♞ The Casebook of Detective Sheridan Eliana [Complete] ♞

[emptyanima]

[She lies within two cells, one of metal, and one crafted with skin. Her mind is a storm, and her knowledge is shipwrecked, and she struggles to cling to the flotsam and jetsam of her thoughts, whispering to herself in the double darkness, recalling words scribed in the book which lies in her brother's possession.]

"Many will look, few will see."
                            "I have seen..."
                                 "The next time I see…"
                                                   "I must seek..."
                                                           "I must look..."
                                                                "I seek truth..."
                                                                           "I see blood..."
                                                                                    "I must look to people..."
                                                                                                        "We seek…"
                                                                                                            "When I see myself, I see survival..."
                                                                                                                "...Isn't that what your name means...

Seeker of truth?"

                                                                                    "...My desire to see that truth is found."
                                                         "...I spent a few moments looking."
                                                      "...I look at myself."
                             "...My place in the world is to seek."
                     "...Keep a careful eye."
            '...Keep an eye open."
"...My eyes are needed."

[She brings her hand, heavy, gleaming in the low light and, filled with sorrow, she covers the place where her eyes would be, that unsettlingly smooth skin, her mind flaring with the hazy image of her eyeball between a woman's fingers, before the other was plucked. Her head was filled with darkness, and like a tomb, it was sealed; the skin healed. She looks like an unfinished sculpture, straining to meet its creator's gaze with a featureless face. She continues to address the formless gloom.]

The world is darkness and gloom. I find no rest. There is no light to break through the nightmares that always take the stage in my mind, for there is no curtain to lift, and they continue, assaulting me in almost every moment. There are times when I reach a sense of heaviness, stillness in the dark, and I am no longer aware of my own breath. Is this sleep? It never lasts long, for the images are unending, and I am brought to the surface of consciousness, and it is painted the same black that my subconscious owns. Silence is painful, for I feel I sit in a void, a nothing sitting in nothing, without context, without place. The world has been washed away, the storm of my dismemberment crashed into silence -  I have been left behind. I yearn for sound, for sound gives a place its shape; stone echoes a deeper peal as it is kissed with liquid, while wood speaks briefly. I used to believe hair was silent, but I was wrong, and when it moves, it sounds like burning. Burning. The dancing flames taunt me, for I hear their music, but their light is beyond my comprehension. I strain, and I find that I can no longer recall how the clothes I wore before they were cut from me looked, neither do I remember Gabriel's face. Gabriel. Why do you seek to stop my ears with poison, and twist my feeble heart to your dark tenets? Of course I loved you. I loved you more dearly than myself. But... who are You? He is not the one who comes before me in my prison now - the one you are now, he is a stranger, and his presence is frightening where it was once soothing. You died when you stole my breath, when you held my throat in that vice grip; as I faded into the blackness, You fell away into obscurity. Into oblivion.

The world has been washed away, the storm of my dismemberment crashed into silence -  I have been left behind.

[emptyanima]

There is madness on one side, and silence on the other, and I do not know which is worse. When you speak of love, you demean it. You tell me you are the only one who cares if I live or die, and you utter a name you've no right to use. I am not yours, no matter how much you toy, whisper to me against the dark, tell me that I was quick to turn you away, and never gave you a chance for acceptance. You doubt the sincerity of the love I once held, as though somehow it is by my doings, by my nature, that we were doomed to fail. You say that we are alike, and you could not be more wrong. Why come to me with this pretence of care and affection, when it is by your hand, and by your words, that I have suffered? It was you who gave the orders, dictated when I was in pain and when I was given reprieve, however brief. When I would not speak, you threatened my brother, and your touch was a mockery. I revile you.

You were happy, you tell me, try to convince me that knowing the truth of your foulness was unnecessary, and that my happiness has been brought to an end needlessly. Truth, however painful, is always preferable to the blindness of ignorance. But in turn, that does not mean that the barbed words to which I am always subjected are true. All I have seen... all I have known of this place, it only confirms more firmly all I have learnt before. When the madwoman clings to the same tenets as you, it only makes me more certain of the malady of your cult. She tells me she sees a spark in me, the same her own sister possessed... the same spark she snuffed out in her. She seeks my pity, speaks of her family, her past, in hopes to paint those in whom I place my trust as upholders of tyranny.

I will not be broken. They will come for me... they will come.

Benedict. Eric. Anastacia. I know my faith in you is not misplaced.

Benedict, even when others would tell you that you are wrong to worry, you do not stand down. And you were right. You came to this mist-bound world to find me, the only one who could. I am more proud of you than any sister could be.
Eric, you have been someone upon whom I have come to rely, helping to take me from my darkest moments, times of doubt. You have always been so driven. I know that even now you will be puzzling over this. I ask only one thing, vainly, knowing you cannot hear me. Do not forget yourself.
Anastacia, I have heard your name slandered within these walls more times than I have cared to count. They want your end more than anything. They act on some perversion of honour, and their own ties. Doing anything to 'protect their family.' Their fervent belief in their lies is almost tragic.

He let me out of the cell, if only for a few brief moments. My cane was returned to me for a while, and it made the path for me clear. I have felt the stones that mark the graves of Gabriel's father, mother, siblings... My hand felt deep carvings, and the carvings were words. Gradually, reading with touch, I understood them.

"There is no fate, only truth."

I wish he would see truth, but I fear he is beyond it. Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed him, and only now I have woken up and seen his ugliness. But who am I to talk of ugliness? I've not seen my new face (for how can I?), but I can imagine it is not pleasant upon which to look.

[emptyanima]

I hear footsteps, and they are his. They draw nearer, nearer, driven by some great emotion I cannot sense until he is close. The door to my cell is swung open... left open... and for a few moments, there is agonising silence. I feel the air between us become... palpable, thick enough to be cut with a knife. His skeletal fingers are at my neck in an instant, they grip tightly and... I struggle... to... breathe.

Against the wall in moments, I writhe; I hear his armour move and his breath tremble with anger, and I feel it first against my cheeks, and it is hot. He moves closer, his lips against my ears... I still struggle for breath, the brick is rough against my neck and I am helpless. My breathing is loud, laboured, gasping... I am desperate.

His voice... had I not known his footsteps, his hands... Still, knowing who he is, my mind rings, and I believe the voice I hear to be Nerull's itself for all the evil it possesses. I have never encountered such... pure hatred.

"They think I will trade you... for her? I will send you back to your pathetic friends, one piece at a time... and I will restore your vision, so that the last sight you see before darkness takes you to my King, is your own beating heart ripped out of your chest."

Suddenly, my breath returns, with dizziness, as I feel myself falling, like as one in a nightmare. But I do not wake. This nightmare is all too real. I cannot feel my legs, and each part of me quivers. The tear ducts with which I have long wrestled... win. I pour myself into the darkness, the well of stagnant water within me bursts.

I am terrified. I am trapped inside my head. Let me wake... please, let me wake!

[emptyanima]

Another comes, not Gabriel, nor the two women... And I feel I should know him, but I do not. I am given clarity, in small measure. The one who put out my eyes is a traitor...

He tells me I have been garbed in the robes of this foul church, and that he no longer wants me to wear them. Knowing now how I appear, neither do I. I stand slowly, rest my head against the wall, freeing my hand to search for whatever keeps this flag of lies displayed upon my broken body. I cannot find it, although I scrabble for it, become frustrated. Desperate to be rid of Nerullite garb, I ask for help. I hear a low growl.

"Such a task should be a simple thing for a mind so rumoured to be as keen as any blade. I offer my assistance to thee... I shall burn them from thy flesh. REMOVE THEM!"

I feel the flames lick over me, and my skin grows hot, too hot. I cry out, for the flames are close, but I cannot see them. I tear wildly at the robes as they are torn by this hot blade, and soon enough, they have fallen away, and I have fallen to the floor. The heat is replaced with a sudden rush of cold and I tremble. I am struck by something hard, wooden, across my abdomen. Crawl, he says, crawl, and I do...

