You have been taken by the Mists

Author Topic: Journal of a Blackcoat  (Read 6203 times)

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #25 on: September 21, 2012, 05:05:13 PM »


Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #26 on: September 24, 2012, 04:45:03 PM »
9/24/767

With Milea's title degraded, it is easy to see who remains loyal to her.  Their new heresy festers, the Defiler is made bold by Milea's actions.  Vallaki and Barovia need a strong base to defend against their vengeful attacks...  The loose ends can be brought back into play.  Pieces that have been on the table can finally be moved.

Ezra's holy work continues.  We are making great strides, great discoveries.  We will need help... from the new arrivals, the new converts, and even from outside our fold.

I have much to do.

W.L. - IV

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #27 on: September 27, 2012, 04:39:12 PM »
9/27/767

The dust settles.  I am less concerned of Milea's heresy now that the matter has been given to the Inquisition.  Face to face, she seems content to pray aloud that the church be safe from the liars, theives, and such.  It is a petty attempt to gratify her sense of failure, I am certain.  How the drowning splash when their lungs are deprived of breath.

Perhaps she should pray that the Church be insulated from the vain and self serving interests of those of her ilk!  Looking back upon the incidents involving the League of Nine, I find myself wondering if the higher circles in Borca had become aware of their corruption.

I have collected my thoughts and observations on the two recent cases of daemonic possession I became aware of, that resulted from travel to a place called the Nightmare lands.  In both of these cases, the subjects were aware of the name of the possessing entity, which is one of the most indicative signs that investigation into such matters can yield.  Both subjects seem to have recovered on their own, leading me to estimate that the influence of these fiendish agents is tied to the lands in which they dwell.

I have baptised Nelithia, in spite of knowing that she has worn thin the patience of the Garda and perhaps others. I have faith that she will embrace our teachings. I believe her to be a most valuable addition to the Fourth Revelation... I hadn't expected her to choose our path, it was a pleasant surprise.  She speaks of a miracle that swayed her to Ezra's light, an incident involving Toret Morello.  I was concerned that Morello did not report this incident; but I'm more concerned with the investigation by the Inquisition that considers Morello a suspect in the death of Inquisitor Blazevic. The matter of which, I would like to see closed, one way or another.

My visions of Our Holy Guardian have increased in frequency... for all my work, She still seems displeased.  Perhaps none of us are truly worthy to serve Her. I will redouble my efforts, I will prove myself worthy of Ezra, worthy of the highest office I can serve in Her Church!

In Her Name,
W.L. - IV

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #28 on: October 04, 2012, 09:19:22 PM »
The rain slashed mercilessly at the men in their leathers, the boiled armors slickly reflecting the sparse moonlight that intermittently pierced the clouds. Theirs were not the colorful garbs of many other tribesmen, and moreso because they didn't wish to show any affiliation with the gypsies...

The youngest among them wasn't a day over sixteen years.  Dragging behind the small group, he struggled to keep up in the rain-drenched soil of the Old Svalich Road.  They kept a grueling pace, as his betters knew the way well.  At least the cold season hadn't arrived yet.

His "Uncle" Shandor called back to him harshly to keep up.  The self appointed leader of the group, Shandor was as cunning as he was despicable. Shandor had suffered the decree of their Rauni some years before the others, and was left with disgusting boils to show for it.  Ovidiu didn't even like looking at him.  Usually Shandor would delegate the fetching of some deer meat or other foraging to the inexperienced boy.  Tonight, Ovidiu would probably suffer Shandor's scrutiny as he was told to build a fire with soaked firewood.  If the others had to bother with such menial affairs, it might mean another beating.

The boy often thought that if not for his small, fang-shaped birthmark over his ribs, the others might just leave him in a ditch with a hole in his neck.  His father Emilian never protested at his mistreatment, but after the ignominious events concerning Ovidiu's mother, there was nothing but a silent emnity from him.  Indeed, Emilian had tried to take a wife outside of the blood, and he paid dearly for the disgrace... The details of the Vishnadd to follow were never revealed to anyone anyway.  The Rauni had obviously ruled that the spirits would punish Emilian - and just days after their banishment, his tongue fell out.  Love between giorgio's and Vistani had happened before; there had to be something more.  It had all happened before his birth anyway.

