“...And then Vilmos put us in your storage area,” Alexandra concluded.

“I see,” Rasmussen said as he stroked his long brown beard. He was an unusually large and tall middle-aged man with long messy hair. He wore simple black robes, as was customary of physicians in the empire.

“I know this is a minor detail, but do you know what condition that servant girl was in? I don’t think I can go to the palace at this hour without arousing suspicion, but I would like to help her as soon as possible,” Rasmussen inquired. Alexandra shook her head.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I wasn’t close enough when it happened to make out any minute details.” She said. Rasmussen sighed.

“I guess I will just have to go to the palace early tomorrow. Hopefully, I will be able to twist somebody’s arm and get the opportunity to check on, provided she survives the night. Still, I don’t know how they’re going to treat me when I get there, considering what happened,”

“What do you mean by that? You’re the royal physician and the crown prince is gravely ill!” Ekkehardt piped in.

“Former royal physician,” Rasmussen corrected, “I was relieved of my duty a few hours ago; right after I completed my diagnosis of Prince Alexander. Agrippina had me replaced with some foreign nobleman; an Alemanian from the Confederation. He was some big bald guy with a massive scar running down his face. I think his name was ‘von Dunkelwald1-Faulenberg2’... or maybe it was ‘von Faulenberg-Dunkelwald’. I can’t remember; I was a little too busy getting dragged out of the palace to notice.”

“Wait, you know what’s wrong with Alexander? Do you know how to get him back to normal?” Alexandra asked. Rasmussen sighed.

“I do. Let’s all get into my operating room. I have some books there that will help me explain what’s going on… as well as some chairs… you’re going to want to sit down for this…” Rasmussen explained before leading them down the hall and into his operating room. As Alexandra moved through Rasmussen’s house she noticed that it was a bit of a mess with various medical tools, bottles of medicinal herbs, and various other small items related to the man’s work scattered all over the place. Despite the fact this was her first time visiting her doctor in his private residence, Alexandra could help, but feel a sense of familiarity with her surroundings as Rasmussen’s house had the same degree of disorder that his facility in the palace did.

Rasmussen led the party through a door that opened up to a large room. The walls of the room were lined with chests, drawers, and bookshelves while a long wooden table sat in the center. Upon the table lay a tall, muscular man with blonde hair. He was naked, save for two white clothes that were draped over his face and his genitals. His body was covered in cuts and bruises. Without thinking Ekkehardt rushed towards the body.

“Siegfried… I’m sorry…” He uttered. He felt his stomach churn as his throat swelled. Tears began to form in his eyes as his vision blurred and his arm began to shake. He didn’t want to believe what he heard earlier, but now that the truth was right in front of him there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t bottle it away or ignore it. Alexandra rushed to his side.

“Eike…” She began, but Ekkehardt cut her off.

“If you’re going to ask me to show a single iota of mercy to Agrippina then you're out of luck. She’s a monster. We’ve known this for years and done nothing.” Ekkehardt stated, his gaze now shifting away from the body on the table. His words were filled with a sort of malice that she had never heard from him before.”I swear to Siegfried: that abomination will die by my hand!” He proclaimed.

“Mr. Lowe, uh there is something I think you need to know…” Rasmussen chimed in, only to be cut off by an unexpected noise.

“Daaaz roooight! Muck ‘er pay Eggert!” A voice shouted from somewhere behind Ekkehardt and Alexandra. It spoke in a strange and slow way; slurring it’s words and ending it’s statement with a hic-up. Everyone turned to the source of the noise, who was emerging from a closet that Alexandra had failed to take note of while entering the room. Through a half-open door, Alexandra saw a large man wearing nothing, but a cloth diaper around his waist and many white bandages all over his body. The bandages covered the entirety of the top of his head as well as his right eye. A bloodshot eye with a blue iris was visible on the left side of his face. One of his arms was in a splint and hanging from a sling. As he stumbled towards Ekkehardt and Alexandra, the princess noticed that he reeked of alcohol. He then proceeded to do something to Ekkehardt that was halfway between hugging him and falling on top of him.

“I wuz sooo worried ‘bout you…” He said to Ekkehardt.

“Siegfried?” Ekkehardt blurted out as he tried to keep the two of them from losing balance.

“Goddammit, you buffoon! How the hell are you even ambulatory?” Rasmussen snapped.

“Rasmussen, what’s going on? Is that Siegfried?” Alexandra asked. Rasmussen sighed.

