H'aanit and the beasts find Natalia rather quickly with the help of the dire wolf's nose. Hägen may not have been as clear about a scent as old as Z'aanta's, but he seems to zero in quickly on this other scent...
Following the wolf, the huntress and her beasts come to one of the town bridges, which spans a crevasse. The mountain crag which Stonegard is built on is uneven and has many structural problems that need to be covered with extra work. Thus, many such bridges span cracks along the uneven topography. This particular bridge leads down a path to the flight of stairs into the lower district.
H'aanit sees Hägen begin to growl. She can see two guardsmen standing by the bridge. Linde tilts her head quizzically, looking past the guards. On the bridge, a well-dressed man is talking with a woman dressed in more modest fashion. The woman has brown hair with the front locks loosely pulled back and tied behind her head and a rather pretty face with brown eyes. She's probably only slightly older, if not the same age as H'aanit. In her arms are various parcels, though she doesn't seem to struggle too much with their weight.
As the huntress approaches, she hears some bystanders who stand around whispering.
"Ah, once again hitting on Natalia, is he?"
"Can't be helped. Girl's lost her husband but she's got quite the looks, ya know? It's a sad waste, truth be told. An' he's got the muscle and leaves to take care o' 'er, for sure."
The huntress sighs and goes to pass the guardsmen. They brusquely go to block and push her back.
"Hey, the bridge is occupied at the moment. Take a lower one," They say gruffly.
"Natalia, your arms must be tired!" H'aanit hears the well-dressed man croon, "Allow one of my many guards to handle that for you. A lady mustn't burden herself with such brutish chores."
"...I'm fine, Nathan," The woman named Natalia sighs, barely shifting her arms.
"Tis simply worries me that a woman like you has to walk the streets with arms occupied and no man to help you or keep away wanton dogs."
Natalia's eye-roll can practically be felt.
"Well? Move on!" The guards bark to H'aanit.
"Why doest he vex her like so?" H'aanit raises an eyebrow, not particularly paying attention to the guards at her side giving her a stink eye.
"Huh? Lord Nathan is a son in the townmaster's illustrious family! You best not slight him, spreading slander!"
"Quite! Lord Nathan is a great patron of women!"
"Hmm, very well... then I shan't speak further of it," H'aanit closes her eyes, "Linde."
With a stunning strike from her muscular front paw, Linde knocks one guard on his knees after a shot to his gut. The leopard's thrusts are akin to a spear's.
"Ugh!" The guard clutches his belly, where his leather armor has claw marks now.
"Hey!" The other guard moves to draw his sword. He then is intimidated by Hägen, who growls and nears him, seemingly ready to attack.
"...Aah, I wasn't told about beasts when I signed up for this!" The cowardly guard yelps as he turns tail and runs away.
"H-hey, wait for me!" The other guard shouts after his partner, scrambling to his feet to follow.
"Hm?" The man named Nathan glances to see his men running off and gives chase, "Wait, where are you going?! Have you forgotten how much I'm paying you dullards!?"
Natalia watches as Nathan runs off. She sighs and shoulders some of her parcels before looking to the huntress and her beasts. She blinks, seeing Hägen stride up to her. The wolf looks her in the eye and gives a low growl before dipping his head a bit. It was a sign of familiarity.
"... It is good to see you again, Hägen," Natalia softly chuckles. Unfortunately, her arms are too full to pet the wolf. She sets some of her parcels on the bridge wall and lightly scratches the wolf under his jowl. Just then, it looks like some of her groceries might be about to teeter off into the chasm.
"Ah...!"
The huntress darts in, swift as a squirrel, and grabs the bag before it can tip.
"...Thou oughten be careful how thy burdens thyself," H'aanit picks the bag up and sets it on the floor by Natalia's feet.
"Oh, why, thank you..." Natalia looks H'aanit up and down, then to Hägen and Linde, "Are you a hunter? A friend of Z'aanta?"
"I be'en his apprentice," H'aanit nods, "Thou aren Natalia, correct? Might we speaketh away from outside eyes? I haven some queries for thee concerning master."
"Oh?" Natalia raises an eyebrow, "... Ah, you must be H'aanit... Z'aanta mentioned you."
"..." H'aanit doesn't betray her surprise. She picks up the bag from Natalia's feet and then looks to the other heavy items the shorter woman carries, "Allowen me to helpen thee with thine parcels."
"Oh, thank you..." Natalia allows H'aanit to take some of the heavier things she's carrying, "Well, let us go then. My house is not far."
…
Within the inn, Tressa wasted no time haggling for some good rooms. It earned her a bit of the keeper's ire and she had to cool it a bit with her metropolitan ways, eventually paying a hundred leaves for two large rooms.
"Mgrgrgrgr, these people are so... stubborn!" Tressa folds her arms as she sits before her large bag, unpacking a bit, "Ninety leaves is a perfectly acceptable price!"
"Ahaha, l-let's be grateful we didn't have to pay more, maybe?" Ophilia chuckles, trying to assuage the angry merchant.
