9th of Middle Summer, 1535
A series of loud pounding at the front door sent Oleander tumbling out of bed.
"Piss off!" He yelled as he picked himself off the floor. Oleander nursed the sharp pain coursing down his neck and shoulder as he threw on a pair of trousers.
As the incessant knocking continued, Oleander rolled his eyes and snapped, "For fuck's sake, I'm coming already!"
Oleander stumbled through the kitchen before yanking the front door open. Waiting for him was a group of soldiers. Their well-maintained red uniform tops and white trousers shone splendidly in the morning sun. Unfortunately, Oleander was forced to squint due to the sheen coming off the leader's cuirass armor. He could still tell four men and two women were staring him down. Oleander glanced to see if his claymore was still in the kitchen corner. If they turned hostile, he'd only be able to take one of them out before the rest gunned him down or skewered him.
He grunted, "What'chu lot want?"
The squad leader strode up to the burly hunter, "Are you Alexander Swine?"
"Aye. If the government sent you, tell 'em I own this land, and they can't—"
"—You have us mistaken," the soldier clarified.
He took out a letter with a black wax seal and handed it over, "Direct from the desk of the Lord Mayor of Ravenhold."
'What's this about?"
"It's an urgent matter that requires a certain level of secrecy. That is all we were told."
The squad leader nodded to Oleander before returning to his horse. The hunter noticed the silver bird embroidered on his uniform as he walked away. The group of soldiers raced out of Fawksden and into the forest.
Oleander swung around and shut the front door; he tossed the letter onto the table—it could wait a few minutes until he had his morning coffee. He scooped a few ground beans into an old copper percolator and spent a few prolonged moments trying to light his stove.
"What's with all the noise?" Moira grumbled.
The spiderkin was perched near the ceiling in a hammock made of webs. After stretching her arms and legs, Moira scuttled down the wall and sat at the dinner table. Oleander saw other fibrous nets around the kitchen, mainly in the corners near the floor; each was covered in bugs and struggling mice. This woman was efficient in taking care of Oleander's pest problems.
"I might have some decent work for a change," Oleander explained as he poured himself a cup of poor-quality coffee.
"I did not expect someone to approach you with work; this place is very remote. Are you well known?" Moira asked.
"I was at one point—" Oleander paused momentarily, "—Wait, you're right. There's only a handful of people that know I live here."
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Most of his income during the last two years came from prizefighting and odd jobs he'd picked up around Blackburn Hollow. This Lord Mayor of Ravenhold didn't ring any bells for Oleander, and he would've remembered working for someone with a contingent of soldiers at their beck and call. He tore open the letter and read aloud.
"To Alexander Swine, this is a formal request for your assistance with a matter that your skills are most suited for. My youngest daughter, my dearest sweet Maisie, has been possessed by a ghost. In this last week, we've seen Maisie grow paler and sicker. She began to lose the ability to speak, and now she can hardly move. A payment of two hundred—two hundred talons—!"
Utterly gobsmacked, Oleander stared at the letter. Moira snapped her fingers to get Oleander to focus.
The hunter shook his head clear and continued to read aloud, "A payment of two hundred talons will be paid upon completion of this contract that will be formally drawn up upon your arrival. Cordially, Gabriel Massengale.”
“You know how to perform exorcisms?” Moira asked.
“I was a part of one once. I didn’t do any Signomancy for it, but I remember taking notes during it. I figured it wouldn’t be the last time I’d do an exorcism, and I was right. Now I need to dig around here for that information." Oleander stopped to sip his coffee, "Wanna tag along? I could use the extra hands. Besides, it will get pretty lonely here when I’m gone. It’s a good few days to and from Ravenhold.”
“Are you sure you want to be seen with me out in public?”
Oleander surveyed the room before catching a glimpse of his shed from the kitchen window.
“Ah! When I moved out here, Mum asked me to take a bunch of auld shite from the attic. Check in the shed out back. I’m sure you can find something to disguise yourself. Get creative.”
Oleander tossed Moira the key to the shed. They parted ways as the hunter went around the house gathering supplies. He grabbed the belt he left draped over his desk chair; multiple knife holsters and pouches were sewn onto the leather. Between reapplications to his circles of protection and throwing salt brazenly during combat, Oleander cursed loudly as he realized that he’d already scooped out the last of his supply and had to procure more salt on-site.
Oleander returned to his room to search through a mountain of cut-up newspapers and expired bounties. He eventually fished out a page scribbled with strange symbols; he folded it up and slipped it into another pouch on his belt. The hunter then pulled his bed away from the wall and lifted some floorboards, revealing a half-buried iron safe in the ground. There wasn’t much inside apart from a small hat, a bundle of talon banknotes, and two pieces of a light green, chalky substance—orichalcum. He shoved the two sticks into the same pouch as the slip of paper.
He hopped over to his desk. He tied up the dried white sage into tight bundles with twine—those went into another specific pouch on his belt. He rolled up a cigar with the scraps of sage and the last few tobacco leaves he had left; that also went with the bundles.
As Oleander walked back through the kitchen, he patted each section of his belt and mentally checked off all he needed to bring. Moira was already patiently waiting when he approached. She managed to dig up Oleander’s mother’s old clerical attire—a gray-colored robe with red and black accents. The hood was drawn over, so Moira’s face wasn’t visible.
Oleander spoke, “There you are; I’ve got just about everything, so we can….”
Moira pulled back her hood to reveal a mask made of cloth with two eye holes cut out.
“I found a burlap sack in the shed and figured it would be best to hide my face as best as possible.”
Oleander recoiled slightly; she reminded him of a rag doll. It didn’t help that she drew a broad smile on the cloth. Dolls had always unnerved Oleander — it the was piercing, beady eyes with the static and unintentionally creepy faces they had.
“Is this mask satisfactory?”
“Uhh…”
Oleander went over to her and pulled her hood back over her head. The mask looked marginally better, with the cloth obscured mainly by the robe's hood and her hair.
“It’ll do for now. If anyone asks, say you were a resident of Blackburn Hollow’s Ember Quarter. Uhm… you were burned in the attack and joined the local church of Careena in the aftermath. You wanted to help displaced people, which should be enough information if anyone questions you. Also, try to keep both your arms and hands inside those sleeves as much as possible.”
Despite being mildly annoyed, she complied, “Understood, Herr Swine. Ready whenever you are.”