Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Интерлюдия вторая: "То, что не сгорело"

Interlude Two: "All that didn't burn"

Camrad_RIP 06.02.22 в 12:29

Whenever a visitor, who had yet to be sent back safe and sound, came in here, a bright light burned, dispelling any hint of darkness and giving the place a somewhat dreamlike appearance. Accordingly, almost no one was aware of the fact that when there were no guests, this house was always dark, like some kind of coffin. This was not far from the truth, given the absence of any windows or other openings to the outside of the building, and the kind of activity that took place there. Standing on the spur of the moment, the stone manor has really become a tomb for a huge number of people and non-humans who have been transported here for a long time.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 10:21

Usually, very few slaves were brought here, even if they did so regularly, but there were times when the quantity required increased, and the commodity itself had to have some specificity. The people involved in this high-paying business never asked any questions, though their present leader had been plagued for years by a single question - where did all those corpses (and he did not doubt that slaves were going for sacrifices) go? They could not really be buried in the backyard, for no yard would be sufficient for such volumes of production waste. However, it was a familiar task for the mind, while the slave-trading crew was having a very civilized rest at the nearest tavern.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 10:34

What the old slavemancer was sure of was that if he asked such questions, a new supplier would be found very quickly, and no one would remember the old one. Maybe the corpses of him and the people he had hired would even be thrown into the same hole where they put the corpses of the slaves. Revealing the truth is, of course, a very important activity, but not to the extent that one seriously desires to expose it in this way.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 10:35

It was much more interesting to think about the goods delivered in this shipment - they paid the price without arguing, as they always did, though the slavemancer, let's face it, charged a much higher amount than usual. He was trying not to be cheeky, even though the price he quoted was always accepted. So, about a quarter of the average market price, but always on time and without unnecessary irrelevant words. But this time he was asked for a very unusual product, and with great urgency. Frankly speaking, he overcharged the price deliberately, just to cancel the contract under plausible pretext - he did not want to spoil his reputation by a failure. Alas, the price was accepted at once, with a deposit and a sum for expenses, which made the merchant's arse itch unpleasantly for trouble to come.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 10:37

The customer wanted twins, as many as possible, and the price for triplets was fabulously high. Undoubtedly, such goods would cost a lot at another dealer, but in combination with the information he already had, the conclusions were not happy. Slavemancer, because of his association with all sorts of criminal and antisocial elements, was well versed in the theory of witchcraft, even if he did not get involved in this business. And what he knew made the poor man, not at all happy about the fact that he might not spend his money, especially if the customer found out about his suspicions.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 10:38

Witch doctors and necromancers most often didn't give a shit whether the sacrificed witch was a virgin or not. No, for some rituals it did matter, but those were the exceptions to the rule. The only area in which even basic rituals and sacrifices had to be extremely specific was communication with the inhabitants of Hell. And fiends have always been synonymous with fubar - Slavemancer caught a few breakthroughs during his childhood, when conclaves of black mages rose up in Sorz, nailed down by templars.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 10:45

Anyway, the merchant drank the strong and high-quality ale served in the local tavern, trying to stifle his fear. That fear drove him forward, urging him to get out into the night and get out quickly, but the old professional was in no hurry to go along with his nightmares. Knowing the customer and his influence (which he only suspected), they would catch up with him and find him anyway, only he would die hungry and tired. But if you show every kind of contentment with life, then maybe they will carry him through, maybe they will let him live a little longer.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:30

Slavemancer lived a good life, leaving three official sons and a whole bunch of unofficial - women don't say no to slavemancers at all if you add a couple of funny class skills to your flirtations. He had no fear of death itself, knowing full well the survival statistics among his peers, and he had something against torture to go without pain. But he really didn't want to die in the claws of the fiends, knowing perfectly well all the possible consequences. It was unpleasant to feel like a hunted rabbit, but he knew what he had signed up for.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:33

Eh, the life of a simple honest, and decent man in this cruel world is hard and unpleasant - all around there are monsters and scumbags, and they are trying to either eat or kill or at least fuck with a poor slavemancer.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:34

He made a sign of repulsion against evil, then said a short prayer, discard his supper, and went to bed. His soul was pure and good, even if it was uneasy. But he sincerely believed that Samaan and Litany would protect him from evil, and so he slept as a child, as pure as he was sinless.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:35

It was always dark inside the house, as it was said before, but today that rule was slightly broken by a few alchemical burners that emitted the smoke of mind-altering herbs. The fire was not enough to dispel the darkness, but it provided some light, which would not have pleased a possible observer.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:38

The stuff was gone, only blood droplets rapidly absorbed into the threads of the Dreamcatcher covering the floor. It seemed as if the material had literally sucked two and a half dozen children and teenagers through a tube, leaving only empty leather bags piled in the corner, and these blood droplets disappearing before their eyes.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:39