"Yeah, these aren't small rooms either! Right, Therion?" Alfyn chuckles to the thief, "Better than the rooms we had on the ship for sure!"
Therion just grunts, claiming his corner.
"Well, it has to be big... we got, like, nine people!" Tressa sighs, "Not sure why Primrose's boyfriend is tagging along..."
Ophilia says nothing. She had a strange feeling when she first laid eyes on Simeon. It was a fleeting feeling, but she could have sworn the hairs on her neck pricked, in the same way when William's corpse had spoken to her. Actually, she might have even heard that specter's voice once more... almost like some sort of warning.
"Lia? You alright?" Alfyn's voice pulls her out of her daydream. She realizes she was crumpling her bag in her hands.
"Oh, uh, yes!" Ophilia sighs, "Sorry about that... I guess I'm just worried..."
"About a certain huntress maybe?" Tressa holds her chin by her thenar space with a mischievous grin, "You and H'aanit are pretty close!"
"H-huh?" Ophilia feels herself blush, "W-we've traveled together … She was my first companion and I..."
"Ehh, how did you two meet?" Alfyn sets down his bag with a friendly grin and sits down on the floor, "Actually, we should share stories about how we met, haha! I think it was pretty swell how I met Prim and Therion."
Therion turns away at the mention, like "don't ask me to contribute."
"Well, I mean, I met you all after you guys already met each other so..." Tressa shrugs, "You guys already know that."
"Well, Prim and Therion were passing through my town, Clearbrook, ya see?" Alfyn starts to set the mood for his story enthusiastically, "They came by with nicks and scrapes... Oh, and..."
Tressa and Ophilia blink as Alfyn's smile turns a bit sad here. The apothecary rests his chin on his arm as he resumes after a pause.
"... Sadi came with them back then, too... Good ol' Sadi..."
Therion looks out the window of their room, allowing himself to get distracted, if only a little bit, in the hustle and bustle of the cobbled streets. Damn, these streets reminded him of Cobbleston, though, as Alfyn is recounting their time together...
"Sadi was a great fighter. Old man who could trounce ya... But he, uh... passed," Alfyn puts his fingertips together pensively, "... I was there. Couldn't, uh... couldn't do a darn thing."
Therion makes a small noise at the window. It might have been too quiet for any of them to hear, really. He had scoffed.
"Ah... May the Flame guide his soul... He sounded like a wonderful companion," Ophilia says with genuine sympathy.
"Oh boy, yeah. He was a funny guy, too..." Alfyn recalls drinking with the old man and softly chuckles.
"And then you guys just met and strolled off?" Tressa clears her throat to cut the dreary mood a bit.
"Oh, yeah. I wanted to travel out, ya know? I figured I'd be able to spread the medicine better on the road than staying in Clearbrook... Doesn't mean I won't go back, but, ya know," Alfyn scratches the back of his neck, "I got a lotta stuff to learn from the world."
"You're lucky you just get to pull up stakes and leave..." Tressa grumbles.
"Now, now, your parents are just worried..." Ophilia chuckles nervously.
"Yeah, it's nice!"
Tressa waves a dismissive hand at them both, "Anyway, what about how you met Olberic?"
"Oh, we went up to the Highlands. I think it's not that far from here? What do you think, Therion?" Alfyn looks to the thief.
"... The mountains are hard to tell," Therion grunts nonchalantly.
"Well, anyway, we helped out with some bandits for Olberic... and then he said he'd come with us for his search of something. So that's the gist of it. We headed to Rippletide after and met y'all!"
"Huh," Tressa noticed the slight parallel with how these out-of-towners had helped her out with the pirate problem. And now, she was in tow with them. Did these guys just go around trouncing baddies or something?
"Anyway, you now, Lia!" Alfyn giggles, "How about how you and H'aanit met! Oh, or you an' Cy or..."
"Oh, um... well, I was on an errand through the snows and I sort of … just found her?" Ophilia says with a soft sigh at the memory, "It was rather frightening. She had fought several lizards and a bear so she was injured..."
"Yikes..."
"Dang, H'aanit's tough," Tressa nods.
"Mm... It was … well, I was very worried, but she's strong," A small simper slowly forms on Ophilia's lips, "She helped me and Anna with obtaining the lanthorn from the Cave of Origin for this pilgrimage..."
The lanthorn's flame flickers nearby on the floor as she speaks. Therion glances to the bluish flame with apprehension. If he wasn't scared of being cursed by the gods for eternity, he might have fancied stealing and pawning this thing off as some glorified nightlight... Not that he would ever admit it.
"Anyway, uhm... We traveled to Atlasdam to catch the ship to Rippletide in search of medicine for his Excellency... And we met Cyrus there!" At the mention of the medicine, Ophilia's expression falls by degrees.
"... Hey, Lia, don't think about that. I'm sure it could've been something else..." Alfyn pats the blonde girl's back gently, "You didn't do anything, I'm sure of it."
"...What?" Tressa blinks, out of the loop.
"Uh, nothing," Alfyn sighs.
"...A-anyway, we helped professor Cyrus catch a book thief in the academy, and he said that he needed to find a book that was still missing. So, he came along since our routes matched."