Perhaps his father worried that disgracing the blood even further would draw further attention from those vengeful, wicked spirits.  So Ovidiu reasoned, that's why he didn't end up floating on Lake Zarovich.  He definitely was not going to ask.  He'd thought of leaving before, but these were the only family he'd ever known.

They arrived at a crossroads, the croak of a raven echoing from somewhere in the dark treeline.  As they came to a stop, boots caked with mud, Emilian threw a shovel to the boy, or at him.  Fumbling as usual under the weight of their observation, he reclaimed it from a large puddle at his feet.  He knew what was expected of him, there'd be no wet logs tonight.

The others started fixing themselves into the terrain, as Ovidiu began to dig obediently.  Focused on his work, he didn't notice them vanish from sight. Sweat streaming from his face and mingling with the downpour, he worked exhaustively, digging a large hazardous ditch.  He couldn't see the moon anymore and lost his concept of time with the monotonous work.  Old Night bore down on him with a dense silence, only broken by the slurping sound of mud and gravel being pulled free of the packed road.

Palms blistered from the cracked and weathered handle of the shovel, he startled slightly as he heard from somewhere close by: "That's good enough."

It'd been a hard season and they hadn't seen any deer... the men were growing desperate for some jerky.  The ditch wasn't to catch any deer, though.  Taking the cue, the boy tied the shovel to his pack and found some nearby cover.  Finally his pulse slowed, and they waited, the only sound that of the falling rain, now.  His stomach rumbled.

He fought against sleep for what seemed like hours.  The thought of being discovered sleeping by the others was enough to keep him awake, however.  As he got older the beatings had become worse - he was more and more considered a man, expected to pull his weight, but they'd likely never acknowledge him, he thought.

The dark clouds lightened somewhat in hue.  Dawn was more or less imminent. His thoughts were interrupted by a most welcome sound, then a sight to follow.  It all seemed to happen slowly; the carriage rounded the bend, drawn by two black horses.  The driver called out in alarm out as the ditch worked just as expected - the horses fell in first, their own weight breaking their front legs, leaving them lame.  The driver cast one look about, looking right at Ovidiu's poorly chosen hiding place and locking eyes with him, before an arrow whistled right into his chest, then another.  The man crumpled forward with a pitiful gurgle of final protest.  Upset voices came from inside the carriage; there was a woman among them.

Ovidiu cringed; that domna was most unlucky.  He watched as the carriage door snapped open, a man stepping out, saying with hushed urgency, "Marilena, stay inside the carriage!"  He hadn't assessed their dead driver or the lame horses yet, but still removed a longsword from his sheathe.  After taking two steps out of the carriage and making the grim discovery, an arrow pitted itself into the exterior of the carriage.  The man ducked, the whistle of arrows cut the rain, the cruel aim of the Darkling snipers earning a hit to his thigh.  Blood sprayed from the wound.

"Now, go, go!"  The command from Shandor jarred the boy from his paralysis, his grim fascination with the dark scene unfolding.  His hand found a shakey grip upon his shortsword, and he hustled to close the distance to the carriage now that the moment was ripe.  The man was already pale in the face from the trauma.  He, at least, would see an quick end.  Raising his sword weakly, he presented no contest even for the boy, who knew only a life of taking what was needed.  Impressively the man survived the first blow, but it softened him up for the coup de grace.  Blood mingling with the rain and dark soil, the simple merchant, judging by his attire, looked up pleadingly at the boy as he closed his fingers around a silver pendant of some kind.  It was a moment that dragged on for an eternity it seemed, measured only by the sizzle and pop of the resin torches atop the carriage.  Not one to be accused of hesitating when he needed to pull his weight, Ovidiu cut the man's throat without further consideration.

His heartbeat raced with the excitement, but his spirits sank as he heard the opposide door of the carriage splinter open, kicked in by the others; then the woman screamed.

Enough was enough.  Those bastards were going to take turns with that woman, and if she was left alive she'd likely bear another hated son like himself.  He looked down at the merchant, eyes dull and vacant but still staring up at him, fingers clutched tightly around that silver pendant.  It looked pretty valuable.  He could already hear the woman's cries of protest as they began their sick, base ritual of victory.  It'd been months since they'd had a woman, and they never shared with Ovidiu.

