When Asrael and Kester arrived outside, Barrel had nearly finished strapping the horses on the front of the well-worn, water-logged carriage. Descending the stairs, they could see the two women, facing their backs against one-another atop the cart- both upset with the other for reasons alien to both the necromancer and the tavernkeeper, though neither cared to explore their motivations- not now. Asrael wished to- needed to get away from the castle of madness.
Kester’s naked chest was covered in goosebumps and finally, he found himself regretting his decision to keep to his half-naked state of dressing. He strained his eyes to see through the dark and verified, with relief, that the horses had been clad in blankets- blankets that the small, round, freshly wept man navigated with deft hands. The tavernkeeper would make certain he would have one of those blankets before the first morning rays crept up on the misty horizon.
“Hey, are you ever gonna tell me what happened in there-” Kester began to the pale necromancer hurrying down the stair ahead of him. Unsurprisingly, Asrael turned over his shoulder to bark: “Be quiet!” His chronic irritability was hardly a surprise, but it had been long since he had seen him this upset.
Following their trajectory with his eyes, he saw Neda- cross-armed, seated atop the carriage’s side while chewing aggressively at her lower lip and muttering curses. She had clad herself in a lavish, red dress- ill fit for their current circumstances. Behind her- with her feet hanging off of the carriage’s rim, Eleanor stubbornly stared out into the gardens, her mind aflame with outrage and harm. Kester had learned from years alongside his wife that situations such as these needed to be handled with the utmost care as to not-
“Are you still not done saddling the horses!? Why are the two of you still sitting there- help him!” Asrael commanded as he stomped over the gravel- flailing his arms about aggressively. Kester winced in preparation, but to his undying surprise, Neda was surprisingly responsive to his foul mood- perhaps even hopeful as she jumped down and forced a smile. He locked eyes with the sheepish woman and blinked several times over, as if realizing how poorly thought-out it was to expect something useful from her, for once.
Thankfully, his favored apprentice followed shortly behind her, clasping her elbow with a profound sigh and a distant, dark-eyed gaze directed nowhere in particular. Asrael cleared his throat and commanded Eleanor: “Assist Barrel. I wish to leave immediately- darkness be damned.” Kester remained stumped as Ellie smiled at the barked order, whereas Neda seemed almost offended to have been ignored. To solidify her position before the girl, the Blightlander proudly straightened her back and took a long step forwards- readying herself to embrace her beloved necromancer, only to have him dodge her in a rare feat of agile grace and a dismissive: “No.”
Kester pinched the bridge of his nose and questioned whether Asrael understood the emotional beating he was setting himself up for at some point, but came to the silent conclusion that he cared little for it. In fact, he was almost excited to see the cruel treatment headed his way.
As Ellie and Barrel fastened straps and clicking buckles on the magnificent beasts, Asrael’s distant gaze remained firmly locked on the sphere surrounding them- his arms folded tightly over his chest. Neda- not one to so easily concede and fall back on her backup plans, steadied her resolve and approached him from behind to lay her hands on either of his hip. Aside from the wince, his reaction was surprisingly calm.
“What’s up? Why’re we leaving in the middle of the night? Isn’t that dangerous?” He shook his head and muttered: “What they are doing here is unnatural. I will have no part of it and if we must brave the night, then so be it. We do not need to go far, but I do not wish to be here.” Even she understood the irony in the dead man stating that something was unnatural, but hoping to rekindle his flame of lust, she bit her tongue and signaled her understanding with a seductive ‘mhm’ into his ear. Had she been attentive, she might’ve seen how Asrael’s fists remained tightened at his sides. Had he had a heartbeat, his chest would have thumped with fury and disgust, but in his cold, dead state, he could hardly fault her for it.
When finally she rounded his hip and let her wandering hand touch his abdomen, he slapped her hand away and nonchalantly pointed to the apogee of the sphere- stating: “You will use your magic to mimic this. It will hasten our journey and force you to think of something other than your perversions.” His voice was colder than it had been in some time and his eyes conveyed relatively little emotion, despite him obviously being profoundly bothered by something.
She cocked her head with disbelief and looked down to her right hand- the appendage that had been so close, yet so far away, a moment previous. Realizing she would not have her way with him- not now- she allowed her nerves to re-assume their usual, frenzied state. “W-what!?” She exclaimed. She looked up to see the shielding sphere keep the fog and rain at bay.
“Are you crazy!? How am I supposed to do that!?” She shouted. This time, it was Asrael’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. The girl had already pushed her luck once this night- now, she was doing it all over.
“I do not know how, but this is obviously magic of your affinity! Perhaps, for once, you could attempt to think for yourself!?” Asrael’s wide, green eyes conveyed a disdain that cut into Neda’s stomach for reasons unknown to her. She was left to stare at him with a slack jaw and wide eyes of her own, but Asrael would have his attention stolen away by the small, round man clapping the final horse’s backside and signaled that they were ready to make their departure.
To Nota’s continued surprise, Marlena smiled as she watched the carriage hurry off back out towards the mist. The younger, golden-haired apprentice knew her malign associate well enough to know that she had something planned and, although she doubted this was planned... she imagined it played into her plan of eventually capturing the necromancer.
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Marlena curled her long, black hair around her finger and licked her lips- staring back at the pair of green bulbs glaring at her from atop the hurried carriage headed for the wall of unending, swirling white.
