Spirits of the Earth

He reached the encampment just as night fell.

He was soaked to the bone. His boots were caked in mud up to the ankle. His hair was limp and sopping and it clung in thin, sad strands to his cheeks. The rain hadn't let up for hours, and it had made him a sorry sight indeed. In the distance, through the mist and the heavy downpour, he'd spotted it: half a dozen thin, silvery snakes of smoke rising from a cleft between the mountains. It was enough to hope that, whomever these people were, they were numerous enough that they had a gods-damned map of this place among them. It would be dangerous to try. He would have to be careful. But still, against his better judgment, he trudged on towards that singular sign of civilization.

The mud grew slick as Ven approached. He kept a firm grip on his staff. He could barely see his fingers in the waning light, but it was enough to know that they were filthy. He did not like to be so unkempt. A bath, he thought. My right hand for a bath. He desperately needed one. He did not stink in the way that a living man would after weeks of survival in the wilderness, nor did he ache as such. Even so, he wanted nothing more than a warm soak and a pot of ash soap and to dry out on a cedar mat in the sun. He had memories, some faint and some sharp as flint, of the steaming sulfur pools of his living years. Of washing away the day's toil and the weight and weariness of war. Yet, though the mountains that loomed above him looked as young and jagged as those he could recall, he'd seen nothing of the sort in these lands.

A patrol. Even in this weather. He hadn't seen the guardsman coming and now he was within an arrow's flight of the man. Shit, Ven thought. He quickly ducked off the beaten path and pushed in past the treeline. He pulled his mask up over his nose to hide his pallor. He waited. Somehow, blessedly, he had not been spotted. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued on, now weaving between the bushes and trunks. At last, he reached the palisade. These strange folk had built it well. It was a struggle to scale, and he cursed them beneath his breath. Nevertheless, he found his way up like a boy would shinny up a tree. He dropped to the other side and caught his fall with his staff.

Lights. Sounds. People. There were people everywhere, here, and now he could smell them. He grimaced. He had fed the demon that morning to pacify it. Somewhere, miles behind him, an unfortunate farmer was less a herd of cattle. He was sure the trail of death he'd left would rouse suspicion, yet he'd done what he must to keep the demon in check. But still, he felt its pull. It seemed it would not relent until it took a stronger life. A human life.

A sudden, keen awareness struck him of just how foolish he'd been by coming here. He brushed it away. He was here now, and he might as well finish this. He pressed on, clinging to the shadows, watching these odd folk come and go. Some of them were armored. Many of them wore tabards. Of all of the places I could have chosen, he admonished himself as he slid past a window, I have found the one armed most to the teeth. He chanced to glance in. His heart, though it didn't beat, leapt at the sight of a desk — and on that desk, a map.

He tested the window. It swung ajar. The room was empty. Could it be so easy?

He'd come this far. He'd try it. As quietly as he could, Ven hoisted himself through the window and landed with a soft squelch. He stopped. Listened. Still nothing. Nodding to himself, he began to cross the room towards his prize.

Without warning, footsteps pounded against the floor. Ven jumped. Panicked. Someone approached all too fast for him to hide. A woman rounded the corner, dressed in that same tabard he'd seen on the others, calling over her shoulder as she walked. "A mo', I've just got to run back and — " She stopped. Her pale eyes widened in alarm as she looked him up and down. "And who the hell are you supposed to be? Wh..."

"My apologies. I shouldn't be here." Ven dropped his staff to clatter on the ground. He raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of nonviolence. He ducked his head and backed away, step by step, hoping to the gods that she hadn't seen his —

"VAMPIRE!" She screamed. "To me! We have a vampire!"

He winced. This night was about to be a lot more miserable.

The effect was rather immediate. Of course, there was really no ignoring a bunch of shouting and alarming and general carrying on, especially when wearing a tabard generally meant you were supposed to be on guard for such a thing. Still, whoever the woman had shouted to, they seemed perhaps less hurried than one might expect from hearing "vampire".

"Oh, aye, sure, a vampire, and he's got his troupe of juggling pixies no doubt-- fuck me," the man stopped in his tracks the moment he was in the doorway, his own eyes widening in shock to see that there was, in fact, an intruder in exactly the spot that the woman was currently yanking her sword out in the direction of.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't really going to do very much in the face of a true-blue vampire, but he drew his own sword nonetheless, skirting about the room to provide a flank in the confines of the single room, which became entirely more crowded as two more guards flooded in. The initial woman moved to the side, allowing the rest to semicircle about Ven, cutting off the door as well as the window as a point of escape.

"Right. You. Stranger." said the male guard, trying to put in as much authority as he could. Weird though this intruder was, both in garb and appearance, surely a vampire would be a whole lot better at sneaking about, right? Right. He gestured for the third guard to bring forward manacles. "You've got some answering to do, so make this easy on yourself and put your hands out. Slowly."

Ven kicked himself for being so foolish. He'd known from the start that it was a terrible idea. He'd had every chance to turn back when he discovered just how terrible it was. When he'd seen the kind of folk that he'd chosen to burgle. But he was tired. Tired of wandering aimlessly in this hostile land. Tired of being screamed at and shot at for what the curse had done to his face. And that weariness had worn down not only his good judgment, but his caution, too.

His nose crinkled behind the mask. He had no interest in being shackled like a criminal. It would not end well for these folk if they imprisoned him away from all life but their own. Sooner or later, the demon would come forth and take advantage of such a feast. He glanced, first at one raised hand, then the other, and then back at the man who'd strolled in and begun to order him around in that strange accent. When he spoke, his words were sharp rocks grating against one another. "My hands are out. I intend you no harm," he replied crisply, a note of irritation in his voice.

He eyed the glinting blade that had moments before hovered inches from his nose. He shot a withering and skeptical look at the woman who wielded it, then at the other two guardsmen, then finally at the one who had addressed him. His black eyes moved steadily as the man flanked him like any practiced fighter. True, he had trespassed, but these people had drawn weapons on his appearance alone. He was reticent to reveal anything more than what would pry him from this situation without bloodshed. And they would certainly get nothing from him but cold courtesy. "And my answer is this," Ven continued. "I seek only a map of this most welcoming land. Not a fight. Just...a map. If you would be so kind."

"Welcome, you were expecting a welcome?" the female guard sputtered in disbelief, still holding her sword at the ready.

"Shut it," the male guard snapped, before turning his attention back on Ven. "You're under arrest for breaking and entering, mate, you can beg for a map after you've been tried."

The other guards pressed in close, slowly, before surging forward all at once to wrestle Ven to the ground and get his arms behind his back. Which was honestly made more difficult by the fact there was four of them trying to do the same thing at once than anything else. Still, once the shackles were on, at least it seemed the tensions had melted away.

"Fuckin' vampire," the male said with a roll of his eyes to the female guard. "You need to start getting some sense in your head, Aldric, before they lock you in a healing house."

"Fuckin' look at him," Aldric spat back, gesturing in the general direction of Ven's complexion as if that were all the proof in the world, "tell me that's not a vampire!"

"A vampire who needed no invitation and got himself arrested," he retorted back, helping the other two in hoisting Ven back up again as all four made to escort -- a fancy word for "drag like a sack of potatoes" -- their captive out of the room and across the yard, each of them cursing softly at the rain and their need to be out in it.

They brought Ven inside again quickly enough, and provided the considerable courtesy of possibly the worst-made wooden chair in all of Serendipity as Ven was forced down before a desk. The woman on the other side eyed him severely, her dark eyes boring into him for a moment before she flipped open a book and took up her quill.

"Name."

He'd had time to react and flee. He thought he could have done it. But he did not have the will to harm so many in the process. He would not forgive himself this folly if he did.

The moment these misguided guardsmen pounced was the moment Ven shut his eyes and steeled himself against a second, invisible onslaught. He had learned the hard way how a man's closeness would stoke the ravenous demon within him — and how he could focus on nothing else but its containment. Now there were four of them, bumping and shuffling and wafting forth the tantalizing stench of their own vitality. He did not think he could bear the sight and sound of one more person's agonizing, wailing death at his hands. And so, as they wrestled him to the dirty ground, and his rain-soaked front pressed hard into the floorboards, he tensed and held fast to that dark door in his mind. To an outside observer, Ven had gone deathly silent. To him, the very fabric of the world was screaming.

Something cold clasped his wrists. Muffled voices argued above the demon's deafening roar. Fresh air assaulted his senses and mud spattered his face. His mask, somehow, had been torn away in the scuffle. They dragged him through the muck towards some unknown prison. Their hands could have been red-hot irons for how his skin seared beneath their grasp. He turned inwards again and leaned with all of his might against that door. It had to hold. It had to.

Then — inside again. The rain was gone, the air stale. They turned him upright and set him down on something hard. They stepped away and the demon calmed, albeit reluctantly. But gods, he was left exhausted from it. His breaths — breaths he did not need to take — came in rattling, heaving waves as he fought to wrest back his control. At last, he opened his eyes again, and through a curtain of soaked and filthy black hair, he glowered at his new captor.

"Name," she demanded.

Ven met her gaze with the unblinking and haughty defiance of a predator in a cage. He let the silence stretch out between them as retribution for what he had just endured. "Avendego-i-Pereten," he finally rattled off, injecting spite like poison into every rolling syllable. In truth, he had leaned as hard into his thick accent as he could. She didn't need his name. What would she do with his name? This was all so pointless. So stupid. "You are making a dangerous mistake," he breathed. "In holding me captive, you accomplish nothing but to risk the lives of your own people."

His biting ire had given way to urgency, now. He leaned forward. He could hear — and smell — the guards behind him as they shifted towards their weapons again. He ignored them. He stared across the desk at the woman with the book, his stark countenance now creased, in spite of himself, with concern. "This is not a threat, but a warning. All that stands between the folk of this stronghold, and death, is my own dwindling willpower against the evil within me. I have no love for your ways, but neither do I wish to harm you. So I beseech you: release me before it is too late."

The woman on the other side of the desk looked utterly unimpressed. There was the slightest arch in her brow the further Ven went on, but otherwise, it was rather like making threats at a statue. At the end of it, she tapped her quill to rid it of excess ink, and wrote out whatever was closest to his name as far as she could surmise.

Which, if one were paying attention and could read script upside down, looked a bit like "Aven Digooey Preten."

 "Charge." she continued, her tone remaining as clipped and to the point as if Ven hadn't dedicated a lot of words to threatening her life and the lives of those around them. 

"What you mean besides the evil within him?" Aldric muttered under her breath, and promptly let out an 'oof' as she was elbowed by another guard. 

"Broke into the barracks, claims he was just looking for a map," said the apparent leader of this merry little troupe. The woman at the desk's expression did not change as she wrote in quick, sure script: burglary. 

"What was taken?" she continued, and for a moment the guards looked at one another as if suddenly confused. 

"Taken?" 

"Taken," the woman repeated, not without some irritation. "He broke in, and, what did he take?"

"Nothing," Aldric said after a moment, clearing her throat as if that would improve her confidence, "We got him before anything was made off with." 

The woman at the desk didn't seem to be as impressed with the gathered guards' abilities to thwart a theft, but wrote down her notes all the same. 

"Put Mr Digooey Preten in cell seven, and call in Northwood. It's his shift, if I recall. Mr Digooey, you are being detained for unlawful entry into a military building, punishable by fine of fourteen shils. Our resident medic will be in shortly to attend to you, and pending payment of your fine, you will be released. I strongly advise that you take this moment to reflect on your life choices, and don't make me write your name again." With an added note of finality, she put the quill back on its stand. 

Taking this as their cue, the guards shuffled Ven into his designated cell, before shuffling outside just as quickly, arguing quietly over who had summoning duty before vanishing into the rain.

The woman at the desk seemed completely unbothered, turning to several scrolls of paper and stamping each one before sorting them into proper cubicles. She only paused again when, not ten minutes later, another man in that same tabard walked in, carrying a satchel and more well prepared for the weather with a cloak of his own. 

"Cell seven," was his only direction, before the woman returned to her work. The new arrival, Northwood, seemed used to this sort of greeting and had already begun his way to the cells after pulling down his hood. 

Northwood stared through the bars at Ven with tired green eyes, setting his satchel on the ground. 

"Please approach the bars."

More screaming. More clawing for release. It was shorter this time, and then, at last, it was over. He stumbled, rammed into the back of this newest cage, tripped, and collapsed to drape over a crude — and filthy — bench. He lay there, seething and stewing in the humiliation of his own failures. Behind him, the gate swung closed with a rusty creak. Keys jingled. His captors chuckled and muttered to each other as their footsteps receded into the night. He wished, briefly, that he hadn't been so gracious. He fantasized about whacking them all firmly over their skulls with his stick. They would not survive the loss of whatever scant gray matter they were blessed with, he thought bitterly. Still, the idea soothed his injured pride. It was enough to pick him up off of the puke-stained floor.

