Chapter Four
The streets of the town were buzzing with activity, the excitement of the populace almost tangible. The reason for this was that tonight, and the following days as well, a holiday of sorts was to take place. It was a tradition nearly as old as the town itself, a period of rest after the harvest where the townsfolk could rest and socialize. A small fair was usually set up at the town square where large crowds would flock to participate in its many games and events. Though the town square was where most of the festivities were held, it seemed no place in the town was exempt from being transformed into a playground. Even the town's temple district was affected, the normal solemnity surrounding the area replaced by an atmosphere charged with childish anticipation. However, there still stood a grim bulwark against the pervading sense of joy surrounding the town. This dark blotch on the otherwise cheerful atmosphere was, ironically, the temple of Shallya, a symbol of hope. The temple stood, impervious to any cheering influence of the outside world, its doors stood closed. This, of course, was a strange anomaly considering it was almost a creed for the temple to always keep its doors open to any and all. Though only the closed doors seemed out of place, there was an underlying current of foreboding surrounding the building so strong, that passerbys often gave the temple a wide berth unconsciously, instinct warding them away. Inside the temple, however, was an entirely different story.
The workings inside the temple mirrored the town, in a sense. The temple was buzzing with activity, excitement lacing the air, though the reasons for this were far different from the town's, far darker. When one of the temple's visitors had suddenly had a fit, expelling his stomach's contents all over the rich carpeting, it was needless to say that every witness to the event was shocked. More shocking still, however, was what had come next. To most, it simply felt like a wave of nausea that sent their entire body tingling, many attributing it witnessing the unsavory spectacle of a man throwing up. To a select few though, it was far more. Several priestesses as well as a couple of the visitors had begun screaming, as if in intense pain. By the time anyone could come to the victims' aid, they had collapsed, many weeping uncontrollably, others unconscious, while a few were something worse. In the space of less than a minute, the peaceful workings of the temple, that had gone on undisturbed for countless years, had come to a crippling, abrupt halt.
Jorrik sat silently on a cushioned bench, leaning forward with his head on his hands. He was currently alone in what appeared to be an office of some sort, likely belonging to the senior priest or priestess or whoever it was that ran the shrine. The room was small but well adorned, though not to the point of lavishness, with a number of curious trinkets and articles lining the shelves around the room or occupying a space on the desk at the room's center. However, despite the numerous curios laying about the room, Jorrik remained unimpressed, solemn.
Jorrik was dead to the world around him, his expression blank. Not even the sounds of heated conversation filtering through the walls of the room he currently occupied were able to stir his interest. All Jorrik could think about was his companion, David, and the strange happenings that have surrounded him. Jorrik suddenly realized, slightly perturbed, that the more he mulled over the recent events concerning his companion, the more he felt a sense of dread growing within him. Though he could not place the exact reason for his growing discomfort, he felt an instinctive wariness at the current situation and the previous happenings. It almost felt as if he should know something about what was going on though for the life of him he did not know what. A sudden frustration gripped him. Standing, he made for the only door in the room. What the hell am I doing here anyway? Jorrik thought to himself vehemently. Shouldn't I be with David, wherever the hell he is? What kind of friend am I, sitting here skulking like some whipped dog? Here, though, Jorrik stopped himself. Was he David's friend?
