Xander stoically put up with the priest's crazed little ritual. For the first time since he'd been deafened he was glad he couldn't hear anything.
Milo bites at the inside of his cheek as he nicks his skin. The actual pain is fairly minimal, but the memories of childhood and youth come rushing back with the action... He so, so doesn't want to be back in Nidal.
With his 'observance' of Zon-Kuthon's sadism done, Milo quickly wipes his blade clean and waits for the prayer over Xander to be finished, hoping they can be gone quickly.
Milo and Xander enter with Father Miklos, and he begins his prayers. True to his word, he puts Xander through no suffering - instead he intercedes on Xander's behalf through masochistic displays of his own. Xander sits in a circle drawn of the blood of Zon-Kuthon's faithful (and one not quite as faithful), while Milo watches worriedly from where he kneels along one of the smooth-worn rows on the stone floor, a small trickle still running from the cut on his own arm.
The prayers go on for a quarter of an hour at least, and Father Miklos sports several new wounds by the time they conclude. Finally, he raises a hand toward Xander, crimson with his own blood and the blood of his flock. Midnight Lord, hear our cry, though we be unworthy of the gifts you bring. You who have known a silence no other could bear, bring this one back from the noiseless void. He anoints Xander's forehead with his bloody hand, drawing a macabre death's head, and opens his mouth in a disturbing shriek.
Suddenly, the priest's cry cuts through the silence in which Xander had been trapped, and when the scream falls away, the whispers of the spirits and the worried tapping of Milo's boot take its place. Praise be to the Midnight Lord, Miklos finishes with a sigh, and leads Xander and Milo back to the nave, where Kinvara and Tess wait.
Your friend's hearing has been restored, he tells them with satisfaction. Is there aught else you require?
Milo gives the priest a respectful bow, despite his stomach crawling a bit at having witnessed the man's self-mortification. You'd think you'd get used to it, but... no.
"Our thanks, Father. Perhaps you might indulge a question-- you would have insights no one else will, by merit of your service to the Dark Prince... what think you, of this sickness? It does not strike me as being the sort of thing that the Prince glories in... the minds of the ill seem clouded-- too much so to appreciate his raptures," Milo says carefully. "Have you any awareness of where it began, or how? Or if any force contrary to the Midnight Lord might be behind it?"
Alas, it's confounded me as well, he replies with a shake of his head. The first were two of the Baron's servants, gardeners, I believe. Urix and Devia were their names. But my arts were inadequate...they took ill again, after they had left my care, and were gone before I had a chance to try my skills again.
They were the only ones for a while; the next afflicted were a few weeks ago, not long after the baron let go several of his shadowborn staff, and ever since it's spread like wildfire. It's strange; it seems none of the shadowborn have fallen to the scourge...at least, none that have sought my care. It's true it's difficult enough to get the afflicted to seek aid, as their wills begin to slip away. And of course, the shadowborn have taken to hiding away in Shade Row, with the town's sentiments against them so strongly.
I know my Lord has not interceded; perhaps it is a test, a trying of our devotion, or perhaps more important matters draw his gaze away. But I pray the disease runs its course soon - my skills and magics have been stretched to their limits.
Whispers rustle through my flock that the baron's fetchling servants were the cause of it, or the young baron, or the manor itself. They speak of deals with devils, or of dark pacts with the shadows. But then, strange rumors have abounded concerning His Lordship ever since his father was lost so tragically several years ago, and both older brothers so soon after.
Milo listens intently (while a little blood dries on his forearm).
"You know your flock well, Father. Might I ask-- how exactly did the old baron pass? One hears rumors, of course, but-- rumors are cheap."
The priest gives a small smile. You're right about rumors abounding. Forgive my slowing mind, I've misspoken - it was the brothers lost first, and the father after. Some say the old baron died of grief at his sons' loss, or poison, or a shadow draining his essence away, or strangling by Stepan's own hand. But the man was well along in years; it could just as well have been a weakness of the heart. Stepan certainly seemed to mourn him, though he bore it stoically, as well befits one so high in the Midnight Lord's court.
Xander opened his jaw wide, rolled it side to side and made a face, his ears popping as they cleared. "Thanks, Father."
