Before the battle began, Warren imagined a pouch on his belt. A thick leather sack appeared there, a hempen drawstring was ready to close it up tightly. He needed some place to put the memories he was going to capture. His blade went without its fire, it would be too much of a risk to incinerate the thoughts lurking in those bats. He didn't fear destroying the monsters outside, they were only her natural defenses, horrific though they were. These bats had value.

"Be ready to catch the memories," he told Rosetta. "They'll be slippery little things."

The Vampire reached the bottom of the stairs, his leathery winged beasts following him.

Rosetta looked at Warren's belt pouch, then nodded. In her hands appeared a bug catching net. First it was wood, then she focused, reinforcing it with steel.

“That’ll do great,” he remarked.

The Paladin didn't take his gaze off the Vampire for long, and wasn't surprised when the monster threw out his arm.

"Feed, my pretties!" the Vampire cried, pointing his clawed finger out to them.

The flapping of the bats' wings snapped through the air, coming for both of them. Warren stepped forward and held his sword up in a roof guard. Twisting his wrists he sliced through bat after bat in quick succession. They tried to bite his arms and flew straight at his neck. Their teeth bounced off his helmet harmlessly. Paladins were all taught to deal with the undead, they were a constant problem in some places. These memories might be frightening to a young girl, to the Captain they were nothing but a bad dream. The ones that bit at his armor were rebuffed by a wave of his hand and the forceful magic from it. They were sent reeling into the walls around him. He cut deep grooves into the brick work to slay them and sent Rosetta buzzing away to avoid the spinning of his blade. He shouted warnings to her, and she managed to keep her distance.

Each of the bats popped into tatters of flesh, fading into the ether of the dreamscape. Crying out in panic, Rosetta swished her net after the fast memories that came flying out of the creatures. The neat mesh of the net held in the squirming memories, which in here were given solid form. Unable to fully see them now, Warren could only hear the screams and the ceaseless screeching of the machines. He was surprised that the sound didn't affect him, but glad. It must have been because the witness to them was immune. He had dealt with similar stunning spells that didn't cause harm when heard through a memory. Or it could be that a mind doesn't always remember things perfectly. Whatever the case, the bats were gone and the memories were caught through a lot of frenzied swings. Flying over his head, recatching some a few times, Rosetta expanded her net. She made it twist closed on its own, panting as the last one was secured.

Checking the air around him, Warren left her the bag, and ran towards the stairs. The Vampire of the girl's memory was turning away, fading as it entered a room. Warren chopped right at the base of the Vampire's neck. His execution cut meant little as the memory was nearly gone. He caught it still as the projection died, a fragile fish-like thing, the memory, shone in the ghostly light of the abandoned orphanage. It wriggled in his hand, trying to escape his grasp. He saw its glassy hide clearly and it told the story fully.

By the time the Vampire turned away, following the masses of Ash Makers, Susan was already running. Still it was valuable to know how she escaped. How she had been so brave. If the camp was a good size, then she'd probably left a lot of people behind. She was a young girl, running to her brother where he hid, calling for her. Fourteen, still a baby, Warren thought.

Rosetta came to him, holding the writhing bag. He slipped the held memory inside it. She looked at him expectantly from her blindfold. Her face was still cut up from the brambles, but slowly mending on its own.

"What do we do now?" she asked, her deep voice quiet.

"Search the rooms, see what else is around here," he said with a shrug.

"We aren't takin' these for gud, are we?" she asked, gesturing to the bag.

"No, the magic takes a copy, the mind saves the original, that's Psyin's way," he said softly.

"Oh, right…" she frowned.

"You must not read detective stories a lot," he remarked.

"No, I don't."

He nodded, one of the few expressions that showed past his helm. "Come on then."

The downstairs was clearly the remains of a real orphanage, especially vivid in its recreation. The outer rooms facing the outside were lined with grimy windows. The wind had closed into the area, making the dead trees rock about. Their shadows showed like long bent fingers across the messy floor of the day room. There were rotten wooden toys strewn about and the furniture had been eaten from inside out. From the style and shape of the various objects, Warren could tell that they were certainly in Grunhir, or Susan’s nightmarish memory of it at least.

