Where Mountains Rise [Nephero]

[Nightcrawler]

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."

[nephero]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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.

[nephero]

"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.

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[nephero]

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?"

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[nephero]

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.

[Nightcrawler]

"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?"

[nephero]

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?"

[Nightcrawler]

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."

[nephero]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[nephero]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[nephero]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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.

[nephero]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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."

[nephero]

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."