Asrael’s dark form was swallowed quickly by tendrils of the tumultuous vapors, finally motivating Nota enough to have her break from her silence and question: “Shouldn’t we put someone on their tail? Thomas isn’t going to be very pleased if we let him escape-”
Marlena giggled as playfully as ever and continued to twirl her hair about her finger- staring at the carriage’s wake with a shake of her head. “He will not escape. We already know where he’s going, so why the rush? We’ve a cell to prepare and we may as well take our time setting it up.” Nota felt her stomach tighten at the glee in Marlena’s voice. She knew what her sister meant when she referred to cells and what touches she would add to the jail with this prophesized, stolen time. Though her limited time with the necromancer had spoken volumes of his qualities as a fellow Man, she found herself pitying him for the cruelties he had coming his way.
Asrael could feel Marlena’s cold glare as their carriage rolled onwards over the uneven road. The rain pattered down on the aged wood all around him and already, he could feel the black robe absorb the pouring humidity. His gaze was locked forwards- on Kester’s naked back, where he sat next to Eleanor and swung his legs over the ledge in rhythmic, visceral sighs.
The necromancer bit his thumb and threw a glance over his shoulder- to the swinging lanterns suspended on long sticks on either of Yurgen’s sides. The leader of their pack chewed lazily on a mouthful of grass and snorted, burped and passed gas in turn- poisoning the air for the black horses in his wake... but not even Yurgen could bring a smile to Asrael’s lips.
Neda sat next to her Master- still sheltering a sliver of hope that something might still happen between them in the cold, dark night and she made her intentions known by scooting ever-so-slightly towards him.
“You have your orders.” Asrael spoke sternly and never once looked her way. She furrowed her brow in defeat and hesitantly accepted that the momentum was lost. Folding her arms, she decided to let the romantic pretenses drop and mumbled: “I can’t.” She found herself enjoying how aggressively his fingers thumped against the aged wood, yet he never once turned to meet her gaze.
“Why?” He questioned. Scoffing, she raised an eyebrow to signal her disbelief. “Because you haven’t told me how!” She shouted.
He brought his palms to his forehead and sighed coldly. Kester, Ellie and Barrel had all noticed the dramatic shift in Asrael’s mood and how all would take care to leave him space, when he seemed to require it. Whatever had taken place in that chamber had disturbed him more than anything thus far in their journey together, but it seemed Neda had failed to recognize this tense atmosphere surrounding him.
Ellie’s shoulders jerked as Asrael lunged forwards to shout into the Blightlander’s face. She had never seen him so expressive- his eyes were wide, white and bright green. His nose was wrinkled- his teeth bared to make him even more unsightly than usual. “I should not have to tell you how to do everything! If you had any talent- any intelligence, you might’ve figured it out for yourself! Instead, we will sit here- miserable and cold because your mind is more preoccupied with the pleasures of the flesh, rather than being useful for once!” He slammed his fist into the ancient wood, before raising his aching fist to point an accusing finger into her face.
He continued: “Ever since we met, you’ve been nothing but a burden! I have kept you around thus far, because I have found you endlessly bemusing, but my patience is wearing thin! At every chance you have had to prove yourself, you’ve been a disappointment- a talentless magus and an incurable simpleton!” Neda’s jaw dropped. Her brow rose with confusion for a moment, before the pain set into her chest.
Word by word struck her. It was not that she had not heard his words before, nor could she deny their truth. But the tone of his voice and the harsh stare were features she had not seen since before they arrived in Capita- conveying a profound hatred for something... in this case, perhaps it was directed at her.
Unbeknownst to all his silent, discomforted companions, Asrael was as confused as they were. The violation of the fabric of the world had felt as a personal insult to him and shook his core. His. He was well aware that many might deem him a murderer and a sadist- he had both killed and tormented. These were the facts and despite its justification, he had still done it.
He had bound souls to his will- perverted bodies and twisted minds, but... he shook his head to dispel the intrusive, disgusting, fresh memories and looked up to realize that a deafening silence had taken hold of the creaking cart and choked every, last one of his companions. Instead of poisoning the air with their chatter, they kept their gazes trained downwards on the cart, resembling beaten dogs rather than the mismatched conglomerate of misfits he had accrued over the past few months. Typical, he thought. None of them could understand what he and the simple tavernkeeper had seen, even if he were to explain it.
So very rarely did the old man cross his mind, but then and there- as he scanned his useless companions, he was reminded that his Master had long since perished in an explosion of white-hot fire and an occult spell. He assumed rubbing his temples in a clockwise motion- hoping the self-stimulation would calm his frenzied nerves, but to no avail. No matter how much he rubbed, stroked or circled, he would not find calm in the cold, damp carriage. He needed to converse with a peer- someone who could help him make sense of the world devolving around him... but all he had... were these people.
Neda could feel his glare in her peripheral vision, but found herself unable to look up from the wet carriage- even as it stopped in a creaking, slow deceleration. His harsh words and the glare still lingered, as did the fresh pain in her chest and with the necromancer’s barked protest, it only grew stronger.
“Why are you stopping!?” He shouted towards the front of the carriage. When the sniffling, black-eyed Barrel turned around, he was obviously terrified of the wrathful necromancer. His chins jiggled with his tremors as he clarified: “B-B-But, boss... you said we wusn’t going far. Is so dark, we can’t see-”
“You see enough. Yurgen will light the way- find us the way to Skum and make haste of it. I do not intend to spend another night out here in this forsaken swamp.” Ahead of the frontmost horse, Yurgen’s radiant form illuminated the worn road beneath his feet. It was not that he did not sense the protests written all over his chauffeur's expression, he simply did not care to hear them. Instead, the necromancer turned to look down at the kneeling, red-eyed Blightlander seated on the rotten cart and spoke: “It seems we’ll continue to suffer the rain and the cold.”