He listened to their conversation, somewhat distracted by the clamoring spirits who were very excited that he could hear them again. The blood on the floor smeared itself around and accumulated footprints, and even a few handprints, tracking bloody smears around the room. Xander looked embarrassed and tried to ignore the obnoxious ghosts as Milo and the priest spoke.
"We do tend to be reserved, Kinvara.
And the trip was for the most part uneventful, except for the event at a tavern we stopped at, it was quite the bar room brawl."
Xander and Milo emerge from the foreboding doors with Father Miklos, and he gives a short bow to Kinvara and Tess. Your friend is restored. Do any of the rest of you require aid - or answers? Your friend seemed to be most curious about our town. He gives a friendly nod to Milo.
Milo mulls over this information to himself as he heads back into the main room with Xander. He offers a wan smile at the priest's remarking on his curiosity. "I knew the baroness, when we were both younger," he demurs. "Forgive my curiosity into where she has found herself. How did the brothers meet their end, if you can tolerate a bit more prying?"
At the question, Father Miklos huffs in what seems to be frustration. Oh, forgive me; my annoyance isn't with you. The truth is, I'm not certain what happened to Iozif and Henric - I wasn't involved, you see. His Lordship insists the rites were taken care of in their family shrine, but even that's highly irregular. I've tended to the family's spiritual needs for seventeen years now, since the baron was only a small boy. For him to simply push me aside when it came time to see his brothers to their final rest...
He grumbles sub-audibly for a few moments, then collects himself. Anyway, my only dealing with the baron regarding his brothers was making arrangements for their interment in one of the family crypts; our groundskeeper Fustra was the one who buried them.
Milo's brows arch into his dark hair. "That seems... dangerous," he says in an oh-so-casual tone. "Very unwise-- of the baron, I mean. Disregarding the appointed servitor of our Dark Prince? That's very useful to know, thank you, Father."
Behind his demeanor-- which Milo is at least somewhat intending to come across as one of the Umbral Court's eyes and ears-- Milo's mind is racing.
"That is extremely irregular, for a member of the aristocracy to refuse the services of a priest of Zon-Kuthon," he says to the others. "If not outright suicidal. The baron might have his own personal priest, I suppose, but if so, why not merely say so? This smacks of the baron having struck a deal with some sort of power other than the Lord of Pain. More fool he, should it ever reach the Court. Bright gods willing, we might manage to save people from numerous stripes of folly, here." Milo may not care terribly what happens to the baron, but his wife doesn't deserve a foul fate. Nor, he supposes, do the townspeople with their swollen throats and clouded minds.
"I never thought I'd come to a place with a more twisted spirit than Ustalav..." Xander mused, seeming to not quite be used to hearing himself speak again.
"Are we ready to head to the baron's manor then?"
Your devotion to the Dark Prince is encouraging, Father Miklos responds with a nod. We may not be a center of focus, so far removed from the bustle of Nisroch or Pangolais, but our Lord expects the dedication of us all; but for his deliverance, Nidal would be dark and full of fear and despair.
Is there anything else any of you require? If not, I'll take my leave. I confess, I'm curious what misadventures brought you to our Lord's temple; but your business is your own, I suppose.
"...Nidal would be dark..."
It IS dark, you masochistic creep, Milo thinks to himself... darkly.
But he merely bows to the priest. "I have no further needs at this time, Father; go in pain." He steps closer, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial fashion. "Should our business conclude as my superiors wish it... perhaps I might be able to satisfy your curiosity, Father, given your dedication. I'm sure you understand I cannot say more at this moment."
The Nidal native mulls this over. "Do you mean undead by that? Because it was several years ago, that the rest of the baron's family passed-- I sincerely hope they're not still moving around."
Milo daubs at the scabbing-over cut on his arm, grimaces a little, then pulls his sleeve back down. "We can talk to the groundskeeper if you all deem it necessary... for myself, I lean towards a visit to the baron sooner rather than later. So far all our clues of a root for this seem to lie with him. I'd see if we can't surreptitiously move that little creature from the chandlery to our own rooms, perhaps stuffed in a sack-- but after that I suggest we move to the manor. The longer we dally, the more likely word of strangers in town will reach the baron."
"I like the sound of stuffing that little thing in a sack. Lets start with that." Xander said with flint in his eyes.
"If we do a little job it might give a hint to the bigger one."