“Yes, that is Siegfried Lowe. He was brought to my house earlier today. Apparently, Agrippina had the royal torturer do a number on him; put him on death’s doorstep.They wanted me to nurse him back to health; make just barely strong enough to survive what they had planned for him next. I wasn’t really in a mood to cooperate with them and there was the matter of Mr. Lowe’s newfound importance to natural philosophy. Endangering his life at this point would be a crime against medicine, so I swapped him out with some dead drunk an associate of mine dropped by house earlier today. Really fortunate that this big, strong, blonde-haired man died when he did; otherwise I would have had to let them throw Mr. Lowe back into whatever oubliette they were keeping him in. I couldn’t let that happen! No, I will need him to be as healthy as possible if I want to conduct all the experiments I have planned for him. If only I didn’t have to wait until my death to pub...” Rasmussen explained only to have Ekkehardt grab him by the collar of his robes.

“What the hell are you planning to do to my brother?” He demanded. Rasmussen was not amused by this action.

“Calm down you, oaf! I had no intention of cutting him open or anything barbaric like that. I just wanted to monitor his health over the course of a few months. The man had a piece of metal lodged in his brain. If I am able to properly record and analyze any abnormalities in his health and athletic performance over the coming months then I might be able to determine the exact function of the human brain! We already know that the stomach and intestines process food, the spleen makes black bile, the heart is responsible for thought, the lungs handle both breathing as well as the production of phlegm, and the liver produces blood, but we understand literally nothing about the human brain! A breakthrough in our understanding of the brain could mean so much for the study of natural philosophy3.” Rasmussen shot out. There was a brief pause. Rasmussen then leaned in towards Ekkehardt and began to speak in a more calm manner, “There is also the issue of your brother’s relationship with his highness. I know that he values your brother greatly and, as I am sure you are aware, I am very deeply within his highness’s debit. He was one of the only people who stood up for me after...” Rasmussen then leaned in closer and began to speak just barely above a whisper, “...well… after the quality of my service came into question.” He said, finishing his sentence while nodding his head towards Alexandra ever so slightly. Ekkehardt released him.

“Um, Dr. Rasummssen, why is Siegfried acting like this?” Alexandra asked, as Siegfried got up close to her and began mumbling incoherently at her.

“Why, that’s because he’s drunk, your highness. I needed to give him something to numb his pain and the only thing that seemed to work was absinthe. I had to use a whole bottle of it. I honestly don't know how he’s even awake right now.” Rasumessen explained.

“Uh dunno evin nuh how yerr…” Siegfried mumbled as he began to sway back and forth, like a tree in a storm. His eye slowly closed as his voice became inaudible. He would have fallen to the floor if it weren’t for Ekkehardt employing his strength and quick-wits to grab him by his one good arm before he fell over.

“Mr. Lowe, could you please… deposit your brother in that closet over there. I was able to place a cot in there for him.” Rasmussen requested. He then uttered the syllable ‘veh’. That was all it took for Vilmus to spring into action and assist Ekkehardt with his task.The two of them, together with Schirmer, carried Siegfried to the cot in the closet and set him down gently upon it. Schirmer had black hair that was graying somewhat prematurely and there was a vertical scar about the length of a finger that ran along the lower left side of his face. He was a large and tall man with broad shoulders, so his assistance was greatly beneficial to Ekkehardt.

“We need to puh-puh… he needs to be on his side; in case he vomits…” Vilmos explained. The two other men complied. As the three of them returned from the closet, they found Rasmussen and the other men setting up some wooden chairs for them to sit on.

“Vilmos, could you get everyone some wine?” Rasmussen asked.

“Yes, sir. Would you like for me to get the Strivalian bottle?” Vilmos responded, subtly gesturing to Alexandra as he did so.

“Yes. That would be good,” Rasmussen said as he took a seat. The rest of the members of this meeting followed suit. There was a brief silence.

“So, I guess I should cut to the chase and explain the nature of Prince Alexander’s condition,” Rasmussen began.

“I think we would all like that.” Ekkehardt responded. The rest of the group nodded their heads in agreement. Ramsussen began to explain the situation as Vilmos returned to the room and started handing out cups of red wine to the group.

“Alright then, an official story has been circulating within (and exclusively within) the palace. According to this story, Prince Alexander was the victim of a curse inflicted upon him by a dark sorceress, a devil-worshipping witch by the name of Alexandra von Adler…” Rasumssen said, only to be cut off by the sound of a small amount of wine being rapidly and forcefully expelled from someone’s lips. This sound was accompanied by Ekkehardt blurting out the word ‘what?’.

