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At the scene of the abduction Marcello does just what Victor told him to. He didn't leave... per say.
Instead he passed the time by talking to some of the people in the area. Firstly, finding out who out of the many inhabitants might have some information worth listening to and secondly, getting the information out of them.
Having his hand firmly gripped on the shoulder of a man, who seemed to regret every single decision of his life, Marcello started the investigation from there. "I will not waste your time asking silly questions and say silly things like 'I will find you and kill you', so let us skip that part." Looking into the eyes of the shivering man in front of him, making sure he got the message behind the threat, Marcello continued. "Last night I got attacked here and something was stolen from me. Tell me... Did you happen to see or hear anything that could helped find the one that attacked me?"
The other hand went up to the grip of the sword and Marcello continued speaking as the grip on the man's shoulder started to squeeze hard on him. "So? Anything you can remember?"
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Marcello makes threatening gestures and remarks to a citizen or two, but finds most of them simply too afraid to speak, some even fainting. The people of the City are a frail people.
However, one individual suggests he find a wandering lamp merchant who stalks the streets at night, trying to sell oil lamps, lanterns, censers, and other such trinkets. There's no predictable means to find him apparently, except that he wanders in the darkest parts of the city and always has one of his wares burning.
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Cursing his luck and own way of speaking with people, Marcello would relay that information to Victor upon his arrival.
Sarcon would also get the scoop of this wandering salesman of lamps. Who knew, Sarcon might actually know the guy.
Before following Sarcon as he followed the trail of blood to the gate, Marcello gave a last glance around at the people. He felt pretty good about himself scaring people that well...
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Victor, upon his arrival, finds the new information rather useful and informs the other about the merits and details about his conversation with Melph.
Unless other plans are suggested, Victor suggests that the group should wait for sunset and then search for this mysterious seller.
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Agreeing with Victor, Marcello begins striding back to the scene after the obvious trail at the gate end.
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Victor, despite of his strong suggestion that he would return in a matter of ours, never returns to the agreed upon spot. Rather he quickly swings by his hidden coffer of scrolls and equipment in the castle's library. He shoves up the countless locked pieces of pergament into his satchel and snatches his writing tools and then abuses one of his many benefits of his unlife by breaking out into a mad dash towards the castle.
Where his lungs would have exploded in exhaustion earlier, he perseveres and never falters in his spurt towards Crystal's prison. He takes a less obvious route, to avoid the first traveling group.
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The rain had been thrashing uncompromisingly against the small timber lodge all day, stopped only provisionally by blinding flash of lightening, followed naturally by a clap of thunder. Jake Beaumont had remained restlessly inside, despite of his eagerness to fulfill his set quota of wood. After all, the Aspis Consortium did not look kindly upon those workers who failed to provide them with the required allocation of resources. The Consortium was, in fact, known for being rather aggressive towards those employees who failed to fulfill their job properly.
As he sat in these very thoughts, pondering over his worried existence and the looming threat of his employers, he suddenly realized that his window had been broken and that a skeleton was currently stabbing him rather furiously in his face.
A few hours later, as his skull had been stripped from his body, its flesh removed, had undergone a magical ritual and had been placed inside a leather satchel, he no longer worried over such trivial matters.
Victor peered for a moment at his grizzly work, a sliver of putrid blood still streaming down from his crude ritualistic dagger. If he had still been alive, he would no doubt have gagged and turned his eyes away from such a deed, but his new state did not permit such feebleness. In fact, he felt a twinge of contempt over his own faintness, a mere flash of pity for how easily and willingly he had allowed his own body to rot and wither. Had it not been for his books, his rather aberrational phantom of a father and his contacts within the Whispering Way, he would surely have allowed himself to die within a couple of years.
What a fool he had been! Long he had struggled against the influence of his forefathers and had sought to redeem himself in the eyes of his divinities. He had traveled to the various holy sites of Golarion, willingly spending and slandering large parts of his family fortune to seek out a vague concept of restoration. Who else but a fool would have ignored the whispers of his ancestors? He had even traveled with companions, seeking out sites of great distress and aiding commoners in need of aid. He had been happy in those days, perhaps even contempt. He had been visionless and scrawny.