"Sounds weirdly like him. Actually, it's just like him to just piggyback off plans since he doesn't plan himself," Tressa sighs.
"Ahaha, Cy's just got a lot on his mind, I'm sure," Alfyn chuckles, "We should cut him some slack! He's gonna be your teacher and all, Tress."
"Yeah, and you think I'm not worried about that?" The merchant huffs.
"He is … capable. His magic is strong, blessed by Alephan, I am sure," Ophilia chuckles softly, "I think he just thinks of things a bit... different."
"And then you guys ended up in Rippletide, where you met me, then!" Tressa gives a proud look of satisfaction, "Best for last."
"Hardly," Therion mutters under his breath and rolls his eye.
…
Primrose leans contentedly on Simeon's shoulder as they share a bench in the higher society side of Stonegard, in the manor district. The two of them oddly fit in with the scenery, despite Primrose's sparse clothing and Simeon's generic commoner's outfit. He was wearing a sort of cheap suit, to think of it. She allows herself to forget where she was, just that she was in his arms, taking in his familiar scent again.
"...I missed you, Simeon," She whispers, looking up to his dark, gray eyes, "I thought you were dead for sure... or that … you'd just left and forgot about me and the house."
"The house maybe, but I could never forget a flower so sweet or beautiful," Simeon chuckles softly, gently caressing her hand.
"So, now that we're alone... What happened to you?"
"Well, that fateful night... I had been given luck by the gods themselves to have left the servant's quarters to enjoy a quaff at the local tavern. I had thought to finally try my hand at reading poetry aloud in that rowdy place," Simeon gives a soft laugh of derision, "I was foolishly believing it to be like any other night... that I could simply return to the manor and find everything the same. With such a foolish dream, I overstayed well into the morning. But by then, I returned to find the scene of manor in disarray. I heard the whispers about your father and I... assumed the worst."
"..." Primrose lowers her gaze, digesting his story, "... Did you ever try finding me?"
"...No. I... I have no excuse for that. I suppose I regretted not being there for you. If you were alive, what would you think of me, off drinking and making merriment on a night which only dyed your memory with blood?" Simeon waxes poetic without fail, "Nay, tis regret and shame that I could not think to even face you. That we meet now is... not intentional."
"... You really are a fool, Simeon," Primrose sighs and pulls off his shoulder, folding her arms, "Even though I wanted to see you..."
"You've grown even more beautiful. I did not know that to be possible," Simeon looks to her from the side a little as she looks away from him. He knew he had made her upset. He also knew sweet words were more or less a gamble.
"...Do you know what happened... to the others?"
"Others?" Simeon raises an eyebrow.
"Arianna... Ulrich... hells, even Jan..." Primrose purses her lips, speaking of names from a past she no longer could touch, "Revello... The Forsythes... Do you know how they are? Did you see them?"
"... I'm afraid not, my dear... I left Noblecourt only the noon after I saw what happened to your home... I'm afraid that did not leave any time to say goodbye. I would suspect they all may have scattered like I," Simeon sighs, "Though, I am most certain the Forsythes likely remained in Noblecourt. After all, they still had roots there, with the peacekeeping and all."
"...I hope they're doing well then," Primrose sighs as well.
"If we go to Noblecourt, perhaps you could see-"
"No, I'm not going back there," She replies quickly and curtly.
"... Then, what about you? Are you alright these days?" Simeon looks her up and down thoughtfully, "I am... amazed you are here, still. However did you survive?"
"By doing whatever I had to do," Primrose says with some force behind her words. She wanted him to see it and realize... just what sort of flower she had grown into.
No longer pure, no longer innocent...
"... It must have been hard," He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, "... Are you cold?"
"No, I'm fine," She says, turning to him quietly, "... It's been 10 years, Simeon... I've changed... a lot... I can't even... I don't care if you were out that night... I … I've done worse..."
"Prim..."
She bites her bottom lip, "I'm not the little girl I used to be. But I still wanted to see you... and show you just who I am. Even if it's disgusting, hah... I wanted you to find me!"
Simeon's eyes widen at the woman's vulnerable expression. He reaches slowly, as though afraid to touch her. Gently, he presses a hand against her wavy brown hair and brings her to his chest. She allows herself to rest there again, not offering resistance.
"... Forgive me, Primrose... I could … I cannot even begin to imagine how much you have been hurt all these years... And I was only just down on my own luck..."
"... Are you going to stay," Primrose mumbles into his jacket.
"Stay? With you..." Simeon trails off.
"We finally met again..." Primrose pushes off him a little so they can face each other, "You want to leave so soon?"
Her inner desire is telling her to hold him in her allure. But her own will is strong here. She loved this man, after all. She wanted him to make the choice. Would he run, like he did before? Or …
"... This would need some discussion with your companions, wouldn't it?" Simeon gives a soft chortle, "But I would be honored if I could stand by your side once more."
"Oh, they shouldn't mind too much," Primrose's usual smile finally returns, "After all, you can't be any more a bore than the professor we have in tow."
"A bore!" Simeon gasps.
