"I'm an inquisitor, child, I probe every person; I'm cautious by nature. Such is how I am gifted with life till today. You have no need to fear though, as we have been tasked with guarding you, one of the last of the Rudianos. I don't know why you have an evil streak in you, but frankly, after seeing what's happened to your family, I don't blame you. Don't be gruff with ME, child, I've looked death in the face, and I thrive on battle. Your family has made enough enemies, you need not make more. As long as the Rudianos family keeps their promise and releases Tholan, we will have no issues."
"As you wish. Thank you for the food, my little princess." Ezkal gave a slight bow and went in search for the others.
Thaegrin turns his thoughts from the objects in front of him, to the Drolleye. “Mad? What did you say to her? What did your brother say to her?”
He gestures to the Halfblood, indicating he should gather Lady Tearlag’s possessions. “We shall deal with these later.”
Turning and walking back to the dining hall, he looks again to the Thelkonlander, annoyed. “I will see what this is about.”
The wizard walks briskly, until he finds the Ordo Hereticus approaching. He sighs, seeing a message waiting to leap from the warbringer’s bearded mouth. She summons us all. Very well.
The chief agent of Rudianos removes the mask from his face, and proceeds without a word to the dining hall.
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"Good, you're all here. Follow me."
Lady Sorcha walks the yards to the audience chamber and takes a seat in her father's old chair.
"I want the Thelkonlanders looking grim and staying quiet. Spymaster, mingle as the crowd enters and keep an ear on whispers. Thaegrin, you will speak and act as arbiter."
"Questions?"
After retrieving the equipment and stowing the gruesome mask in his pack, Anga follows along with the group until reaching the young Lady. His mind works at what Sorcha might say in her address, but the spy says nothing as he takes position just inside the door to the audience chamber.
“I would like the discuss the security of this castle, Lady Sorcha. Our most recent incidents has me concerned for your safety, and for those who serve you. I beg your leave to attend to these matters first.”
“As you wish, my Lady,” the chief agent graciously sweeps a bow, “Thank you for the time. I shall return in three hours. With permission, your grace.”
Rising, he shuffles from the hall. “Spymaster, Thelkonlanders, I wish to speak to you before we reconvene. You will find me in my study shortly.”
Entering the corridor, the wizard turns right and proceeds to the guardhouse to speak to the captain of the guard. “Good morning, captain. Due to a recent breach in security, I would like to ask what measures do you have in place to protect the noble family.”
His piercing gaze blinks a moment later, and he adds, wearing a smile, “There is no cause for alarm -everyone is now safe, and you will retain your rank for the time being. You and I have the privilege and duty to protect the Rudianos family, and I want to make sure we are not confounding each other’s efforts. Could you briefly describe the patrols in the castle, and the precautions taken at the entrances?”
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Thaegrin nods, “Excellent. Are guests subject to searches, or at least a confiscation of weapons?”
“Yes, thank you. Also, begin collecting a lock of hair or piece of thumbnail from anyone who seeks an audience with the Lady. I assume a record is already kept of those who come and go, so simply make sure each entry has an accompanying bit of their essence. Add a scribe slave or two to the staff if it expedites the admission process. I will be checking the entry records regularly. The corridor patrols will do for now, but soon I may be implementing alarms, traps, and passwords for some of the upper levels of the castle. If you can keep that to yourself, I will include you in the process of their construction. Then we can better coordinate our safety measures.” The wizard smiles.
Tholan steps forward, having quietly listened to the conversation. "Captiain, surely you're not questioning the Lady's adviser? I know the measures may seem... aggressive, but we're not asking you to take a finger. Just enough to protect the Lady." As he speaks, he steps up behind Thaegrin's shoulder, looming over the aged wizard. "We are all here to serve, and I know the Adviser would not ask this of you were it not important."
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The commander stiffens, he clearly resents the implications Tholan's words hold or maybe he just resents that a Thelkonlander hold a higher position than he himself holds. Nonetheless his reply is as professional as his stance. "As you wish. I will see these orders issued, shall I?"
He turns smartly on his heel and stalks off barking orders to any guardsman that catches his eye.
