Post by Pawzkat on Dec 23, 2016 20:48:57 GMT -4
July 17th, 1085. Southern Hartsan countryside.
"Friends and associates," Madame Falandra announced, clinking her prized fork against a glass. Falandra, until recent years, had been the proprietor of a small vineyard. In wine country, even the smallest vineyards are praised for their labor, and thus, her true success came at the interest of the much larger Sullivan Brothers and their proposal. Her estate had been sold early 1083, and Madame Falandra had been living in her new estate on retirement, throwing lavish banquet after banquet despite no close family of her own.
"For neigh on two years I have enjoyed your presence, and each time I get the opportunity-" she continued with her speech, pausing as she noticed a local beggar approach her estate.
Turning with stares of disgust, everyone watched the man as he gazed over the banquet, then with bowl and spoon in hand, sat down outside the gate. By doing so, the man had invoked the long-standing Rite of Hospitality in Hartsan, expectant of being treated to the banquet's leftovers after the event.
Staring at him, Madame Falandra threw her golden utensil with a shriek. "I will sooner feed the scraps to my hounds than you, worthless vagrant! Begone before I sic them on you!"
Outraged by the hostess's rejection of his silent plea, the beggar picked up the fork thrown at him and looked up at her, staring deeply into her eyes. "For your wickedness, I curse thee... Never again will you wish to gaze upon your own visage. No spoon shall ever sate your hunger, and no soul willing to share your table!"
June 22nd, 1127. Harrindale, Capital of Hartsan.
"I'm retired." came the answer, a short fit of coughing following close behind.
"They pleaded that I mention their willingness to pay any amount of coin," the majordomo standing in the doorway began. "Even though-"
"What in bloody fuck do I care about coin? Did they not see the estate they knocked upon?"
"Quite, M'Lord. Though I believe the request came solely by parcel."
"Ohhh, what have I told you? The Duchess may have awarded me this estate, but I'm still no Lord. You don't need to address me as such."
"Of course, Sir."
"God dam- Just give me this letter."
Nodding, the majordomo walk into the dimly lit office and placed the letter upon the central desk. After being dismissed with a wave, he nodded respectfully before strolling out.
Lighting a nearby candle, the room slowly lit up and revealed its occupant to have the facial features of someone in their mid thirties. That is, until a closer look reveals the sheen of grey hair decorating his otherwise dark crop. Weathered with a permanent look of fatigue, his eyes almost seemed to be grey as well, as if the life and color had been sucked away. Beginning to read the note out loud, it read;
"To the persons titled Lord Daverin,
We simple folk of the southern winerys of Hartsan have been supplying the most decadent of wines to Hartsan and the rest of the world this side of the Empire for countless generations. As I'm sure a man of your renoun and talent already knows, this land is filled with dark magic trying to seep into our souls, and I'm afraid we of Southern Hartsan are spared of no inconveniences.
For over thirty years our homesteads and towns have had odd thefts of dining ware, primarily utensils. A mischievous local imp or some sort, it was figured, until folk started going missing from Hartvale and Eddinbrough. We've lost twelve good souls. I beseech thee, Master, bring our boys home or at least discover their fates. You'd put plenty of minds at ease.
Please, come to Hartvale if you will take the contract."
After a long moment of thought, Garrus O'Daverin, for this was his name, grabbed the paper again and scanned one of the lines. "Stolen... utensils?"
Let's see here... Imp does seem like the logical answer, but Hartvale? They aren't brave enough to rob somewhere with that many people and buildings.
There was that vampire over in Darrow with a strong affinity for shine baubles; Perhaps something similar? But then, why would the whole body be gone?
I'm not going to learn anything sitting here...
"Oi, you here?" he called out as he shoved the letter into his pocket.
"Always, Sir." the majordomo said as he hurriedly poked his head into the room.
"Get my horse ready. Guess I'm heading to Hartvale."
"You're taking the job, Sir?" he asked, being answered with a silent nod. "But what about-"
"I'll live." Garrus said bluntly, turning towards the steps on his left. "My horse?"
Watching the majordomo quickly nod and walk outside, he chuckled and proceeded up the steps and eventually to a short hall. Turning into one of the nearest rooms, he peered inside with the afternoon light illuminating what looked like a small armory, filled with various arms and armor segments of several neighboring countries.
Walking over to a grand set of five blades carefully tiered for display, Garrus studied each carefully before settling for a honed longsword, approximately 143 centimeters with an additional hand-and-a-half styled grip above the cross guard; A good weapon for most situations.
After grabbing the accompanying sheath and strapping it around his waist, he walked back downstairs to find the door held open for him.
"Your steed is saddled and held ready out front, Sir."