The priest having bid you farewell, you make your way back through Karpad's streets to the chandlery. Peeking in the storefront window, you can see the wax golem has moved back to its resting position. You see no other signs of change in the storefront, nor any signs of disturbance around the double doors in the hill except your own footprints. Passing back through the double doors, you find Vandrare with his cold iron sword still menacing the small fey, and with the bright light emanating from the altar now gone, you can get your first good look at him.
Ilquis, for his part, still shows a discordant mix of fear, rage, and haughty indifference, but your bonds have held. A few odds and ends remain in the paraffin barrel; they could fetch a price in Karpad's shops. The doors along the south wall and on the west wall remain closed.
"Agreed-- and now that we needn't worry about the captives, I'm going to open these doors," Milo says.
Xander nodded and took up his usual door breaching position. He went to the side of the door where the hinges were, his shoulder to the wall. His eyes went white again as he let his second sight take over. His right hand ran gently across the door frame and spied down the cracks looking for wires, catches or anything else that might trigger and unexpected surprise. In his left hand he held a sickle loosely at his side, a length of chain attaching it's handle to his belt like a pocket watch. Milo took up position on the other side of the door and carefully scanned the door handle and keyhole.
It was clear they'd done this quite a few times before.
Normally after they'd completed their sweep and made sure the door would open normally, Xander would quietly turn the handle and pull it open to let their point person move quickly into the room. It occurred to him that this was really only the second time they'd done this with their new company.
"Milo, hold up a moment." he said before adressing the rest of the group.
"I should have brought this up when we breached the last door, but I was too focused on the door and not focused enough on what might happen after we opened it."
"Moving through a potentially dangerous door into an unknown space happens in two steps. The sweep, and the breach."
"We just did the sweep. That's when we look over the door for danger. When we do that, all the rest of you need to be at least thirty feet back, preferably behind something solid. That keeps you safe if something blows up or collapses."
"Once we're done with the sweep we'll motion you forward for the breach. When that happens, Tess, you're on point. You start right behind Milo, off to the side of the door so if something shoots through as the door opens, you aren't in the line of fire. Kin, your spot is to the side of Milo, against the wall."
"When I pull the door, Tess will give a moment's pause just in case something triggers when the door opens, then she'll move in fast, assessing danger and moving to intercept it as fast as possible. Milo will follow her in. Kin, you step up into the position Milo will have just left, in cover behind the door frame, but looking into the room. I'll be on the opposite side of you here. If Milo and Tess engage something, you and I will move in to support them. If an enemy turns out to be a bigger threat than we are prepared for, our job is to hold the door for them and slam it shut when they retreat."
Xander passed Kinvara a handful of iron nails. "If we have to retreat, when I slam the door, you push one of these into the doorframe. That will buy us time."
"I'm betting this door will be safe, but it's a good opportunity to practice this stuff together."
Xander and Milo take their positions at the east-most door along the wall. Their thorough search reveals nothing amiss about it; a quick test of the handle reveals it's not locked in any way. Everyone waits with bated breath as Milo turns the knob, and with sudden speed and terrific noise...
...a collection of broom handles clatters to the floor in front of Tess.
Most of this large closet's contents are fairly unremarkable - cleaning supplies, cotton string and twine for candle wicks, raw wax, scented resins and the like. More remarkable, but unfortunately not unexpected after Zona's comments, are the two corpses that ride the cascade of broom handles, coming to rest on the floor in front of the closet. Their bodies are still coated in a thin layer of wax; it seems they suffered the same manner of captivity as Zona, Delian, and Olya did.
Searches of the other two doors along the south wall bear similar results, and once all three doors are opened, you discover five victims in total, three men and two women.
From the rigor mortis and the state of decay, you can determine that the victims have been dead about a week, with horrific knife wounds to the throat as the probable cause.
The bodies are stripped of anything valuable. From the rough clothes and callused hands, however, you can guess that two of the men were laborers of some sort. The other three could possibly be artisans or merchants; the third man and one of the women wear simple steel rings that appear to be a matched pair, and the other woman's ring finger is indented, though you've found no ring among the other valuables in the barrel.
From behind, a sinister cackle emerges from under the net. An offering, Ilquis crows. Their blood a tide to bear my friend to this world, their flesh a dainty to draw his nose. And more will come, and more will join them - He gestures at the bodies on the floor. - when the baron sets me free. You'll see. A tickle from Vandrare's sword silences him, though the wickedly gleeful smile does not leave his face.