The material was above reproach, which the old man, the owner of the place, noted in passing, reminding himself to encourage the catchers who brought him the goods. Proper fulfillment of even the strangest demands and a minimum of questions - perfect workers. He even took a little time to make sure the mercenaries were as clean - as possible, for people in their profession - as they were. No desire to blab or sell information, which made it necessary to regularly get rid of old slave traders by hiring new ones. And it was easy to remove the excitement and unnecessary interest, it was not even necessary to interfere himself, it was enough to send one of his children.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:42

The material had already been properly processed, and the souls bound to each other served as the perfect billets from which the finished instruments of his vengeance were already created. A father's revenge for his murdered child must be as terrible and unstoppable as a snow avalanche. He had already brought it down, created the necessary stones for it, all that remained was to find the one on whom the avalanche would fall and then enjoy the spectacle.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 11:46

Even though someone who managed to save and revive the young Lanorsk was a true professional, the old man had lived a very long time, so long that he no longer remembered the days when those who could oppose him walked the earth. And even then he was very old. Now there are no opponents to him - even if some young talent managed to get such a rare class somewhere, there are many centuries of experience on his side, which cannot be overpowered by system talents. So all that's needed is to secure an encounter, preferably in the old man's territory, where he could feel almost all-powerful. Even if the enemy and the abominable infanticide manage to fend off the first attack, he won't have the skill or talent to hide after that.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:09

The old man would find his enemy everywhere, even on the other side of the world, and he would impose a new battle on him, increasing the threat level over and over again, exhausting him with endless waiting, until the enemy made a mistake, until the enemy fell. The old man was not afraid that the assassin would be able to do the same trick - he had been in this house for more than two centuries, have managed to turn it into a fortress from which not even a divine avatar could smoke him out at once. Unless the god himself decides to come down from heaven, but that would require something very... strange from his side.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:11

If the murderer is foolish enough to come to his abode himself, it is the murderer's problem alone, and for the old man, it will be a gift from the Weaver herself. The main thing is to finish the processing correctly, so that the resulting material bloodhounds will not fail at the most important moment, finding the target and laying a path to it.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:16

He had already tried to carefully play the card of the freed Sigismund Lanorsk, but he did so as carefully as possible. If he were his opponent, the old man would have unequivocally left the gift near his target, so his nightmares were as careful as possible - and for good reason. Whatever had happened to the puppy, it was as if his dreams had disappeared, as if they no longer existed. Or rather, his nightmares disappeared. The old man's children could penetrate any dream, but they couldn't stay where they had no power. Not necessarily fear, lust and joy and sadness would do. The problem was that none of his creatures could become the master of the boy's dreams. He had to retreat carefully, for anything unfamiliar could prove to be a well-prepared trap. Still, he was already finishing making a new instrument.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:18

Thanks to the carefully chosen material, we feed one twin to the Catcher and the Nightmares dancing in the shadows. After that, from the crying and screaming soul, we stretch a thin link, sewing it to the soul of the second twin. This is very simple because their souls are already related to each other, and then there is the skill of the old man, enhanced by the native workshop.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:19

Step by step, out of the sacrifice grew something that could not even be given a name. They will go to the place where the men of the man who considers himself the patron of the old man nearly killed young Lanorsk. They will go from there, spreading out across a broad front, looking for any trace of work with Dream, looking for any clue. Whoever his enemy was, he would have to show his skill in one way or another, to leave his touch in the souls of those who were close to him.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:23

And then the bloodhounds will be on the track.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:23

Then they will bring the old man to him.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:47

And then the old man will take what's his.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:47

There was a cozy semi-darkness in the room, dispersed by two magical lights that revealed the rich furnishings and ornate furniture that made up the local interior. What the beams of light could not illuminate was the sheer number of enchantments of all kinds that turned the room into a fortified bunker, albeit one that was magically fueled.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:48

The owner of the office was not the most unforgettable impression, being outwardly an ordinary aristocrat with a stamp of nobility on his genteel face. What attracted far more attention were his eyes, which resembled two cold snake eyes, in which the search for human warmth was as rational as the meaning of life in horse manure.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:49

The owner of the office was silently looking over the multitude of documents piled up on the desk. Different shapes of sheets, different handwriting, different inks, different everything - a kind of an artistic mess. If you don't know what exactly is written on these sheets if you don't know who exactly sits at this table, who belongs to the cold snake eyes.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:51

Silay's death had undermined many plans, only miraculously not affecting the master of the cabinet himself. His entire staff of Seers, whose support and fees cost a fortune, allowed him to react quickly and timely to the threat. There was no direct connection between him and the Red Knot since the catcher's detachment was entirely on Silay's conscience, but if they dug deeper, strange questions and suspicions might arise. Elves are dangerous precisely because they can and love to look at the root of the problem, not agreeing with the slipped versions and not accepting any bribes. Had to react sharply and was on the verge of a foul, scrapping several very promising projects.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:53