Nodding, Garrus grabbed one of the many drab colored traveling cloaks he kept near the door, throwing the dreary grey cloak his hand landed upon over his shoulder, clasping the front with a small buckle before nodding with satisfaction.
"Hartvale... Along the main road heading south, right?" he paused to ask while in the doorway.
"Indeed, Sir. About a day's ride after reaching Farin, maybe less with your steed."
Looking outside, Garrus saw a chestnut colored mare waiting with two servants currently feeding and keeping her in place. Turning back to the Majordomo, he nodded with a grin.
"Tendriss, hmm? I think you know these creatures better than you let on; She's built for speed, likely to get me there by tomorrow morning."
With that, Garrus bid his farewells to the faithful man and walked down the exterior steps into the main courtyard. Waving the two servants off with a flick of his wrist, Garrus climbed onto the horse and adjusted himself for a moment before leaving his home.
Click. Clop. Click. Clop.
Hooves clicked on stone streets as Garrus goaded his horse down through the winding streets of Harrindale. Luckily, it was early enough in the morning to allow a steady pace without knocking anyone onto their ass. Before long, the aged man was cleaning his neck upward to watch the portcullis pass overhead.
Almost immediately stone turned to beaten dirt roads as he continued over the entrance bridge and officially out of the city. As it did, the awe-inspiring sight of rolling green hills lined with grapevines and vineyards filled the horizon. Garrus wasn't much of a drinker when he had moved to Hartsan, but there was one thing he learned quickly; In Hartsan, wine is more sacred than blood.
All the vineyards surrounding Garrus as his mount carried him forward weren't owned by a single person, of course. And for every competition, there was blood to be spilled. Garrus
thought back to what first brought him out here, to the place where he would retire.
Garrus wasn't a scholarly arcanist by any means, nor did he possess any particular talent in swordsmanship. At least, no more than the next guy. Garrus had gained the Duchess's attention by what began as a simple practice of dispelling curses. Many unfortunate enough to find themselves or loved ones with such a bind are typically faced with the sole and often unaffordable option of hiring an arcanist, not to mention even finding one. The problem, however, is anyone with enough emotion and correct wording can cast a curse. Not always intentionally, either.
Growing up, Garrus constantly had his nose in old tomes of tales and history, many of which contained tragic stories ending with a cursed victim. Every curse had a crutch, an answer hidden in the wording of it, and Garrus had developed a talent for solving them. But even then, there was always a toll.
It was after the Duke of Hartsan had conflicted lycanthropy that Garrus
had received the request to come to the small duchy. A case he wouldn't normally take, since the cursed wasn't particularly willing to cooperate, but it would be hard to tell his younger self to ignore all the coin. He couldn't complain with the house and endless wine either, of course.
What was the wording to that curse, again? Something about gazing upon the moon where there is none, and being bathed in its light? Finding the full moon sculpture among nearby ruins was easy enough, but getting the Duke to follow him there at the right time was the trick to it.
It's hard to think about solving a riddle while having your loved one try to maul you, of course, but composure seemed to be what made it easy for him. These weren't his relatives or friends, which made thinking with a clear head much easier.
Taking a deep inhale of the summer wind, Garrus shook the thought away as he focus on where he was going. Hartvale, not even having a label for the curse. Behavior can often be an indicator, but the letter seemed to offer a piss-poor amount of details.
Pondering the thought, Garrus almost mowed over a crowd of people befire his horse instinctively slowed to a trot. Blinking back to attention, he was somewhat startled to find himself already passing through Farin.
That was perhaps what made Garrus actually keep the estate rather than sell it off; Something about the air of Hartsan's summers seemed to make him relaxed. More at ease.
After clearing the small town, Garrus ushered his horse back into a full run as he continued down the road. He made a bet, and even jokingly, he wanted to beat it.
Riding through the day and well into the long hours of the night, Garrus was true to his word as Hartvale came into sight. Stabling his mount at the nearby tavern, he went in to purchase a room, perhaps a few drinks as he waited for morning. As he spoke with the innkeep, however, he turn to see someone waiting for him, a book clutched in his hands.
"Lord Daverin?" he asks curiously.
"Just O'Daverin, but aye."
Blinking, the younger lad nodded and quickly apologized. "Oh, sorry, Lord O'Daverin?"
"No, I meant-" he began, stifling the urge to groan before wiping a hand through his facial hair. "You...r folks send me that letter?" he asks, not realising how young he appeared to be at first.
Nodding, the boy handed him the tome slowly. "We thought maybe this would help you, Lord."