Xander's brand of anger was the cold kind. Literally. His face went flat and his eyes went hard and the temperature of the room dropped fast. Everyone could suddenly see their breath. The cleaning supplies and bric-a-brac aged and cracked, the wood bleaching, string and straw growing brittle. A vial of resin shattered spontaneously. The Chandlery creaked and shuddered.
Wax began flowing upwards out of the bubbling vats, falling in globs to the ceiling to splatter and spread.
Xander moved toward the little fey like the eye of a ghostly hurricane. As he walked the dust and tiny debris of the room began pulling towards him and slowly tugging into a spiral, the holy symbol of the Lady of Graves. Above him the wax on the ceiling did the same, leaving hardening trails as it flowed.
"No." he said simply. "For what you have done, you are going to die. Then I will pull the answers I seek out of your corpse. Whatever happens you will not be around to see it."
He pulled his holy symbol out of his robe and clasped his hands to his heart in prayer. His eyes never left the tiny creature.
"̨̞͇̮̜̻̭"ͅP͚̖̰͇̹͟h̨̼̬͍͔̪̰̠a̮̗̰͕͢ra̤s͈̘̖m͇͍͔̩̻̮ͅa̦͈̯͓̜̕ͅͅ,̪̜͕ ̛̜L̡̞̞̥̲͎̯̗a͇͕̩͓̩͔d̡͙̜͚͈̜y͡ ̺̥͕̮͎o̖͍f̶̯ ̸̹͙Ǵr̪͔̯à͕̯v̥̞͟e̼̫s̹̜͉̩̪͘,͙̪̰̭̭̝̀ h͔͚èa̰̟͇͈͙̣̣r ͚͚̣͈͉ͅY̻o̪͕̪͝u̪͇̝̝r̗͕̩͚̜͎ ̷ṣ̥̙̱̺̫͞ͅe̥ṟ̴͙̠̖͙v͇͕̲̣a̞͖͈̩ͅn͇̼̳̥̹t҉̹̰.̶ ̨̰̱̪̗͈̜̜I ͏̰͍̣c̥̮͕͔̪o͉̣̠̞̳̟̻n͖̥̯̱s̪̗͚̮̙ig̬̳͞ͅn͇̮̯ͅ ̣̜̬t̯̗̮̫̳͟h̼͝i͕͕͘s̷̤̯ ̣̀s͈o͙̖̰̭͎̞̖u̬̜͔̯l̡͓̻̺̤͎ ţ̦̼͉̯̣̘o ̶͉̫̙͕͍Y̘̘̟̭͉͞o̠͠u̠̝̲̕r͙̲̟̰̜ ̲͈̖͕͙̯͢ͅj̳͉̝̖͉̤̯u̸͔̬̮͖͚d̢g̝̕em̝ͅe͓̭͍̣͝n͏̜̲̳̯̪̹̥t.