“I’m not a witch!” Alexandra blurted out. She was going to follow it with ‘who would dare make such an accusation against me’, but the answer to that question came to her before she could even say it. Rasmussen sighed as he looked at the droplets of wine that got on his robes.

“Well, I assume that anyone who has the composure to make a dark compact with otherworldly entities probably has the composure to not shoot liquid out of their mouths at the first accusation of impropriety, but what do I know?” Rasmussen grumbled as he wiped the wine droplets off his robe with a rag.

“...sorry about that…” Alexandra replied in a voice that was half-way between speaking and mumbling.

“Anyways…” Rasmussen resumed, “When I was brought to his highness, I found him naked, chained to a bed, and shouting a number of obscenities in various languages. The body of literature on this condition isn’t exactly large, but I was able to recognize what exactly was wrong with his highness. I had only seen anything like it once before; a long time ago when I was traveling in Suidmania alongside his majesty. I was approached by a peasant woman who wore a thick and long leather glove on her right hand. She asked me who I was and when I told her she dropped to her knees and begged me to save her son. She told me that she was the mother of three boys. One day her eldest son went to explore a nearby cave with his friends. When they didn’t return the village sheriff organized a posse to go look into the cave to rescue them. All they found was two small badly-burned corpses and an old chest full of valuables. Given the age of the chest and the fact that it bore the imperial Osminite seal, the sheriff deduced that it was a cache of war spoils that the Osminites looted during one of their invasions and hid away during one of their retreats. The items in the chest were all valuables belonging to some imperial nobleman from long ago, save for one: a strange medallion of unknown origin,”

As Rasmussen spoke, alarm bells began to sound in the minds of both Alexandra and Ekkehardt.

“The bodies of the two boys were too charred to identify. All that could be determined by examining them was that they were children, roughly the same size as the three missing boys, and that they had died recently. Without any evidence, the trail ran cold. None of the villagers knew what happened to the third boy or even which one of the three could still be alive. Things would have remained that way if the fires didn’t start,”

“Fires?” Ekkehardt asked.

“A few days after the villagers found the bodies, crops and livestock in the county began to catch fire in the middle of the night. In the case of livestock, it was especially uncanny. There was no evidence of the animals trying to run away or anything like that; it was like they were burned all at once. This went on for two weeks before a courier who had taken a wrong turn stumbled upon the cause of the fires: the eldest son of the peasant woman; the boy who had gone to play in the cave and never came back. He saw the boy roast a pig by breathing on it like a dragon. When the courier tried to talk to the child, the boy looked at him with cold dead eyes; as though the man had no right to speak to him or even be in his presence. He blew fire at the courier; just barely missing him. He was able to get away and alert the sheriff of the boy’s presence. The sheriff decided to go out and see the boy for himself and… he wasn’t as lucky...” Rasumussen explained. He then sighed and took a sip of wine.

“Once the villagers realized that their sheriff was dead, they grabbed whatever weapons they could find and formed another posse; this time to hunt down the boy. Armed with bows, hatchets, and pitchforks, they searched for the child. Unfortunately, the boy was also looking for them. He ended up baiting them into a trap and killed half their party with a single breath. He would have killed them all, but one member of the group was lucky enough to fire an arrow at the boy’s head at the last possible moment; killing him instantly.” Rasmussen explained. Schumacher set his wine glass down.

“Wait, so the kid died? Where are you going with this story?” Schumacher interjected. Schumacher was an older man with graying black hair that was fashioned into a bowl cut. He wore a simple brown robe; common attire for a scribe.

“You know how I said that the boy was the peasant woman’s eldest son? Well, she had two others and after her eldest son died his condition somehow moved to her middle son. That time, the villagers were able to capture him before he could hurt anybody. They had to use all of the chains in the village and put his head in a vise to keep him from moving it, but they were able to prevent him from hurting anyone; save for his mother. He blew fire on her right arm one day while she was trying to feed him; burned her so badly that when the skin on her arm healed it was leathery and hairless. Unfortunately, the boy turned into a living corpse during his confinement. It didn’t matter how much food he was given; something slowly ate away at his body over the course of two years until heart stopped beating. The villagers, anticipating what was to come, had the youngest son locked up a week or so before the middle son’s death. Just as they had predicted, he began to suffer the same fate as his older brothers.” Rasmussen explained. He then took a sip of wine.

