"Rah, raaah rargh…"

Eyes closed tight, already pale knuckles growing paler by the second as their death grip on the table increased, Dismas bit down hard on the hastily bundled up bitter herb-soaked cloth that was shoved into his moments before when he finally regained consciousness.

He was doing his best to stay still, but another deep prick through his skin, followed by a slightly rough thread running through it, and the ensuing snug pull made him squirm. What wasn't helping him in the slightest was how uncomfortable and freezing the table he was lying stomach down on was; barely had a place for him to have a proper grip. But since when was a visit to the Sanitarium ever comfortable? Comfort was a luxury.

His teeth clenched down, gritting harder as he felt waves of pain ripple through ribs and surrounded muscle. Another source of pain. Vestal Gael and that hallowed Light. She had her hands on his back assisting the Head Nurse, whilst channeling the holy power into his near-fatal wounds. And another Vestal, Sam'arus, poured holy water across the wounds, whilst chanting several prayers. It all burned.

"Ra-AH!" It felt like his jaw was moments from splintering into many pieces as he clamped down again as the holy energy grew stronger and traversed his body. Piecing bone and sinew back together. Purging whatever evil that could have infested it from the Occultist's powers. Powers that saved his life.

"Escaped one hell and into another." He thought. A fist pounded against the table in a sluggish, disjointed manner. Damn Pelagic Champion nearly did him in. Or actually did him in from what the others told him. He wasn't fully sure.

"Nearly done, Dismas. Just a few more stitches, blessings, and holy water." Head Nurse Merrill spoke. There was little softness in her voice. Just a stern indifference "Gael, steady your hands."

Music to his ears, but it still felt like a distant dream.

But another sound greeted his ears. One his mind refocused on despite how much he wanted to ignore it. Sniffles.

Oh, not again. Ignore it. Ignore it. But he couldn't. He knew who it was. And why. Somewhat. The memories were hazy.

"I'm so sorry, Dismas." Choked words came from Gael.

Another apology from the anguished Vestal. One of hundreds if not thousands since they came back from their near pyrrhic expedition. She blamed herself.

"If only my faith and convictions were stronger. I'm so sorry."

Dismas huffed. He was growing tired of hearing that, but he couldn't say or do much at the moment. She wasn't responsible for his near-death or full death. He was… or was he? Ever since arriving back at the Hamlet, it felt like his memories were more distant than ever from the lingering fog caused by the blood loss and pain. Time and space just felt off. Well, it was always off thinking of the backgrounds of his fellow heroes, but this felt more than normal. As if it was both stretched out, folding in, and layering upon itself. It all felt like that Homestead. That farm. Poor workers. Poor Farmer. He didn't want to go back there. Everything felt so wrong.

The Ancestor played that farmer like a fiddle. Another mess for the Heirs and all employed to clean up. At least attempt so.

"This place is such a madhouse. Somehow, the Heirs keep everything together." It was a continual miracle, in his opinion.

There was a soft jingle from the doorbell. Swift shuffling of feet crossed the floor.

"Ms. Merrill!" A girl's voice exclaimed. "I've come with the candles you requested." It was Sherry, one of the many children of the Hamlet. She fancied herself an errand girl for several of the establishments in the Hamlet.

In her hands was a basket full of candles of varying heights, medicinal herbs, and various flasks with viscous, sickly looking liquids.

"Where would like them?" She asked as raised the basket and came in. Curious eyes drifted over to the delicate work being done. She seemed rather undisturbed by the operation going on.

"Young lady! "The door again opened with a hard slam, rattling the bell, as an exasperated nurse rushed her way over to the intruder. "You're not supposed to be in here!" A firm hand quickly grabbed the girl's arm, but soon froze as she felt a chill run up her spine. Head hesitantly looking up, her eyes met the frigid gaze of the Head Nurse. "I-I-I'm so sorry! I tried to—"

"It's fine. The girl's got a strong spirit." Merril's voice was stringent, but calm. As she turned her attention back to her take, it soon shifted over to a softer one. "Sherry, be a dear and put the candles there," she pointed to a nearby stool, its top laden with old, melted wax, "and please light them. You can hand the basket to Nurse Marie when you are done."