[There is numbness, darkness, as though her mind has been submerged and she hears threats, still sharp, but as though she is underwater.]

THOU ART IN THE PRESENCE OF THY ETERNAL DEATH!

           

THY WORKS IN LIFE ARE FOR NOUGHT!

THY FORM WITHERS INTO DUST!

[She cries out in dumb terror, choking on her tears, her mind wreathed with dark, twisting magics that almost impossibly darken the pitch black of her world. She curls up, wretched, a shadow of herself. The voice is both more distant, yet still loud and soul-shaking.]

BASK IN THY DARKNESS AS THY IGNORANCE EMBRACES THEE AS SURELY AS ANY MIDNIGHT GLOOM!

[She does not speak, despite her efforts. Broken by fear, she can do nothing but make incoherent noises of paralysed terror. She traces her gleaming metal thumb over her skin, jabbing at the smooth expanse in utter confusion. A rhythm begins, a staff against stone, a tap at first, scraping at the walls of her mind. Gradually, it grows louder, and her discomfort grows, until soon, there is banging, and the staff is dragged noisily over the bars with an ear-splitting cry. She retreats into her cell, her arm over her head as she cries in terror. More terrifying words come, and her mind flares.]

Many limbs.... twisting, writhing from a larger, snake-like body, gargantuan in size, and it... pounces upon me, emitting a soul-wrenching sound, draws close so close so close!

LET ME WAKE!

[She murmurs, her lips reluctant to bear the strain of parting. Her voice is strained, weak, as she trembles. The voice comes again, softer now, but still so sinister.]

Welcome to the beginning of thy eternity.

[Smothered in this despair, the day passes thus.]

--

[There is a cold that comes like thousands of little knives, and a stench, muted, but familiar; the bucket of ice water and blood is emptied over her pale, unclothed form.]

Thou have no place in which thou might hide from me.

[The voice utters incantations, and he delves inside the detective's head. Hope is pushed to the lowest, darkest parts of her mind, and despair, dark and thick, is dragged up from its gutters. She crumples, feeling heavy. Her mind is filled with doubt, and names she loves are sharpened with an edge of distrust. The voice continues to assail her, and she is duped into believing her cell to have no floor, to be a pit without bottom. She clings to her thin bench in morbid fright, and the day passes thus.]

--

[The tapping comes again, and she sobs, for she knows what that noise heralds. Her ears are soon filled with shouts and lies, lies which take a tentative hold, a thread of them like a tapeworm threading about her head, sowing seeds of discord in her mind. His words echo, strengthened by magics, around her mind, and the day passes thus.]

[emptyanima]

I hear him, feel his breath at my neck... and then, his long, dead fingers at my throat. I try to cough, and I cannot, it is stuck. My speech is... strained. I hear him laugh, and it is caught in the cell, it echoes... I shudder, and try to push him back, but I am powerless, and he toys with me, and he kisses me because it pleases him.

"When I am finished with you, my sweet, sweet angel, your mind will be so broken and full of darkness, that restoring your sight won't shed enough light on what you have experienced to make the pain bearable."

My sobbing is caught in my throat, and my body reviles him, but he is close, forceful, his fingers drive up into my throat and my head is forced back, and he kisses me once more. He leaves me then, my hand clasped over my mouth. I shake. I weep. I scream.

[The day passes, and the next, the torture continuing, her mind bent and broken, reforging in a fragile way before being snapped again. It is night, and he comes to her again. His words are heavy.]

Tomorrow... I die. Tomorrow... I die. Tomorrow... I die.

Tomorrow... I die. Tomorrow... I die. Tomorrow... I die.

Tomorrow... I die. Tomorrow... I die. Tomorrow... I die.

[emptyanima]

They came and they took me away, and I began to count each breath. I am going to die, I tell myself, over and over, as though somehow it will better prepare me for my fate. I know not where I go, only that after a while, I am free from the oppressive chill, and for a while, I feel cool air on my skin. Outside. But not for long. Soon, transported, and then there is cold again, the cold of death. I decide that I am in a crypt, or tomb, mausoleum, and this is where my end will come. But it seems... this is not to be. I am led into the cold, become aware of many presences, some cold, others chilling, others... familiar. They speak... and I know. The exchange. I hear her voice, the one who took my eyes, as I am shoved. They have come for me. They have come for me...

I feel gentle hands, but I do not feel safe. And then, her voice cries out -

"You HAG! You're sending me to my death!"

I hear laughter, a laugh I know, the one whose scythe ripped into my spine... and it sings again. Death fills my ears, my nose, and I feel its viscera on my skin. She... Tess... Sophie... for they were one and the same... she is torn apart, and she is the sound of blood and the death scream. I do not know her face anymore.

I am led, two speak, and one does not. Anastacia, the Ezrite Edward, and later I learn... Renee, offering me silent comfort, for I cannot see her words. To think that one I call friend could so quickly fade from my world. It shook me.

We walk for what seems like forever, through wild nothing. I am aware of grass beneath my feet, and fresh air about me, but I do not know where it is that we tread. Finally, we reach the caravaners, and the rolling wheels and the rhythmic beat of horses' hooves remind me that this is real, I do not dream this. They came for me. I worry. Benedict. Where is Benedict? Where is my brother?

The journey ends, and I ask where it is that we are. The Mist Camp, I am told. There are more voices here, and they meld into a blur of community. Another voice is soft and close amid the others. A voice I know, faintly.

"Your brother has been worried about you. To put it lightly." He brings Renee's hand to my cheek, and I begin to cry. I failed her. I left her in danger. I did not fulfil my promises to her, and yet, here she is, and she is a friend. I hear the pirate's voice in the wind, and she is close, as though her spirit has taken residence in my ears. She is cruel laughter, she is blood and the death scream. I do not know her face anymore.

"Traitor... hag."

More voices come, they beckon me inside, and my limbs are prodded, scrutinised. Food is passed to me, and I devour it. I hear the word 'freak' catch in my ears. And suddenly, stillness. Warmth. I know this one, and I sob. Benedict. He is close, and he is alive, and I am relieved. I tell him that I am exhausted, but sleep... sleep is lost to me. I am here, yes you can, he tells me. Concern fills his voice, and he enquires after the location of my eyes. I tell him of their fate, and I feel myself moved, then once settled, rocked gently. I cry. Breathe, he tells me, and I feel a cloth against my face. I know this composition, and I smile a little, inhaling willingly. The chloroform affords me a little rest.

When I wake, I hear another voice I know. Eric is here, and he takes my hand. I feel a weight seize me, and I hear the pirate's song in my ear, and I recoil. She is song. She is cruel laughter, she is blood and the death scream. I do not know her face anymore.

I want the rain. I want the rain to show me the difference between the wood, and the grass, and the stone, for the rain will paint the world for me.
I hear Benedict.

"Sheridan, you will see the rain."

He calls for a healer to restore my sight. The Ezrite, Edward, leads us within. I am concerned, truly, for what might happen were it to fail. I remember Gabriel's touch as he sealed the sockets shut. Benedict and I, we chime our concerns in twin bound unison. I am pinned down. They will try, and place their faith in miracles.

--

Darkness...

Your time...

has come.

Goodbye.

[Her eyes, like the rest of her, imperfect, but functional. They are noticeably larger than normal eyes, and her irises lack colour. But there is colour, there are shapes... there is light. Sheridan's darkness... has ended.]

Nightmares remain.

[emptyanima]

[Sheridan's handwriting appears larger and less elegant than in previous entries.]

It is an odd feeling, for life to be so similar to as it was before, and yet, so different. Changes, small, but so noticeable, like moth bites in thin linen. There is a wariness resident about some people, and where there was once warmth and openness, I see... fear. Apprehension. People either stare, or they take brief, repeated glances, seemingly unable to comprehend my strangeness. As I become more and more of a mockery of a woman, others struggle to know how to treat me. They do not look deeply enough.

