IntoTheMouthOfRavness

The tradesman with whom we had secured our passage to the East led us to the town of Ludendorf, a prosperous center for trade, craftsmanship and knowledge. As my dreadful luck would have it, I was once again forced to assume the role of the unwanted ugly child and take shelter in a nearby storage edifice, instead of being able to join my compatriots by the warm hearth of the local Inn. Symeon was once again gracious enough to run errands for me; he brought supplies and nourishment in the quantities that I am accustomed to, and even brought me a book he had borrowed from the innkeeper to help me pass the night. All things considered, I had all the necessary implements to stow myself away beneath my blankets and some rolled hay, and make a night of reading out of it.

Providence, thou art a cruel and inconsiderate mistress…

Before I could settle off to sleep, a noise from outside brought me about from my study; a group of distressed men knocking furiously on the Inn’s portals. Through my friends I later learned that they were a cadre of hired hands, working at the behest of a foreign blue blood by the name of Lord Brass. brass had recently arrived from his native Mordentshire to inspect and oversee the refitting of his newly acquired summer residence (a gift from his son-in-law as I understand it). The house in question was a ghastly thing an half-hour’s march from our location, complete with those frowning stone gargoyles the locals are so fond of, and an architectural style that would have had master-builder Roger Hemmington of Paridon in a dizzy fit of rage. I digress.

The house, it seems did more than offend the eyes of conaisseurs; the hired hands had been dispatched to clear it of vagrants and “wild animals” when an unfortunate series of events, unclear events at that, caused on of their number to take a nasty tumble down some jagged steps. His colleagues had been good enough to collect his splintered body and bring to the Inn to have it looked at by someone in the know. As an added curiosity, the men brought with them a second wounded body, this one suffering from mild hypothermia and an acute case of poor hygiene. I would learn later that the unfortunate’s name was Petru, a curious character from a blighted place called Gehenna.

Once tended to by our resident benefactor Symeon, Petru was eager to share with us his purpose for having ventured into the frozen reaches of Lamordia. Petru, it was revealed, was something of an upstart revolutionary whom had made it his life’s mission to travel widely and assemble the necessary financial assets to permit his people to arm themselves and ignite a revolt against their cruel government. Form his stories I was able to gather that his people lived under a iron-fisted theocracy devoted to some dreadfully overrated godhead called Zhakata. One day, Petru hoped, he could return to his burdened kinsman and deliver to them the tools required to promote their freedom from the chains of slavery. How droll. I naturally suspected Petru of being less-than-forthcoming about his real intentions from the moment I laid eyes on him, but it would seem thus far that he is the genuine article, despite looking like a caricature of a deer hunter I once saw depicted on a tapestry in my native land.

Our forces replenished (we had parted ways with Constance at last!), we met with Lord Brass and accepted to lend him our “sword arms” in the 2nd attempt to survey and clear his daughter’s future home of unwanted guests. We expected little more than the token critters, insects and dirt born of neglect, but ended up with far more than we had bargained for; namely a serious and somewhat puzzling case of over-sized vermin infestation. Symeon and I had found the house in a peculiar state earlier that day, it appears that someone or something had been using the vacant premises for some kind of operation. Before we had an opportunity to get to the bottom of it however, we were besieged by a throng of those nasty buggers I mentioned earlier , and forced to beat a hasty retreat to the outside.

If I had had my way, the whole blasted manor would have been consumed by the purifying flames from my lantern, and our problem would have very likely been taken care of. Alas my dear idealistic Symeon cast himself in the way and put it out with his own humble robes before the job could be completed. For my part, I receded from the cellar in a commanding fashion, stomping and slamming through the hordes of giant rodents, until I came upon the front door, which due to some mystical interference by an unknown player, simply slammed shut and refused to gave way. When I realized that the gentleman’s way would not suffice, I proceeded according to the precepts of elementary logic, and took the door out of the equation by venting my aggression against the offending slab of wood. We shook ourselves free of the infested abode, and regrouped to share our findings with the good Lord Brass, who upon hearing our strange tale, and seeing evidence of our encounter, offered us a considerable reward for putting a term to his delema.

Now here we stand, resolute and committed to ridding the house of pestilence, and I, Samael Hands of Stone find myself reduced from an Angel of Death, a supposed Creature of Prophecy, to a common exterminator of household parasitical life forms.