Had his family not begged him for years to participate in their rites and rituals of the Pallid Princess? Had they not sung the praise of her perfection and the paradise she would bring upon these lands? His great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, the patriarch of the Ravenport line and a rather notorious lich within the Way, had long sought to change his mind and only recently had the creaking sound of those long-gone lips affected him.
Had he not been a fool to ignore the magnitude and radiance of the creed of the Ravenport family?! How his old friends would have screamed if they could see him now! Ol’ Patrick of Magnimar would no doubt shed a tear and Kilian the “Great” would have plunged his greatsword through his skull. They had always lacked his vision, had they not?
Victor’s sight landed upon the lumber axe in the corner of the room, and as he pondered and wondered over his earlier companions and friends, his skeletal hands wrapped around the handle of the unsophisticated axe. He swung at the head, however, it only managed to piece the skin of the corpse, the neckbone had no doubted halted it. So he swung again, and again and again. He swung until the bone snapped and blood spewed unto the floor in a grand, sickening pool.
A gemstone was withdrawn from Victor’s robes, an unremarkable stone of little value but for those seeking the darker arts. He pulled yet another item from his robes; a neatly scribbled scroll littered with the language of those who have long-since passed. As arcane rites were uttered, the gemstone crumbled and the dust was poured unto the bloody head of the lumberjack. At once, the eyes of the head opened and starred witlessly at the room with its blank, dead eyes.
He had done it! His first creature had been a success. He had created the perfect unblinking, unbreathing and unwavering sentry. The lumberjack’s head was quickly placed inside Victor’s satchel and the cottage was once more left abandoned. After all, he had another task that needed to be completed before he could retire to the Keep.
He would need to take a bath in the river first. Blood is such an unwelcome sight in the polite company of heroes.
On the first day, a proposal from Victor arrives that states that he needs a steady supply of corpses, both ancient and newly made. He would prefer to have the harvested corpses of those half-orcs and orcs they murdered earlier. The proposal is given to both Crystal, Victoria and Sarcon by a Crystal-zombie.
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Victor, while still feeling under the weather due to the fact that he cannot escape the feeling that he just lost the chance at incredible power, uses most of his time propped in his tower room, crafting scrolls and studying the tome he successfully managed to steal from the vampire.
While he is busy, his door remains open and he is open for discussion of any topics.
Victoria storms into Victor's room as he sits at his desk, tossing his proposal down in front of him.
"Vhere do you expect for Fate to acquire these corpses, Herr Viktor? Shall she begin digging up graves for you? Perhaps send Sarcon out to disembowl women of the night in a bad part of town?"
Her head high, her eyes glare down at the seated Victor.
"Our position in this town remains tenuous. Such activities are certain to acquire the attentions of these so-called 'heroes.' Vhat if such activities are discovered, hmm? Do you have one of your explanations prepared for vhen a mob of peasants come to the gates armed vith flames, farm implements, and flaming farm implements, hmm?"
As the others trickle into the Keep, they find the priestess perched upon her throne, smile on her lips.
"Hellllloooo, friends! How goes it? Did you have a good time with our friendly neighbors from across the lane?" She continues to grin, agilely leaping to her feet, her tattered gown fluttering about her before it settles back down. Her blue eyes are wide, still full of the dark wisdom they possess, but with something else beneath.
"Victor? Victor, is that you? Hehehe, I have been waiting for youuuuu, especially! I was wanting to thank you for talking me into going to De Wensu's lair and having him do...whatever he did to me. I feel ever so much better now! I probably look better too...only I can't see myself anymore, can I?" The blonde's voice starts to rise, her husky tones turning shrill.
"No, I can't, can I?! Because I am something else now! A creature, not even human!" Her rage dies away, turning into sobs...which quickly fades away as well, her look calculating. "But, that's ok. Yes...it's ok. I can still serve the Dark Lord, so there is that. Yes...I have been too lenient with these people in this City, yes. It is time they bent their knee, oh yes." She grins, nodding furiously at her own suggestion.