I have been shown comfort from all manner of places, and I have been quick to trample it, whether with outbursts of anger... or a deep-seated distrust of those for whom I care most. I push them away, yet I need them close, for these things are hardest to weather when I am alone. I am split in two, clinging to warmth with my hand and pushing away with my words. I continue to wound him, of all people, when he does nothing but offer comfort and help, and the taste of sleep. I am afforded rest by his incantations, my head is emptied, wreathed in whiteness, stillness for a time. I wish it were not so fleeting. The claws of the monsters and the cries of my captors break it down quickly, and I am overrun. Each time I wake, I am chilled to my core, yet hot to the touch. I know the nightmares have passed, but I am still seized by fear.

I can't send the anger down deep enough, and it snakes through my blood near the skin. I argued with the one called Ceryn, the one I was told condemned Vezzoni with false testimony. I was harsh and unrelenting, telling him I hoped his guilt would never leave him. During my verbal onslaught... distant correction. I learned that he had suffered the same maltreatment as me, the threats and lies about him. I felt heavy. We seemed to reach some sort of understanding... that provides some comfort. I went to find warmth within, and I saw the woman called Elia. I saw her before, being treated for a horrid curse that had rendered her body a prison. When she looked at me, she looked frightened, and worn down as I was by the day's events, I cried a little. I apologised for causing her discomfort with my appearance, and she looked puzzled. Apparently, it is the black in my clothing that frightens her. She told me that my eyes, as they are now, are pretty. Exotic. It was a passing comment, and yet I cling to it tightly, for it does provide comfort. I do not want to cause pain to anyone simply by existing. I still want to help. But as yet, I cannot. I am still too fragile.

When people take from us, she said, they make a hole for us to fill with greatness. I can but try. She is adamant that she should take up carpentry, that the chair leg I use might be replaced. I would not begrudge her efforts should she choose to spend her time in such work.

I met a fellow by the name of Lachdanan, new to to these lands, and I answered some of his questions. He seems a curious fellow, but pleasant enough, and he has a drive to do good in this place. I was quick to trust him, and he to speak with me. Perhaps we understood what it was that we saw in the face of the other, for our eyes were mirrors in which we saw ourselves.

But there is another who I know understands my recent experiences more deeply than any other. It has been a long time since I have spoken with Dumas, and we've both been through hell since our last meeting. There was... little by way of detail. The empathy ran more deeply. I hope sincerely that, once I am a little better, I can fulfil his request, that he might be granted some measure of peace. For both our sakes. Until then, it will be added to the list, that it might not be swallowed up by the mess my mind is at present. I want to be better. I want to be myself. I want to be able to sleep as others do, unbroken, and without the threat of mental figments, placed by others and conjured by a fearful heart, to keep me from rest. I want to trust. I want to be able to think of closeness, to be able to think of being beside another, and not fear how I might be used and broken. Gabriel Bleakhaven is dead. The one named Father Scar remains. And I fear the memory of his touch will poison all others.

- Enquire into the Warden's case.
- Be watchful for further vampiric activity - speak with relevant people, see earlier notes.
- Look for NA. Be wary of client. Client deceased. Spirit haunts.
- Meet with D - bring Benedict and Mr Morris.
- Assess older cases for prudence in continuing.
- Keep in better contact with clients.
- Make enquiries into the subject of this letter.

[emptyanima]

[The following seem to be short, fragmented entries, made at different times.]

I feel I should continue to write here, even if little of what I record is of any use to current investigations. Perhaps I find more comfort in the act of putting pen to page that I might have allowed myself to believe. This is not to say that I have learned little, far from it. I learned much of Renee, for example. She sat with me and we conversed, if it can be called such, and she delved into the injustices and cruelties of her past, for my sake. To be reminded that others have endured much, and survived, nay, even thrived, bears testimony to the strength of spirit. I hope to have reclaimed that spirit, soon enough. I could see the pain in her eyes as she spoke of it even now, so much later. As I suspect, there are memories that will never lose their sting, not truly, though they may be dulled. Dumas said as much, in different words. It has been far longer since his survival of the cultists' capture, and he still carries that weight, and worse, one who helped shoulder that burden with him was snatched away, when I myself have no shortage of concerned companions. And he has managed. Logically, I will also manage.

And yet, it does not seem to be so simple. The curve of recovery is not gradual, and straight, but it fluctuates from day to day, and within that, hour to hour, and at the worst times, emotional swings are minutes apart. There have been times when I felt to have reclaimed some of myself, only to have that feeling torn down by a memory, or a face, or a word uttered that echoes in my ears.

The nights are still difficult, for in the darkness I am closest to my former blindness, and the memories grow in strength and scope, feel closer, almost tangible. Eric has been tireless in his help. He no longer blanks my mind for me, for he fears that to become dependant would be as harmful, if not more so, than some drug, without which I would fall apart. Instead, he remains close by, when he can, when I sleep, if only to remind me when I do wake, when I do scream or writhe or pale in fear, that he is here, and my terrors are transitory figments, memories and reflections. He offers certainty in doubt, and warmth in coldness. His loyalty is unwavering.

--

[This entry looks to have been made perhaps a day after the first.]

Beyond attempts at healing my being, steps have been taken to make my body more robust. Miss Elia fashioned for me a new peg leg, and it is handsome indeed. The wood is engraved with intricate runes, and the bottom is weighted with lead to keep it more sturdy. While this would usually increase the noise made, she has circumvented this via the use of leather padding, which not only reduces the noise the peg makes, but also increases its grip. It is superior in every aspect to the chair leg I used to use, which while functional, was hideous and unwieldy. Ah, how I must sound. I suppose even I am subject to vanity.

--

[The shade of the ink and the slipping in quality of penmanship points to this section being written later.]

Eric came with troubling news. It seems that Tess has returned to life, at least, a mockery of it. I told him how her spirit had haunted me, whispering and singing in the breeze and reaching out to me with incorporeal arms. I told him much, really. How my mind is still occupied with thoughts of Gabriel, and how I find myself in a contradictory quandary. I desire space, but also closeness. I desire to move forward, but the past is unwilling to release me. I used to dismiss outcries of romantic heartbreak as attention-seeking vanities. Only now do I understand the reality of such emotion, and the pain it brings. Eric... Eric only wants to help. He is relentless in his work for others, and yet he seeks no credit, no glory. He bears the marks of a hero but he does not draw attention to them. And that humility only adds to the list of his traits, his kindness and patience. I know I must drive him mad with my slow progress, my constant need for confirmation... yet he continues.

He plans to join the third Ezrite sect, and study the mists more closely. I wish him every success in his endeavour, and perhaps, when I am more recovered, I will be able to offer some assistance. I remember our conversation being lengthy, and mostly pleasant, and I recall we even engaged in a little banter. This was one of those times when I felt like myself, decided rarities at present.

Benedict too has been of help to me. He has been inventing again, drawing out creative concepts... perhaps one day I will find myself made guinea pig for his endeavours. We spoke of Eric, and Benedict tells me that his interest in me is obvious. Benedict is a man, he reminded me, and thus, can read other men, and their intentions, with some level of accuracy. I confess to still not understand it.

There are others too, finding the drive to move forward after tragedy. Miss Harker, Monster Hunter, hailing from Paridon, springs to mind. I admire her determination and strength of mind, and will. I hope to offer her my assistance in future - I do tend to enjoy the company of monster hunters.

--

[This section reclaims some of her mastery of script.]

Speaking of monster hunting, I accompanied a group to the werewolf caves, that I might gradually ease myself back into my swordplay. My time in captivity and my general weakness were both evident, as I was not as quick to move and strike as I have been. I am sure it will grow easier in time. Returning from our endeavours, we waited outside for everyone to regroup and divide the spoils. Night encroached, and we prepared to go within...

--

[The writing is even shakier than before.]

Eric. Eric, I am so sorry. I brought their wrath upon you. Gabriel, Tess... they were there, so suddenly, and I was... powerless. His presence was once so calming... and now it is more paralysing than poison. They dragged you away... they hurt you, and I was so afraid. I stumbled after you, encountered your captors. I felt that bone hand again and I heard their whispers. The danger of the night is more real now. Those who linger in the dark risk their lives. When we found you... I am uncertain if I have before known such relief. I feared that they would take you to their church, chain you, torture you, poke at your sides with rods, cast magic upon you, cut you open and tug at your nerves, trace into your back with blades. The one with the sickle... I feared he would run it along your spine as he did to mine. But, thank all the gods I do not worship, they spared you that cruelty. I do not believe I could have borne that burden.