“This is where I personally enter the story. This woman’s village was close to a castle that his majesty was overseeing the reconstruction of, so I was able to pop in and take a look at the boy without creating any serious problems for his majesty. When I agreed to see the boy, his mother led me to an abandoned Samudaayian4 temple from the time of Osminite rule. It was the only stone building in the vicinity of the village. I found him chained to the ground in the center of the main prayer hall. His head was fixed in an upward position so that any fire he breathed would bounce harmlessly off the high stone ceiling.” Rasmussen narrated. He then paused to take another sip of wine.

“For the next three months I divided my time between that boy and his majesty’s needs. Thankfully, his majesty never had any issues with his health during the entirety of his stay in Suidmania. One night, I found the cause of the boy’s condition completely by accident. At that time I was with his majesty and his entourage at the castle that was being rebuilt. It was an absolutely ancient and decrepit thing that was built by the Oriental Reman empire only to be taken by some Suidmanian tribe. After that it was fought over for decades by various Suidmanian tribes and petty kingdoms before the Osminites swooped in and conquered everything. A century or two later it would be constantly taken and retaken by Osminites and Ostermanians until one Osminite commander leveled the castle using trebuchets loaded with solid metal projectiles. Neither the Osminites nor the Ostermanians had expected this outcome. I don’t really see why this was the case, since neither side had ever put any effort into maintaining the place while they occupied it and it was built centuries prior by people who thought burning down their own capital was a perfectly reasonable response to losing a chariot race, but I guess that’s just hindsight talking. Anyways, I was taking a break from my duties one night when I decided to go exploring in the ruins of the castle. There, I found an old Hellastani codex written by an Oriental Reman monk named Akakios5 Papadopoulos6. I took the book back to our encampment and examined it in the privacy of my own tent. I was hoping that I had just uncovered a codex about medicine or Reman history, but the information contained in that codex was in regards to something far more arcane and sinister; something that people like us have no business with…” Rasmussen said, only to be cut off by Alexandra.

“Wait a minute, isn’t Papadopoulos that demon guy?” Alexandra blurted out, “I believe that Damien LeNoir referenced him quite a bit, though he was quite critical about some of the things Papadopoulos wrote, such as his description of the process required for the creation of chimera and…”

“Pardon me your highness, but are you saying that you read the works of Damien LeNoir, the Metrovingian occultist?” Schumacher interrupted.

“...yes…” Alexandra replied as her face stiffened.

“How did you even get access to that? Even looking at a book like that would require approval from the archbishop of Königsstadt and the court chaplain!” Schirmer barked.

“...some monk left the door to the restricted section of the imperial archives unlocked during his lunch break and I was kind of curious…” Alexandra said softly. Schirmer was about to say something, but Ekkehardt got ahead of him.

“Sir, in her highnesses defense, she didn’t inflict or intend to inflict any harm by her actions and I don’t think we should let minor things like this get in the way of the much bigger problem at hand,” Ekkehardt pointed out.

“Also this was a few years ago and I didn’t actually do anything with what I learned! I was just bored and all of the other books in the restricted section were either written in a language I couldn’t read or were some sort of weird erotica.” Alexandra explained in a frantic voice, desperate to defend herself.

“Well, I guess your actions didn’t have any ill-intent behind them and we really should be focused on - wait, what do you mean by ‘weird erotica’?” Schirmer said, his mouth running a few seconds ahead of his mind.

“Uh guys, I mean, Sir Schirmer and Lady Alexandra, do you think that we could get back to his highness condition?” Kurtzman, who up until this point had been silent, said. He was a rather cagey man. The man had very poor posture; he carried himself in a way that almost seemed as if it was done with the goal of making his already small body even smaller.

“Thank you Mr. Kurtzman, I’m sure we would all love to know more about the weird things the church is hiding from us, but we should probably return from our tangent.” Rasmussen agreed. There was no objection from anyone else in the room. Kurtzman exhaled as though a great burden had been lifted from him. He then pushed his glasses back into face and ran his hand through his short brown hair.

“Alexandra,” Rasmussen began, “In that LeNoir book, did you learn anything about something called a ‘moonman’?” he asked. Alexandra nodded her head.