'Tales and Myths of Hartsan, 1100' the cover read as Garrus looked down at it. Pretty recent issue, surprisingly. How much of this is garbage, and how much is actual arcane trickery at work? Looking at the lad, he smiled and patted him on the head, handing him a few gold coins. "I believe it will; Be sure to give this to your parents as thanks."
Heading to his lodging with the book, Garrus lit a candle as he opened it up and looked through the index. Pulling out the letter, he began looking for anything at all that might help.
'...thirty years,' Okay, so if the curse was recorded, it might just be here. Question is, did it happen thirty years ago, or is that just when it became more noticeable? Either way, it's a place to start. What else?
Kidnapping and... Oh, that's right; Utensils. Obsessive behavior possibly, but for what reason? Sounds like all the disappearances are male, based on the letter. That might suggest a succubus? They hired the wrong bloody person if that turns out to be the case. If it is a curse, maybe a female victim?
That's a better start. Flipping through the index, Garrus began quickly scanning over the various tales. 'Grapes of Wrath' No. 'Snowfall Over Harvest' Doesn't seem right. 'The Rise and Fall of Falandra' That one seems intriguing.
Flipping to the page, Garrus read the tale of Madame Falandra, her sellout and retirement, and the last day she was seen before disappearing, that last soirée. There doesn't seem to be a mention of any hexing occurring, but the run-in with the hungry beggar seems too coincidental.
He needs to know the wording if he wants to figure this out. And God knows what Falandra turned into if she's already killed a dozen men.
Closing the book, he blew put the candle before undressing and stepping over to his bed. Going to her estate was dangerous, but that seemed to be the only option. He'd need to ask the townsfolk tomorrow if they know the location.
**********
Waking the next day, Garrus gathered everything and stopped for a morning meal at the bar before exiting out into the town. Preparing to ask around about the estate, people were all too eager to speak with him, it seemed, and were able to point him in the right direction with ease. They seemed worried of the place, thinking the place to be haunted with Falandra's ghost. While apparitions aren't real, they may not be too far from the truth.
Riding for a few hours, it was fairly obvious Garrus had reached his destination as he came upon a crumbling house that may once have been grand, hundreds of silverware pieces, a vast majority being spoons, were scattered all over and even hanging off thin ropes from the roof. Cautiously approaching the building and proceeding inside, Garrus gagged and sparked a violent coughing fit as the stench assailed his nostrils. Pinching his nose and looking around, he found piles upon piles of silverware lying about. No bloody wonder people noticed their utensils going missing.
Proceeding around the piles cautiously, he walked into a nearby hallway and glanced into a room on his left. Proceeding inside, it appeared to be a bedroom, a smashed mirror hanging on the wall. Looking at it closer, dried blood caked the glass in the center. Poor girl couldn't stand seeing herself turn into a monster.
Scrawled on the desk, or rather carved, he noticed claw marks forming out the same phrases over and over. 'No spoon to sate my hunger. No longer like my face. No friends to revel with.' With each rendition becoming less and less legible.
Not the exact wording, but that seemed to be what he was looking for. 'No spoon to sate my hunger.' Definitely explains all this bloody silverware. Her face? Sounds like polymorphism, common tag-on for many curses. All that leaves is the friends; The missing people? No sign of them.
Exiting the bedroom, he walked into a dining room judging by the table, a nearby cooking pot giving off a foul odor, the flames under it burning brightly. Or maybe the smell was coming from the fresh corpses seated at the table. Only then did Garrus realize the dust on the floor was most likely bone powder smashed long ago. Twelve missing? Might be more than that...
Looking closely at one of the bodies, he noticed the jaw snapped with several of the upper teeth smashed away, remnants left on his tongue. Broken limbs, he was definitely bound, most likely force-fed. That would answer the rest of his questions.
Beggar cursed her after being denied the Right of Hospitality, fickle friends and no family left her isolated, and she's been seeking a cure ever since. Took some pieces of the curse a bit literally, it seems like. But... Is it as simple as that?
Bang.
Shit, what was that? She's home. Not good. Hide. Hide. No where to go... Garrus quickly zipped under the table and used one of the decrepit bodies as cover as the creature entered. Seeing only the feet, he could see signs of skin deterioration and bone rot. He struggled not to cough as it walked over to the cauldron, stirring it while making animalistic growls.
Though he couldn't see it, she most likely had claws, if not still sentient enough to carry a weapon. Garrus gripped the pommel of his blade, preparing to use it if she didn't leave. Luckily, she departed after a moment and allowed him to crawl out from under the table.
Pulling his blade out and preparing for her return, he glanced back at the foul spew behind him before his gaze was ripped back forward. Standing in the doorway and staring at him with a cold dead eye, the other hanging and looking more at the floor, he began waving the blade back and forth as she seemed lulled by it.