He took the symbol and a small coinpurse, it wasn't much, but he was near enough to Krezk and his mother's relatives where he could possibly make a trade for it.  As he pried it from the mans still-warm fingers, he saw it was a longsword imposed over a towershield, entwined with a sprig of belladonna.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #29 on: October 15, 2012, 07:29:22 PM »
10/15/767

Drigor.

Salvatore Alurto.

Dimitry Bochinsky.

I looked upon them, those swift-moving Mists in the failed sanctuary of the Overseer.  Those Mists pulled me in... they showed me something I don't understand yet.

"My leg"

"Don't let the doctor touch me"

Inquisitor Noirgrim's pistol seemed far away when he fired that shot, but it was so close to my face I can still smell the gunpowder.  I shouldn't have let them in.  I didn't mean to let them in.

When I close my eyes I can still see those twisting, writhing images.

Ezra help me.
W. L. - IV

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #30 on: October 18, 2012, 05:11:57 PM »
10/18/767

Vincent von Stravokov.

I have been keeping a daily log separate from my journal including the specific details of our current assignment.  I'm taking account of who has reported in and when, donations made, and the specifics of an investigation ongoing.

What I cannot write in that report, is the quickness that morale was lost.  Always feeling watched, in the long shadow of something truly vile, our numbers dwindled first, before we were attacked.  Our newest brother Grisham nearly lost his life that night... yet he has remained resolute, he never once turned heel to run, he would sooner die before abandoning this post.  Ezra help us, send us more devotees like this one.  We might not last another night.

Beata Ezra.
W.L. - IV





Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #31 on: October 19, 2012, 02:44:37 PM »
10/19/767

I sent brother Virgil for a supply of paper and holy water and he hasn't returned in a few days.  I doubt anything happened to him - do I ask too much?  We are beset on all sides, I stood up to the apparition that almost killed brother Grisham, and felt the pain of death... It is a small miracle that we survived yet another night.  The risen dead are too many to count, their wailing forbids the mind to sleep... They cry of a Mistress called Nicoleta, one ghost said she lost her child... Another ghost told us it was unsafe to camp here, trespassing... It appeared to wear the robes of the Morninglord followers.  These spectres manifest fully enough to affect the material world... All of them, cloaked in these horrible daemonic mists... just like the fiend Alurto...

I've just been informed we're being spied upon, we've no choice but to continue our assignment, what interest our suffering could have to haethens is beyond me.

Beata Ezra
W.L. - IV

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #32 on: October 24, 2012, 05:22:00 PM »
10/24/767

Our vigil continues.  I am pleased with the addition of a woman named Lana.  She has come from a land very similar to our own, it would seem.  She says that after a blow to her head her memory is difficult to grasp.  With her arrival in this crucial time, we can never be too sure of spies or the like, so I will be keeping an eye on this one.  She seems to have picked up the lessons of our faith well enough and her baptism will follow.  Also of note is the exceptional brother Grisham, who has already entered our fold. 

All in all, since we established this base camp, twelve of Her faithful have reported.  Including Warden Creek, whom I haven't seen since my ordination.  And half of that number, showed within the first two days.  The attacks during the night seem to have subsided for now, but we will be prepared for the fiends when they show themselves to Ezra for judgement, when they've mustered the boldness to come out of their dark hiding places.

Brother Virgil finally returned with supplies. With such a great faith in one so young, I can see the tension this brings... You've been a shadow for so long, just a little longer... The time for idleness is at an end, my dear brother.

So too, the time for division has ended. Templar Commander Misha and I share views on this, as does Warden Hyde. Going forward, our cooperation will be an example to be followed by all.

I am still unsure whether I have met the Boyar, or one of his sons.  A survey of their lands took almost an entire day, and I'm sure I missed some ground.  One site I found out in the woods seems almost certainly the former site of daemonic worship.  Further investigation shall follow.

