Reynauld woke up precisely at sunrise, as the first beams of light began to filter through the window. He sat in bed for a while, letting the sunrise mesmerise him. When the sky had morphed from a dark blue to a brilliant amber, his stomach grumbled and commanded him downstairs. Donning his armor and sword, he obediently followed his orders and entered the main area of the tavern.
The first thing that struck him was the smell of roasting meat. Proper meat, this time. The broth that had been offered to them previously was decent enough fare, but fresh, sizzling fat and meat was on an entirely different level. Greatly invigorated, Reynauld descended the stairs at a gallop.
It was early in the morning, and the locals had not yet made the journey for breakfast. The tavern was empty, excepting the three figures around the counter. Hugh was polishing a mug, but kept one eye on the other occupants to ensure they did nothing to harm his livelihood. The Doctor sat on one of the stools, perusing a large tome, likely medical in nature. Dismas was busy roasting meat, and a wonderous selection was on display. Duck, pheasant, and wolf were being cooked, coaxing the saliva from Reynauld's mouth, which threatened to leak out into his helmet
"Mornin' Reynauld. Have a nice rest?" Dismas called out. The Doctor nodded in greeting, which represented a level of affection that for most people would have been expressed by an overjoyed embrace. Hugh, not to be left out, waved with his free hand.
"I'll be properly rested after a good meal," Reynauld prompted.
"Hold your horses, I'm almost done," Dismas began pulling the cuts of meat off the fire. Soon enough, breakfast was served. Reynauld had received a sizable chunk of wolf meat, taken from the animal's flank. Hugh passed out some cutlery, Dismas handing some of the meat to him as a token of gratitude for the use of his premises. Reynauld cut into the meat, and a fresh wave of heavenly scent wafted up.
"How'd you get it to smell this good?" Reynauld asked.
"Don't credit me with that. All this is stuff the Doctor had left over after the experimenting. You want any?" Dismas held out a portion to the Doctor.
"No, just leave it there. I'll take some for later, I have some research to do," the Doctor declined.
"Rather interestingly, quite a few medicinal herbs also act as regular, taste improving herbs. Attribute the taste to that," the Doctor explained, not looking up from the book. Reynauld and Dismas tucked into the food ravenously, glad for the bountiful feast.
"So, tomorrow's dungeon time, eh?" Dismas said, words hindered by the meat he had stuffed in his mouth.
"Yeah, it's going to be interesting," Reynauld responded, his speech similarly inconvenienced.
"We still don't know the level of martial prowess these skeletons have though, which worries me," Reynauld noted. The skeleton had previously seemed confused by its surroundings, and had barely noticed their prescence.
"I'd wager it depends on how the hell they're moving in the first place," Dismas mused. "If we're fighting the souls of those fallen in combat, summoned from beyond the graaaaaveee... Then they'd probably be really good at it."
"Why didn't that skeleton try to fight though? It didn't have a sword, but that wouldn't stop it from hand-to-hand." At this point, Reynauld's speech was interrupted by a clatter. The Doctor had retrieved the skull of the skeleton from within the never-ending robes of theirs, and placed it on the counter.
"I took some time to examine the skull. The ocular anatomy is vastly divorced from any other specimen I've examined previously. The humors have obviously long since decayed, but the retina is still intact. The blood vessels around the eye have been infected by some-" the Doctor went into an extremely complicated breakdown of their discoveries, which neither Reynauld or Dismas could understand. Still, the Doctor had such excitement in their tone that Reynauld could not quite bring himself to tell them.
"Doc, I don't understand anything you're saying," Dismas told him.
"Ah, yes," the Doctor seemed mildly embarrassed, showing a wider range of emotion in the last ten minutes than they had in the last day.
"Suffice it to say, their vision improves with the darkness. Strong enough light will blind them. Natural light is far more effective than artificial light in this regard. Fire will be a powerful ally," the Doctor summarized their findings with reference to the things Reynauld would find useful. He appreciated that.