"Just... Stay calm." He said slowly. "Falandra, rig- Oi, stay fucking back!" He began, shouting and threatening her as she attempted to lunge for him. He was right... Those claws could easily gouge his throat.
Walking over to a stack of bowls, he glanced at them and grabbed a pair of silver ones. "You've been looking for a dinner partner, right?" Needing to threaten her again as he approached the cauldron, he gagged before slowly dropping his sword and dipping the two bowls in. "Well here I am... A willing friend." he finished, offering the creature one of the bowls.
Eagerly yanking it from his hand, she rushed over to the table and slammed it down, kicking the body out of her chair before sitting down, watching Garrus slowly do the same. As he sat, she reached over for a pair of silver spoons, attempting to hand him one and growling menacingly when he hesitated.
Looking at the spoon and the foul stew, Garrus shook his head and looked at Falandra. "You've been looking for the right spoon to sate you, but that's the trick. No spoon." he says, shaking it before him until she began mimicking. Nodding, he dropped the spoon from the table and waited for her to do the same, obviously causing her pain with the long hesitation that came before.
"Good. Now, we drink." he said, lifting the bowl to his lips as she did the same. Trying not to get any on his tongue, and failing, he stifled a cough and began tipping her bowl upwards. "Keep going. You have to look at yourself."
Draining the liquid, the creature had its face buried in the silver dish before suddenly dropping back from the chair. Seeming to whimper as a white glow began to illuminate the room, Garrus quickly stood up and attempted to keep up as she bolted from the room, the house, and into the woods. After a short chase, Garrus was led to a large tree, an elderly and frail looking woman cowering beneath it.
"P-Please, no..." she rasped, Garrus quickly shushing her and lifting her in his arms.
"You're safe, I'm not going to hurt you. My majordomo will take good care of you."
Slowly carrying her back to his horse, he carefully saddles her before climbing up himself. Luckily he had backtracked from Hartvale when coming to this estate, meaning he should be able to straight shot home. Coughing as they began the journey, he sighed as he looked at his hand and wiped the blood away.
Reaching his estate by nightfall, he helped Falandra off his horse before carrying her to the front door, the majordomo already waiting for him.
"Guests, Sir?" He asked with a bit of a dry chuckle.
"Have someone send a return letter back to Hartvale; Problem solved. And get Falandra here something to eat, as well as anything else she needs." he says, the majordomo leading her away gently to the kitchen.
With a sigh, Garrus retired to his office and slumped into his chair. Within minutes, he was joined by the ever faithful majordomo.
"Madame Falandra," he said with a nod. "I thought the name was familiar; Responsible for Sullivan's early growth, if I'm not mistaken." he continued, proud as he spoke from memory. "What ever happened to her?"
"Ran afoul of a beggar who cursed her, turned her into a walking corpse. Wording involved having no spoon feed her hunger and no one to dine with."
"How ever did you solve it, Sir?"
"Sat down and drank some rank stew, without utensils. Made her look at her reflection when she was done."
"As simple as that?" the majordomo inquired with surprise.
"Kind of hard to find a willing partner when you have violent tendencies and look like that. A lot of hexes like to play on irony."
"It's good you were able to free her, then." he replied with a nod, leaving Garrus in peace as he returned to Falandra.
The next morning, Garrus woke up to delicious smelling eggs and sausage sitting on his table. Eating it without thought, he looked at the tray curiously afterwards. Since when did the majordomo learn to cook?
Exiting his room with the tray, Garrus found a grey-haired woman standing over the stone, turning to him with a beaming smile. "Garrus O'Daverin. I owe you everything for releasing me from that nightmare." she said, suddenly hugging him with a surprising amount of force considering her size.
"Eh, it's just a hobby." he joked with a short cough, wiping his hand as he looked over at the stove. "Did you make me that breakfast? How're you feeling?"
"Better than the last forty years. I'm tired, but I don't think women were meant to live this long, so I can't complain. And the breakfast was the least I can do for letting me recover here. Even before I was cursed, I enjoyed cooking. Never had servants for that, it was my own hobby."
"Do you have any plans out there? The world may have changed a bit, and you know you're welcome to stay here."
Smiling again, she nodded graciously and hugged him again. "You have not only saved my life, but given it new meaning... Thank you."
Nodding and letting her return to cook, Garrus walked outside to observe his estate as he coughed into a glove. His majordomo suddenly appeared behind him.
"How high was the toll, Sir?"
"Maybe a year or two. Doesn't matter."
"You're not worried?"
"How many curses have I solved at this point? Eighteen? Ninteen? Ninteen lives extended at the price of shortening one? You know I always enjoy a bargain." Garrus replied, shortly followed by a heavier cough.