"It's a jest, Simeon," The dancer gives a sultry smile, "Now, let's go meet them at the inn to discuss this, hm?"
…
Olberic couldn't help but glance over his shoulder now and then as he walked through the city to find the place for their cart and ass. It wasn't just the newly acquired sums of money in his purse he was worried about, either.
He was pretty sure someone was watching their group.
As he looks about furtively, his senses felt muffled when he tries to pinpoint this spy down. Perhaps they are using magic or something. Or perhaps he was just tired. He still wasn't fully back to his full strength, after all.
For now, while there are only vague eyes, he focuses on the task at hand, leading the ass along as he asks for directions to the local stable. Whoever was following them was concealed rather well, such that he could not even get a general direction...
Who were they and what could they be after? He'd felt these eyes on them since they landed in Rippletide. As he recovered his strength, his senses sharpened, and he picked up more on this feeling. It followed them all even through the mountain trek, which attests to the spy's persistence. Even among the bare rocks, there was no sign of them, though.
Was it them all or one of them that was the target? He couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, he had to err on the side of ill.
When he finally gets the cart and ass to some shelter and pays for it, he looks around one last time before he slowly makes his way towards the inn. The eyes on him have diminished, yet he cannot help but feel the seeker remains. The target has merely changed.
Quickening his step, he makes his way towards his allies, hoping no harm was to befall them from their mysterious voyeur.
...
Cyrus showed off the impromptu book he had taken from Gideon's corpse to the binderies. Many people looked uncertain with the thick pamphlet of sheets. It hadn't been a finished product at all, but merely translated and bound with mediocre bookmaking. However, no one seemed to know this cryptic language.
"High Hornburgian..." Cyrus mutters as he looks over the books himself. While he recognized the script, that is far from knowing how to interpret or read it. Even Olberic had to admit he didn't know it. Hornburg had a separate writing system for arcana, which meant this sort of information wasn't available to the general populace.
"If you want to know Hornburg..." A bindery worker shouldering some stacks of tomes walks over, "Try old Dominic! He lives just outside the working district over the bridge."
"Eh, but that old coot's been locked up in his house since forever!" Another worker overhears and chips in, "You'd have an easier time luring a tortoise out o' its shell, I'd reckon!"
"Dominic, you say?" Cyrus ignores the latter, "Is he a scholar on Hornburg?"
"About as much as you can get on that subject!" The youth sets down his load and claps his ink-smudged hands, "Since even when all we had was parchment! Forget paper! Anyway, yeah, I've heard he knows a lot on that dead nation. Studied it as a youth."
"That is very interesting and helpful, thank you," Cyrus nods, "Where exactly can I find him?"
"His house, usually. He's right by the stairs down to the working district to the east," The youth points vaguely, "You a scholar? We see a lot but not many dressed all fancy, haha."
"Ah, I see. Well, thank you very much for your help..."
"Be careful, though. Since his daughter died fifteen years ago, he's about as liable to bite off your nose as much as a monster," The youth shrugs and returns to work.
Cyrus raises an eyebrow. Fifteen years ago... that was when the book had gone missing from the Atlasdam archives. It was also when Franklin had unfortunately passed, and Yvon rose to headmaster. Again, this timing is all too strange... Objectively, the scholar has to pause. There is nothing linking the events that shows hard evidence. However, an instinctive feeling persists.
Cyrus hurries along, as the day is no longer so young after all his asking here and there. The afternoon sun beats down on the mountain with stronger heat than he anticipated. These peaks are hardly snowy.
At the last house before the long flight of stairs to the working district, he glimpses a small plaque, reading, "Translation Services, Inquire Within."
"This must be it..." Cyrus says with anticipation as he knocks, "Excuse me! Is there a Dominic in this residence?"
"Leave!" A gruff voice explodes from within almost immediately, "I wish to see no one!"
"Uh..." Cyrus almost flinched, "Beg pardon, but, if I could just have a moment of your time..."
"Are you daft?! I said I wish to see no one! Leave me be!" The voice is loud enough to be so clear through the wooden door.
"I'm afraid this discussion cannot-"
There is a loud slam on the door. Perhaps something was thrown. Cyrus jumped a bit. Adjusting his cravat, Cyrus clears his throat.
"...Forgive the intrusion, but I cannot stand idly by, Master Dominic," The scholar looks to the pamphlet in his hand, "I need to discuss the matter of the book you translated... namely, From the Far Reaches of Hell."
An eerie shadow passes over, despite the lack of clouds in the sky. It is momentary yet leaves a lasting chill.
"Wh... who told you about that..." The voice on the other side of the door rasps.
"I have this very book in my hands, written with your expertise. You, as the translator, are one of great knowledge and wisdom... so I do not doubt you knew exactly what lies within the pages of this book," Cyrus digs in his brain a bit more to try and establish a connection with the man now that he had his attentions, "Yet you accepted this commission. Am I to believe it perhaps had something to do with why you have now secluded yourself from your fellow men?"
There is a sharp gasp on the other side of the door. Cyrus lowers his voice a bit for the coup du grace, "Did it have to do with your daughter?"