Jorrik had stopped mid stride, his hand resting on the handle of the door. His gaze had once more taken a glazed look as he contemplated the implication of his words. What was his relationship to David? With the current state of his mind, Jorrik being unable to remember almost anything about his life or who he was, the only tie to humanity and his past had been his fellow sufferer, David. There was also a strong emotional bond Jorrik felt with David, though he did not know exactly what it meant. It was as if David had played a major role in his life before Jorrik had lost all memory of it. As such, was it not reasonable that he had stuck with David and labeled him a friend? Yet, was this really the case? Jorrik shook his head, smiling at his indecision. It did not matter what their relation to each other was before, right now Jorrik knew he considered David his friend and that was enough. However, Jorrik's contented smile did not last long as he suddenly found himself staggering away from the door, his face throbbing smartly. A rather shocked looking priestess stared at him through the now open doorway, a greeting dying on her lips. Jorrik could only scowl back, his mouth still reeling from the shock of having a door smashed into it
After stepping into the hallway, the priestess led Jorrik down the spacious corridor towards some obscure destination. Sure, she had explained that he was being summoned but the unexpected experience of bashing him with a door must have made it difficult to elaborate on the situation. In the distance, Jorrik could hear the echoes of activity, but it seemed so unreal against the strange solitude of the hall. The priestess stopped in front of a closed chamber door, knocking politely before stepping back to wait. Moments later the door was opened by yet another priestess who cast a quick glance towards Jorrik before having a whispered exchange with the woman who had guided him here. The second priestess wore near identical clothing to the first, excluding a few personal touches, but Jorrik could sense the strength of authority emanating from her and guessed she was of senior rank, perhaps even the head of the temple. After a few moments, the first priestess was dismissed, the second beckoning for Jorrik to enter.
Upon entering, Jorrik found himself in a room not dissimilar to the one he had found himself previously. A large window, overlooking a busy street, allowed an abundance of sunlight through into the room making it obnoxiously bright. However, what caught Jorrik's attention immediately was the two occupants of the room, barring the priestess and himself. One man, sitting in one of the two chairs in the room, Jorrik instantly recognized as David despite the fact he was currently turned away from him. The other, reclining on the edge of the room's desk, was a stranger with graying black hair. At his entrance, the two turned towards him.
"Jorrik?" David inquired, which, much to Jorrik's surprise, was followed by the same inquiry from the stranger.
"You know me?" Jorrik managed, astonishment still gripping him. An overflowing sense of hope suddenly filled him. Here, at last, was a relic of his past, a tie to his former humanity. Perhaps this man could help him remember who he truly was. Jorrik's sense of hope faltered though, as the man stood from his former position to properly face the newcomer, allowing Jorrik to fully assess the man.
Though a heavy cloak was draped across the man's shoulders, Jorrik could tell that the man's attire was well worn by travel. A pair of shabby, leather boots attached to the man's legs attested to this. A sword lay sheathed at his side as well as a smaller armament that Jorrik believed to be a pistol. However, it was not these fierce vestments of war that disconcerted Jorrik, it was the man himself. At first glance, Jorrik had assumed the man's graying hair was due to age, but on closer inspection Jorrik felt the man's age was far closer to his own. Despite the man's relative youth, his features were marred by numerous scars crisscrossing his face and the uncompromising expression he wore. The man's eyes though, were his most prominent feature. They gazed at Jorrik, piercing and fierce, radiating with a sense of grim understanding that Jorrik found disturbing. It looked like the man had never known happiness, and, if anyone had told him that was truly the case, Jorrik would have wholeheartedly believed them. Under his scrutiny, Jorrik felt like he was being interrogated and had already been found guilty thrice over.
Much to Jorrik's surprise, the man's face split into a smile, an expression Jorrik found empty and unnatural, even frightening.
"Moulton, it's been a long time," the man asserted, making his way towards Jorrik. Seeing Jorrik's confused expression at being addressed so familiarly however, the man stopped in his tracks. The smile that had seemed painfully plastered on his face fading so quickly that it was easy to believe it had never been present. "You don't remember me, do you?" the stranger inquired. Jorrik shook his head. Sighing, the man returned to his post on the edge of the desk. "Take a seat," he demanded, pointing to the remaining chair. Jorrik hesitated, despite his body's inclination to concede to the man's demands, glancing towards the priestess. Sensing his intention she smiled.
"Don't worry, I prefer standing," she assured Jorrik. Nodding, Jorrik quickly took his seat, preferring not to keep the stranger waiting.
The man regarded the two companions, his face unreadable apart from the fierce expression he seemed to unconsciously wear. Finally, he spoke,
"Jorrik, do you claim association with this man?" Jorrik glanced sideways at David, but his companion seemed intent on staring at the carvings inlaid on the desk's front, paying no heed to either Jorrik or his interrogator.
"Yes. What of it?" There was a silence, heavy with unsaid meaning. The stranger turned his attention towards David, noting his unseeing stare.
