A Proper Merchant Never Pays Full Price.

“Well… I didn’t like them. There’s something about them that’s… offputting.” their oval eyes stared at her from Vesci’s hands. “Their eyes. I don’t like how they… stare.”

Though she has a far more occult tome in her possession, the cards scare her more. They seemed more volatile. The book… it was stable. Maybe it was only possible for her to be okay with the tome while she still had the cards, because the cards were scarier, by far. She wouldn’t be able to express that, though.

“And the words… the fool? The hanged man? …What do those mean?” She teeters on the edge of dangerous curiosity.

“It’s just a painting, Toustain, I assure you they can’t hurt you.” Vesci calmly pulls out the cards as Toast asked after them, explaining their meaning calmly, almost with the same sort of practiced disinterest as a barkeep would list off what they carry. The antiquarian even throws a couple others in for her own sake, personal favorites.

She’s not only seen these before, she’s very familiar with them. Used them, perhaps. But eventually, she just shuffles the deck again, produces a white ribbon from her pockets, and ties the bundle together neatly, facing down. No more oval eyes staring.

@makeshiftcenser

She’s quick to rebutt, “No no! They just… appeared, out of nowhere. These in… in particular.” Toustain gives over a small canvas bag, the tarot cards inside. “I don’t know from who. I don’t… even really know what they are, and I shouldn’t want to.” Despite that, she remembers their strange, staring faces. Their curious positions, the cups, the coins…

She purses her lips. “I thought burning them would be unwise.”

Vesci idly takes them out of the bag, eyebrows raising slightly as she idly shuffles the deck. Oh, these were just tarot cards; expensive tarot cards, to be certain, but simply tarot cards nonetheless. She idly examines them for imperfections, any actual arcane charge... but they seem tame.

A woman enters, what looks to be an antiquarian. She seems… odd, something weird, uncomfortable, unholy about her, that makes Plucknet feel threatened in all the wrong ways. The brazilian woman takes a step back, slightly raising her palm towards the lady who seems to come uncomfortably close.

“Hey, what are y-” She cannot continue her sentence, as she is suddenly knocked backwards a few steps, the antiquarian suddenly having removed her scarf and revealing bared, hungering teeth. Plucknet emits a yelp, then a screech as she’s grabbed ahold of, unable to fight back the power of the other. She was never that great in physical combat, preferring her crossbow and all, but this is something entirely different. The lady, whom Plucknet is sure to be a vampire now, forces her head and shoulder aside to get access to the sore and more bloody parts of her shoulder and when the arbalest felt her skin break more, this time against her will, she screams,  her hands ripping away at the assaulter’s robes in an attempt to fight the attack off, kicking and crying out. “Stop stop stop stop, let goo!” she screams, but to no avail, feeling how she’s getting drained and weaker.

After a couple agonizingly long moments, Vesci finds control of her own body again. The blood suffuses through her, a kind of euphoria she’d almost forgotten in her attempt to wean herself off if this. Strength returns to her limbs, her pulse returns from how labored and sluggish it had felt, and the mandibles that has insisted on tearing at her scarves retract as she does, blood still running down her chin, alongside the scar on her face.

“I-I... I’m so sorry,” she begins, voice shaking, “I couldn’t... it was like I was just watching, I...” She falls into mute horror, staring at the mark she’d left. A Bitemark. With her own teeth, red crescent shapes where she’d latched on and refused to let the poor woman escape despite her screaming, despite the struggle. Perhaps the Fanatic had been onto something, trying to kill her. “... I can’t take back what I’ve done. I know. But things are going to be very strange for you, in a very short period of time, and you’re going to need help.” She pauses, frowning, wiping her chin of evidence. “Don’t... don’t go to the Sanitarium, ma’am. They’ll just try to lock you up for delusions. Don’t touch holy water.  And... what I just did? That’s what happens when you try and starve yourself. You lose control.” She winces, looking genuinely upset with her own actions. 

Silence? Sneakery? It appeared Fetti had no choice but to mutely follow along in whatever precautions Vesci felt it necessary to adhere to. Normally that would have invited more interest but if one was going to slowly, slowly reel in their fishing line, they should have put more bait on it than a discount and a few panicked glances. She felt foolish standing in this cart. Was this was her compatriots felt like when she had fallen victim to paranoia, out past the estate? Nonsense. Her suspicions were perfectly sensible.

Before another second of grousing, the word outbreak struck like a bolt of lightning. Blood? Fatal? Only one surviving patient? Fetti took those words and ran with each of them like they were kites and this was the first majestic crest of wind in what would soon be a hurricane. There was enough in this bit of news to start forming a mental report without a moment’s hesitation.

“Right, right, well, let me work through the possibilities.” Already the unmistakable tone of someone excited to start a puzzle. “There are a lot.” A palm opening and closing. Ready to speak and yet - not. There actually weren’t that many at all, but Vesci didn’t need to know that.

