On the road back to the monastery, St. Giradin's traveling companions stopped in a small town called Tenera. There, the local priest put them up for the night, but Fulk refused the Father's hospitality, instead electing to stay at the local inn. St. Giradin simply couldn't resist telling the church Father who and what he was, with support from the Templars in his midst. The Templars took turns standing guard over St. Giradin while the people of Tenera brought him their sick, their ailing, and their babes for his blessings.

Were it not for the potential suspicions it might have raised, Sir Emeric might have stayed by St. Giradin's side the entire time. But he decided he would trust the other Templars with the saint's care, and even should they fail he knew Shlomo had time and again proven a loyal enough friend to take care of him, even if he didn't follow St. Giradin's God.

With time to himself, Sir Emeric found a quiet place on the outskirts of town, a grove surrounded by apple trees and filled with wild-flowers. There he sat upon a rock to contemplate life and pray.

His peace and quiet was interrupted when Fulk staggered into the grove, with a mostly-empty liquor bottle in his hand. Sir Emeric thought he had never before seen, nor would ever see again, a man so ugly as Fulk. His face was scarred from burns, cuts, and any number of other injuries. His flesh had turned yellow, and the veins under his skin were black and writhed around.

Far worse was Fulk's attitude. From what St. Giradin had told Sir Emeric, the man was a murderer who became a Crow to make his penance, but he hardly seemed grateful for the opportunity. He'd fled his duties to seek the help of a witch. Sir Emeric could think of few worse ways to spit in the eye of those who cared about his soul.

"Hey! Templar!" Fulk bellowed as he stumbled closer. Sir Emeric tried to ignore him, hoping he might forget whatever he was about to say and go away. "Hey! What's yer name?"

"Sir Emeric," the Templar replied. There was only so much ignoring he could do before it became rude, and Sir Emeric would always be a man of manners.

"Fulk," said the murderer, tapping a fist to his chest. "So..." Fulk staggered forward and plopped down on the grass in front of Sir Emeric. "You've done an exorcism or two, right? That's what Templars do?"

"It is a small part of what I do," said Sir Emeric. "But I think I already know where this is going. You want me to exorcise the demons from you, correct?"

"Aye!" slurred Fulk. "Wouldn'tchoo wan' them cast out if it was you?"

Sir Emeric folded his hands on his lap. "I would. But I'm afraid you've come to the wrong man, Fulk. What you're dealing with appears to be a deep possession. At least one of those demons has been within you a very long time. There's a big difference between banishing the spirits of the dead when they walk among the living and exorcising demons from a human body they've inhabited for years."

"...Shit..."

Sir Emeric couldn't help but snicker at Fulk's response. "Indeed. I think that word sums it up fair enough."

"There nothing you can do?" Fulk asked, one eyelid drooping over his pupil.

"There might be something you can do," said Sir Emeric.

"Whassat?"

"Well, in order to tell you that, first I need a few details. Do you know when the first demon entered your soul?"

Fulk bit hard on his upper lip and looked away. "I didn't think it was real at the time... thought it was a dream..."

"So, you do remember," said Sir Emeric. "Tell me." It was a command, but there was no hint of threat behind it.

"Firs' time I was 'rrested," Fulk said. "They threw me in the jail to await essecution. You know... because I was a killer. It was dark in that jail, but a voice spoke to me." Fulk shivered and his eyes flew wide open as he spoke the name, "Dashiel. That's who he said he was. He said he could get me away from the nooshe."

"I'm sorry... the what?" Sir Emeric asked.

"The nooshe..." Fulk tilted his head to one side and his tongue drooped out while he made a gesture as if he were pulling on a rope around his own neck.

"Ah. I see. Continue."

"I agreed to his terms."

"What terms?" Sir Emeric interrupted.

Fulk looked confused. "The terms in esschange for helping me 'scape."

"Which were?"

Fulk shrugged. "Shit. I don't remember. Next thing I remember I was running through a grassy field... people were chasing me. Later, I heard I killed one of the guards and took his keess."

"I see..." said Sir Emeric. "Sounds like you sold your soul for a way out of prison. How long ago was that?"

Fulk shrugged and rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Don't keep much track of the calendar when you're on the run. Fifteen years, maybe?"

Sir Emeric sighed. "Fifteen years with this spirit inside you." He shook his head. "The Scripture tells us that when demons enter a human soul, they bring with them seven of their friends."

"If I been possessed for that long... How come I wasn't acting all..." Fulk pantomimed a person more violently possessed. Someone rabid and out of control.

"Because some demons appreciate subtlety," said Sir Emeric. "They know they can remain in a host for years, tormenting him to their hearts content, if they just keep him calm enough."

"Bastards..." Fulk grunted with a shake of his head. "So, who can cast them out of me?"

"The Lord can," said Sir Emeric.

"Which lord?" said Fulk.

Sir Emeric chuckled. "THE Lord."

"Well... shit... what's he waiting for?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" Sir Emeric asked.

Fulk nodded.

"I suspect the Lord's already trying to free your soul," said Sir Emeric. "But you have to put in your part too. God gives us all free will. Driving out demons you want within you would be a violation of your free will."

"I don't want them in me!" Fulk protested.

"Yes, you do," said Sir Emeric. "Think about it. What do you think the demons within you want you to do? Things which will hurt you, right? Drinking excessively, setting yourself on fire, consulting witches. These are all things that demons often drive their hosts to do. When you did those things, were the demons controlling you?"

"I... I don't think sho..."

"Then you're listening to them," said Sir Emeric. "You're taking their suggestions as wisdom rather than dismissing them as wicked foolishness. When people tell you to do something, are you more likely to listen to your friends or your enemies?"

Fulk sighed and hung his head. "...My friends... when I do listen."

"That means you see these demons as your friends." Sir Emeric gave a sympathetic half-grin. "Even though you've realized they are poor friends, you see them as friends nonetheless. While the Lord may struggle against them within you, He won't drive them out until you agree with Him that they are your enemies."

"I do agree..." said Fulk.

Sir Emeric stood from the rock. "Apparently, not enough. Start behaving righteously, Fulk. Ignore the demons' advice, resist their temptations, and the Lord shall do the rest. You will be free of all this, Fulk. You just have to put in your part, and stop looking to others to do the work for you. You decide what sort of person you want to be. One aligned with Heaven, or one condemned to Hell."