Ven dragged himself up onto the bench, leaned into his dirty hands, and ran his fingers up into his tangled mess of hair. He closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply of the sour, fetid air. A chuckle escaped his nostrils that could have been a sob. "Just a map," he mumbled in the rhythmic cadence of his native tongue. "Just some answers. And a bath." He thought of sulfur water and herbs and ash soap and cedar again. He hummed a little tune to himself, face still pressed into his palms.

"Please approach the bars."

He stopped humming. He thought back to what the oafish woman had told him. A healer, and then a fine to be paid. Neither would happen, of course. She would have known that if she had listened. He chuckled again. "No," he said into his hands. He rubbed his eyes. His voice cracked with weariness. "I don't think I shall. 'Please', or no 'please.'" Ven sat up. His arms dropped to his lap. He appraised this new stranger who stood now to gawk at him through the bars. "If you are the healer, then go and heal your brethren of their lack of sense. If you are here to take my coin, then I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed in my lack of it. Either way, I will not approach the bars. I would advise you not to...agh." He shook his head and rubbed at his face again. He glared incredulously at the man. "Why should I even bother? You people are all the same: you haven't a lick of sense to share between you. So go on. Ignore what I've said. Come in to heal me or whatever you're here to do. I am sure it is perfectly safe."

Jewel regarded the prisoner, 'Mr Digooey' - though given how well he knew the warden he was fairly sure she had not made any effort to ensure the accuracy of 'foreign' names. It wasn't exactly easy to get a good look at him, even without the dimness of the light. All Jewel could really see was snatches of exceptionally pale skin and the darkness of his eyes.

Neither of which were exactly bills of good health, even whilst ignoring Aldric's warnings of vampirism and being torn asunder and yet simultaneously remaining whole enough to also become a creature of the dreaded night.

Jewel sighed. 

Living deep in the middle of the wood, of course folks became accustomed to the extranatural - Neighbors of all sorts wandered in now and again in all their strangeness, and just as strangely wandered out again. It was normal, a curiosity, but... vampires?

The Neighbors would have said something, surely.

"It's my duty to check if you are presenting any communicable diseases, sir," he said, tone still soft and quiet as if he had not been warned of doom and dismemberment for the second time that day, "very standard, but I'm afraid I can't confirm any concerning conditions if you're on the back wall wearing a mask."

It was the healer.

What was more, he'd spoken in a tone that Ven was well familiar with. It was the kind of voice he'd reserved, once upon a time, for his own inconsolable patients. Ven frowned. There had been so very many half-witted guardsmen today. What were the chances that this one was the exception? Slim, he thought, heels still stubbornly dug into his ire. Still...

He tilted his head ever so slightly as he considered the man's request. Somehow, he seemed almost reasonable. "If I comply, will you release me?" Ven asked hesitantly. The caustic bite had dropped from his tone. He knew that the answer was unlikely to be 'yes' unless he paid the fine with coin he did not have. Yet he had to try.

Reluctantly, and with the heavy skepticism of an ancient being whose identity had just been whittled down to "Mr. Digooey," Ven sighed and rose to his feet. He raised his gloved hands, drew down his hood, and pulled the muddy mask from his face again. He stepped cautiously into the light, wincing at the incessant gnawing in his mind.

"Kohm...yewn-i-ca-ble diseases," he repeated slowly. It was not a familiar word. "Concerning conditions." He thought for a moment, then gestured delicately at his own cursed visage. "You wish to know if this can be transferred to another? No. It does not move from body to body like a plague. It simply..."

Ven shifted and glanced down the row of cells towards freedom. He had warned the others. They had thought it worth nothing more than their dismissive ridicule. He had snapped a half-warning at this one, too, only to be met with the voice of someone addressing a misbehaving, mind-addled elder. He did not expect that this healer would listen. He would try, nonetheless. He would not beg, but he would try. He returned his attention to the man before him.

"It is a curse, not a disease. It hungers and it kills," he said simply. "It will never stop. It was foolish of me to come here. I've put your people at risk over nothing." His expression darkened ever so slightly. "Such as they are," he grumbled.

Jewel waited, patiently, for the prisoner to work his way into deciding to be compliant. There had been no guarantee that he would do so, of course -- the ones who usually made it into these particular cells tended to be entirely too out of sorts to pay much attention to silly things like their best interests. But sometimes all it took was a calm statement and a long stretch of silence. Folks tended to become uncomfortable, when they got no response.

It was nice, then, that Mr Digooey had chosen to comply instead of doubling down on his tantrum. In the light, he seemed even paler than below all of his trappings -- almost alarmingly so. And with those eyes, well...

Jewel was starting to see why Aldric had jumped to conclusions.

He moved from side to side, observing the man as closely as he could with bars and space between them.

"What manner of curse?" He asked, in that same even tone, gesturing with his hand and mouth for Ven to open wide. "Besides, as you've said, a very deadly one that prevents you from using the gates like a normal person."

Ven eyed the man like he didn't quite believe he was real. His brow raised ever so slightly in surprise. He shifted on his feet again. This was, quite possibly, the first normal, the first sane conversation he had had in...well. He could not remember how long. Certainly since he had arrived in this terrible land. He hesitated to answer. He knew that the man would likely react just as poorly as the others. "I cannot remember the whole of it," he admitted quietly. He stepped away into the shadows and sat again, eager for some relief. His knees crackled like an old man's. "Only flashes here and there. I can tell you that, whatever this thing is, it speaks to me. It taunts me from within. And it is always hungry. Always. I feed it plant and animal so that I might bear it. But what it wants — " He breathed in a weary and frustrated sigh. "Is you. Your kin, rather. Anyone with a mind, a — a spirit, if you will. That is what it hungers for. That is what it steals and returns with to nourish me. I hold it back, but it does become...difficult."

He stopped. He waited. Waited for this healer to laugh and walk away, or panic and call him that name again: vem-pyre. Or, worse, to try and kill him. But he didn't. "Hmmh," he grunted. "You are one of two men in this cursed place not to shout some nonsense word at me and attempt to slay me on sight. The other was simple. You seem not to be. Regardless, I...thank you. For not...doing that."

He stood again and began to pace. He despised any cage, yes, but this one would shortly become unbearable. His eyes slid from bar to bar as he subconsciously sought some way out, but they were bolted firm. There was no escape. He was still very much trapped here. He turned abruptly in place to face the healer. "And now you know why I did not use your gates: because, for the last two months, any person who has laid eyes on me has either fled or become violent. I made a bet that your brothers-in-arms would be the latter. I was correct. I — "

Ven stopped mid-diatribe and stared incredulously. "Why must you inspect my mouth? What have my teeth to do with this?"

Jewel watched the prisoner, calmly and quietly. It didn't matter whether the man was speaking nonsense or not; he clearly believed it all to be true, and in the grand scheme of things, wasn't that what mattered? Causing defense certainly wasn't going to get Jewel anywhere with him, real condition or not.

He did, however, have to blink at the... compliment? Was that truly what one could consider a compliment? 'You seem not to be simple?'

"Thank you for the... kind assessment," he managed, after a beat. The prisoner was pacing now, signalling clear agitation despite their calm exchange. Which just underlined to Jewel how very real this all was to this man. Sure, he had broken into the company's barracks, and sure his intent had been to steal, and if it were up to the others, Jewel was very sure that would be the end of the conversation. A bad deed done, a bad deed earned, or something to that effect. And if he couldn't pay his fine, well, it served him right, now didn't it?

Except Jewel had a hard time believing that someone who needed to resort to stealing a map would have anything close to usable coin. That tended to be the point of theft.

Theft and a not altogether undeserved sense of persecution. Aldric certainly had been announcing to everyone that would listen about what she thought of their prisoner -- which, if Jewel was honest, was not altogether unlike her. He still remembered the hag incident.

It took him a moment to realize that Mr Digooey had shifted his conversation entirely, and Jewel took a moment to respond in kind.

"It is not your teeth. Illness, certain ones, likes to leave footprints on the throat. While I would like to accept your assumption that you are in good health, Mr Digooey, I really must do my due diligence. It is... protocol, and the sooner I can complete my protocol, the sooner we may explore the terms of your release."

"Mister Dig — " Ven puffed up like an affronted eagle, caught himself, nodded resignedly as if he had expected nothing better of these folk, and rubbed at his brow. "Ai, Valo. You must be joking." He snorted. He'd used his full name as a jab. He'd meant it to confuse the woman. Of course it had come back to him like this. How very poetic.

He looked the healer up and down, his expression fatigued yet guarded, still skeptical that any man of these people would have the decency to respect a simple request. "Ven," he said finally. "If you would. I will not trouble you with the seven other syllables from which your delightful compatriot somehow derived Mister Digooey. Gods grant me patience." He shook his head in disbelief. It then occurred to him that he'd directed his ire at a man who'd done nothing to deserve it. Ven sighed. "I am sorry. That was ill-mannered of me."

He considered the man's request. He was not thrilled with the idea of being close enough to be...inspected. Of having to endure another round of torture. He would, perhaps, come back to that subject. But first...

"As for the terms of my release...well." He flipped his muddy cloak over his shoulders, shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, and turned them out. He opened first one belt pouch, then the other, and tilted them towards the light for the man to see. But for a few little bundles of miscellaneous herbs, a tin of salve, a glass bottle containing what looked like tea, a foil-wrapped bit of chocolate, and a half-finished bracelet woven from beach grasses, Ven owned little more than crumbs and dirt.

"Your people have stated the terms, but I cannot fulfill them. As such, I must assume that I am trapped here." He eyed the healer, now deadly serious. "If you continue to imprison me, you will die. I would like to avoid dealing such a fate. I very much doubt that you deserve it. Even at this moment, I cannot guarantee your safety. Which is why, as much as I am certain that it is your duty to perform this examination, I will not approach the bars."

His indignance had returned, albeit tempered. He huffed, scowled, and looked away, disgusted at what he was about to suggest. "I am not trying to be difficult, sir. I am trying to rectify my own mistake. But if you require proof, bring me a living plant. Or an insect. Something...disposable."

"Ven." Jewel said with a nod. After all, it was the basest of courtesies to use the proper name, even if that proper name was apparently a much-shortened version of itself. Jewel could relate. His titles alone were a nuisance at the best of times. And this, clearly, was not the best of times for Ven.

Jewel let the man speak for a time, simply standing and listening to him, eyes dropping only to witness that Ven indeed did not possess a single pip to his name. To be expected, certainly. The herbs were interesting - they were not the wildflowers one might typically collect for oneself on the side of the road, but the deep, pungent stalks you had to go looking for and know why you were looking. A clever man, this Ven.

Well, besides the whole 'oh yes let me just slide in through this window here', thing.

Maybe not clever, but cunningfolk were cunningfolk.

"You have underlined my impending mortality quite well, Mr Ven. You needn't continue to underline it." Jewel tilted his head some in consideration, eyes fixed on Ven's face in a deep, unblinking stare.

"How many plants, or insects, or such, do you require to be safe? Is this a daily occurrence, or is it satiable for a longer period of time?"

Ven looked the healer over again, still skeptical. "Hmmh. Not well enough, I fear, for you still haven't fled. Either you are brave, or foolish, or you do not truly believe me." He sighed and continued his futile examination of this steel cage. His gaze settled momentarily on the bench. Could he use it as a battering ram? No...of course not. It was bolted firmly to the floor. He doubted it would even budge the bars. And surely he'd make enough noise to alert the entire camp once again. He shook his head. He glanced back at his odd company. He could no longer keep the weariness and sorrow from tugging at his countenance. The man stared back with peridot eyes like an unamused housecat.

"How many?" Ven repeated quietly. "How many blades of grass are there on this earth? How many creatures walk the land?" It was rhetorical, of course. And...perhaps a bit dramatic. But he was truly tired of this curse and of the killing. "To come here," he began again. "To try, simply, to find some gods-damned answers — regretfully, I took a dozen head of a farmer's cattle this very morning, and even that was not enough to sate the horrid monster. So I suppose you may now add cattle thief to my long list of peculiar transgressions. Right under the map incident."

He muttered a string of curses at his own stupidity, then straightened again and sighed impatiently. "Now, please. This has gone on rather long enough. Will you release me? Or are we both so beholden to your people's bureaucratic scutwork? Surely you have more important things to do. Paperwork. Patients with beating hearts to attend to. Et cetera."

"You know," Jewel said, tone still conversational to avoid stirring the man up any further than he already was, "you may find that you will be less likely to be penalized for breaking the law, if you didn't confess to it so often."

Jewel sighed some, tilting his head a bit as if to stretch and crack his neck. He was tired, it had already been a long day, and it was looking to be even longer.

"I ask you to understand, that I will need proper answers from you, before I am able to simply turn you loose into the kingdom. I don't know you, Mr Ven, besides that you are apparently very dangerous and able to slaughter dozens of cattle without being satisfied. How will I know that you won't simply go and leave a trail of cattle-- or worse-- to the throne itself?"