In Her Name,
W. L. - IV


Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #33 on: November 13, 2012, 07:47:05 PM »
11/14/767

I am tired.  Milea flaunts the stolen, necromantic blade Lamia, the disgusting implement being the sole key to Zebra's soul joining Ezra.  I cannot believe she is using this despicable sword as the symbol of her ill conceived order.

The Mists of Death cloud her mind, I can take some relief in knowing that the pending review over Milea's suitability to lead in the church is a closed case now.

Huntzinger follows like a lamb, it is shameful that their bonds of friendship are more important than the vows of their office.

They've laid themselves so bare.  There are no walls to place your backs against, Heretics.  You will be arrested.  You will be interrogated, you will be invalidated.

I am not concerned with the damage you do to Ezra's mission, deplorable as it is, the true shame is the irrevokable damage you've done to your own souls.  Damage that can only be reconciled atop the pyre, Ezra will cleanse your stained vessels when the flesh is transmuted to smoke and ashes.

I am very patient, justice however is not.

In Her Name.
Warden Lacusta

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #34 on: November 28, 2012, 08:50:52 PM »
11/28/767

Perhaps it'd have been me, used as a bargaining chip, had the heathens decided to let me have my way.

Make your own decision, face your own consequences.  So concerned with the politics of the matter, who gets the credit, for Ezra's sake, is it not more important that order be restored?

I was asked to be present during the caravan to the Castle.  And what for?  To accept the credit on behalf of whom?  I am less and less inclined to deal with these so-called Wayfarers, even as it seems the Cult has reclaimed their mouth-piece.  That magus they have could simply lay them all dead again, just like the first time.

They had attacked and captured someone from the surface.  I simply followed, to observe, much as a doctor steps lightly to check on a patient as they rest... I wanted to see the fate of one in their grasp.

The hissing victim carried a sword that will unravel him, eventually.  I returned it after I returned him to his friends.

He was not even an Ezrite... so I am not inclined to repeat this gesture, even I did not forsee such entanglements arrising from that visit to the Raunie's camp.  I will continue with our vigil and await to hear of any developments... assuming any reach my ear.

-W.L.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #35 on: November 30, 2012, 08:00:30 PM »
11/30/767

Milea flaunts herself openly, and taunts me.  When asked about her purpose, her mission, it is clear it is only to harm the church.

All she can speak about is her loss, her imagined victimization - there is no theological premise she operates from.  A more vain, self serving woman I couldn't imagine.

She tries to put it all on me.  "Your actions, Ovidiu."  How it unnerves me when she calls me by my first name.  It seems to be inconceivable to this woman that I have never cared about her personal vendettas in my actions and service to the church.  It seems beyond her grasp that I am considered a hero by the Fourth Revelation and that her judgements of me mean nothing, to anyone except her sympathizers.

I challenged her, go ahead, spread Ezra's word. She said, "that's always been your gift, Ovidiu."  So Milea admits that she has no capacity to preach and gain converts, more alarming is that her existing converts are the remnants of her personal friends who follow after her like helpless ducklings.  They can't answer any theological questions.  They have no identity, they don't even know who they are.

I've learned they lair somewhere east of Vallaki.  That narrows it down considerably.  As difficult as it is to wait, I must'nt gather the faithful yet.

Milea chose the right color for her order.  Sin is like scarlet in the eyes of Ezra.

The Mists of Death rejoice in your work.  They will continue to reward your vanity, your lust for vengeance, your futile attempts to find meaning where you are meaningless.

In Her Name.
-W. L.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #36 on: December 19, 2012, 04:59:55 PM »
12/19/767

The final destruction of Zebra Colt.  The final destruction of Scurvy.

These are but small victories, but I revel in them no less.  Our coffers are full.  I have amassed a stockpile of blessed weaponry, and ammuition enough to supply a militia through a months long siege.

Even as great as this is, we must continue.  Our requirements for what is to come are impossible to gauge.

I am shocked and sickened to behold Ambassador Popovici working alongside the heretics in red.  Calling them "sister," accepting them as if they hadn't forsaken the church, how quickly do we all forget that Stefania is the reason why Zebra was ever lost to us to begin with?

It is out of control.  Fortunately Warden Ambrosius has returned to us after a long absence.  With his leadership, we will continue to eliminate our obstacles and clear the way for the true work of Our Guardian to be carried out.