In her workings, only a few phrases were distinguishable. Not for being inaudible but for speed. No hushed tones for her. Possible iron deficiency. Cannot be immediate. Only by severe neglect. Typically in dirt. Certainly not purely by the power of suggestion. Possibly combative bloodlust? But that would be a craving for violence, with blood as a subsequent reward. To be consumed? Consumed, is it? Multiple victims? Transmittable consumption?

“I… I, ah..”     She adjusts, boarding on fidgets with, her mask. An excellent day for lavender. “I’m still going to need more, I’m afraid. Where, when, and how you’ve been faring, of course. Both, I mean, in how you’ve been able to and how you’ve been feeling. You look like you’ve been holding up superbly.” Given the circumstances.

“This doesn’t resemble anything I know. At least, not yet. As far as an investigation goes, this might be just the beginning.”

How could that not come out eagerly as all hell? 

“I understand perfectly, Doctor. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a check up. And... realize there may be others, but. For obvious reasons there’s probably a bit of a need to keep quite about it.” Vesci takes a deep breath, and after a moment, begins to regale the story of her... infection.

It’s a fairly straightforward one, all in all. An expedition into the Ruins, looking for capital for the Manor, the skeletons, the brigands, all the expected fiends and fighting that an expedition is full of. Vesci doesn’t seem all that bothered as she glosses over that part, but her face does fall as she gets to a particular encounter. Insectoid men, and flurries of horrid bloodsucking insects. She describes the fall of her team by the beasts, if perhaps only for flavor text.

“... I suppose it was just horror and that deafening insect whine, but... I didn’t move, when they lunged for me, and I got bitten. Nothing big, I’d thought, everyone gets bitten by mosquitoes, right? But... My veins felt like they were on fire, worse than that blight the swinemen are so fond of.” She sighs, clasping and unclasping her hands slowly as she considers how to tell the rest of it. “After it subsided, however, I felt fine for... most of the expedition. Perturbed, but fine. The blood cravings set in a few hours later.” Vesci pauses, and ruffles through a small wicker basket, pulling out a handful of vials on a silver chain. Blood vials, all of them, miraculously still liquid  as she holds them up.

“I’ve been collecting these, since then, off of enemies. It’s been about three, maybe four weeks? And if I don’t... forget, that this is something I have to do every couple of days, I feel fine. Better than fine, actually; I daresay I feel fantastic”

She looks to Fetti, as if attempting to gauge her reaction through the mask before continuing.

“I tried to talk to the Nurses at the Santarium, and they tried to inter me for delusions. We aren’t getting along.” She unties her scarf, and smiles - a warm smile, if not for the decidedly predatory bent that the new fangs lent her.

He grins despite what wounds ail him, how he ignores the pain only god surely knows..He ignores the crumpled thing before him and the Occultists weak attempts to heal her, the Hellion has his attentions for a brief moment. His hammer strikes out once more to drive her away, hoping to wound or perhaps even stun her for a moment long enough to let him finish his job.

Though like a siren call, the snaps of ropes and screams call him back to the pyre, back to his chosen first for the flames..How he’s still alive irks him, he even has the gall to mock him and his holy fire. Shoving past the others he snarls at the Crusader..before he can end his work, the staff is freed from his back and planted into the ground.. Vesci’s new gift of a mark would light up in fresh pain as the symbol atop the staff caught the light. He knows the other two will tend to their wounded, leaving him free to finish the Crusader.

“Weak you say? Is she not the one who tainted you? Who spread the foul sickness onto others who thought to keep her alive? Foolish man, had you not kept the words of God fresh in your mind you yourself would of struck her down.”

He raises his hammer once more, holy rage bubbling over as he cornered the man, a once fellow man of the ways of God telling him he was wrong? In his mind it was the other way around..and he would gladly offer the man his own salvation through death.

“You will receive Gods judgement then fool, and she will have the pleasure of seeing what will become of all those who shelter her kind. May God have mercy on you.”

With that he let his holy fury let loose the hammer in a high arc, connecting with the Crusader unchecked with horrifying speed. The sound of metal striking metal would ring out into the clearing like bells for the poor unfortunate few still there.

Deathblow.

There is a mute silence, as the Crusader crumples to the floor. He seems so much smaller now, a half-grown, pathetic thing without the force of personality to keep him a wall between them and danger. Vesci’s mind only gets fuzzier, staring numbly at the dead body. Oh. Her mark hurts. That’s probably bad, she muses, the insectoid features melding harmlessly back into a proper human face. Soft, emotionless... it’s a wonder if she’s actually conscious, under that, or if she’s too far in shock, even with the foul magic fusing her bones back together and her skin into a more reasonable mark than a fresh burn wound.