Jewel considered for a long moment, weighing several thoughts in his head on delicate scales. He looked upwards some, staring at a point in the stone wall on the far end of the cell, head tilting as if listening carefully to a lecture from an esteemed professor.

"...I will pay your fine, Mr Ven. But you will need to give me those answers. Is that an acceptable deal?"

To his own surprise, Ven chuckled a bit at the healer's carefully-worded advice. The man was right, of course. It was for this very reason that, even in his living years, he much preferred the wilderness to civilization. He did not intend to do harm. He did not intend to take what others owned. Yet, no matter his intent, the fact remained that his way of doing things was often counter to the rules and expectations of city folk. He had meant to be honest: to show a gesture of faith. He had instead snared himself even further in this trap.

"Yes," he replied, nodding in acceptance of his defeat. His lips were still curled in the faintest ghost of a smile. "You speak true." But his amused expression dropped entirely as the man went on. And he was again correct: how could he know? Ven had, in his panic, divulged a warning that could very well have been perceived instead as a threat. Who was to say how far that threat extended? His shoulders slumped as his confidence drained away and he realized just how deep this hole was that he had dug. His eyes went wide. "That was not my intent," he insisted. "I — I would never — I am not some assassin. I — "

Ven stopped. His jaw worked up and down a few more times before finally closing. He looked like he might be ill — or at least, as much so as a dead man could on top of being so pale. When the healer offered to pay for his fine, he looked away. He still half expected hot shame to flush his cheeks, but it never did. He stood there in silence, mulling over responses, finding them wanting, and searching for new ones that would suffice. His fists clenched and unclenched while he thought. At last, he raised his head again and faced his captor. He was calmer, now, than he'd been since he arrived here. Regretful, too.

"You know that I cannot repay you for that," he said quietly. "And I do not deserve such a kindness." Ven returned, slowly, to the bench. He sat and drew his cloak tighter out of habit. He looked up at the man behind the bars. "You have my apologies. I've been nothing but miserable and insolent. If you'd be so willing to fix my mistakes, then...I am already in your debt. So I am yours. I will tell you what I can. Please. Ask away."

The sudden shift in tone, the anxiety, the shame and he fear...

It had been exactly what Jewel had been looking for. He hummed low, almost too much so to be heard by any human ears, but human ears were not what he'd been humming to.

"I do not seek repayment, Mr Ven, beyond the deal you have agreed to. Please pardon me for one moment." He stooped and gathered his satchel, fiddled with an enclosed pocket, before stepping smartly back over to his compatriot's desk where he set down the appropriate coin.

"Mr... Digooey's... penance." He stated, simply. The warden gave him a look as piercing as an arrow, before reaching across the desk to appropriately tally and register the amount. In her book, she crossed a painfully thin line through Ven's registry, and wrote in neat script: Paid.

Wordlessly, she rose from her desk, and stepped over to Ven's cell to unlock it, standing aside once the gate was opened so Ven could pass freely.

"Do remember my advice, Mr Digooey." she said coolly, fixing him with that same stare that could only be matched by about a dozen eagles put together.

The woman stood there, door open, glaring down at him expectantly. It took him a moment to piece together what had happened. He'd thought for certain that he would have to pay the man in answers before being released. But no: he'd sat. He'd said his piece. And the healer had simply...believed him. Just like that.

Ven rose to his feet once again, eyes darting between the woman and the healer. He seemed to be a free man, now. Should he run? Should he put as much distance between himself and these unpleasant folk as he could? He'd made an agreement, it was true. But he'd done it to undo this mistake. To avoid further damage. And his quickest route to that was out those doors and into the night, without a look back or a second thought.

Yet...he'd promised answers to a man who'd been nothing but patient. Who'd listened, and now, who'd paid his way out. And honor had meant something to him once, he thought. A long time ago. Ven gave the healer a small nod — an acknowledgement of this act of trust. He gritted his teeth, and, all but ignoring the woman and her sharp words and sharper eyes, he slipped past her as swiftly as he could. He paused a distance away from his unlikely savior.

"Thank you. For freeing me. I owe you answers. I will honor that, but...there are too many people here. It isn't safe for me to linger. Either I flee to the forest, or..." he faltered, embarrassed. He wasn't accustomed to not having the answers. "Tell me where to go where you might be less...rained on."

Jewel didn't answer straight away, instead gesturing for Ven to follow him out of the building and back out onto the soggy street. He pulled his own hood up and over his hair, the cloak wrapped around him as best he could to keep the worst of the rainfall off of himself. He pointed, in the vague direction of the road.

"My home is this way. I need to stop there, first." His pace did not seem to invite any debate on the matter, hurrying Ven through the streets and away from the barracks entirely. It was a much quieter road that he turned down next, leading the way to one of several townhouses nestled close to the wall and stepping up to a deep navy door. A quick turn of the key, and he stepped inside, gesturing for Ven to follow in out of the rain.

Once inside, he murmured to a lamp a command word, setting off the appropriate chain reaction so each of the connected lanterns in his home lit at once, bathing everything in a warm, steady glow. That everything being almost entirely plant life; it seemed like every available surface had been primarily repurposed as a space to grow things on, with even more pots hanging from the ceiling and all adding to the generally earthy scent of the home at large.

"If you must, I'd prefer it if you contented yourself with one of those," he said after removing his cloak, gesturing at a small series of tables that had a series of different common ferns atop them. "But if you can abstain for just a breath longer, I'd appreciate the effort."

He paused again, considering, before continuing with all the air of someone who did not normally entertain guests and had to mentally review etiquette for a moment.

"I can also offer some tea, if you would like. I know you wish to be out of the city, but a chill will not serve you well, out there."

Ven followed the stranger out of the jail and into the muddy, stormy, miserable night. It was very dark, now. He could no longer see the mountains. Even if he were to flee into the forest, he realized, he'd have to wait until dawn before he could continue forth. And he would not have what he came here for in the first place: answers. In fact, he would have only mud and shame to add to his scant possessions. And so there was nothing else for him to do but to trust the man who had paid coin for his stupidity. As they left the populated barracks and made their way towards a quieter part of the encampment, his tension began to ease. He'd been fighting with the demon more than he knew. Now, once more bereft of an easy feast, it settled.

The healer stopped. They had arrived, Ven assumed, at the man's home. Suddenly, he felt so out of place: rather like a stray dog whom a kind soul had taken pity on. After countless weeks in the wild, an invitation into a city man's private residence was surreal, to say the least. He certainly didn't think that he'd earned the kindness. Nor did he look the part of a guest. Yet the healer must not have given it a second thought, for he opened the door and gestured for Ven to enter. The entryway was concerningly narrow. Ven stopped at the threshold, blissfully unaware that he played right into a stereotype in doing so. And, as the lights came on in a wondrous display of magick...he stared.

It might as well have been a forest: more leaf and vine than wall or floor. Some plants he recognized. Others he did not. Few were medicinal, that he could tell. Did this healer keep plants purely for the pleasure of growing things? he wondered. He took a deep breath of the petrichorous air. He didn't know what he had expected of someone so dry and skeptical. It was absolutely not this.

Then the healer gestured reluctantly at a fern as though it were a tin of fancy biscuits that he didn't actually want to part with. Had Ven not been so tired and out of sorts, he might have laughed at the odd misinterpretation of what he'd tried to explain back in the jail cell. He blinked, bemused by the offer. "I...no. Thank you. Very kind of you, but...I am not here to destroy anyone's belongings. Regardless of what you may think of the...ah...cattle incident."

Ven glanced behind him, then back into that verdant room. He pulled his mask back down around his neck. The man had seen him, after all, and seemed to know enough about what he was. There was no use in hiding. Still, he didn't move from the open doorway. He looked down. Some of the mud had dried and crumbled from his cloak. Most had not. He was an awful mess. "I shouldn't come in," he remarked dryly, waving a nimble hand over his front. "Not the least because of this. I doubt you want so much filth all over your floor."

No sooner had he said it then his ears perked up at the offer of tea. After all, how long had it been since he'd so much as held a warm cup? It was such a small kindness, and yet...he felt his eyes strain to produce what they no longer could. He grumbled and shook it off, hoping that his strange choice of company hadn't noticed. He didn't know this stranger. He could not afford to be so easily swayed. Even if he did desperately wish for something, anything, to sooth his weariness.

"You don't need to...hmm. No. I thank you, but you needn't bother. I may be uncomfortable, but I cannot die of exposure, nor can I catch a cold. It would be rather a waste of tea, I should think." Ven resumed his admiration of the place in spite of his own caution against such distractions. Where he'd have stuffed books and stone tablets and old manuscripts, the man had made room for all things green. Instead of dusty parchment and beeswax, the air hung redolent with the scent of living, breathing leaves. "As much as it isn't the topic at hand," he finally blurted out. "I...these plants. This is..."

He shifted his weight. He found that he had no idea what he'd been trying to say in the first place. "You keep a beautiful home...Mr...ah...hmm." He drifted awkwardly off before finishing his thought. "It occurs to me that I don't even know your name."

Jewel watched, patiently, as the man seemed to struggle with being shown basic hospitality. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't somewhat relieved that none of his ferns would become sacrificial lambs, though the prospect did raise up some curiousity. The way this stranger had talked about his condition made it seem as if it were some kind of ticking clock, heralding some terrible, awful doom. Dire enough to warrant the deaths of cattle and-- how exactly did this skinny man manage that? How did this consumption work?

How long had it been since someone made this man tea?

"Well," he said, head tilting some as he regarded Ven closely, "at the very least, my conscience will rest easy knowing you will not perish of exposure out there, on your own. ...Also, you need not worry about creating a mess. A little dirt certainly won't be the end of the world, here."

Another pause, this time one of absolute surprise when Ven admitted to not knowing his name. But, of course he wouldn't know it. He wasn't from Northwood, or Northwatch, or Serendipity or... Goddess only knew where he actually hailed from, now that Jewel took a moment to consider it. Still, it was unusual for him to have to introduce himself and... well. He really didn't want to frighten the man so soon after getting him to calm down.

"I'm Jewel of Northwood. Or, rather, just Jewel, if you please. If you are not in the mood for tea, Mr Ven, then would you mind terribly if I made some for myself?" Jewel cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck some as he gestured further in and to the right, where the kitchen lay. Yes, an absolutely smooth transition. Perfectly done, no notes. "And... thank you for the compliment."

Seemingly eager to not continue the awkward moment, Jewel stepped into the kitchen to light the stove and set some water to boil.

"It will be easier, I think, to ask each other our questions, with a hot cup at the ready."

Ven shifted again. He wished that he could meet such basic courtesy with anything other than reticence. He didn't know why it caught him so off guard — after all, the healer simply extended kindnesses that Ven would have as well, had their positions been reversed. Then again, from what few torn and faded memories he had left, he was keenly aware of one thing: more often than not, he had been alone. Alone, and, more recently, hated.

The demon stirred just enough to snap his focus back to the present. It had been fine when he'd kept some space between them as they walked. Now, once more, it gnawed, curious and eager to taste new prey. Ven shoved it aside. He was quite done with being cold and wet. He would manage. "I thank you," he said again in response to the man's insistence that he could enter. "This is rather more luxurious than how I'd assumed your people conducted interrogations. But...if you're certain. Ah...far be it from me to tell you what to do in your own home, but please do keep your distance." With that, he brushed himself off as best as he could, stomped most of the filth from his boots, and stepped gingerly in. He shut the door quietly behind him, anxiety thrumming through his fingers as he heard the latch click. He would stay right here, he decided. Right next to the door handle. In case he had to make a quick exit. He turned and leaned against the wall.

"Jewel-of-Northwood," he repeated, pleasantly surprised at the familiarity of these people's naming convention. His expression softened. He briefly debated telling this Jewel the meaning of his own name. But...no. This man was a stranger, and a tired one, and neither of them was here to make friends. It would be too forward of him to divulge, even in jest. Perhaps another time. "It is a good name," he said simply, with a slight nod of his head. "And — no. Please. By all means," he added. Though he needn't have, as Jewel had already stepped away into a little kitchen to heat some water.

Ask each other our... Ven's eyes lit up.

"Indeed," he replied. "It does make all things easier...if only a little. I will wait here, then."

He watched as this strange, quiet man shuffled in and out of view, and he wondered. Might he finally know where he was? Might he finally understand the nature of this alien place, with its magicks and its foreign folk? The healer was clearly sharp. He would know. He would have some answers. After, it seemed, he had his tea. And now Ven mourned the fact that he had turned down the offer, for tea did sound rather nice. Especially...

His hand brushed his belt pouch. He thought of the precious bottle within. The one that smelled of a home he could not remember. He began to hum a quiet, solemn tune, familiar as the back of his hand, to soothe the grief of that loss — and his nerves. He tapped his foot in time where a drum might have once beaten: eight, then eight, then eight, then eight. And he waited, as patiently as he could, for his answers.

