"I might suggest a compromise. Rosentos is going nowhere in his current state. Likewise travel during the night, one might encounter hazards in the woods that present great challenge and require more than just a few of us."
"What if we search for the treasure until sunrise, then push back to the unquiet spirit's location to deliver Rosentos?"
Rocko shrugs, finding the suggestion acceptable.
"I be better at sniffing out food, not treasure. You all go look, and I be staying here to keep Lord Dead One's head off his shoulders."
It only takes an hour or so to search the rest of the manor house and find Rosentos' repository. It's hidden under a hatch in the lower level.
Djack has no problem locating and disabling the deadly poisoned arrow trap near the entry.
Inside, you find:
25717 cp
27179 sp
18069 gp
6491 pp
3078 gp in gems
43 pieces of jewelry
Jewelry has 7770 total value
Items that stand out:
platinum ring featuring a round opal -650 gp
gold rope chain necklace - 210 gp
blue sapphire and quartz halo pendant - 185 gp
emerald brooch - 400 gp
handmade beaded necklace - 7 gp
silver ring with tanzanite (deep blue) stone - 95 gp
Amideo's instructions where to retrieve the treasure, and keep a reasonable portion for his Circuit's treasury. From that portion he can reimburse the party, the village of Luln, and the (former) slaves of Rosentos if he chooses.
Amideo grabs his ledger from his saddle bag, tallying the vast wealth that lies before them, "Friends, we have come across a truly sizable fortune. Of course, some of that must go to the Marques. While we could keep all of it, I would request that we think of the villagers of Luln, and the former subjects of Rosentos. Both parties have suffered under the vampire's hand, and some form of restitution would be just, I think. If they desire, we could even escort the people here back to Albarra, to start new lives out of their old master's shadow."
Among the treasures, Amideo finds a set of shining and ornately embellished full plate armor, one pauldron decorated with images of charging knights.
"I'm of the opinion that your coins hold little weight in our forests. These other items, however..." Pausing, Yoltzin lifts the beaded necklace to examine it closer, fingering the markings as if trying to identify the carver's intent. It seemed Elven to her at first blush.
"My people place great value in handworked crafts such as this, or the rest of these glittering baubles. If you were to give them anything I believe these items would go a long ways to curry their favor. Mmm... I'd also be remiss to ignore the sheer trade value these old coins might have with your frontiersman."
Off to the side of the stash, a shield-sized piece of tarnished metal decoration catches Rocko's eye. It almost looks like it doesn't belong in with the other treasures. It looks similar to a decorative coat of arms of some sort, but with unusual symbols, artwork, and what might even be an unknown type of writing on it.
Rocko picks it up, muttering "This might be making a good shield with some work."
It instantly turns from a drab decoration into a lightweight, brightly decorated metal shield with the same exotic patterns on it.
"Shikabi! Good thing Rosentos not be knowing this was here."
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"Mm..." AS the elf circled around the various items once more, her left hand carefully fingering the beaded necklace, she found her attention drawn to a rather simple looking iron mace. There was nothing decorative about it, it's metal flanges utilitarian in mathematically balanced design. When she ran a finger down the piece she felt a spark of connection to it, a shallow realization that while a poor weapon of war, this could instead be an excellent method of channeling her spirits.
"He really did have quite an... interesting collection of trinkets."
"That he did. A life as long and profane as his would lend itself to boredom. Perhaps he sought excitement through his ill-gotten gains."
Mayum 28
The trip back to Citlalmina's hill, covered with junipers, is uneventful. The weather cooperates, a bit chilly in the morning but warming up by the time you reach the hill in the early afternoon. While you are weary from lack of sleep, you are well-fed, the former slave-villagers having insisted on cooking you a veritable feast of a breakfast upon your announcing their freedom.
Approaching the hill (now on your left as you travel back toward Luln, wagon laden), the unnatural form of the banshee once again appears at the top of the hill. Wrapped in sheets, you carry, separately, the head of Rosentos and his corpse.
"Where is Rosentos?" the banshee repeats her previous query. She seems to have no memory of your previous encounter, her presence here a mere shadow of life, the personal hell of a woman trapped in a world to which she no longer belongs.
Yoltzin offers no surprise at the apparent forgetfulness of the spirit, she is well acquainted with habits of those who are dead. Pulling from her back, she removed the wrapped head of Rosentos. "We have brought him, in pieces if not in whole. The man you once knew has turned upon his own mortality, rejecting even the comforting flames of Xenxolotl to embrace the cold comfort of the blooded dead. If it is your desire, we'd return him to his mockery of animation in order to seek your judgment."
"And there were a memory of yours in a room in Rosentos's house if you be needing it back for your sleep."
