DM Shade's The Misty Manor [Solo] (Inactive)

Game Master Arrius

Spring has come. It was the 11th of Gozran, in the year 2714 in the reckoning of Absalom.

Spring has come. It was the season of kind winds, life, and the celebration of youth. Under vivid-green trees and above dewy flowers, red-faced youth pledged shy pledges of love to one another. The rich, sweet, and subtle of purfumes filled the air of Vieland’s streets.
Spring has come. It changed even eternal Ustalav—this season, it will let down its defenses and allow butterflies and songbirds to dispel the shadow over it.

Spring has come. It stopped at the iron-wrought gates of prestigious University of Lepidstadt. The students within its halls will celebrate the season and the possibilities of its coming—but surely that can wait until the university’s rigorous examinations are over. Those who loitered in the courtyard exchanging loveletters, or those who took dips in the Moutray River will answer for the crime of having fun—in due time.
In the university’s School of Medicine, one of such carefree students was serving his time in the wards, red-eared and reduced much in pride, as Doctor Thaddeus Dusek examined his patients’ reports. He spend an admirable amount of effort to hide his mistakes in misdiagnosing his assigned yellow-faced patient, though it could have not passed so easily by the doctor (who, doubtlessly, might have committed the same mistakes when he was that age).
Of course, the student (whose name Thaddeus has unfortunately forgot), did not check the patient’s stool samples for blood (forgetting or trying to forget that her blood loss might be due to internal bleeding in the gastrointestinal track). He didn’t study the bone marrow of boy in the next ward for the possibility of leukemia. A few other mistakes made reading the report simply embarrassing…

[Action]
Music: Play 'The Waldstein Academy's Theme, Track #20.'

Thaddeus looks up from his papers, glaring at the hapless student from under his glasses. While he rarely lost his temper, the simmering anger beneath his calm and composed exterior was easily noticeable.

"Most of these mistakes are amateurish, but understandable," he says evenly. "What I cannot stand for, however, is your reckless endangering of my patients' lives. Had you come to me with these issues, we might have done something to mitigate their suffering. But instead, you chose to put your own reputation before these people's well-being. Despicable. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The student's face was burning, and (to Thaddeus's eyes) seemed close to explode. Perhaps he should have spent more efforts handling his cases than covering up his mistakes.
At the end of each pause, he attempted to speak up (doubtlessly his Varisian hot blood prompting him), but by the end of Dr. Dusek's withering assessment, he had very little to say.
"Sorry, doctor," he whispered at the end of rounds.

"Sorry that you got caught, perhaps," Thaddeus snaps back. "A conditioned response, indicating fear of reprisal. There are no ethics at work here, none at all."

The doctor takes a deep sigh and removes his spectacles, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Being sorry does not quite cut it when you are directly responsible for human lives. If you are to be a doctor, you must hold yourself to a higher moral standard. My colleagues here might be willing to overlook this sort of behaviour, or even help you to cover their own behinds, but I will not."

"So," he says calmly. "You can stuff your apologies. What are you willing to do to make up for your mistakes?"

The young man looked down, remaining silent under Dr. Dusek's censure.
He looked up tentatively once he realized that the question was not theoretical.

He paused and said, "I...I'm willing to improve, Doctor."

To a person as experienced in life as Dr. Dusek, the answer could be one of those 'winning answers' that seemed to fit every situation. 'No conclusive evidence', 'Just an opinion', or 'We're trying'. A more cynical man would call the student out...

"Well, of course," says the doctor innocuously. "There is such an overabundance of people in need that I can see why you would have difficulty choosing. Fortunately for you, I have been doing this for a while now, so I should be able to narrow it down for you..."

Thaddeus raises his forefinger, signaling the student to wait, and reaches down to his side, rummaging around in his bag. He produces a worn journal, leafing through its crumpled pages for a good while before he finds what he is looking for.

"Aha!" he declares triumphantly, handing out a stained piece of parchment with a list of names scrawled on one side. The other seems to feature an advertisement of some sort. Curnow's Curiosities, it reads, in fanciful handwriting poorly emulating the style of classical Elven script.

"Here is a list of names and addresses," says Thaddeus. "You might want to find a map. I doubt you have frequented this side of town too often. Now, all of these cases are fairly simple. Most of them would not even require treatment, were these people housed in anything resembling decent conditions. Work through the list during the coming week, without compensation, and I will accept it as additional credit. Understand?"

The student nodded tentatively, accepting and studying the piece of parchment.
With his afternoon rounds concluded (and the evening shyly setting in), Dr. Dusek headed to the School of Medicine's teachers' offices to give a written assessment of this student and his peers.
The school was quiet as the man walked. As the sun set, it seemed spring has given up its efforts, and the The Immortal Principality of Ustalav returned to its normal nature.

Music: Play 'Matsushiro, a Mysterious Town', Track #7

Through the yellowing window-glass, a descending sun traveled across a reddening sky as the doctor's cane occasionally touched the wooden floorboards of the university with a soft tap, accompanying his steady footsteps. The university's interior gradually took on an ominous orange tint.
Even a man as cynical and skeptical as the good Doctor Dusek might have felt some shiver go down his old spine as the light (slowly reddening) bathed the ancient school, known colloquially across Avistan as the 'House of the Occult' instead of the more reputable 'Academy of Mortal Sciences'.

In its trophy halls and protective cases rested queer and weird artifacts unearthed from cursed and blessed places (perhaps more of the former than the latter). Skulls, mummies, and faces of the dead set in horrified or pained expressions gave a not-so-welcoming vision of the Hereafter.
Was that mummy learning right or set straight? Who made the skull open as if laughing? That's an unfunny joke...

Donated organs (as well as those taken from the unknown or forgotten dead) sat quietly in greenish fluid smelling heavily of chloroform, a grim display of mortal science that still provoked superstition among the unlearned (and sometimes, the very well-learned).
Did that taxidermied direwolf move in its case?

In the dead of night, its laboratories still bustled with activity of an unknown (and often classified) nature. Reports made by previous staff of strange activities abounded both inside and outside the university.

The secret societies and classes that studied the 'Weird Science of the Occult' abounded (probably due to the rumors if nothing else). Research penned on 'authentic' Old Varisian Harrow Cards told of the 'Cards of Destiny', which could bless or damn whoever takes a card or two.
There were rumors of cattle being stolen by visitors from between the stars, where dark things roamed beyond mortal ken. Research there consolidated eyewitnesses to flat, plate-like vessels of alien life, and of strange probing and medical exploration by said outsiders.
Even among the staff, questions arose about reports by students regarding the noises in the School of Alchemy during some nights when the staff were off-duty.
This mural of a dark-robed necromancer standing above an alter with a writhing victim is in bad taste...
The victim looks strangely familiar.

Perhaps the School of Medicine was an exception--but with Doctor Dusek's presence, there was much less UAONs (Unknown Activities of Occult Nature) around.

