I, Suffering – Chapter Two of Mystara: Dirge of Tomorrow

The Word of Man

The deacon brought Redman and myself past the ghastly crime scene once again on our way to the archbishop’s chambers. I noted how strictly the deacon kept his eyes away from the area of the murder, his eyes locked forward as if he had blinders stuck to the sides of his head. Only the smell seemed to phase him, the rancid smell of warming blood cloyed the room and thickened the atmosphere.

Through another back door and up a flight of stairs we found ourselves outside the office of Archbishop Alfric Oderbry. The deacon beckoned us to wait outside for a moment, while he announced our presence to the church leaders within. We stood outside, Redman leaning his weight against a nearby wooden chest. I took this time of privacy to once again engage my companion on his findings.

“What do you make of it all?” I asked my friend, who was studying the hallway’s architecture curiously.

“Has the air of foulness to it. Ye read magic in that place, didn’t you?” I nodded my confirmation and he continued. “Aye. ‘Tis come to be that I can almost smell it these days. Some small static charge caught in the dark shadows of a place. There’s a certain intent on such matters, innit?”

“Well,” I started, finding the words necessary to explain the science of emotional resonance to a layman, “the fact of the matter is that there’s a certain power to emotions. It’s why certain… shall we say blessed individuals are capable of more effectively manipulating the minds and emotion of those of the opposite gender. Attraction, repulsion, fear, hatred… all of these serve to channel the natural arcane energies which feed the spells.”

Redman kept his reply to an understanding nod, although I was not certain if he completely understood the ramifications of my explanation. The deacon had returned and motioned to the two of us. “The archbishop shall see you now.”

We came into the archbishop’s chambers – a well appointed suite marked by pictures of severe men and women. The decorations had a hint of the austere, but there was nothing benign about them: hawk-nosed and sharp eyed individuals of wealth and power, all Thyatian in their features.

“Archbishop,” the deacon introduced us, “these are Doctor Romuald van Hosten and master Thaddeus Redman.” I bowed upon the mention of my name, a curt greeting. “They have come to assist in the investigation of the murder of Sister Berniel.”

The Archbishop himself was a muscular man, past his prime but not weakened by age. A head of full dark hair crowned a pallid face with dark eyes and hawkish features. Sharp angles filled the face, granting him an angry look without being necessarily menacing. “This is the Archbishop Alfric Oderbry,” the deacon introduced the man, who extended a meaty, muscular arm towards me. I shook the man’s hand, and there was a strength in the grip which surprised me.

“Greetings, Doctor. Thank you, on behalf of the Mother Church, for assisting us in these darkened times.” The archbishop spoke in the flawless Thyatian of the well educated. It surprised me, again, to hear such in midst of Karameikos. Few in the kingdom spoke so well, or so plainly.

“A man hears dark tidings, if it in his power to do so, it is best for him to interfere.” I responded. The archbishop merely nodded, his face inscrutable. “Or, to paraphrase, the only thing necessary for the victory of evil…”

“…is for good men to do nothing.” Oderbry finished. “Yes, a teaching of the Halavite. You are schooled in the ways of the philosophy of the Immortals?”

I smiled ruefully. “I am schooled only in that philosophy which might assist me in my investigations. It so happens that knowledge of the living dead requires a study of the workings of the divine.”

The archbishop nodded slowly once more. “And your dwarven friend?”

“A tracker and a sword-arm,” Redman spoke for himself, “by trade. Old friend and comrade-at-arms, by circumstance. I was working as a day-laborer when I heard of your problem, and sought out the Doctor as I knew he was in town.”

“Fortunate for us,” Oderbry noted dryly. “So, gentlemen,” he continued, his curiosity for the moment satisfied, “what insights have you gleamed in your investigations?”

I related my findings from our observations of earlier, and Redman filled in whenever I missed some minor detail. Oderbry kept his glance steadily onwards, as if wrapping himself in some cold blanket of surreality beyond our own world, entranced in the data that we were feeding him. Once our story was complete, the archbishop opened his eyes again and looked us over.

“Dark notes indeed,” he noted, almost under his breath. “It disturbs me that such acts of foul necromancy should happen to unfurl at the very heart of the Mother Church. Yet the Immortals provide, and so you have come.”

A note of sarcasm rose to the back of my mind, but I quelled it almost immediately. Not for fear of seeming blasphemous, but for respect of the man sitting before me. My dealings with the Mother Church would not be over with this meeting, and I was certain to run into the Archbishop time and again as the investigation wore on. And I did not desire him on any other side by my own until it was over.

“I assure you, Archbishop, Redman and I will alight every shadowed mystery before long. This is not the first act of vandalism we have witnessed, nor the first murder with foul and magical intent. I fear, however, that my own skills of detection lie not entrenched in the world of humanity, as this seems to be. Rather my expertise lies more with the beasts of the nether realm. Redman shall assist and supplement, of course…”

“But I be better of huntin’ game and greenbacks, if ye take my meanin’, lord.” Redman finished for me, after his own fashion.

Oderbry nodded. “Indeed.” He rose to his full height, which was impressive. Old age had not bent his back a moment, and his somber dark clothing lent him a grave air as he stood with his arms folded against his back. “Our interests are crossed once more, it seems. The Mother Church, you understand, would very much like to help with your investigation closely.”

I knew what he meant, of course.

“I would like one of our sisters to assist you.” He knocked on the door of his office and the deacon stepped into the room again. “Bring Sister Cormandell,” he instructed. The deacon bowed low and rushed out of the room. We waited in silence, the Archbishop staring out the window of his suite to the city beyond.

After a few minutes, the door opened, and a comely looking woman stepped into the room. She wore a white robe that covered her torso, and the cowl of the robe was thrown over her head. Her face, though shadowed, was not concealed overmuch. She was pleasing to the eye, with pale Thyatian features and a bright shock of red hair falling from beneath the hood. Beneath the robe, I could see the feint glinting of custom fitted armor. I rose from my chair as Oderbry introduced us.

“This is Sister Priniel Cormandell,” Oderbry began. “Sister Cormandell, this is Doctor Romuald Van Hosten.” I smiled and bowed my head slightly. Sister Cormandell studied us with a pair of cold brown eyes. She did not smile, nor did she show deference. What little acknowledgement we received was a shifting of eyes from one to the other, as she took us in. “Sister Cormandell is particularly skilled in assisting in such investigations, Dr. Van Hosten. She will assist you in the murder investigation.”

I nodded and turned to our new companion. “I look very much forward to working with you, Sister Cormandell.”

At the last, she smiled, but it was a cold thing. Too cold for such distant beauty. “Sister Berniel was a friend of mine, Doctor. Little would bring me greater pleasure than bringing those that are responsible for her death to justice.”

My only response was a curt nod. Something in her unwavering glance and steady voice brought a chill to my spine. Even Redman, standing by me, shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Shall we off, then?” I offered.