I did what I could to offer you comfort when you fainted. You were so cold. The blankets did little, and my hands are not the comforting sort. Metal, bone... these are not the warm, comforting hands I know. Perhaps it is fitting. Of late... I have been too cold. I whispered promises against the chill. When you woke... that relief came again. Perhaps I needed something like this.

There came a time when I came so close to losing someone... and it was then I came to realise how much they meant. Hopefully I can see others like this, without the risk.

--

[The following script is shakily written.]

Will I ever be free of this woman? She, the one who rent the flesh from my arm. She, who plucked my eyes from their sockets. She... who dug her wight's fingers into my cheeks, made scars... caused muscle to atrophy, hair to streak with white, features to sink as though with age.... She is a drain on my life, and my spirit, and yet... I cannot loathe her. Nay, I pity her. She spoke to me of the mists of death. She spoke to me of dark powers, and how they work through proximity. They take what it is you desire most, and hold it just out of reach. She was duped by them. She has been cursed to wander between life and death, without rest, and in self-loathing. Her appearance is one of malicious ugliness, and the promise of death. Her touch drains life. Thankfully, my reading of wights leads me to conclude that these cosmetic effects will pass. However, some stiffness will remain, and these ashen-coloured scars will cling to my cheeks. Gabriel's touch may haunt my memory, but she has left the most tangible effect on me. Her hatred is unparalleled. Her speech is poison, and yet I have, in part, swallowed it.

I have given warning to Renee, should others be endangered by her. Renee herself has done much. A theory she hatched has been proved true, and I must, when I feel better, assist. I want to keep her safe. I must keep her safe. We are cut from the same cloth, overcoming the weaknesses of flesh with indomitable spirit. She is a dear friend, and I do not want to see her hurt.

--

[Something of a return to her usual handwriting is evident here.]

I saw Anastacia again. I did not think I would ever be driven to regard her with such wariness, and I was foolish enough to voice it. She understands. She agrees with my captors, in that much of what has happened is her fault. But I know such was not her intention, and she still drives to help. We went to the university, into a strange room lower down. A pair of boots were set in a device, and she added a strange sort of powder. She stood among strange crystal balls, which lit up with energy, and she fell to the ground. I was... rather concerned. She rose, instructing me to remove the boots. I slipped one on... and it had a strange energy about it. I am grateful to her, and I am certain they will prove useful. Slowly, things will improve.

--

Benedict... Benedict has been soothing my head in Eric's absence, and my weariness has left me not caring for his methods. Those... trips. There is blueness, and it tastes wonderful. I can see the air, and everything is more intense... more pleasant. The world bends and I am not afraid. Elora understands. He understands. The world is blurred and safe and calm. Sleep comes more easily now. But I know this cannot last forever. All good things must come to an end.

[emptyanima]

[The parchment is blotchy, the ink distorted on this page.]

My heavy eyes wander over my former words, and I curse my unheeded warning. All good things must come to an end. They had barely begun. Yesterday... how I wish that day had not ended. Yesterday held promise, and passion, and pleasure. Yesterday was to mark the beginning of my return to form. Yesterday, I achieved a temporary victory over the demons of my mind. The morning only brought bitterness. Happiness so quickly snatched away... snatched away.

How can this be true? Yesterday we walked together, spoke together, listened to each other in the comfortable quiet. We felt safe. Yesterday, I let him in. Together, we were going to cleanse the place of the foul memories, by replacing them with perfection. And we were so close...

We loved. We laughed. Did I dream it? All evidence points to the contrary. I woke from a sleep, so deep, so sweet, so relished, it was as though I had returned from death, my body and mind refreshed. My eye was drawn to a note on the bedside table. His handwriting.

Sheri,
You looked so fine in purple. Thus, I have gone to find more of those flowers, that I might dress the room in that shade, and you yourself will be the centrepiece of your own bouquet.
Yours,
Eric

I refuse to believe it, and yet I am confronted by the truth at every turn. His funeral is to be held in two days' time, and I wonder if perhaps my sleep was finally overcome by the former nightmares and when I open my eyes, this will end, and he will be here. It is to hopeless wishes that I cling. What's happened to me? I used to bear this all much better. I could be knocked back by some creature, and in only a few days, return with vim and vigour, undeterred. But now, there is so much doubt, and worry, and pain. I cling to the bedsheets and inhale in vain, to bring a trace of him back. The air is cold and heavy, and I am uncomfortably numb.

I blame myself. For my sake, he left, and met with death. For my sake, we lingered in Port-a-Lucine, when it would have been far safer to leave. I wish I had let him in sooner. I wish that I could go back, and keep him there at my side, away from the claws of that wight, the bitch. I hate her. How much more will she take away from me? She robbed me of flesh, and that I could bear. She robbed me of my eyes, and I could manage, barely. But now she has snatched away one of those dearest to me. To think I once viewed her more with pity than rage. That time has passed. My mind wanders and in these morbid fantasies, I strangle her, and cast her wicked form into the sea. I am not usually given to such loathing... perhaps it is the grief.

I want... I will ask to say a few words at the service, should the Ezrites deem it suitable. I am not sure what words I can say that are sufficient, but perhaps... it will help.

I am haunted by my own words. He whispered to me, asked how he would ever forget the day we spent together.

"I will never forget." I told him. Such final words, words I now hold in memoriam. Such inquisitiveness. Such a thirst for knowledge. His heart was a well that could never be overfilled with affection. I eulogise for a young, bright man. Such cruelty. We came to an end at the beginning, Eric. No more conversations. No more theories bounced between whirling minds. No more shared smiles, embraces, comfort in tears.

For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.

N.B: Eliana, you must be stronger. Harden your heart, for then it cannot be so easily pained. Steel yourself. Retribution for the fallen will come.

[emptyanima]

[A separate leaf of parchment is attached to the casebook on the next page. It seems somewhat crinkled on the right edge, as though gripped tightly in nervousness.]

At the moment I first met Eric Morris, he was full of questions. Despite everything that occurred during the short time that I knew him, that did not change. He was bright, inquisitive, and this place, in all its newness, and harshness, was a mystery to be unravelled. He came to me seeking help on a few occasions, and I was always willing to give time and thought to his endeavours, for I knew he did the same. He worked hard, threshing fact from theory, finding the mote of truth that lies in fable. I often brought theories, over which I was puzzling, to him, knowing the worth of a fresh pair of eyes, and his value besides. His conversation was stimulating, and he always seemed half-dizzy with excitement at the prospect of uncovering more. He loved to learn, and knew that knowledge is beyond price.

And yet, there was even more to him, beyond his zest for learning and dedication to it. To seek knowledge, in and of itself, is a neutral endeavour. More important, is ones purpose for so doing. His motivations were pure. Certainly, he was not one to shy away from learning for its own sake, but a great deal of his work was done with good intentions. To assist others. To educate. To protect. And this is what truly made Eric Morris as a rare and beautiful a person as he was - his pureness of heart. He had such passion - his disdain for cruelty and evil was clear, his bravery and selflessness even more so. He could see the injustice that is permitted to thrive, and did his level best to work against it.

It is one such injustice that I must eulogise for one so young, so full of promise, on the cusp of success. When I last met with him, a day I will never forget, his goals and path were clearly set out, and he had only to take the steps before him. His friendships had blossomed. He had spoken the truth of his heart. It was the beginning, I felt, of something truly special, and lit was the kindling for a beacon of hope in dark places.

As is often the case on such occasions, I dwell only upon that which was good about Eric Morris. Perhaps I am simply unable to see anything aside from such in him. I, along with many others, cared deeply for him. I have felt the tremors of his loss spread wide. And while it would be so easy to hide, to let those who took him from us snatch the victory while we are numb with grief, we cannot let this happen. For the sake of him, Eric Morris, who gave his life defending that which is right, and holding fast until the end, we must not let his sacrifice be in vain.