"I have suspicions your friend, perhaps you as well, may be demon possessed." There was another long pause. Finally, Jorrik could contain himself no longer. After a brief but fierce internal struggle for self-control, he burst out laughing. Despite Jorrik's irreverent display, the stranger remained unfazed.
"W-who are you to make such a statement?" Jorrik managed to stammer, the return of his laughter drowning out any reply. "Demon possessed! I've never heard of anything so stupid. My friend," Jorrik continued, rising from his seat, "I feel-"
"Silence!" the stranger barked, the force of his voice blasting throughout the small room. Jorrik immediately clamped his mouth shut. In the back the priestess give a small gasp of surprise. Even David was shocked out of his reverie, stunned by the violent utterance. "Sit," the man continued, albeit much calmer. Jorrik was quick to comply. When all was settled once more, the man continued, "The fact you find this situation funny only adds weight to the matter." The stranger glanced up, his eyes fixated on Jorrik's own. "You and I, we are of the same breed."
"So? What exactly is that supposed to mean to me?" Jorrik inquired, perturbed. A smile once more crept across the stranger's face, but Jorrik found this one far more appropriate for it carried no joy, only dark promise.
"Allow me to reintroduce myself to you then. I am Ansgar Jager, witch hunter."
Jorrik let the information sink in. The implications of this man's statement seemed ludicrous at best, yet Jorrik could not dismiss the thought. Jorrik waited for the man to elaborate before realizing that the witch hunter was waiting for a response, a reaction.
"Impossible," Jorrik stated flatly. In response the other man reached for his belt and threw an object at Jorrik, his movements swift and practiced. Jorrik could not help but flinch, much to his shame, believing the man's intention had been ill. However, a quick glance revealed that the object was a pistol, beautifully crafted and lovingly maintained. "What's this supposed to mean?" Jorrik inquired, looking up to give the man a quizzical look. Jorrik's eyes grew wide in surprise when he caught sight of the flash of metal in Ansgar's hand. Without preamble, the witch hunter lunged for Jorrik, intent on plunging a wicked looking dagger into the surprised man's throat. Before anyone could voice any protest however, it was over. The room was deathly silent.
The priestess in the back was staring at the scene, shock evident in her features. David was halfway out of his seat, frozen in place, his pale features growing paler. Ansgar calmly stood before Jorrik, rubbing a sore spot on his wrist. Already the flesh was darkening into the beginnings of a bruise. The dagger lay on the floor. Jorrik was out of his seat, the pistol aimed between the witch hunter's eyes. Only a slight notch in the woodwork of the firearm gave any evidence of what had transpired. Amongst all in the room, it was safe to say Jorrik himself was the most surprised. Despite the superiority of his position, Jorrik was trembling.
"In the past I have seen you kill men armed with swords with but a pistol in close combat. Your mind may have forgotten your experiences, but your body has not. Years of training have ingrained those movements into your mind. Is this proof enough I know what I speak of?" Ansgar calmly stated, reaching down to retrieve his blade. Suddenly, Jorrik found his voice.
"Are you insane? What if I didn't react in time? What if you had killed me?"
"Then you would have died." Ansgar replied simply, once more returning to his perch on the desk. "Hopefully now you will take this situation more seriously. I have other means to prove my credibility, but they are far less… pleasant." Jorrik sat back down, his eyes focused on the witch hunter, his expression rapt.
David heart was still hammering. This man, this witch hunter, truly was insane. Not a minute before awakening, his head throbbing painfully, had David been thrust into a room alone with this madman. Despite David's many protests, the witch hunter had persisted on interrogating him. The questions themselves were often confusing, asking David to pledge allegiance to someone or swear by something, it was all gibberish to David. How was he supposed to know the answers to these questions? Once the man had pulled a foul smelling pendant from around his neck, waving it in front of David who gagged at the stench, almost gracing the office floor with more of his previous meal. All throughout the ordeal the man had been raving about demon possession, or something to that effect. If anything, this so called witch hunter was the one possessed.