Not how I would’ve liked, but it gets the job done… the wizard shrugs, watching the guard captain leave.
Thaegrin turns to the Thelkonlander. “Come with me, if you would.”
The chief agent of Rudianos leads Tholan to the body of Lady Tearlag. “Let us return her to her room, or at the very least, out of this hallway. We can deal with her at the end of the day.”
Careful as to not draw too many eyes, and hurrying through the corridors, the body if the former Lady is laid onto her bed. Once he releases the corpse, the wizard shakes visibly and casts a minor spell many times over to scour his hands and arms. He answers Tholan, “While I am accustomed to the sight of death, and on rare occasions, causing it, the feel of a cold corpse has never been a pleasant experience for me.”
He shudders again, before his eyes wander about the room, now only faintly clouded with smoke. I am curious, how she learned to slip between shadows…
Frowning, Thaegrin opens a palm to the letter, extending his magical senses with an incantation.
“All the excitement today has nearly depleted the incantations I memorized this morning,” Thaegrin says to Tholan, pointing to the letter, “there appears to be a spell of nondetection on this letter. Do you have the ability to dispel it?”
“You may need to ask for extra favor from your god. If the contents of that letter are worth protecting, the Rudianos would take measures to ensure no one else sees it.” He gestures vaguely to the Drolleye. “So pray, or chant, or whatever it is you do. Please.”
"Wizard, is there anything you want to ask of Lady Tearlag?" Ezkal asked.
The aging Feraweni blinks as the warbringer bursts into the room. A small smile flits over the arcanist’s face at the question. “Of course.”
The wizard steps aside so Ezkal can approach the body and intone his spell. “Tholan, please secure the door. I do not care for eavesdroppers,” he says as he takes a step closer to Lady Tearlag’s body. “I want to ask what is in that letter. I would also like to know who the recipient is. And finally, how she learned to fight as she did, whilst trapped in this room. If you are limited to your number of questions, ask the first two and we shall proceed from there. Thank you, Ezkal.”
Thaegrin pays close attention to the Ordo Hereticus, eager for information, but keeps himself from touching the body. Given her last answer to a question of his, the wizard steels himself to see through any maddened gibberish that might issue forth.
Ezkal approaches the body and kneels by the bedside. He whispers and begins to eat the sins of Lady Tearlag. This tastes like... purple he groaned to himself. The ritual continues for a full minute, then he preps the dead spirit for questioning. "We get 4 questions Wizard."
"Lady Tearlag... What is in that letter? Who was it the recipient? Who taught you the martial ways while you were confined to this room?"
Tholan nods as the wizard speaks. "I can help to dispel this once my brother has finished his work." Before Ezkal begins, he steps outside and closes the door, blocking entry and watching for any prying eyes.
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The lady's body suddenly stiffens, her back arches slightly, then her chin dips forward so that he closed eyes stare at the inquisitor. Blueing lips slide back to reveal too much tooth to be a proper grin. The unseemly smile is unsettling in combination with the all-too-alert closed eyes.
A rasping, distant voice, a mocking replica of the Lady's hisses from between the ghastly grin.
"The letter was to Belarandir to inform him of the happenings at Lehren and the progress of young Thaegrin Variel."
the head cocks to one side, a dark humor somehow writ on the impassive face.
"No one taught me. The shadows whispered and I listened. I was one of them before you snared me, Ordo Hereticus. DO NOT THINK I WILL EITHER FORGIVE OR FORGET!"
Suddenly, the dead jaws snap up at Ezkal, going for his throat!
The corpse bites into Ezkal's forearm as he raises it to defend himself. The teeth barely break the skin but instantly a fire shudders through the Inquisitor's blood. The pulsing pain passes swiftly, and the bite wound scars over in a blink: a perfect, red hued cast of Lady Tearlag's maw.
“Where is Belarandir?!” the wizard blurts before he can control himself, hoping the last question reaches the spirit before it falls on dead ears.