Eric Morris, who loved, and was loved, so deeply, I hope that you are at rest. I hope that you are beyond the cruelties and injustices of this world, and that you are at peace. We are proud of you, and you deserve… you deserved, much more, so much more than the time which was given to you. It was a pleasure, and a true privilege, to have known you.

--

While I gave the eulogy, Benedict at my side, I noticed Anastacia begin to take a few lilies... and I realised. The vampire was here. Without words, each person was given a lily, and we clutched them tightly. I had several with me, and took one for myself and Benedict. I knew not how close he was, and I reached the end. Benedict too, was able to speak. As always, his words were the ones to draw tears. It was once this was done, and the Ezrites took the fore, that the creature revealed itself. The skinless Lord Damien Laurent. He spoke, only permitted to a little by his condition, of Eric's screams... the memory he carried of him. His flagrant evil and disrespect was met with violent retaliation. Before he could be felled, he slipped into the shadows.

The group dispersed as we searched, tried the lock on his room in the Governor's Hotel to no avail. Renée had a feeling in her gut - he had returned to his estate to recover, and we needed to stop him from so doing. From the gendarmerie and across country we went through the dark, crossing a bridge finally that led to the estate. We found the mausoleum's entrance somewhat worn away, and with a little preparation, slipped inside. I held a stake tightly in my hand. Benedict held the hammer. Going below, we saw at the back a large, but curiously empty tome, and looking about, golden coffins. But there was one which held our attention - the one in which Laurent lay. There was a letter in his hand, which Renée took and kept safely. One of the Ezrites with us, Andrzej, assisted Renée in moving the lid. This being done, the group worked together to keep the creature down. Inquisitor Poisson, Anastacia, Andrzej and Renée all played their part in keeping Laurent still. I knelt to ready the state, my hand shaking as I hovered it over the creature's chest. I looked to Benedict, and called to him to bring the hammer down. He readied himself... swung... and the deed was done. I believe he struck it once more for good measure. The creature spoke only a little more, before it stilled. Renée removed his head - the rest then passed away into ash, and Laurent was no more. We took a few moments to collect ourselves... congratulate each other, and then we departed. Benedict and I moved on to the cathedral to pay our respects.

--

Before the incense and the altar to one side, we found his coffin laid in reverent darkness. I left him purple flowers, the ones he gave me days ago, and a few words he could not have heard. We left for him an effigy;

Here lies Eric Morris, in memoriam.

This done, Benedict and I moved on to the camp of Mists, and he was so set on my safety, he cuffed the two of us together, only afterwards realising that he did not have the key. While in the tent at the camp, I heard her voice... her laugh once more. It was easier to bear with Benedict there, his words clear in my head. Finally, I freed us, and both separate again, we seek rest. It has been an eventful day, and I am weary. But, with this part of my grieving surmounted... I feel a little stronger.

[A quick note is made at the bottom.]

Makhiel Ulciscor... is that creature... Makhiel Ulciscor?

[emptyanima]

I've something of a strange case to commit to page - affairs of the heart are difficult to categorise.

The Case of the Unicorn's Head - COMPLETE

My client, a most striking fellow, is fearful of revealing his 'tastes'. I have been instructed to bring him names of those who may meet them. If I am able to organise a meeting between them, he will be even more grateful. Discretion is to be used, doubly, to save him stress and discomfort. I admire his proactive and somewhat direct approach - he is lonely, and is striving to do something for it. I hope I can be of some assistance.

--

More pressingly, I have received reports of further vampiric activity by the Darkonese coven around Barovia. Let us hope that the eager assistance will be competent, and prepared for danger. If I can be present to offer guidance, so much the better.

They will not be allowed to cause such fear and worry anymore.

Some older notes are very disorderly. Go back and organise these when there is time.

[Another note is scrawled at the bottom.]

Keep a careful eye on him.

[Tycat]

[More doodles appear in the book, taking up an entire page next to a list of things Sheridan is NOT allowed to do on her own. This list is extensive and rather full of things she does on a daily basis.]

[emptyanima]

“The moonlight lady, mother of the darkest colour has opened hunting season on the green lion. A triad of golden millennium buys his fate.”

I must tell the others of what I have agreed, given our tensions and wariness. Let us hope he stands by his word. I have made no progress for some time, and I grow more and more frustrated by it. I must prepare, and go to the Balinoks when I am ready. The vampires will not elude me any longer.

--

I have had little opportunity to commit pen to page for some time. I have spent some more time with Elora, the woman that is to become my sister-in-law. I am glad that Benedict has made this choice. She seems a fine woman, genuine in her affections and intelligent to boot.

--

To keep in mind - rust-like red. This colour may hold connotations. Be watchful.

--

I have spent time taking up the offer of Andrzej Tugurlan, an Ezrite, who has assisted me in managing my inundated mind. We commit to brief periods of quiet and stillness, that my head might be cleared, and thought and consideration become easier. He has been kind, and has kept his promises. By the efforts of Cyrus, and with some persuasion, I was convinced to have the arm so abused by Tess' cruelty healed. I was confident that it would work well, for it had the whole structure and map of my bones as a base. It feels so much better to be more able again, but to still hold myself accountable for past folly. The peg will remain as punishment, but also, as an outward warning, a chapter of a violent tale hinted at in my pale eyes. Benedict will no doubt be relieved. He has been pestering me over it for some time. I look forward to his smile.

[A note is left in the margin; 'This does not mean I will not chastise you, however, for your continued vandalism of my work, however sweet the outcome. With love, your sister.']

--

Zahlia, I am grateful. This riddle was far simpler.

[A space is left, and another note is scrawled quickly at the bottom of the page, anger evident in the thick lettering.]

Your reign of terror will end soon, Tess Odele. This I swear.

[emptyanima]

“It is mine, it is all mine, and I intend to return it to its rightful place by my side.”

And so quickly, more evil comes. Such destruction. Such drive. Such dread. The hiss catches in cold, dusty air. Death and decay cling to it, and drain the strength of life from those who draw too close. I saw the bodies of criminals littered across the streets, many appearing in pieces, large hunks of flesh torn away, and others looked to have been burnt with acid. Their faces will haunt my sleep. The terror in their expression was unparalleled. Images were drawn on stone, a cipher of sorts, all images, beyond my comprehension, although I have transcribed them.

[A rough sketch of the symbols is drawn below.]

The appearance of this being, coupled with the deep dread I experienced in its presence, and the manner in which I was sapped of my strength for a time, lead me to suspect. With further research and reading, my suspicions have been proved correct. This being is one of the undead, dead for many, many years. The being known more commonly as a 'mummy'.

Had the creature willed it, I would not ever have been able to commit pen to paper. This creature is marked by greed and violence, rampant to a sickening extent. I am still not quite recovered. Yet more comes to keep me from rest. Something must be done.

--

There is such sadness in her face, and I know it, for it is the same sadness I see when I catch myself in the looking-glass. While the pain has grown easier with time and Andrzej's assistance, my mind does dwell from time to time, and while I almost pontificate regarding the immutability of the past, I linger too long on things that can never be so. Perhaps the time, and the opportunity has come, to leave more flowers.

Many tasks await me in Barovia. My stay in Dementlieu will not last much longer.

[emptyanima]

I assisted the Ezrites again recently, exploring the mountains with a group of them in hopes to find the location of Sabel’s coffin. Sadly, despite the precision of our search, and the good we were able to accomplish in purging the places, even if only temporarily, of the evil that grips them, we were unsuccessful in that endeavour.

I am fearful. I have made many mistakes, for I am only human, and one must accept failure as a part of success, and perseverance as its treatment. However, knowing this, my fears remain. Changes made, the tide turning, new knowledge has come to light. If only it had come sooner. How am I going to deal with this?

I must return to Port-a-Lucine. I have need to speak with the Inquisitor. But most importantly, I need to think. Fools rush in.