When the stake is removed and Rosentos' head is returned to the corpse, a quiet, wrong stillness settles over the trail, as though the birds all inhaled at once and forget how to sing. The neck stump and the severed head touch; veins like dark threads creep across pale skin, stitching themselves together in slow, deliberate lines. The head gives a faint, involuntary jerk, jaw clicking shut as if finishing an interrupted thought. For a heartbeat nothing more happens. Then the corpse arches sharply, spine bowing off the ground, fingers clawing into the damp earth. The chest shudders once, twice, and then his eyes snapped open.
The vampire’s mouth stretch in a silent snarl, lips peeling back from teeth that lengthen as the last seams sealed themselves. Blood pulses with a strength that seems to make the forest itself recoil. Slowly, deliberately, Rosentos sits up.
Above, on the roadside rise, the eyes of the banshee twitch, as if trying to cope with a hate so powerful as to be incomprehensible to the living and the restful dead alike. Shadows stretch long and thin between the trunks of trees, and the air in the woods grows still and cold.
Yoltzin judges it to be best that the party leave the vicinity; if they must witness events, they should do it at a distance, for their own safety.
Amideo's eyes go wide. He is a brave man, but not above being afraid of what he rightfully should be. He would not need Yoltzin to tell him to vacate the area.
"Let us....let us go, my friends. I see no need to witness this dealing of justice. I doubt we would survive it unscated."
Oddly enough, Rocko seems determined to at least watch from a distance.
"Go, be safe, but I must be seeing this to the end. Not right here, mind you."
She places a hand to Rocko's shoulder, "It's my duty as a priestess to watch over the honored dead. Come with me, I'll guide you to where I feel is right."
Rocko will nod. "Lead on"
From half a mile distant, the hilltop rise is only a dark crown of trees against the gray-blue of the sky, its details softened to the eye. Then the scream arrives. Even at this range, it cuts through the air: a long, rising wail that makes the leaves shudder and the birds explode upward from the canopy in a black, frantic cloud. The cry does not echo so much as press, like a weight laid upon the land. The treetops bow as if in a sudden gale, though no wind moves the grass in the valley below.
A flash of motion breaks the tree line. Something pale and swift darts between trunks near the crest of the hill, too fast and erratic to be human. It stumbles—actually stumbles—and vanishes behind a stand of junipers. A moment later, a dark figure is flung clear of the forest, tumbling end over end before striking the ground hard enough to send a faint puff of dirt into the air. From this distance, it looks almost like a discarded cloak.
The wail swells again, higher, sharper. The sound becomes visible in its effects: a ring of leaves tearing free and spiraling outward from the hilltop as though pushed by an invisible wave. The fallen figure tries to rise. It does not get far. It jerks, stiffens, then collapses flat, limbs splayed unnaturally.
Above the trees, something lifts into view—an indistinct, hovering shape, long and trailing, its edges unraveling like smoke. The air around it seems to ripple. When it throws back its head, the scream that follows is shorter, focused, devastating. A shock ripples through the forest canopy, and several trees simply split, their trunks bursting apart from within. When the sound ends, the hilltop goes still.
No more movement stirs among the trees. The pale figure does not rise again. The hovering shape lingers for a heartbeat longer, disburses into the air, finally free of the torment of a trapped spirt. All that remains is a quiet hill, scattered with broken branches and drifting leaves, as though the land itself has chosen to forget what happened there.
The temperature warms steadily as you travel on toward Luln, your minds still contemplating what you've just witnessed. What evils this world could wreak on its residents, and yet often with a chance of redemption, or at least, justice.
By evening you approach the familiar features of the forest-village of Luln, it's large pyramid-temple taking prominent form in the closing distance.
Amideo witnesses the events from a distance and his eyes go wide. This was justice, he could not deny it, yet it was far from any he could recognize. Something strange, primal, mystical beyond his reckoning.
And yet, he finds himself undeniably satisfied by this event. The vampire is dead, truly dead, and the banshee is put to rest.
A sense of relief swelled up in her soul as she laid witnessed to the final end of both spectre and vampire. Yoltzin approached the glade before they left, twisting a lit censer to help ritually cleanse it of any remnant shreds of remorse or malice. Both times she passed it's way, she did not so much as even glance to the fresh-fallen corpse. It's body was already tainted by unsanctioned unlife, never again would it rise on it's own accord or to the whims of another. Let the forest have take it instead.
Later, as they approach the familiarity of her home, Yoltzin felt none of the apprehension that weighed on her during their initial approach. She welcomed the sight of it, acknowledging that it would be the last time in perhaps years she would lay her eyes upon it.