Aduard has seen things in his long life that would destroy most men. He has faced down horrors from beyond time and space. He has trained men who betrayed him, and men who became monsters.
Saerael knows none of that, does not know how close she is to survival instincts honed against betrayal after betrayal. By intimiate contact with creatures who understand only Strength and Weakness.
Spells spiral lazily through Aduard's memories. His hand makes a move, unconciously, forming the first of seven gestures that would summon enough fire to render Saerael Corinson into ash. Only a cover
"Corinson" He starts "You are certainly welcome to use the bath I have finished."
She sighs, wearily. Might as well tell the rest of it. "Turned out the locals knew all along there was a were in their midst, but they said nothing as long as it only preyed on strangers. She never stood a chance; and I got a lesson in what commoners will do to survive. That was the beginning of the end, of course: disillusionment and a paladin's calling don't mix."
She gives something that might in other circumstances be called a smile. "If you want to know more, you'll need to break out the liquor; it won't make the telling easier, but it'll keep the bad spirits away."
Besides, they've finished the wine between them. Dashil wasn't really keeping track, but the bottle is definitely empty.
He turns to Radag. "Just do whatever needs doing fast. You don't have much more time. Now if you'll excuse me, it looks like Mr. Bogza has has a little too much to drink." Sheriff Caeller raises his hat to the pair
As he walks off, you here him call back. "Consider it a friendly warning."
Saerael ignores your protest and pulls something from the vanity. "Here we are..." she says quietly. In the reflection of the mirror, you see her flick open a long straight razor and drag it across her palm. Blood trickles onto the white porcelain tile. "Or is it Aduard?" she asks. "I'm fascinated with you. On the surface, you seem like a Jonas, but there's something underneath that skin."
Turning to Radag, the boy shrugs. "Guess its back ta work tomorrow."
Without a doubt. Radag shrugs. Now, how's about we get you another drink. Let's see how far we can enjoy life before we regret the choices we made tomorrow.
"Fean." Bookman hisses, as his mind churns. 'Is she possessed? Am I in a Mindscape? Dreaming? Probably a dream - but treat as reality just in case.'. "Of course. Names are important to you, aren't they Fean. Is that why you chose to go by a pseudonym?"
"I have no issues with chatting with you Fean - you might even persuade me to forego destroying you, if you have useful information. I do have an issue doing so in this setting. Perhaps we might move somewhere a little more cultured? With, perhaps, a good brandy and a pipe?"
"I do not desire a conversation, worm." Saerael hisses. "I want your name. Your true name."
Aduard laughs aloud - a laugh tinged with bitterness "Even I don't know my True Name, Fean." Once again he mispronounces the wraith's name. "You can't use a name against me."
Radag, Brogol, Dashil, and Kendra all show up at the manor at the same time. You hear a shout from upstairs followed by a crash. The voice belonged to a young woman. Kendra starts.
"Is that Aduard's serving girl?" she asks.
The possessed woman walks back to the vanity and swipes away the contents on its surface. Bottles of perfume explode on the expensive tile floor, filling the room with a riot of scents: flowers, spice, and musk. "You will tell me your name..." Hean continues, turning around slowly.
He presses the straight razor to the inside of Saerael's forearm. "Or I will slice this whore to the bone."
'I don't remember there being a serving girl in his entourage, maybe he is working out some carnal urges. Do you think he is into the rough stuff?' Radag wonders aloud with a wicked smirk, but doesn't wait for a reply as he barges into the manor and calls out, Bookman! Where are you?! You better have pants on! I've seen enough of you pant-less already.
Dashil crooks an eyebrow at the sound from upstairs. "Bookman has a serving-girl - you should pay more attention, Radag."
She smiles at Kendra, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. "We'll go and see what's going on; why don't you go find that bottle you were talking about? I'll join you in a moment."
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As I found myself arguing with a madman - and a dead madman at that - I found myself worried. Logically the girl was replaceable, and probably just in a simple trance anyway, yet I was concerned for her well-being.
