Castle Pieksvaldt has never been a place one could describe as 'bright' or 'sunny', but the gloom overhanging the keep deepens as night draws near, and in more ways than just the lengthening shadows. It was first apparent when the 'guests' retired for the night. Not long after they turned in, the castle staff left as well, filing out the great doors at the front of the castle to return to the village below. By then, Lilac was ushered back to her quarters as well by the castle housemen. Emerging again, she finds the grounds deathly quiet. No scuff of feet. No crickets. No vermites. Nothing.
All the tapers, sconces, and chandeliers are unlit, and even Lilac's low-light eyes find the darkness nearly impenetrable. Little of the Procession's light can penetrate the oppressive clouds above.
It's fortunate that she has had some time before this to look around… though the manor is large, Lilac has some idea where several points of interest were, and they could be committed to memory.
Well Lisandra, you wanted an adventurous life, Lilac thinks as she tip-toes through the halls, proceeding towards the front of the castle. And here you are, pregnant and searching through a scary dark castle looking for dead people and people that may even be more dead than dead. She can't even rely on her bestial otherness to help her out here – a number of the castle occupants can boast the same powerful curse. I just hope all the time I spent sneaking around is enough to defeat people who have been sneaking for who knows how many years.
What few vestiges of sunlight there were amongst the thick clouds has waned by the time Lilac makes her way to the courtyard. It's wide, empty, and silent. At one corner stands a narrow building, long but also tall like many of the other Korvish structures here, giving it the impression of a skinny person backed shoulders-and-all into a corner. The arched roof is steep, and a belfry stands over it, the shadows within too deep to see past its outer slats.
Squinting, Lilac tries to make out any symbolism that might mark this structure as a Church of the Gear. Being they're originally from Chronotopia, I'm sure they must have a Church of the Gear. I really wish I'd have thought of this idea before we left the monastery in Justininople. Earlier, during her search for a means to ascend the towers, Lilac stumbled upon an idea: if the Midnight Murder and the Raveness were of Chronotopian decent, then they must believe in the Gear, and surely what they've become and what they've endured must have shattered their faith. If that faith could be rekindled, or just stirred, then it may be the advantage she and her friends need to act when the time comes.
The chapel is stately as most things here, and certainly bigger than Abbot Werner's mission, but it is austere, with little ornamentation. Still, it has a certain… order to it. The angles are sharp and precise, the joins are smooth and even. It's difficult to tell from the ground in the dark, but if Lilac squints she can see that there are words carved into the keystone above the doors. "Order in Purpose, Purpose in Civilization, Civilization in Order." Below, one of the bricks in the foundation reads, "Est. 5821 RTR"
This surely must be the place, Lilac decides. As she slips through the darkness towards the door, she can't help but feel comforted by both the message and the chapel's proximity. She certainly felt more at ease within Werner's mission, though she couldn't quite say why. She's doesn't think she believes in the Great Gear exactly, but the idea of peaceful and holy order is comforting – especially when her life is neither peaceful nor orderly. And, she doesn't even want to think about her holiness or lack there of. If I'm right, then I bet most of them avoid this place. It must be too painful for them, but there may be one or two who cling to it still. Carefully, she makes her way to the door, and tries to open it quietly.
The latch is stiff, but it clicks when Lilac tries it. It's wrought iron, likely made before iron cheapened, and the clack of it echoes through the courtyard, as does the creak of the heavy wooden door swinging inward a few inches, its squeal reverberating off the walls inside and out despite its perfect balance.
Frowning, Lilac's ears flatten. Well, that answers if the chapel has been used recently or not, she grumbles internally. I'd better get inside, either way I'm better off in there than standing out here. She folds her wings tightly to her back, pulling her skirts in, so she can slip inside without any more opening than need be. Being skinny comes in handy now and then, she decides.