"Which category would the light I make fall into?" he asked.
"The light... you make?" the Doctor asked.
"Yeah, I never quite got it either. I can make some light come off my sword if I recite a verse and focus a bit," he explained. The Doctor leaned forward and sat up a little straighter, intrigued.
"Care to demonstrate?" the Doctor asked.
"Hang on, let us finish the food," Reynauld responded. The Doctor looked down impatiently as the two wolfed down the remnants of their servings. When they were done, Reynauld looked around to take stock of their surroundings.
"It's a bit too bright to do it here though," Reynauld frowned.
"Well, let's go upstairs then. My quarters should be sufficiently dark," the Doctor grabbed the plate of meat and the skull.
"Not going to ask why?" Reynauld asked the Doctor as he followed.
"I find it easier to take these things in stride until after I have all the facts."
The Doctor's room was both similar, and opposed to Reynauld's own. They possessed a similar theme of ignoring aesthetics and focusing on utility. Where Reynauld had a spartan area, containing just a table, a bed, and a chest for his items, the Doctor's room was a lot more cluttered.
The room was dark, the windows blocked by heavy curtains, which Reynauld had not been given the luxury of having. Tiny beams of light attempted to enter, but failed to make an impact on the darkness. The same table was in the corner of the room, but the Doctor had filled it with a veriety of instruments and specimens. A dissected pigeon was still on the table, held in place with pins. Vials of mysterious liquids took up the rest of the surface, none of them labelled. Reynauld wondered how they would manage to explain anything visible in the room to the barkeeper, should he discover the contents. Or how they would explain the invisible things. Reynauld squinted in the dark to get a better look at one of them, gave up, and looked over to the Doctor.
"Can I do it now?"he asked. The Doctor nodded. Reynauld recited the familiar words: "Verse XXXVI: The Light shines brightest in darkness."
On that cue, a brilliant light shone from the hilt of his sword, banishing the shadows from the Doctor's room, sorely overpopulated with them. Reynauld, Dismas and the Doctor had little issue seeing despite the intensity of the glare. Then, as quickly as it had come, to light faded away.
"Intriguing. That was rather fleeting, however," the Doctor observed.
"I can control the power, but the stronger the light, the shorter the duration," Reynauld explained.
"Ah, now this is rather... illuminating. Does the radius of the light have the same constraints?" the Doctor asked, scribbling some notes in a nearby notebook. The notebook was being held in place by the skull,
"Hm, I've never actually tried that," Reynauld was rather surprised to find that out himself. He had only ever needed to use this skill to provide sufficient light for reading, brighten tunnels in enemy territory, and blind his enemies. In none of these cases had he ever needed to reduce the area the light spread. It would likely be blasphemous to suggest that the Crusaders should withhold the Light from being spread to anything at all, regardless of the metaphorical or literal context. Just one more crime against the church to add to the growing tally, he supposed.
He raised his sword again, and uttered the same line that had been etched into his memory by countless nights of rote memorization and recitation. The same light shone out, bright, all-encompassing and awe-inspiring, but not something anyone was excited to see.
"Damn, that's my fault. I, uh, don't quite know how I'm supposed to reduce how far the light goes," Reynauld admitted, annoyed with himself.
"No, I did nott really expect it to work either. I have little experience with such matters," the Doctor shrugged. "Light emanating from no visible source was strange enough, I thought it would not be much of a stretch to have it act contrary to all known laws of physics."
"Try focusing it, like you're going to attack an opponent," a third voice suddenly rang out. The two turned around quickly, as the voice was not Dismas'. Instead, Junia stood there, arms akimbo.
"How did you get in here?" the Doctor asked, rising immediately.
"Dismas left the door open. He's downstairs and looking rather happy with a second serving," Junia strolled into the room and walked in front of Reynauld.
"Pretend you're hitting something. Treat the Light as an extension of your own being. It will be natural, the way your sword must feel," Junia's voice was soothing, and Reynauld relaxed. His movements became focused and practiced, like the routines he performed during training. He closed his eyes and settled into position. On a whim, he struck the air with the hilt.