̸̗͖͚̳̪̝ ̪͉͙T̘͜h̡͇̘̳̠̻i̲͝s̱ ̤̻͖d̴͙͕̣̘̻̥̻ȩ͍̝a̞̟̗̬t̩̱̝̼͡h̖̫͇̪̻̭͝ I͍̣̯ ̨̟̯͕c̳̜̟̩a̳͞r͔ry͖ ͉͍̠͙͉̲o̖̣̝͙ùt͍͖ ͙̹̼í̞͍̲͚n̫͉̲̳̥̦̟͞ ̢̬̼͍̘͉Y̱̞͔o̲̮̝͔ṳ̜̠ͅͅr̫̬̰ ̲ͅn̪̜ͅa͍̱̙͉̞̬̬m͡ẹ̺̙̣̩̫̮.̛̰̥ ̦̱̼̼̗̜͓ ̮̜̞̹̮͇͙T̡̹̠̼h̙̗͕̣͔̘͟i̼̘̙͖̯s̞̞̟͍̬ ̠̹̗͈̮̹́j͙͉̱̳͉̕ͅu͝d͖̘g̜̝̫̟̹̳͚͢e̶͍͖m̸͓̠̥͈̳͓e̲̭n̯t̲͇̻̩̼ ̥i͇̗̝̞͡s ̤͜m̸̖̮̝̫i͕̼̝͓͔ne̸̫̞,̗̲͖͚͓̮͝ ̬̱̟̼a̻̭͎̝̟̥̺n̕d͉̺͘ ̝̀ṣ̰͓͙̠h̸̗̲̹͔̳̖̺o̗u̟̙l̴̤͔͓d̦͕̟̤͔̼ ̧̤̱̭ͅͅi̷t͓̘̮̳̥ b҉̘͕̯̺̭͓̼e̫̲ ͎͓̼͇̯̗͡f̬͉̩a̺̠͇͖̠l̴̹̯̙̤se͓͍ ̣̘͙I̱͓ ̗̻͡ẃ̲͈̟ͅi̱̥̯͕͖̝̰͢l͓̭l̹͖̰͓̹̲ ̹̻̣̯͈̣͕̀ṕ̺̠̮a̝̗y̬͘ ͎̮̮̖̫̘͉f̯̮̬̖o̗̺͇̕r̦̙̫̗̬̹ ̸m̦͔̬̭y͍͖̥͢ ̣̪̘̪eŗ͍̹̙͍̠ͅr͈̞͇̬͙ơ͔̲r̗̰͔̜̳ ̯͉̲̹̘w̼͈̦͓͇̩ͅh̢̪̰̪̣̞e̬͟n͚̳̘̤̞̠͡ ͓͓̮I ̬̱͉̜̮̩ͅs̞͕͈͇̹t͍͓͓̬͙a̰̻̕n̥͍d̪͖́ͅ ̠̩̖b̻̯̳e̳͚͇̮͙̖̕ͅf͎̬͖o̡̫͕̬̭̬r̤̮̦̜͕̬e͈̬͍͓ ͢Y̦̫̰̱͕̲͎o̤̬̹̹̥u͉̥͚̣.͕̬͚̕ ̠ ͇͓͠U͔̺̦͖̦n̡̝͈̥̭̲t̥͇̠̱i͙̩̻̟̤̠l̵ ̞t́hé ̰̱̰̥B͚͓o͏̻̼͉͈̭n̢y͏a̖̝͔̭͔̟̘r̵̤̞̫͖d̥̝̺͈̥̮͚ ̯̘͍̺Ì͉̼̠̗̙̩̳ ̘̻̺̝c̴̹o̠m̪̻͔e͕͎,͏̝̯͙̬ ̢̲̫͓Y̙͓̥̟̱o̝͙̝̼͓̻͞ṳ̥͉̰̝r ̖̬͈͉̪̭w̲͖̯i͓̩l̝̤̪̳̱ͅḻ̷̼̣͔̯͈ ̸̖̯̪b̵̥͕͖̖e͙̮̯̺ ̴̱̪͔̩̲͔d͟ọ̲͎̪̟̩͖n҉̙͎e͙͈.͚̮͢ ͏̝I̠͉̻͘ ͕͉̟͠a̧̩̟̙͍̗̥m̮͚̥̥̼̮ ̵̘̤̟̺̻̻t̙͎͈͖̳̥͜h͠e̹ ̤̺̼̘͓̹s̹͚̻͓ẖ̨e̞̜͍͓͕̺͡p̷͕͕h͚̞̞̰̤̣̱͢e̙͕̜͠rd͙̫͔̲̥ ̧̗̤̼͍̳b͠é̗̤̰̼̗a͝r̖͙̮͙̻͖̹i̧̗̳͚̺̣n͖g͈̯̯̭̫͇̜̕ ̫̭̲̻t̜͎̲̩̲̝h̬ͅe͓̟̖͕͚̕ ̞͔̳̠͉͜ͅͅl̷̺̤͖̥̤̬ͅọ̸͚̫st̴̙̝̗̘ t̶͉ọ̜̦̠ ͇̟̻̪̯Y̷̱̺̹͚͙o͈̟͎͡u̞̕r̭̪̬̺̮͓͔͜ ̫̺̖̮͉̱͚͡f͚̺͚̙̦̹l̟o͇̭c͕̜̖̤͢k̲̼͍̗̕ͅ.͎͉̹̙ ̰̥̣̠̬͇͝ͅ"̖̦͝
̧̪͖͇͓ͅ
As he spoke he picked up the little creature by the ropes, carrying it from behind so it faced away from him. He brought it to the vat of bubbling wax.