The teachers' offices were near the office of the Dean of the School of Medicine (who was not present at the time). The few teachers that were present finished their rounds long ago (and some less thoroughly than others, Dr. Dusek observed, though still within acceptable limits). One of such teachers was Dr. Erik Lane of internal medicine, who was sitting at his desk, grading papers. Cream-colored, black-haired, and jovially overweight, he scratched his large nose as worked, occasionally glancing at a heavy tome of the University-issued extensive textbook of internal anatomy as he graded. Erik was one of the more cautious learners of Doctor Dusek's students when he was learning, and learn he did from his good teacher when he occasionally came by to oversee the school's standards once in a while.

As Doctor Thaddeus entered, he did not look up. Once Thaddeus took an empty desk and scribbled down a concise report of the students' performances (and recommendations for educational focuses).
After a few minutes of quiet scribbling, the school's office boy entered, delivering a stack of papers and two mugs of black coffee, placing one (and the stack) at Dr. Erik's office, and mug on Dr. Dusek's office.

"Thad, need cream? Sugar?" asked Dr. Erik from his office, looking up, and putting the half-graded papers away, wiping his forehead with a silken handkerchief.

"No, Erik. No, thank you," Thaddeus replies. "Why would I want to dilute such an effective remedy? Mayhaps you should pass as well, my friend. Your sugar consumption is hardly consistent with a healthy diet. Overindulging in dairy products will not do you any favours either, believe me. You will live to regret it, once you get to my age..."

The doctor blows on his coffee and takes a sip, cursing as he burns his tongue on the searing liquid. He looks over his last report one more time, absently scanning his other papers for the name of the student he had just interviewed. Forgetting things was quite unlike him, and it made him uneasy. He had witnessed many unfortunate souls slip deep into the mental morass of senility, and was not keen to follow suit. Even amongst all the other unfortunate effects of senescence, nothing quite terrified him as much as the prospect of losing control of his mental faculties. He shivers at the thought.

One more reason to finally settle down somewhere, he reminded himself. Settle down, and open a practise. Focus his efforts. Take apprentices, to make sure that his life's work would not end in his death. But where? The call of the road was still strong, even though he could not quite handle the travel like he had used to. Yet, running away from responsibility for a few more years would not make the eventuality of it any easier to bear, and by then it might be too late. Were he to end up infirm or destitute, or merely fall off a wagon and break his neck, all of his accrued experience would be wasted. So, it had to be done. Soon. But where?

Then again, perhaps it was just the milieu that was making him uncomfortable. After his first departure from the university, Thaddeus had never quite regained the same feeling of belonging that he had felt when he was still a student. Everything had been clearer then, simpler. Perhaps he had grown too cautious, or too keen to see strangeness and foul play where there was none. Had Lepidstadt changed, truly? Or merely his perception of it?

Lost in thought, the doctor completely forgets what he is looking for, and takes another sip of his coffee.

"No, Erik. No, thank you," Thaddeus replies. "Why would I want to dilute such an effective remedy? Mayhaps you should pass as well, my friend. Your sugar consumption is hardly consistent with a healthy diet. Overindulging in dairy products will not do you any favours either, believe me. You will live to regret it, once you get to my age..."

"True...true," Dr. Erik said, absent-minded (dropping four cubes of sugar and mixing the coffee into a -rather sickeningly sweet- tanned liquid), scrolling through the letters he received.

Dr. Erik lumbered off his seat, delivering the papers to Thaddeus's desk, before returning and drawing a letter opener from his desk, handling his own letters.

Surveying the letters
Letters from people asking for loans (assuming incorrectly that the job was exceptionally profitable)...letters from inexplicably angry people for something or another...a letter from an apothecary apologizing for its inability to do something requested of it (the only thing Dr. Dusek could remember of his forgotten request was, ironically, how sending the letter may not yield results)...a letter from innocent gullible Gustav Nickoli speaking of werewolves and how some villages really suffer from them ('it's real this time, I swear')...a missive from Doctor Harry reminding Dr. Duske of the 'night of the living dead' hoax and inviting the doctor to another visit to the Riverlands, or maybe even Sargava...

All invoked memories (or lack of them). To many, the past was still alive.

One appeared to be a paper slip of the once-famous article--'Dr. Occult Disproves Zombies, Werewolves, and More!', which was popular a few years back.

The article gave the good doctor unnecessary fame that yielded precisely nothing but trouble, headaches, visits from aspiring conmen, and offers to visit this haunted house, graveyard, or the sickly girl next door whose neighbors swear see bloody bones thrown out of the window every other Sunday.

"Doctor Occult," was how a few students knew Dr. Thaddeus Dusek. It was not the most flattering nickname, but it gave him an aura of otherworldly knowledge, and his words heaviness. The more superstitious students made holy gestures as they approached him, believing him to have secrets of the multiverse...
What legacy would Dr. Dusek leave but rumors, hearsay, and a larger imprint in a world he hated than the world he loved?

Thaddeus thanks his former student and starts working his way through the letters. He quickly relegates most of them into a nearby paper bin, struggling to not brush the entirety of the pile aside at once. Perhaps he was caught off balance in his introspective state, but he felt like he currently had little patience for such rubbish. That is, even less than usual.

Yet, though the amount of misinformation on display was deeply frustrating, the doctor had long ago learned to cope with the amount of attention drawn towards his person. It was all about perspective. For every sensationalist, he reminded himself, there were dozens whose quality of life had been improved by his actions. Not only had he healed their bodies, but he had helped them stand on their own, without being preyed on by people seeking to exploit their ignorance. Their quiet was not due to lack of willingness, but of resources. Yet, he had experienced their gratitude in person. Though their names and faces tended to blend together after so many years, his memories were full of scenes of simple hospitality, glimpses of lives he had touched and left better off than they had been when he had entered them.

As he reaches the last of the missives, Thaddeus smiles to himself. That was his true legacy, even no one would remember: children with clear minds and healthy bodies, a new generation to pass on the gifts of charity and wisdom. For all the things that were wrong in the world, he had done some good with his life. And why should it end there? There was still time to make a difference...

But where?

As Thaddeus (preoccupied with his thoughts) tossed out the most useless letters off to the side of the bin, he noticed the dates on the letters--many have been sent months ago, apparently waiting for his arrival--only now remembered by the lazy office boy.
The paper bin continued to be fed with nonsense and the rare acknowledgement, before there was one left. The last envelope tore Dr. Dusek out of his revere.
It was unmarked at first--flipping the envelope curiously, Dr. Dusek saw the waxen seal carry the signature of the Ardis post services. It was only then did the doctor notice the 'thrilling Dr. Occult' news case was attached to the missive itself (in an unprofessional manner that hinted tampering with postal services).

With confused shaky fingers, the doctor opened the baige envelope, finding a letter within, written with elegant handwriting that seemed feminine (or maybe of a man with delicate fingers). Besides the general weak grammar and occasional spelling mistake, Dr. Thaddeus found himself engrossed in the letter.