David, however, had more to worry about then his current, lamentable situation. The headache that had plagued him prior to his collapse was still beating a merry tune within his head, dulling his thoughts and senses. He was worried he would repeat the purging of his stomach due to the continued nausea caused by the headache. It was if there was something in the air slowly poisoning him. David blamed the incense. A voice within his subconscious prodded him, prompting him to leave this place for the outside air. However, the one time he had tried to leave, his interrogator had threatened to remove David's arm. As such, all David could do now was wait as his companion, Jorrik, talked some sense into this lunatic. Still, the voice within his mind persisted, sometimes, David swore, it was joined by a second, urging him to do something or other. Perhaps there is some truth to the matter? David chanced a look at the witch hunter's direction. David snorted, Unlikely. Damn incense.
Jorrik did his best to keep up with the steady barrage of information the witch hunter was feeding him. From what Jorrik could gather, the man before him was similar to a priest in that he was ordained by a church, or in his view, the church, to do their holy work. That is where their similarities ended, as far as Jorrik was concerned. It seemed a witch hunter was given nearly supreme authority by the church of Sigmar to cleanse any and all suspected of trafficking with the "darker powers." In truth, by the way the man made it sound, very few were above the attention of his ministrations. This fact, coupled with what Jorrik could discern from the man, meant he and David were in serious trouble, and that was without factoring the possibility of a demon into the equation. What troubled Jorrik most of all though, was that the witch hunter continued to assert Jorrik was amongst their number. The incident with the dagger could mean nothing. Any man would move to save his life. Yet Jorrik knew that was deluded thinking, this man had no reason to lie to him.
"Jorrik," Ansgar continued, snapping Jorrik from his rumination. "I have given your companion the most basic of interrogations and he failed miserably." Jorrik opened his mouth to reply but Ansgar cut him off. "I am well aware of his memory problems, my belief in his claims strengthened by your own actions. However, this only adds to my suspicions."
"Ansgar, I know all you're doing is your job, but I feel this is a mistake. Your tests, as effective as they may be, are not full proof are they? Certainly there must be other ways to discern the truth of the matter."
"In all my years of service to my lord, Sigmar, only once have these tests failed me." Jorrik's expression lightened, feeling he had reached some reasonable part of the man's mind. "Don't get me wrong, he still burned. I was right in the end, it just took more to prove it." Jorrik was crestfallen.
"David, why don't you say something? I would appreciate a little help in defending your hide," Jorrik stated, turning to his companion who had been silent the entire time. David glanced at the other two men, smiling sheepishly.
"Sorry, you were just doing such a good job I didn't want to ruin it," he replied jokingly.
"You see, Ansgar? How could David be demon possessed? He looks normal enough to me."
"I would say you know nothing of demonic possession only that would not be entirely true now, would it?" Before Jorrik could voice his doubts on the matter, doubts that were becoming more and more insubstantial, Ansgar continued. "That you both are amnesiacs may mean nothing at all. The interesting fact that you are also a witch hunter, sworn to purge evil in all its forms, may just be coincidence. Your friend's failure of my tests may just be another fluke of mine, correct?" Jorrik could say nothing. Ansgar continued, "In answer to your previous question, there is another way to discern the truth. In fact, that is what brought me running here in the first place, leaving the comforts of a warm room and meal, to attend to you." Ansgar glanced up towards the priestess whom Jorrik had quite forgotten. "Sister, if it is no bother to you?"
"Not at all, sir," she replied, understanding his intentions. She gave a nervous bow before leaving the room.
"What-" Jorrik began.
"Be patient."
David found that if he focused, he could begin to discern the voices more clearly. At first he had been alarmed, almost confessing to the witch hunter out of fear. However, survival instinct and something else held him back. It was the chanting. The primary voice he had been hearing had been silken but indiscernible. Eventually, its incessant chatter was threatening to put David over the edge which, David suspected, may have been its intention. That was when the chanting had started, David finally able to discern the difference between the two voices within his mind. He had been ready to laugh at the thought that he now believed he had voices within his mind, likely stirring the witch hunter's unfavorable attention, but the chanting had calmed him. The words, though insensible, sounded familiar and comforting. David knew he should speak up, at least so Jorrik would not get too deep into this. It was not his friend's problem. However, David also did not want to be given over to the witch hunter to await whatever the man intended which was sure to be unpleasant. David was still struggling with what to do when the door to the room opened once again.
