Hurrying down the hallway, Asrael felt incapable of finding his usual comfort in the black robes. He repeatedly grabbed, dragged and readjusted the heavy cloth, but to no avail. He still felt as if something had changed since last he wore them- as if his skin had grown intolerant of the garb, despite it being the exact same make and material that he had worn for most his life. Thomas had made certain to make the copy as precise as possible-

A snicker brought him out from his discomfortable musings. Glancing sideways, he saw a wide, smug smile on Kester’s lips- a sight as infuriating as the man’s sculpted, naked chest. In response to the unwelcomed laugh, Asrael barked: “Did they not give you something to wear, tavernkeeper?”

Kester did not seem disheartened by the hostility in his companion’s voice and shrugged his response. “They did. But I’ve gotten so used to the cold that the jacket they gave me felt too warm.” Asrael grumbled a profane response and motioned for Kester to take the lead. Following another snicker, Kester led the way down the silent, black-bricked hallway- to the stairs at the far end.

The tavernkeeper spoke a hushed: “You’re uncomfortable around living skin, Assie?” Asrael cracked his knuckles. “You know that I am. If you’ve something to say- spit it out!”

Kester rolled his eyes and continued in an irkingly calm pace. “If you’ve got trouble with the missus, I can help, you know. I’m married-” Asrael scoffed and wrinkled his nose. “Yes, how well did your marriage work out for you, Kester?” The tavernkeeper seemed infuriatingly confident as he chuckled. “Better than anything you’ve ever done with a woman, that’s for sure.” Asrael rubbed his face. The tavernkeeper had a propensity for getting to him, but he supposed he was not entirely wrong in this aspect. He was a far cry better than him when it came to dealing with women- he had loved and lost one, after all... and the necromancer did have questions.

“You’re hopeless, Assie. She’s way out of your league, but you’re still hesitating. You should give two shits about some Purged screaming in the cellar, but you’d take any excuse to get out of there, wouldn’t you?” As it were, this did require Asrael’s attention, as it raised further questions about Thomas’ loyalty. Still... he indulged the tavernkeeper by stating: “Yes. I am discomforted by her advances- as you say, she is objectively more attractive than me, which leads me to conclude that she is obviously insane.” Asrael slowed his pace to match Kester’s.

“Can’t disagree with that. But women aren’t like us, you know. They’re not all about looks or even personality. Sometimes, they see things a man can’t... not sure what she’s seeing, but it’s gotta be something to make up for that nose and-” Asrael raised his hands and dismissively waved them about.

“Can we focus on the task at hand!? Neda’s delusions are her own to deal with-” Kester snorted and grinned over his shoulder. “Using her name now, Assie? Damn, she must’ve gotten you good!” Asrael’s grimace twitched- his nose wrinkled to bare his teeth aggressively. Snarling loudly as he spoke, he uttered: “Mind your own business! I swear, one more word from you and I will-…" What could he even threaten his companion with? He seemed uncaring for pain and he had nothing more to lose.

Sensing Asrael’s hesitation, Kester laughed aloud. “You’ll what? Turn me into one of your fellas? Wouldn’t that be something- imagine having me strapped to your head.” Asrael’s clenched fists tremored at his sides. This evening had not turned out the way he had envisioned- all he wanted was to research printing presses in hopes of finding a way to mass produce runes. Instead, he had nearly been seduced and was now cursed to be goaded by the shell of a man that had become his least favored companion.

After a lengthy squabble in which little progress was made to pierce Asrael’s stubborn defenses, they arrived by an open door, leading into a dimly lit interior. The smell that had assaulted Barrel and Kester was still overwhelming, but far from as tear-inducing as it had been when they had last entered into the darkness. Kester led the way inside and immediately set his attention on the table of torturous apparatuses, whereas Asrael followed the slight radiance of the torch to look at the very dead, white-robed woman seated in the midst of the chamber.

In the darkness, it was difficult to follow the runes on the floor, but the parts he could see were undoubtedly from the school of Alchemy. The large circle was deeply engraved into the black bricks, whereas the patterns themselves seemed to have been carved with a lighter hand, but were surprisingly smooth- polished, even.

He examined the dead woman on the floor- pulling back her hood to reveal her face. As he swiftly examined her, he muttered: “Missing tongue. Eviscerated- both eyes. Pierced ear-drums...”

Kester grabbed a pair of spiked clamps and clicked them in front of his face- the way he would always do with his grilling-tools. He muttered: “Not sure why they’d do that, though.” Asrael took a deep breath and shook his head, before looking to the stationary forms hunched over their chains in the rest of the room.

“I do not know... I suppose that is one way to make certain a magus does not use their magic.” Kester nodded his understanding, but continued: “But if they didn’t want them to use their magic, why not just kill them?” Asrael could think of few fates worse than what he was observing. Death surely had to be preferable to this destiny.

“What are you doing in here!? You are not allowed here- leave!” Asrael turned to the door to see the golden-haired woman in her black dress frowning over at him. He rose to his height and heard the sadistic tavernkeeper click his clamps together at the sight of her. Seemingly unbothered by the threat, she continued to glare at Asrael and again demanded:

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“Get out! This is not for you- leave!” Asrael scoffed and demanded in turn: “Protecting your Master’s tarnished name? If you did not intend for us to find your little den, perhaps you should have locked the door. Now... tell me what these runes are for.” Nota took a determined step back and pointed up the hallway, from where Kester and Asrael had come.

