A Dolling Ghost.

I tried to pull my sword out of Reika’s body, but it was lodged in the rock beneath her.  I saw the Bloodletter lying next to her, and in one swift motion I took it by its grip and confronted the man who had taken everything from me.

For his part, he hid his fear well.  He clearly had not expected me to survive my encounter with Reika’s demonically possessed body.  He pulled the neck of his robe open to reveal the yoke and said “You can’t kill me, boy.  Not even the Bloodletter can harm me now.  Consider the position you are in and put that thing down!”

“Then you will not mind if I test it out!”  And with that, I lunged.  He jumped back, avoiding my blow but exposing his lie; the Bloodletter would do just fine. 

My strength was slowly leaking out onto the floor, so I had little time.  The butcher’s bill of his crimes was due, and I would be the cost.  I found new strength in his deception, and lunged at his frail form.  At first I had thought the blade had only pierced some folds in his robes, as there was not the familiar resistance that normally accompanies flesh.  But his halted scream confirmed that the Bloodletter had taken another victim. 

He fell backwards, sliding off the blade and onto the stone floor of the chamber.  Coughing up blood, he looked up at me and tried to speak.

“I have no need of your lies any longer.”  With that, I swung the blade and decapitated his pathetic form.

Drunk with blood loss, I stumbled to the floor next to him, my blood mingling with his in pools around us.  I was quite ready to die there, quite ready for my story to end and perhaps to see Reika once more. 

That is when I saw the yoke.  With each heartbeat, it called out to me.  Each one, like the last ticks of a clock, chiseled away at my thoughts.  I looked at Reika’s sad remains.  I thought of Holger’s brave sacrifice in the cathedral above me. 

I knew then what I must do.  Reika would go home again.  Holger’s family would know how he died.  Both would receive the blessed sleep, and all it would cost me was my eternal soul.

I reached over to Jofridus’ headless corpse, dug my fingers into his chest around the yoke, and tore it off.  I used the last ounce of my strength to place it around my neck, and gasped as the unholy metal knitted and melted into my own flesh.  My heartbeat slowed to a stop, and so too the bleeding.  I writhed in agony as each wound closed itself up. 

I was something different now.

So this book, once a place I went to for enlightenment, now becomes my epitaph.  For whatever the case, whether I am evil or whether I am a coward, Raben is no more.  Perhaps he never existed in the first place.  Maybe he was merely something to comfort me in my blindness.

I shall write no more.  There are others whose bills are due.

And I will be the cost.

Amsel

1^st day, year one.

Easily Locking.

It was Reika.  She sat in the corner of the chamber, her beauty as radiant as ever.  She wore a flowing white dress that laid in crumples around her, a simple garment that still managed to make her look regal. 

I slid to a halt.  The air had been knocked from my lungs, and I dropped my sword at my feet.  I had no time to stop and consider how she had survived the Bloodletter’s kiss, or why she was here now.  All I knew was that a chasm within me seemed suddenly filled, and that I needed to take her in my arms. 

I ran to her, and knelt down before her.  She reached out and took my hand.  My consciousness had been screaming that something was wrong, but it had been drowned out by the cacophony of emotion I was feeling.  As soon as our skin touched, reality finally rammed through the portcullis in my mind.

Her skin was inhumanly warm.  I flinched at her touch, and as I looked into her eyes I saw them change briefly from the misty blue I had come to know to inky blackness and back again.  Whatever this was, it was not Reika.  I withdrew, and the creature looked confused.  As I stood up and retrieved my sword, it began to howl and scream.

It stood up, and blood began to stain the belly of the dress as the wound caused by the Bloodletter opened up again.  It clawed at the soaked cloth until the wound was revealed, but this time it was ringed with teeth as a snakelike tongue lashed out from it.

The thing’s eyes began to glow like stars, and its teeth grew and sharpened as it assumed its true form.  Its elongated fingers ended in claws the size of spearheads, and its screech grew to a painful level.

Jofridus’ revenge had backfired.  This profane abuse of Reika’s remains had given me a strength I had never known.  For better or for worse, I was not the Raben he had last seen. 