"This is more luxurious than how my people conduct interrogations, Mr Ven, because this is not an interrogation." Jewel said simply, even as he spooned leaves into a cup and poured over steaming water. He always added too much, and always let it sit too long, but the bitterness was a taste he had grown quite fond of. He was sure there was something poetic to be said about that, but for the moment all he cared for was the harsh tang of hot tea.

He stepped back into the hall, leaning against the entryway into the kitchen to consider the other man. While it would have been more comfortable to sit, Ven did not seem to be ready to lower his guard quite so much, and Jewel was not prepared to fight him on his concern. Honesty did not tend to suffer well those circumstances.

Besides, the song was nice. Strange and nothing like any music he had ever heard, but nice.

"Is that from your homeland?" He asked, during an appropriate lull, before taking a sip from his cup.

Not an interrogation. In his haste and relief to be away from his cell, Ven had not paused to consider what else this could be. The man had paid for his release on the condition of answers. It had, at the time, sounded quite official. Was it instead that this Jewel-of-Northwood was not acting in such a capacity, and was just simply curious? He was rather tight-lipped. He did not let on very much at all. Ven's tune trailed off mid-verse. He studied his not-interrogator as the man took a sip of tea — though truthfully, he eyed the tea more than the man. After all, he told himself, it would not do to give the demon any more cause to hunger after prey.

"Hmmh. I do not rightly know," he replied. "It feels like home. The words sound right. I don't remember enough to say for certain. Or much of anything at all, for that matter." He clutched his hands behind his back, and the nails from one began to dig into the other. Much as this was a lovely reprieve, he had to focus. He had to get this over with and put some distance between himself and these people. And be alone again.

"Jewel-of-Northwood...you did not bring a dead man to your home to ask him about music," he observed, but there was a note of amusement to what he said. He cocked his head a little, still fidgeting behind his back. "Forgive me for being brusque, but you said you had questions. What did you wish to know?"

Jewel turned his head, eyes still fixed on Ven's face as the other man spoke. It gave him a moment to observe, to truly take in the whole of him outside of a small cell and considerable defensiveness and hostility. 

Well. Outside of the small cell at least. The stranger still held onto his defensiveness plenty, but that was understandable. Jewel certainly didn't possess such a fragile ego to take offense to it, at any rate.

"Honestly, Mr Ven, I would like to know who you are, where you are from, and what you plan on doing once you leave my home." Jewel stated, matter-of-factly but without any added bite. He took another sip of his tea. "While I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt to this point, considering certain... character witnesses, I do require some understanding as to why a man of unknown origin is sneaking through a wood he should not be able to sneak through."

Jewel fixed him with a steady stare.

"What do you want?"

They were the very worst kind of questions: those to which he had no answers. And though the healer had delivered them without even a hint of aggression, Ven had the distinct impression that he was, in fact, in a great deal of trouble after all — tea, or no tea. He stopped fidgeting. His face fell like a stone. He averted his eyes to avoid Jewel-of-Northwood's piercing gaze. Who I am? Where I'm from? He turned the questions over and over, hoping to jog some distant memory, but it was no use.

When he looked back at his host, he could have been in tears for the sorrow and fear that turned his brow. His blackened eyes glittered, reflecting each and every light that the man had brought to life. "I...wish I could say," he managed at last. "If I could, rest assured that I would not have imposed in such a...disruptive...manner. But I can't. I don't. I don't have those answers. As I said, my memory is...absent."

A little chuckle whistled through his nose. "I'm sure you won't believe me when I tell you that all I wanted was a map," he said quietly. "To know where I am. To see if...if I recognize...and...I suppose if I cannot find one here, then..." he trailed off. He sighed. He reached up and brushed an errant, tangled strand from his face. "Then I will continue on until I understand where I am. And who I am. And what this curse is, and how to stop it. And why I don't remember. And...yes. To answer your unspoken question: I will feed this demon along the way, with things lesser than man, until I have my answers."

Ven eyed Jewel-of-Northwood with a measure of trepidation. He did not know how the healer would react to this latest admission of his death-dealing ways. He decided, nevertheless, to ask his own question. "I suppose, now that you know, that I should ask plainly. Have you a map of this place? Can you tell me where I am?"

That had been both the wrong and right series of questions to ask. Jewel watched as Ven's entire countenance changed, shifted from guarded to worn down and lost and so...

Terribly alone.

In all Jewel's life, he had never been completely alone. He hadn't even been born alone, and growing up he'd always been surrounded by brothers and sisters in law and nieces and nephews and every kind of tenuous relation there ever was.

To not even know who he was? Where home was? Nothing?

That was not a solitude Jewel thought he would ever envy, as much as he enjoyed the peace away from Caer Northwood. He took a breath, and gestured at Ven to come further forward into the house.

"Follow me." Jewel said, turning to climb the nearby stairs, looping upwards past the second floor to the third. As he ascended, more lights twinkled into existence, revealing even more shelves and tables laden with plants lining the narrow landing. Jewel set his teacup down on what little space there was on a table beside a large, thick door, and produced yet another key from the ring on his belt. A quick turn of the key, and the door opened to let them into the study.

Above, swirls of metal held glass panes together in ornate, floral patterns, though it was somewhat difficult to tell against the backdrop of stormy night. Raindrops pattered against the glass roof, and chains of lanterns winked to life same as the ones before. Jewel stepped past several tables set up with jars and mortars and pestles, and pulled an armful of leather cylinders down from bookshelves loaded with worn tomes.

Each of the cylinders was brought to the desk at the center of the room, where Jewel unfurled parchment after parchment under the lantern lights, revealing carefully etched drawings of mountains, roads, woods, rivers, and cities. 

"Maps." He said plainly, gesturing down at them.

"Follow me."

Jewel-of-Northwood turned and beckoned him up a narrow staircase. Ven's heart leapt. At last, he'd have some damned answers. At last. Gods curse how long he'd been searching. He starved for even a scrap of understanding. And now it would be over with — or, at least, it was the beginning of the end — and he could know. And he could rest.

He caught himself climbing eagerly after the man like some simple-minded mutt after his master. He slowed his pace. He remembered his caution. He glanced upwards and craned his neck, trying to make out where they were going. There wouldn't be any doors up there through which to make a quick exit...but it would not be the first time he had leapt from a window. He hoped that Mr. Jewel would forgive him if said windows didn't open. If he had to...make an exit.

Ven passed plant after plant and allowed himself a moment to again admire the man's house and the magicks therein. But what little he'd seen paled in comparison to the paradise of tomes and scrolls and medicine-making that lay secreted away behind that locked door. Jewel-of-Northwood entered, and Ven followed him to the threshold, and then he stopped. He stood in the doorway, mouth agape and eyes alight, and breathed in what could have almost been home but for the sound of rain on glass. He was, miraculously, lost for words. "I...gods, this is..."

Mr. Jewel had busied himself with pulling things from a bookshelf. For the first time in a very long while, Ven did not mind waiting. He knew his answers were here at last. And...he wanted to bask in this place, if only for a moment. It was not his study. It was not his home. But it felt...so familiar. He took in another deep lungful of leather and herb and savored it as though it was his last.

"Maps," said the man, and Ven came to his senses.

"I...yes. Yes. Ah...if you'd give me some distance." He approached the table, still very much distracted by everything else in that incredible room. "Thank you," he nodded, lest he forget his manners. He bent over the maps that Jewel had laid out for him, eyes tracing rivers and border lines and the little markers for the towns, searching for something. Anything, but...no. There was nothing. He remembered none of it at all. His face fell again. He sighed. He wished there was some frame of reference here. There weren't even proper labels on these maps. Unless...

Ven squinted at one particularly prominent squiggle. "No," he murmured, and his frown deepened. "No, it can't be." He leaned further, palms pressed to the table. Now that he noticed it, the squiggles were everywhere. He shot Jewel a skeptical look. "This is a joke. You're joking." Then he saw the books behind the man, and the same odd, flowing lines that decorated their spines. He shook his head slowly as it dawned on him. "No. Not a joke. That is...that's your...I simply can't..."

He looked down at the map again. So. He couldn't read. He was surrounded by books and scrolls and maps and they were as good to him now as fire starters. "Thank you, Mr. Jewel," Ven said. Even to him, it sounded flat: tinged with dejection. He straightened and carefully rolled the maps before sliding them into their leather cases again. "This was most enlightening," he added as he returned his attention to the man. "Though not in the way I'd...hmm."

Ven paused, chewing on words as he worked up his courage. Whatever hope and wonderment he'd had was fleeting. He was weary again. And he did not want to face the dark and the rain. Not just yet.

"I...hate to overstay my welcome. But given the circumstances...might I trouble you for that cup of tea?"

On Ven's request for some distance, Jewel retreated to a bench by the far window, listening to the patter of the raindrops against the individual glass panes. It was good, for the moment, to be able to just sit back and observe -- he did not often have guests besides family, and he certainly did not often have guests who were invited into his study, and it was a bit of a relief to be able to put aside the act of being a good host for the few minutes it took Ven to look over the maps.

Jewel had tried, of course, to be fairly thorough in his choices. There was the Northwood map, of course, and the one of Northwatch in total, of Serendipity, of the northern countries, of the world itself... surely one of them would provide the information needed, right?

But as Jewel observed, half-watching and half-packing a smoking pipe, Ven seemed only more defeated. And then, very quickly, defeated turned into distress.

At the first 'no', Jewel sat up a bit straighter, pipe still unlit and brows furrowed in concern. Ven was looking at him oddly, accusing him of joking, and for the life of him Jewel could not understand why. The maps were there, they were in good shape, they had all the information that Jewel could possibly provide-- what was wrong?

Just as quickly, it seemed, the distress sank back into disappointment, and Ven put the maps back in their cases. Jewel considered what he could say in this moment. Was there anything that could be said? Jewel was good with illnesses and injuries, and what it took to soothe someone when they were bright with fever. But heartbreak was different, and none of his bedside manner seemed appropriate, here.

Jewel nodded immediately upon Ven's request. Tea. Tea, he could provide. Tea was easy.

"Of course you may. I'll return shortly."

Pipe completely forgotten, Jewel left both it and the satchel behind on the bench, and walked quickly to the study doors. He'd left his own cup out there by it, he realized, and picked the cup and saucer up on his way back down the narrow stairs to the kitchen. If he was going to make tea, he may as well brew himself a fresh cup as well.

It was never easy, not knowing what was wrong, and Ven seemed to have a lot going on in that category. His condition was a mystery, his past was a mystery, and now after all the trouble and the incarceration, even a map had not been of much help. While the kettle boiled, Jewel stared at the assortment of tins of tea leaves. Nothing in those tins could rid a man of (for lack of a more accurate term) vampirism, or memory loss.

Jewel took a breath, and brought a tin down from its shelf. It would provide no miracles, but it was full of his best leaves. That much comfort, he could give. He set about preparing a tray while the kettle boiled. Jewel hesitated for a moment, before deciding to include some dried fruits and nuts and cheeses to a plate, along with jars of of honey, cream and sugar. A bit more luxurious than he'd usually set out for himself, but a guest was a guest, and he was sure Aderyn would know if he'd done anything less.

She always knew.

Tea ready, Jewel brought the tray carefully up the stairs. He hesitated outside the doors of his study, considering one of the potted plants beside the door. Opting against offering up one of the poor things without a need to, Jewel instead brought the tray over to an empty table nearer to the bookshelves.

"I'd offer to serve you, Mr Ven, but that would put very little distance between us. Please help yourself to as much as you like."

Jewel retreated with his own cup to the window he had abandoned earlier, giving just that extra few feet of space and also allowing him to finally light his pipe.

"...Did you not recognize anything on the maps, then?"

Jewel-of-Northwood hurried out of the study for the tea. Ven watched him go. He was still so unaccustomed to such kindness. He did not know what to make of it. The man had invited him, grime and frightful appearance and all, into his home. Now he was off to fetch tea. Ven wondered if this Jewel fellow made a habit of collecting mangey strays. He supposed he was the same way with animals, once, when he could still be near them and tend to their wounds. He wondered if that was what it was. If he seemed just that pitiable.

It was not a particularly comforting thought.

He straightened up a bit and gazed around that magnificent room again. Yes. In another life, he would like very much to linger here in this treasure trove of ink and paper. To find a spot in a corner with a pile of books and read late into the night. The foreign script would prove frustrating at first, but...it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to learn a new one. He could do it, with some time. That was, if he lived here.

Ven moved around the study, hands clasped behind his back so as not to accidentally knock something priceless off a table. He began to hum that same tune again — the one that felt like home. It wasn't long until, in his absent-minded wandering, he found himself standing before a surface stacked with medicine jars, accompanied by a mortar and pestle of fine quality. He thought he recognized some of the herbs: a kind of mint, perhaps, and something like willow bark. He bent to examine them, his curiosity getting the better of him as always.