The priestess returned, though not alone. She was followed by a large man, armored as if to do battle, wielding a sizable war hammer. The man was as intimidating as Ansgar, easily dwarfing the priestess who had preceded him, his bald head scarred and pitted. He looked more than normal amongst the company of such as the witch hunter. However, the next to enter was the strangest of the three. It was a girl, likely no more than sixteen, who now stood within the doorframe. She bore no weapon as the other two did, and wore clothing that would not have been out of place in the streets outside. The only thing that associated her with her companions was the traveling cloak she wore, identical to those worn by her predecessors and equally travel worn. The two strangers took their place behind Ansgar, the man standing in rigid attention while the girl took the seat behind the desk.
Jorrik regarded the newcomers as he waited for Ansgar to explain. The man was clearly a warrior, the scars on his face and armor a testimony to a life of battle. The large war hammer he currently held head to the floor revealed that the man must also have considerable strength to wield such a monstrous weapon. Jorrik could make nothing of the girl, who now had her legs propped up casually on the desk as she reclined in the chair. Her eyes were closed, her expression was relaxed. Perhaps she was a menial; she had manners enough for one. Jorrik returned his attention to Ansgar, awaiting the coming answer.
"As you have no doubt surmised, these are my companions," Ansgar stated, gesturing to the two.
"Gunther Falke," the large man rumbled as way of introduction.
"Adela," was all the girl said, not even bothering to open her eyes.
"By the nature of my profession, I do not have the luxury of normal companionship. Any who would share in my crusade would be far from the ordinary; Gunther's skills are obvious enough." Ansgar pressed on. Jorrik merely nodded, curious as to where this was going. "Adela is something more subtle." Jorrik felt a sense of uneasiness stir within him. "Adela was possessed by a demon in her youth. Though the demon has long been exorcised, it took part of her with it and left something of itself in return," Ansgar went on. "As such, she has certain talents that would be useful in service to the church of Sigmar."
"I'm sensitive to them, to demons," the girl stated suddenly. "If I focus, I can feel their presence as easily as another human being." Despite the nature of her words, Jorrik could detect no emotion. There was no pride, or disgust, or bitterness. It was simply stated matter of factly. Rising from her seat, Adela strode over to David and brought her face close to his as if in deep observation though Jorrik felt there was a more sinister purpose to her actions. David did not flinch at the close proximity, did not so much as move, though the girl was staring him straight in the eye. Jorrik wondered at his companion's stoicism before realizing David was not even paying attention to the events around him anymore. His eyes were unfocused, staring out into space.
"She was cured, right? So then, even if David is possessed, can you just get the demon out of him like last time?" Jorrik asked Ansgar hopefully.
"Adela was a special case, an anomaly. It is common practice in the case of demon possession that the host is purified before being executed and burned. That is, of course, if the host had survived the exorcism at all," Ansgar replied coolly. "You had better leave, Sister," Ansgar said, addressing the priestess in the back. "What may follow may prove unpleasant." Jorrik heard the sound of hastened footsteps, a door opening and closing, then silence. "Begin your work, Adela." In response, the room's temperature dropped sharply several degrees and the air gained a sense of unnatural, suffocating weight. Amidst the sonorous intonations that Ansgar and the other stranger, Gunther, were now uttering with palpable zeal, Jorrik swore he heard scratching in the back of his mind.
David found himself in darkness, occasionally broken by some light flashing briefly in the distance. Everything was silent. David did not know when or how it happened, but he was unconscious again. This time though, he had no sanctuary to retreat to, the glade he had been hiding in dissipating under his current mental stress. All around the mental projection of himself, protective runes were blazing angrily in a vain attempt to beat back the encroaching darkness. From the impossible blackness, a man emerged, one that David recognized only too readily.
