Completed Jack of clubs

[Gormyr Snowsong]

8th of Winter, Cemetery, Evening


He got warned about doing his job better. Running a tight ship, they called it. Funny. The exhibitions with Annie distracted him from his real goal – information. They would need a new deal where she provided him with more information in return for his side of it. The bang on the cobbles reminded him of last night. As he nudged in that direction, the movement was too quick for a hunched man with a bad leg. He would need to pay more attention. The sound repeated. It became rhythmic. Drew closer.

tk tk tk tk tk tk tk

Then he could finally see it, the small rock as it moved towards him – almost invisible. There was mist on it, but he couldn’t trace where it came from exactly. A visitor wanted his attention and got it. It was always hard to feel ghosts in this place. You started to know they were here when coming up the road to the cemetery, and the feeling never left you. It reminded him of his situation. The voice that came was next to him “I saw you yesterday” as he turned towards the voice, he was met with a horribly disfigured face. The translucent shape suggested that the deformities of the head were produced by blunt force. The neck looked unnaturally cooked and several of the fingers on the right hand were squished. You always had to be wary of ghosts who chose forms that were unpleasant to be around. Most often they just reveled in the terror of it.

“I don’t want to repeat myself!” and the stone that had since stopped banging flew close enough to his head that there was no mistaking its intention. Pulled out of his thoughts, Gormyr realized he’d been appraising the spirit a bit longer. Common. Bob. “Mean no ill” he hunched a bit lower in an awkward play at a bow, but the spirit seemed unamused “Don’t play dumb” another banging sound, as the onceface pulled closer to his own. “I am more than able to make us look as brothers”. That hit a nerve, and Vantha looked up at him, eyes betraying resentment. Pulling his hand up, he jabbed his index towards the ghost, just shy of touching him. “Could fight. Could win”. That gave the ghost a good laugh “There is no need for us to struggle. Even if you win, I can make sure you die. I need but make noise. The Wave will come. They will come” it felt like he feared them somewhat. “Your eyes betray you” and an index of his own, crossed together almost like swords “and I can make sure they look hard enough” tone mocking.

“What you want?” they were past polite of any shape “I want you to get it back!” even in the disfigured state he was in, the remainder of his lip still twitched up. “My life’s work” and there he became quieter, as if he was worried about the other specters knowing. “Why not you take it? Is yours, no?” the spirit seemed taken aback “Cause I’d rather not be dusted of course” dusted? Gormyr was just barely able not to ask. It would serve him better if he pretended to know. Either his eyes were on his side for the moment, or the newcomer was distracted – but he was able to hide his inexperience.


“Why I do it?” the spirit seemed to ponder that one a bit. “Are you not afraid of death, boy?” shoulders rolled in resignation “Very scared, but more world than you”. This stopped the ghost in its tracks “What you do for me?”
“Ah, a man after my own heart” the ghost was having fun “If you get my work back from the traitors, I will share it with you. Such marvels!” the ghost paused, and added “If we work together well here, there is always more work to be done”.


“What is your work?” ghostly hands clapped together soundless. He could feel the Vantha on his hook. “How would you like to be one of them?” he looked with contempt at the city “How would you like to hide in things other than grime?” when the Vantha cocked his head in confusion “Grime, dirt, mud, shyke, grime!” each word louder than the last, but his message got across.

“I like that”

[Gormyr Snowsong]

The ghost drifted back and forth in front of the Vantha. It almost reminded of nervous pacing. As his behavior became more human, so did his features lose some of their monstrosity. The figure turned back and only the face was still distorted. “They’ve taken from me” his hand pointed firmly towards the University quarter. “They’ve stolen from me!” at this moment more anger flared in the voice, but the shape didn’t change. Perhaps the ghost was more stable than it looked originally. “You want us take it back. Your lifework. What is it?” It was a struggle maintaining conversations in this language, but the ghost seemed to understand him.