“Dear Dr. Thaddeus,

“Good greetings to you,
“I was thrilled to read a story of your kind person in a paper my dear husband acquired. I've recognized your face before I read the strange title of 'Doctor Occult'. Nostalgia washed upon me as I remembered the past and your life here in Ardis with your uncle (Gods be Good to him) and cousins. You were, indeed, the best of neighbors to us, and we shared many good memories.
“There is a predicament in our life that I believe affects you in some way. My husband, Malakai Iwan, and I would be honored if you would accept our invitation to our house in Ardis to learn of the problem in question. We know that you remain unmarried and are light of foot, so kindly return a letter so that we may prepare for your coming.
“My regards to Edric, Maddox, and Agatha if you still see them. My house is easy to find in (…) (address in the center of the Old Capital).
“Best regards, Arline Iwan”

Play: 'Bunmei's Memories'

Again overcome by an inexplicable uneasiness, Thaddeus sets the letter down, only to snatch it up and read it again multiple times, as if looking for some secret message hidden between the lines. Whatever it is that he is looking for eludes him, however, only springing to mind further memories. It was as if some unacknowledged barrier had been broken, giving way to a barrage of images thought forgotten. The truth was that he had not thought of the old gang in years, nor had his many travels brought him near his old haunts in Ardis for many decades. Though his memories of the county were mostly those of childhood happiness, after his last departure he had felt no need to return to Ardeal. His work took him all over Ustalav, of course, but for some strange reason the prospect of returning home had never crossed his mind...

She got married. Of course she did.

"Erik," he says, his voice cracking slightly. "You... you are going to have to take over for me. Something has come up, and I must leave at once."

Dr. Erik looked up with a confused expression, and then nodded, "Of course. I'll inform the dean that you have an important engagement."

Having submitted his initial assessment, Thaddeus wrote down (in the inexplicably difficult-to-read 'doctor scribbles') his assessment of the students he handled, as well as his general impression of the quality of teaching and student retention of information, as well as their practical skills.

Scene 3

Sending his reply on the wings of one of the university's white carrier pigeon, Dr. Dusek packed himself for the road once again.
Planning overland travel was something Dr. Duske was all too familiar with. Lepidstadt, the road south past Canter House's country to Courtaud, follow along the road along the Vistear River to the crossroad-town of Chastel, and then south until the horizon is dotted by the sharp gothic towers and guardian gargoyle status of the Old (or True, depending on who you ask) Capital. A river-bound voyage could also be an alternative, but traveling the countryside on the road was safer.

Is there anything you'd like to buy to do before you leave on the overland route to Ardis?

After charting his course and asking about when the dean would return (which elicited an innocent shrug from Dr. Lane), Thaddeus headed towards the gray messenger tower of Lepidstadt to send his penned reply. In all probability, he will reach Ardis after nearly five days of travel if the roads were good and if everything went according to plan.

As Dr. Dusek ascended the gray messenger tower of Lepidstadt, the sky outside slowly darkened to a dark blue as the redness receded. Stars began to twinkle, and the yellow waxing moon of the Sweet Moon lunar month appeared on the horizon.

With the answering envelope in his hand, he reached the middle floor's office to find the young lady managing the pigeons, deep in a peaceful snooze. Several pigeons curiously stayed awake, cooing gently while looking down on the intruder.

With a sharp rap with his cane on the office, the young lady jumped up, nearly falling over her chair. Her hair was disheveled and tawny, and had a strong Riverlands look about her.
"Doctor Occult!" she shouted in recognition. "I mean...ehm...
Her face strained to recognize the doctor's name, and she looked into her desk (where another copy of that blasted articles was), and after a quick glance, looked up and said, "Dr. Dusek! How can I help you?"

With a glance, the good doctor noticed several occultish artifacts in the room--an effigy hanging from the desk, several pigeon nests had round egg-like objects inscribed with runic sigils that meant nothing, a yellowing tome of the Book of Dreams and True Sight that was open (with a red marker on it) and a pot at the window with a bunch of clovers. The girl was clearly taken by the occult.
At first glance, one seemed to have four leaves, but upon closer inspection, it was a three-leaf clover with another leaf implanted with the rest.
She waited patiently for the envelope, though Dr. Dusek could see she was holding something back with a furious blush.

Do you want to write something specific to Arline, or is accepting the invitation and good greetings enough?

With a sharp rap with his cane on the office, the young lady jumped up, nearly falling over her chair. Her hair was disheveled and tawny, and had a strong Riverlands look about her.

"Doctor Occult!" she shouted in recognition. "I mean...ehm..."
Her face strained to recognize the doctor's name, and she looked into her desk (where another copy of that blasted articles was), and after a quick glance, looked up and said, "Dr. Dusek! How can I help you?"

She waited patiently for the envelope, though Dr. Dusek could see she was holding something back with a furious blush.

Thaddeus checks the seal on the envelope one more time, running his fingers across the dab of silvery grey wax bearing the university's heraldry. Satisfied that it is still secure—and thus finding no excuse to avoid the inevitable—he finally hands the letter over to the young woman. The doctor considers turning on his heels and storming out before he is bombarded with inane questions, but instead closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before levelling a stern gaze on the pigeon keeper. He would not allow himself to be overcome with emotion, nor would he turn his back on someone who thirsted for knowledge—however misguided they might be.

"Say what you have to say," he says evenly. "Quickly, before you burst a capillary."

Do you want to write something specific to Arline, or is accepting the invitation and good greetings enough?

The letter would be exceedingly impersonal, only having the bare amount of practical information about when he expects to be arriving in Ardis. Thaddeus probably sketched up a few more emotionally charged letters, before getting frustrated with the prospect and delayed the inevitable awkwardness of the reunion for his arrival. I'm going for the former teenage crush angle, in case you can't tell.

"Say what you have to say. Quickly, before you burst a capillary."

"I saw you in a dream I had!" burst the young lady. "That sounded wrong. But I saw something in my dreams two days ago!"

She took the letter and began talking as she (with practiced skill) prepared it for sending. At first she stammered contradicting reports back and forth, and once the letter was on its way, she zoomed back to her desk, plopped up a leather-bound notebook with a string ending with two beads and a feather (which Dr. Dusek recognized as a 'memory dream-journal'), and regained her train of thought as Dr. Dusek's eyes lingered on the journal briefly.

Such journals claimed to grant great insight into the future or past (or generally, unknown things)--often called 'third eye books'. Half of the journal was reserved for recording dreams, and the other half explained them.

"Right. The Tall Stranger! I saw him!" she said at first, reading her dream entry, and then scrolled to the second half of the journal. "See? Represents mysterious wise men in your life! He was wearing a doctor's coat."
She then looked at Dr. Thaddeus, and then nodded conspiratorially, with a 'if you know what I mean' smile.