Through the night air came the loud whinny of several dozen horses, followed by their rapid hoofprints. Rosetta screeched in fear as the shadows of the horses crossed the windows, adding to the shadows of the trees. She whipped her hand out, sending chains flying through the glass, shattering it loudly. When the sounds only increased, she hid behind Warren, her small hands catching the collar of his greatcoat.

“Wot is it!?” she cried.

“The Wild Hunt, at least her memory of it,” he said calmly. Against the window floated several memories in the shape of the young girl. A reflective person that faded into the flying memories. “Come on, don’t be afraid, we need to catch these…”

The Sorceress frowned at him, spawning her net once more. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it,” she said. “It’s been forever since I’ve heard it, that’s all.”

“I thought you came from up north,” he remarked with a hidden smirk.

“Not that far north,” she said, catching the memories. She placed them in the still wriggling bag. His creation wouldn’t let anything out once it was in. “I heard it when I went traveling with the royals, but I was like… distracted then.” She swallowed, then shook her head. “I’m not the tough one, yah know.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said with a shrug. “I can be that one for you. I’m plenty strong.”

She paused, her somber white face backlit and shadowed before the window. “Wot do yah mean?” she wondered. Floating close to him, she handed him back the bag.

“Well, I can create a psychic link between us, just like ya had before,” he said. “I know ya don’t want a replacement, but it’d be useful.”

Rosetta picked nervously at the bindings of her fingers. “I’ll think about it, like,” she said quietly. The fact that she was even considering it was amazing to Warren. She must be much lonelier than he thought. He knew the strife going on in her head. There was no ignoring the grief within her. He didn’t want to push anything with her, but he didn’t regret offering.

A rustling came up behind Warren and he turned his head to something sneaking up on him. It wasn't that successful, but it was closer than it should have been. Rosetta called it out, pointing her finger at it. From the ground erupted thick hauling chains, she was so convinced that it was real she didn’t use her magic like a dreamscape. Instead she had used it like anything else, drawing materials from the ground. Warren drew his sword, lighting it up with Psyin’s holy golden fire. It illuminated the creature before him, and its body that extended onto the other room. He reckoned it probably took up several rooms.

The blind serpent opened its mouth to its translucent fangs, both larger than Rosetta’s arm. They sparkled in the golden light and its gaping pink mouth led to a cavernous throat. The chains caught across the giant snake’s mighty body, dragging it down before it could raise itself up. That many muscles were too much for the metal and Susan remembered it as quite fearsome. The chains snapped as its long body and broad head thrust up into the air. Links scattered about across the floor, skidding all the way to the walls.

“Focus on its head!” Warren cried, holding his sword firmly in both hands. He tapped the floor loudly, calling at it in his fool’s guard. He was completely open, not that it could see, but he hoped it could hear. The girl couldn’t know the full danger or rage of a creature this size, but she probably knew smaller snakes at least. He hadn't fought a snake this size for a long while. A Paladin was never sent out alone to deal with beasts like this.

The serpent’s white eyes followed Rosetta’s rattling chains, turning its head towards them. They were far too loud and distracting for it. The serpent swerved about, barely missing the spear points that came flying towards its head and upper neck. Rosetta shouted in frustration at the near misses.

“Here, to me!” Warren shouted. He scraped the floor with his burning sword, causing little ruts of flame to catch and die out. Rosetta looked towards him, launching sections of chains from around his feet. They crisscrossed in almost protective manners. The snake hissed, opening its jaws to strike at him. Not exactly what he meant, but this was his trial now. The snake’s maw came flying towards him and from his foolish low stance he came slicing upwards. The sword cut through the snake’s lower jaw and upper snout with a splatter of blood. Any real creature would have at least stopped or drawn back. He was ready for the momentum of the strike, stepping sideways. This was not a real snake, this was a little girl’s imagination of a snake bigger than a Corpine Van. So the beast's split jaw and snout crashed with all its body weight into the floor.

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The whole building shook to its foundations and Warren was rocked off his feet as the snake’s head cracked the stonework with a bloody splat. The Paladin’s sword went flying and he went sliding on a tucked in shoulder. He somersaulted, landing back on his feet again, digging his hand into the floor, which in his imagination gave enough to let his fingertips cut it. He stood as the snake went limp and thudded into the stone. Standing, his sword flew back to his hand, the flames extinguished, as he put it back into its sheath.

