To Asrael; it seemed only seconds had passed since he fell victim to the white-haired harlot’s eyes. During his brief absence; his undead soldiers had finished surveying the area surrounding the city and had, joyously, found their way into a long-abandoned set of mines that seemed to extend along Pilta’s wall- a dire weakness for such a strategically important city. Once inside; the darkness concealed their frightening forms well- leaving him the time and concentration to consider the whore’s intrusion into his mind. What had happened? What had she seen? What had she meant when she spoke of his power? Barrel’s assurances that this Inquisitor would return did not fill him with confidence- far from it. The man had reminded him of someone- someone he absolutely despised, yet struggled to place... not that his current companions were any less infuriating. The two sat on the bed and wept as Asrael groaned on the floor and set about repairing his six broken ribs- a gift the girl had ensured him was a result of her efforts to awaken him from his lengthy slumber.

“Idiots- both of you...” He muttered aggressively in between his groans of pain. The unsightly room befit the two fools who seemed to have placed an order for a chamber furnished for couples and children- as revealed by the large cot in the corner. It would undoubtedly fit the small, round man, but Asrael had no intention of sharing these quarters with both of them if he could help it. First and foremost; the girl needed to go. Her weeping aside; the damage she had wrought upon his ribcage was unacceptable and her lack of grace and manners would undoubtedly blow their cover before long.

“You. Go find that contact of yours. If you insist this tavernkeeper can be trusted, then I will ask him to find me the white-haired one.” Eventually... he would have to find a plan on how to move forwards. From Pilta; the river’s many divisions would eventually lead them to Capita, but if this Inquisition had more creatures like the harlot who had snuck into his mind, he would be a fool to brave the densely guarded river... no... they would travel by land- the sooner, the better.

Barrel sniffled and began deconstructing the barrier before the mumbling, aggressive necromancer. With every removed piece of furniture; the disgusting scent of fried food stung his nose, reminding him that he was yet to feed his pet companions for the day... no matter... the small, fat one would eat after sundown- at which time; he would hopefully be rid of the girl.

Neda stayed hot on his heel as he stepped down into the smoky tavern’s main floor. The air was thick with the fragrance of burnt fat, meat and vegetables- truly; a disgusting abode unfit to house a Magus... as much as it pained him to admit it, the place was perfect.

“H-hey... can you hang on a bit, I wanna talk to you now that Barrel’s-” Neda began, only to receive a dismissive gesture of the necromancer’s hand in the air before her face.

Without turning to face her, he muttered; “Stay in the room until this associate of his returns. I have no use for you now- in fact; I doubt I ever will.” As always; his poisonous words stung like earthwasps, but for once; she would not be discouraged by his dismissive commands. Stomping the floor; she demanded: “Listen to me, asshole! I’ve changed my mind- I don’t wanna meet that guy!” He froze.

Slowly; he turned over his shoulder to glare his icy, green irises at her. It was finally time, he thought. The girl’s insanity had caught up with him at long last- in seconds; he would find himself alone with her beautiful, dead corpse. She maintained her brave grimace as she clarified; “When you were passed out, I realized... that even if you’re an ass... you’ve kept me safe so far. And you’re strong. I want to learn how to do the stuff that you do, so I’m staying.” How long had he been unconscious? How long had it taken for the girl to lose the last sliver of her fleeting lucidity?

“Besides- you need me. If it hadn’t been for me; you’d still be passed out in that queue over there...” With every step he took closer to her, she took one back. As her back thudded against the wall; she breathed a sigh of relief as the tavernkeeper appeared through a door leading into the back of his establishment to scream a loud yelp and raise an accusatory finger towards the tall, pale man.

Following his yelp, he shouted; “What the fuck!? But you’re-… I saw them carry you in, what the-” Accepting that the girl had earned herself a few more minutes alive, Asrael turned towards the frantic taverneer to introduce himself; “I take shallow breaths when I sleep. Nevermind that. I am Kerras the third- son of Kerras the second. I take it my chauffeur introduced us?”

Kester’s head bobbed up and down as he confirmed; “Y-yeah... Sorry, but... I’m kinda in the middle of preparing your wake...”

As much as Asrael appreciated the far-too-tardy gesture; he had to ask. “And who told you to prepare anything? If I were to die; I would hope my wake would be anywhere but... here...” Kester’s eyes reflexively narrowed upon hearing the man’s cruel remark. No, Kess... it’s your first customer in years. Treat him right!

He had to ball his hands into fists at his sides to muster the strength to nod and smile at the unsightly, walking corpse. After clearing his throat, he straightened his back to ask; “Well... you’re here now, so that’s that. Sir Bartholomew never specified how many people would be coming... you got any idea?” Asrael pondered the question. Soon; he would be rid of the girl, thusly; she did not need food... the small, fat man could use a few days without sustenance and since he, himself, was beyond such inconveniences, there would be; “No one. Tell me of this Bartholomew- better yet; tell me of that white-clad creature next to him!”

Kester smirked sideways and sighed before turning around to depart back into the kitchen to put out the fires heating his freshly scavenged supplies and answered his guest by loudly shouting; “If they were wearing white, they’re probably with the Purged! Was it a sensate or something!?”

Asrael would not be reduced to shouting. Instead; he stepped after the dirty, apron-clad commoner to protest; “Speak plainly, oaf! We’ve been in the Blighted lands for years- I do not know what this ‘Purged’ is, nor do I know what a sensate is!” The necromancer nearly retched as he saw the bubbling, scorched strips of bacon in the grimy pan on the impressive array of stoves.

Kester raised an eyebrow towards his strange, famished visitor. Blighted lands? No wonder he looked half-dead. “The Purged. Y’know; magi who’ve been converted to join the Inquisition? Don’t you know anything?”

Asrael tasted a brief relief that, amidst this world’s insanity; it seemed the Inquisition had not completely lost their minds. Before he could voice another word, the tavernkeeper continued, but stared curiously attentively down unto the bubbling, sizzling meat. “Not like they’ve got a choice- not really. They can either serve or they can burn... I’m not sure which one’s worse, though. They say the Purged are tort-” As if realizing he was speaking aloud, the tavernkeeper zipped his mouth shut and turned his attention back on the food with a dismissive shake of his head... not that he needed to go on. Asrael understood the fineries of brainwashing well enough- he had done it to two Inquisitors already, albeit with some magical assistance. Kester grabbed a cloth from a railing by the stove and wiped it across his brow before pouring the greasy pieces of meat down into a massive cauldron on the widest of the plates, again raising the question... just how many people did this madman think he was going to feed? Deciding he had other priorities to tend to; Asrael turned on his heel and departed back towards the timid girl standing in the midst of the tavern- staring down at her feet with a frown.

Though the foolish subhuman never spoke of what a ‘sensate’ was, the necromancer could imagine its significance. If these magi truly were working with the Inquisition; a few psychomancers could easily nullify their alibi and ensure they would be next on the pyre. He muttered; “Come, girl. We must leave, they-” the ring of the bell drew their attention to the glorious form standing in the doorway with a sullen frown. The chiseled chin, the blonde scruff- those wide eyes of shock... Asrael had definitively seen him before, but where- oh where!? Their eyes met and for a moment; everything save for the beautiful man ceased existing. All he could see were the eyes that were just as his- eyes he had seen a thousand times before... eyes that frightened him.

“It cannot be...” Bartholomew muttered as he lay his eyes on the terrorized necromancer.