I swore an oath as I charged the thing, and it parried my blow with a sword of its own – the Bloodletter.  The last time I met this cursed bit of metal in battle, I had to change my tactics in order to avoid its eternal wound.  This time, I had no such misgivings.  There is nothing quite as powerful as having nothing to lose.

My attack was a thunderstorm of swinging blades as I took all the anger over Reika’s murder, as well as Jofridus’ betrayal, and focused every ounce of it on my silver sword.  The thing fought like a snake, darting and weaving, but no amount of agility would keep me from my purpose.  The sound of my heartbeat was throbbing in my ears as I let out a battle cry and pounced on the vile creature, driving my blade through its chest and into the stone underneath it.

It let out a shrill cry, and began to twitch and writhe as it slowly turned back into Reika’s body.  Its head jerked up and locked eyes with me, and the glimmer of recognition flashed in their blue depths.  As her last breath escaped her lungs, I heard her say it. 

“Thank you.”

I stood up, near-exhausted.  My heartbeat was louder than ever, and I realized it was due to the cuts I had received from the cursed blade.  I looked down and saw each one pulse with every beat of my heart, pumping forth blood.  I began to feel dizzy, but then I remembered why I was there: Jofridus.

Herbal Grove

111^th of Hunter’s Moon, 719

My hands are cold, and I find writing to be more difficult, but I must chronicle my meeting with Jofridus.

We came upon the cathedral at dusk, and said our farewells.  Holger was very calm for someone who was about to meet his fate.  When and how we will die is a question that looms over us from birth, and perhaps finally having the answer was liberating for him.  It certainly was for me.

I hid in a nearby wood and watched him make his slow way to the cathedral steps.  He looked over his shoulder at me only once, and smiled.  As hard as it was for me to pity his soon-to-be victims, I had to pity the man as well.  He was kind, good and just.  And this world took those from him and more. 

As soon as the sun dipped out of view, I heard an unholy growl, followed by screams and shouts of orders.  I watched the ground guards rush to the cathedral, and I knew this was my chance.  

With my newly-acquired armor, I passed for just another cathar on his way to securing this holiest of holy grounds.   I found my way to the ash garden, to the stones Reika’s journal had described.  Underneath, the tunnel stretched away into the darkness.

At the end of path was a huge, natural cavern.  I could hear the waterfall, and the air was thick with mist.  Standing in the center of the chamber, next to a rune-carved altar, was Jofridus.

He was alone, and apparently expecting me.  The sword was nowhere in sight, although I would be reunited with it soon enough. 

“I knew you would return, my son.  I have been preparing for it.”

My anger had reached its boiling point.  Calling me his son had ignited a fury inside me, and I drew my sword and charged him.  Nothing could stop me now, no force could keep me from my purpose – none save a familiar voice uttering a single word.

“Raben?”

Willed Notions.

109^th of Hunter’s Moon, 719

We are making haste back to Thraben.  Tonight will be the last night of full moon for this month, and we cannot spend it on the road.  My newfound ally, Holger, travels with me.  He is a man of some means, having been a master silversmith.  His skills were made useless when he was cursed as a werewolf, and now he has taken residence at Elder Rimheit’s hostel.  She is hoping to find a cure.  Hope is the most dangerous of all human emotions.

Our horses have collapsed, and Holger is busy acquiring fresh ones from the local stable.  He has also given me armor and weapons from his own collection.  Now that he has already accepted his mortality, material objects no longer hold sway over him.  A gift only imminent death can give us.

His plan is simple, yet it will no doubt cost the lives of many Cathars.  Men who have fought beside me in battle, brave and fearsome.  I try to muster guilt over their inevitable deaths, yet I cannot seem to stir my heart.  Perhaps it no longer beats.

I hope to find Jofridus tonight.  As dangerous as hope is, I am more dangerous still.

Raben

Barge Fall Inn.

104^th of Hunter’s Moon, 719

Elder Rimheit has made her case.  Make this right, she says.  I know her life has not been easy, which is why such a reductive viewpoint surprises me so.  It is not as simple as making things right.  It never is.