But something caught his eye instead. Something frightful. He straightened once more, thinking that perhaps he'd caught a glimpse of Mr. Jewel's distorted reflection in a nearby mirror. He found himself instead staring into the abyss of his own visage. He froze. His expression dropped like a stone. He had known that he looked like this. He recalled it from the fragments of before, but it was still just as disturbing to see it again. To know that this was all that was left of him: this cursed and ghastly corpse. The flecks of mud that had dried to his cheeks, and the smear of it at his temple, and the twigs in his tangled hair did not help matters much. He was a dreadful sight.

Ven heard the faint creak of stairs echo through the open door as the healer returned. Hastily, he wiped his face on one of the cleaner parts of his robe, rubbed at the smudge, and picked some of the larger bits of debris from his hair. Gods, he was a mess. He turned around in time to nod to Mr. Jewel as he entered, but not without looking a tad flustered.

"I'd offer to serve you, Mr Ven, but that would put very little distance between us. Please help yourself to as much as you like."

"I...yes," he replied a little too quickly. "Ah...thank you. I, ah...I hope I am not imposing overly much on your hospitality."

Ven waited for Jewel-of-Northwood to retreat to the window. He approached the tray. His eyes widened in alarm at the extent of the spread. There was honey, and cream, and some whitish sand that looked like (but surely was not) fine-milled salt. A pot of tea sat at the center next to a pretty cup, and on the side: a plate of carefully selected morsels. Even the tray was beautiful. He looked from it, to the intricate windows, to the furnishings, to Jewel-of-Northwood. He thought back to before: how this man held some authority at the jail. How he had seemed almost surprised when Ven asked his name. Of course. He could have kicked himself. Mr. Jewel was obviously someone important. How had he not seen it?

And now he was even more flustered, to be a filth-covered vagrant in the home of some high-born man. He clasped his hands in front of him this time, suddenly horrified at the prospect of imposing. He fidgeted. He cleared his throat. "Thank you. You really didn't need to go through this much trouble," he managed. "You are too generous, and...I find myself rather undeserving of it." Still, he poured himself a cup. He eyed the honey but decided against it. Were it his, he would polish off the jar in a sitting. But it was not his. So instead, he found himself a corner opposite the healer's perch, sat, and clutched the cup in his chilled hands. He breathed in the steam. He watched his reflection swirl on the surface.

"...Did you not recognize anything on the maps, then?" the man asked.

"Hmm?" Ven glanced up again, surprised. Had Mr. Jewel not seen it? That he couldn't read? "Ah. No. Not...not as such, no. But I thank you for your valiant effort, nonetheless." He sighed. He traced the rim of the teacup with his finger. "I may very well be chasing the wrong answers. Perhaps it doesn't matter at all why I am here. Perhaps an altogether wiser pursuit..."

Ven paused and tilted his head again. Yes. He'd been going about this quite foolishly, hadn't he?

"...would be to seek an end to this curse," he finished, and took a sip. He coughed. It was not at all what he'd been expecting. But it was not unpleasant, either. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Gods. Please excuse my manners. This tea is extraordinary."

He took another sip, lowered the cup to his lap, and regarded Jewel-of-Northwood curiously as the man puffed away by the window. "Ah...so. Mr. Jewel. Is there anything else I might be able to answer for you? Before I take my leave of your town, that is."

The pleasantries were uncomfortable. They always had been, if he were honest; there was just always a moment where the conversation shifted, where that extra note of politeness grew and settled neat as you please into the gulf that had widened, raw and ravenous, between them. At the very least, Mr Ven was being genuinely polite -- pleasantries were uncomfortable, but simpering was unbearable, and while something had clearly shifted in the time it took Jewel to make tea, at least it wasn't that.

Jewel drew on the stem of his pipe, and sighed deeply in a cloud of smoke. He watched as Mr Ven looked over the tray and took far less than what had been offered. Jewel noted the short flash of what could only be described as longing as Mr Ven considered the honey, but left with only tea. By mere inches more, the gulf widened again, a yawning thing filled with smoke and the sound of raindrops on glass.

Shaking off the sensation -- quickly, firmly -- Jewel returned to observing his guest. Some of the mess of his hair had been tended to, and he glanced to the side where the mirror hung on the wall. Mr Ven had seemed a bit anxious upon his return, and Jewel knew for a fact that mirror had been made with silver glass. His brow furrowed, and he tapped the stem of his pipe to his lips.

Vampires were not meant to be able to enter a home without an invitation. However, the place Mr Ven had broken into only fit the very loosest definition of a home, and so it was hardly a great signifier of one's undead condition. His pallor, of course, pale and frightening as it was, swung the pendulum of diagnosis very firmly back into the vampirism category, and Mr Ven had been quite hesitant to make it through Jewel's doorway.

But vampires did not tolerate silver, not even to reflect their image, as if their very essence rejected the mere idea. While Jewel had not personally observed the man using it, there had been some attempt by Mr Ven to clean up his appearance while standing in the general vicinity of that same mirror.

That much would need to be enough.

"Perhaps an altogether wiser pursuit would be to seek an end to this curse," Mr Ven had stated, and Jewel noted the slightest note of finality to the statement. It wasn't hopeful, not in the slightest, but rather... determined. That was good. Hope in patients could be crushed, but determination was a bit harder to be rid of. It went quite nicely along with stubbornness.

"My sister would say I brew it too strong," he said with a small gesture towards the tray, at the compliment to the tea. Aderyn had, on a few occasions, complained about his tea being enough to wake the dead. Fearghas, being a bit more used to the armored life, had said that that was often what you needed to do when you had soldiers to move.

Jewel hadn't mentioned how he usually only made it for himself.

"Ah...so. Mr. Jewel. Is there anything else I might be able to answer for you? Before I take my leave of your town, that is."

That snapped him back into the moment, the gulf shoved aside as his duty found its footing at the forefront of his mind.

"I suppose... you and I are looking for the same thing," Jewel said, smoke trailing from his lips with his words, "in the cure for your present affliction. However, the major roadblock, as I understand it and please correct me if I am wrong, is that you do not remember much of yourself."

As he spoke, Jewel felt the discomfort ease. Duty, he knew. Medicine, he knew. This, he knew. He had a patient, and for as long as that lasted, he could focus there.

"You know your name. You traveled from the north through the mountains. You know a song. You know how to feed your condition, which while unfortunate, is still another step in the right direction. So while you may not remember everything, Mr Ven, there are some things, and that is what will help us determine how best to proceed."

Ven chuckled at the healer's comment on the strength of the tea. "As a man who often forgets the leaves in the pot until hours later, I cannot rightly judge," he quipped. There was something disarming about such an admission from someone of means. The more he thought about it, the more Mr. Jewel did not seem the sort to put on airs, and that came as a relief. He shifted and crossed one leg over the other to make himself comfortable. He took another sip and savored that warm little cup. Truth be told, this was the calmest he'd felt since he'd arrived. But much as he wished to, he knew he shouldn't dawdle.

That nagging thought again vanished into the smoky air at the healer's very next words. He listened intently, his tea just as quickly forgotten in his hands. His expression shifted from confusion, to disbelief, before finally landing on something like amusement. He looked down at his boots and thought on what Mr. Jewel had said. "Hmmh," he began at last with a wry grin. "I thought that this all felt rather familiar." He met the man's startling gaze again. "Fate has a strange sense of humor. It seems that I've met my comeuppance at last as a patient in need of a medicine man."

Something echoed between his ears that he couldn't quite bring into focus. Something the man had said — or how he had said it. He set his foot back on the floor and leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his legs. Any semblance of polite posture was now long abandoned. "Mr. Jewel," he continued, and solemnity wound its way back into his tone. "You've been very kind. Kinder, I say again, than I deserve. And far be it from me to refuse help when offered. It is clear that I am out of my depths, but..."

Ven trailed off and sighed. He glanced down at the teacup, frowned at how little was left, and finished it off. He turned it over and over as he tried to find the right words. He still had the distinct impression that the healer was not as surprised or afraid of this curse as he ought to be, and that was a concerning thought. "I would hazard a guess," he began again, "that your everyday charge does not pose quite such a continuous and imminent danger to your life. Yet you don't blink at this, though your people certainly do. And I've yet to...I've yet to understand why."

He sat up straight again and looked away, once more rigid and proper and nervous. He hated admitting it. He hated being so in the dark about the ways of this world. He'd laughed off the idea that, once a medicine man, he had now become a patient, but truthfully he didn't like it at all. He was at the mercy of these people to teach him all that he did not know. It was shameful.

Ven scowled. None of this was important, of course. A wounded ego was a small price to pay for a cure. He cast a reluctant glance at the healer. "There is so much that I don't know. About this place, and the arcane, and..." He swallowed, looking mortified. "And to make matters worse, it seems that I cannot even read your script. So please. In plainest terms: what do you propose?"

Jewel's head cocked some as Ven commented on the humor behind being in the patient's chair. Well, there was another memory not lost - a medicine man. While he could not be absolutely certain what Ven's idea of 'medicine man' actually meant, it did give him some hope to the situation. Two healers, after all, were able to conduct far more work than just one.

He inspected his pipe, licked his teeth, and considered exactly how to explain himself. Explain any of this, really. But Ven had been truly acquiescing to Jewel's requests for both information and patience, and his trust deserved to be validated in some way. Didn't it?

"You're quite right, Mr Ven. You are... completely unlike anyone I've ever come across, in person or," he gestured around the room, "in books. Your condition is certainly one I would label as hazardous, and were you not already here, I would very much hesitate to bring you to my city. I am sure, if we were sitting in opposite seats as you are used to, you would likely feel quite the same way."

Jewel took a breath, and sighed it out. Tapped out his pipe into an ashtray on the windowsill, and began packing the bowl anew. Once it was alight, however, Jewel got to his feet and started pacing slowly, keeping to the wall opposite Ven to prevent any discomfort or agitation. He just needed to move, and the less he had to focus on looking at Ven directly as one did during civilized conversation, the better he could think.

"You are in the Northwood. The first map you saw," he gestured vaguely to the desk, "is of the Caer, the Wood, and the immediate areas beyond. The Wood is the seat of Northwatch. We are one of the northern provinces of the Queendom, duty-bound to guard our lands from invasion through the mountain passes. Northwood is... particularly difficult to wander through unless you are allowed to be there, and even so it shelters beings far more intimidating than yourself. One so ancient does not suffer trespassers lightly."

He moved his hands a bit in vague circles, as if chasing the best route for his words, turning each of them over and discarding several before he continued in a fresh plume of smoke.

"I suppose I propose exactly this. You do actually know quite a bit, Mr Ven," he said, his tone softening somewhat as he finally looked back to his guest, "and that will be our guide. You came through the mountains, you know how to travel, you are a healer as you said, and you know this is a strange land to you. You also know you are a danger, and that you cannot stay here."

Jewel tapped one of the map cases.

"I similarly cannot allow any harm to befall the beings of this province, nor any beyond us. Which, if you are made to stay beyond your ability to contain yourself, will happen. However, in your state, you are certainly not going to make it far without a sense of where to go and what not to do. Ranchers tend to get a bit... touchy... about their livestock all turning up dead. You will end up in jail, I suspect, and instead of my Caer, it will be another that suffers. So... I will simply have to go with you."

The more the man spoke, the further Ven's eyes widened in disbelief. "You...you're quite serious, aren't you?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. Then he fell silent, studied the floor, and dug at the lip of the cup with his thumbnail as he worked through his thoughts. At last, he leaned back again and met the healer's eye. "I cannot refute any of it, of course," he conceded. "You have a duty to rid your homeland of an invader, and that...resonates...in a way that I cannot seem to put into words." He chewed on the inside of his lip and bit back yet another warning. By now, Mr. Jewel had either grasped the danger to himself, or he had not. There was no sense in beating the point into him. And besides, he thought begrudgingly: he did desperately need the help. He could not refuse this. Not when it could mean an end to the curse.

"Very well."

Ven stood rather abruptly, cup still in hand, and regarded the man with alarming intensity. He would owe Mr. Jewel a life debt for this, and he held no fondness for the weight of that particular shackle. Still, it must be done. "I accept your terms, Mr. Jewel," he nodded. "And...I thank you."

Ven turned to look back at the door, but not without another longing glance at the teapot and the honey jar. "I should leave," he murmured, half to himself. "It isn't safe to linger." He eyed the healer and tilted his head. "My apologies that I cannot stay and help you pack for such a journey, but...the hunger is beginning to grow unbearable again. If I say I will wait for you outside the gates, will you trust me to keep my word? And...will your men let me pass?"

Jewel hummed quietly to himself. There was a question, wasn't it? Would Jewel be able to trust this man not to simply bolt, and would he be able to convince the other guards at the gate to not ask too many questions. He was sure the gossip had already spread - a vampire in Caer Northwood, wandering in cool as you please to slaughter an entire company.

No... no. It would be infinitely better, Jewel decided, if no one saw Ven leave the city. He looked to the window, considering the rain and the gloom, before looking back to Ven.