The body of the snake burst into a school of memories that went flying every which way. Rolling his shoulders, Warren formed another bug net and helped Rosetta this time in capturing them all. The glassy hide of the memories told a much different story, one he would have to sort through later. The Ash Makers had rations at one point, but they had gone through them quickly in their escape from the Nymphs in the sewers. The memory bag grew in size from all the new additions.

Setting the bag on his belt, Warren gestured towards the stairs to Rosetta as he left the room. She was panting as she flew after him. In his real hands he could feel the sweat coursing from her. Her projected face was flushed from the stress. As her will got weaker he could sense that back in his prairie manor her safe of dangerous thoughts was starting to crack open. He felt the ghost of Luann escape from her prison. The monster of a dead princess scraped against the door with its perverted claws.

There were many rooms left to search about this place. What exactly would come out of the girl’s imagination he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t going to spend any more time in the hostile mind without help. Normally a mind such as this was managed with at least a pair of Paladins or Clerics.

Heading to the door, Warren took the Sorceress’s hand. “Come on, we gotta leave,” he said gently to her.

“Why?”

“Yer about to pass out is why,” he explained.

She frowned at him. “I can do it, I swear I can,” she urged, barely able to breathe evenly.

He shook his head. “I’ve got plenty to go on. The girl needs to rest, and she can’t do that with us in here.”

Rosetta yawned so wide that it clearly hurt her jaw. “Well aye, fine,” she mumbled, rolling her sore jaw.

Holding her hands, they zoomed out the open door. The landscape changed all around them, from the dark foreboding land to the bright open prairie. Rosetta crashed to the ground, the green grass wet all around her. She broke out into a coughing fit, the day’s effort was bound to make her sick. One didn’t go from no exercise for two months to running a marathon. He put her on his back like he had before and she said nothing about it, lacing her legs across his core.

In the manor he made his way upstairs to the locked office. When the door opened he grabbed the false Luann by the throat as she tried to escape. Rosetta trembled, hiding her face in his shoulder. In her exhaustion she must have not realized that the imitation had escaped the safe. He knew the princess was dead and held no guilt towards manhandling the Sorceress’s manifestation of grief.

The safe had bulged out, leaking all the thoughts that Rosetta was trying to hide. He ignored them, it wasn’t fair to pry when she was so damaged. Though he tried to block them out, he heard quite a few naughty thoughts about him. He didn’t blame the woman for going after the first person to treat her how she liked. Or with any kindness whatsoever.

Luann’s bloody body went sliding into the back into the safe like a projector showed a film, as if her body was nothing, because it was only thoughts. Holding it together, he urged Rosetta to give the idealization another go. Squinting, her arms tightening around his neck, the safe mended back together. She sagged on him, her projection flickering as she tried to maintain consciousness. He put a supporting hand on her rump, but she kept sliding down. He spun and took hold of her, her head resting against his shoulder. The memory bag tossed on the desk, he would sort through it later, Warren opened his eyes.

In the real world Rosetta nearly fell out of her chair. Warren tugged her to him, placing her on the same position against his shoulder. Her body and bindings were drenched in sweat and her heart thudded against her chest and into him. Too much fat burned and she had to rely on the normal toll for spell castors.

Kalyah rushed to her. The healer put her hands under Rosetta’s arms. “Oh dear Goddess, she’s lost nearly five pounds today!” Kalyah remarked.

“She did good, she did good,” Warren said firmly, his hand patting Rosetta’s back. "I'm proud of her."

The Sorceress raised her head, the blindfold slipping as her magic all started to fail her. She smiled at him coyly, gazing at him with her pearl irises.

Kalyah’s hand went to her forehead, then the healer gasped. “She’s burning up. Honey, you need to rest,” the Priestess stressed. “Here, let me take her to bed…” She held out her hands.

“No, I got her,” Warren said, standing up with his light burden.

Kalyah was standing too, at about half his height. She pursed her lips. “She needs rest. I don’t know what happened in there, other than some nightmares for the little one, but that one needs bed rest before she develops a stress cold. She’s already at risk. Those are priestly orders.” She stamped her tiny foot on the gray stone.

From across the room came Diana and Jonah.

“Is she okay?” Jonah wondered.

“Yeah, she just overdid it,” Warren told him.

“Take care Rose, please,” Diana said, trying to meet the eyes of the Sorceress. "You did well, I'm sure."