The bardess is able to squeeze through without needing to widen the gap much more, minimizing at least some of the loud creak. The interior is spacious despite how narrow the building is, the ceilings high and vaulted. Years ago, perhaps in brighter times, light would have streamed in through the clerestory, the windows on either side of the building tall, their stained glass arranged in geometric patterns and depicting saints of ages past. Now they are only marginally brighter than the stone itself, tall rectangles of dim illumination. Perches and pews are placed in neat rows on either side of a carpeted aisle, leading to the far side of the building. At the back of the chapel, the stone floor rises to a dais, holding a low, squat altar of white marble. Beyond, the largest window, a circle made up of countless multicolored glass cells, allows Lilac to pick out the silhouette of the chapel's icon. The darkened shape of the Great Gear dominates the back of the church, its teeth perfectly spaced spokes all around its circumferance. There is a layer of dust here, though it's not as thick as the passing of several hundred years would suggest.
Taking all this in, Lilac draws a few conclusions. There's not much reason to build all these stained glass windows with how little light the Castle sees, so it must be true that the Castle was once better lit – maybe a side effect of the Orb of Void? And this dust, there's not as much as I thought there would be – perhaps time isn't the same here, either? The thought that time itself could be distorted in this place is unsettling to the bardess, and certainly something she'd think the Great Gear would disapprove of, being the kind of thing that uses clocks as a holy symbol. She takes to the air to avoid disturbing the dust with her footprints, searching for a side door, or a collection of holy works that might contain what she's looking for: hymns.
A few wisps of dust kick up when Lilac takes off. Winging around the high vaulted ceilings is easy enough here, with ample space to maneuver despite how narrow the building is… there are even perches along the wall to kick off of or rest on should the need present itself. In the air, Lilac finds there was something else at the front of the church, a balcony.
Though only having had wings for a scant two years or so, Lilac appreciates the roomy interior while being completely surprised by the balcony behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she stares bemusedly at it before performing a wingover and heading towards it. I can't believe I missed that! It would have made getting in so much easier, and of course Korvs won't normally walk through the ground door. Hoping there may be something on the balcony, or at least an easier way out, she prepares to touch down and search.
Landing on the balcony, Lilac finds the back of it recessed a bit, with two steep stairwells on either side, one up and one down. Occupying most of the center is something the bardess has only heard of in stories… a pipe organ presides over the balcony like royalty, several tiers of keys stacked over each other while the pipes themselves extend up toward the ceiling and branch out. While the pipes are ironwood, the instrument itself must be fashioned with what would have been a small fortune in metal in eras past. It lies dormant now, its bellows semi-inflated and still. A slender book sits closed on the tray over its keys, and a number of similar books are stacked nearby, undisturbed.
"Wow," Lilac breathes as she takes in the fantastical instrument. She had heard of one of these, of course, but she had mostly dismissed them as fiction – how could an instrument be the size of a cottage? But, here it is, if not in all its original glory. Were times brighter, she wouldn't be able to resist trying to play it, but here and now she has more pressing concerns. She reaches for the book, hoping music is written in something she can actually understand.
The book's cover is dusty, but though the pages are yellowed, they are clean, the script neat and precise. The first hymn is titled, "Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott". Its verse reads: "Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott, Ein' gute Wehr und Waffen; Er hilft uns frei aus aller Not, Die uns jetzt hat betroffen. Der alt' bose Feind, Mit Ernst er's jetzt meint, Gros' Macht und viel List, Sein' grausam' Rustung ist, Auf Erd' ist nicht seins Gleichen." The music itself is more familiar, written in the system of staffs, bars, and notes that Lilac is familiar with in her musical training.
Lilac's brow quirks. While she isn't as good at singing as she is at her flute, she thinks she can certainly sing this – but she has no idea what it means. "Maybe the have a Rephidim Standard translation somewhere … ," she mumbles, She eyes the title again, to memorize it, then begins flipping through pages. Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott … Ein' feste … isn't burg the word for town? … ist unser … Gott? Is under God? She shakes her head. "Oh Dame Riesling, where are you now?"
Flip flip flip. There are other hymns, but it would seem that in this hymnal at least, everything is written in Bosch.
Putting the book aside, Lilac decides she'll take it with her anyway, but that she'll check the others just in case. She scoots aside and kneels to scan through the stack of other hymnals. I'd be best if I sung in Bosch, their language, but Sylvanian or Standard will do if it must – and I have to know what I'm singing about! What if I sing about the Gear's wrath against monstrous sinners? That would be a disaster! I need something about forgiveness, togetherness, or comfort in the Gear. I'm sure they already feel condemned enough as it is, she considers as she searches.