[emptyanima]

[Sheridan updates her collection of scrolls, books and documents, additions written in a thicker script.]

Current Books/Scrolls/Documents

Religious Texts
- The Dogma of Our Morninglord.
- First Book of Ezra
- Second Book of Ezra
- Third Book of Ezra
- Fourth Book of Ezra
- Tales of the Ages
- M.C's Theological Essays, Vol. I

Scrolls
- The Creation
- The Festival of Bast
- The Game of the Moon
- The Prince and the Sphinx
- The Tale of the Phoenix
- The Tears of Ra
- Thoth and the Eye of Horus


For Casework

- Ghost Legends of the Core - Tome I
- Ghost Legends of the Core - Tome III
- The Ogress Lurrhein
- Lessons in Agony

Van Richten's Guides
- Van Richten's Guide to the Ancient Dead
- Van Richten's Guide to the Created
- Van Richten's Guide to Fiends
- Van Richten's Guide to Ghosts
- Van Richten's Guide to the Lich
- Van Richten's Guide to Vampires
- Van Richten's Guide to the Walking Dead
- Van Richten's Guide to Werebeasts
- Van Richten's Guide to Witches
- Excerpts - On Ancient Dead
- Excerpts  - On Vampires

Misc.
- The Casebook of Alanik Ray
- The Abridged History of Barovia
- Outlander Arms Registry Document
- The Great Upheaval
- Collected Poems of the Core - Tome II
- Yellowed Paper
- Personal Casebook

[emptyanima]

Port-a-Lucine was only temporary refuge, and the need to speak to the Inquisitor regarding that matter has slipped away. A treasured friend is trapped behind bars, but no rescue party works to retrieve, as she did for me, for it is no cult that has her bound, but the law. I hope her sentence is brief, and that she treated with respect while she is in custody. Renee and I know that there is more to bars and cells than iron and steel.

Benedict seems detached. I’ve not spoken to him properly for a long while. There has been much to consider, and much we have lost.

We are surrounded on every side. Each day, I receive word of another enemy, more evil, further darkness. It coalesces, a huge thinking mass of brutality. And our defences? We are not united. We bicker and squabble over petty things. We are driven by wanderlust and a thirst for the flow of gold. Or we bury ourselves in books and study. Evil has one cause, to destroy, and we have many.

Vampires, kidnappings, cultists…

Fredek is one of them now, the blood-drinkers. I have not known his bite, thankfully, but he delved as the Nerullites did into my head. This is what I was told, this is what I learned when I woke in one place, plucked from another seemingly without passage of time. I loathe it. I am so easily seized, and I fear it will compromise everything if I am made to speak without consciousness again. I need to steel myself, strengthen my will.

I know that I am weaker than I once was, less hardy, even if I have been bolstered with metal. I am a blade in need of sharpening, a bloodied boot lying on its side in the dust, trampled beneath the feet of conquerors.

My dreams are invaded anew, with the dank, the unending dark, the tap, tap, tap of the staff that grew louder and louder, ringing around the bars with a sickening shrill sound. The flames that I felt and heard, inhaled the scent of singed cloth and burning flesh, my own. I want it to stop. I need something. I need something more potent in my pipe. I need stillness and rest. There are times I am convinced that my flesh and skin has still sewn eyeless sockets shut.

And there are things I desire that I cannot have. A gentle embrace and whispers in the dark, a shoulder upon which to pour my tears. His voice, his hands, his scent. But he was robbed from me. One of his killers still roams undeterred, and each time I remember that, my chest is pierced.

[A slash made by the quill darts across the page, under the last line.]

And this is why, at present, we will fail. Evil bears no burden of loss, or guilt, or sadness, or sleeplessness. They own the nights we fear and thrive upon our weakness. Our humanity.

[emptyanima]

Why am I so afraid? At every turn I am struck by a new evil. A man appears, his body broken beyond belief, at the hands of dark forces, and I am driven to sickness by it. By illogical and sentimental means, I find rest - I imagine his arms around me, strain to hear a whisper, a sound conjured from memory, to assure me that everything will be alright.

I have even felt it necessary to write my last will and testament. I confess that as I saw the words that would be all that remained of me at my end fill the page, there was a sense of relief. It will ease my passing, a passing for which I feel more prepared.

I know that as I am, a public voice against terror, a seeker of truth, a woman of principle, that I am always in danger. I do not regret making that list of names and descriptions of the Nerull cultists - if any of that information makes it possible for even one of them to be brought to justice, any consequence I incur by it will be made worthwhile.

I hope to make a journey soon, that at least a portion of the evil we face may be better understood, that it may be defeated. From all I have been told, the stakes are high. My mind must be calmed.

This new amulet does help. It does make me shiver with cold, and my breath fog like smoke, if I wear it an extended period, but my mind feels clearer for it, like lungs filled with fresh air, or thirst slaked with sweet water. I am grateful to Monsieur Mazefell for fulfilling my public request for it so quickly. He seems a sickly individual, but driven and brave. That does remind me...

[She makes a quick note in the margin - 'scroll case'.]

I have heard that Fredek is dead. There were even public notices proclaiming such. But I will doubt this claim until I have seen evidence to support it. If we are lax in that and he returns, we will be weaker for it.

Lo and behold, there was more bickering when evil lay ahead, as there often seems to be, over minute details. It does not offer me any hope of a solid, unified force to stand it against it. But that is what is needed. And I will pontificate like a bearded priest until progress is made in that regard.

[Tycat]

The casebook, as per usual, has been modified by a second party. in this case, edits have been made to correct grammar, and a reference or two have been made in the margins to annotate research.

I know that as I am, a public voice against terror, a seeker of truth, and a woman of principle, that I am always in danger. I do not regret making that list of names and descriptions of the Nerull cultists - if any of that information makes it possible for even one of them to be brought to justice, any consequence I incur by it will be made worthwhile. re: "Masochism" - mas·och·ism
ˈmasəˌkizəm,ˈmaz-/Submit
noun
1.
the tendency to derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from one's own pain or humiliation. SHERIDAN!

[emptyanima]

[A few rough notes are scrawled.]

- GC - incubus. -> 'ivory-skinned, caramel-haired’
- The Hollow
- Night Hag - Styrix.

- Blaustein, Darkon - MB?

--

In my experience of this place, joy is always short-lived. To return from sea, a job well done, captives freed and returned to their homes - there was a pride in me yesterday. I felt proud to stand for right and good, and felt that those around me had showed themselves to be people worthy of respect and deserving of praise.

To break of their shackles and subdue their captors, to take them from dank darkness to light and fresh air... I know what they have endured, and that they may still suffer for it, for memory can be a cruel thing. It is evil and pain that lingers. And we had helped them.

But she... she destroys everything. She has done it to scare me, I know this.

Tess Odele, stealer of my flesh, killer of the man I love, you will not lay your bony, draining fingers upon my brother again.

I expected retaliation for that missive. But Tess is a crueler creature. And worst of all, a creature which understands. She knows my weaknesses and uses them against me.

But I am not powerless. A way will be found, and this misery will end. One day, perhaps soon, Eric will have justice, as will all who have been caused pain by the wight. And this dark, dark world will have, for at least a precious moment, a glimmer of light.

There is change on the horizon.

[She draws a simple strike through the definition Benedict added.]

[emptyanima]

[A carefully-written new report graces Sheridan's casebook.]

Case: Mist & the Unwilling Mind

Time: Early Morning
Location: The Mist Camp

While I was conducting business in the Vistani vardo, and speaking with a former Vallaki garda, Mihas Mandruleanu, a figure entered, garbed in clothing which concealed from head to toe. The figure perused some of the wares in silence, before departing. Mihas and I followed the figure. He vanished before our eyes into the mists as it whirled about him. For a long while, we peered into the mist, enquiring after the figure.
The first sign of its presence was the appearance of a bouquet of flowers. It was not long after this that a voice came;

“Sheridan! This song is an old one and you know it not… but you dance the steps just the same! Like puppets on silken strings, darling birds with bound wings!”

It then made me speak;

“On little strings we dance… and dance… and dance!”