"̘Do̱̟̻ ̟͇̥͈y̬̰̭̟͕̝͚o͙u,̘̝̟̫ ̣̥t͔͎͓̖h̲e̹̳͙̼ c̥̹͚̜o̩̭̯n͓̣̬d͎͇em̜̠̱̳̤͖n͎̭̬̼̙̙e̠ͅͅd,̮̟͍͖̤̹ ̝̫̦h̗͍̠̱̦aṿ̤eͅ ̜a͎̻̭̙̦̗͙n̲̱̙̳y̼̺̹͚̤̫ͅ ̞̞̳̱̣̞l̹͇̰̖̜̳͈as̝t͕̠̹ ̩̝w̠̘̯͍̟̰o̜͎r̩̞d͎̭͇s̟?̫"̖̻̠̥
""̠̖͞D͕͚̥̪̱̰̣o͎̮͇̳̙͝ͅ ͚͈̻ỳ̩͖͔ơu̦̼̳̯̙ ͇c̻h̠͎͉̠̙̣̗o̺̺o͉̪͘ş̪̪̘e͇̮ ̼̱͝t̝̀o̢͎ ̩̣̪a̗͇̜c̛̹̭̰ͅt̰̞̗̮͍ as ̬͔͍̭͕͝a͚̹̳̦͟d͏̭̦̰͉̮v̷͖͖̙͇̺̗̣o̗̞͓̲̩̝͠ca̖̘̫͕t̪͙̟̘̞̘e̬͇͓̟͠ͅ ͇̭̺̰̣f̹̫̳͇̣oṛ͈̠̞ ̗̳̳̬͉̪͔t͍͕͉͖̬̝́h̺̰̣͕̥e̹̻̞̫̥̦ c̜o̸̙͕̗n̶̼̪̦̦̠͎̦d̖em̜͢n͟e͢d̷?̱̞̞͉͉"̸ Xander asked Kinvara.
The usually good natured young nobleman had stepped into his role as a priest of Pharasma. He was an instrument of death and judgement in this moment. His voice was hollow and echoed with otherworldly power.
Seeing the dead and that it matches a little fay's MO.
and gives the sweetest and scariest smile one can see
"Ilquis, I hope you enjoy your afterlife."
Milo's seen a fair bit of Xander's creepy Pharasman gifts in his time with the Ravencourt son; he shudders a little to see the aspect of the grave goddess come over his traveling companion. Still... profit to be had from it, he thinks-- he steps in close to the fey, and his voice is deathly serious when he murmurs:
"He will do it. Perhaps I'll speak up for you-- if you change your tune and convince me there might be a reason. If not... well, I can't say I'm highly motivated to stop him, given your joy so far in the lives you've taken."
At Kinvara and Milo's attempts to frighten the fey into submission, Ilquis merely sneers and hocks a glob of spit into Kinvara's face. Powerful friends; what more matters to you weaklings? And associates I'll need, if I'm to carry out the baron's will in protecting this town from the darkness. I do all in his name.
As for last words? I've got just one - goodbye.
With a wriggle and a rude gesture, he very nearly manages to get an arm out of the bindings - but one loop of rope catches his hand, preventing his escape, and his face blanches.
"Nǫ̤͇ͅt͕̳̞̜͇͉͓e̴̮̘̻̣d͍͍̙̦̞̫.̠͟"̖͔̬͠ Xander said flatly. Then he plunged the creature into the boiling wax, his own hand submitting to the wrist.
A wand gripped in his other hand healed him during the ordeal. His face was slightly pained, but awash with the power of his goddess, he endured. He did not bring the creature up until he was sure it was dead.
Ilquis 26/68.
Ilquis 6/68.
Ilquis -7/68.
Ilquis very dead.
Ilquis screams until the sound is cut off by the burning wax entering his mouth. He begins to struggle wildly, thrashing against his bonds as huge blisters begin to rise on his skin. Finally, he emerges triumphantly from the net and ropes and tries to kick for the surface - only to succumb to the heat a few moments after, going limp and motionless beneath the wax's surface.
After several moments of stillness, Xander hauls the creature above the wax's surface to confirm that the wax has indeed done its work. Horrific burns cover his entire body, including inside his mouth and nose, and his gossamer wings are riddled with holes. He lies still where Xander drops him, showing no signs of life.
Though Xander's hand sports the same blisters when he pulls it out, they close quickly as the magics from his wand wash over his body.