There is silence.
"... What do you want..." The gruff voice says in a low tone, almost of resignation.
"Master Dominic, I am a scholar of Atlasdam Academy. My name is Cyrus Albright," Cyrus continues in his lowered voice, "I have reason to believe people wish to use your hard work and goodwill to conduct something horrendous. You, being able to read it, know of what horrors I speak of, yes? I could see it in your writing... you were hesitant to transcribe the most dangerous rituals..."
Another silence. Not hearing a response, Cyrus presses on.
"From one scholar to another, what I seek is to prevent the use of this volume in any more harmful scenarios. But to do so, I need your help. I need to know who commissioned this of you. Please, master Dominic."
There is another pause of silence. Cyrus stands his ground, holding his breath a bit. Then, there is a click of the door as it is unlocked. The door opens to reveal a rather gaunt and pale older man with whitened hair, wearing loose clothes. He looked a bit too skinny, with dark circles under his eyes and a tortured expression as he looks at Cyrus.
"...I suppose you should come in," Dominic says in a defeated tone.
"Thank you."
Cyrus enters the small house. Inside, it is dim, but sparse. The house is surprisingly clean and comprised of only one room. A small table for guests holds a single candle and a few books and papers. A bed, well made, stands at the back of the room, next to a small metal stove. There are no logs burning at this time.
Dominic doesn't offer him tea or anything, instead just gesturing at the empty stools around the table. He himself sits down with a tired thud on one.
"Again, many thanks for the accommodations. Now, about this book..." Cyrus takes the pamphlet and puts it on the table. At the sight of the book, Dominic visibly winces.
"...Yes, I translated it..." Dominic says hoarsely, "I was hired by a gentleman, a scholar, who came to town one day... He told me the job was one of utmost urgency..."
"And his name?"
"I can't recall at the moment... What I do recall is that he had the most impassioned red eyes, burning with desire for knowledge... not unlike yours."
Red eyes? Cyrus only knew one person whose image comes to mind at that description. But it couldn't possibly be so simple!
"I knew the book the moment he showed me... I studied Hornburg tomes extensively, and Saloman's writing is among some of the most famous and forbidden. I wanted to refuse... However..." Dominic seems to shrink in his seat as he continues, "I was in need of the coin, and he had the purse to pay... My daughter, Melanie, was in dire need of medicine... So, I complied."
Cyrus nods quietly. He might have suspected such a story. It tied in the bits he had gleaned thus far.
"It took several months, but I did as he desired. I sent him the manuscript and he bid me keep this a secret when the last payment came... But I regretted it the moment the manuscript left my hands. I knew full well what could be capable of happening with that sort of knowledge in the wrong hands..." Dominic rests his head on his hands ruefully, "This gnawing regret only worsened when all the elixirs were for naught. My Melanie died shortly after..."
He pauses and looks about his sparse dwelling with a soft sniff, eyes misty, "I suppose it was punishment from the gods for what I had done... My foolish moment of greed..."
"You can hardly be blamed for greed, master Dominic. You did what your situation demanded for your daughter," Cyrus nods, "Regardless, this pamphlet and the original book both harbor unspeakable atrocities just waiting to be committed by some deranged person. I need to know something, anything, that might point me in the direction of the one who hired your services."
"I-I'm sorry... I only recall those eyes and... I hear they had become the head of some prestigious academy in Atlasdam... Perhaps the Atlasdam Academy..."
"By gods!" Cyrus can scarce believe his ears as his suspicions are confirmed, "Headmaster Yvon...!"
"Yes!" Dominic's eyes light up, "That's his name!"
"Oh dear..." Cyrus has a concerned look as he cups his chin and his brain kicks into investigating overdrive. Fifteen years ago, the book went missing from the archives. Yvon became headmaster and Franklin died. Those could no longer be ruled as coincidences at this point.
He hurriedly rises from his seat, "Thank you for your time and help. I believe I have found my next lead to investigate."
"Uh, a-alright... Do you truly intend to keep this book and its forbidden contents out of the wrong hands?" Dominic looks to him with something almost like hope in his tired eyes.
"Yes. I swear on my professorship as a scholar."
"...Thank you," Dominic sighs.
Cyrus excuses himself and goes to leave, bidding Dominic farewell. As Dominic closes the door, he looks back wearily at the table with only one candle. Shuffling over, he lifts the holder from the table. Hidden under it is a small black blotch that slowly moves and shapes itself into a dark colored imp creature. It looks to him with vile yellow eyes.
"...I did as you asked... Yvon..." Dominic says fearfully.
"Excellent... Lucia will take care of it while I am on my way... Cyrus is far too dangerous to be left alive..." Yvon speaks through the imp to the frightened bookmaker.
"Please... You said this was the last thing I had to do for you..." Dominic says, breath hitching, "Will you no longer haunt me at last?"
"At peace, dear friend. You have done me a great service, Dominic. I do not forget what is owed to such loyalty."