Tump, tump, tump, tump. Each cloth bound book reveals the same sharp lettering. Sylvanian they may have been, but it seems the family's faith had deep roots.
I guess this is a double edged sword for me, Lilac decides as she stands. She tucks away the hymnal and begins looking around for anything else that sparks her imagination. They never sung in any language except Bosch, which means they either cared very much or very little about their religion – and to have built such a magnificent structure with a pipe organ of all things, I bet they cared a lot. It must have hurt them so much, to abandon this place. Suddenly the whole chapel seems darker to the woman, not so much sinister as sadder. She can almost feel the loss in the air, as if it were a weight on her skin. "It's like a shrine to what has been lost," she murmurs, shivering. "Just like everything here, but somehow worse."
The towering pipe organ bears mute testimony, the chapel's air still, silent, and chilly, nothing like the Abbot's warmer mission, less grand though it may have been. The hymnal fits without much difficulty in Lilac's pocket.
I guess I'm done here then. Lilac hops off the balcony and sails a distance before landing near the dais. She isn't sure what she might find here – a holy object, a incarnate memory, something – but she decides it's worth a look while she's in the building. It's probably too much to hope for a great Sword of the Gear that banishes all darkness, she considers, but finds her spirit too muted by the quiet of this place to be much amused by her own mock hope.
Small clouds of dust spread away from where Lilac lands, rolling lazily through still air. The bardess finds herself near the marble altar. The icon of the Gear towers above, blotting out most of the grand window at the back. The altar itself is draped in velvet grayed with age, upon which sits a small, wood-headed hammer capped on either end with chitin, a spanner made of ironwood, and a lidded, earthenware jar.
Looking down at the items, with the Greater Gear's symbol above her, Lilac can't help but wonder if the deity of the Chronotopian religion might be looking down at her right about now. It makes her swallow and glance back, but she figures that since she didn't burst into flames upon entering either holy place, she may be okay. "I'm just borrowing them, I promise," she assures the symbol of the Great Gear. "When this is all sorted out, I'm sure they'll come back here again, so … don't smite me, okay?" Her ears perk a little, then she looks back, and begins sorting through the items. She picks up the tools and examines them, then puts them aside one by one before peeking in the jar. Holy water?
No divine retribution strikes Lilac down when she takes up hammer and spanner to look them over. They're finely crafted as such tools go, and judging from the pits on the business ends they've seen some use, but otherwise seem perfectly ordinary. On opening the jar, the bardess sees a viscous liquid shining inside. Too thick to be water… probably oil.
Holy oil, of course! Well, this could be useful in a variety of ways. I'm sure the Great Gear wouldn't mind me borrowing it. The jar is secured, then tucked away. The spanner and hammer are tucked in her belt. Nor these, I hope. Maybe they'll at least remind the Murder of what they lost, even if they're not magical. With the items in place, she begins for the door. As she flies, she considers for a moment if she's even worthy to take these things, or be here, at all. We're under the same curse, and I've killed people, too. I may even carry a monster within me. But I'm here, and maybe I'm the only one who can do this. So, it'll just have to be me.
When Lilac turns to make for the door, she finds something in her way. It's standing in the aisle, black, and hunched, wings tucked close. It's dripping on the floor. Dame Riesling is looking at her.
"Wah!" Lilac jumps a little when she turns, the tools rattling at her side and her wings going as askew as her ears. She staggers back a step, hands going up, then blinks. "Wait … is that … It's you!" The woman replaces the lost step with several forward, holding her hands out. "Dame Riesling! You came! And, um," she gestures around awkwardly, " … I came, too! I missed you, I'm sorry for being so defensive in the desert – I'll explain when this is all sorted out. There's a lot to be done. But, it's good to see you and … " Lilac tilts her head, "I hope you're happy to see me too?" It strikes Lilac as she says it, that maybe, just maybe, Dame Riesling may not be happy to see her. I guess I'll really know, soon enough.