"I asked Old Woman Natasha, and she said it was you!" She then continued, almost out of breath from excitement once she saw no reaction from Thaddeus.

Of course she would. Old Woman Natasha must have had a field day.

"She said it was you once I asked her/ She said that she foresaw me coming!" said the girl, excited.
Clearly, she understood (as most people do) that nightmares that appear to her after having something heavy with garlic or spice before bed or a heavy dinner are indicative of psychic precognition or spiritual lightness that allow her to explore the future.
Fair enough--Kindler's novels made that trope entrenched in the public consciousness of most Ustalavians.

Upon asking what the girl saw in the dream, she said, "You were cut into pieces!"
Such a pleasant image. There have been worse dreams.
"And then eaten by wolves!" she continued, scrolling quickly back and forth between the folds of her journal.
The shreds were eaten by wolves or was the corpse whole?
"And then you were walking in fire without being harmed," she finished, wearing an expression of serenity that looked suspiciously like Natasha's own after she finished her readings.

Thaddeus listens impassively as the young lady prattles on about her dreams. An errant memory bubbles to the surface of his mind, causing his face to contort into a sardonic smile. He quickly suppresses the expression, not intent on sneering so maliciously at someone who had done him no harm. He would, however, try to teach her. Yes, there was time for a small lesson in doubt...

"You have consulted with the Natasha Bonnewis?" he asks innocuously, having regained his composure. "Well, I am certain that your discussion with this esteemed clairvoyant did nothing to colour your own prognostications. As it happens, I have also had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. She also promised me a grisly end—some years ago. Fate has yet to catch up with me, it seems..."

The doctor leans on his cane and rubs his chin thoughtfully, adopting a sagely mien. "But mayhaps I can be of assistance. As you undoubtedly know, I also have some experience in dealing with premonitions. A tall man in a doctor's coat, you say? No doubt you have had other visitors that fit the description. Lepidstadt is positively overrun with people claiming degrees in a wide variety of fields, and only some of them are false. Many of them are also taller than my humble self, surely! I am quite average in terms of height, at least for someone of my age and social standing. Any one of these 'doctors' may have stuck out in your memory, if only partially. You see, he conscious mind has a habit of filling in for the subconscious, which is famously unreliable when it comes to retaining details..."

Not wanting to appear too aggressive in his approach, Thaddeus takes a step back and assumes a more worried countenance. In that aspect rhetoric was quite like fencing: occasionally, you had to feint in order to lure the opponent out of their defensive posture. "Out of curiosity, how would you interpret the other imagery? Getting cut into pieces, the wolves, and the fire? Seems awfully morbid..."

She also promised me a grisly end—some years ago. Fate has yet to catch up with me, it seems..."

The woman nodded intently, and then piqued up, "She said 'only to be expected. I have foreseen it.' All of it--the limbs, the wolves, and the fire! Actually, she mentioned something about crows, but when I said I was sure it was wolves, she said that I was right, and she was testing my Third Eye!"

She smiled in pride as she listened to the doctor (who was, clearly in her eyes, a legend in the field of her interest).

You see, he conscious mind has a habit of filling in for the subconscious, which is famously unreliable when it comes to retaining details..."

She nodded, taking in every word.

"Out of curiosity, how would you interpret the other imagery? Getting cut into pieces, the wolves, and the fire? Seems awfully morbid..."

"Well, Old Woman Natasha said it is how you will meet your Doom," said the young woman (whose name was Katherine). "But she also said that my Third Eye was opening, so I guess I can understand it my own way...

Thaddeus nods. "A rather literal interpretation, though it certainly seems better than the alternative..."

"The truth is that there is an infinite amount of interpretations for any dream," he explains calmly. "That book that you cling to is not the only one of its kind. I should know, since I have read several dozen of them. Here is an example: while in many cultures, fire is seen as a symbol of rebirth—a form of pyrolatry—not everyone shares that view. To the Shoanti of the Storval Plateau fire is an enemy, a force to be feared and respected—or even mastered—yet it offers no chance of rejuvenation. Only death under the scorching sun, or the cinder storms that ravage that land. Wolves and crows they see as totems to be emulated, while we, in turn, associate them with death and misfortune. As you see, we here in darkened Ustalav have different cultural connotations for similar natural phenomena as the tribes of northern Varisia. Yet, said phenomena are no different in either locale. Which of us is right, then? Or perhaps both of us are equally wrong, grasping at straws trying to understand something without any real meaning..."

The doctor gives the young woman a wry smile. "Though I admit that there exist only a limited amount of ways for construing the meaning of getting dismembered. I think that one is quite self-explanatory."

He then raises his brow in provocation, trying to guess which defence the self-proclaimed prophet would pick. There were many, but he had heard them all.

Cultural relativity of symbolism

Or perhaps both of us are equally wrong, grasping at straws trying to understand something without any real meaning..."

"You're right. Maybe we're both wrong. Admitting defeat is the first step towards wisdom, right?" She admitted (strangely quoting the rationalist Lady Ulyssa of Odronto).

"You're right. Maybe we're both wrong. Admitting defeat is the first step towards wisdom, right?" She admitted (strangely quoting the rationalist Lady Ulyssa of Odronto).

Pleasantly surprised by the pigeon keeper's erudition, Thaddeus nods approvingly.

"Indeed," he says in reply. "A healthy sense of doubt, combined with the natural curiosity of the human mind, is the sole reliable tool we have for attaining knowledge—and subsequently, the most important driving force behind all scientific and societal development. Are you, by chance, a student at the university? Have you studied magical theory, or its practical applications?"

"But if you're going to abroad, please be careful. Prophecy or not, these are dangerous times; the Crusaders of the north lost several castles in succession last month."

The doctor smiles reassuringly. "I appreciate your concern, but I am travelling... intranationally."

The young woman seemed to glow at the doctor's recognition, though she seemed conflicted.

Are you, by chance, a student at the university?

"Not yet, sir. I'm Senna Juliana's cousin. She's the second Keeper of the Tomes of the university, and an alumni in the college of theology. She says that if I do good enough in this job, I can start attending full-time."

The girl clearly idolized Thaddeus Dusek (and indeed, several people did). It was strange, however.
Roaming Ustalav and the neighboring countries to attend to medical mysteries such as the terror caused by an outbreak of Lychfield Fever and the subsequent conferences made a lot of friends and allies (such as the eager Dr. Harry among others). Somehow, however, Dr. Dusek ended up focusing more on Strange Cases than medical ones (in a rather common run of bad luck). Rubbing shoulders with mystics, conmen, the occasional True Seer, and the very sensationalist Soiva Arcana press company and its lead editor, Lord Keldoff Undain.

