Barrel had been rudely awoken from his pleasant dreams by the displeased necromancer and had been further startled by the sight of a swollen, purple mess of a naked man in the middle of his bedroom. Next; he had witnessed a series of ungodly acts of post mortem violations- slices and cuts, inscriptions and acts that made his skin crawl with discomfort at the mere thought of those horrid memories. Next; they had hurried down to what both had assumed passed for the centrum of Pilta and-… Barrel retched as he thought back on the long climb, the sound of metal against flesh and the necromancer’s ungodly, frightening grin grin. He had been so uncomfortable, in fact, that he had drained down nearly an entire bottle's worth of spirits before Asrael had even caught up to him and entered into the tavern.

There; the raven-haired girl still sat with the curtain wrapped around her and a piece of paper before her. Surrounding her on all sides were his associates- staring up at Asrael while patiently awaiting his explanation and a debrief of the night’s happenings. He was, however, exhausted from his lengthy day- in fact, two lengthy days during which he had been deprived from all rest and now that the sun was rising outside the closed-down tavern for the third time since last he slept, he was beginning to suffer from the weariness. He wordlessly made his way towards the stair, only for Neda to grab him by the sleeve, clear her throat and bob her head in the direction of the girl. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and looked to them in turn, before locking his eyes on the raven-haired stranger.

“This is girl. Girl, this is ‘child’, ‘mother’, ‘tavernkeeper’, ‘Barrel’, ‘Bartholomew’ and ‘Lusty harlot’. Now; If you would unhand me, I ned to go and rest-” Neda once again tugged on his sleeve and scooted over on the bench- hinting for him to take a seat. It took the mother’s furious glare for him to finally heed her suggestion and sit down on the bench, where he folded his arms and questioned; “What? Have I not done enough for you today? Do I not deserve some rest!?”

Bess slept- clinging to her mother’s side on the opposite bench, but still Maribelle found it fit to cover her ears as she spoke; “What the fuck happened back there!? Had he gone insane!? H-he... he seemed so nice...”

Asrael scoffed and informed; “Which should have warned you something was amiss. Kindness does not exist in this world- it never did, but now, even less so... You were all fools for not having the foresight ot suspect him. His fortune came from selling magi to the Inquisition and he was likely putting up his kind front to have you idiots wander right into his conniving embrace.” Maribelle and Kester were far from pleased, but Neda remained the angriest, by far. He could feel her red-eyed glare at his side and when he turned; she raised an accusatory finger to poke at his chest;

“You say that as if we wanted to go there, you ass! You’re the one who sent me there! I should-” Neda’s rage dissipated- her eyes grew distant and ponderous, as if something inside her mind was stealing her attention away from their conversation.

He cocked his head at the sight of visible thinking and heard her mutter; “Of course... it was all a test. You wanted to see if I’d abandon you- your cause- for good food, a luxurious bed and a cute guy... you were testing me!?” He had a constipated look on his face as she did her best to rationalize his abandonment of her.

Asrael once again attempted to stand up and depart from the table; “No, I was genuinely hoping that you would leave me to my much more important work.” Before he could finish speaking his off-handed adieu, the freshest arrived girl surprised everyone with shooting up from her seat to sprint around the table and come to a halt before Asrael- her hands tremoring in place at her sides. In a low mutter, he could hear her lips form;

“S-Sir... D-did you... really... kill him? Did you kill Gerathar?” A tear ran down her cheek- a useless, pathetic sentiment...

“Oh, do not tell me you miss the man, you pa-” Before he could finish, she demanded;

“D-did he suffer? Was it painful?” After all she had been through, would she truly wish his end to be painless? Was this the humanity he had always been so sorely lacking of- that sheepish kindness the fools proclaimed and imitated to assume moral superiority?

He smiled and informed; “Oh yes. If he hadn’t drained it all down his lungs, he would still be suffering. I am told it is the most painful death-” He yelped loudly as the girl shot forth and wrapped her arms around him- barely reaching up to his cold, dead chest with the top of her raven scalp. There; she comfortably wept- not with loud sobs, but with mere exudations from the corner of her eyes to stain his shirt.