Xander closed his eyes for a few moments taking a long breath, purging himself and releasing the hold his goddess' power had on him. Wax on the celing stopped flowing and the debris on the floor stopped moving. The temperature rose again. When he opened his eyes they were clear. He tried to blink back a few tears but one escaped and rolled down his face. He scrubbed it with a sleeve and put his holy symbol back under his shirt.
He looked at the wax-covered corpse and shook his head, then up to Kinvara, waiting for her to say the words he knew were coming.
"We all will." Xander said with a shrug.
"What do we want to know first?"
Xander nodded and used a lock pick to clear the wax from the corpse's mouth. He set the wax-covered macabre form on the table and let his eyes go white again.
"̪̻̞̻H͕̥ea̮͇̤̯r̹͚̗ m̙̼̹e͖̟͍̪ ̝̻̲̯a̰̰̳̳̘̣n͎̟̣̺͔͓d̗̭̳̼̞ ̦̺a͔̲̻͎n̬̺̺̮̙s͚w̜̖̩̹e͓̗͉͚̦r̮̱̻ͅ.̜̳̰ͅ ̯̱̠̞̬̝Yo̜̻̬͙u̼ ̳̞w̺̠̲̟̪͖͓i͍͓l̬͙̰̗̟l̬̱̺͕̗ ̜̥̖͉̹̩of̪͓̘f͔͉e̫̬̲̖̖r̖̩̹̘ t̯͉̹h̟̗̰̞̩͖e̙ ̳t͎̻͖͇ͅr̹ut̙̖͖̤̦ͅh͔̪̳̰̬̪͍ ͍ͅi̻̯̫̺̗̝n ͍̜̝̯͚̥t͚̞he̮̯̺ ͔̫͔̬̖l͈͖͕̫̺̰̩a̤n̻̞̤͕̝̺ͅgua̫̭̱g̙̬̗̫e̺̣̩͓̜̦ ̞͉͓̮͔I̘̜̯ ̝̥n̩̠o͈̹w̖̲̬̮ s͎̗͔̳̬̠p͎̩̥̝͕e̘͚ͅak̠͓͎͚̖.͖̬͖ ̲̼̝̯̳̦ͅT̬̙e̦͖͎̳̩l͓̝̫̥̹͚͖l̼̻͉ ͙̞̦m͈e̬̞̹͙̗̫̖ ̘̦̜̦̥̠w̩͓͙̠h͕͈̤̰a͈͔͉͚̱̱̪ț ̗̟̹̪y̰̟̝o͓̫̮u̼̬̺͇̣̣ ̱̲̗̰̥̖̪h̳̹a̳d̦͉ ̤̞ͅp͕l̩̜̲̖̺̭̦an̖̹͖n̟͖̰͈͍̗ͅed̹͓̬͔̞̜̼ ̙̗̠̗t̤͚o̫̱̣̭͚ ̤͇͙ͅd̯͙̬o̻̯ ͖͇͕̟f̟or͓͍̱ ͍̟̰̹̪t̰̘h̲̬̣̼̮̞̗e͈͓̮̯̼ ͔̭̜̘ba̠̫̬͈̦r͔̜̼̠o̭͕͎̱̟̲n̟̜͕ r̪͚͕e̘͓̤͎g̜̙͙̥̞̖̣a͔̜̻̘r̮̞̞̗͉d̹̗͉̳̰͍i̭̯͍̹n̙͚͕̤̰g̼̬̥ ̲̘̘̼͔p̞̟̰͚̤̤͉r̳̩̺͙o̲̯͕t̜͉e͉̦̟̦͈̗c̺̖̮̠ͅt͍̗̬̹͔i͍̹ͅn̪̤͈̲͉̠̟g̬ ͚͓͖t̹̮̘͇̬̼̜hiṣ͖̰̝̤̲ͅ ͙t͍͙ͅo̞̫͔̻w͕͎̬̝̺̙n͔̟̯ ̘̜̙͇̬̫f̠̤̜r͓̞o͖̰m͕ t̖̳͙͎̦̭h͈̲e̝̦͖̪̝͚ ̯̼D̙̤̭̟̗̻ͅa̘̬͉r͖̰͎k͕̫̹̰̦͙̮n͙̦̰͙̺e̼͇̰̣ss̹ ̼̝͈ͅy̹̖̩̼oṵ̘̹͈ ̺̣̭̮̜̪̱s̰̖̥͈̳p̲̲͖͎̗̫̻o̘̻̟̮̖k̼̟e͍͎͖ ͓̘̙̣o̙f͎̘ ̯͚̖͕̖i̪n̻̜̦̭̞͙ ͇̻̲̱͍l̩if̰͕̗̖e̫̩̬̻̞̥.̹̺͇̱"̼̻
The fey's voice rises from the still-motionless corpse in a wicked, eerie laugh.