It is said that most heresies die out with their founder.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #37 on: December 31, 2012, 07:35:04 PM »
12/31/767

The chill of winter and the closure of the Svalich Road are foreboding both.  Have I failed my mission?

The workings of the Grand Scheme are mysterious, indeed.

I am taunted and ridiculed.  Goaded, by the heretics in red.  They wish to force my hand... it could produce mistakes, then.  It will not be so.  They will become twisted mockeries, shadows of

My hand will instead produce beautiful works of art, all in tribute to Ezra.

All of my previous work will culminate with them, within them.  Without them, it would not be possible now.

Those who would humiliate, will suffer the ultimate humiliation.  I will be as your teacher.  I will teach you to fear, before your sentence is come.

Suddenly, everyone wears red.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #38 on: January 10, 2013, 02:47:15 PM »
1/10/767

Some things are unknowable, even with the sight.  The Heretics who once flaunted themselves cower and flee before the night.  A single bolt is enough to splinter their resolve, scatter them.

Next time, it should be covered in weep my lassie, perhaps.  I wonder if their rancid Borcan stomachs will simply find appreciation for the bitter taste of it, though.

Always movement.  The Fourth is strong.  Coffers full.

The subversion of the Heretics still infects the main church.  The Templar Commander reported Warden Hyde to the Garda, accusing him of stripping and beating the heretic Dredo.

Now, why would a Templar Commander do that to her only Pure Heart Warden in the whole country?

I never suspected you. Your vileness is clear to all now, Misha.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #39 on: January 14, 2013, 04:20:49 AM »
1/14/768

Mina's faith is broken.  She has thrown away the heresy that she thew away being a warden to pursue.

Her skin is vile, necrotic, flaking away with the taint of the Legions of the Night.

I can see it vividly in my mind, Milea's anguish as she prayed over Mina.  The same way she prayed over Zebra, to no effect.

They hunt their sister as I write.  They blame me, but they are still wrong about Mina's transformation.

Milea used another heretical, arcanist spell, "Mages Armor."

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #40 on: January 25, 2013, 07:21:16 PM »
1/25/768

I have seen a promotion in the ranks of Her Church.  I predicted brother Creek would become Toret - to which he seemed surprised, humbled.

I am pleased to see he has been raised to Sentire.  The flock needs a wise and mighty leader to follow.  Not a vain one, like Milea was.

I have almost no time to write in this journal.  The increased correspondance with Darkon, and Barovia crawling with threats, many just outside our door, there is too much to do.   The other clergy seem stretched, or do they?  If they cannot document their converts, I will need to demonstrate my functions more clearly.  A waste of time considering what I am tasked with, but it will be for them to decide whether it is absolutely necessary. I have given them three days.

*the entry is left unsigned*

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #41 on: February 02, 2013, 11:02:42 PM »
2/2/768
*The handwriting is brusque*

They attacked our keep and found nothing.  Fools.  I killed nine of them myself.

I.O.L.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #42 on: February 03, 2013, 02:47:03 PM »
2/3/13

There were ten slain between us, my newest Templar and I.  The vast underground complex was likely destroyed.  I have my doubts whether the Death Cult would truly stay dead, though.  Their patron seemed more than capable to dispense the needed necromancy to reanimate their hollow, paper bodies.  Drigor, I hear you're in Edrigan?

We will indulge an aggressive campaign throughout the Core - all civilized lands will be scoured for signs of these criminals, and the toll of their trespass on von Zeklos soil will be exacted from each and every last cowardly hide.  And that of their allies, their friends, the sympathizers that are just as guilty as the Cult of their wanton murders and ongoing debasement of Ezra.

Perhaps they should seek the Keybearer's promise. It's not too late for them to escape my grasp, if they believe the daemon's words.

They've little left to choose from, now.
I.O.L.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #43 on: February 05, 2013, 07:36:54 PM »
2/5/768

I do not know how he does it.  I have always admired the Inquisitor Veritas, and now I know the things I could never have imagined about his struggle. Our struggle.  His patience, his many years, I was shocked to learn he is almost two hundred and looks more youthful than I do.  The Grand Scheme is confusing.