"Yes, ma'am!" Sherry grinned, giving the nurse a mean side-eye. Nurse Maria only glared back.

Quick feet shuffled over to the stool and she quickly got the candles placed. There was some arguing between Sherry and the nurse about who would light the matches, but a gruff "ahem" from the Merril quieted the two.

A few rough strikes and swoosh. Sulfur permitted the room. Then a more fragrant and calming smell overtook it.

"Now, out, out, out!" The nurse hastily ushered the girl out when she started asking if 'Mr. Dismas would be okay and what happened.'

"Youth. Too curious for her own good." Dismas couldn't help but snort.

For a moment, his nerves seemed to give him some reprieve. Or was that Light being merciful? It didn't matter. He didn't care. He was just happy it didn't feel like he was going to crack his teeth and jaw the next second.

As those tense fingers relaxed from the edges of the table and his shoulders began to droop down to rest, it all tensed once more. He sniffed several times. His lips twitched, corners curled into a frown.

"No."

The fragrance from the candles had finally wafted over to him. Pushing away the pungent smell of the antiseptics and ever-so lingering smell of copper that was a part of the Sanitarium.

"Home…"

Memories of the past rushed to the forefront of his mind. Somewhat more pleasant times. A quaint little town that had no right to be so welcoming to him. A ruffian. But it only took one person's word for them to let him in and rebuild himself. He could never repay that kindness.

"The candle shop… the bakery… the foods… "

Lavender, cinnamon, cloves, and other spices. The candles smelled just like life back then. Back in that house daily. That fragrant aroma of fresh baked goods he looked forward to after a hard day's work running errands for the various town folk or after fulfilling quotas in the candle shop. Those moist, succulent pies were just the sunshine to a gloomy day.

"No, no, no…"

But now, he despised those scents. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.

"Hold it in. Hold it in. Don't think about it. Don't think."

Fingers gripped tightly the sides of the table once more, as tears ran down his face. Every fiber of his being detested the miasma filling his nose and lungs. How he wished he could puke out the retched stench, sear it clean from his mind. Blot out all memories associated with those once-welcoming aromas. He didn't deserve to remember them anymore. Especially after…

"No. Don't think about them. Don't think about that night."

That night. That job. He shouldn't have taken it. Life was going so well, it was so good! With new debts paid, he was about to be the co-owner of the local candle shop. Heh. He never thought he would take up the profession again with how he slipped into the criminal underworld. His thuggish youth was a mere distant relic of the past — he was all too happy to forget, to never live again.

But then they showed up. Ones who knew he never truly paid for his crimes. He was an escaped fugitive. Murderer. There was still a bounty on his head. But they could clear all of that 'misunderstandings' and keep silent if he did them a favor. Just one job that would make everything a thing of the past. One simple job.

Hah! It was a setup. He should have called their bluff. Or discreetly eliminated them. Yeah. He should have done that. Those he cared for would still be alive if he acted so differently.

"No. No. No. Think. Think! Back to the Hamlet… its strangeness. Yes. It's strangeness."

For a moment, his mind started to slip away, slipping away to dwell on how strange, no, stranger the Hamlet had become over the year. As the Estate was purged of trouble and otherworldly trickery, and the Hamlet was rebuilt to its former glory, more "heroes" joined their cause. Familiar faces, familiar roles like his own, but backgrounds were ever so slightly different. Truthfully, he felt like he had seen himself, met himself a few times. Just something was slightly different with each. Older. Younger. Shorter. Taller. Had a distinct accent. Dressed slightly differently. Mannerisms were just like him or were strange. And he could list countless other things that made everything oh so peculiar. Especially his darkest secret. How did they share that?

"No. None of that bull right now. Think. How did the expedition go again?"

He didn't need his mind dwelling on that conspiracy. Nothing stranger, well, stranger than normal was going on. He was just a little tired and overworked. Yes, that was it.

Back to more important things.

Snorted huffs slipped out as he searched his memories. He went back to the beginning of the expedition. Pieces slowly came back together. Nearly all the details of the trip.