By this point, there was a sound like the roaring of applause, and it grew louder. It was then that Mihas was compelled to speak by it;

“You’ll kill your brother, domna, by your own hand. Your song’s crescendo.”

This left me very out of sorts, and I commanded the owner of the voice to show itself fully. It did so. And when it did, it looked like me.
My doppelganger bowed to me with a laugh, then vanished, before reappearing elsewhere. It spoke in Darkonese, and from my limited study of it, I pieced together what it said.

“I was once as you are… as I am, soon, you shall be.”

The grass about my feet was stained red, as though with blood, and many more flowers appeared.

It was not much later that Anastacia appeared… following soon after one who had taken her appearance. Mihas also a saw a double of himself.
It was then that the figure played its cruelest trick, by adopting my brother’s voice and having him speak as though I was attacking him. It was heart-wrenching. More flowers appeared, and then, from the mists, a body. A body that looked like my brother’s. This was the final push, and I was led away as it burst into nothing. A small humanoid shape receded into the mists, and was seen no more.

—

Time: Afternoon
Location: The Mist Camp

Again, I was within the Vistani vardo, when a man entered. A man fitting the description 'ivory-skinned, caramel-haired’, mentioned in a previous entry. He perused the wares quietly for a few moments, before turning and speaking to me in a flirtatious matter, commenting upon my ‘uncommon’ beauty, and his disregard for what the masses would care to see.

He asked me what purpose I have, and I spoke truthfully, telling him that I seek truth and to do what I can in the face of evil. I returned the question, and he told me he desires to escape, to return home. It was then that Benedict appeared. I kept my hands tucked under my armpits, in case any magics would seize me and make me fulfil the words spoken by the figure in the mists.

It was then that he gave his name - Gaston Carroway. He requested that one of us join him as he explored Port-a-Lucine to experience the culture. I told him it would be considered. As he departed, Benedict referred to him as Mister. G.C. That was the last piece of the puzzle. I believe the man I encountered is the very same Gentleman Caller of which I have read.

—

Time: Afternoon - straight after the previous event.
Location: The Mist Camp/Port-a-Lucine (Alanik Ray’s Home/Governor’s Hotel)

Once Carroway had left, and I was alone with Benedict save for the Vistana selling the wares, I grew more tense, fearing that the words might come to effect. I explained to him what took place that had me so concerned. Emotions were somewhat high when two others appeared; Ludwig LaFranchi, private investigator and consultant to the gendarme, and Dr. Arthur Sedgwick, assistant to Alanik Ray.  He informed the three of us that Alanik needed to see us in his offices, and obliging, we followed him.

Once all were present and seated, LaFranchi and Ray discussed a case connected to the d’Honaire family, a prisoner (a man with a burnt face) judged by Claude d’Honaire, and sent to a prison called Pierre du Mort, who seems to have made a reappearance. I will not go into further detail as I do not believe it pertinent, but it was suggested that he may have been freed by the gentleman caller to effect a distraction, setting the gendarme to distraction with assaults and arson attempts, the kinds of crimes they can understand, or are at least willing to, rather than the supernatural from which it distracts. There is also a ball being held tomorrow, during which the burnt man may make an appearance for the sake of revenge for his sentencing. Ray postulates that he may have discovered something incriminating, around the time when Claude d’Honaire fell ill with consumption, and had to disappear, hence his face being burnt and his imprisonment. Dominic d’Honaire, currently of the Council of Brilliance, took Claude’s place.

I informed Ray of what took place in the camp, both of the figure in the mist and the meeting with Carroway. I said we ought to be wary of the man, and he agreed. I revealed a little of my knowledge of the gentleman caller, but gave no more detail than what I had seen, and how I could connect it to material I had read, regarding his description as well as the disappearances. Ray was already aware of the caller.

Sedgwick mentioned a Black Pieter, who may be also working to assist in making people disappear from Mordent and Dementlieu. I must learn more of him.

Our discussion on that matter at an end, there was a knock at the door. Ray answered, and found he had received a summons from the Council. We followed behind, with the intention of waiting outside while he met with them in case of danger. As we followed, a gunshot sounded through the Quartier Publique. Alanik fell to the ground.

Benedict hurried back to Alanik’s home to find Sedgwick, while Ludwig and I scanned the area. Looking at Alanik’s wound, and standing where he had been when he was shot, I determined that the shot had been taken from the third floor of the Governor’s Hotel. I hurried within, and whispered with the clerk, whereupon he informed me that a woman claiming to be a maid had gone to clean the third floor. I hurried up the stairs, armed, and was looking for the seventh room when the door burst open, and I was confronted by a woman dressed in leathers and carrying two blades. We fought in the corridor, and I sustained some injuries. Ludwig appeared and finished her, helping me lean against the wall. Benedict then emerged and supported me as I searched the body - she possessed her leathers, blades, and a maid’s outfit. A black pistol, the kind bought from Vincent’s forge and bearing no distinctive marks, lay on the floor near the chaise lounge, beneath the window. I deduced she had been kneeling, given the imprints made in the furnishings. Going back to the body, having completed our search, we noticed how unnatural her face appeared. Her eyes were glassy and she smiled. Ludwig took the woman’s effects, and we returned to Ray’s home.

He survived the attack, due to the work of Dr Sedgwick, who also bandaged the wounds I had sustained. Going to find Alanik, we looked over the weapons the woman had used. Ludwig recognised them from his time in the Vardo, to be known as the Maiden’s Delight and the Simplifier, both notable for draining the will of the wielder. That was when Benedict made an astute conclusion.

The woman may not have fired the shot of her own will, and the weapons were given to her as a means of controlling her. Alanik agreed, as did we all.

This sheds a very grim light on the disappearances, and may suggest a deeper reason as to why so many people are being taken. It is entirely possible, that by amassing all these people, the Caller is hoping to have a ‘loyal’ force at his disposal. The very idea sickens me to the core. It also suggests a possible method for my attempt on my brother’s life - it may be that I am used like a marionette, which fits perfectly with the language the figure used.

I stand by the words I shouted into the mists - I will never hurt my brother. I could barely bear the guilt when Tess snatched Eric from me. Were I to kill, even unwillingly, the last Eliana within the Core, I could never forgive myself.
I will not do it. I am strong... I am told this by my brother, by Anastasia... even Ray told me that he believes my investigative skill to have improved since last we met. Then why all this doubt? Doubt is a demon I cannot permit to possess me, at least... I cannot give myself so completely to it. Not to doubt at all is equally dangerous.

[emptyanima]

Mist & the Unwilling Mind - II

Time: Nightfall
Location: Girod Family Chateaux

Those present;
- Benedict Eliana III
- Bernard Du Bourg
- Adeline Laurent
- Ludwig Lafranchi
- Wymmer Drukker
- Lilianne de Moreau
- An elven bardess, gave no name.
- Valeria, who appeared later.

- Marcel Guignol, Lord-Governor of Port-a-Lucine.
- Claude LaGrange, councillor for trade.
- Captain Alphonse Dupre of the gendarme.
- Vicomtesse Linette Jalabert, owner of the Theatre de la Cathedrale.
- Ricardo Diosa, owner of the Opera National.
- Helene DuSuis, councillor.
- Louise Girod, wife of Dominic d’Honaire.
- Dominic D’Honaire, councillor. 

—

One thing was made abundantly clear right from the beginning of the event, from the time we boarded the carriage until the soiree’s end - this was a display of power on the part of one man - Dominic d’Honaire.

The carriage was stripped almost bare within, forcing us to stand for the duration of the journey. When we arrived, the dirt road was unmanned save for a guard at the gates, forcing us to walk through the torrential rain in the fast thickening mud. Upon entry, we found a meal had already been served, and many seemed to have been there a long time. Snickering could be heard as we entered - presumably, the wrong time was published on the invitations.

Benedict and I were fortunate to gain access, having received no invitation ourselves. We were privy to scenes of deep embarrassment, and eventually, of utter terror.