"There you go," Junia said. Reynauld opened his eyes, and in the air was a single glowing sphere of light, hovering in mid-air. Once Reynauld came to terms with existence, however, the orb winked out of existence.
"Ah, there's something we can use," the Doctor grabbed the skull, and placed it in on the table. Pulling out a series of strange implements, the Doctor turned around and began doing something, producing a series of stranger sounds.
"So, how did you know how to do that?" Reynauld asked, confusedly.
"Controlling the Light is my entire profession," Junia responded, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
"Vestals... control the light?" Reynauld asked, only yet more stupefied. The Light was something you prayed to, and perhaps if it favoured you, or your goals were aligned, it would deign to provide you with assistance. It was not something that you controlled, or could even rely on.
"That's... perhaps not the most accurate word," she looked vaguely uncomfortable. Reynauld decided to postpone the subject.
The Doctor turned around with a flourish, the skull now having a tiny hole in its temple. The Doctor jammed another implement, a complicated mess of lenses and wire, into the newly formed hole. The skull was placed inside a vice, and was wound shut to keep it in place.
"Reynauld, strike the skull with that same manoeuvre," the Doctor held his eye up to the lens, and motioned for him to act. Reynauld was afraid that he might damage the skull, blind the Doctor, or break some implement, but Doctor's orders superseded his concerns. The Doctor was oddly prescient of the results of many things they did, and he assumed this time would be no different.
He slammed the hilt of his sword into the skull, and nothing appeared to happen. The vice was strong enough to endure the hit, it seemed, and the skull was surprisingly sturdy, even after its acid treatment.
"Yes, that will blind a skeleton. A single flash will suffice, their sight will require some time to recover. I will need more data, however," the Doctor concluded from some evidence the rest of them could not see.
"Try mine," Junia offered. The Doctor paused for a second, then nodded. Junia grabbed her mace, and held it up in the air, a motion reminiscent of Reynauld's original sword movement. Then a bolt of light descended from the ceiling and shot down into the skull. This was bright enough to illuminate the room somewhat, which, while leaving Reynauld's eyes unscathed, began to make him weary of the constant changes in light.
"Less damaging to the skeleton's durability, but just as incapacitating," the Doctor noted. His free hand grabbed for a pen and scribbled down yet more notes. Reynauld peered over at it, but the scrawls were illegible.
"Alright, I've had rather enough of this. Let's go downstairs. Junia, have you had breakfast yet?" Reynauld asked, stretching. All this tinkering had likely taken large amounts of time, but he had no idea how much, due to the darkness of the room. He had intended to do other things during the day, however, and so needed to cut it short. Junia shook her head and headed for the door as well. The Doctor patted his robes, muttered something about forgetting his book, and trailed behind.
The morning crowd was just being sent off, and Dismas was patting them on the back on their way out. Those comely women who had accompanied their relatives for the morning meal received a surreptitious pat on the rump, instead.
"Ah, you're finally done then!" Dismas waved in greeting. "Junia, have you had breakfast yet?"
"Nope, and I'm starving," Junia responded. Reynauld was rather confused at their cheery moods.
"Well, I've run out of that meat. Oh, hang on. Hugh!" Dismas called over the barkeeper. "Where's that rabbit from earlier?"
"Rabbit?" the Doctor asked.
"In there," Hugh pointed back to a door behind the counter. Dismas headed inside. Shortly after, he came out.
"Reynauld, Doc, Junia, get in here," he called out. Dismas held lingering eye contact with Reynauld, and cracked his neck. This was their signal for delicate situations.
The three went into the room, which was used to store aging meat. Cuts of lamb and beef hung from the racks, bought from the neighboring towns. Dismas strode past all of them to the far end of the rack. There, the rabbit hung, having been cleaned of organs and left to age, like the others. Where it differed, however, was the growth of sickening pustules, some of them which had burst, and dripped their contents onto the floor.