"Thank my lucky stars" I thought to myself "that it isn't my cat."
Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the fear, the general state of unease the boy had been in since the Doctor disappeared. Regardless, Brogol thought not at all about rushing up the stairs, his hand axe drawn, to find the Bookman's servant. There would be no one else lost, if Brogol could help it.
Radag, Brogol, and Dashil burst into the bathroom and discover Aduard standing in a tub of water, suds around his knees. The wizard is nude but for a towel.
One of his servants, a young woman named Saerael Corinson stands opposite to him, her back to Kendra's vanity. Bottles of perfume and canisters of makeup lie smashed and broken on the floor. Saerael holds a straight razor in one hand, the other has been sliced, blood slowly dripping on to the expensive tile floors.
Saerael turns to the rest of the party and grins like a mad man. "So everyone is here, perfect. Bear witness to the whore Aduard let die." She presses the razor to the inside of her left arm.
Sprinting forwards, Brogol leaps at the servant and grabs at the Saerael's razor, his cloak trailing behind him like a bat's wings.
Radag steps and reaches around Brogol's lanky body and settles for grabbing at the woman's elbow, aiding in getting the razor away.
"Quick Dash! Bind him into the body! We can end this now!" Aduard yells
He's bluffing.
Dashil isn't remotely fazed by the blood dripping from Sarael's arm. Been there, done that. She raises a laconic eyebrow at Aduard's yell. "Aren't you supposed to say 'it's not what it looks like?'"
She gives the girl an appreciative once-over, before turning back to Aduard, all business and brisk. "So: who or what are we dealing with here? - oh, and keep that towel in place. This may be Ustalav, but there are horrors even drink won't blot out."
"Possession." says Aduard abruptly, unable to stop himself rolling his eyes "Of course. Bind him into the body before he flees!"
Aduard tries his con again - but it is painfully obvious to almost everyone that it is a con.
Brogol knocks away the razor to the young woman's wrist, sending the blade spiraling away. The woman shrieks in anger and reaches back to claw at the half-orc's eyes, but her face shifts to a look of shock and confusion.
"W-w-where am I?" asks Saerael.
"Ms Masozi. Would you mind assisting miss Corinson? She's likely to be in shock. Perhaps some tea, or whisky." He coughs slightly "In the meantime I'd rather like to have the chance to get dressed. I'll join you presently."
"Of course." Dashil gathers up a large towel, wrapping it around the young woman. She lightly touches the girl's forehead, whispering a prayer as she does so. "You need a whisky and a blanket. Let's go find that. Come on. And let me take a look at that arm."
Saerael, for her part, doesn't say much. As Aduard suspected, the young woman appears to be in shock.
Kendra meets Dashil, Radag, and Brogol in the parlor, the bottle of wine she had promised Dashil tucked under one arm. "Is everything alright?" she asks.
Radag glares quietly at Aduard, arms folded with doubt.
Dashil shakes her head, wearily, arm still wrapped protectively around the young woman. "This one needs a whisky, or brandy if you have it - possession attempt." She does not elaborate, but looks around accusingly at the house. "I thought your father warded this place better. Something got in. Aduard can tell us more, once he's dressed."
Belatedly, she cues in on the wine, and on Kendra's expression. "Oh. Right. Uh- can we ... come back to that? You know, when everything's not-"
She makes a sweeping arm gesture, apparently encompassing the house, its residents, the village and the entirety of Usalav "-this?"
Aduard gives a look at Radag, then sighs. "Turn around, Irefist. I'll be dressed in a moment." Grumbling he waits for Radag to look aside and puts back on the filthy clothes from earlier. "What's the point in even having a bath if you just have to get dirty again." He mutters as he proceeds.
Once dressed the wizard proceeds directly downstairs.
"How is she?" He asks Dashil.
Radag follows Aduard down to meet up with the others. This settles it, night's ruined... Hmm, is that wine for us?
"Wine is an excellent idea, Kendra. Thank you."