“T-thank you, S-sir... I-I d-don't k-know how to r-repay you...” She muttered into his shirt. Gratitude- in this day and age. He could scarcely believe his ears- to think that someone held onto proper decency in these amoral days. Still suffering in the unending hug, he turned to look at Neda and imagined her ever thanking him properly- not that there was anything proper with what was going on at his chest. It was as he met Neda’s displeased glare that he finally caught sight of the paper- the task he had given the wayward girl. Neda’s frown grew ever more pronounced as the necromancer’s hand began stroking the weeping stranger’s hair with a malicious grin the likes of which she had never seen expressed on her pale Master ever before.

“I may know of one way you can repay me...” Several of his companions winced visibly, but only Kester dared voice his protest; “She’s just a kid, man...” It took the necromancer a full minute to understand the nature of their misunderstanding and promptly attempted to push the young girl away, but to no avail. Her grip remained surprisingly firm around him- resilient even to his undead strength.

As he slowly accepted the futility of struggling against her, Maribelle finally rose to her feet- carrying Bess in her arms. She spoke a few choice words to Neda- muttering a good night before turning towards Kester with a strict frown to inform; “You’re not coming up tonight. If you love this damn tavern so much that you don’t have time visiting your wife and only daughter, you’ll get to stay here with this-… this...” She jerked her head towards Asrael, struggling to find the proper words to explain her disgust. Kester's distraught frown split apart to have him say:

“Mary, I-” She shook her head and departed before Kester could even begin to explain his conundrum- his enslavement to the necromancer. Asrael was relatively pleased, but still profoundly uneased by the girl gripping him tightly... nevertheless; he voiced a few choice words of encouragement to his remaining companions.

“Now, then. If you would unhand me, child, then I will leave-” Next; it was Bartholomew’s turn to clap his disheartened, tearful companion- the tavernkeeper, on the shoulder and rise to his feet. Asrael could see by the determined glare that this time, the Sargerrei would not be as quick to accept his obfuscation.

“Sir Kerras... How can we stop this madness? If it had not been for Lita... if it had not been for you...” His pained expression was as unsightly as the intermittent grin he would sometimes wear... this, in combination with what was obviously a profound dedication for his own sense of justice- to the point he would risk his life for the wretch still clamoring to his chest- meant that he could, despite his blood, be trusted. Asrael bit his lower lip ponderously and considered his options, before coming to the inevitable conclusion that it was time for a smidgen of truth... he had earned as much, after all.

“I will stop this madness with a madness of my own. Make no mistake, Bartholomew Sargerrei. Many will die in my quest for justice- perhaps even you. Pilta is but the start; I intend to show the Empire the extent of their mistakes and punish them for their foolish decision to turn against the tides of nature and hunt me. Now... as we’ve fought together; I owe you the choice of either joining me or fleeing. If you wish to side with your brother; so be it... but I must warn you; I will kill you for it.” Bartholomew remained stalwart, accepting the weighty words and the warning that came with them.

After a moment’s deliberation, he took a step towards Asrael and ruffled the raven head of hair at his chest from behind and speak; “I have no love for my father- nor for the Emperor. I do not wish to see more suffering, but if I must endure it for a just cause... I will.” Asrael nodded his acceptance.

Bartholomew swallowed before raising the inevitable question; “My brother Titus... I ask that you allow me to try and save him. Despite his cruelty; I cannot stomach the idea of letting him die. He is my brother-…" He squeezed his eyes shut and averted his face not to show the pain he experienced upon thinking such terrible thoughts.

Asrael spoke; “He cannot be saved. As much as I would wish to have him on my side; I cannot see that happening- not after what he has done.” It was not a lie, he truly would have wished to have the good Titus at his side as he rammed the spike into his father’s backside. He would’ve liked to have all of them on his side, if only to make the indignity of their eventual victory complete.

Perhaps, in a rare feat of wishful thinking, Asrael thought. “If you can make your attempts without risking our mission, I will allow it. But until you have realized that folly; you cannot know the details of my plan.”