What would she have me do?  Expose Jofridus for the demon-worshipping traitor that he is?  Grab him by his ear and drag him to the Lunarch himself?  News of this treachery would likely do more damage than good.  If the church’s name were to be sullied, so many innocents would suffer the consequences.  Whether Avacyn is real or not, the idea of her is all that is keeping humanity alive.

She wants justice.  Justice for the church, for Reika, for her poor young daughter Elsi.  I haven’t the heart to tell her the truth; there is no justice.  Nothing can make the death of a little girl right.  No debt can be repaid that will even the balance.  Hang a man, desecrate his corpse, enslave his spirit – will that erase his wrongs? 

Justice exists only as an idea that makes the blind masses feel safe. 

The only true law is that of costs.  Cold, brutal economics.  A man can steal as much bread as he wants, as long as he is willing to pay the price in pain and time.  Murder is not evil, it is merely expensive.

By this account, Jofridus is much in debt.  And soon I will collect.

Raben

Treasurer Kin.

103^rd of Hunter’s Moon, 719

Ereschstag, the town of Elder Rimheit’s parish, was a short ride on a stolen horse.  I never thought I would be chronicling my own crimes, yet once this is over I will gladly hand over the evidence of my sins and pay the price.  It is the only way I can redeem my name.

I found the church easily enough, as a group of pilgrims were marching in slow progression towards it.  I fell in line with them, and walked that lonely walk that is only possible when surrounded by strangers.  Twilight was taking over as the sun lost yet another battle with the moon.

To my surprise, the procession turned just before it was about to ascend the church’s steps, instead filing into a gated opening leading to the catacombs underneath.  A strange custom of Kessig, was all I thought upon entering.

I heard a metal clanking sound ahead of me, and that was when I noticed that the catacombs had been refitted to form some sort of prison.  Stranger still, this sullen congregation had begun locking themselves in, one per cell. 

So much twisted reality had assaulted my brain over the past few days that I can never be sure if I am dreaming or not.  It was then that one of the self-imposed prisoners spoke.

“You don’t belong here.  I suggest you leave – for your own sake!”

Just then I heard the unmistakable sound of stone grinding on stone, and I looked down the ragged hallway to see a heavy door rolling into place.  I started to run, but it was futile.  I would soon learn the nature of this charnel house.

It started as an agonizing scream.  The people in the cells began to twitch and convulse, as gurgling noises permeated the cavern.  The man who had warned me was now staring intently at me, as the body around his eyes began to twist and contort.

The sickly sound of ligament being torn and flesh being stretched was unbearable.  As disgusting as it was, I could not look away.  I watched as the man’s humble form twisted and bent into that of the werewolf.  The screams and gurgles were soon replaced by howls. 

At every cell, clawed hands slashed at the air, intent on flaying the flesh from my bones.  I had fought these creatures before, but only when the numbers favored us.  Now I was but one piece of meat in a hall of hunters.

The jail bars had clearly been reinforced to contain these things, but I did not know if it would contain their strength at being so close to food. 

I found myself kneeling in prayer.  Perhaps I have not lost all of my faith.

In the morning, the guards that rolled the stone door open greeted me with a blow to the head.

Raben

He row slow fleet.

102^nd of Hunter’s Moon, 719

I have found refuge in a small village in Kessig.  I don’t know its name.  I sold the sword Jofridus had made for me, and I have found room and board above a stable.  

It was here that I finally opened Reika’s pack and inspected its contents.  I told myself that I was looking for money, or any item that could aid in my survival, but the truth is that I simply missed her.  Her cloak still smelled of her, like flowers after a rain.  Reika, I failed you so long ago, and only now do I feel the pain of your absence.

Her journal revealed to me a name: Elder Rimheit.  Reika cleary saw her as a mother figure, even though like I she never knew her true roots.  I hope this Rimheit proves to be a true mentor, and not the puppet father I once knew.

Word of my status has not yet reached Kessig, so I must act quickly.  This elder may hear my words differently if she knows I am branded heretic.  But hear my words she must, for Reika’s death cannot go untold.  This woman, whomever she may be, was the closest thing Reika had to a family.  As such, she deserves to mourn Reika as much as I do.  No, I have not earned the right to mourn her yet.

In the morning I shall leave this place and seek out Elder Rimheit.

Raben