Dame Riesling doesn't look happy, but it doesn't seem to have to do with Lilac. Rather, she trembles in place, shivering… not the even chatter of the cold, but a trembling as if agitated, gripped even in dread. She steps closer, walking toward Lilac, but then angling to the side, leaving a trail of blood that fades as soon as it touches the floor, seeming to only partially take note of the bardess. Her steps are hesitant, reluctant, but they take her toward the icon of the Gear.
Lilac's ears steadily move to flatten against her head as the apparition approaches her, but when it becomes clear Dame Riesling isn't directing her agitation towards her, her worry turns into bemusement. Turning in place, she watches the ghost until she, too, is regarding the icon of the Great Gear. For a moment, she watches the icon together with the apparition, a moment of silence, and understanding.
"You feel abandoned, don't you, Dame Riesling? Or maybe forsaken?" She frowns, feeling that she can understand, perhaps too well, what it means to be forsaken and cursed. But to know the ghost suffers even greater, having not even life or friends, makes Lilac's heart sink. She steps towards the ghost, ears flattening for a reason other than fear. "I don't think the Great Gear has forsaken you," she insists.
The apparition looks over her shoulder. Her eyes are difficult to read, dulled, the gash at her neck yawning. Her beak opens as if she wishes she could say something through her ruined throat, but no sound comes. Instead, she turns away again, and continues her walk to the towering statue, and then behind it.
"Dame Riesling?" Lilac hurries after the ghost, her hand fishing in her belt pouch for the much-used writing pad and chalks she uses to record her song ideas; though these days clues and facts have taken the place of music. "I have some chalk you can write with … ?" She hurries around the statue, trying to locate the other woman.
The Korv is standing there, looking down at the floor. When Lilac speaks, she looks up, her expression almost dazed.
Lilac hurries over to the ghost-korv, her eyes searching the floor where the other woman was staring. "Is there something here, Dame Riesling? Is this spot important to you? Or … " She blinks, then offers the ghost her chalk and paper. "Oh! Here, here write if you can, or if you can't, I can, um … You can guide my hands and I'll try and write for you." Her attention is split; she strongly suspects the spot is important, but she also tries to be attentive to the apparition, should she need help. It also strikes Lilac that she's but a foot from a ghost – a REAL ghost – but that somewhere along the way, she ceased to really fear such things. And Lady Riesling is a different sort of ghost; she's also almost like a friend now. A sad, mysterious friend who has none the less been with her.
Riesling holds her hands out to take the chalk, but it passes through her palm and rattles to the floor, breaking into a few pieces. There's a faint chill where Lilac's fingers passed through the Dame's spectral hand as well… it's as if she's barely there at all. The Korv returns to staring down at the floor.
The Korv doesn't even look at the pieces, as if she's forgotten they were even there.
The human kneels are retrieves her chalk pieces, returning them to her belt. Even in a situation like this, the need to conserve what she has seems important. Too long has she traveled, and too sensitive to losing things precious has she become, to allow even her chalk to be abandoned. From her kneeling position she can now get a closer view of the floor, as well. She edges over to the space where Dame Riesling stares, brushing the dust away, searching for anything of interest. "This must be very important to you," she says, simply to try and sound reassuring.
Years of dust sweep aside, coating Lilac's hands but eventually yielding cracks in the floor. No, they're straight. Cuts. There's a hatch here. Another divot in the dust clears away to surrender a handhold.
"A secret passage." A long time ago, Lilac thinks this situation would have seemed very exciting and adventurous. Here, facing the reality, she can't help but reflect on how sad it all is. If she had her way, this castle might have remained boring, but bright and alive. "I'll lift this and look, then?" She glances at the ghost to make sure it's okay as she reaches to pull the handhold and dislodged the trap door.
The hatch comes up easily despite the age of the hinges, clouds of dust lifting off the dry wood. A sturdy ladder leads down into darkness. On a hook by the ladder, a lantern hangs, its delicate glass interior protected by an outer cage of ironwood and a few brass parts.
Lilac hurries to light the lantern with her camp flint, not trusting her night vision alone to guide her in the dark. Once that's done, she looks up at the ghost, saying, "I'm going down now," in a gentle voice, waving her to follow before she descends into the depths.