The question may have to be unanswered. Hardier than her companions, the Hellion gets to her feet, shaking of the blow with a hiss, and she throws Vesci over her shoulder, beckoning for the Occultist to follow as she takes off at a sprint, back down the hallway, back in the direction of the Hamlet. 

He may be freakishly strong, but he couldn’t kill the entire Hamlet. Lady Darkest wouldn’t shelter a man who tried to kill her mercenaries. 

The Crusader’s body, despite the momentary hesitation of the Occultist, is left behind. They could pick it up in a couple days, when the threat had passed... or they could at least give him a marker in the graveyard, pretend they’d been able to give him all the correct rites, absolve him of the sin he must have cleansed himself of with such a sacrifice.

The poisonous gases burn his eyes and sting his throat and nose like fire when they finally reach him, brought in close by the fires roaring around him and the accused burning behind him.

But that alone wouldn’t be enough to deter him, cursing, knives and blows do their damage but this man is not like the shambling horrors they’ve dealt with so far. The attempts at destroying his so called “holy pyre” only send him into a deeper fury, how dare they interrupt his judgement on the Crusader?? This will not stand, with a angry yell his hammer swings out to connect brutally with the Hellion.

“AWAY FROM THERE YOU FOUL HEATHEN. You will share his fate soon enough in the fires! “

He seems intent on guarding the pyre from them now, burying the head of his weapon in the fires until it glowed a angry red..If it burns him he doesn’t seem to notice or care, instead eyeing the self proclaimed bringing of this plague with dark intents in mind.

“ You foul woman, willingly bearing and spreading this filthy blood to others, your corpse shall have the honors of bearing the mark so that all will see what becomes of these tainted unholy creatures.!!”

Despite the pain so far inflicted he moves with alarming speed at the group, free hand outstretched to make a grab for Vesci as that burning hot hammer comes flying behind with terrible speeds.

Vesci, being a ways back and fairly quick on her feet, dodges the hand, fabric swaying, teeth bared in a furious snarl- As the hammer connects with the bare skin her movements created with a sickening crunch. Hitting the ground, she’s only dimly aware of how badly her shoulder is burning, of how unresponsive that arm is. She’s only dimly aware of most things, and distantly, she realizes it must be shock. Vesci holds her censer vaguely out from her position on, a warning for whatever vile magics the Antiquarian had planned next, as somewhere, the Occultist begins to mutter, trying to summon his pactmate to undo the damage that had been done with a panicked sort of enthusiasm.

Their foes wasn’t even remotely cowed, and this, of course, horrifies them. How can they fight something that seems to disregard the punishment given.

The Hellion lets out a feral cry, and and swings her glaive at the Fanatic, trying to return the damage he’d given to the softest member of the party in kind, perhaps then some. Anything to stop him from beating down two members of the party without a chance to save them either.

On the Pyre, the ropes holding the Crusader blacken and snap, leaving him to fall directly into the flames. The scream sounds nearly inhuman as he does so, rolling and eventually staggering back out to try and meet his teammates, barely able to lift his sword. Muscles giving out, unable to focus, he seems fit to fall over dead at any moment.

But he still has a job to do, about to die or not.

“You really think...” he begins, forcing a weak chuckle, “She’s the one you have to worry about? She’s too weak to hold a knife, let alone... forget attacking anyone! A stiff breeze could kill her!” His mandibles clang against his armor.

If this is it, he’d have died protecting the innocent, like he should have long ago.

He expects venom, curses and more from these infected sinners…The flashbang however catches him off guard for a precious few moments.

Letting out a strangled yell he reels back, shielding his marred face from harm. But surprise and alarm wear off quickly and in their wake rides anger as hot as the flames around them all.

“So be it then foul demoness! You will all answer to the Almighty after I finish purging the world of your sinful souls!!”

She’s wise to move away, but his reach is long and of iron..her team is forfeit and the first to have proper judgement passed is her brethren in this curse. Dragging the Crusader away from the other three he makes short work of strapping the flailing man to a pyre, soon to be set ablaze like all the others around them.

He casts his manic..almost gleeful gaze back at the others as he prepares to begin.

“YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY, ALL OF YOU FOUL HEATHENS!!”

The flames seem to burn brighter around him, casting his already crazed looks into more disturbing visages..

“YOU ALL WILL BE CLEANSED IN FIRE FOR YOUR CRIMES, STARTING WITH HIM!”

Fuck. 

The team rallies as best as it can, weapons raised, teeth grit. The Hellion tries to hack away at the pyre, to free their companion before the flames can cook him alive in his armor. The screams... the screams are horrible, finally a sound Vesci hates more than the whine of insect wings. The Occultist is sling vile curse after curse, trying to find something that will stick to this man before things got too out of hand, but nothing seemed to be working yet.