“Yes, I have,” Alexandra responded, “LeNoir didn’t have much to say about them, compared to the other creatures he wrote about and he provided no illustrations of the creatures. According to LeNoir, they were a type of demon that were capable of shapeshifting. They could take on any form they pleased, but only during the day. Under moonlight they adopted their true appearance, one that LeNoir could only describe as ‘grotesque’. They could retain their human appearance by remaining in shelters during the night, but that would weaken them, since they need moonlight to survive the same way humans need food. Supposedly they each possessed some sort of unique ability that allowed them to bend reality to their will. In terms of that ability, they were like snowflakes: no two of them were alike. Unfortunately, there was one trait that all had in common: wickiness. Regardless of where they were or who they were dealing with they all took pleasure in causing as much pain and suffering to as many people as possible. LeNoir also provided a few examples of historical events that they supposedly took part in… of course, this is all just make-believe at the end of the day…”

“I’m afraid not,” Rasmussen said. There was no emotion in his voice or any expression on his face. Schirmer gave out a confused wince. Ekkehardt’s eyes darted around the room; examining the body language of everyone present. Alexandra wasn’t sure how she was going to respond to that.

“Uh… so, that’s a joke, right?” Messerschmitt asked. Egon Messerschmitt was a short and wide-built man with a shaved head and a thick gray mustache. He wore a thick leather apron and a little bit of black soot clung to his face.

“It’s not.” Rasmussen responded. He then turned to Vilmos, “Vilmos, could you bring me that black metal strong box and a pair of leather gloves?” he requested.

“You mean the one you tuh-tuh… the one you ordered me not to mess around with?” Vilmos asked.

“Yes, that one,” Rasmussen responded. Vilmos nodded, got up, and left the room.

“What does this box have to do with anything?” Schirmer demanded.

“You’ll see. Anyways, let me get back to what I discovered in Papadopoulos’ codex.” Rasmussen said, “In the codex, I found a section of text on moonmen. Most of it was more or less exactly what you said, but Papadopoulos included one anecdote at the end of this passage. He described a story of a wealthy Reman man, who attempted to harness the power of moonmen. In a way he succeeded. He was able to imprint the… essence of a moonman upon a medallion. Unfortunately for him, there were two notable problems with his handiwork. The first was that the medallion had to be made out of celestial iron. The second was far more problematic: the essence stored within the medallion wasn’t just a part of the moonman’s powers, but also part of the mooman’s personality. Once the medallion is touched by a human they would be taken over by that incorperal personality.”

“So the medallion the villagers found in the cave…” Alexandra began.

“Yes, exactly,” Rasmussen responded, “It was a medallion meant to store the essence of a moonman. When the first boy touched it, he became possessed by the moonman’s personality.”

“Wait a minute,” Messerschmitt interjected, “Neither of the boy’s brothers touched the medallion. How did they get possessed?”

“To be completely honest with you, I have no idea. All I know is that the moonman personality or spirit has the ability to jump from one host to another when its host dies. We don’t have enough information to say anything conclusive, but it appears that the moonman spirit prefers to go after siblings of it’s previous host.”

“So, you want us to believe that a spirit born from a monster from some weird book that is probably heretical has taken control of the crown prince?” Messerschmitt asked.

“That’s what all of the evidence seems to point to.” Rasmussen responded.

“I agree,” Ekkehardt said, “When I fought his highness he did things that just weren’t normal. He was able to climb walls and make his skin impenetrable. I’ve never seen anything else like it.” Ekkehardt looked towards the closet Siegfried was sleeping in as he thought about his battle with Alexander.

“I think he’s right, Mr. Messerschmitt. I know I saw Alexander touch some weird medallion that Agrippina had on her.” Alexandra added.

“Your highness, I don’t want to come off as rude, but I will believe in magic pieces of jewelry when I see them.” Messerschmitt responded. At that moment Vilmos returned to the room. He was carrying a large black strongbox. Vilmos leaned the box against his chest, exerting much energy just to carry it.

“I fuh-fuh-found it, master,” he announced. Alexandra could see a vein bulging on Vilmos’s forehead. Rasmussen nodded in approval.

“Perfect timing, Vilmos. Come here.” He responded. He then got up and helped Vilmos place the strongbox on a small folding table where everyone could see it.

“Alright, when I open this box, I want all of you to keep a safe distance from it and under no circumstances are any of you to touch what’s inside. Do you understand?” Rasmussen ordered as he put on a pair of long and thick leather gloves and grabbed a long pair of metal tweezers. Everyone nodded. He then turned to Schirmer.

“It’s Ludolf, right?” He asked. Schirmer nodded and said yes. “Since you’re the only one of us with a weapon, I want you to kill anyone that breaks my ‘no touching’ rule,” he said with no emotion in his voice.