Victor’s skeletal fingers reaches upwards, a shrill and faint creaking resounding as bone grinds against bone; they wrap around the rim of the mask and unfastens the structure of the woodwork from his cranium. He tosses the item aside and draws closer, the gentle padding of a pair of boots that are only halfway filled, straying over the floor-work of the throne room. Even as a string of thinly veiled accusations and insults are flung in his direction, he remains unwavering and passes up to the throne that Crystal lords over.
Without a word or a gesture to explain, he leans in closer, his face hovering mere inches away from hers.
The empty void that once contained his eyes and is currently provides a rather excessive peak into the inside of his empty cranium, tilts downwards slightly. With a tone of a slightly engrossed yet dry academician, he begins muttering in a controlled yet curious air: ”Your physical facial features have not changed in any radical manner, with the possible exception of having gained a marginally more outstanding set of cheekbones. The femininity of your facial skull structure seems to have been remarkably well preserved, considering the usual effect of undergoing even a short-time span under the effect of rigor mortis.”
His skeletal fingers grasps at the crest of her wrist, and even if he was stopped from, touching her, he still proceeds with the same analytical scrutiny. “Sanguine vampiris usually has a rather visible effect on the skin; however, you seem to have escaped the worst ramifications and implications. That could be chalked down to your early stage, but I will have to keep an eye out for it. Your emotional instability is no doubt a consequence of the bloodlust or a direct ramification of how your own self-image is adapting to sanguine vampiris. Peculiar, to say the least.”
Crystal's eyes narrow with hate as Victor approaches, but she endures his analysis without a word, lips pressed tightly together. She bores a hole through him with her gaze, blue eyes icy, until he mentions bloodlust. A look of intense hunger comes across her, and her eyes flit briefly to Fate and Sarcon before returning back to Victor. "Yes...perhaps if I satiated that I would feel better. Too bad blood still does not flow in your veins."
She laughs, gracefully twirling around Victor, the clinging remains of her gown trailing behind her. "I'm...going out. I might bring back a friend." Her lips curl into an evil grin. "Maybe more than one."
Fate glares at Crystal.
"Yes...it vould be vise to seek your drinks elsevhere. You vould choke upon the blood of Fate."
A disgusted snarl colors the tone of her words.
"Do not allow yourself to be caught. As I vas just telling Herr Viktor--" Fate abruptly inclines her head towards him and then back again. "--our position is tenuous. Ve must be careful until our power is more secure."
Fate turns to leave, then suddenly pauses, as her eyes flash with an idea.
"Vhen you are done draining the bodies, bring them to Herr Viktor. He is in need of corpses."
She looks over her shoulder directly into Crystal's eyes.
"Do not attempt to spread the foul disease in your blood. Not just yet."
Fate turns away again, throwing out her cape. She lowers her chin until her whole face is in shadow.
"You should vait and see vhat Fate has in-store."
Smooth-worn bone grinds against rock as Victor dumps himself into his cold stone throne. His spine comes to rest against the throne’s back, as he supports his cranium with the ridge of his hand. He sits there for a moment, merely waiting for Crystal to abandon the immediate vicinity of the throne-room before he continues.
A sigh, so harsh and dry that it could easily be mistaken for a cough, if not for the obvious fact that there would be little reason for Victor to cough. ”A pity. I truly do pity her. She stood on the verge of freedom, and yet she only grasped at a section of it. She could have been completely freed. Freed to finally be realized and achieved, able to study and learn and explore without having to devote so much of your brief existence to sustaining a flawed positive-energy-dependent existence.”
Victor works himself into a fervour, his arguments and verses nearly being spit out.
”The tyranny of death can be escaped through undeath. There is no more dread over having everything you've ever known ripped away by the amnesia that comes when your soul is swallowed by the higher or lower planes, to become just another blob of 'good' or 'evil' used as a commodity or mere pawns by alien outsiders. Certain forms of undeath, however, are regrettably flawed and bears the filthy mark of the living’s flawed forms. Ghouls, ghasts and vampires are still beholden to the desire of consuming the life-energy, blood or flesh of the living, in a mocking parody of the living’s need to eat. They are flawed and still beholden to the entropy of the living, where the perfected forms such as the one Marcello became, have no such needs.”
