The downpour I had endured on the road to the village had finally softened into a drizzle, though I was no less drenched because of it. It was raining and though some Magier can pass through a typhoon without so much as a drop landing upon them, I was very obviously not one of them.
Among other things the rain had brought a curious dull haze that cloaked the village. unless my eyes deceived me it appeared to provide some faint illumination that the absent moon did not.
Perhaps a natural occurrence, perhaps not…
According to the letter I had received, My client’s home was the furthest house directly west of the statue in the center of the square.
The monument, I assumed, depicted some local figure of modest import, although his features had been weathered down into smooth indistinction along with the words on the plaque dictating what he was even there for.
Whoever this ‘hero’ was, his identity and accomplishments had been washed away with the run off. It was nothing more than a sculpture of amorphous stone that stood for no man and no purpose.
So it goes.
I made my way to my client’s house and upon reaching it, rapped loudly on the rickety wooden door.
Though he ought to have expected my arrival, the man who opened the doorway appeared bewildered to see me, most of them are, of course, that's to be expected. Their heads are universally filled with mythical expectations drawn from decades of superstitious nonsense, out of date folklore and an ever so minute pinch of the truth. All of which, may either be entirely dissipated, or proliferate even further upon meeting me in person.
Ernard was a short man, or at least shorter than me, and probably could have been described as stout not so long ago, but now would be more aptly described as ‘withered’. He had a commoner's face in every sense of the word, the structure of his skull and inclined slope of his face suggesting an individual well adapted to a life of field-bound drudgery.
“You are… Svisha the Skull?” he asked.
“What gave it away?” I gestured to the skull marked upon my face, the bone-white standing stark against my ashen black skin.
“you uh…”
“So are you going to invite me in or not?” Even if it had lightened up, I was not going to endure this accursed rain a moment longer than I needed to.
“p-please.” He gestured inside.
His house was a humble construct of wood and thatch, the standard for villages of this region though this one appeared to be more than a little worse for wear. The detritus around the edges and the small stream descending from the roof being the most obvious evidence of dilapidation.
Not that I needed them to tell me this was a home broken beyond repair. The very air of the building was stained by grief.
I wiped the rain off my wide-brim hat and rang out as much as I could from my robes. He either didn’t notice or didnt care that I was drenching his floors.
“So you… you uh…” he began, apparently still stunned. It was the reaction I was used to.
“Let me guess, I’m not what you expected?” I asked.
He shook his head.
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“Some pale ghastly fellow riding atop a skeletal horse, maybe a rotten undead squire carrying his belongings; a staff made of a human spine with a skull on top, I’ve heard it all before.” All trite nonsense of course, anyone who’s even looked at a horse skeleton can tell you why sitting on it is a bad idea.
“no, I just heard Necromanti would smell really bad.” He shrugged.
“I- excuse me?”
“Because of all the corpses and what have you.” he half stated half questioned.
“No? We use embalming fluids and incense- do you think we’re incapable of washing ourselves?”
He shrugged again. “Don’t you have corpse wives? Or corpse husbands, in your case.”
“I’m… not going to talk about that.” I cleared my throat. “Now, Ernard yes? I trust you still have need of my services and that I haven’t trudged all the way here for you to change your mind?”
“y-yes. That’s right.“
“And you have my payment? Upfront as we agreed?”
“That's right.”
I held out my hand and he placed several golden teeth upon my palm.
Holding them up to the light I could see they looked authentic but displayed a noticeable variety in age and wear. Almost certainly the product of grave robbing. Something I happened to be all too familiar with.
“These are all your teeth?” I asked.
“Would it bother you if they weren’t?” he replied. Most of my clients were desperate so it’s not uncommon to see them resort to extreme measures to afford me.
“Not in the least.” I tipped the teeth into my coin pouch.
“So when can I see her?”
As tired as I was, it was already night, waiting for tomorrow would mean waiting around in this dump longer than I had to, better to be done with it.”
“One step at a time, do you have the items I requested?”
“This was her blanket as a child and this Is her... it's hers.” He handed me an old blanket and a thin object wrapped in bandages.
I nodded.
“Now, I’ll need a flat surface to perform the ritual, ideally somewhere she would feel at ease, some place where she spent a lot of time.”
“There's a desk in her bedroom.”
“That should do the trick.” The bedroom may seem like the obvious choice, but for various reasons it goes on a case by case basis. For one thing, a calling should never be attempted in their final place.
He led me to her old room, everything in there lay beneath a layer of dust. Left undisturbed since she left.
With some reluctance Ernard cleared a space on top of the desk, gently placing the objects on top within the draw underneath.
“Now then.” I began. “I already laid out the rules in my letter but for the sake of absolute clarity I’ll go over them again.”
He nodded.
“First and foremost you do exactly as I say, you do not contradict my orders and you do not ask questions while the ritual is underway.”
“Second: You will be silent at all times and only speak when I give you a direct cue. You do not ever interrupt me and if I interrupt you, then you will return to silence, if I shove your leg or step on your foot you will do likewise.”
“Thirdly; don’t ask small talk nonsense like ‘how are you?’ or ‘how do you feel?’ Those questions just waste time and never lead them anywhere good.”
“The last and most important rule of all is that she cannot ever and I mean ever realize that she’s dead. If she even begins to start piecing it together, I’m ending the ritual then and there are we clear?”
“y-yes. I understand.” he replied. I can only hope he's telling the truth, they don't always mean it when they say that.
“Good, now then, my strategy is to present her with a scenario, she’s just awoken from a terrible accident but she’s perfectly fine and on the way to make a full recovery. Any emotional state you find yourself in will be the result of you being beset with worry for so long. If it comes up I will be the assistant of the great healer; Doctor Waltner to whom she owes her recovery, he will be out for the moment and check in later.”
“You don’t look anything like a healer.” Ernard raised an eyebrow.
“From my understanding the experience is like a dream on their end, she's unlikely to question any inconsistencies unless direct attention is drawn to it. Did you have any other questions?”
“No.”
“Then let us begin.”