Necklace of memories (1)

Emrys squeezed his long elven ear lobe and stretched it until he felt a barely audible pop. He grimaced at the released pressure as he studied the body strewn across the hay bale. The wind was ruffling the thin man’s poor linen clothes, a surprise considering the snow outside had been falling lightly for 2 days now. Flakes were drifting into the dilapidated open walled barn, as Emrys knelt to get a closer look. The clothes were faded, frayed and recently torn. “Who found him?” Emrys asked the only other living soul in the barn. Tevis, a short statured human, jumped slightly, brought out of his reverie. “Um, my brother Jaimi this morning. He thinks he might have been here for a couple of days, Sire.” Emrys looked sharply at Tevis “Don’t call me Sire, I work for a living. Call me Investigator”. Tevis nodded and looked away from the one blue and one green eye admonishing him.

Emrys shook in the cold and stood, brushing the frozen dirt off his knees. Pointing at the dead man's naked feet he said, “He walked barefoot here in the snow, and he was beginning to get frostbite.” Walking around the body “There are also scratch marks on his hands and lower arms, one of which has a bramble thorn in it. Are there any brambles nearby?” Tevis looked confused “Well, Investigator, we have bramble hedges throughout the whole farm of course, to erm, keep out the dead.” Emrys again looked pointedly at the human “Pity it did not work.” Tevis glanced to his right at the blue clad figure silently standing in the falling snow outside the barn and shuffled his feet nervously. Stopping and peering down through the rents on the back of the mans tunic, Emrys saw the overlapping whip marks on the man’s skin over the ribs showing through on his back. There was also a brand of two crossed picks over 3 stones on the back of his neck. “Obviously he was a thrall from Thorkills penal mine at Brettagrut, and for some time, judging by his emaciated state. Poor bugger, the orcs at the mine are unrelenting in their ‘discipline’.”

Walking on, the long limbed elf cocked his head and peered closer at the clenched fist buried in the hay bale. Gently prising apart the fingers they revealed a motley collection of bizarre items, a scrap of paper, a brown tag and some coloured glass stones, possibly minor gems. Carefully taking out a handkerchief, Emrys scooped up the items. Folding the hankie, he gently filled his fur coat pocket. Looking up at the back of the young farmer, Emrys said “Go back to your brother’s house, it is time for the cluetake.” Tevis turned around and blanched; “Ok, ok, ok” he whispered and scuttled away down the slope, clumping through the snow to avoid the silent blue figure. The remaining warm figure knelt,bowed his head and took a deep breath. Exhaling a plume of fog, it was quickly dispersed by the frigid flaked air gusting through the barn. Taking out his chain of seven pearls, he placed them on the shaven head of the body. Rubbing his hands and blowing on them to keep the fingertips warm, Emrys closed his eyes to concentrate. The barn was silent for a frozen instant that stretched into a minute.

When two black eyes opened a warm hand reached out and was placed on the dead flesh as the wind drove snow through the barn. The kneeling figure became still as if the life had been drawn from it by the corpse slumped over the dirty mound of hay. A whimper escaped his lips as Emrys mind fought through the memories of the dead man. Immediately he determined the man had only died early this morning, as his memories were clear and not damaged in any major way. Rapidly searching for memories that could explain his death, seven flashbacks that chimed as the most relevant by the deceased were ‘lifted’ by Emrys and stuck to the pearls psychic presence. Emrys then removed his hand rapidly to snatch up the pearls and rubbed his forehead with his other hand in a vague attempt to stave off the inevitable headache.

Emrys knew that even skullcap herbs could not help with the pain that would follow. Thankfully the migraine only lasted a mere hour afterwards, providing the cluetake was less than a minute. Emrys contemplated the horror that was taught at Investigator school in Beddmerthyr of staying too long in the mind of the dead. He rolled around in his head the memory of his mentor telling him of the dangers involved in cluetakes.