Even though the death of the Sixth Advisor had not directly damaged his position, it was much easier to go about his business without attracting unnecessary attention from behind this squabbling moneylender who thought he was blue blood. Now he would have to find and nurture a new screen for part of his business while redistributing the agents who had lost their cover in other directions.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:54

Still, the professionalism of the long-eared bastards cannot be underestimated - he barely had time to arrange the disappearances of a couple of the most dangerous witnesses who could point to him personally. Later there was a sweep of much less dangerous witnesses, some of whom were even saved by tying up new debts. Very fortunate, especially against the backdrop of the other failures that had suddenly descended upon the occupant of the office.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:56

His gaze fell upon a report from one of his most useful agents, who had only with great difficulty managed to escape the raking clutches of the secret guards and servants of the Crown. The possession of the legendary Class of Drawing the Future had paid off many times over for her upkeep and the cost of her abduction. In fact, they have developed quite a business relationship - she works for him alone, and his men do all sorts of whims of the feisty girl. It is not yet clear which of the two of them found whom and forced their cooperation.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 12:57

Nevertheless, even she could not answer his questions now. The one whose specialty was depicting real webs of schematically shown interconnections, the one who could tell the biography of a man she had never seen by the color of his socks, sent only one simple picture. This was infuriating, for she had wasted a great deal of time and effort, and his, the employer of effort! What a collection of authentic elven china, which had to be bought at auction for enormous sums of money. And all she did was drink one bowl of herbal concoction, then smash the unusually sturdy material into a veritable crumble.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 13:05

And it would have been fine!

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 13:06

He put up with more than her shenanigans, and she always got the results he needed. Her schemes and webs allowed him to maneuver between other people's interests while remaining virtually unnoticed by the other players. But now she sent only one piece of paper with primitive charcoal drawing on it.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 13:06

/Here's everything I could see. Find it before it finds us.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 13:09

A sheet of expensive paper, covered with the usual charcoal from the fireplace, making only a black canvas visible. And in the center of that blackness is a faded face-shaped oval, as if someone had tried to rub out the charcoal with his fingers. And a long bloody line through the resulting face of another monster in a parody of a smile.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 13:11

There have been a lot of those monsters in his life lately. First, the bloody old man, who asked for an exorbitant number of slaves with very tricky features. Again he had to work through a third party, and the pay was correspondingly high. Now this strange creature, somehow connected to the elves and the late Silay.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 14:52

With a sigh, he set aside another report, then took the sheet of paper with the drawing in his hands and leaned it against the incendiary amulet, beginning to watch as the paper slowly caught fire. The amulet suspended the burnable in the air, causing the flame to gradually cover the face as if it were leaning snidely to the side, watching the man intently.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 14:53

Such nonsense!

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 14:53

After mentioning a few dark gods and their offspring, the man got up from the table and left the office - for some reason he felt too uncomfortable at that moment. And the words of the prophetess were still before his eyes - until that day she had never allowed herself such familiarity, nor had she ever addressed her employer directly.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 14:57

Too obscure, and therefore dangerous.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 14:58

For a moment, it seemed to the man walking down the corridor that a burnt-out face with a bloody smile turned to follow the man, staring at his back and smiling mockingly. He could almost hear a shrill chuckle, somewhere on the very border between fiction and reality. It was unbearably tempting to turn around, but he was above such petty and lowly fears.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:00

When he returned back to the office, all that was left of the sheet of paper with the ugly face was ashes and a small ash, a piece of unburned paper left by the malfunctioning of the household amulet. Lifting up the scattered burnt piece of paper in his hands, the man was able to distinguish the still viewable words:

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:01

/...before it finds us...

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:01

He swore, not at all fondly, though muffled, through gritted teeth, and silently rubbed the scrap in his hands, turning it to ash like the rest of the "portrait". The quiet ringing of the bell was instantly taken as an order by the well-trained servants. The maid, who appeared a short moment later, received a calm and commanding order:

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:07

"The amulet began to malfunction. Replace it immediately."

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:07

A new, perfectly functioning amulet was brought a few minutes later, immediately checked for undocumented surprises with all the scanners, and installed in place of the old one. After another minute, the owner of the office was alone again.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:10

He quietly finished his work on the bulletins and went to the dining room to dine on a superb meal prepared by the high-level cook and his assistants.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:15

He managed not to make a peep when he heard a squeaky chuckle in the creak of the always perfectly oiled door. Just a poorly oiled hinge.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:16

Just that.

Camrad_RIP 13.03.22 в 15:16