"Bastard, what do you think you're doing?" David demanded, attempting to mask his uncertainty with anger. The man regarded him with eyes that danced with malicious intent.
"There's been a change in priority. You've suddenly become important."
"You can't possibly feel threatened by that little girl?" David asked, unbelieving but hoping for it to be true.
"Don't be stupid, mageling. Of course not."
"Then what-?" David began before the man continued, ignoring David's inquiry.
"Anyway, it does not matter what I fear for that is irrelevant. I fear nothing. However, I do hate being set back. As such…" With a wave of his hand, the demon shattered David's wards, leaving the mage exposed to whatever horrors lay without.
A sudden pain blossomed all over David's body. It did not matter that it was literally all in his mind, the pain was real enough.
"Damn you!" David managed to cry out to his enemy who now stood before him, an interested expression on his charming face. David could feel his grip on himself evaporating rapidly, his memories were truly going to fade out. In a blind panic David attempted to summon some sort of protective spell, but nothing would come from his ravaged mind. When the last vestiges of his memories seemed to have faded, the pain stopped, a flood of memories rushing back to fill his mind. David was disorientated, unable to discern past from present, reality from speculation. His memories were back, but there were differences he was sure. A man stood before him. Where had he seen this man? A sense of loathing filled him, but David could not place the reason why. In truth, it felt as if he was in a waking dream, fantasies intermingling with reality.
"Make me proud," the man stated, smiling. Before David could respond, reality shifted.
The atmosphere of the room suddenly regained its former status. Jorrik realized the girl, Adela, was now sprawled across the floor, unmoving. Jorrik was not sure if she was breathing. The figure next to her though, was what drew Jorrik's attention. David now stood, a strange look was etched on his face as he surveyed the occupants in the room. Ansgar and Gunther were alert, their faces grim and weapons held at ready. Jorrik noted they made no move to help their fallen comrade.
"I remember," stated a voice and Jorrik was surprised to find that it had come from David.
"What is it that you remember?" inquired Ansgar hesitantly, the pistol he was aiming at David's head never wavering.
"Everything," David stated simply.
"Ansgar, Adela is-" Gunther began before Ansgar cut him off.
"I know." Ansgar turned to David. "If it is true that you remember, then all this must be shocking to you. However, we need you to cooperate with us so we can get to the heart of this matter. You needn't fear us," Ansgar stated before gesturing to Gunther. The big man stepped towards David but the other man stepped away.
"How ignorant did you think I was before my memory loss? I've heard of what you Sigmarite fanatics are capable of and witnessed enough of your "cleansings" to know you are lying through your teeth. I can help you however, I know where the true threat lies." Gunther looked back to Ansgar for instruction, uncertain if he should proceed with this new revelation. The witch hunter still had his pistol trained on David, his eyes steely. Taking this as a sign of silent affirmation, Gunther continued towards David. When it seemed that Gunther had finally backed David into a corner, the large man suddenly stumbled back, a significant dent now apparent upon his chest's armor.
Gunther was coughing painfully as he struggled to keep his footing, which was a struggle he promptly lost, but before the man could fall David was there to prop him up.
"Spare your comrade death and hear me out," David began, revealing that his support of Gunther was far from charitable camaraderie. The large man, who was barely holding onto consciousness, was the perfect shield for David from Ansgar's line of fire.
"Speak," was all Ansgar said.
"A demon is involved in this incident, as you believe, but it does not reside in me or my companion, Jorrik. It is out there, hiding amongst the people of this town and gaining its strength. This demon is more powerful than you can imagine and every moment it lives it gains more of its power back. I can help you though, I have seen into its mind."
"How convenient," Ansgar stated sarcastically.
"As proof to the veracity of my claim and my trust in you as a righteous servant of Sigmar, I place myself at your mercy." David said, lowering the injured Gunther to the ground before standing, arms spread open in a gesture of compliance. The room was filled with thunder as Ansgar fired his weapon.