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Sarcon joins victor in the throne room taking the big chair as his own.
speaking of energy, is there some kind of item or spell that will heal both you and me? Dividing our resources like we currently do seems like a weakness I would like to remove. If not maybe we should look for something that provides constant healing for one of us, and devote our resources to the other. Or, better yet, we steal there healer. He seemed quite effective.
Sarcon talks while channel surfing the robominions, looking for some entertainment.
Victor taps his fingers against his chin.
"I have not heard of such a spell, however, we might very well be able to locate some manner of relics that will attune both our Lady and you to the Plane of Negative Energy.
Crystal merely laughs in the face of Fate's glare, not caring enough or lucid enough to respond as she makes her way to her chambers, seeking to change into something more appropriate before going out to find a friend.
West of town there lies a haunted dungeon where a lone madman is said to reside. Victor thinks of the tales he has heard, and almost forgets to mention them out loud. When he does come forth with the information, Fate seems especially interested in the armor that this madman is said to guard in his coffers.
After a few days of getting used to being in control of her new form, and putting it to good use, Crystal prepares to depart the Keep, naturally under cover of darkness. Such were the limitations of her new form. Thankfully, Asmodeus had gifted her with a spell to help fool the masses, and for a few minutes each day she cast a shielding effect on herself, walking out into the dangerous sunlight to cast off any suspicion from the folks in Town about the true nature of their rulers.
They would go find this suit of armor for Fate...then they would tighten their grip on the City. Her mind whirled about as she made plans for a new temple to the Dark Lord in the City, only to immediately cast it aside in favor of a new plan.
Victor uses a couple of moments on gather the neat little pile of scrolls that he had created during the week, he quickly shoves them all into the countless crevices and folds of his loose hanging robes, strips on his mask and continues to the gate of the Keep. He remains there, until the rest of the group is ready to move out.
One could easily mistake him from a statue, as he stands there leaned back against the wall.
Fate claps her gauntlets together.
"Good, good. Fate must have a symbol of her power. Und the clearing of a madman from a haunted dungeon vould only further our reputation as this town's benevolent dictators."
Fate leaves the company of her associates briefly, traveling about the keep to ensure that her Fatebots are defending it properly and do not require maintenance.
When she returns, ready to go, she looks no different.
"Fate is always prepared."
Sarcon tracks down the location with almost suspicious swiftness. The group arrives in the afternoon, just as their shadows are beginning to point back towards the City. The crumbling remains of an old manor sit at the bottom of a valley here. Although only a single story, the property looks as though it once held value. The remains of a short stone wall outline the perimeter, now obstructed by an overgrown hedge along the same path. Thorny vines wind around the property gates. The rotting memory of an old barn and stable stand precariously nearby. Rusted iron bands hang loosely from the rotting wood of an old bucket by what was once a well. But perhaps most ominously, two skeletons are lashed to the front gate posts. There seems to be some movement around the property, but nothing identifiable.
The priestess ambles up closer to the gate, inspecting the skeletons tied to the posts.
She snickers, shaking her head. "Whoever this is should try harder to keep unwanted guests from their property. What a novice!"
Fate assumes her typical pose, arms crossed imperiously.
"Hmph. He truly is a madman, this 'Reggie,' if he thinks Fate can be deterred by mere skeletons."
She throws out her cape and moves to enter.
"Let us continue."
Victor pauses to remove his mask, and stares for a moment at the two tied up skeletons. Perhaps in a sense of a common connections, then he rolls his shoulder-bones and continues in after Sarcon.
He keeps a healthy watch over his own shoulder and around the yard.
The two skeletons hop down and do a quick air guitar strum before rushing off into an outhouse that disappears in a flash of light.
As the party enters the property, no further movement can be seen. However, Victor does note the well, as well as the lack of water in it. It appears to have a metal ladder within, though somewhat rusted. The doors to the manor appear to hang slightly ajar, the barn is missing a door and has holes in the walls, and the stable is, of course, a stable.