IntoTheMouthOfRavness

With further investigation, and a little divine clairvoyance on behalf of our resident God’s Chosen, we were able to discern the source of the malignancy that had attempted to undo our efforts during our preliminary visit to the site in question. Throughout our soujourn there, we had been continually aware (and inconvenienced) by a tremendous emanation of heat and vapor from the bowels of the house, from a source that could only have been the building’s furnace. It felt as though someone had seen fit to feed its fires high enough to even melt the snow in a small radius around the entire estate. Were it not for the mysterious circumstances, I might have been half-tempted to fetch myself a towel and take advantage of the purifying effects of this sweat lodge; so little time, so little time. Whatever the case, we quickly came to the understanding that whatever presence troubled this place, its power could not have come from any other source, or at the very least, it was dependant on its debilitating effects on the domain’s climate.

Like brave heroes (and fools) of legend, we squared our shoulders to the task and ventured into the belly of the dragon, prepared for another onslaught of bloated vermin, but instead found them in charred heaps all around the establishment. Furthermore, the house itself seemed to take exception to our presence there and mundane furnishings within the place began to assault us with what I construed as murderous intent. Yet we forged on, steadfast, or at the very least obstinate in the face of these interferences, and journeyed further down into the cellar where we had first beheld the elaborate contraption that was no doubt originally intended to make the manor more hospitable (oh the irony!).

When at last we arrived to our goal, I found that I had become a much changed man. In our impossible struggles to breach the cursed inner-chamber of this infernal furnace, I was witness to no fewer that three actions on the part of Symeon of the Pillar that would have urged simple folk to run in fear while casting protective wards on their loved ones. I saw this simple pauper (hah!), this man that refused praise or or material gain, this ragged scarred drifter; I saw this man preform miracles! Where there were flesh-peeling vapors and blistering heat, Symeon simply closed his eyes, whispering gibberish to his God as he walked through the curtain firey death without a single wound to prove his folly. He ignored pain, fire, scolding that would have fried an egg into ashes. And if I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn that deuced man was smiling to himself through every step of it!

I chose to restrain my questions then and concentrate on our mission, and good thing that I did, for if not for our timely intervention, the whole estate might have turned into so much salt. By fool’s fortune we had been right, the blasted furnace had been the cause of all our troubles. We sought it out, but instead we came upon an indecipherable monstrosity of steel and glass, with dozens of pipes growing out if its neck like a mythical hydra, running in every direction, and leading into the ceiling above us. This thing must have had its tentacles in every foundation of the Lord’s house. Again I found myself internally amused (despite my awe) at the fact that this residence had been a supposed dowry to Lord Brass from his new son-in-law, an offering that no doubt shed light into good old sonny-boy’s character. I assumed, nay, hoped in all sincerity, that the good Lord Brass would one day have the opportunity to reckon with the lad for his generous gift.

Using what abilities (or curses) were bestowed to me by Fate, I took a sledgehammer to this contraption from hell, rending its pipes and gears apart as if they had been the contents of my supper platter from the previous night. My brave colleagues joined in earnestly in this wanton destruction of private property, but not before I had a chance to behold another miracle, courtesy of Symeon of the Pillar. This time our humble man-of-the-cloth saw fit to douse the furnace’s entrails with a dozen gallons of water that he seemingly invoked right out of the thin air. What wonderfully strange company I keep. Regardless of my disbelief, the deed was done; the house stirred no more, the beast had ceased its assault, and damn lucky that it did when it did.

It was later surmised by Petru, our very own saboteur-extraordinaire and would-be revolutionary, that the house had in fact not been supernaturally animated, but rather mechanically enhanced by some skilled and ambitious (dare I say mad?) engineer. The manor was perhaps meant to be some kind of a mechanical breakthrough in household self-sufficiency. Everywhere we found evidence to support this; latches and levers that operated mundane accoutrement’s in the house, shifting walls, sliding tables, animated chandeliers (I even got to see one a bit too up close, and have the scar to prove it!). Most damning of all the evidence was an actual user’s manual that we unearthed in the manor’s splendidly stocked reading room. Whatever purpose the creator devised for this place, we would could hardly guess. All the same, we were content with the victory; the house was free of interlopers and once again habitable, so to speak.

Form the chilled reaches of Lamordia we traveled South-East through the wondrous realm of Dementlieu, which, much to my chagrin I barely had time to taste, safe for a rowdy night of drinking and cards that gave Petru a new place in my esteem. From there we sent word to Lord Brass in Mordentshire to prepare a great feast for his conquering heroes (bah!). The Lord was true to his word and showered us with all the pleasantries that could be expected (including a sizable bank note), and bid us farewell, promising to seek out his son-in-law to offer his thanks to the young man in person. It appears that I yet carry favor with some divine power above!

As the night came to a close, we gathered around a table with some good brandy and full bellies, ready to discuss our future endeavors and prospects. The conversation (or perhaps the liquor) unfortunately brought out in me those less endearing qualities that no doubt made my father a reviled man in his younger days. I spoke too much, told the others too much. I let my fury blacken me, and nearly brought down the wrath of the only people that have ever suffered my presence willingly. But what could I do? I had to make them listen to reason. I had to awaken them from their foolish dreams of changing the world with good intentions and honorable deeds. If we are to help Petru in his struggles to ignite his revolution in G’henna, we will not accomplish it by playing saints…or perhaps we will…

Another matter that came to my attention was a peculiar advertisement that I happened across while skulking around in the wee hours; a poster inviting all in the environs to gather at the edge of town to attend a grand carnival of some sort, with jugglers, strong men and a mesmerizing creature known as a snake-woman. I regret to report that I missed their performance as the poster had been for a show the night-previous, but I preserved the document and fully intend on doing a little research on this curious outfit when time and opportunity permit.