3 - 3 [Fool] Awakened, Blessed from a Curse

The interior of the manor was more opulent than the outside. Paintings hung the walls, sculptures made of white stone spotted the halls, and servants hustled like worker ants. Eiden felt that if he was here a day ago, he would've been looking at the inside of the manor with a swiveling head and craning neck to see every detail. But, it all felt so numb.

So pointless.

These so-called treasures were wrought of the suffering of others. Of the Seifar’s Stew. Of a soap-maker’s feast, the white bubbling broth of the Pit.

The saying of ill-gotten gains probably originated from this nine-damned, fellen place.

An attendant escorted Eiden and the Exorcist to the lord of Arvenpyre. The group wove from halls and grand rooms to spiralling stairs that wound up and higher around pillars of marble.

Yet, what most stole away Eiden’s attention were not the unliving gildings and scrollwork of gold, but instead the living presence of the serfs. Their willborn shrouds, the skin of their spirits, were prickly like a startled cat’s fur. It spoke of anxiety and fear of punishment.

These were the spirits of people battered and almost broken. Domesticated and subservient. It made Eiden’s stomach churn in disgust, though his face remained impassive. Harsh winters bred even harsher rats. His emotions were not so easily betrayed.

The windows, slits carved into the marmon stone, signalled their ascent into the heavens. The morning amber of the sea replaced by the blue of sky.

They reached a steel-bound door, the servant knocking thrice upon its surface before waiting a spell and knocking once more.

“Come.” The vocie was stern and kingly, carrying authority of one that was not to be questioned. All that did not bend were broken under the heel of its weight.

Lord Arven, in the flesh, sat at a desk made of bright-red wood. Whether it was natural or painted on, Eiden did not know. The lord was currently talking with a small child: blonde hair, the same as him with high and sharp cheekbones. Hers was less pronounced, hidden away by a layer of chubbiness associated with childhood. She couldn't have been more than five or six winters old.

Must be his daughter. She's got the same sharp face as him. They could cut bread with those.

Lord Arven sat up and adjusted his attire. It was surprisingly dull—none of the telltale colors of nobility or riches were evident in him. The lord's clothing was mostly grey and black with burgundy boots that bled a warm color.

There was a dangerous air to the man. Dull green eyes that pierced through the veil sheathing one's thoughts. A scar started from his left cheek and ended just under his mouth that spoke to some martial or military background or of an accident.

The cowling of spirit around the nobleman was dangerous like Fin's. Awoken and thinking. It was like looking down at the tip of a sword or seeing a serpent coiled and ready to strike. Another layer of body language and communication was happening between the noble and the Exorcist, their willborn mist swirling in entrancing and sharp patterns.

Magick peacocks. Thought Eiden wryly. Even in his fugue, he couldn't not make the comparison. Especially so after having seen such birds the last time a kirkos troupe found their way inside the Undercity. And though there was little money in that nest of poverty, rats were not tight with coin. Theirs was a currency of soapstones instead of metal.

Soapstones, little pebbles of unsellable soap by sunchild standards, were used in the stead of copper pennies and iron shillings. Kedweni marks were relegated for the pay of entertainment and the bartering with outsiders.

"So you are the exorcist my attendant informed me about yesternight. I am Lord Teldrin Von Arven. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you. Exorcist?" The nobleman’s voice was courteous and firm. Polite, but quick to the point.

"Phineas Luciean. High Exorcist of the Thirteenth Branch." Said Fin, taking an amulet from under his shirt. It hung on his neck with silver chains, the discus of stone gilded in simple iron. Etchings like that of Bastille’s pommel were carved into the amulet.

"What is the head of the Exorcist branch doing here in my humble domain? So far from the Order?" Said lord Arven, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at the amulet. The nobleman prodded at it with his spirit, looking over the stone seal with equal amounts apprehension and reverence.

"An exorcist's job. Putting spirits at peace." Said the Exorcist, his voice strong as damascene steel. "There was a Lilithuan vampire in the tunnels. It has been dispatched, the body burned, and the spirit inhabiting it has been cleansed. Here's the proof."

The strange metallic container Fin had been carrying was placed on top of the lord's table. The exorcist unclamped the sides of the container and then removed the lid. Fin tipped the opened end towards the lord. The lord's eyes widened for a brief moment before he schooled his expression back to the grim one he had on his face beforehand.

