Surveying the once-cursed fortress with a sense of cautious relief, Felix took a deep breath. The air no longer hummed with magic, but the aftermath was a chaotic mess of debris, scattered stonework, and shattered furniture. Purposefully organizing the other porters to clear away the remnants, he moved slowly through the rubble, his gait irregular because of injuries sustained fighting the vampire spawn. If he focused on delegating tasks efficiently it kept his mind off the pain. The cursed fortress, now cleansed, still felt heavy with the ghosts of its past. Lucian’s counsel that we needed to finish the clearing of the catacombs to truly lay the curse to rest was driving their efforts.
Gilbert was sifting through the wreckage nearby, his fingers brushing over discarded weapons and armor of indeterminate age and disrepair, pausing only to mutter a line of verse. “The stars, like watchful eyes in heaven’s dome…” His mind seemed split between cataloging supplies and weaving some new poetry. Felix is again reminded that he could never understand how Gilbert’s mind worked, but he appreciated his acumen and candor regardless.
As Felix surveyed the wreckage, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. Damian was off at Runeheim’s Church, recovering from the touch of the Vulgaris. What other trouble were those mages brewing in the shadows? He gave a small prayer of thanks to Benalus for the timely intervention of Sir Euthymius for his intervention on that. And then another for it again after the catastrophe that was the assault on the monastery. So many Rooks… it was clear these northmen did not understand the threat of the Vampires. He unconsciously pulled his collar higher up his neck.
Wincing and pushing himself against the wall to give some clearance to other porters moving an impressively large stone, his thoughts wandered to that foppish noble from House Drake lurking at Forum. He didn’t expect something less savory than a Rennet to show itself so quickly, but they didn’t seem to have any obvious allies around either. An ongoing threat, but not yet a naked blade. He mused on how to make him scarce without resorting to… Dunnick methods.
As Felix helped shuffle some rubble into a bucket, he signaled to the waiting porter it was good to remove. Watching as the scum left the hallway he recalled the reaction at Court to the prospect of conscripting the local scum and putting them to actual service of the Reich. He was still stunned by it. Putting scum to honest labor for their liege, whom they have provided nothing, yet received food and protection, they acted like these were hordes of the war-wounded, not contributing not out of choice, but necessity. He audibly scoffed to himself. Were the northmen that raided their shores so soft-hearted? Service with arms would teach these scum discipline and give them purpose. Instill comradeship with their countymen and to love the lands they fought for. That’s how you turn scum to use for the lands they otherwise refuse to work. When you bleed for the land you learn to care for it.
He groaned while pulling himself up along the wall and wiped his dusty hands on his pants. It’s fine. Her Ladyship was Seneschal now. We will aid the people here. Build their almshouse, whenever they deign it’s time. “We’ll make ourselves useful.” he reaffirmed “That’s how things get done.”