As for Vesci? Bearer of the curse, first of her Hamlet?

There is a kind of hate in her heart she hasn’t known since she first sealed her censer shut.

She holding it out, full of cruel intent, and stare up at the Fanatic. What remains of her team notices, and holds their breath as a foul gas leaks out of the censer at alarming speeds, not like a plague of locusts, filling the air with noxious fumes. Poisonous. Not to harm her allies, it knows, but it still smells like rot and malice as it permeates the air, rising in a thick green cloud, drifting towards the man.

Witchcraft, surely, she thinks, smirking. She never claimed to be a good person, but she’ll be damned if she lets this madman reach her home, kill anyone he suspects of something that is not their fault... 

“Come on, then, you old wreck! Smite me down! Stop me from spreading my... Curse, any further!”

After what felt like eternity - one that cleared Plucknet’s mind off of all of those horrid pictures - the Sister Josephine ceased the whiplashes raining upon the arbalest’s back. She could feel the cold breeze of the abbey’s flagellation chambers glide over her blood-wet, open back, makingn her ravaged skin shudder as she exhaled through her teeth, swallowing her pain. This was good. Enabling her to distract herself.

As she stood, her shirt loosely pulled over her upper body and wide hanging in order not to stick to the wounded back. She would get it treated in just about a moment, but she didn’t want to freeze, so as of right now, Plucknet took her stuff to keep the wind off her skin.

Though suddenly she feeled like she wasn’t alone. The sister hasn’t been here in about three minutes, and Plucknet had heared her greet someone on the way out, but no one had come in. With mild uncertainty, she averted her attenion again. Probably wasn’t really important or anyone she knew.

Vesci, without thinking, removes her scarf. She is doing a lot without thinking, drifting in this strange state that feels a bit more like watching from the outside of her body as it moved. Her scarf comes off, anything that would stain is left outside as she walks into the chamber. She’s only dimly aware of the fact those strange insectoid features were showing, and within the strange haze she can’t bring herself to care.

The woman in question is clearly an Arbalest. Still bleeding, still... the haze thickens, Vesci is not aware of herself. There is simply a need, and a means to meeting that end that is right in front of her. This is not an addiction, it is a requirement that she has been woefully neglecting.

Finally, Vesci stops thinking entirely.

Disagreement? Her blank visage hid any hint of a furrowing brow that her voice suggested. What kind of tiff could a nurse and merchant be in? Fetti held a vial up to her goggle, inspecting the amber liquid as she continued to think. If it involved Vesci, the disagreement had to do with money. The staff probably doubted the legitimacy of her wares and turned her away. Fetti knew that she sadly would have been skeptical too, back when the academy spoiled her and her students rotten. But now wasn’t the time to turn up noses.

She picks up the skull a moment, clacking the jaw open and shut. It’s teeth were all barbed. Was this a hoax? Were fox teeth carefully plastered into the maw of a man? It was rather charming. It made its home quickly among the other vials she had claimed. Why not?

The offer of a trade only intensified Fetti’s interest. And yet that didn’t clear anything up. This hamlet was nothing but problems. Every step was another personal invitation for filth, disease, and calamity. These were the perks, here. She was only left to puzzle over the possibilities while picking apart the wares and, eventually, gathering together quite the haul. Seems she was being spoiled rotten again.

“Well, this will be all if I’d like to keep my meals for this week. I really must thank you again for such a generous offer! Your work will pay in spades for my patients, I assure you. ”

With a breath, she steepled her fingers. Business, business.

“But this problem? Been seeing it frequently, have you?” She nods definitively over her own words, as though liking the sound of them. “Why don’t you start from the beginning, then, and I’ll see what I can do. The more thorough you are, the more I can work with.”       

Vesci pauses, looking around. She can’t discuss this in the open. Holding a finger for one minute, she sets everything Fetti picked out in a separate box, handing it to her before throwing a heavy cloth over everything set out. Closed. Nobody would dare steal from her, not here. Between the rumors spreading and her connections with some of the more... brutal, members of the Hamlet, her wares remaining intact is all but certain. 

She taps open her cart, and gestures back, usherign Fetti inside without a single word. Suspicious, but necessary, she assures herself, looking at the concealed basket she’s taken to hiding those damnable vials in. The fuel for a rather unfortunate addiction.

“Pardon my behavior, I simply don’t want to frighten the townsfolk. But... lately, there’s been quite the outbreak of... I want to call them a deficiency, with the, well blood cravings they chatter on about, but it strikes too quickly, and the results are too... well. Fatal.” She thinks of the people on her adventuring teams, they ones that get caught and waste away in a week, bodies becoming frail as if they’d been starving for years, dying in the night. “And deficiencies don’t happen when one is attacked by monsters.”

She sighs. There’s no polite way to say this, and no way to avoid saying it.