Torment always listens to those who offer themselves.

The words echoed in Eija’s mind as he awoke from a dream. He lifted his head and found himself still sitting at a desk with various books and journals in front of him. He wiped his lips free from spit and rubbed his eyes.

“Fell asleep again,” Eija said as he shook himself back to his senses. It was the morning of Chaos 34th, and since he had first made it to the keep, he had been locked up on the second floor, given a stack of books, and told to read.

A few gruff and questionably unhygienic men claiming to be Lords had stopped in and spoken to him when he first arrived, but other than explaining what happened the night the Witch Hunter came to Eddlesreef, he had little interaction with anyone. When he first arrived they took his sword and pack, and brought him to a tall, gaunt, bandaged covered man known as Lord Isle.

Lord Isle probed Eija for information until he was so exhausted from talking, he just wanted to fall down and close his eyes. Since then, he had been given a cot to sleep on, and left alone to his studies.

Lord Isle should be here with some food soon. Eija stretched his arms upwards and let out a long, sleepy yawn.

Resting his head on the table, he sighed. How long is this going to go on for? He lifted his head and looked at the book infront of him. Fae are resilient creatures, all with weaknesses of their own. A common weakness shared by some Fae is iron chilled to freezing. Fae sometimes have an almost allergic reaction to it. For Fae that are unaffected, lemon juice has been found to also invoke this reaction.

“Great, I may not be able to use a sword but at least I know to always pack a lemon,” Eija said sarcastically.

“A fact that may come to save your life,” said a figure from the doorway. It was an older man with graying dark hair, and a clean shaven face. The man entered. “How is the reading coming along?” He carried with him a longsword in its sheath.

Eija wanted to say boring, but, instead, plainly answered, “Good.” He eyed the sword in the man’s hand and felt excitement for the first time since he arrived. “Are you here to teach me how to use that?”

“Something like that,” replied the man. “First, let’s review and see what you know. What is the most effective weapon against a werebeast?”

“Silver,” answered Eija.

“Good, but an easy one to remember. If you don’t have silver, what would you do?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Eija.

“Use your head.” The man folded his arms and stared down at Eija. “You're not always going to have what you need.”

“Some kind of Arcane?” replied Eija.

The man looked unimpressed. “Hmm, and what would you use to disperse a spirit?”

“Salt,” answered Eija.

“And if you didn’t have any salt, or it didn’t seem to work?”

Eija searched his head for the answer but came up blank. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I just know that the book says salt can disperse a spirit.”

The man looked over the books on the desk and read the covers. Tapping his finger on the top book, he said, “If you read these books you would have the answer.”

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“Well, I wasn’t just sitting here. I read them,” protested Eija.

“You did, did you?” The man lifted his eyebrow and gave Eija a skeptical look.

“I did,” Eija replied. “I don’t see why any of this is important. I know you have to salt a Witch before you kill her, and that's all that matters.”

“And do you know why you salt a Witch before you kill her?” The man leaned in over the desk.

“Because the book says so…” Eija replied. The man nodded.

“I see.” He lifted the sword and examined it. “I suppose there is no point in training you how to use this, then.” He turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll be back in a few days, be sure to have read these by then.”

Fire burned in Eija’s chest and he slammed his hands down on the desk. He stood up and paced around the room, mumbling and cursing beneath his breath. “I just want to start training. I’m tired of all this reading.” He looked at the books on the desk and threw his head back.

“Reading is training,” said a voice from the doorway. It was a young man in green hooded robes carrying a book of his own. He had short, brown hair that was trimmed close to his head and a thick goatee. “I actually spent more time reading than anything else when I was in your position.”

“I want to learn how to slay witches, not sit in this room and read until my eyes hurt,” Eija replied.

The man entered the room and crossed to the desk, examining the books laid out. “I actually wrote this one.” He picked up a thick book and began flipping through the pages. “That was years ago, though,” he said, chuckling to himself. “So, you're the boy who last spoke with Witch Hunter Benard?”

“Yes,” Eija replied.

The man continued to flip through the book as he spoke. “And you came to this place with his arming sword, pack, dying message, and the desire to take up his mantle?”

“I have to become a Witch Hunter. It’s only right that I’m the one who...” He realized he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. Kill my sister? How could I do that?

“My, my, how you sound just like Benard.” The man shook his head. “However, from my understanding, he never complained about having to read a bit of lore. He was a true master of every aspect of the job. If there was knowledge on how to defeat something, he would have known it. At least, that's how it was when I met him. As for how he was during training, I suppose only Lord Gremmelt would know.”

“But why can’t I train and also study? I don’t see why I should be locked up in this room,” Eija replied.

“Every Lord has their own methods. Consider yourself lucky that you were not given to Lord Sangunn or Lord Derbish. You’d be doing nothing but combat and survival training until your skin was blue from the cold, your hands were calloused and bloody, and your entire body was bruised. Then they would stick you in this room and have you read until your eyes hurt.” The man put the book down back on the desk, leaving it open to the page he was searching for.

“I think I’d prefer that,” Eija replied. “Least then I would know how to fight.”

“In due time,” the man replied. “Besides, it is fitting that you learn the same way as Benard did. He and you share a common history. Both of you have a sister that fell victim to the Daughters of Chaos, and now both of you will share the same master. You should be honored to study beneath Lord Gremmelt.”

“Lord Ros,” said another voice from the hall. It was Lord Isle and he carried a small tray that held bread and a fist sized piece of dried meat.

“Yes, Lord Isle?” replied Lord Ros.

“Leave the boy to his studies, there will be plenty of time to grow acquainted in the coming months.” Lord Isle entered the room and gently set the tray on the desk.

“I was just checking up on him,” Lord Ros replied. He turned to Eija and said, “Well, this is where I leave you. Keep at it, and you’ll be a Witch Hunter in no time.” Lord Ros smiled and left with Lord Isle.

Alone again, Eija begrudgingly returned to the desk and sat back down. The book Lord Ros had opened was on top of the others. Eija almost swept it off of the pile, but paused when he spotted the word ‘salt’ on the page.

Witches can cast their spirits out of their bodies when close to death. Applying salt or Sunlit Water to a witch has been a common practice to prohibit them from escaping. Speakers of the Sunlit Flame chanting the appropriate prayer can also prevent a witch from escaping.

Eija let out a deep sigh and rubbed his palms into his eyes. “Okay, Eija, it’s time to get serious.”