"I know, Sir."
"Friends and associates," Madame Falandra announced, clinking her prized fork against a glass. Falandra, until recent years, had been the proprietor of a small vineyard. In wine country, even the smallest vineyards are praised for their labor, and thus, her true success came at the interest of the much larger Sullivan Brothers and their proposal. Her estate had been sold early 1083, and Madame Falandra had been living in her new estate on retirement, throwing lavish banquet after banquet despite no close family of her own.
"For neigh on two years I have enjoyed your presence, and each time I get the opportunity-" she continued with her speech, pausing as she noticed a local beggar approach her estate.
Turning with stares of disgust, everyone watched the man as he gazed over the banquet, then with bowl and spoon in hand, sat down outside the gate. By doing so, the man had invoked the long-standing Rite of Hospitality in Hartsan, expectant of being treated to the banquet's leftovers after the event.
Staring at him, Madame Falandra threw her golden utensil with a shriek. "I will sooner feed the scraps to my hounds than you, worthless vagrant! Begone before I sic them on you!"
Outraged by the hostess's rejection of his silent plea, the beggar picked up the fork thrown at him and looked up at her, staring deeply into her eyes. "For your wickedness, I curse thee... Never again will you wish to gaze upon your own visage. No spoon shall ever sate your hunger, and no soul willing to share your table!"
June 22nd, 1127. Harrindale, Capital of Hartsan.
"I'm retired." came the answer, a short fit of coughing following close behind.
"They pleaded that I mention their willingness to pay any amount of coin," the majordomo standing in the doorway began. "Even though-"
"What in bloody fuck do I care about coin? Did they not see the estate they knocked upon?"
"Quite, M'Lord. Though I believe the request came solely by parcel."
"Ohhh, what have I told you? The Duchess may have awarded me this estate, but I'm still no Lord. You don't need to address me as such."
"Of course, Sir."
"God dam- Just give me this letter."
Nodding, the majordomo walk into the dimly lit office and placed the letter upon the central desk. After being dismissed with a wave, he nodded respectfully before strolling out.
Lighting a nearby candle, the room slowly lit up and revealed its occupant to have the facial features of someone in their mid thirties. That is, until a closer look reveals the sheen of grey hair decorating his otherwise dark crop. Weathered with a permanent look of fatigue, his eyes almost seemed to be grey as well, as if the life and color had been sucked away. Beginning to read the note out loud, it read;
"To the persons titled Lord Daverin,
We simple folk of the southern winerys of Hartsan have been supplying the most decadent of wines to Hartsan and the rest of the world this side of the Empire for countless generations. As I'm sure a man of your renoun and talent already knows, this land is filled with dark magic trying to seep into our souls, and I'm afraid we of Southern Hartsan are spared of no inconveniences.
For over thirty years our homesteads and towns have had odd thefts of dining ware, primarily utensils. A mischievous local imp or some sort, it was figured, until folk started going missing from Hartvale and Eddinbrough. We've lost twelve good souls. I beseech thee, Master, bring our boys home or at least discover their fates. You'd put plenty of minds at ease.
Please, come to Hartvale if you will take the contract."
After a long moment of thought, Garrus O'Daverin, for this was his name, grabbed the paper again and scanned one of the lines. "Stolen... utensils?"
Let's see here... Imp does seem like the logical answer, but Hartvale? They aren't brave enough to rob somewhere with that many people and buildings.
There was that vampire over in Darrow with a strong affinity for shine baubles; Perhaps something similar? But then, why would the whole body be gone?
I'm not going to learn anything sitting here...
"Oi, you here?" he called out as he shoved the letter into his pocket.
"Always, Sir." the majordomo said as he hurriedly poked his head into the room.
"Get my horse ready. Guess I'm heading to Hartvale."
"You're taking the job, Sir?" he asked, being answered with a silent nod. "But what about-"
"I'll live." Garrus said bluntly, turning towards the steps on his left. "My horse?"
Watching the majordomo quickly nod and walk outside, he chuckled and proceeded up the steps and eventually to a short hall. Turning into one of the nearest rooms, he peered inside with the afternoon light illuminating what looked like a small armory, filled with various arms and armor segments of several neighboring countries.
Walking over to a grand set of five blades carefully tiered for display, Garrus studied each carefully before settling for a honed longsword, approximately 143 centimeters with an additional hand-and-a-half styled grip above the cross guard; A good weapon for most situations.
After grabbing the accompanying sheath and strapping it around his waist, he walked back downstairs to find the door held open for him.
"Your steed is saddled and held ready out front, Sir."