“I used to be a flesh artist. My work wa” and then he stopped when saw the Vantha’s eyes glazing over. “I was a shaper of flesh” the ghost seemed to be pleased with himself at the alternative, but the message just wasn’t getting across. Somewhat resigned, he finished “I made myself look different”. This was something Gormyr could understand, it was part of his daily routine as well. He nodded and gestured the spirit to continue his story. It made more sense that he was so dramatic if he’d been an actor in life. He met many of the older Snowsongs who had this trait. It wasn’t exactly a good quality, but it was understandable.
“You illiterate oaf!” while it was hard to follow his words here, Gormyr did know the word illiterate, so he nodded. The ghost looked at him quizzically “Have you been raised by wolves, boy?” this actually brought a smile to the Vantha’s face. “Bears”.

It seemed like the visitor didn’t appreciate his quality joke – perhaps he could try telling Annie sometime, she would get it. “I not sure makeup and clothes will” he picked up some dirt and blew it from his fingers, lacking words “my problems”. The ghost seemed thoughtful somehow “Your mind is much too limited. Your thinking still too base” mist slowly stretched from his hand and pulled back the stone he threw “Magic! Not theatre!” the last bit was added with slight disgust. This got the Vantha’s attention instantly, but he shied his eyes away from the ghost. He pretended to observe the stone’s movements and the visitor took the bait. “I mean no harm, today” he said, letting the stone fall slowly from his influence.

“You give me this mag” tsk tsk tsk “Not to be given, boy. I can show you. Gods be patient, I might even be able to teach you” his deformed skull did its best attempt at a squint “But” and got interrupted “I get something first” Gormyr’s hand asked for haste. This moment, the eagerness oozed from him and he wasted no time in trying to disguise it. Whatever it was, he’d get it. “My name is Julian Rusetter. I was once a respected scholar and lived with like minds up on the West” that last name reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite grasp it at the moment. “I trusted my work to a friend. He got jealous. Took my career. Took my wife. Took my life” if the ghost seemed angry thus far, he was enraged at the last bit “HID MY WORK!” there was tension left in the air. His words finally had some semblance of structure, but were still missing many details. The ghost proceeded to mumble to himself.

It took a while for Julian to calm down and produce intelligible words “I want you to find them, to kill them, to take back” it was horrifying how calm his voice was. There was a pause, and it got used “No kill people” Gormyr wasn’t sure how honest this response was, but it was true in this case. He wasn’t killing anyone for Julian. The ghost floated closer to his face. “What use are you then?” the ghost appeared angry, and as the Vantha lifted up his left hand, the cut was yet to heal. He just wanted to have the ghost wait. As if hit by an invisible whip, Julian recoiled and pushed his image several yards back. His form was now partially obscured by several stones between them. He seemed to be hiding. Gormyr wasn’t sure how to hide his excitement, but luckily the ghost spoke first “No need for such rash actions, kind sir” the tone apologetic, voice of a sycophant even “We’re all civilized here” Vantha felt the struggle of that last bit leaving the ghost’s mouth, but he would take his victories where he could.

“Names” he pressed the advantage while he still had it “Wife and friend” he tapped his foot feigning impatience. The extra energy had to go somewhere; he simply couldn’t hold it in. Was Julian afraid of his hands? Impossible. They’ve come as close as touching before and it didn’t upset the ghost. It must’ve been the wound, the blood. That made the Vantha wonder if he could hurt them with the same substance, he used to feed them. The introspection was cut short when the answers came “Lucinda, her family name was Birch, like the tree” even more than he asked, but he’d take it “and his name is Tobias Rustwater Junior” that was a name of ill omen, and were he of the Coolwater, he’d be spitting at the ground right this moment. The ghost would then proceed to explain the location of his house as closely as possible, going over everything multiple times. He knew the Vantha couldn’t get it in a single attempt. He was patient. Nice even. He was scared.

[Gormyr Snowsong]

As they crept through the University quarter, Julian had possessed a rat. The subject was small, so it wasn’t very easy to notice the movement imperfections that shaped the animal’s steps. Gormyr was usually a person to hug the side of the street, using every possible nook to get himself as hidden as possible, but he was less focused on it. His mind remained focused on maintaining the pretense of being stronger than he really was. While looking at the rodent next to him, he understood some of Julian’s weaknesses as well. Annie was much better than he was when it came to controlling movements of the possessed. Perhaps it came from the unfamiliarity of the rat’s anatomy? This was a subject which warranted further study. He let the rat creep out in front of him, as he dragged behind. He wanted to avoid open spaces like these when he could, as maintaining the posture was trouble enough, but pretending your leg was hurt only prolonged every action he needed to take.