Shortly after the dread article of 'Disproven Zombies' came out, Undain received an severely-worded letter of objection from one of Dr. Dusek's patients to how misrepresented he was. As an apology (without retracting the article, of course), Keldoff sent to Dr. Dusek a curious-looking mahogany smoking pipe.
Upon being seen with the pipe during a conference, several attendees of Sarkorsian descent recognized it as a ritual pipe to ward off evil.
"Dr. Occult Haunted by Demon! 'Spurned Succubus' Claims Informed Source! More in Page 5!" was the next headline in the Soiva Arcana. Dr. Thaddeus then figured out the futility of appealing to the editor's integrity or sense of honor.
What a nincompoop.

Scene 4
Starday, 12 of Gozran.
Play 'The Sixth Station'
Readying his medical bag and a small side-pack for a change of clothes for three days, Dr. Dusek was ready to set out from the apartment he reserved for his visits to the County of Vieland.
Readied with his traveling coat and hat, and equipped with an umbrella to shelter him from the seasonal rain, he noticed an iron ankh pinned to one wall.
The apartment was seasonally used by several people (as Dr. Dusek rented it when he was traveling), but this was the first time the landlady Mrs. Svey didn't clean up everything.
The specimen itself was not recognizable to Dr. Dusek's eye. It looked like Sarenrae's holy symbol, but the subtle inscriptions within seemed Sarkorsian in nature.
Just like that blasted pipe.
Outside, a distant thunder threatened a downpour, dim road, and a muddy trip.

Dr. Dusek is to pass by the wagon station at the edge of town as a soft rain begins to pour, where he is but the only traveler at this time.

"Doctor...you're very well known in the circles I attend. They all attest to your knowledge of the occult and such mysteries. They described you...differently than how I see you now. All this talk about doubt...a measure of it is healthy, but isn't...sort of cynical?"

The young woman then struggled to explain how she felt or to elucidate her point, before being interrupted by the distant nightwatch bells signalling nightfall and curfew.
"Oh," she said, blinking rapidly, before cramming her journal into her desk drawer and locking it. "It was very nice to meet you, doctor. I've got to run. I pray for your safe return."

Thaddeus smiles and nods, ready to further explain his perceived cynicism, but his answer is likewise cut off by the ringing of the bells.

"Of course," he says cordially. "Best of luck to you, my young friend. But please, leave the praying to priests..."

The doctor made a mental note to pay another visit once he got back—if he did get back. If? He balks at the thought, as it creeps into his mind unbidden. Was he letting all this soothsaying nonsense—mere superstition—get to him? After all these years? No. He quickly brushes off the idea, instead starting a mental list of what he needed to pack for the journey...

The specimen itself was not recognizable to Dr. Dusek's eye. It looked like Sarenrae's holy symbol, but the subtle inscriptions within seemed Sarkorsian in nature.

On a whim, the doctor grabs the ankh and turns it around in his hands, trying to recognise the script. Ancient Hallit, perhaps? Or maybe it was just nonsense, a bauble meant to fool some unfortunate out of a few silvers...

Take 10 on Linguistics: 10 + 8 = 18

Handling the ankh, the doctor found it cold to the touch. The scribbles etched to the iron seemed to be inlaid by some bright material.
To his eyes, it seemed to be as silver or treated iron.

As I understand it, deciphering a script runs between 20 and 30, but it is a 'secret check'.

Having seen similar markings before now on shorter range, Dr. Dusek raised his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, analyzing the inlays.
After few moments of handling it, he concluded silently that it the script was as he suspected: a ward against evils of Sarkoris. An invocation, surely, to an unknown entity against evil eye, disease, or even demons. It clearly failed its task, as Sarkoris is no more.

The specimen would very likely cost a nice pouch of gold for a collector, but despite the symbol being in his apartment, it was plain to the eye that it was forgotten there by its owners.
A strange omen, if he cared to fear them. A soft rain outside began to pour. The Loski carriage will soon pass by the station. Leaving the ankh back on the nail protruding from the wall. Leaving the apartment, the ankh seemed to glimmer at the edge of sight as clouded sunlight passed by the closing door.

Back to Scene 4
Play 'The Sixth Station'
The good doctor waited at the carriage station, sitting on the sheltered chairs by the gravel road. A chart within the station marked the expected arrival time of the Loski carriage services, which was within a quarter of an hour.
An old woman passed by the station as Dr. Dusek waited, nodded politely, and sat on another chair, reading from a small black book.
Soon, a black-and-gray great carriage arrived. As its driver looked down quietly from above, the door opened to reveal a young man with thick glasses with a paper.
Dr. Dusek approached, showing him his signet of membership, which the young man nodded at. Entering the carriage, Dr. Dusek saw that twenty seats were mostly empty, with a few elders sitting by the windows or reading papers by the back of the carriage. The old woman followed after paying coin, and the carriage began moving as the conductor headed for the back of the carriage.
“There is a predicament in our life that I believe affects you in some way. My husband, Malakai Iwan, and I would be honored if you would accept our invitation to our house in Ardis to learn of the problem in question. We know that you remain unmarried and are light of foot, so kindly return a letter so that we may prepare for your coming."
“Listen to me, sister. Thaddeus is smart and he could excel in school and with his tutors. Maybe he could become a doctor, or architect, or an officer. You shouldn’t keep him in the county when he has so much promise.”
He can come with me in Ardis and live in my house with my children; Edric and Maddox and Agatha are around his age. After all, I’m his uncle.”
"How will I raise them?"
He would be glad to be elsewhere.
"Sorry Thad. You're wanting."
--years of joy and childhood innocence among the happiest--
It was not clear to Dr. Thaddeus when he fell to a short sleep, looking out the window to the clouded county of Vieland.
An older man dressed sharply in black was reading through a paper--the Caliphan Times.
Wardstone Fallen! Clydwell Keep Reinforced! Master Abjurers Flock to Restore the Wall That Guards All Life!

An older man dressed sharply in black was reading through a paper--the Caliphan Times.

Wardstone Fallen! Clydwell Keep Reinforced! Master Abjurers Flock to Restore the Wall That Guards All Life!

Thaddeus instinctively touches the ankh in his coat pocket, groggily mulling over the headline as he runs his fingers over its inlaid symbols. The seemingly ominous appearance of the Sarkorian ward was merely a case of cognitive bias, of course. Had he not just come across the charm before embarking, he would not have thought it peculiar to see such tidings. After all, the press loved nothing more than inflate the most minute issues into full-blown crises in order to sell a few more papers. Nevertheless, the doctor tries to catch a glimpse of the article itself, unabashedly leaning over the darkly attired gentleman's shoulder to have a better look.

The older man glanced at Dr. Dusek, and handed him the first page of the paper with a hand gloved in white. He himself continued reading the obituaries, as the cart began moving.

The article is taking testimonies from several crusading and mercenary companies' reports of demonic infiltration within their ranks, complaints about lack of supplies and manpower, and hostility from the heathen native. The actual piece about the Wardstone reports a breach done by a hostile spell or corruption (the terms seem interchangeable to the writer), and the deployment of a high-level abjurer to investigate with a contingent from the capital city.