"Follow me."

Jewel moved back to the study doors, and made his way down the stairs to the first floor. Instead of going to the front door, however, he turned down the hall to the back of the house, past the kitchen and a sitting room, to get to a smaller door leading outside.

Knowing full well that he was going to have to explain himself to multiple people, Jewel led Ven out into the cold damp of the evening, his overgrown garden barely sparing the stone path that led through it all the way back to the city walls. The stone was slick and wrapped in thick, woody vines, the large green leaves seeming to curl when he laid his hand against the centermost stone.

"We need a way," he said, his voice lowering into a near-hum and the words slow to escape him, each consonant taking entire moments to finish between valleys of vowels. "Please."

At first, it certainly looked as if Jewel had gone completely insane, talking to a wall. But soon the sound of rain couldn't hide the rumbling of stone against stone, the vines curling back and away as the rocks rolled and parted, still a part of the wall but presenting a conveniently man-sized hollow out into the dark green of the Wood. Jewel stepped back and turned to Ven, his brows set and serious.

"I am choosing to trust you, Mr Ven. There is an outcrop, just a small distance straight ahead," he pointed out into the treeline, "that will provide shelter from the rain. Please, go there, give the clearing your name and mine, and I will find you again once I've finished preparations."

Jewel-of-Northwood set off down the stairs, and after allowing himself one final moment to take in that magnificent study, Ven followed, teacup still in hand. He paused as they reached the landing. "Ah...I'll be but a moment," he muttered sheepishly, and hurried into the man's kitchen to set the cup on the counter there. He knew it was likely a rude thing to do, but...he thought it would be ruder still not to at least try to clean up after himself. He returned to the foyer and shot an embarrassed glance at the healer before going through the habitual motions of hiding his face.

But they did not go out the front. Instead, Mr. Jewel led him to the back of the house, and through another door, and out into his garden. Well, Ven thought. That answers one question. He wondered if this strange high-born healer did not have enough sway to talk him out the front gates. Whatever was happening, Mr. Jewel intended to keep it a secret. Though at the moment, the man seemed rather more preoccupied with the very solid wall before him.

"Do you...need me to climb? I can try to climb," Ven murmured. Mr. Jewel did not answer, and instead spoke to the wall itself. His voice was strange as he said it. There was a moment where the two of them stood in rain-drenched silence and stared at the place that he had touched. Then, to Ven's astonishment, just as he opened his mouth to fill that silence, the wall gave way. A gaping maw of brick and mortar and vine had opened, and beyond lay the deep, dark woods. Ven stared at it, jaw wagging in wordless amazement beneath his mask. Before he could ask, the man spoke up.

"I am choosing to trust you, Mr Ven," said Jewel-of-Northwood. "There is an outcrop, just a small distance straight ahead, that will provide shelter from the rain. Please, go there, give the clearing your name and mine, and I will find you again once I've finished preparations."

"I...yes." Ven stood a little straighter, eyes glittering beneath his hood. "I will not betray it." He frowned as the instructions caught up with him. "My name and yours? I...see." He nodded. "I shall endeavor to do whatever it is correctly, though I am not a man of your talents."

He started towards the hole in the wall and set a hand on the jagged edge of the brick. He stopped. The man should know. It would not do to hide things. "Mr. Jewel," he added, and he could not keep the acerbic self-disgust from tainting his tone. "I must hunt soon. If you arrive and cannot find me...I shall return to that place as soon as I can. I give you my word." With that, he disappeared through the hole and into the black of night.

The dark made travel painfully slow. By what little moonlight filtered through the clouds, he could just make out the trunks of the trees before him. He was miserable again, and his only consolation was that the demon had finally stopped rattling to feast on nearby prey. Still, it was not even an hour before his path widened and he stumbled upon the clearing that Mr. Jewel had spoken of. Beyond it, barely visible in the night, an outcropping of boulders made for a sorry little shelter. "Mm," Ven opined. It was not the worst place he had had to wait out a storm, but...

He sighed and cleared his throat. "Avendego-i-Pereten and Jewel-of-Northwood," he announced. Then he stood and waited. And waited still. Nothing happened. He began to feel like quite the fool. "Avendego-i-Pereten and Jewel-of-Northwood," he said again, louder this time. Again, nothing. "Hmmmh," he grumbled. The outcropping was beginning to seem more inviting the longer he stood shivering in the rain. Finally, he gave up, and marched towards that gap in the rocks.

He found it dry enough, though he thought it could use a nice, warm fire. Ven tore his mask down and patted around, thinking that perhaps these folk left emergency caches, but found nothing. He sighed and looked back. He did not want to be in the rain any longer, but...he should hunt. And gather firewood, too, if he could find any dry enough. He fumbled with his belt buckle, slid the belt bag off, and set it squarely in the center of the shelter. Then, reluctantly, he started towards the clearing again.

The forest made for a ripe hunting ground, and Ven made quick work of sating the horrid thing within him. The process was revolting. It never got any easier. It would be one thing if he hunted as a living man would, and brought back food for his village. This...this was ugly. Unnatural. By the time he made it back to the shelter, he was in a foul mood, and he trembled from the horror of what he had done. He entered, stumbled over his belt bag, dropped his firewood everywhere, and swore loudly. In a way, it was good that Mr. Jewel still had not arrived, for Ven would not be pleasant company at this particular moment. Muttering acerbically, he picked up the wood and got to work.

The forest was lonely, once the wall settled back in place. But for a few fallen leaves, there was no sign that the hole had ever existed. The sense of being watched, however, could only grow, beginning at the wall and where the vines had lost their hard-won leaves, and growing ever more potent the further into the trees he went. The sense of watchful unease seemed to permeate even the brambles, their thorns sharpening to long daggers the closer Ven got to them.

The clearing remained peaceful even after Ven returned from his hunt, though the space was considerably less on edge than the surrounding wilds had been at his passing. Under the stone, the watchful feeling faded somewhat, and even the trees that circled the glade seemed to relax their branches from where they had previously strained to keep away from the stranger's touch. As the rain stopped, there even came the sounds of the usual nocturnal creatures, each one popping out of whatever warm, safe space they had found to rummage in the undergrowth, or watch from the branches above for their next meal. A few feet away, an owl screeched, repeating the high sound every few moments.

And then, as sudden as the shattering of glass, all sound stopped.

A number of beetles scurried in a wave to get under the stone shelter Ven shared, disappearing into whatever crevices they could find as fast as their tiny segmented legs could carry them. Grasses swayed short and quick as mice ran back to their holes, tiny hearts hammering wildly as they burrowed in and stared at the opening as if waiting for the end.

From the direction of Ven's hunt, something heavy moved through the undergrowth, rattling the lowest branches as it passed. The sound of ripping meat shortly followed, the whatever-it-was apparently finding the remnants of where Ven had been, and falling upon the meal with gusto. Once the ripping sounds stopped, then came the snaps and pops of breaking bones, and finally the scratching and clawing of dirt.

After a painfully tense amount of time, the devouring ceased, and the whatever-it-was stepped heavily along, growing closer to the clearing until it finally broke the treeline on the opposite end of the rock shelter. A large muzzle breathed deep and huffed, sniffing the air before lingering, watchful and patient, by the rocks. Even more insects scrambled to hide, then, spiders and worms alike racing over Ven's boots to get further inside and Away.

The thing sniffed again, gave a low chuckle, and slowly carried on through the clearing, passing through the trees until all sound of it faded from even the sharpest hearing. The surroundings didn't lower their guard for quite some time after that, and while the beetles bravely crawled out to continue their business, the owl did not return, nor did the mice.

Lighter, much quieter footsteps approached, then, and Jewel stepped into the clearing. His uniform tabard had been abandoned in favor of a well-worn cloak that blended much more readily with the surrounding greenery, a satchel and bow on his back and a quiver at his hip.

"I apologize for my delay," he said, quietly, stooping down under the shelter while giving as much space as he could to Ven. "My leaving was not as easily managed as I had anticipated."

The fire would not light.

Of course, Ven thought bitterly. Why should anything go my way? Then he grimaced, and guilt weighed at him for even thinking that at all. Something had gone his way: someone had decided to help him. Someone who seemed very competent, in fact. So he shouldn't be so sour and ungrateful, even if the night was a dismal one.

He patted around in the dark, found his matchbox, and tried again. For the briefest moment, the match flared and threw his surroundings into stark relief. Every stone cast a sharp blade of shadow out into the night. He glanced down at the box in time to read the ornate lettering, as he'd done countless times before. "The Mizzen," it said. There was a little image of a broken-masted ship below the words, along with a rude depiction of a mermaid. At the very bottom corner, someone had carved their initials: D.F. The box was not his. And he certainly did not know a D.F.

Then the match began to sputter and dim, and he jolted back to the task at hand. But it was no use. The driest moss he'd found was still too wet, and so was the kindling. With a heavy sigh, Ven abandoned the idea. He would just have to make do with the dark and the cold.

A beetle scurried over his hand. He brushed it away. Then it did it again, and he brushed it away again. Now there were two more, and one climbing over his boot. He frowned. This cave was not infested when he entered it. The creatures had not been here a moment ago when he had lit the match. He thought about lighting another one to get a better look at his surroundings, but decided against wasting them. And besides, wherever they had come from, the beetles seemed to have gone again. All was quiet, now. Unnervingly quiet. Ven cocked his head and listened. He was certain that, moments ago, an owl had made its perch near this cave, yet now it had gone silent.

Crashing in the distance. An almighty, sickening crunch, as flesh rent and bone snapped. He thought of the circle of death that he had all too recently left in his wake. Something had found it and feasted on the corpses. A bear? No. By the sound of it, it was far too massive to be any creature that he knew of. His stomach dropped out from under him and he waited, frozen in place, as he tried to discern what was happening. If the worst came to it, he would let the demon lash out at whatever beast it was. He would be safe, in the end. But that thought did not comfort him overly much...especially now that the thing drew closer.

Thunderous footsteps echoed around him. The very ground vibrated. With one final crash, the beast broke into the clearing. Had it tracked him by scent? It was too close, now. He had to do it. Ven swallowed a thick lump down his throat, focused, and let the demon quest outwards. It was curious, at first. Cautious and uncertain, like a caged animal that did not truly believe that it had been freed. It touched the pebble-souls of the insects and rodents that hid between the rocks and beneath the ground, but there was nothing that felt large enough to be —

"AAGH!"

An all-consuming, white-hot agony tore through his body. It was like he had reached out and grasped the sun itself. The demon shut itself away of its own accord, repulsed by that blinding power. Past the lingering shock, Ven heard the beast outside draw closer still, until it stuck its head near the entrance to the cave. It waited. It had heard him, or sensed him, or both. He was trapped. He was dead. Ven closed his eyes and swallowed again, gripping the frigid rocks beneath him. He did not want to go like this. Not just when he had a glimmer of hope.

He had not known true fear for a very long time, but that fear gripped him now, ancient and primal, and held him paralyzed, suspended in time, as he awaited oblivion.

"I apologize for my delay."

"Hnngh — " Ven jolted, throwing an arm in front of him as though that would save him from the monster...wait. No. His eyes snapped open. He peered over his outstretched hand. He could just make out the silvery outline of a man. A normal, mortal, man. He released a shuddering breath and did his best to compose himself. When he spoke, his throat was tight. His voice shook. "There is something out there," he managed between shallow, ragged gasps. "Something that I can't...I couldn't...it...what is this place? I...you should run. Hide. Please. It isn't safe."

Jewel froze in place, just as he was bending to set down his satchel and perhaps even sit on a bit of rock. He thought quickly about something that he might have forgotten - Ven needed space, it was important to not get too close, but what else had Jewel missed that would cause the man to flinch so badly?

"There is something out there," Ven said, panicked and quick. Jewel let go of the satchel strap, letting it settle on a dry patch of ground as he just as quietly drew his bow. Above his head, a very quiet rattle sounded, like bits of pebbles knocking together in a whisper. Jewel slipped back out into the clearing, and carefully scanned the perimeter. The trees were still. The grass was still. Indeed, there didn't seem to be a sign of anything moving in the gloom. He stepped to the side, eyes lowered to the dirt, where they soon fixed on a large imprint in the mud. A very large, very fresh imprint.

Sealgaire ocrach.

Jewel drew in a deep breath, and sighed it out. He carefully walked back to the opening again, ducking low to gather his satchel once more.

"--It isn't safe."

"This is the Northwood, Mr Ven. There is much here that has been alive far longer than any of us, and will be here long after we are gone." He looked up at the sound of pebbles again, his mouth pulling into a tight grimace shortly after. "...But you are right. It would be better for us to not linger."

He eyed the floor, where there had been some attempt at gathering wood and moss into a neat pile. The wet had made it moot, of course, but he did have to applaud the attempt. The little bit of pale wood with a burnt end was curious, and he plucked it up without thinking, turning it over in his hand before letting it drop again.