Jorrik was too surprised to cry out, to even move at all. The roar of Ansgar's pistol seemed impossibly loud. The bullet caught David right between the eyes, a fatal shot, but the man remained standing, unperturbed by the violent act. There was no bullet wound in his forehead. Ansgar's cry of surprise drew Jorrik's attention and what Jorrik saw nearly caused him to mimic Ansgar's previous action. David was in front of the witch hunter, one arm securing Ansgar's pistol hand, the other thundering towards the witch hunter's head. There was an audible crack as Ansgar was sent reeling from the blow, his pistol tumbling out of his grip. Before the dazed man could so much as utter a cry of pain, David was upon him, beating him with such fury that Jorrik moved to stop him. Before he could do anything though, David had already stopped. Rising swiftly, David dusted himself off before assuming an air of normality. Ansgar was unconscious at his feet. Casting a glance towards the fallen Gunther at the far end of the room, Jorrik could not fathom how David had shifted positions so quickly. Demonic influence seemed a likely guess.
"Jorrik, we had better hurry. We need to get as far away as possible before these three awaken," David said, facing his companion. Jorrik noted that there definitely was a purpose, a sense of ones' self, burning within David's eyes now where before it had been absent. Yet, there was something more, something Jorrik could not place. He hesitated. "Jorrik, please, trust in me. We need to disappear." Without waiting for a response, David grabbed Jorrik's arm and began hauling him towards the door. Whether it was the shock concerning the previous events, his trust in David, or something else entirely, Jorrik let himself be led along by his companion who was moving at a rapid pace. Before long, Jorrik no longer needed prompting, the two practically sprinting out of the temple and into the milling crowds. The two had long since disappeared when one of the priestesses at the temple finally managed to awaken the fallen Ansgar. Needless to say, Ansgar was incensed.
The night breeze was cool and crisp, the two figures savoring its feel as they gazed down at the bright display of the town's festivities. Even at this distance, perched on a small hillock overlooking the town, the sounds of laughter and enjoyment drifted up to the two to dance lightly upon their ears.
"Thank you," David said, his gaze still locked on the town below them. Jorrik cast a glance towards his companion who now carried a small pack upon his shoulders. Jorrik carried a similar one on his own back. Contained within was what food and equipment they had managed to buy, considering the time constraints, and it was supposed to sustain them indefinitely until better fortune should befall them. It was not a favorable situation they were in.
"Don't thank me yet," Jorrik returned, still trying to comprehend that he was trusting this man, despite what he had seen. It was true he felt a connection to David, it was also true that he considered David as something like a friend and some sense of loyalty held him back from abandoning him, but there was something more. Though Jorrik considered it ludicrous, he could not shake the feeling like he was being compelled by something to stay close to this man. It felt like instinct and something else entirely. "I may yet still be your undoing if the witch hunter's words prove true." David looked like he was about to respond when he suddenly doubled over. Alarmed, Jorrik rushed to his companion's side.
David had collapsed onto the ground, intense pain flooding his body. Everything became indistinct as every experience he had ever known, and some he may have never known, intermingled, disappeared, or changed. In a brief spasm of clarity, David reached out to grasp Jorrik's arm, his companion trying frantically to discern his ailment.
"Witch hunter, find… Grey Order… Gereon…" David managed before his mind left him.
Sitting upon the hillock next to David's unresponsive form, Jorrik knew what he should do. The words of Ansgar were flitting through his mind. Demon, demon, demon, he has a demon inside of him! Rising, Jorrik searched the nearby area until he found a suitably large rock. Striding back to his companion's side, the rock he carried poised to crush David's head, Jorrik found he could not bring himself to kill David. Letting the rock fall from his hands to land harmlessly onto the earth, Jorrik sat heavily and began to contemplate David's words. Jorrik knew what he should do and did nothing.
Another figure stood by Jorrik and David that night, though they would never know it. A vicious smile seemed permanently plastered onto his features as he surveyed the two companions, his rich clothing and fine hair unruffled by the light breeze. He shifted his position, though he stirred not a blade of grass, and set his farseeing gaze to the horizon, obscured by the darkness. Still half a day off was a grey garbed man, riding with swift abandon, towards their prior location. Dangling upon a chain strung about the grey man's neck was a miniature sword. Though it seemed impossible, the demon's grin grew wider.