The animal stopped abruptly, staring up to a house on its right. Due to the sudden change of pace, he chose to maintain posture rather than stop in time, and a small squeal was heard as he consciously stepped on the rat’s tail. Julian seemed furious, so he made sure to pick him up with his left hand. As expected, this caused a momentary change in attitude. The man crept to the right, close to the house, but out of other people’s way. He became shifty and kept looking over his shoulder as well as to the front to make sure no one was observing them. What he was about to do next would get him labeled insane, so caution was logical. “This house?” the rat was making some noises, but then finally moved its entire body up and down. A nod. Good. “You check they inside. You go” the rat nudged with disapproval “I look door. I look window. They see. Situation bad” there was a brief flashing of teeth as the ghost expelled himself from the body. It took a lot of care to drop the rat quickly enough not to get bitten. The animal regained its senses quickly and fled from sight.

Julian’s ghostly visage quickly slid through the cottage wall. A shortened scream, followed by noises of metal hitting metal. There seemed to be a conversation happening inside. It was much too muffled for the Vantha to hear, but he put his ear to wall anyway. Still too worried to look through the window, he doubled over his knees and slid his body further into the shadow. He wasn’t sure what he was hiding from, but he felt exposed. The conversation stopped and the silence went on for the longest time. Then, the unmistakable click of the door lock consumed all of his attention. A small silhouette darkened the alley entrance, head inspecting in his direction. This sort of attention was dangerous. If he broke posture and started running, he was certain he could outrun the stranger. Explaining the ruckus to the Wave would’ve been another story entirely.

“Sir?” there was no mistaking it, they were searching him out. The voice was female, older. He let the words hang in the air far longer than comfortable, trying to gauge what she’d do. “Are you” sounding scared herself “Are you sure he’s here?” as she looked away, to her own door, Julian’s voice was easy to recognize “He’s here”. Using the distraction, he quietly stood up, moving his body to the center of the alley. He made sure not to drag his leg or look up. It wouldn’t be safe for her to see his eyes. While he couldn’t quite make it out, he did hear her get startled. From his perspective, it was a quick shuffling of the feet. “Would you like to come in, sir?” he nodded with his already hunched body, almost bowing. She must’ve been paying attention to how low his gaze was, as she waved for him to follow almost at hip level. When he started moving, he made sure to drag his left leg once again.

Standing in the doorway, he hesitated before entering. Allowing his gaze to lift a bit, he kept his eyes squinted, scanning the edges of the one room cottage. He could se the woman, her back still turned to him. Julian was visible in the corner of the room, half phased through the wall. He could see no other people there, but he took his time to check several times. There was a surprising lack of hiding places. There was an old table, clearly worn by time, 4 mismatched chairs surrounding it. All of them had seen better days. There was a bed in the other corner, big enough to hold two. He could see a chest at the foot of the bed, made of fine wood, the lacquer suffered heavy use. The hearth was in the center of the home, some embers still present and giving faint illumination to the room. There wasn’t much to this lodging. Somehow, he expected people in this quarter to live much better than him and his neighbors. The home was definitely cleaner, and there was a slightly larger amount of furniture – but poor was poor in all places apparently. He shifted his body inside, closing the door behind him without losing sight of the two.

[Gormyr Snowsong]

The woman pointed to the table, pulling out two cups and pouring them some water. She sat down on the far side of it. Gormyr took the invitation, making sure to brush some more ash over the embers as he pulled closer, the room grew darker. He sat opposite her, and Julian floated in the spot of another chair between the two of them. It was interesting how he chose to follow the Vantha’s right hand rather than the left. No one spoke for a longer time, and Julian grew impatient. “Wife, this is a colleague, Bob” there was amusement in his voice. “We came to take back what was stolen” the image edged closer to Gormyr’s side of the table, as if to signify they were together in this. With the fire properly sedated, the Vantha could afford to appraise the woman. His eyes lifted up and he could see she wasn’t paying much attention to the living, she had Julian to worry about. She was old. Grandmother old. Her face twisted layers of dried leather, sagging in all the most unfortunate places. He thought her eyes were a lighter color, blue or grey. He wasn’t allowed to dwell on her eyes, lest she caught his gaze. Just how long was Julian dead for?