The writer is one Jessa Undain.

The man himself seemed to be in his mid-sixties, with smooth white hair and a clean beard reaching the middle of his chest.

The older man glanced at Dr. Dusek, and handed him the first page of the paper with a hand gloved in white.

Thaddeus nods in gratitude, fixing his spectacles and taking in the article. The contents are much as expected, though the name at the bottom of the page manages to cause him some distress.

Undain... bah, that name has no place in any respectable publication. Hm, what are the odds...

The older man continued looking over his paper, and said in a strong baritone, "Good sir, if this paper manages to guilt you into a donation, don't make it to the low Crusaders the Third Star."

The doctor jumps slightly, having been lost in thought. Again. "Ahem... I do not have much to spare, in any case. The low templars will have to revel on someone else's expense..."

Thaddeus hands back the page, motioning to the bag at the man's side.

"I see you work with the dead," he proclaims, partially to change the subject, but mainly to distract himself from his erratic mental state.

"More on than with," he returned, his hauntingly clear blue eyes studying the paper. "But aye, then aye...a mortician am I."

He folded the obituaries and said, extending a gloved hand towards Dr. Dusek, "Konrad Tarkowski."

The doctor reaches over to shake Konrad's hand, smiling faintly at what he perceives to be an attempt at humour.

"Thaddeus Dusek," he says in response. "A medical doctor, though I also got my start working on the dead. Hm, I suppose that is right. I learned a lot from them, but they seemed to gain little in return."

He leans back, again starting to fiddle with the ankh in his pocket. "Where might you be travelling, if I may ask?"

"Thaddeus Dusek," he says in response. "A medical doctor, though I also got my start working on the dead. Hm, I suppose that is right. I learned a lot from them, but they seemed to gain little in return."

"Thaddeus Dusek...that sounds familiar," said the mortician, scratching his beard. "Trained a mortician? That may explain how you recognized my pack without reading it, I suppose.

"Where might you be travelling, if I may ask?"

"Clover's Cursed Crossing," the man replied. Outside, distant storm clouds gathered. "And then, Ravengro to meet a very old friend."

He paused, looking out the window to the darkening morning.
Besides the pack, Dr. Dusek noticed a few other possessions--the man did not carry a travel pack, or a travel cloak, despite his declared destination taking a while.
Besides his mortician's pack and immaculate suit, he carried a walking cane tipped with ivory, and a curious-looking lantern fashioned of iron wire. He was not as bent by time as those of his age would, either, but was powerfully-built as a soldier a third of his age. So far, his eyes have not directly met Thaddeus's own (though they did flick back and forth around the doctor to study his own pack and attire).

Do you have any ability to detect magic items?

"Dusek. Now I remember," he said, smiling softly, "You're the one who disproved zombies. Doctor Occult. I remember reading your article once after the Lychfield Fever died down."

Do you have any ability to detect magic items?

Thaddeus always has one slot empty, so he can prep and drink an extract of identify. Which is totally something he would do the lantern seems obviously magical. Scientific curiosity, and all that.

"Dusek. Now I remember," he said, smiling softly, "You're the one who disproved zombies. Doctor Occult. I remember reading your article once after the Lychfield Fever died down."

The doctor sighs deeply, mentally preparing an explanation that he had given dozens of times during the last few years.

Perhaps I should change my name, he thought. Or maybe retire somewhere more peaceful and secluded, like Mendev. At least the demons would not pester me about that blasted article...

"Well, disproved is something of an overstatement," he says reluctantly. "I merely observed that the symptoms of the fever included intermittent periods of unconsciousness, during which the patients' vitals became increasingly more difficult to measure—a sort of a deathlike coma, if you will. When their supposedly deceased neighbours started crawling out of their coffins, the common folk misinterpreted the occurance as the dead coming back to life. There was certainly nothing occult about the incident, as much as simple ignorance. Not that the papers would tell you that, of course. They would have had you belive it was the third coming of the Whispering Tyrant!"

"Well, disproved is something of an overstatement.

I merely observed that the symptoms of the fever included intermittent periods of unconsciousness, during which the patients' vitals became increasingly more difficult to measure—a sort of a deathlike coma, if you will. When their supposedly deceased neighbours started crawling out of their coffins, the common folk misinterpreted the occurance as the dead coming back to life. There was certainly nothing occult about the incident, as much as simple ignorance. Not that the papers would tell you that, of course. They would have had you believe it was the third coming of the Whispering Tyrant!"

"Alchemists have made a drought of it. The Drought of Sleeping Death," the man said. "Caused me a number of incidents with overly romantic youngsters, but no accidental burials as of yet."

He then paused, and said, "It seems you were a victim of the Arcana's usual marketing tactics. For all their faults, they did good by spreading the lie that no undead were involved."

"For some reason, the barriers between the realms is thinner than it used to be. The origin of the fever was magical in nature, even if the fever itself was not."

Thaddeus furrows his brow, huffing incredulously. "I saw no sign of the supernatural. Do you have any evidence to support your theory, or is this mere speculation?"

"I saw no sign of the supernatural. Do you have any evidence to support your theory, or is this mere speculation?"

"There is nothing mere with such a speculation," returned the mortician. "Although I ask this: what evidence will you accept?"

Thaddeus pauses for a moment, slowly tracing the ankh's inscriptions with his fingers. "There is only one kind of evidence that has any true credence: fact. However, even the most misguided superstition may hold some kernel of truth. I learned early on to not to dismiss anything without a closer inspection, even if it might seem incredulous at first."

"As such," the doctor says and gestures to the lantern. "I am willing to entertain the though that you know something I do not, or possess the means of perceiving some detail that might have eluded me. Whether or not I accept it as fact is another matter entirely..."

"As such

...
"I am willing to entertain the though that you know something I do not, or possess the means of perceiving some detail that might have eluded me. Whether or not I accept it as fact is another matter entirely..."

The mortician followed Dr. Dusek's gesture to his lantern, and listened quietly.

"My daughter died of Lychfield, doctor," he said quietly. "Not long after all the dead have been counted, the plague contained, the people sighing relief, and the press talking. You'd think a mortician would be used to buying the young and promising..."

Play: 'Maya's Death', Track #8

He paused, where the lantern's inscriptions read out '--dead due the earth. Living--' on one side, "Many doctors echoed your assessment after you made it and the facade began unraveling--'the afflicted were buried prematurely, suffering from total cessations of apparent functions of vitality and life, and yet in which these cessations are merely suspensions, improperly called animations.' No undead were involved, and there was nothing spiritual or supernatural in the equation.
"I hoped so--I spoke to a spirit-whisperer, hoping to speak a few last words to my daughter, and there was no answer. A fake would at least give something to sooth an old man's heart--a few 'thank you, daddy', 'sorry for leaving', and 'I love you'.
"...But nothing--they all said absolutely nothing. 'No answer. I don't know why not.'"