The lord Arven nodded, his spirit now back in the scabbard that was his body. It was not an equal to the mage proper that had slayed a beast of murmured myth and hushed legend. Who fought with a creature whose name was feared by all and spoken to unruly bairns to scare them into obedience.

Spawn of Lilithu.

Dhamfyr.

Vampyre.

Soulless spirit arisen from the Pale River.

"Thank you for your services, High Exorcist Luciean" Said lord Arven in a surprisingly grateful tone, bowing his head slightly. The lord looked at Eiden and then back at Fin, "Who's the boy?"

"My apprentice, Eiden," Said Fin with something suspiciously like pride.

"Nice to meet you, young lad." Said Lord Arven. "May your Path be long."

"Thank you." Replied Eiden, a little awkward.

"We're too far away from any good method of communication with the Order..." Said the Exorcist, filling the silence. "I expect to be paid in person—five gold crowns. One crown for each century that the leech had lived. If that were a strigoi elder instead of a halfling spawn, Arvenpyre would have no souls left amongst the living.

“Beware of any found bodies in the coming years. Where one leech is found, others are sure to be present. Maggots rarely feed alone. Theirs are a… kindred kind.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I have preparations to make. I'll be returning to collect the bounty tomorrow at noon." The Exorcist gave the nobleman a small bow, collected his metal container and he and Eiden left the manor.

"I know you're a mage and all," said Eiden, "but should you really have talked with the lord like that?"

Fin snorted in response.

"Did you really not know why he asked the reason for being so far away from the Order?" Said Fin.

"No"

"I am the leader of the Exorcist branch of the Order. The Grandmaster. Kedweni aristocracy doesn't like it that positions in the Order are mostly earned by merit. Nonetheless, my social position is quite high due to my station. But it's… complicated. I have all the needed political power but have someone representing my best interests back at the Order. And I am very far away from there.

“Think of it as a king outside of his kingdom. Still powerful but not as much as inside the borders of his nation.”

Fin looked at Eiden and sighed.

"You really don't understand, do you?"

"Kind of. But no, not really. What's 'political' mean?"

"Gods, I'll have to sort out that lack of education of yours. But first, a meal. That tavern there looks good enough."

The tavern was made of white marble, as all the buildings of Arvenpyre were. Voices boomed, and people littered the establishment. White tables and chairs made of stone sat patrons. It was a mixing of backgrounds. From rich commonfolk to young nobles with colorful garbs and dyed hair of varying colors—a southeastern Kedweni taste. Traveling merchant caravans and even a performing troupe was present, their music making its way to Eiden's ears.

Fin and Eiden were seated towards the back of the establishment with a window overlooking the sea.

"While we wait for the food, there's something important to tell you." Said Fin. "This isn't gonna be easy. The training to become an exorcist, that is. It will be painful, and you'll see horrors left best unseen. But if not for us, other people would be subjected to monstrosities like the one that slaughtered your cronies. But that's not even the primary job of an exorcist."

"Then what is?" Asked Eiden, seeing that Fin left his statement open for a question. Though it was an obvious ploy to get him to interact, curiosity still burned within Eiden.

"Though most think of us as just monster-slayers, we are much more. Our primary and most important job is helping ease spirits after death. If we simply slew monsters, their victims would turn into them. Sometimes even burning a body isn't enough to stop a vengeful wraith. Not everything is or should be fought with a blade, but we damn well win when it comes to that."

Eiden felt for the first time since waking up, something that he dared not feel.

He felt hopeful.

And something else. Anger smoldered within like an ember being doused in water—stubborn defiance that was invigorating, although caustic. Sure, Eiden could try and move on and forget, but… the fumes of rage were so intoxicating.

A druggae borne not of plant but of the mind.

The irony of preying upon those that preyed on the weak was like honey to his tongue.

Hope emanated from having a chance to help others and prevent what happened to him and his.

Sadistic anticipation came from the possibility of his revenge coming to fruition. The slaughterer of his kin and kith had been felled, removing his outlet. And now, he had one once again.

A ball of emotions thrummed in his chest—a cold and cruel core surrounded by a layer of warmth and hope.

Eiden looked at Fin, his eyes a calm determination, and nodded.

Fin nodded back.