Thaegrin Variel straightens, regaining his impassive composure. “Thank you, Ezkal. That was most ...enlightening.” Still, his tone is preoccupied. He carefully picks up the letter, and finding nothing to happen when he touches it, stores it into a pocket of his cloak. He sighs, recalling memories over a century old. “Master Belarandir instructed me in the arcane studies, many years ago, when your grandfather was a child. Even now, my abilities would pale in comparison to his knowledge and command of the magical realm. He was, lost, in an accident while testing a new spell. Everyone presumed him dead, even myself, in my youthful arrogance. Hmm…”
The wizard trails off, his thoughts turned inward.
He throws a look back at the Thelkonlander, suddenly remembering. “You were bitten. I trust that you are all right.”
He unshoulders the intricate weapon from his shoulder. “Here. Take this, I have no use for it. This repeating crossbow may look light, but the bolts are enchanted to strike with more mass behind them. It seems to be built for assassinations -the sneakier the user, the more effective- but at least now you have a way to slay a foe too far for the sword, warbringer.”
“Now, I think we are quite done here,” Thaegrin knocks on the door, “Tholan? It is finished. There are matters I would like to discuss in my study, with you two and the spymaster, wherever he is.”
"Thank you for the crossbow, but Uh.... should we check out this bite? I've got this odd mark now and I don't want to end up deranged," Ezkal said as he strapped the crossbow to his back.
“In a moment,” the arcanist answers the Ordo Hereticus, as he leads them to his study.
Immediately upon entering, he makes a quick search to see if anything was tampered with.
Once satisfied with his study, he opens the door to his bedchamber and looks about. After a minute, he returns and opens his alchemist’s cabinet, and then turns to the eldest Thelkonlander, gesturing to see the bite.
“Your brother was bitten by the deceased Lady, during her questioning,” Thaegrin absently explains to the Drolleye.
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Ezkal fortitude saved him from the worst of the effects: a cursed disease of terrible pervasivness and tenacity that would eventually transformed the Thelkonlander into the walking dead.
The only troubling thing about the bite is that it seems to behave like a magical beacon, projecting Ezkal's location and status to anyone attuned to it.
Thaegrin cannot think of a way to cure it off hand...
The wizard frowns and looks up at Ezkal. “Fortunately, it appears that you avoided the worst -you are still among the living. Unfortunately, this bite appears to act as a magical beacon. Those attuned to it will know your exact location and condition.”
He sighs, reluctantly admitting, “I do not know how to cure this bite. Tholan, perhaps if you attempted the dispelling magic on the scar? The sympathy of common blood might be enough to remove this beacon.”
Thaegrin takes a step back, as to not interfere with Tholan’s spell.
Leaning against the stone wall of the audience chamber Anga turns the page quietly. Little had transpired since the wizard and his two Thelkonlanders had departed. There was much and more Facion needed to do. But until this address from the young Lady Sorcha was complete, it would have to wait. So too, does Anga wait, occasionally looking up to survey the room. He bides his time in the shadowy corner of the chamber, reading the heavy black tome that Thaegrin had given him earlier.
Gnomic and full of riddling double talk, the pace is slow. But with time he makes some progress into the strange work.
Tholan opens the door, nods quietly, and follows the Wizard to his study. "That I can do." He lays his hands on the wound, and incants briefly, his hands glowing for a moment.
"Well brother? Feel any better or different?"
Ezkal blinked. "Brother... did that just transfer to you? What if we cut it out?"
“No,” the wizard interrupts Ezkal’s line of thought, as he turns to his library. He quietly stands for a moment, thinking. Master Belarandir dabbled in necromancy, and I was able to secure a few of his books before the rest were confiscated after the accident. Ah, perhaps in here...
Thaegrin pulls down an old, worn book from the top shelf. A wave of nostalgia washes over him as he runs a hand over the hard cover of Dead Tongues Fed Lungs: a synergy of the Divination and Necromancy schools and beginner's guide to Necryll. He carefully opens the book, mindful of its age, and leafs through the chapters for an applicable topic. “This is not why I wish to speak to you, but it will have to wait until I find more definitive answers for…” he looks up at Tholan’s arm, checking to make sure the bite has not traveled elsewhere, “Tholan’s affliction.” He looks back down into the book.