Claude LaGrange spoke to us of disappearances, noted previously, claiming that he was working closely to prevent further kidnappings, and of managing the boats carefully. He did offer his assistance on other cases my brother or I may have, but I believe he bears further investigation into his character and doings first.

D’Honaire and his wife, Louise Girod, appeared later in the evening. He, as far as we could tell, was the only one to be formally introduced, setting him apart. He then exerted further power, as orderlies entered the room to lead Lilianne away, with the justification that she has lost her mental faculties, apparently proved by her entering the Council following an assassination attempt. I am certain she must have been right to worry, but her concerns were heard by one of those behind it. Highly suspicious indeed. Drukker, as well as Lilianne, appeared shocked and heartbroken. I had initially believed their marriage to be one to merge their power and strengthen it, but I witnessed true affection between them.

Benedict interjected, asking if it was legal for such to be forced on a person. Dominic gestured to the Lord Governor, who gave approval to the action. But he bore an expression I have seen before, and know well. The face of one externally controlled, whether by the power of the vampire or some mind-seizing spell. I drew close to the councillor and withdrew a small trinket from my bag, having been assured it held the ability to clear the mind, but it seemed to have no effect on the man. Lilianne was led away.

The Captain of the gendarme then went to tell us that the party was at an end - he bore the same glassy expression and slight slowness of speech. As we departed, Benedict offered the host, Louise, his thanks and apologies. They whispered quietly for a few moments.

It was later, in privacy, that Benedict revealed to me what she had said. She warned us to be careful, to be wary of her husband. I am certain that it is he who lies behind the control of the two men mentioned previously, but I saw no method of control.

Benedict means to write to Louise Girod, with the hopes that she will tell us more. I have reasonable confidence that she will oblige. She looked disgusted to be close to him. 

Finally, Ludwig noticed that the governor, and perhaps the captain, were given a drink that no others had. He has a sample which he will give to Ray to analyse.

I understand that d’Honaire will no doubt keep on eye on all those who attended. There’s danger ahead. But I feel that there is a stronger connection to the Caller now. It seems there is at least one puppeteer.

--

She's gone.

There is justice, at last, for Eric. There is safety for my brother. A smaller burden upon my shoulders. My mind is clearer now, and my eyes are open wider. Experience has been a heavy thing to bear, but also a boon. It is another weapon in my arsenal, and I am reminded of the motto which I used to often spout, long ago.

Many will look, few will see.

[emptyanima]

Mist & the Unwilling Mind - III

The Darkon Expedition - Martira Bay

The expedition, perilous as it was, confirmed many of our worst fears. The group was huge and bickered, and standing by my thoughts on this, a force not united is one prone to deep peril. Thankfully, quick thinking prevented us from being stranded at sea as the ship sank, making it to the port for repairs.

Despite this, it seems the group never quite melded as it ought to have done. Hostility and distrust came from all sides, delaying our progress severely. And while I believe much of this distrust was wise, it had its effect on our efficiency, detrimental at that.

Aside from those in our company, came Bernard Du Bourg, a woman named Zora who was his squire, the priestess Carine D'Ailleurs, the Morninglordian Nara’ia, Quinn Mazefell of the theatre and Gerard Montte.

We kept Du Bourg close despite concerns of his reasons for travelling there.

The Night Hag, Styrix, had a large group of mercenaries at her disposal. Having engaged them, and questioned one, Septiego and Felicia garbed themselves as mercenaries and took Du Bourg under the pretence of having captured him. We were meant to await a signal, but so much time passed in which we heard nothing, we pressed ahead.

We encountered the Night Hag, and saw closely a machine she had a created that purportedly possessed the ability to allow planar travel. We destroyed the machine, and attempted to dispatch the hag, who appeared to fall, but then disappeared. She may either have been killed and thrust back to her home plane, or she escaped at the last moment. I cannot tell.

We then found ourselves surrounded by the large worms, and we went to strike before being commanded to stop by Felicia. Most did so, but some killed a few of them, to Felicia’s dismay, as she had learned from a journal she had found on the previous ship (at the time of the last report), that these worms were in fact people. Thus the reason for the kidnappings had been found - to fuel the machine made by the hag.

It was then that the Caller emerged, the very same Gaston Carroway myself and my brother had seen before, and I speak truly when I say this - he had wings. He spoke to us of our foolishness for destroying a path to escape, and our ‘heroism’ for slaying some of those who had been kidnapped. We could see it was his aim to drive us to despair, but seeing that he had, for the most part, failed, he vanished. The cave we had huddled in became to collapse, and as we made our escape, Hunter and Quinn fell, a trap crushing them with rocks. We found a way by which we could leave - we swam (I clinging to my brother as I am in no shape to swim independently) until we reached safety. The return journey was far less eventful than our departure had been.

Thankfully, Hunter and Quinn were revived by healer’s arts, and we all seemed to reach safety. A staff was found which appeared to weaken the wielder considerably, perhaps even to the point of making them ill, but also granted some power. Carine took it for safekeeping, as I understand it.

My heart is disquiet. We have encountered the basest of creatures, throwing away human life as though it means nothing. Part of me also regrets our quick destruction of the device. While Stryix’s creation was no doubt abominable, especially for the human harvest it required, there may have been something to learn from closer study. But of course, I understand the fear that pervaded that cave, the spring to action… and I cannot find that regret dwells long in my mind.

I need rest. Time to think. And I’ve letters to write.

[emptyanima]

[An addition is written in a trembling hand.]

Questions will be asked, and I cannot answer them. Not here. Unseen eyes will watch, report, and my brother and I will be condemned.

I must speak with him. But how can I warn him without condemning us both?

I am tired to being beaten, and bound, and brutalised. I am not as she says. I am not the perpetual victim. I am needed, and because of this, we need to stay alive.

Secrets are daggers that will strike you in the back.

But in this, I have also found I am stronger. I did not bow to his gaze. My mind is stronger now. Quinn, your gift may have just saved my life.

[emptyanima]

[Another report graces her casebook.]

Report: Mist & the Unwilling Mind - IV

-

Location: Port-a-Lucine - Warehouse near The Broken Spire

Geniffer Weathermay-Foxgrove appeared, carrying documents. She detailed, in a flustered state, how one of du Bourg’s classes had left for a trip to Lamordia, and had not been seen since. She then mentioned having seen shadowed figures entering a warehouse near the Broken Spire within Quartier Marchand.

Sofiya, Cote, Leander and I made our way to the warehouse. Some purple mist was coalescing outside the door. After brief discussion, Sofiya slipped inside, and took stock of all within. She was almost completely unnoticed, but was heard at the last moment, thus  removing the element of surprise.

Soon after, I heard chanting coming from within, and we prepared. Upon entering the building, we were attacked by several apprentices, their magics both effective in harming us and in keeping them from many of our attacks. I was of little help in that regard, but the abilities of the others carried us through. Reaching the other side of the warehouse, we saw a device (an imitation of the one the hag defended with the Gentleman Caller), before which du Bourg was hunched, setting it to work. He would not heed our warnings, and went ahead to use it. He began to fade into mist, and turned into a spectral creature. He became irate and began to attack us, at which point I fell. When I came to, the device had been destroyed and Bernard was dead.

We also saw a brain within a jar, kept in formaldehyde, which Leander deduced to be elven. It was then that a figure appeared - Nara’ia. She spoke briefly, affecting those present deeply, before she vanished. Upon leaving, a few items were retrieved. Sofiya took Nara’ia’s effects, while Leander took a ring that Bernard wore, and I took his cane.

I believe more research into the ring is pertinent, as I saw it on the fingers of the apprentices. It is a striking design, two snakes clutching an onyx in their jaws. This certainly bears further investigation, alongside a book written by du Bourg that was found in the warehouse, with initials also found therein, B.C.

-

As long as I am careful, I believe I escaped the ire of the Lord-Governor for now. And with this new focus, the assistance Benedict has given me with regard to how I might advance leaves me with much to do.

I have been reminded of the sting of loss, and of the irrationalities to which it drives a person. But for the sake of those we have lost, we must continue. We make them proud.