Having calmed down, Rosetta was feigning sleep against him. A mixed expression lingered on her face. Why she was ignoring her charge, Warren wasn’t sure. Maybe it had something to do with being haunted by the sister or the incorrect name.

“I gotta take her upstairs, I’ll be back down soon,” Warren said with a smirk.

“Yes well, tell her to take care should she wake,” Diana said with a frown.

“I will,” he said with a nod.

In the penthouse, Warren took Rosetta to the bedroom that he had made up for himself. For the last couple days she had been sleeping solely on the couch like some friend who came to crash. His room faced away from the outer walls and was so dark he had to switch on the lights to see where he was going. Rosetta sat up in his hold as they entered, looking around. She said nothing as he pulled open the neatly made covers and placed her in them.

“Ya need any clothes from yer duffle bag?” he asked.

She looked around the well kept room, as if she was stranded on an island in her heavy red coat. The couch by comparison was a mess of blankets and trash that he had told her to clean up. Everything here was in order and clean. She hesitated, removing her mantle and handing it to him. Her bindings were sagging off of her and he could see her breasts starting to slip out of them.

“Just bring the whole thing… please,” she said quietly.

When he returned he found her sitting up rapidly from bed, blushing brighter than when he left. If he saw her right, he could swear that she was smelling his pillow. He turned his back to her, though she kept changing anyway, putting on a baggy shirt and shorts. Pointing her hand out from the bed, the bindings all flew out onto the floor, like meat out of a grinder. He picked them up, wrapping them over in his hands.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s alright, yer sick, I shouldn’t expect yer habits to magically change,” he remarked.

“Thank yah, for everythin’,” she said, putting her head to his pillow.

“You did the work, I’m proud of ya,” he said with a smile. He set the bindings on a chair in the corner of the room. “I haven't known ya that long, but by the gods that was amazing today.”

She nodded. “Aye, thank yah,” she said, her eyes gazing into the distance as she held the pillow.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he wondered.

“No, I’m just tired and dizzy,” she mumbled, her hands running underneath the pillow.

He placed the trash can beside the bed. “Aim for that, alright?”

She frowned, still holding onto whatever was bothering to get out.

Standing in the awkward silence for a while longer, he made to leave. He shut off the light and started to close the door.

“Please, don’t leave mah in the dark!” she cried out.

He turned the lights overhead back on. “Is this good enough?” he wondered.

She looked to the door of the bathroom that sat across from the bed. He switched on the light there, then turned the overhead light off. The beam of pure white light streaked across the gigantic bed onto her face. There was a window right next to the couch and it never got completely dark past those curtains. Her place of rest made a lot more sense now.

“Are yah comin’ back?” she asked.

“This is my bedroom,” he said with a grin.

Her white brows furrowed.

“What’s bothering ya?” he said, taking a firm stance beside the bed. She had water, clothes, everything she could need, except maybe a shower. He could tell she was holding back something more.

“Yah said yah were proud of mah, I’ve had sex with people fur less,” she said, eyes distant. “I’ve fucked people whose names I don’t even know. I’ve fucked more than I can count.”

“Ya are the Sorceress of a sex god,” he said with a weary sigh.

“Luv, He’s a god of luv. Just a different kind of luv,” she stated.

“Well, I’ll tell ya what. Love is at least knowing the person’s name whose business yer in,” he said with a fold of his burly arms.

“Do I look like a person who's happy with their life choices?” she snapped. Then with a struggling sound she put her face into the pillow.

“What’s yer point?” he asked after a long moment.

She surfaced from the pillow. “I’m sad and miserable, and fuckin’ haunted by one horrible mistake. If yah… If it’s not too much…” The wounds on her cheeks had almost fully healed and the red on white was only shame.

“Spit it out,” he said.

“When yah return, could yah hold mah?” she asked with a quivering lip.

He widened his eyes and she hid her face in the pillow once more. He blew out a long breath. “We work together,” he said.

“I know, I know,” she said, muffled. “Just go, I’ll be gone when yah come back. Please, leave mah alone.”

“Whatever we do can’t interrupt our mission, got it?” he said loudly.

She looked up, confused.

“Yer mission is the princess, Jonah, Kalyah and the children, ya protect them first and foremost,” he stated.

She nodded.

“I’ll see ya when I get back,” he said with a smirk.

"Alright then…"