Inquisitor Noirgrim once called me... poorly trained, after I was defeated by that thrice-damned servant of death, Salvatore Alurto.  If the Inquisitor had not been following me, I'd have died.  I begin to wonder why he was following me. In the months since that time I have trained extensively... pushing the limits of my body and faith.

It has been easy.  All I need to think about is that swift moving, daemonic Mist... the foul, jeering faces, the twisted mockeries of life, all grasping, reaching... I think of those children, the poor souls that the Doctor and his cabal molested so.  Dimitri Bochinsky, Lilas Wurtbeich... and the writing on the wall says they'll be here soon.

I have tried to brief Sentire Creek.  I have tried to brief his Torets.  They do not understand - no, they cannot fathom the blackness that marches toward us. The putrid claws that stretch toward us.  The odious, corruptive touch of the Legions of the Night that visits us nightly.

The Templars are being attacked steadily. The Drinker of Blood is not subtle.  I am reminded that I am not a soldier.  We will tell them what we know... and pray for the best.

I.O.L.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #44 on: February 18, 2013, 03:58:20 PM »
2/18/768

2/18/768

The conspiracy I have stumbled upon is almost too troubling to write here, but I will hence commit this to paper so that another anchorite may pursue it after my service to Ezra is done.

I have slain a powerful shapeshifter, that was once known by the name Warn Windwill.  A cunning deceiver, this creature masqueraded as a Lightcarrier for a time; from the confidential dossier I have kept, I will rewrite what I have learned, Ezra help me.

Quote
Three outlanders were accompanied by the fair-haired lightcarrier, down into the dusty crypts below the Morninglord sanctuary.  They were in melee with the undead there.  I had followed them to sate my curiosity on what the mindless undead had evidently done to rebuild some of the lower levels of the complex - at the direction of their unseen masters, no doubt.

I followed after their party, not too close, but close enough to remain in earshot. I had all but lost interest in following their group - unremarkable warriors that they were - until I found the passage behind me blocked by some trick of the Legions of the Night... I would have to proceed through.

Catching up to the party of four, I noted they had closed with a group of undead warriors that fought with a closeness and cohesion that suggested they fought together in life.  They were cutting the outlanders down with measured strikes and methodical, predictable tactics... and were proving quite effective at the task.

Having no obligation to intervene, I may have resolved, at the very least, to extricate their corpses to the surface for burial, but I cannot remark on that, for what I saw next was truly horrific.

One of their women, she wore her armor poorly, was unceremoniously felled by the skeletal fighters... And it seemed that the very moment her dark blood hit the dusty floors of that place, as soon as the sanguine humor mingled with the sting of battle filling the nostrils... The Lightcarrier changed.

This was the sudden cascade of bone, of rippling flesh and an odious, avian cry! This was the shapechange of a Beast that Rends... but not like any other I'd seen. This creature was half again as tall as man... Bedecked with a plume of feathers, shining as black as night, and a jagged beak protruding from where the face of a man once resided.

No sooner did the man change into this abomination, than it lept upon the body of the felled woman.  As if any further show of its nature was required, it began to gorge upon the carrion flesh!  Snapping at its former companions, the outlanders did not seem to understand their imminent danger, instead thinking of this monster as their friend!

I could stand by no longer. I surged from the shadows, Ezra's blessings upon my lips, but I was only able to harm it superficially... Enough to make it flee, at the least.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #45 on: February 18, 2013, 05:01:34 PM »
Quote
I encountered a woman known as Rada, who is also known by the alias Adeline. She was doting all about her upcoming wedding in the Morninglord church. The woman was quite decisively a pest as I worked some supplies I'd received from Frenar Goldenhammer, who was not yet a layman - at first I had thought to simply be rid of the woman.  I had expected her to leave instead of answer my line of questioning which I promptly turned on her.

I accused her of harboring a Legion of the Night, a creature of vile darkness, and her demeanor was as defensive as could be expected.

I began to describe my experience watching the thing change down in the crypt, though I was careful not to mention that I'd seen Warn's human appearance in good detail, or that I knew it was a Lightcarrier specifically.