He closed his eyes, and then said, "I do. Her soul was corrupted and could not be spoken to. I left with my two sons to find traces of her--anything would suffice. We pulled every string, asked everybody, and went as far as our feet would take us...
"I lost both sons after I lost my one daughter," he finished, holding up the lantern, and turning it. The continuation was heavily scarred and unintelligible. "And gained this. I thought I would find answers, but found a terrible trade instead."

He then paused, and said, "You ask for evidence of dark days, Doctor Dusek. My stop is Clover's Crossing. Where did you say yours was?"

Thaddeus listens intently to Konrad's story, his heart seizing with sympathy for the old mortician. Having spoken to countless mourners, he was all too familiar with the symptoms of this sickness of the mind. There were multiple rational explanations for what had happened, but the man was clearly mad with grief. There was no sense in reasoning with him.

"I am sorry for your loss," he says sadly. "I am, truly."

The doctor turns away, looking out at the grey landscapes speeding pass the window. "I am headed for the Old Capital."

"I appreciate the sentiment, doctor, but there was a message in there: We might all claim we follow reason," he said with the same air of calmness he narrated the end of his family. "But in the end, every soul has a key. Convincing a person (even you, I expect) takes less reasoning and evidence, and more finding the key, and turning, till it goes--."
The mortician pressed the side of the lantern, causing its door to click, popping open.

The doctor turns away, looking out at the grey landscapes speeding pass the window. "I am headed for the Old Capital."

"Ardis?" From behind Dr. Dusek, he heard Konrad say, "You're in luck. I was there just a fortnight ago. You have no fear from the dead there--only the living."

After a moment of enjoying the dismal Ustalavic scenery, Thaddeus turns back to his travelling companion, only to notice that the mortician has dozed off. He considers reaching over with his cane to shift the lantern, to get a better look at the item—especially the marred inscriptions, or perhaps even a peek at the interior. He quickly discards the idea, though, not wanting to bother an already troubled man. Instead, he turns his attention on the mysterious ankh, starting a more thorough inspection of the writings on its surface...

Take 20 on Linguistics, effectively, or whichever skill would be most appropriate. Thaddeus is fluent in Hallit, in case it matters.

Knowing Hallit, Thaddeus also noted that most traditions and literature of the language were oral, and not written--except very few exceptions by ancient druids, seers, and mystics. The ankh invoked the names of several powers in its archaic script, which would date to no less than 800 years old.

The ankh held invocations in silver inlaid letters and pictographs to long-forgotten powers. No doubt, the names of the powers themselves were the pictographic symbols, and not written down in the right side of the ankh.

In the name of [Picture of Stylized Eye middling a hand], by the power of His Gaze, and the [unclear scribbling], I assume authority over Evil.

On the left of the ankh, was the following.

In the name of [Picture of downward back of a hand], by the power of Her Strike, and the Right path, I banish black magic, wicked sorcery, and demonic forces.

The ankh itself had a strangely hypnotizing effect when being turned, Dr. Dusek realized, when he turned it to its side. The loop of the ankh looked like (if just for a moment) an eye blinking sideways when spun around.

Scene 5
Moonday, 14 of Gozran (Full Moon)

The days went on--the carriage had frequent stops along the road--with some travelers leaving, and some joining up. The road followed a more forest-like setting heading southeast, leaving the hills and mountains that Vieland was known for. The Shudderwood loomed in the horizon.

The mortician Konrad initiated several conversations over the trip to his travel companion. They usually revolved around his practice (and the money made from entombing in mausoleums, as well as major houses' family basement-mausoleums), strange cases he witnessed (a man whose family demanded he be buried with a jester suit and in an undignified pose), and postmortem symptoms of diseases Thaddeus recognized as common in Ustalav.
The man showed intelligent observations, stating that one can judge several hidden diseases by the order and spread of biolife (such as the growth of certain bacteria colonies and insects). The man knows his forensic microbiology.

Once every few stops, a fresh newspaper came in (though few were of the Sovia Arcana. It was still was not as popular as Lord Keldoff would wish).
Being closer to the carriage door, Konrad took the Caliphan Times, and with a grim smile, delivered the issue to Dr. Dusek, and reading the obituaries.

Caliphan Times article continued on the same point as the days before, reiterating the loss of important castles (around the wardstone instead of the wardstone this time).

"Next stop by midday, Clover's Crossing," called out the driver above, as the weather continued to be disagreeable and stormy.

Thaddeus was grateful for the company, even though the mortician's story had done little to put him at ease. Could he truly have missed something of such magnitude? No, he was certain of the veracity of his findings—as far as he could remember, anyway. In any case, having someone to converse with made the trip pass faster, even if he was forced to steer clear of more esoteric topics...

"Next stop by midday, Clover's Crossing," called out the driver above, as the weather continued to be disagreeable and stormy.

The doctor looks up from the paper, clearing his throat. "That would be your stop, would it not? I have been thinking about your offer, about the evidence. Honestly, I should not tarry. I am being expected in Ardis by some very old friends..."

DM Shade wrote:

"Next stop by midday, Clover's Crossing," called out the driver above, as the weather continued to be disagreeable and stormy.

The doctor looks up from the paper, clearing his throat. "That would be your stop, would it not? I have been thinking about your offer, about the evidence. Honestly, I should not tarry. I am being expected in Ardis by some very old friends."

Konrad's SM: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

'And then, Ravengro to meet a very old friend.'

Old Konrad Tarkowski smiled, and said, eyes twinkling, "For business, pleasure, or a mystery that needs Doctor Occult?"

"Oh, Dr. Dusek, I do not have much cause to regret how I've spent my time living--save that I loved professional medicine, and wished since youth that I have studied it," The man then stretched his arms, prompting sharp joint cracks that made him wince, before adding, retrieving his fallen ivory-tipped cane. "In some ways, we are very alike: We both have a love for medicine and healing, but our fate would drive us to other fields--me to tending the dead, and you to uncovering the occult."

The man then leaned back in his seat, sinking into the soft cushion of the private transport carriage, and mumbled tiredly, eyes slowly closing, "Remember--not even the gods know where all paths lead. Lord Aroden didn't window-shop for a gravestone. I do not know what you think of the occult and where truth stands from fiction and hearsay, but I do hope you the best of good fortune and true insight in this trip of yours."

The man soon dozed off into sleep again. Looking out the window-glass, Dr. Dusek noticed it was still around 6 AM.

The doctor sits in silence for some time, inspecting the aged countenance of the sleeping mortician. Was this what he would have become, had he decided to stay in Ardis? A broken old man...