Nodding, Garrus grabbed one of the many drab colored traveling cloaks he kept near the door, throwing the dreary grey cloak his hand landed upon over his shoulder, clasping the front with a small buckle before nodding with satisfaction.
"Hartvale... Along the main road heading south, right?" he paused to ask while in the doorway.
"Indeed, Sir. About a day's ride after reaching Farin, maybe less with your steed."
Looking outside, Garrus saw a chestnut colored mare waiting with two servants currently feeding and keeping her in place. Turning back to the Majordomo, he nodded with a grin.
"Tendriss, hmm? I think you know these creatures better than you let on; She's built for speed, likely to get me there by tomorrow morning."
With that, Garrus bid his farewells to the faithful man and walked down the exterior steps into the main courtyard. Waving the two servants off with a flick of his wrist, Garrus climbed onto the horse and adjusted himself for a moment before leaving his home.
Click. Clop. Click. Clop.
Hooves clicked on stone streets as Garrus goaded his horse down through the winding streets of Harrindale. Luckily, it was early enough in the morning to allow a steady pace without knocking anyone onto their ass. Before long, the aged man was cleaning his neck upward to watch the portcullis pass overhead.
Almost immediately stone turned to beaten dirt roads as he continued over the entrance bridge and officially out of the city. As it did, the awe-inspiring sight of rolling green hills lined with grapevines and vineyards filled the horizon. Garrus wasn't much of a drinker when he had moved to Hartsan, but there was one thing he learned quickly; In Hartsan, wine is more sacred than blood.
All the vineyards surrounding Garrus as his mount carried him forward weren't owned by a single person, of course. And for every competition, there was blood to be spilled. Garrus
thought back to what first brought him out here, to the place where he would retire.
Garrus wasn't a scholarly arcanist by any means, nor did he possess any particular talent in swordsmanship. At least, no more than the next guy. Garrus had gained the Duchess's attention by what began as a simple practice of dispelling curses. Many unfortunate enough to find themselves or loved ones with such a bind are typically faced with the sole and often unaffordable option of hiring an arcanist, not to mention even finding one. The problem, however, is anyone with enough emotion and correct wording can cast a curse. Not always intentionally, either.
Growing up, Garrus constantly had his nose in old tomes of tales and history, many of which contained tragic stories ending with a cursed victim. Every curse had a crutch, an answer hidden in the wording of it, and Garrus had developed a talent for solving them. But even then, there was always a toll.
It was after the Duke of Hartsan had conflicted lycanthropy that Garrus
had received the request to come to the small duchy. A case he wouldn't normally take, since the cursed wasn't particularly willing to cooperate, but it would be hard to tell his younger self to ignore all the coin. He couldn't complain with the house and endless wine either, of course.
What was the wording to that curse, again? Something about gazing upon the moon where there is none, and being bathed in its light? Finding the full moon sculpture among nearby ruins was easy enough, but getting the Duke to follow him there at the right time was the trick to it.
It's hard to think about solving a riddle while having your loved one try to maul you, of course, but composure seemed to be what made it easy for him. These weren't his relatives or friends, which made thinking with a clear head much easier.
Taking a deep inhale of the summer wind, Garrus shook the thought away as he focus on where he was going. Hartvale, not even having a label for the curse. Behavior can often be an indicator, but the letter seemed to offer a piss-poor amount of details.
Pondering the thought, Garrus almost mowed over a crowd of people befire his horse instinctively slowed to a trot. Blinking back to attention, he was somewhat startled to find himself already passing through Farin.
That was perhaps what made Garrus actually keep the estate rather than sell it off; Something about the air of Hartsan's summers seemed to make him relaxed. More at ease.
After clearing the small town, Garrus ushered his horse back into a full run as he continued down the road. He made a bet, and even jokingly, he wanted to beat it.
Riding through the day and well into the long hours of the night, Garrus was true to his word as Hartvale came into sight. Stabling his mount at the nearby tavern, he went in to purchase a room, perhaps a few drinks as he waited for morning. As he spoke with the innkeep, however, he turn to see someone waiting for him, a book clutched in his hands.
"Lord Daverin?" he asks curiously.
"Just O'Daverin, but aye."
Blinking, the younger lad nodded and quickly apologized. "Oh, sorry, Lord O'Daverin?"
"No, I meant-" he began, stifling the urge to groan before wiping a hand through his facial hair. "You...r folks send me that letter?" he asks, not realising how young he appeared to be at first.
Nodding, the boy handed him the tome slowly. "We thought maybe this would help you, Lord."
'Tales and Myths of Hartsan, 1100' the cover read as Garrus looked down at it. Pretty recent issue, surprisingly. How much of this is garbage, and how much is actual arcane trickery at work? Looking at the lad, he smiled and patted him on the head, handing him a few gold coins. "I believe it will; Be sure to give this to your parents as thanks."