“Whatever you think this is, you are wrong. Now, I demand you leave this instant! Thomas did not give you permission-” Neither Kester nor Asrael started- as opposed to Nota, as a dark figure appeared in the doorway. Marlena’s long, black hair whooshed with life as she appeared, carrying her commonplace mischievous smile.

In the slight glow of the far-off crystalline torches, she seemed to float through the air as she confidently strode in and stopped just short of the stubborn necromancer. She raised her hand to her chin and hummed a warm, slight laugh before speaking: “As expected from a true scientist. Inquisitive.” Still bothered by his previous proximity with Neda, he took a step back to avoid her touch, knocking the back of his knee against one of the unmoving, mutilated bodies chained to the floor.

All that could be heard in the following moment of silence were the clatters of the prisoner’s chains. Kester and Nota glared at one-another, while Kester skillfully toyed a scalpel in between his fingers- Marlena and Asrael measured each other up with stares no less intimidating than the tavernkeeper’s. It was up to anyone’s guess whether battle would commence, but as much as Kester hoped to taste more bloodshed, Asrael suspected they were at a disadvantage. Thankfully, Marlena broke the silence by sounding yet another hum.

“Our Master often speaks of your genius... tell me, Asrael the Pale- would you venture to guess what spell these runes cast?” The necromancer scoffed and cracked his knuckles to his sides with a shake of his head. Boring his green eyes into the girl, he explained: “That would require study. Forgive me for not turning my back on you... I would rather keep my tongue, eyes and ears.” The seductive beauty fanned her neck with her left hand- grinning at him as she offered:

“Oh, Asrael- I would not dare. Your eyes deceive you- this is all a misunderstanding. Please; in lieu of our Master’s presence, allow me to explain. He would wish it- of that, I am certain.” Asrael impatiently fidgeted his hands and nodded for the woman to go on. Kester took the signing of Asrael’s hands as an order to stand down, yet he continued to toy the sharp scalpel in between his fingers while menacingly staring at the golden-haired, timid beauty by the door.

Marlena motioned for the unmoving Purged at her side and explained: “These are the Inquisition’s magi. I take it Thomas explained their function in Capita?” It took Asrael a moment to piece the information together. As he did, his eyes widened.

“They suffer from Riftsickness?” She nodded, seemingly uncaring for their plight.

“Correct. Once they have lost their minds, Capita sends them here- to us.” Asrael considered the implication, before daring to step away from the woman to throw another glance at the runes.

“Then... these are runes for healing? Impossible- no runes can heal such sickness.” She laughed a measure louder than her usual hum and shook her head. She motioned her ringed hand through the air as she clarified:

“Indeed. This sickness cannot be healed- by magical means or any other. Their warped minds are no longer worthy of steering their cores and thus, their souls are better fit for... other... uses.” Asrael narrowed his eyes. She continued motioning through the air, before confidently turning back towards the door.

“Allow me to show you, my honored guest. Thomas would wish it- I am certain of it.” Realizing the madwoman intended to fuel the rune, Asrael hurriedly stepped outside the circle to join Kester by the table of instruments. The tavernkeeper had understood little of what they had spoken of, but cared nothing for it. Instead, he watched the dark-skinned, beautiful woman float back towards her protesting companion.

Nota fidgeted her hands together and stepped inside the room. “Marlena- no! Not without his permission! We’ve not set up the bottles-” Marlena dismissively waved the air and rolled her eyes.

“This takes precedence over productivity, Sister. Now, let us show our honored guest the power of our Master- he has come all this way for a reason, after all. Come now.” Asrael had to confess to a morbid curiosity, but found his insides squirm as he glanced back at the stationary forms in their white robes on the floor. Not a one of them moved nor struggled against their chains, despite their knees oozing blood to stain the black bricks beneath them.

As Nota spoke hushed protests into her smiling Sister’s ear, Kester spun the small blade around in his hand and stared at the bound Purged in turn. “So... what’s up with that Riftsickness? And why-” Asrael verified that the women seemed to be a ways off from reaching a conclusion and spoke out into the air- calmly, at least exteriorly.

“Being in the presence of a Rift has some... unfortunate... side-effects. It is a tear into the realms of magic- a plane beyond our understanding. If the exposure is too great, then it is not uncommon for minds to shatter. My Master would track epidemics of insanity-”

“Save me your life’s story. If they can cure the crazies, maybe we should go get Neda?” Before the Tavernkeeper could chuckle, Asrael rounded on his companion.

“What is your fascination with Neda!? Our relationship is none of your-” His grimace of fury quickly turned sour as he saw the tavernkeeper’s grin grow ever-wider- having succeeded in prodding the necromancer. The silence by the door revealed that the two women had finished their silent quarrelling and their unified proceeding towards the circle meant that Marlena had won.

Nota kept her head bowed as she approached the runes and bent down to mutter something to the floor. Asrael let his fury and disdain for the tavernkeeper recede- at least until he heard a whispered “relationship” and a giggle from behind his shoulder. The necromancer kept his eyes fixated on the two women as they mumbled hushed rasps. The strangers to the Castle both took a cautious step towards the table as the floor, walls and ceiling began to shift ever-so-slightly. A hypothesis formed in Asrael’s mind- an impossibility, by his logic, but one that he imagined could be the only explanation for the phenomena he observed around him.

He leaned down to touch the floor and verified his suspicions. The bricks were much less responsive to his fingers, instead, the magic seemed to course through the material in wild, powerful streams- headed for the runes inscribed on the floor. He looked up to see the complicated webwork of magic glow a bright white and mouthed his silent disbelief at the humongous battery’s capabilities.