Chapter 27: The Ghibellines

Something deep within Dante’s soul tore desperately at its enclosure when he saw his lute break. The ghost had seemed trustworthy, even though Sqwent was screaming the opposite in his head. Why would he believe in a demon over someone who had been entrusted with a noble title. Now, more than an instrument was broken.

He could not hear the words that the hidden part of him screamed, he could not yet remember, but the emotions passed that invisible boundary without impedance. They were raw and overwhelming, he knew that a bard's instrument should be dear to him, but this was something more. The bare edges of a woman, older than he, looking pale and sickly returned to haunt his mind; he knew not why.

Recovering from the onslaught of emotion was harder than he would have imagined, before long they approached a city he knew to be called: Wiccawich. Because of the presence of the magic school, the city had grown over the years, swallowing a number of nearby towns; though they insisted on still identifying as separate. It was strange what his mind would allow him to remember, it never seemed to be what was important.

They were crossing the bridge from the borough of Pendle, into the city propper when Sqwent spoke up.

“That woman, whose presence you keep projecting in our mind. I can feel someone with mana that seems somehow connected to both her and you nearby,” he said internally.

“What? How? I can’t feel mana and if she’s just a memory, a painful one, but a memory nonetheless; how could you possibly feel her mana?” he asked, internally.

“Every living thing can feel mana, it’s what makes this world work,” Sqwent explained, as if it were something everyone should know; for Dante knew it was.

“But I’m not a mage… am I?” Dante asked, begging to feel unsure.

“Of course not,” Sqwent squealed in their head, laughing. “Mages know they can sense mana so they can, you don’t so you can’t.”

“What?” Dante asked, kindled hopes dashed. “That doesn’t make any sense, you just told me I can and I still can’t,” annoyance slipped into his internal tone.

“Do you think that if I told you something you’d really believe it? Besides, even if you trusted me, your soul couldn’t be convinced to believe it. From what I’ve read, very few members of the mortal races can start to sense mana just because they were told that they could. That’s also why most elves can cast, they’re naturally arrogant,” Sqwent explained exasperatedly. Ever since Osseus had talked to him and bound him to Dante, the Imp had been much more agreeable. He still wouldn’t tell Dante what exactly Osseus had done to convince him. Dante thought over what the little demon had said then stopped, staring blankly at the guard trying to blatantly extort them.

“Wait, you read? I took you for more of the teeth and claws sort,” Dante asked.

Sqwent scoffed, “sure it’s fun to rampage on the mortal worlds but we only get the chance once in a blue moon. Demons live forever… It’s very boring,” he confessed, clearly saddened by the topic. Sqwent made a noise that sounded to Dante like someone pulling themselves together before continuing. “Now, do you want my help finding that woman or not?”

Dante almost agreed right away but something in his undead nature stopped him, it shattered the sympathy he was feeling towards the demon.

“Wait, how do I know you’re not lying?” Dante asked.

Sqwent breathed out sharply, then spoke, “three reasons: first, I’m bored, second, you keep flooding our mental space with images of her and feelings of grief… it’s getting annoying, and thirdly we’re bound together. I could try and trick you, get you killed and escape my contract but I was stupid enough to give that damn monster my name and I don’t want to spend the next century in one of his testing chambers.” With his newfound scepticism sated, he agreed to Sqwent’s plan; leaving Osseus to conduct his business while we took care of this personal matter. Dante made sure to set a time and place to meet later, using his Class Skill, Persuasion, to help him. With excitement he set forth into the twisting and turning alley’s of Wiccawich.

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He was lost. Sqwent could sense which direction to go, but once they were off the main thoroughfare, the city was a labyrinth. His predicament was not helped by this place's magical deformities. At one point he had taken a tunnel that appeared to travel beneath a busy cartway, only to somehow end up trudging out of a pond in someone’s back garden. Thankfully the occupants of the residence remained asleep as he heaved himself over the garden wall and back out onto the street. Several more trials were faced as they traversed the night, there seemed to be a festival in the city but Dante avoided the music makers, sometimes to his detriment. The loss of his instrument was still a raw wound and he didn’t wish to stoke the embers of emotion.

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As they travelled, the streets got wider and the houses grander. They ran into less and less magical anomalies and there seemed to be active repair work in areas that had been affected by wild magic. A cobblestone with a mouth and eyes had been gagged and cordoned off; tools lay about the area, clearly planning to replace the creature. Looking at the stone, Dante expected to feel pity but the hateful glare the rock shot him gave him pause.