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Thaegrin flips pages idly until his eyes find the chapter entitled, Poxes, Parasites, and Pustules: A Discourse on Diseases of the Dead. Flipping a few more pages, he finds a subheading:
Description: Red Rot is a most foul affliction that ravages Strength and Stamina and ruins the sportive features of its victims if left untreated.
Signs and Symptoms: Usually betokened by an angry red ring on the flesh, sometimes resembling a bite wound, Red Rot will spread until the color for which the affliction is named claims the entirety of the epidermis. If left to spread to this stage, the afflicted will notice a decrease in range of motion, a loss of tactile sensation, and finally, loss of limb and life. Throughout this process the muscles will atrophy, endurance will wain, and personality and feature will suffer most grievously.
Treatment: A most noxious plague, Red Rot is difficult to treat; it requires the exacting combination of magic, alchemical compounds, and willpower.
In the short term, burning the infected area with black powder has been known to slow the spreading of the disease, but it does not address the taxing strain it puts on the afflicted.
The only known cures are as follows:
1. Direct intercession and intervention by divine powers.
2. The cutting away of the infected flesh with implement of silver, and the burning of that flesh in an adamantine vessel rubbed thoroughly with a paste made from sacred incenses and the oil of oranges. At the same time, prayers of the limb of the infected to remove the disease and the curse that binds it to him must be spoken within a minute of each other. Only then will restorative magic begin to heal the damage caused by the taint.
In English:
Tomorrow, the disease will claim 1d6 of Strength, Constitution, and Charisma at a rate of once per day. No save.
A will save (DC 20) must be passed each day to avoid the spread of the red skin. The DC increases by 2 each time the save is failed. It takes 12 failed saves to kill the victim, but every 2 incurs a penalty to Dexterity and every 4 causes the loss of a limb.
Lighting black powder on the wound counts as a passed will save for the day, but imposes 1d2 Dex damage and 1d6 hit point damage.
Wish or Miracle will fix it, otherwise you must cut away the bite mark in the above way and burn it as described. Then, over the wound itself, remove curse and remove disease.
Restoration (normal and lesser) as well as Heal have no effect until the curse is lifted.
Further, Tholan is affected by a scrying effect (too strong to know the full extent) while the curse affects him.
Good luck.
With a sigh Facion presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and shuts the book. It will take more than idle examination for him to pull the secrets from this tome it would seem. With care he places the worn book in his satchel as the man of shadows moves to the rooms exit. Carefully and casually he makes his way through the palace halls towards the old wizards suite of rooms.
“Blind gods,” the wizard hisses, closing the book with a soft thud. He slowly backs away a few steps from the Drolleye. “Red Rot. This is a severe sickness that must be treated quickly, before it spreads and takes Tholan completely. You were somewhat right, Ezkal. We must cut away the infected flesh with a silver blade, burn that flesh in an adamantine urn after rubbing it with sacred incenses and oil of oranges. While it burns, one must beseech the gods to remove the disease from your brother, while another attempts to break the curse that binds the sickness to him.”
He takes a breath, “I have an incantation that will break the curse, but I am no physician or holy man. Can either of you remove diseases with your faith?”
Thaegrin casts about his study, “And where is the Halfblood?!”
"Speak your piece wizard." The spy says from where he leans against a cabinet of alchemical curios. Nodding to Tholans arm he remarks; "That's a good color for you."
"Sorry friend, I can not cure diseases at the time. Maybe one day I will be given that ability by Gorrum, but for now I won't be much help. The cutting I can do though." Ezkal commented.
Thaegrin twitches, startled to see Anga already entered and apparently at ease. Twice in one day. These old ears are not what they were… The chief agent replies to the Halfblood’s appraisal of Tholan’s arm. “Indeed.”
He turns to Ezkal. “You will most certainly be of help, though perhaps in a way you are not accustomed. I need you to procure a scroll that recites the words necessary to remove the sickness. You will be the one to read it, so I suggest seeking a holy man of some sort who is willing to sell.” He quietly counts to himself for a moment, “If the seller is fair, the price will be three hundred seventy-five, in gold. While you are there, collect a bundle of holy incense. Tholan, your brother is still new to the city. If you have the strength, go with him to ensure no one swindles an outlander.”