Before Dominic can express his relief and gratitude, the imp leaps right at his throat and pierces it with sharp claws just before it sinks its teeth into his jugular. Dominic flails, voiceless, and fumbles for his throat as the imp crawls into his neck through his punctured windpipe. The old man crashes against the door with a low thud as he tries to fight the asphyxiation, landing on the floor as the imp destroys his neck.
Twitching grotesquely on the floor, Dominic makes sounds of a clogged pipe as blood gargles out from the hole in his throat. His eyes look, wide with fear and disbelief, as the imp crawls out of his mouth, his own blood dripping off its dark, shadowy body.
"Thank you, Dominic, truly."
The leering smile of that yellow-eyed creature standing on his nose is the last thing the scholar sees as his vision fades to black.
…
The sun is well on its descent towards the mountainous horizons as Cyrus looks upon a hooded figure who seems to stare right at him in the Stonegard square. He picks up on their feminine figure and familiar purple eyes...
Looking around, he sees not many people milling about at this time. The figure gestures to a side staircase. Cautiously, he follows. When they are alone, the figure pulls off her hood and reveals the familiar face.
"...Lucia," Cyrus looks to her with almost expectance.
"Professor, it is most fortuitous that I find you here."
"And why exactly is that?" Cyrus raises an eyebrow and folds his arms, "...Have you been following me, perchance?"
"I will not deny it," Lucia nods, "I had been seeking your trail for a few days after you had left the academy."
"Whatever for?"
"I require your aid to expose Headmaster Yvon."
Cyrus' eyes widen momentarily. That was something he had not expected from her mouth at all. She looked like an ally of Yvon's, or at least someone who had no knowing of his dealings. He decides to err on the side of caution, just a little. However, his curiosity is still strong.
"Expose him? What do you mean to insinuate?" He presses a hand to his chin.
"You needn't play coy with me, professor. We are both scholars here, in search of truths of his world. Yvon, frankly, is one such person as well... But his methods are... impossible for me to condone," Lucia sighs, "I'm sure you had your suspicions... about Headmaster Franklin."
Now that gets Cyrus' attention. He stifles a slight twitch of his fingers. Some fires from nearby lanterns spark a bit. He says nothing but just looks to her eyes with the question burnishing in his gaze.
"...You are correct," Lucia says airily, in a low voice, "His passing had not been an accident. Yvon … poisoned and killed him."
Cyrus' free hand clenches at his side when her affirmation of his long-held suspicions is voiced in full. He had no real reason to believe her, save his feeling about the coincidences and their uncanniness.
"...And how do you know this?" He looks to her, not letting his guard down just yet.
"I have had suspicions like you about the man. As his secretary, I furtively did my best to uncover more about his mysterious rise in the academy ranks... And I believe I am getting close. I know you have no reason to believe me without objective proof... and that is why I am here now, asking for your aid."
"You know where this 'proof' lies?"
Lucia nods and points a finger to the roofs that can be seen over the nearby houses, toward the manor district, "The headmaster was born in Stonegard, did you know? Shortly after Franklin's death, he reported he was a bit ill and actually went back here... Perhaps to..."
"Stow away something he wanted hidden... I see," Cyrus finishes her trail of thought and nods, "So Yvon's birthplace is here..."
"Yes. I looked into the manor in question and... there appear to be ominous happenings associated with it. That only intrigues me further... as to what else Yvon might be hiding of his dark deeds."
"That is a valid query," Cyrus says with a sigh, "And you want me to aid you in this search?"
"Yes. I'm afraid my magical expertise is … lacking in comparison to yours. I am much more suited to planning schedules and keeping timely order, you understand."
"You flatter me," Cyrus folds his arms, "...But I cannot deny I myself now wish to see this manor. When do you plan to make your excursion."
"As soon as possible. Now, even," Lucia has a slightly firm look in her eyes, "I took some risk coming here... If Yvon should have discovered this, then he may well be on his way as well..."
Cyrus notes the darkening sky. However, Lucia did make a good point. Yvon sounded suspicious of him as it was when he left his office last. He could not underestimate the intelligence of that man, since he seemed to have orchestrated something rather diabolical all this time. Cyrus nods.
"Then let us make haste."
As darkness began to fall, the two scholars walked past the lamps being lit in the streets of Stonegard, conducting legwork as Cyrus follows Lucia. He keeps his gaze on the woman before him. It wasn't as if he trusted her entirely... but he had to admit her story checked out rather well.
"When did you first have your suspicions of the man, if I may be so bold," Cyrus says in a low voice as they climb towards the manor district. Not many goers remain in the streets.
"... For a while now... perhaps even before I became his secretary," Lucia says tersely, "However, it was merely a small guess at the time, I suppose... or even just an instinctual feeling. Have you ever read something written well, yet there is something inherently wrong about its message that you cannot help but ponder? It was something like that."
Cyrus found it amusing the woman seemed to have shared his same suspicions over the uncanny circumstances, "... I believe that was the most you have ever spoken without being prodded with a subsequent question."
"... I prefer not to be loquacious, forgive me."
Cyrus chuckles softly to himself.