Heading to his lodging with the book, Garrus lit a candle as he opened it up and looked through the index. Pulling out the letter, he began looking for anything at all that might help.
'...thirty years,' Okay, so if the curse was recorded, it might just be here. Question is, did it happen thirty years ago, or is that just when it became more noticeable? Either way, it's a place to start. What else?
Kidnapping and... Oh, that's right; Utensils. Obsessive behavior possibly, but for what reason? Sounds like all the disappearances are male, based on the letter. That might suggest a succubus? They hired the wrong bloody person if that turns out to be the case. If it is a curse, maybe a female victim?
That's a better start. Flipping through the index, Garrus began quickly scanning over the various tales. 'Grapes of Wrath' No. 'Snowfall Over Harvest' Doesn't seem right. 'The Rise and Fall of Falandra' That one seems intriguing.
Flipping to the page, Garrus read the tale of Madame Falandra, her sellout and retirement, and the last day she was seen before disappearing, that last soirée. There doesn't seem to be a mention of any hexing occurring, but the run-in with the hungry beggar seems too coincidental.
He needs to know the wording if he wants to figure this out. And God knows what Falandra turned into if she's already killed a dozen men.
Closing the book, he blew put the candle before undressing and stepping over to his bed. Going to her estate was dangerous, but that seemed to be the only option. He'd need to ask the townsfolk tomorrow if they know the location.
**********
Waking the next day, Garrus gathered everything and stopped for a morning meal at the bar before exiting out into the town. Preparing to ask around about the estate, people were all too eager to speak with him, it seemed, and were able to point him in the right direction with ease. They seemed worried of the place, thinking the place to be haunted with Falandra's ghost. While apparitions aren't real, they may not be too far from the truth.
Riding for a few hours, it was fairly obvious Garrus had reached his destination as he came upon a crumbling house that may once have been grand, hundreds of silverware pieces, a vast majority being spoons, were scattered all over and even hanging off thin ropes from the roof. Cautiously approaching the building and proceeding inside, Garrus gagged and sparked a violent coughing fit as the stench assailed his nostrils. Pinching his nose and looking around, he found piles upon piles of silverware lying about. No bloody wonder people noticed their utensils going missing.
Proceeding around the piles cautiously, he walked into a nearby hallway and glanced into a room on his left. Proceeding inside, it appeared to be a bedroom, a smashed mirror hanging on the wall. Looking at it closer, dried blood caked the glass in the center. Poor girl couldn't stand seeing herself turn into a monster.
Scrawled on the desk, or rather carved, he noticed claw marks forming out the same phrases over and over. 'No spoon to sate my hunger. No longer like my face. No friends to revel with.' With each rendition becoming less and less legible.
Not the exact wording, but that seemed to be what he was looking for. 'No spoon to sate my hunger.' Definitely explains all this bloody silverware. Her face? Sounds like polymorphism, common tag-on for many curses. All that leaves is the friends; The missing people? No sign of them.
Exiting the bedroom, he walked into a dining room judging by the table, a nearby cooking pot giving off a foul odor, the flames under it burning brightly. Or maybe the smell was coming from the fresh corpses seated at the table. Only then did Garrus realize the dust on the floor was most likely bone powder smashed long ago. Twelve missing? Might be more than that...
Looking closely at one of the bodies, he noticed the jaw snapped with several of the upper teeth smashed away, remnants left on his tongue. Broken limbs, he was definitely bound, most likely force-fed. That would answer the rest of his questions.
Beggar cursed her after being denied the Right of Hospitality, fickle friends and no family left her isolated, and she's been seeking a cure ever since. Took some pieces of the curse a bit literally, it seems like. But... Is it as simple as that?
Bang.
Shit, what was that? She's home. Not good. Hide. Hide. No where to go... Garrus quickly zipped under the table and used one of the decrepit bodies as cover as the creature entered. Seeing only the feet, he could see signs of skin deterioration and bone rot. He struggled not to cough as it walked over to the cauldron, stirring it while making animalistic growls.
Though he couldn't see it, she most likely had claws, if not still sentient enough to carry a weapon. Garrus gripped the pommel of his blade, preparing to use it if she didn't leave. Luckily, she departed after a moment and allowed him to crawl out from under the table.
Pulling his blade out and preparing for her return, he glanced back at the foul spew behind him before his gaze was ripped back forward. Standing in the doorway and staring at him with a cold dead eye, the other hanging and looking more at the floor, he began waving the blade back and forth as she seemed lulled by it.