"So, it seems Ms Corinson's name is known by Hean. Names seem to give him some sort of power. He's fled, now, though I do not know where - or to whom - he has gone."
"Allowing him time to plot could be devastating. We need to ensure the town rulers know of the problem before we are framed for murder or some such. We'll also need to track Hean down and stop him - immediately"
Hean, AKA the Splatterman. The same person that owned that spellbook you're so fond of. I bet he's in the prison, with all the other angry murder ghosts. I think as soon as we're able, we get back exploring that place, and let's leave the town leaders out of this. They already hate us, and we don't need to give them any more ideas.
And to think, a church of Pharasma so close, yet oblivious to the wretched place.
"If something does happen, and we 'suddenly invent' a mysterious possessor it will look unconvincing. We need some sort of proof - even ignoring that warning might save some villager's life." Aduard argues in counterpoint.
It will already look that way. The council is already moving to gain enough support so they can ask us to leave town. A quiet terror has been growing and enough people already see us as the problem. Warning people that want us gone will fall on deaf ears and look like we're trying to shift blame. But can you blame them? They cant be expected to have an acolyte or priest watch over them night and day against possessing murder ghosts.
Do what you think is right Aduard, but give me a head start to the prison before you try anything. I'll heed the Sheriff's warnings from tonight before anyone will have the chance to heed our's.
Brogol pulls his cloak tight, refusing the glass of wine. He is, for some reason, suddenly quite tired. "Tha Irefist is right. Tha town is looking ta send us away. Aye've seen tha results of fear on people. Wer best ta leave quietly an' quickly."
"Tomorrow morning, at first light."
"You talked to the Sheriff? What, exactly, were you told?"
Radag with his arms still crossed, sniffs sharply at the air as he raises his chin to look down at Aduard, Just that Councilman Hearthmont doesn't like us here and is persuading his peers to see things his way. Time is not on our side, and before you get a sideways idea in your head thinking you might have a gentlemanly talk with him, remember the murder ghosts are breaking out slowly too with the warden's spirit missing. Fixing the council's opinion doesn't get us anything.
Dashil rubs at her eyes, before looking at the others. Oh well. They say confession is good for the soul. She clears her throat, wishing that Kendra wasn't about to hear this.
"I've... I've tried taking the Ki- Brogol's approach: the peasants don't want us here, it's not our problem, let's go where we're appreciated. The only problem is, last time I did that, an entire village died. Not letting that happen again."
She looks at Brogol, not unkindly. "You want to bug out, I don't blame you. Nobody'll think any the worse of you if you leave." She gives Aduard and Radag a hard look: Right?
"But Radag's right, Aduard - you'll not win them over. No. Let's get a good night's rest; then, first light tomorrow, we go back to the prison - and settle this once and for all."
Brogol swallows, blushing a deep green. "Aye... Aye, yer misunderstand, Dashil. Aye don't want ta leave. Just leave here. Tha town. Tomorrow, Aye'll go ta Harrowstone wit yer."
Truth was, the thought of just leaving had been occurring to the boy more and more. But he wouldn't tell the others that, even if they guessed Brogol's true intent.
Kendra takes Saerael by the arm and leads her away from the parlor. "Help yourselves to the wine. I'll find her parents and make sure she's taken care of." She shoots Dashil an apologetic look before she leaves.
"Good morning," she offers. "I made coffee."
Aduard's face almost cracked in half as he yawned. Not the most restful of sleep.
"A good breakfast." he ordered "We may not want to break for lunch." Seeing no staff he wandered over and began cooking.
Pancakes, bacon, fried mushrooms, toasted bread, sausages, cheese-covered fried something that broke apart on eating to reveal a creamy sauce, and coffee seemed to materialise almost by magic. There was little doubt Aduard was a better cook than any of his staff.
"Alright." he said, still cooking, as the others came down "Let's review. I think Haen has to be our top priority before he possesses Ms Corrinson again. Do we continue to proceed methodically, or try to find him? No messing around with miscellany today, we can clean up when the wraiths and wights are gone. Does anyone have a method of detecting the locations of said wraiths and wights? I've a spell, but it costs to cast and has issues with stone."