Thaddeus had his regrets, of course, but leaving for Lepidstadt was not one of them. The concept of building a family had never seemed right to him, even before he had promised his uncle that he would continue to pursue medicine. Had he felt that he was being pressured into something against his wishes, he might have rebelled. But no, he had never hesitated. Not for a moment. While he might have enjoyed a quiet life as a mortician, and with time, he might have even gathered the courage to propose... what right did he have to put his peace of mind above the well-being of others? If he was capable of aiding those in need, the choice was obvious. Whether it meant curing the ill or fighting superstition, he had the moral responsibility to act. Not to run away, surely, but to keep moving towards something worth pursuing.

The Old Capital offered nothing but decay, a slow fading into memory. However blissful it may have seemed for a brief moment all those years ago, such an existence would have ultimately been utterly inconsequential—nothing but the fleeting fancy of a young mind. The old man's tale of woe had touched him, but did it make him feel regret, or jealousy? Whatever fleeting happiness the mortician might have experienced, it had been taken away from him in an instant, by mere happenstance. Disease and other misfortune might rob a man of kith and kin, but his achievements had the potential of living on beyond mortal memory. What he had accomplished—and what he might yet accomplish—would last beyond any family legacy. There was nothing he had left behind that was worth more than that. That was what he had told himself all these years. He had to believe that it was true.

But why, then, did the thought of returning home fill him with such dread?

Nearing Clover's Crossing, Konrad seemed still fast asleep.

As the midday sun reaches its zenith in overcast sky, Thaddeus clears his throat and gently shakes Konrad's shoulder. "We are almost there. Allow me to help with your luggage..."

"Clover's Crossing!" shouted the coach (the young man with thick glasses).

Konrad's right eye opened slowly, and then his left, as he sighed, slowly rising (as some ancient being out of its slumber). When he finally arose, he nodded to Dr. Dusek.

"We are almost there. Allow me to help with your luggage..."

"Have none," he said with a dry rasp (far aways from his confident and calm baritone). He then turned to Dr. Dusek, and smiled (not unkindly), and said in the same rasp. "Pleasure traveling with you."

With that, the man continued on the road--his mortician's bag in one hand, and the ivory-tipped walking cane in the other, with the curious lantern swinging to and fro, as if a child waving goodbye to the carriage.

"Next stop by 8 in the evening, Ardis!" shouted the coach, as the mortician slowly faded out of sight.

"You will master fire..."

Thaddeus looks on as the mortician disappears into the distance. He turns the box in his hands for a good while, only opening the container once the carriage is a safe distance away from Clover's Crossing.

"Another bloody pipe," he mutters as he inspects the contents. "No one seems to give a damn about the fact that I do not smoke. Such a deplorable habit..."

The doctor puts the box aside for a moment, digging through his bag for a wooden case filled with various alchemical reagents. After a moment of fiddling with its contents, he produces a glass pipette filled with a clear liquid. He removes his spectacles, using the pipette to apply the tincture directly into his eyes. Once he is done, he puts away his equipment and takes another look at the pipe and its peculiar accessories...

Using another extract of identify, just in case. Whether or not it's magical, let me know if I can roll something to get further insight into any possible occult connotations the item might have. I wouldn't want to accidentally smoke ground-up Osirian mummies, or something...

The accessories all fit in one seamless whole. The set seems to be a general smoking kit.
The only thing that does catch Thaddeus's eye is the lighter. It seemed to vibrate with a faint aura of evocation magic--no doubt to provide the spark which would start the flame.
With a curious look back, Thaddeus remembered that the mortician did not smoke in his two days of traveling.

To put it in context, smoking was not medically associated with lung cancer and general bad health until 1950 in our world.
Until then (from the 18th century) it was the mark of the intellectual, aristocratic, and those madmen who willingly spend 10+ hours cleaning, fixing, wiring, and polishing out the pipe instead of just smoking it.

Scene 5

Ardis, 16th of Gozran, in the year 2714, 8 PM
The heavy weather began to lift--light clouds moved occasionally over the sun, casting the world into shade now and again, and letting a bright light scatter over the realm. Soon, night fell, and it was a calm and pleasant night.
The years changed much in Ardis. It did not turn into a ghost town yet (due to its position at crossroads), but it seemed a long way from the 70s. Arline was wed and lived in another place.
It would be fair to worry--the once-son of Ardis might not know the place...or the Ardis might not know its once-son.
Arline and Malakai Iwan lived in a moderate-sized villa shaded from moonlight by oak--not unlike Uncle Alistair's home.

Thaddeus breathes in the cool night air, letting his gaze wander as he makes his way to the Iwan residence. The sporadic fits of anxiousness he had experienced before had simmered down to a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach, and become mingled with intense feelings of nostalgia. Everything he saw evoked recollections of the past, whether it be be a well-known sight, or its absence—indeed, while he found it hard to remember certain locations, seeing that a once-familiar building had been torn down and replaced with a new one felt as viscerally wrong as an open wound.

Bathed in moonlight, the cracking streets and darkened edifices seemed truly abandoned.

As the doctor nears the veneer of the villa, he stops to take one last breath, running his fingers through his thinning hair before reaching for the knocker. He raps twice in rapid sucession, as he was wont to do. As he waits for admittance, he procures a battered pocket watch, only to remember that the thing had been broken for years. A gift from his uncle. He kept forgetting to take the damn thing to a clocksmith...

“There is a predicament in our life that I believe affects you in some way. My husband, Malakai Iwan, and I would be honored if you would accept our invitation to our house in Ardis to learn of the problem in question. We know that you remain unmarried and are light of foot, so kindly return a letter so that we may prepare for your coming.

At the second knock, a period of time passed, before the door opened to reveal a respectable-like man in formal wear. Seemingly as old as Thaddeus, his hair was white and he had a thick mustache. Behind him was an obese, uncomely woman smiling with unusual amiability.

Before Thaddeus could say anything, her voice rose merrily, "You didn't change, Doctor Thaddeus!"

The years were not kind to her.

The man invited the good doctor Thaddeus amicably, and with reassuring grip, he said, "Malakai Iwan. Welcome to our home."

Inside the house
The furniture was elegant, and on floor was an imported rug from far south. A dainty scent in the air bore witness that they sprayed something pleasant in preparation of the guest.
In fact, it was clear that they prepared themselves a little too much.
The general make-up of the house was unusually clean. In the frequently-foggy capital (and in a house with a family), you can't keep the wooden floor this polished.
Even Arline seemed to make as much of an effort to prepare as possible.
Extremely unkind.

In the living room, there were several cups of tea and a fancy copper kettle, and several slices of pie, where the inevitable small-talk would take place before dinner.

Choose any point to engage with the couple--before the kids arrive.

Thaddeus nods along with his hosts' greetings, mumbling something in the way of initial niceties. He looks around the interior with feigned interest, trying not to stare too intently at Arline. He was all too aware that he was no sprightly young lad either—had not been for a good long while. As they arrive in the living room, he sets down his bag and takes a deep breath in preparation for what was to come.

"You have a beautiful home," he manages to force out before falling silent once more.

Was that too contrived? Oh, blast it all...