P͞lan̕ned͜ ͢t́o̴ ͡do? I͡ planned͟ t̀o do҉ ̕no͡t͏hi̡n̡g. He f̕e͝a҉red s͏hadow̸s̷ ͢o̵f s̷om̢e ͘sor͡t͞ ͜-҉ ̷h̷e ̕di̴dņ'̸t el͟ab҉ora͜te͢.̵ A̡nd̛ fo͟ol͟ he i̶s,͝ ͞h̡e̛ b̶e͟lie͡ved̴ ̕I͏ h̨a̡d̡ ̸p͢o̕wer͜ ̨again͟s͡t ̶them.́ Bưt̕ can ̵yoú h͝o̵ld̷ a̛ ͘fla͞m̕e̡ ̵i̧n ͘yo͢ur ͜h͡and͠ si͜mp̴l̨y b҉ecau̕şe͡ ͟you ̶cán̸ s̢w̧i͘m in͟ waţe̕r̵? ̶I s̵áw͘ no r͠e͟ąson ̸t͏o͏ ̢di͞s͜abưse̷ h̵i̶m ͝o̕f͢ th̨e͘ ̵not͢io͞n. He̕ ͝ga̴ve me͞ ̵fr͝ee̷dóm̡ ͞t͟o͏ d͟ǫ wh͘at҉eve͠r̨ I ҉wis͟hed. W̢hý woul͘d I͝ ̸tak̡e th͟e ̕c̴omfo͟r͘t͝ of ͟p͘rot̸ec̸t҉io͢n ̢awa͟y̛ ́f̢rom h͘i͏m?̵ he finishes in a tone mockingly playing at comfort and concern.
Again Xander's eyes cleared. He smiled slightly at Kin's bow.
"We are two sides of the same coin, Kinvara. You represent the power of Pharasma in her aspect of the Midwife. You bring life. You hold off death a while longer for those who's time has not yet come."
"I represent Pharasma's power in her aspect of the chooser of the slain. I hunt monsters. My whole family does. Their spirits walk with me and guide me. There are dozens of lifetimes of experience that I draw from, and when I die, my spirit will join them. Our sworn duty is to hunt down and destroy the creatures who destroy life. I cannot heal the sick or injured the way you can. I have to make do with wands and potions for that. Instead, my way of keeping people safe and holding off death for those who's time has not yet come is to kill the things which bring about unnatural death."
"It isn't vengeance. It isn't even justice. It is simply judgement. This creature needed to die."
"You aren't in my debt. You couldn't be, any more than you are in the cobbler's debt for making your shoes. I was just doing my job"
Xander laughed. "Lord Ravencourt is my uncle. I have my father, both his brothers, my older brother, and five cousins between me and that title."
Milo gazes at the ceiling as Xander pronounces Judgment, then at his fingernails. It's gruesome-- a painful and miserable way to go-- but Milovic is aware of the five dead on the floor near him, and he thinks that there are few souls who couldn't claim the little beast deserves it. It's justice, after a fashion.
Doesn't mean he wants to watch it, much.
Milo is glad enough when it's over.
"Still doubt the baron can be as reasonably talked with as you seem to think, Kinvara," he says with deliberate cheer after all this heavy talk of goddesses. "A man desperate enough to make pacts like this is not a man who... well, I suppose we'll see. I agree, let's finish searching the shop, then do some... reconnaissance of the baron's. Xander, care to check the door?"
Xander's extraordinarily thorough and practiced methodology of door-handling was something Milo had to get used to, back in the early days of their partnership, but he's come to appreciate it. He's fairly sure it's extended his personal lifespan beyond what might be the norm for a ragtag Nidal bastard. He takes up position near the door.
"Should that wax-man upstairs activate again, I suggest we pull back rather than try to fight it-- it seems to have a simple enough script."