Bartholomew seemed to accept these conditions and nodded. “Thank you, Kerras. Not just for promising this change, but for everything. I do not know how you stalled the frost-magus, but you saved my life- then; you helped stop that man from committing any more heinous acts... I owe you my life and Gods willing; you shall have it.” Asrael concealed his unnerve at the sound of this ‘assistance’, as he was all too aware that someone outside of their close-knit band of misfits seemed to side with them... and he had a suspicion as to whom.

Asrael stopped at the door as he saw the outrageous sight awaiting him in his chamber. All it had taken for them to leap on the chance to inconvenience him again was a short two-minute trip to the cellar to check in on his subject. Now; yet another wayward soul had stolen its way into his sanctum; the girl. Barrel now slept on the floor and in his previous place in the cot; she slept soundly and silently, while Neda glared at him from the bed upon his arrival.

“What in the seven planes of Hell is going on here!? The filthy tavernkeeper assured me he would remove all of you and place you in your separate rooms-”

Neda sternly shook her head and raised her finger to her lips to silence the necromancer; “Shush! They’re sleeping! And yeah, he did tell us we could sleep in the other rooms, but they were all disgusting and cold. B-besides... I don’t like being alone. I didn’t sleep well in Gerathar’s place because of it, so-” Asrael turned around and made his departure back out into the hallway, where he made his way to the tavernkeeper’s chamber and stopped to hear the loud sobs from inside. ‘Mary... Mary; I’m so sorry, b-but I t-thought you were safe-’. Another, hushed, scolding voice sounded from inside as Mary let loose her opinions on the tavernkeeper’s decision to be Asrael’s slave rather than see her family.

Before Asrael could tear the door open, a hand gripped him by the shoulder and turned him around. Neda’s narrowed, red eyes and an angered grimace met him as he looked to her with a questioning expression.

“Have you not plagued me enough-” She thrust her finger onto his chest- finally diverting his attention to the unsightly, scanty underwear she was wearing. Red lace and a see-through, pink nightgown hung loosely over her womanly features- immediately costing her his gaze.

“Shut up! You still haven’t apologized, you ass! Did you know he was a freak all along!? Did you really put me there-”

Asrael raised his hands to still the hysteria-stricken woman and berated her; “I suspected he had motivations of his own, but nothing as sinister as what they were- why am I explaining myself to you!? If either of us should be apologizing, it should be you! I had to rely on the fool of a tavernkeeper to do my bidding and whereas you are certainly no academic, the man borders on disabled!” Her warm hands gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. Their narrowed eyes met in challenging glares- measuring one-another's stubbornness.

Neda informed; “I don’t like it when my stomach hurts like this... I wanna help you and be part of what you’re doing. That’s why I went to learn magic from him in the first place, y’know...” His discomfort was reaching its crescendo.

“What do you want?” Asrael spoke- still struggling not to follow his mind’s desires of looking at her body.

She averted her gaze as she mumbled; “I... I just wanna belong somewhere. I wanna belong with you- to be useful to you. Can’t you just tell me that you want me around? That you won’t try to pawn me off on someone else again?” Asrael fought her hand and nodded. A strict frown formed across his face as he, in turn, grabbed Neda by her chin and sternly informed;

“You were of use to me today and I am yet to study the extent of your magic. Make no mistake; I was benevolent enough to offer you a chance at a better life, but you have proven again and again that you neither want nor deserve it.” He grabbed her by the gown and pressed her up against the wall, which seemed neither to pain nor discomfort the stumped desert-dweller. If anything; she seemed almost charmed as he informed;

“From this moment onwards, you will be given no more chances- no more hesitation. You are mine now- you and your magic. If I say so; you will work for me- if I demand it; I expect you to die for me.” This seemed to please the red-eyed masochist, whose smile grew a smidgen warmer as she heard his proclamation.

“I-I will... that’s all I ever wanted to hear.” Asrael dropped her from his grip and without another word made his way towards one of the free rooms, only to hear her naked feet follow after him into the musty, dark chamber, where she closed the door in their wake and solemnly informed; “I told you... I don’t like sleeping alone.”