He could see the ghost raising his hand towards an item further in the dark. It wasn’t possible to immediately make out his intention, but the mist which followed the gesture was unmistakable. “Well?!” the voice prodded further “Where is it?!” and he could hear the item being edged ever closer. The object outlined in the mist was longer, narrow. A knife perhaps? “Why do you keep tormenting me?” she looked resigned to her fate, she even looked towards the uncanny movements of the knife and barely reacted at all. “If it’s revenge you came for, kill me and be done with it. I am old now. I grow tired of these gam” but she wasn’t allowed to finish as the knife slammed awkwardly into the table between them. He knew the intention was for it to be stabbed into the wood, but it just bounced in the middle unfortunately. Julian’s unstable emotions were showing him the outlines of the ghost’s ability. “Games!” the voice was now loud enough to bother the neighbors “You filthy, thieving” and he even interrupted himself with a cackle of some sort “Games!” it felt like the conversation wasn’t aiming to be a peaceful one. “We could just take the secrets from your corpse!” anger flashed as the knife started shaking on the tabletop.

Gormyr couldn’t afford to be this close to a murder scene, it would draw unwanted attention. Whoever she was, whatever she did, he couldn’t let her be killed in his presence. “No” he surprised even himself at how powerful his voice seemed, although it wasn’t that loud. This caused the woman to look in his direction, but Julian seemed to be ignoring his request. Annoyed at the lack of control over the situation, Gormyr stretched his hand out to grab the blade out of the ghost’s grasp. He made sure his left hand remained free. He moved too quickly again, he needed to learn to stay slow even when it was a disadvantage to him. It was hard to fight nature. Being physically stopped seemed to get Julian’s attention and he went for yelling again “We don’t need her! We just need” his vexing words cut themselves in half as the Vantha laid his left hand on the table, palm facing upwards. The quick reaction told him there was no need for threats. “No hurt old woman” he looked towards the ghost, making sure he was understood. “You leave. I ask about work, take if possible. We meet other day” Julian didn’t seem happy, but there was a slight nod to his deformity as he slowly drifted out the front door. Soon after, screams and yelling could be heard in the street. In his anger, Julian forgot himself. He would either get out of the road quickly or have to deal with the envoyers, either way, he wasn’t Gormyr’s problem for tonight. Once he could no longer sense a ghost in the vicinity, he let go of the knife and turned his attention back towards the woman.

“Passionate, angry, apologies” he pointed to the door behind him. “Is he really gone?” her voice was still careful. The man nodded and she quickly became a different person. He could see her eyeing the knife between them, even edging her hand closer to it. He let her. He was confident he could overpower an old woman, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. “Was that a smart move?” she also looked towards the door. “I could yell and the guard would come” she grabbed the handle “I could” and she nudged the blade slightly forward “and you would go away too” it was strange how calm she became once he was out of the room. She didn’t seem violent, but she did let the question hang in the air. “You afraid him, he afraid me” his shoulders rolled as if it was the most obvious truth of the world. The reasoning seemed to resonate with her and she moved her hand away from the knife. This was good, but he would still make sure not to turn his back on her.

“Lucinda Birch” he gestured to her. It took her a while, but she nodded. “Husband?” this time pointing towards the door. “No longer” she pulled down on her collar and showed him a mark. He couldn’t make it out in the dim light, and she quickly obscured it again.

“We need speak”.

[Gormyr Snowsong]

“You aren’t from around here, Bob” he shook his head and took over the conversation “Julian say two of you trick him, kill him, rob him” he waved towards the door “We find what he wants, he no come back” it was his own greed which fueled this entire exchange, but there was no reason other people shouldn’t see benefit from it. She seemed to take the time to consider his words, so he added a question of his own “Where other? Where Tobias?” this pulled her mind back into the present and she was quick to anger. “Is this another one of his games?” even when her eyes were daggers, her voice was too quiet to ever leave the room. “He knows where Tobias is, he killed him” this came as a surprise to the Vantha, and he was glad he wasn’t meeting the woman’s gaze openly. “Ghost has different story. Tobias and wife cheat him, kill him”. He wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting but definitely not for her to openly admit it.