His mentor Osian was stood by the wide oaken doors leading to the mortuary. Clasping his hands behind his back he had said “Spending too much time during a cluetake increases the risk of an investigator being forever trapped in the body of the dead, unable to reach the afterlife. Regrettable as it is for the investigator, the more pressing matter would be that the dead soulless mind would fill and occupy the now vacant living body. As the soul had already departed, the dead mind, or Meddwlmarw, would be filled with pain and rage, and invariably savagely attempts to murder any living creatures nearby. For this reason, every investigator is accompanied by a Beddmilwr, or grave guard. These are former investigators who stayed too long and now inhabit corpses.” Stepping up to a small timeworn statue Osian indicated the inscrip[tion below with an outstretched palm. “They are armed with an axe polearm known as a Bardiche, and a cosh for subduing the living; usually dressed in traditional mourning clothing of a blue kimono, sandals and leather helmet.. Mute, they are heavily conditioned, and their skin is covered in runic sigils and magical brandings. They are primarily dedicated to the immediate destruction of revenants by decapitation. Otherwise they will protect their Investigator, obeying their lawful instructions.” Rolling the memory back, the Investigator put the memory back into his Ioci palace.

Checking over his shoulder that his Beddmilwr Tanwen was in her allotted place within 20 paces. Emrys motioned with a handwave for her to follow him as he headed towards a slight hole in the bramble hedge further up the slope. Wishing he had brought snowshoes, Emrys eventually reached the gap in the hedge, He picked out a torn strip of linen fluttering in the breeze. Then carefully squeezing through the gap he emerged into an unploughed field descending down to a small river. Observing a faint trail through the pitti-pat of snow, he trudged slowly downhill. He heard several twacks from the Bardiche behind him, and then rhythmic crunches as the Beddmilwr walked through the elf wide void and followed her charge.

Yellow eyes looked from the farmhouse at the bottom of the hill as the pair disappeared through the hedge. The owner of the eyes, an orc called Thorkill, turned his ruined face to Tevis’s wife Charlotte. She meekly smiled in return and offered him spider cakes. Grunting dismissively from the insult, he motions for the six thralls to go and collect the body from the barn. “Make sure you get the docket he stole.” he flung the words at his cowering chattel, and they scampered rapidly through the snow, carrying a blue tarpulin. They were slowly followed by a second orc wearing Thorkill’s crest of two picks crossed over three rocks, on his guards' uniform.

Whilst Emrys was in the barn an uneasy silence existed between Charlotte and Thorkill, even though she had made sure all her guests were fed and watered. The silence continued even when they were joined by Tevis. She had previously offered the same food to Thorkill, and his guard as to the thralls. The guard had thanked her sullenly, trying to ignore the insult. Thorkill had just stared at her, his face unreadable behind the horrific burns. Spider pie was a human speciality, one rarely enjoyed by orcs. Charlotte had heard of Thorkill, the governor of the penal mine, and the stories were more unsavoury than his face, unlike a sugary Spider pie.

Several minutes later the thralls returned with the body of the former miner and the guard reported to his penal mine owner that there was no docket. Thorkill glowered then turned to Tevis and stepped into his personal space. Thorkill then slowly tipped the plate on the kitchen table so that the remaining spider pies slid onto the floor, each emitting a soft ‘douf’ when they landed.. He quietly stated in a slight danish accent “Ensure you say nothing to that elven fool about me or my men” as he brushed non-existent dust off Tevis’s shoulders with his gloved fingers. Trembling, Tevis nodded. Thorkill continued as he walked out the farmhouse door “I would have a word with your wife about her poor hospitality, and how not to annoy your betters”. The orc passed through the tall bramble arch to the stables with his minions following to the coach waiting there, hidden. The harnessed bulls stamped and snorted as the coach creaked when Thorkill climbed into the cabin. His guard stood on the back of the coach, while the thralls lined up behind the carriage, carrying the wrapped body. The guard nodded at the half asleep driver and the rough carriage slowly left the stables. Reaching the road, it turned north towards the river and the mine beyond it.

Tevis eyed the dust cloud moving away towards the mine “Charlie, tell Jaimi to prepare a raven. We need to inform Lord Lennox that Thorkill is out and about. Well done on the cakes, he was so thoroughly annoyed, I do not think he noticed our kitchen girl was missing.” Charlotte smiled, and skipped back into the house, leaving her husband to ponder his next move.