes at the mumbling Count, and at her preserved, lifeless body.
"Clearly, he has... lost his way. And his mind is not far behind, I fear," she adds bluntly. "I thought I might help him, if I stayed? But his mind has only worsened..."
Shrugging it off, "I can't believe you've finally come to visit!"
Looking around at your... Companions? Friends? she seems to wonder to herself,
"...or did you not know I was here? Have you come for another reason?"
"This is all fine and normal," Naught contently says to herself, Rhia conversing with spirits the least unnerving thing occurring in the room as she couldn't help but keep glancing at the monster's corpse.
"I honestly didn't know, But I'm so glad to know that at least for a time you were happy...and clearly loved." she says glancing back over at the Count. "It does look like he's steadily in decline though...perhaps unable...to let go." she says with a sigh.
"Yes, I have the gift, though I wish I knew how to help you both."
Rhia's expression clearly displays an interaction with a loved one, a warmth, and familiarity in her voice that was only hinted to, even in her friendly interactions before.
When Aliseya had gasped looking behind Rhia, Istivan had spun to look, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, before falling away quizzically as nothing was there. Then Rhia started conversing with someone and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Naught's "This is all fine and normal" was somewhat reassuring, while the count's muttering of treachery was less so. With little else to do, he decided to watch the count for any signs of irrational action.
Christoph maintains a stoic mask through the Count's performance and the revelations of his companions. There is no question that the Voice is uncomfortable in this room, with this monster, and this particular madman. Lady of Graves preserve me. If not for this greater mission, my orders would start with 'After the arrow storm has finished...'.
He sidles closer to the gasping Aliseya, unsure what to make of Rhia's speaking to the empty room. He whispers to the dancer, "We should try and leave, if there is nothing else for us here. Maybe you can get the mad Count to leave off his experiments. The Way might be back for more.
He finishes his thought mentally, And I don't have the time now to see Pharasma's justice done, but maybe this will do.
Aliseya nods to Christoph. "Right," she whispers back. "Right after Rhia's done speaking with her long lost aunt though."
"Funny," she adds. "I usually have to tell the living what their dead relatives are saying. Feels weird to just stand here, not needed..."
Sookie keeps a scrutinizing eye on the Count, another on the creature, and a firm grip on her spear as the ghost whisperer does her thing. She gives a knowing nod to Christoph.
Waxwood makes his way to the Count, who now ceases his murmurings to grasp a cup of tea and a biscuit. Crumbs crumble to the floor. Dry lips smack with some volume as he chews. He eyeballs Christoph and Sookie back with suspiciousness to match their own.
He stops chewing when he realizes who his niece might be speaking with. Though he apparently does not see anyone there either, he slowly stands. Dumbfounded, biscuit-laden mouth ajar, those nearest the Count get a hint of biscuity spray as he asks,
"Ceryse?! Are you there?!"
Meanwhile...
"I... thought, your mother, would have..."
She then reconsiders, with a sigh. "Perhaps she couldn't bring herself to speak of my death. And to a child."
"But a child you are no longer," she smiles.
"Yes," she agrees about his steady decline. "What else can be done. I watch after him. I remind him to take his medication," she motions towards Waxwood. "But I wait for the eventual and the inevitable to happen."
Casting her husband a world-weary look, an ephemeral tear runs down her cheek. Yet in spite of her sorrow, the prospect of his death seems like it might be a blessing to her...
Wiping her eyes dry, "But you did not come here to be depressed! I'm sorry." She puts on a more cheerful grin for her niece.
"What does bring you to Schloss Caromarc, then?" she asks more thoughtfully.
And then the Count interrupts her attention with his questioning exclamations. She looks back at him, her mouth dropping open a bit. She seems uncertain how to respond at first.
"Tell him," she tells Rhia. "Tell him I'm here."
Istivan had a bad feeling, as if things were escalating, but he had no idea over why. Apparently, something involving the dead woman in the display. He chided himself that he shouldn't be surprised over this, given the involvement of the Whispering Way.
"Yes, yes she's here!" Rhia says comfortingly. "We were just catching up, Aunt Cerise had much to tell me." she says giving the Count a warm smile tinged with a touch of sadness.b "Nothing to get worked up about, I assure you."
With incredulity in his eyes, Count Caromarc slowly plods forward.
"Ceryse?!" he calls out again, to the thin air.
"Yes... yes, my love..." You all now hear the faintest sound of a woman's voice respond. From, seemingly, nowhere...
The count drops his half-eaten biscuit, and begins looking all around. Waxwood looks all around the room, too.
"Dear, have you... any ability to make him see me?"
"I..I'm not sure...you're a ghost, but...not bound by malice and rage, the way most are.. I feel as though it...should be possible." Rhia says, considering her knowledge of ghosts.
Aliseya looks thoughtful for a moment.
"Rhia, maybe you know, like, a spell or something, that could do that?"
She casts a nervous glance at the Count.
Sookie firmly raises her spear as she turns to face the invisible...
"Ghost?"
She raises a brow at Christoph, waiting at the ready for the slightest sign of an undead assault.
"Oh no! It's not like that. It's only her aunt!"
Seeing Sookie's alarm, Ali begins to try and calm her (and whoever else) becomes alarmed by the thought of a ghost in the room.
"Ah! That should work!" Rhia says aloud as realization flares to life in her eyes. "I think this should help Aunt Ceryse."
With a look of intense concentration, Rhia begins a sonorous incantation, a building luminous blue glow appearing in the air, building in intensity until it emanates a shaft of blue light, that shines down on her aunt's ghost.
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Istivan glances sidelong at the Speaker, judging how he is dealing with a ghost manifesting before him.
Blueish-white rays of moonlight manifest in a moonless room. Light specks of bluish-white sparkle and fluidly dance within the light as dust in the sun's rays would. To your astonishment, the sparkling lights take the shape of a diaphanous woman. Finer details of her features gradually shift into translucent form, revealing a fine silver gown, a fine silver ring glistening in the light, and a resemblance to Rhia. You sense a wisdom that belies her appearance of youth. Her gown and hair flow, as if submerged in an unseen lake.
Aunt Ceryse's smiling countenance glances around at all of you before lingering on the Count.
"I... am... here..." her voice echoes to him. She reaches out a hand, gesturing for him to come.
Count Caromarc turns to see the beautiful ethereal figure of his deceased wife now. As does Waxwood. Stepping forward, the Count's mouth remains agape in astonishment. Twice, his mouth opens to speak... but no words come out.
Reaching out his hand to grasp hers, the old man shuffles forward...