The two scholars eventually arrived to the manor district atop the mountain. Here, it is better illuminated by lamplight than the lower levels, owing to a larger number of apparatuses. Large abodes stand with spacious yards between them, along with gardens, fences, and well-paved pathways. Following Lucia, Cyrus comes before a black fence property. Stone and metal rim the perimeter about an older looking manse. Its door is a dark mahogany, worn matte with age and sun. Ivy crawls about the stone walls and over the windows from the garden yard overgrown with weeds. It truly looks like a demised premises. The gate has a black plate wrought into one of its posts. Whatever was etched onto it has long been defaced.
"...This is the headmaster's birthplace," Lucia says quietly. The shadows of the two scholars flicker with the lamplight.
"...I can see what you mean. There is indeed something innately unpleasant in the air around here... and who knows what lies beyond the door in its walls," Cyrus rubs his chin, "Are we … allowed entry into this? Surely it is a private residence?"
"Surely you are not above a little... investigation?" Lucia walks up and pushes the squeaky gate open. It had not been locked. She looks to him from the side with her purple eyes and an almost impertinent gleam in them.
"... I say, I hadn't taken you to be such a bold person in the slightest, Lucia," Cyrus clears his throat a little, "You always appeared much more..."
"Composed? Stringent? Yes, that is perhaps true … of my attitude towards the students, that is," Lucia lets out a dry chuckle as she steps into the yard, "But we are equals, professor Albright. And as equals in scholarship, we know what obtaining knowledge entails, no?"
"That is true," Cyrus softly chuckles as he follows now.
The door itself appears to be locked at least. Lucia performs a simple unlocking motion, muttering the incantation and performing the somatic components with such quickness that Cyrus had barely noticed it. It was textbook lock picking
"I hope to refrain from imagining how many locks you may have undone that way," Cyrus chuckles.
Lucia reveals the small pick in her hand, "Well, tis does well to come prepared. My magic unfortunately does not include such utility."
"Tis the work of thieves, not scholars nor magic," Cyrus looks on as Lucia opens the door to reveal the darkened interior.
"Fair point. But one learns various tools to access what is considered forbidden for the sake of knowledge," Lucia pulls out two candles and holders from a pouch slung at her waist under her robes. She lights the candles and places them in the holders, handing one to Cyrus, "A scholar who is constantly being blocked by locked doors... is a poor one."
"Well, were legality and ethics a non-issue, yes," Cyrus takes the second candle. The candles are not very strong light sources compared to a lantern. However, he can see the varnished wood interior and dusty carpet underfoot leading to the grand main staircase that splits up towards the upper floor. A musty chandelier hangs above the foyer, dangling with cobwebs. At the wall where the staircase parts midway, there is an old, empty painting frame. To the sides of the foyer, there are hallways to the east and west wings.
"Rather drab interior... I can't imagine Yvon would leave it in such a state if he does even visit this place on occasion..."
"T'would better lend to the imaginations and lead to believe that it was abandoned, no?" Lucia points out.
"Mayhap. However, that would be foolish since such premises invite thievery, given its remaining splendor in this district, no?" Cyrus counters.
"... Fair point," Lucia's lips curl slightly. She seems amused at their banter.
The two scholars slowly make their way into the old and creaky place. There is a palpable suspense in the air. Little moonlight can reach this place's innards.
"What do you propose we seek first?" Lucia says to Cyrus on the side.
"Perhaps a study of sorts? I imagine that, as a scholar, one's interests lie within the tomes, after all."
"Then a study or library," Lucia nods.
It is easier said than done when there seem to be multiple such rooms that fit the description of a bookroom. The house has several rooms with shelves of old books that no eyes had lain on for gods know how long. Cyrus looks over some of the titles. Many are special or first editions of older literature. The editions are valuable, but the content itself has already been reprinted many a time.
"Deux Solis... The Ultimate Expatriate... Hmm," Cyrus tilts his head at some of the titles, "A rather varied collection."
"Quite," Lucia looks at some adornments on a mantle place, "The headmaster's scholarly interests are unfathomable, I believe... The arts, sciences, arithmetic... he stuns most others even in their own fields with his body of knowledge."
"I remember..." Cyrus sighs, "At the Socratic gatherings, he could stand toe to toe with a professor in their own field, despite his lack of proper degree..."
"In the end, that is a good reminder that such things like degrees hold no true value to a scholar," Lucia scoffs lightly as she passes the light over a crumbled marble bust, "They are merely titles. I once had a riveting experience with a guru in the Sunlands... no such thing as our degrees exists for them, but their wit is nonetheless unmatched."
"Once again I learn and am intrigued of you, Lucia," Cyrus says with a soft chuckle, "You may be more fatuous than you believe."
"Then excuse my waste of breath."
"No, no, I meant no such offence," The male scholar laughs lightly, "Dialogue is paramount for scholars to understand one another. Even if the content appears to be drifting, there are patterns in speech, mannerisms, references..."
"Yes, yes, I believe that was within one of those 'Self Help' volumes from the management majors?" Lucia scoffs, "That sort of thing does not interest me... dealing with people."
"Ah, you prefer the solace of scholars and books."