Sensing my intentional vagueness and falling prey to it, the vile woman quickly suggested that the Morninglord Vicar was the shapeshifting monstrosity.  It became instantly clear that this woman wanted to dispose of her high priest, even though she spoke carefully enough, she repeated her suspicion that the Vicar was the creature.

I asked, for her to describe the Vicar, to which she obliged.  I pressed the question, and she confirmed, that the Vicar does indeed have dark hair.

Goldenhammer spoke with me in murmurs, and sensing his propensity for this kind of work, I told him about the target having light colored hair. He was immediately a benefit to the investigation when he asked her if her husband to be, Warn, had light hair to match her own.

She said yes.

A new interest in this wedding forming, I resolved to attend and see for myself if her husband Warn was the shapeshifter I'd witnessed.  The time was not convenient though... I could not make the ceremony.  Goldenhammer showed initiative and told me he'd go to the wedding... I had not even asked him to.

I offered a pleasantry to Rada, I told her that I wished her husband Warg and she a fine ceremony.

She made no effort to correct my intentional misuse of Warn's name.  That someone else corrected me was unnecessary... I hadn't mistaken it.

She'd tried to deflect us into making a serious mistake accusing the Vicar.  She tried to protect Warn... but she'd revealed him every bit as much as herself.

Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #46 on: February 18, 2013, 06:26:38 PM »
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My Retainer, whom I later appointed after troubles of my own, reported back on the matter of Warn and Rada's wedding.  Indeed the fair-haired lightcarrier was just as I described.  I went to the Vallaki Garda and informed them of my ongoing investigation.  At the time, Sergeant Petkovich had agreed to make a typical arrest of the creature, then summon me to the jail to see to the important task of proving the nature of it, assessing any weakness, and finally disposing of it.

The Garda never did their part.  Weeks passed without any new leads, the case was growing cold.  We still had nothing as far as a weakness and, Warn hadn't been seen in the Morninglord temple, either.

Just when I it seemed the creature had slipped our grasp, my Retainer and I witnessed it lingering out in the open - in the western outskirts of vallaki, no less.  Some simple trade had outlasted the daylight.  This was it; we followed the creature and an elven woman into the southern wood.

We were summarily attacked by a fell Druid, a Bear-shifter, no doubt an ally of Warn's, as I confronted him and held him fast.  My Retainer succeeded in defeating the bear-woman.  I managed to cut Warn's hand off, but only after a second attempt.  Varja-using-Caliban huddled in the shadows watching while Warn struggled against the compulsion to change.  Let the Caliban see the proof.

His mastery over his uncanny forms should be stated.  It took stabbing Warn full of Belladonna extract, a dose lethal to a normal person, to finally prompt the physical manifestation of his taint.  Cries from the caliban sympathizers distracted from my task - but all were captured in silence as the horrid thing shifted forms below my very boot.  I was nearly thrown by it thrashing so powerfully, but Ezra kept me steady, kept the fiend pinned entirely under my weight.

Finally, despite the struggle I managed to get some of the stronger alchemical varnish onto my blade.  It was orders of magnitude stronger than the allergic properties of even the rarest metals, and I wasn't going to take any more risks in letting this fiend escape.  Severing a vital tendon that deprived it deliberate movement made dispatching it easier than expected.  I was not pursued as I made my escape with the thing in tow.


Ovidiu_Lacusta

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Re: Journal of a Blackcoat
« Reply #47 on: February 18, 2013, 06:50:47 PM »
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Addendum:

Warn:
-divorced Rada, he called her wicked and unworthy of the Morninglord.
-deserted the Morninglord Faith, breaking his vows as a Lightcarrier.
-was transformed into a Raven monster in the wolf cave near the Fishing Lodge.
-was thoroughly convinced he was an ally to good creatures everywhere.
-denied any knowledge of others of his kind.
-had no noteworthy possessions.
-condition was known to many, including the caliban witnesses.

Anchorite, it is crucial that you now learn what I have learned, that in fact a secret society of these abominations dwells near the Village of Barovia.

The flock of Ezrites that have moved into von Zeklos are inexorably corrupt and hold the testimony of caliban over officials in the Church.

I am not a criminal, nor an enemy of the state, nor an heretic, nor have I committed any wrong deed so help me Ezra.  I am innocent.