The Korv looks on pensively, neck dribbling down to the lip of the hatch as the bardess descends. Going down the ladder, Riesling is soon lost to view. The lantern is a good one, and the oil in it must have been very pure to last so long… it lights with a striker built into it, and casts a warm glow that spreads away illuminating… pipes. Pipes and boilers, wheels and pistons, machinery that's sat idle for ages casts tall jagged shadows. One of them moves, shuffling away listlessly toward the back of the room… Riesling. She disappears into the maze of ceramic, metal, stone, and preserved wood.
"Wow, to think someone built all this, in such a place … ," murmurs the bardess, amazed by the sheer effort and complexity such a work must have required. Never having had much of an education, technology is almost like magic to Lilac; both function in incomprehensible ways, creating wonders. Eyes wide, the human walks on into the darkness, fighting the sudden unwanted comparison to the last time she decided to take a chance and wander into dark, forgotten halls.
"At least I'm not alone this time," Lilac whispers to herself as she presses on.
The chamber isn't especially large, certainly no larger than the floor plan of the chapel itself. Picking her way around the machinery is a little laborious, but it doesn't take very long for Lilac to get some idea of the room, even in the wan light of the lantern. The center is dominated by a large furnace, an earthen contraption with some ceramic and metal pipes and fittings, attended by several coal scuttles. Something recognizable as a hand-cranked water pump stands next to large cylindrical vessels, and these are in turn connected to crankshafts. These look to power a pair of bellows resting against the far wall, their pipes leading up to where the chapel organ must be above… a number of other pipes are spaced around the room, probably to the heating vents Lilac saw in the chapel.
Riesling stands near the furnace, trembling almost violently, clutching her wings about herself and rocking slowly.
Standing before the great machine and it's ghostly keeper, Lilac can't help but feel nervous herself. She understands something of how furnaces work, having seen them on the Imperial Airship and elsewhere since she left home. But still, they look a little too much like opens mouths, often burning, to make her completely comfortable. Thinking on this, she looks between the great machine and Dame Riesling, and comes to only two conclusions as to what the ghost may want: either she wants her to start the great machine to power the organ, or she wants her to look inside the furnace. The latter idea makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she steels herself and asks, "Do you want me to start the machine, or … to look … inside?"
At the question, the silent Korv squeezes her eyes shut, hugging herself closer and rocking faster. She just nods. Tears gather at the corners of the apparition's eyes, but she just nods faster, yes, yes.
The Korv's grief makes Lilac shudder; it's almost too painful for the woman to watch. "It's okay, Lady, it's okay," she tries to reassure the ghost, holding her hands out in an attempt to be soothing. Not wanting to agitate the spirit any further, Lilac edges towards the great machine, grateful to be able to turn her gaze away and peer into its great maw. She thinks, whatever must be inside, it can't be worse than watching the poor ghost suffer so much. If only she could do more than ask stupid questions and stumble in the dark …
Beyond the grate of the furnace, heaps of gray soot reflect the light of the lantern. It doesn't look like it's been cleaned out… or used, for that matter, in a very long time. But there's other pieces amongst the piles, half-buried and scorched but intact… some shards, but much of it whole, as if only haphazardly thrown in and hastily burned.
"Hmm?" Lilac puts the lantern aside so she can get a hold of the burnt remains, pulling it towards the light so she can see it better. Despite her earlier thought that she must have become immune to the fear and horror of the world, she finds herself distinctly unsettled. Whatever is in the furnace has brought a ghost to tears, the revenant of a woman who seemed to have once been kind; whatever it is, it causes Lilac increasing dread. Once its near enough to get a good look at, the bardess has to force herself to lift the lantern and look.
Empty sockets stare back from a Korvid skull. Even though the beak is mostly burnt away, it's recognizable… its empty gaze looks back through a forest of ribs sticking out of the ashes, with more delicate avian bones scattered through the belly of the furnace, some whole, some broken.