The author looks thoughtful "I wonder if we can use the book to find him?"
Radag squeezes onto his chair upon hearing breakfast being made, but the absence of the usual noise from the servants draws him into the kitchen, where he is surprised to see Kendra dressed the way she is and more so with Aduard dirtying his hands making an impressive meal. This is a sight I could get used to. Radag says smirking, though he intentionally leaves his meaning ambiguous as he folds his arms and props up against the doorway, adding a few eyebrow raises for good measure.
As Aduard finishes his initial review Radag doesn't miss a moment when he replies, I've two methods for detecting all sorts of abhorrent things; my eyes and my ears. Radag takes a moment to appreciate his witty remark with a chortle before continuing, Though I am still without a magical weapon to deal with incorporeal murder ghosts. Is that not a concern? I feel like not being able to cut or strangle my enemies might be a problem. What say we purchase an oil to coat Ol'Betrayer here with some ghost smiting power? Radag taps the hilt of his greatsword, because of course he names his weapon.
"Ol' Betrayer?" asks Kendra, between bites. "There must be a story behind that."
"I doubt we're going to find anything like that in a village like this. At least at short notice. I am still to prepare myself - I'll make certain to ensure I'm ready for 'incorporeal murder ghosts'." he pauses, handing over a plate to Radag. "It is an unusual name for a blade."
Quite the story, but sharing it now would be a heavy burden on any good person's soul. That and it will do nothing to prepare us in a good way for what we are to do today. For now, know that it saved my life but also gave me this scar. Radag traces his scar on his face with a pointed thumb from his hairline to his chin with a dramatically intense stare just before starting to shovel the plate of food Aduard made, into his mouth.
You've heard the story before, as many times as he's been a travelling companion. Radag's sword was named Ol'Betrayer because its the weapon that ended Radag's first mentor's life, though Radag never uses the man's name. Radag's first mentor was a Pharasmin priest that betrayed his own faith to the Lady of Graves. Radag had learned about the betrayal and persuaded his mentor to try and make things right, but on the eve of the final day, the priest panicked and tried to kill Radag with the greatsword. Radag wrestled the blade from his friend and had no choice but to take the priest's life in self defense. Radag boasts a good story, but it is obvious that Radag harbors a guilty conscience over the outcome and this is probably why Radag pays mindful prayer to Pharasma and dedicates most of his practice to killing the undead.
Aduard waves his hand. "Regardless, I am sure that I can prepare a spell to help you attack with incorporeal creatures. It'll last only a few minutes, so it would be good not to waste it."
Aduard sighs "If we had a little more time, I'd ward all of you against incorporeal attacks. I'd need to use scrolls, though, or risk losing my concentration." Brightening he looked over at Kendra "Do you think you'd be able to help, Kendra? If you could protect them whilst you stay here, it could help immensely."
Dashil has not slept well (too many bad dreams of past misdeeds), and it shows in her rimmed eyes and tangled blue hair, which she hasn't bothered to brush.
Her gaze lingers on Kendra's form-fitted armour for just a fraction of a second longer than is strictly required, before diving onto the food that Aduard has prepared. "Mmf! D'lishush!"
Wiping her mouth on a napkin, she nods at Radag's story, which she's heard before. She gives Kendra a wan smile. "Trust me, no good comes from prying. You'll hear it when he's good and ready; or good and drunk, whichever comes first." Her lips twist into a grimace. "We all have our pasts."
She frowns as they start to form a plan of action. "There must be records of where each prisoner was held, right? Find them, and we find the enemy."
Aduard snaps his fingers at Dashil. "That's it! We went through the records. We have names. We may be able to see where they were being kept."
"Ugh, the records room again? I thought we spent hours in there already." Radag gives a forlorn sigh. Let's just spend the coin and cast your spell Aduard. How big can the basement of that place be?