"We'll need to move through the night. There is an old fortress, beyond the western edge of the Wood. It'll be good shelter and away from passersby, we can rest there." He looked to the other man, paused, and let his tone drop in a gentle fashion, "I promise I will get you safely there, Mr Ven. Please, follow me."

Jewel stepped back out of the outcrop once more, and set a hand on the smoothest part of the surface. As with the wall, his voice dropped into the same slow rumble, and as before the stone rumbled back.

"She says thank you for not squishing the bugs."

Jewel-of-Northwood responded to Ven's concern as though he'd been informed of the presence of one well-known and ornery mountain goat, and not some massive and otherworldly monster. Even as he drew a bow and sought the source of that noise, the man was strangely calm. So. This truly was a regular occurrence to these folk. Jewel had said as much in his study, but Ven had not fully grasped what it meant until now: that this forest and its creatures were strange and dangerous in a way that made the bears and moose and wildcats of Ven's homeland seem like docile beasts in a fairytale for children. He swallowed audibly, still frozen in place at the very back of the shelter, as Mr. Jewel informed him of the plan. He nodded.

"Yes. Alright," he managed, and began to pick himself up off of the pile of rock that he had pressed himself into like a limpet. He retrieved the not-his-matchbox and stowed it in a pocket, then ducked out the mouth of that shallow cave and into the clearing. As he passed close to the man, he could feel it: his hunting had done its work. It was a small comfort, but he was glad of it.

Ven had just enough time to begin to lament the loss of his walking stick, and the labor involved in carving yet another, when Jewel spoke up.

"She says thank you for not squishing the bugs."

Ven startled. "Hh — what?" He glanced between the man and his hand, then back at the man again. He thought back to the wall in the garden. The pieces began to coalesce. Very briefly, he wondered if it was rude to ask, but his nerves and curiosity got the better of him. "You...you speak to the stone, don't you?" he blurted out. "And the spirits in the stone speak back." His jaw worked up and down as he processed the implications of this revelation: that the stone itself was alive. And that the beliefs of his own people — beliefs that he had long held a lofty skepticism towards — were true. If not in his homeland, then here, at least, in this place that dwelled somewhere on the edge between dream and nightmare.

Something about this new information had overridden his fear of the monster. He looked the outcropping over as he mulled how best to ask the many questions that now bubbled within him. "How?" he added.

Jewel's skin prickled, a static shock of feeling running over his arms and condensing in his chest as the sheer embarrassment of drawing that much attention settled in. Because of course Ven wouldn't know anything about it, foreigners rarely did, and Jewel knew that. If he'd thought for more than a second, he might not have said anything at all.

But then, that would have been terribly rude, because the message had been said for Ven, and there was very little chance of the man understanding all on his own. Jewel chewed at his cheek, and turned to make sure he had everything still packed away in his satchel just to give him something else to focus on. A quick glance showed that Ven's feet were still pointed towards him, and he took a breath in preparation.

"It's not the stone. Not just stone, anyway." Jewel gestured for Ven to follow as he strode away opposite the path Sealgaire ocrach had created, footsteps light and quiet as he stepped over large, bulbous roots.

"I can talk to the Neighbors. Well... I can understand them, they tolerate my accent, mostly, it's awful. The one in the garden I've known for years, Caomhnóir, same with her, Mháthair bheag-- careful of the mud, there." Jewel ducked around a low-hanging branch, and soon settled on a narrow trail that was barely visible amongst the lush undergrowth, "The ones outside the wall, they don't know much Trader, usually. I've tried teaching a few wisps but they just want to play games and carry on, you know. Too young."

Ven fell in behind the healer.

"Neighbors," he echoed. Was it their word for spirits? If so, it was a curious one, for it spoke more of symbiotic coexistence than of offerings and worship. "...But they are not of one object?" he continued as he wove through the underbrush. He held an arm up to keep the low branches from whipping him in the face. One did anyways, and he sputtered and spat out needles. It did not deter his singular train of thought. "I mean to say — the spirit in the stone is not just a stone spirit? ...And was that monster a Neighbor, too?"

The thought unnerved him. He recalled again that white-hot not-a-soul that had seared him and sent the demon reeling. Were all of these Neighbors so powerful? The more he considered it, the more he felt very small. He was but a mouse in this forest, and so, it seemed, was Mr. Jewel. He picked up his pace and followed the man as closely as he safely and comfortably could.

"Careful of the mud, there."

Ven did mind the mud, though the futility of it wasn't lost on him. Any effort that he had put into picking twigs from his hair and brushing dirt from his clothes was now erased by more of the same. "I don't think I can be any muddier than I am already," he replied wryly. "Ah...though...I am sorry again about your floors. And...that you had to leave such a nice place to trudge through these woods." He trailed off at the end. Until now, he had been so preoccupied with his own predicament that he had hardly realized what a burden he was. The man hadn't even slept before setting off into the night. Ven had not seen him eat, either. And though he hadn't caught sight of a wife or children in that wondrous house, he doubted that this Jewel-of-Northwood's absence would go entirely unnoticed.

And here he was, asking about the nature of the world like some babbling child. Ven cleared his throat awkwardly. He resolved, from here on, to keep his questions to a minimum. He would keep his senses perked for signs of danger, and he would help the man get where he was going as quickly as possible this night. He squared his shoulders. Yes. That was better.

"You don't need to be sorry. I like trudging through the Wood." Jewel looked over at him to spare a quick but genuine smile, before returning to concentrating on the trail. His head moved on a constant swivel, this way and that, and he pointed now and again to alert Ven of particularly tall roots or a deep pit of mud and leaves. In the rain's absence, the overwhelming scent of green and earth rose up, and Jewel breathed deep the petrichor.

He really liked trudging through the Wood. Lack of sleep or proper rest had hardly stopped him before, and while he had made sure to make his home exactly how he wanted it, there really was no replacing the feel of bark beneath his hand or the sensation of soft earth beneath his boots. If he was being honest with himself, Ven just provided an extremely convenient excuse.

Still, the poor man did look rather miserable. A couple more glances solidified that particular theory-- he'd gone very silent and stoic, and while Ven was not complaining of the mud or the cold, it could hardly have been so pleasant for him. After all, his only time in proper shelter had been a prison and a brief look at some maps.

The branches of the trees creaked overhead, moving with the passing of wind above the canopy. Now and again, moonlight peeked through the cover of clouds, catching only where it could be best reflected in puddles and waxy leaves. It was not yet dawn by the time the trees began to thin, bush and vine choking for the extra space granted by just that much more sky. Eventually even that faded, and Jewel stepped from the last of the treeline to look over the rolling rocky hills of the highlands.

Jewel stopped, and pointed to one such hill, where a thick stone fort struck a silhouette against the slowly lightening sky.

"There it is. Not much further, now."

His earlier enthusiasm was by this point losing the battle to his need for rest, and so he hurried them along until they were climbing the staired path up to the fort's doors. The wood had long rotted away, leaving only the frame in which the door had previously stood, and moss threatened to overtake much of what remained. Still, the roof held strong even after being abandoned so long ago, and Jewel led his patient inside to where the walls could provide a much better shelter against the wind and the damp.

He looked around, made a soft 'aha' sound, and pulled a stone from where it rested amongst a particularly stubborn bit of bramble that had wormed its way through the cracks. He pulled two bags from the cache, and brought them over to the clear spot on the fort floor, where he rolled out a leather mat and woolen blanket for each of them.

"Would you see if there's still some good firewood somewhere? Might still be a chair or two left."

Jewel-of-Northwood had to be the first...civilized...man he'd met who claimed to enjoy leaving the comforts of a warm, dry home in favor of a cold, dark, soggy forest. No — by that smile, he genuinely did enjoy it. Indeed, Mr. Jewel continued to challenge many of Ven's assumptions. The man had quickly become another line in a long mental list of enigmas, noted just below the arcane, spirits, and being chased and yelled at for being a "vem-pyre". All of this was not to say that Ven disliked the wilderness. On the contrary, he much preferred it to the stench and the cacophony and the nonsense rules of city life. He simply needed to dry off and be more man than mud and detritus again. And to have a hot bath. And to sit by a fire with some tea and a pile of too many biscuits and a book that he could actually read.

For now, though, Mr. Jewel had promised a shelter and rest, and that would have to be enough. And, when they finally broke free from the underbrush and gazed out over an eternity of windswept hills under a vast predawn sky, the man pointed to such a shelter. He sounded weary. Ven could not blame him. Yet that old fort called to him: a distant echo of a feeling that he could not define. It was like...an old friend, somehow. Like home. And so, as the healer burnt through the last of his energy, Ven redoubled his own pace, intent on answers to a question that had not yet coalesced.

The door was gone. The view from the top was all wrong. So was the shape of the fort, and the stone that had been used to raise it. The air smelled different, too: less tree and snow, more rock and soil. Still, as Ven's fingers slid across the rough wall, he felt a tingle at the back of his neck. "I could swear..." he murmured. His voice echoed against the ceiling. Behind him, on the other side of that cavernous room, Jewel-of-Northwood dug around for a cache.

"Would you see if there's still some good firewood somewhere? Might still be a chair or two left."

"Hmm?" Ven snapped to again. Of course. He could mull this uncanny feeling over once the man had settled in to rest. For now, a fire was the most pressing matter. "Ah. Yes. My apologies, I...let me look." He stooped and felt his way along the wall until he found a recess in which layers of heavy, tarred canvas had been packed tight. The former occupants had clearly wanted to keep something bone-dry. It seemed as likely a spot as any. "Here, I think," he called over his shoulder. Then, wary of the spiders that had no doubt made their home beneath the tarpaulin, he pulled the bundle out and dragged it across the floor towards the long-dead hearth.

"There is fatwood here, by the smell. And other kindling. And the larger pieces are quite dry," Ven reported with a note of admiration. He straightened up and glanced over at Mr. Jewel, who had laid two bedrolls out. It was a kind gesture, but... "Mm," Ven added. The man did not know. Well. At least he would be all the more comfortable for it. In the meantime, Ven stacked wood for the fire, building it in such a way that they would not burn through their supplies in half a day. When it was time, he produced that same, strange box, struck a match on the side of the hearth, and carefully lit the pile of dry grasses and kindling.

"I thank you, but I cannot sleep," he said at last. "Exposure will not do me any harm. You should take both." He watched the flames lick the kindling. The fatwood burst to life. Finally, it seemed that the risk had passed of their fire fizzling out. He stood again and, out of sheer habit, began to seek a kettle. Surely these people had their priorities straight when it came to tea and stew and bathing. He made for the recess in the wall again and began to dig around. "Mr. Jewel," he grunted, his cloak rolled up over his shoulder and his hand driven halfway into the cache. His fingers closed around a spiral of something cold. A handle. He tugged. It was a small iron kettle, and it was oiled well against the elements. "Good. Yes. Ah...is there a spring nearby? Some source of water? I find myself in need of tea again."

"Ah, excellent," Jewel said in regards to the firewood. That would burn much better than half-rotted and forgotten furniture, and he continued to set up their rest area while Ven tended to the hearth to get them some much needed dryness and warmth. Jewel only paused as Ven mentioned his inability to sleep.

Brows knit, Jewel looked up from his task to consider him.

"You... cannot sleep?" He had not heard of anything or anyone that did not require at least some form of it.

Another element to his mystery ailment? Or had that been something in existence before? A question amongst many to answer, it would seem. Jewel hummed in thought, and then dug through his own satchel to pull out a stack of paper sewn between two wooden boards, and a piece of charcoal formed into a pencil.

He was sharpening the latter into a more usable point when Ven asked for a source of water. Jewel paused, thinking of the last he'd come to this little fort, and then nodded in memory.

"There is a well. It is out in the remnants of the courtyard," he gestured to the open door, "around to the left. Just be careful, I'm not sure how steady the stone is anymore."

The last thing Jewel wanted was the poor man falling to his death at the bottom of the well. That would be a very unfortunate loss of life in a very silly way, and for some reason Jewel could not shake the idea that such a passing was entirely too undignified for the other man. Perhaps it was the way Ven spoke, or perhaps it was simple wishful thinking. After all, no one liked considering humiliating deaths, at least not for anyone they personally held in any kind of esteem.

"...And that stone is not a Neighbor, so it cannot be asked for a kindness." Jewel added as an afterthought, giving an apologetic sort of smile.

He returned to sharpening the charcoal, and once he was finally satisfied with the point, he moved to sit a bit closer to the hearthfire, both for warmth and for better light. Opening the papers, Jewel selected a fresh page and began his notations.

Patient arrived in care as a consequence of a minor criminal offense. 

Initial refusal of care: citation of an underlying Malady presenting a danger to other life forms. 

• Patient states physical distance is optimal for prevention of harm to other life forms.
• Patient states the need to siphon life from other entities. Includes plantlife, insectlife, animallife, and humanlife in scope of consumption. Other forms of life yet undetermined.