Before too long they arrived at a grand gateway. The house could be seen beyond, twice as large as its neighbours and lavishly decorated. Two men stood at attention, dressed in house colours. They wore matching helmets that gleamed in the moonlight. Other houses on this street also had guards but many of them seemed drowsy or as if they wished to join the revellers. Not so these two, they were professional, with straight backs and eyes locked ahead. Sqwent warned him when they drew close, “they’re veterans, levels somewhere in the forties, don’t try anything.”

When Dante came within ten feet exactly they moved in unison, crossing their pikes.

“Halt!” the leftmost man ordered. “For what reason do you approach the Ghibellines’ estate?” That name, Dante knew it. It was his name, the System had told him when he first woke up.

“I am Dante Ghibellines?” he tried, unsure. The guard's stoney facade broke slightly at that. When he looked at Dante’s torn and bloody garb, scepticism tinged his features yet he did not say anything out of respect for the family. His brain clearly worked overtime, seeking a solution that did not affect the Ghibellines family if Dante were telling the truth, however unlikely that may be.

The man's tone had never been unfriendly, just stern but his next words were said with much decorum. “I am afraid this lowly armsman of the Ghibellines family does not recognise his lordship, perhaps he is from a different branch. Would his lordship consent to the use of the Identify skill to verify his lordship's identity.” Despite his doubt in Dante’s claim, he appeared to half expect a tirade for his impermanence. Dante was about to agree to the condition when Sqwent stopped him.

“Don’t be stupid, if his skill is high enough, he’ll discover you’re a Revenant,” he said. Dante froze at that, gradually he backed away from the guards.

“I’m afraid I just remembered, I have something to do. Good day,” Dante spoke aloud. The right hand man seemed to smirk at Dante’s retreat, though it was well concealed.

Once he had backed far enough down the street he spoke to Sqwent.

“What do we do now?” Dante asked.

“If you want to locate this woman, you’ll have to find another way in,” Sqwent replied simply. The next hour was spent circling the walls that demarcated the Ghibellines’ estate. There was another guarded entrance on the other side of the grounds, passing straight into an inner city park. All around the wall was too high to climb and any tree that came too near was judiciously pruned. Dante had just about given up, when Sqwent noticed something. One side of the estate abutted a river, it was still walled solidly, but they hadn’t been able to get close as it was right on the bank of the river.

“There's something there,” Sqwent said, pointing Dante’s hand at a spot in the water, beneath the walls.

“What is it?” he asked, not liking where this was going.

“It feels like illusion magic, just there, that boulder beneath the surface is a fake,” Sqwent explained. Dante groaned internally, but surrendered himself to what must be done. The water on the edge was shallow; beneath it, a foot of stinking mud. What’s more, Dante had to move slowly and quietly so as not to alert the guards stationed on the Ghibellines’ dock, three hundred feet ahead. Squelch, squish, slurp. Coming to the rock, about the size of his torso and half submerged, Dante reached out gently. Where finger should have met stone, it insead met air. His digit passed straight through the illusion without even a ripple.

“Well cast,” Sqwent admitted. Sticking his head through the illusion, Dante found the grated entrance to a Stone Shaped pipe.

“How are we supposed to get through here?” Dante asked.

“Give me control, just for a moment,” Sqwent insisted. Dante hesitated but relented, he had come this far. Sqwent possessed the Bard’s body, his nails sharpening to claws and his eyes glowing red. He drew close to the rusted metal and breathed in. When he exhaled a thin stream of fire came out, to Dante’s surprise. Sqwent went to each bar in turn, melting it away where it met the stone. He yanked the pipe free with a ringing sound. Dante seized back control and shot into the pipe to avoid the guards notice. When his heart stopped figuratively pounding, he used his Dark Vision to peer into the pipe. There was dirt and grime but this appeared to be used for nothing more than waste water, thankfully. Climbing up the slippery slope proved a challenge, one that required a partial possession to resolve. Sqwent had offered to take over but Dante only allowed him use of his fingertips; giving them claws.

He was passing a maintenance hatch when Sqwent told Dante he recognized a familiar mana signature. Slowly Dante opened the hatch. On the other side they found a room, filled with magical sensors - reading flow rate, volume, and the like. Passing through quickly, he crept to the door. Opening it silently and looking to the right; dark, and no one in sight. Stepped out, into the corridor he whipped from behind. Clutching his stinging back, he spun. What he saw surprised him, a woman dressed in black with pale skin, wielding a whip made of blood. He recognized her, she was the bossy woman from the fort who always creeped him out, Alma.