"Just... Stay calm." He said slowly. "Falandra, rig- Oi, stay fucking back!" He began, shouting and threatening her as she attempted to lunge for him. He was right... Those claws could easily gouge his throat.
Walking over to a stack of bowls, he glanced at them and grabbed a pair of silver ones. "You've been looking for a dinner partner, right?" Needing to threaten her again as he approached the cauldron, he gagged before slowly dropping his sword and dipping the two bowls in. "Well here I am... A willing friend." he finished, offering the creature one of the bowls.
Eagerly yanking it from his hand, she rushed over to the table and slammed it down, kicking the body out of her chair before sitting down, watching Garrus slowly do the same. As he sat, she reached over for a pair of silver spoons, attempting to hand him one and growling menacingly when he hesitated.
Looking at the spoon and the foul stew, Garrus shook his head and looked at Falandra. "You've been looking for the right spoon to sate you, but that's the trick. No spoon." he says, shaking it before him until she began mimicking. Nodding, he dropped the spoon from the table and waited for her to do the same, obviously causing her pain with the long hesitation that came before.
"Good. Now, we drink." he said, lifting the bowl to his lips as she did the same. Trying not to get any on his tongue, and failing, he stifled a cough and began tipping her bowl upwards. "Keep going. You have to look at yourself."
Draining the liquid, the creature had its face buried in the silver dish before suddenly dropping back from the chair. Seeming to whimper as a white glow began to illuminate the room, Garrus quickly stood up and attempted to keep up as she bolted from the room, the house, and into the woods. After a short chase, Garrus was led to a large tree, an elderly and frail looking woman cowering beneath it.
"P-Please, no..." she rasped, Garrus quickly shushing her and lifting her in his arms.
"You're safe, I'm not going to hurt you. My majordomo will take good care of you."
Slowly carrying her back to his horse, he carefully saddles her before climbing up himself. Luckily he had backtracked from Hartvale when coming to this estate, meaning he should be able to straight shot home. Coughing as they began the journey, he sighed as he looked at his hand and wiped the blood away.
Reaching his estate by nightfall, he helped Falandra off his horse before carrying her to the front door, the majordomo already waiting for him.
"Guests, Sir?" He asked with a bit of a dry chuckle.
"Have someone send a return letter back to Hartvale; Problem solved. And get Falandra here something to eat, as well as anything else she needs." he says, the majordomo leading her away gently to the kitchen.
With a sigh, Garrus retired to his office and slumped into his chair. Within minutes, he was joined by the ever faithful majordomo.
"Madame Falandra," he said with a nod. "I thought the name was familiar; Responsible for Sullivan's early growth, if I'm not mistaken." he continued, proud as he spoke from memory. "What ever happened to her?"
"Ran afoul of a beggar who cursed her, turned her into a walking corpse. Wording involved having no spoon feed her hunger and no one to dine with."
"How ever did you solve it, Sir?"
"Sat down and drank some rank stew, without utensils. Made her look at her reflection when she was done."
"As simple as that?" the majordomo inquired with surprise.
"Kind of hard to find a willing partner when you have violent tendencies and look like that. A lot of hexes like to play on irony."
"It's good you were able to free her, then." he replied with a nod, leaving Garrus in peace as he returned to Falandra.
The next morning, Garrus woke up to delicious smelling eggs and sausage sitting on his table. Eating it without thought, he looked at the tray curiously afterwards. Since when did the majordomo learn to cook?
Exiting his room with the tray, Garrus found a grey-haired woman standing over the stone, turning to him with a beaming smile. "Garrus O'Daverin. I owe you everything for releasing me from that nightmare." she said, suddenly hugging him with a surprising amount of force considering her size.
"Eh, it's just a hobby." he joked with a short cough, wiping his hand as he looked over at the stove. "Did you make me that breakfast? How're you feeling?"
"Better than the last forty years. I'm tired, but I don't think women were meant to live this long, so I can't complain. And the breakfast was the least I can do for letting me recover here. Even before I was cursed, I enjoyed cooking. Never had servants for that, it was my own hobby."
"Do you have any plans out there? The world may have changed a bit, and you know you're welcome to stay here."
Smiling again, she nodded graciously and hugged him again. "You have not only saved my life, but given it new meaning... Thank you."
Nodding and letting her return to cook, Garrus walked outside to observe his estate as he coughed into a glove. His majordomo suddenly appeared behind him.
"How high was the toll, Sir?"
"Maybe a year or two. Doesn't matter."
"You're not worried?"
"How many curses have I solved at this point? Eighteen? Ninteen? Ninteen lives extended at the price of shortening one? You know I always enjoy a bargain." Garrus replied, shortly followed by a heavier cough.
"I know, Sir."