Physical symptoms:
Patient has refused closer examination, due to the nature of the Malady.
Patient possesses some peculiar physical characteristics:

• Ocular region affected

• Generally pale and ashen complexion
• Patient states immunity to illness and injury relating to extended exposure to the elements. Patient was visibly exposed to weather (rain, mud, cold) without apparent detriment to overall health.
• Unknown if this is a normal presentation, or a result of the Malady
• Observation of physical activity suggests a general good health.

Cognitive symptoms:

• Patient is able to speak clearly, with affectation suggesting no detriment to his reasoning capabilities.
• Patient is unable to read Serenian script, while understanding Serenian spoken language. Patient seemed to be surprised by this, suggesting that he is normally able to read.
• Patient is mobile, with no evidence of difficulties with fine motor skills.
• Patient expresses a lack of need to sleep?

Primary symptom is a form of amnesia:

• Patient is able to freely recall his own name
• Patient is incapable of recalling his homeland, but is able to recognize that he is not presently in his homeland.
• In addition to the above: Patient possesses some general cultural knowledge. Patient sang a song, but stated that he could not recall if it was a song from his homeland. Song was not identified. Patient has expressed surprise at Neighbor presence - it is unlikely that patient's point of origin is within the Queendom or surrounding lands. Patient was not able to recognize points on several maps provided.

Key point: Patient was not taken by the Northwood during trespassing period.
Further information is needed.

Good. There was water. Perhaps now he could feel a little more like himself. With a considerable degree of effort, Ven lifted the heavy kettle and made for the open door. He paused in the archway, hand pressed again to the cold stone as the healer reassured him that the well was not inhabited by a spirit. "Thank you," he replied. "I shall return shortly."

He had expected the bucket to be rotted, the chain rusted, the well dry. It was miraculously, however, in serviceable condition, and the water that he drew forth from it was clear. Dragging the full kettle back took some doing. He stopped frequently and cursed its weight, and each time, that drudgery brushed against some vestige of the before. Every second spent on this windswept hill, within this ancient fort, stoked that uncanny feeling that he had been here before. That this was the echo of a place that he had known intimately and found safety in.

Finally, Ven managed to return to the hearth and, wincing and skirting Mr. Jewel as best as he could, he hoisted the kettle to hang above the fire. He stepped back and wiped his hands on his cloak. "There," he panted. "Good. Ah...tea. Hmm." He rifled through his satchel, shoving the clutter this way and that as he searched for a particular jar. He shot the man an embarrassed look as he withdrew it. "You are welcome to some, if you would like. Though...this is not nearly of the kind or quality that you shared with me earlier. And...we haven't any cups." He seemed hesitant even to offer, as though he was certain that Mr. Jewel would take offense to peasant tea drunk from a kettle. Grumbling a little beneath his breath, he set the jar on the stone mantle, left the water to boil, and found a less-damp patch of floor on which to sit and pass the time.

Minutes passed in silence. Ven spent them craning his neck and peering up at the ceiling, wondering why it did not look right, and why he should know what it was supposed to look like before. All the while, that scratching of charcoal against paper played a comforting and familiar tune. This much was right. The sound, and how it echoed in this cavernous space, was what it should have been. Ven glanced over at Mr. Jewel, his curiosity getting the better of him. "May I ask what you are writing?"

Jewel was locked in thought. Honestly, he should have been taking the time to rest, get some actual sleep, you know, the basics of being a functional human being right up there with drinking water and eating food.

But the puzzle of it all was too compelling. If he'd just gone straight to sleep he'd have been tossing and turning for hours, he just knew it. If he could at least get the start of it down, perhaps that would be enough to where he wasn't left thinking endlessly on the Malady. A Malady that robbed a man of his memories, of his capacity to be near others -- without thinking, Jewel scooted his seat to the right to move from the hearth as Ven returned -- and the capacity for things like sleep.

A basic of being a functional human being. A normal infection of this sort would have killed him in days. Besides, normal infections didn't typically grant one life-stealing abilities.

So, magical.

Magical curses were all well and good, and they could involve any number of impossible things. But was that what was happening here? Why would a curse be bestowed when it had such capacity for additional damage? Why bother removing memories?

Ven's path had taken him from the north, into the Wood. A magical curse stemming from the Connlaothians was a laughable one. Sure, some of them could be outright maniacs at the best of times, but the utilization of magic to inflic a curse of this sort was out of the question.

Well, that was of course assuming--

"We haven't any cups." Ven had said, and Jewel was pulled from the thread of theory he'd been clawing at like a ball of yarn. Humiliatingly, he realized that Ven had said much more than just the observation of their lack of teacups, and Jewel cleared his throat a bit to help shake off his sense of embarrassment of being so rude.

"Cups... ah. A moment," he closed the book and set the pencil atop it on the bedroll Ven would not be using, and pulled over his own satchel. He dug around a bit (while imagining Lochlann scoffing at the lack of organization to a man's travel pack), before pulling out a folded metal tin. A quick pull of the latch and it opened, with Jewel holding out the cup that had been nestled inside along with some basic cutlery.

"I've only the one, I'm afraid, but please, you first." He set it on the end of the bedroll nearest where Ven was, before retreating back with his notations. Still the break in thought had done its job, and he realized just how exhausted he truly was. Further pondering, it seemed, would have to wait.

Jewel was midstretch, grunting softly at the pop in his shoulders and upper back as he moved, when Ven asked about his book.

"Ah, it's my notes. I often think better on a case when I've been able to write it out a bit. You've got quite the conundrum to figure out."

"Notes," Ven repeated. "On wh...Oh." He stared unblinkingly at the healer as it caught up to him: they were a medicine man's notes, and he the subject of them. He shrunk a little in place and turned away to find anything else to bestow with rapt attention. The kettle would do. "Ah. Well. Yes," he replied helpfully as he got to his feet and leaned to check the water, even though he knew full well that it was a long way from boiling. "Thank you for the cup," he added.

Ven stood there for as long as he could manage to look busy doing nothing, then fidgeted and faced Mr. Jewel again. He thought he should be useful, after all, instead of shying away from being a patient. He drew breath, intending to finally put words to what this fortress evoked in him so that it might be added to the notes, only to lay eyes on the man and see the exhaustion plain in his posture. Then and there, his intent to be a good patient died on the spot.

"Hmm. That is enough of that, I think," he said instead, inclining his head towards the book. A note of gruff authority had snuck its way into his tone. "I have not seen you eat since we met. Tobacco and tea are not sustenance, Mr. Jewel. And you should sleep, too."

The night really had been a long one. For a moment, Jewel was under the very real impression that he had not left the city walls at all, and was instead back in the castle getting tutted at for a bit of mud on his shirt. Ven's posture and tone were almost a carbon copy, really.

He took a breath, and let it out in a soft laugh. Jewel shut the book and tucked it away along with the pencil, before raising his hands up to show he had, in fact, stopped writing. Ven was right, of course. He hadn't had anything but the tea, and by this hour he'd be frying something up for breakfast.

"I promise I will not wither away just from one eventful night, Mr Ven." He gave the other man as reassuring a smile as he could muster in his fatigue, "But... it is a long road ahead of us."

Jewel turned to his pack once more, and withdrew two parcels wrapped tight in linen and tied shut. The first he set on the empty bedroll, and gave Ven a gesture to take it. The second he worked to unwrap, mindful of the contents now that they were less secure, and spread out the cloth in his lap. A few berries nearly escaped, and he had to make a quick grab to make sure they didn't just roll off into the dirt. That handful he quickly popped in his mouth, shortly followed by a bite of cheese and a bit of cured meat.

"I apologize there isn't more," he said, gesturing with his chin at Ven's parcel, "short notice departure, and all. I can hunt for us, the further we go. My intent is to keep us as far from people as possible, given your condition, so I'm afraid I won't be able to replace the cheese as often as we may like."

Ven was, quite frankly, surprised that Mr. Jewel listened. But he was grateful, nonetheless. He knew firsthand that a medicine man made for the very worst of patients, and he had expected that stubbornness of the man. "No," he conceded. "I'm sure you are made of stronger stuff, if you're content to sleep in such a place. But if I must doctor the doctor due to his own negligence..." He trailed off and breathed a little laugh through his nose. "I have a terrible bedside manner. Let it be known."

The water began to boil. Ven turned to lift it from the hook, carried it to his dry patch of floor, and set it down before moving to retrieve his jar of tea. Then he sat down and went quiet for a time while he carefully measured out just enough from his dwindling supply to call it tea at all, grunting in dismay at what was left in the bottom. He muttered something bitter-sounding in a rhythmic language that Mr. Jewel could not have known, then corked the jar and nestled it back in his pack. When he looked up again, there was a packet of food on the spare bedroll, and Jewel had gotten to work on his own.

Ven eyed the packet, then glanced at his companion. He grimaced. "I thank you. You've been quite thoughtful. But...would you believe me if I said I did not need it, either? Though...I suppose it means more cheese for you. And that is never a bad thing to hear." He slouched over the steaming kettle again and watched the leaves unfurl, and he fell back into thought. The man had brought up their travels several times now...yet he had never quite answered Ven's question.

"I know you intend to spare your people my presence. On that, we are agreed. But have you a destination? Where exactly are you taking me, Mr. Jewel?"

Jewel waited and watched, as Ven measured out his tea and brewed the meager amount he had. He should have thought to pack some, he truly should have... but the swiftness that they had left Caer Northwood has rendered him incapable of thinking of little luxuries like tea. It wasn't as if Jewel was leading them along a populated road, either, where they might want to stop and restock. Alas, like so many things, Mr Ven would have to go without.

Jewel could have kicked himself, for that.

He'd just have to keep an eye out. There was plenty that grew in the wild hills, after all, and would only become more bountiful the further south they went, away from the difficult earth at the root of the mountains.

Jewel was pulled from his thoughts, however, as Ven refused the rations. His brows rose at yet another impossible revelation, and he eyed the other man for a long moment.

"I believe there is a jest to be made here, regarding subsisting only on tea." He said, after a moment, his mouth quirking into a smile. He ate another handful of his rations, before folding them up and tucking both packets away into his satchel. At the very least, that meant a bit less effort hunting for food, in their travels. He could look after himself, and they could mind the Malady in the meanwhile.

"I know you intend to spare your people my presence. On that, we are agreed. But have you a destination? Where exactly are you taking me, Mr. Jewel?"

Ah, now there was a question. Jewel hummed a bit, before removing a map from his satchel and rolling it out.

"This is the three kingdoms," he began, tapping the northern segment of the map where mountain ranges flanked a long corridor. "Connlaoth, over the mountains, there. Serendipity, where we are now. Adela, to the south across the Ora."

Jewel traced each area as he spoke, before returning to the middle segment and tapping just south of the mountain passes that separated Connlaoth from Serendipity.

"We're here, still in Northwatch and will be for days, still. Given your condition, we will want to keep to the west. I may have some small influence, but there is very little I can do if we were to be caught near Moonspear. The Order would have very little mercy for a man who may or may not be a vampire."

He gave Ven a sympathetic look.

"I intend to bring you further west, before we reach the Ora," he tapped along the massive river that separated Serendipity from Adela, "into the Draconi forest here. It will be slow going, but the mountains are fewer. There, we can follow the pass through the Terrins, and get to La'marri. You may be beyond my skill to heal, but a city of mages surely has some answers for us."

Ven cracked a wry smile in return. "And all healers are hypocrites when faced with downing our own medicine and heeding our own words, as you well know, I'm sure," he countered while he poured himself a cup of leafy tea. The sediment swirled and danced before settling slowly to the bottom. He found himself drawn in by watching it, as always, like part of his own little ritual. While he waited for it to cool, he returned his attention to his companion. "I think I am used to it. I think. Instructing the living to conserve their food while we travel...it is familiar. Another mystery to add to the long list, I imagine. Though if you take out your notebook again, I shall be displeased," he added with a hint of that same smile.

He watched Mr. Jewel unfurl the map, following the man's finger with hawk-like focus. From where he sat, he could barely see the thing, but he recalled the one he'd pored over in the study and he followed along well enough. Ven's lips pursed at the mention of Connlaoth. "Yes," he muttered with an air of clear distaste. "I have been to Kon-le-ot, I think, if it is north of your town. They are the most singularly terrible people I believe I have ever encountered, memory or no." He muttered a few additional choice words beneath his breath before squinting and focusing on where Mr. Jewel's finger slid next. He stood to get a better look, his black eyes darting from the place they were, to the city on the coast, back and forth, frown deepening all the while.

"If I am to understand just how vast this place is," he said, "Such a journey would take you a month away from your own homeland — at the least." Ven cocked his head, birdlike and strange, and stared at the man down as though he were trying to determine something. "You aren't taking me to a place to sell me for parts to some witch...are you?" he joked dryly. "Because I still cannot understand why anyone should leave his people for a complete stranger. Forgive me my hesitancy to believe. I'm sure it will all become clear in time."