"But of course," Lucia looks to him with a raised eyebrow, "Do you, as a scholar, prefer differently?"
"As scholars, we are devoted to knowledge. But, as humans, we cannot simply become hermits, self-absorbed in our own discoveries all the time," Cyrus gives a small sigh, "No matter how much simpler that sort of life may seem."
Lucia seems to consider his answer briefly. Their shadows split and branch. The two of them had stopped briefly before a portrait in the hallway in the second level west wing. The portrait looks to be an old painting of a gentleman looking down at them. With this lighting, it appears somewhat ominous.
"... That is a very interesting... proposal," Lucia draws her lips in a thin line and looks back ahead, "We should keep going. I believe the master bedroom has its own study as well..."
The two scholars poke about further into the night for clues. They expected little overt hints as to an admission of Yvon's deeds. However, they did find meticulous shorthand diaries of the house residents who appeared to be Yvon's parents. He was an only child. His parents were also scholars by trade, as well bookmakers. They described their son as a bright child who voraciously devoured knowledge from books, reading every day and soaking it up like a sponge.
"A rather … common and innocent childhood," Cyrus puts away a diary.
"There is only so much a parent knows about their child and what they will become," Lucia says airily as she flips idly through another log, "That is what I hear from the experts in child development in the mind science department... It all seems experimental."
"Hmm... Ah," Cyrus pulls out an aged paper and unfolds it, "A master map from the servant's notes of the manse."
He carefully pores over it with Lucia in the candlelight. They see a room marked "Yvon's Study."
"The largest study of the manor... figures," Lucia sighs, "It's in the other wing."
"That seems the most obvious place to search," Cyrus looks over the map some more and notices blotted out portions, "A rather mysterious place this is. You mentioned ominous happenings...?"
"The occasional child would trespass and never come back out... or someone hears and sees something from the windows, as if someone were living here. I am fain to say it could easily be explained as squatters in such a place... but you and I both can feel something about the abode, no?"
"Indeed... but mere suspicions they remain until proven otherwise," Cyrus closes the map and puts it away, "I will be sure to return this before we leave."
Lucia lightly smirks in amusement and goes to lead them towards Yvon's study now. As they walk, Cyrus makes further attempts at conversation.
"So, you suspected Yvon as well," Cyrus walks through the halls with her in front, "But why the urge to act now?"
"I have worked beside him for a long time now. And something about his demeanor these days..." Lucia's voice turns troubled, "...it is disconcerting, to say the least."
"Hmm... do you think it could be magic manipulation?"
"I can't say. But I do believe he had some secret correspondence... something about blood magic?" Lucia says tonelessly, "I'm sure you know that blood magic is one of the forbidden magics due to its proximity to shadow."
"Yes... would you happen to mean something like blood crystals?"
"You know of it?"
"Quite. They are products of blood magic... I believe they serve as some sort of catalyst perhaps? Nonetheless, blood crystals are not a thing to be had in this world or time of peace. It would start an arms race and no doubt embroil everyone in a mad pursuit of the tome."
"I believe Yvon's plans to be a bit grander... and more selfish, than inciting wars, professor Albright. That is what bothers me most. Such possibilities..." She trails off and opens the door to a dark room, "This is his study. After you, professor Albright."
"...I must say... I owe you thanks for this opportunity, Lucia," Cyrus steps through the threshold of the opened door.
"No, thank you."
No sooner had he stepped in that the door closed behind him and the lock clicked. He turns with a start at the click, then feels something thick and smothering cover his face entirely, gagging his cries before they could erupt. Strong hands grasp his arms and legs, so his flailing is for naught. The unseen attackers throw him onto the ground. He feels a heavy weight sit on his chest as his limbs are brought down and held to the floor. The smothering cloth is kept tightly on his face, and he struggles to at least catch a glimpse of his assailants. But their hold is strong, and he cannot shake off the suffocating wrap on his face. It smells odd; likely drugged. Thoughts race in his mind of possibilities, as well as regrets for not having developed his strength better, and having left his companions to pursue this alone. Alephan's beard, and he had told them not to come looking for him!
He can only struggle for as long as his breath keeps. He can feel the drug enter his lungs like a thick, damp cloud as he is forced to inhale. Eventually, his flailing gets weaker and weaker, and he feels his vision grow hazy, before going flat. There are a few more twitches from his limbs before they are limp, and his body motionless.
The assailants hold their positions for a few long seconds to be sure, before they release him. Lucia opens the door at the sign of quiet, smiling rather evilly at the people in the room, with the insignia of Atlasdam University on their breasts. Their eyes are reddened, and streaks of luminescent red drips from their eyes down their face in bloody tear tracts.
"So sorry, professor," She leans down and lightly caresses the young man's unconscious face, "But to kill you would be such a waste."
He was still somewhat breathing, though not nearly enough to regain consciousness. Lucia looks to the students and clasps at a hidden gem embedded in her chest. It glows with the same red light as the blood on the student's faces. Slowly, as though in a mindless haze, the students move to pick up the professor's listless body.
Happy Halloween!