“We did. We tricked him to control him, then we lied to him to get him sent to the Asylum” she sniffed at her words, but she continued “He died there”. Hearing the explanation, the Vantha could fully appreciate Julian’s rage. There must’ve been more to the story. “Why send him there?” seemed a natural direction. “He started getting these episodes. Not knowing who I was, not knowing who he was” she made a sound as to spit on the floor, but stopped herself mid action. It was her floor after all. “Damn magic!” she knocked her own cup off the table “we had a quiet life before he started meddling with things he shouldn’t” the man wasn’t sure if he fully understood everything she said, but he could follow the main idea. Magic, madness, lies, imprisonment, death.

“Tobias dead how?” the woman seemed embarrassed for a moment, then angry, then scared again “When we heard of his death, we went to pick his body up. He looked dead” she pressed her lips together waiting a long time before her next words “But this work of his, it changed the body. I had seen him look twice as hurt and get back up. We couldn’t have that, you see” she went beneath the table to pick the cup back up while the Vantha watched carefully whether the knife moved with her. It had not. The silence was long, and were it a conversation in Vani, Gormyr would’ve lost his patience three times over at this point. Yet, in the tongue of the locals, his own weakness made him a better listener. Finally, she continued “We took a small boat, rowed well into Matthews. We smashed his head with stones. Then we tied those same stones to his legs and pushed the body overboard” her story seemed unfinished, so the Vantha tried to confirm “Stone head, stone leg, can’t swim, go down?” and he pointed back at her, waiting for an answer. “Yes” she said before continuing “A dozen or so days later, Tobias was found dead in his home, head smashed with a rock, that same rock left by his legs. I didn’t understand how it happened, but I understood what it was. Revenge. And we had it coming” she became quiet again.

“Why not kill you?” Vantha’s words were genuine if a bit harsh “Guilt, I believe. Just as I don’t call the envoyers every time he disturbs my home. In the same way, he didn’t kill me when he could’ve. I thought it was love at first, but it has been many years. I don’t think that way anymore” it took a while for everything to fully process in the man’s mind. This was a much longer conversation than he was used to having with the living. It was tiring somehow. He stayed engaged regardless. Their story seemed a tragic one. He couldn’t really feel sadness for people he never knew, but it did look like a situation where each side lost much and hadn’t gained at all. “Why do you help him, Bob?” she eyed the man carefully, causing him to struggle to keep his gaze away from hers. “I want things he have” and pointing back to the doors “and he want things I have”. He would’ve used the word compromise, but he found the taste of it difficult in this tongue.

“You want his work? Even after everything I’ve told you?” he nodded his head. He had no life to lose, and the current lifestyle was already draining his sanity slowly. He had no wife to abandon and no friend to betray him. To himself and most others, he lived an empty existence. He gave himself purpose because that is what pushed him to meet every coming morning. Yet if the end came, there wouldn’t even be a marker for his grave. No, he couldn’t disappear from the world without leaving anything behind. He never voiced any of these thoughts as he wanted to appear strong to the old woman in front of him, but also because they were long and difficult in this barbarian tongue.

The woman turned away from him and went looking through her things. She found a small leather-bound book which appeared to have seen a lot of wear. She fished it out and placed it on the tabletop “He never needed this for his work. I’ve read it. It’s all gibberish” she shrugged her shoulders and pushed the book across to the stranger “I don’t understand why he kept coming back for it, but never took it. The silly thing wasn’t that well hidden at all”. This new wave of information came as a shock to Gormyr. If the book was irrelevant to the work, what was he doing here? What was Julian doing here for years? He would need to have a discussion with the ghost about this, but it wasn’t expected to go over well. “You take this and go” she nodded, but then needed another assurance “And he doesn’t come back?” The Vantha nodded at the first part, but felt uneasy about the second. “I take, I go, I make no promise” pushing the old journal into his clothes, he wondered what to do with it. He couldn’t read it, and it might not be safe to let Julian possess it again. There were no longer any struggles to be had, so the long day caught up to him. He was exhausted. All other questions would wait until he slept.

And they did.