Lilac frowns at the skeleton, not quite knowing what to make of it, but deeply disturbed it had been thrown in a machine that had once been used to power a holy device. Such a thing, she is sure, must be some form of darkest blasphemy. But, the question of who the skeleton belongs to remains: could it be Dame Reisling? Or even the Lord Rook? The bardess turns towards the ghost now, and asks, very carefully, "Is this … you, Lady Riesling?"
The Dame clutches her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs that can't make any noise. Her head bobs again.
"Oh. Oh I'm so, so sorry!" Lilac's hands twitch at her sides, at first moving to try and hug the ghost, but quickly relenting when she realizes such a gesture would be futile. Still, her hands move as she fidgets, wanting to console but being too far apart. "Why would they do this? The Raveness seemed to love you, and so does Sir Greyswand! The Raveness even seemed to think I'm you, and seemed so happy to see you! Why would they do this, unless … " Lilac's ears shoot up as the reason strikes her: unless they don't remember – or chose to forget. Her mouth hangs open a moment, then she asks, very gently, "They … they did this on accident, didn't they? In the tower, that day? You tried to stop them, stop them from … from killing me?"
The Korv shakes her head now, looking away, shuddering again. She begins walking away from the furnace, passing through a few pipes. She stands at the bellows for a moment, waiting as if expecting something and then… seems to become indistinct, wavering once and then fading away.
"W-wait!" Lilac gentle returns the skull to its resting place, then hurries through the maze of pipes in pursuit of the ghost. One question has been answered, but others she thought she knew the answer to now remain, and several new questions have arisen. What really did happen? And why would her fellows bury Lady Riesling so? The ghost may be the only one left who remembers, and so Lilac chases her through the dark, uncertain if she can even catch up – or if the ghost wants to be followed.
Dodging around the boilers and racing across the room, Lilac finds no sign of Riesling. Instead, she finds herself standing before the great bellows beneath the chapel's grand pipe-organ. There's at least four of them, all large and connected to circular wheels that are driven by crankshafts leading back to the machinery.
Stopping before the machine, Lilac can only wonder at what it all means. "Is this what you want, Dame Riesling? For me to start the machine again, to call all the castle with it, and make them face what they have done?" She has no idea, and worries such a move at this point may prove dangerous to her friends. "I need to know, Dame Riesling," she cries out, her voice echoing through the halls, "I can't do anything without someone to guide me, haven't you seen that? I, ah … " She chokes a sob, clutching her throat as she finds herself overwhelmed by frustration and sorrow.
Lilac's cries ring off the stone walls. They're followed by silence.
"Hrk, sniff." Lilac wipes her eyes off on the back of her sleeve, trying to pull herself together. What would Umeko do? Lady Umeko always was smarter than she, and better able to keep herself together as well. But, Umeko can't always be here to help her, and she knows it. Sighing, Lilac takes a moment to steady herself, and then nods. "I'll start the machine then, at least it will be ready when I need it. Maybe then, the ghost will hear me – maybe they all will, and the castle too." She studies the machine a moment, then heads back into the darkness. She returns to the furnace, and prepares it by first removing all of Dame Riesling's bones she can, and carefully placing them aside for a real burial. Then she begins to try and start the machine …
It's a formidable task, but though the machinery is aged, it at least appears on the surface to have been well maintained prior to its abandonment. Riesling's skeleton is removed bit by bit, the damage to the bones of the neck rather telling. The soot inside the furnace doesn't look so deep that the belly of the furnace can't take more fuel, and there's still plenty of coal in the scuttles.
Lilac stares at the body for a long moment, rethinking her decision here. Maybe starting the machine isn't the right choice; but what is? She had always assumed Dame Riesling might provide her answers, but now she knows the ghost really can't. She's been left with a corpse deep under this cursed castle, with little to go on. She thinks and thinks, hoping something will come to her.
From the condition of the chapel, Lilac guesses it hasn't been used in a very long time, suggesting that whoever burnt the body did so a long time ago, at least long enough that their tracks have become as dust-covered as everything else. This bothers Lilac, for she had always assumed she had been present, somehow, during dame Riesling's death. Further thinking suggests there may be a another secret passage – to be safe, Lilac decides to search the walls carefully while she considers other ideas.
A search around the rest of the basement reveals no secret passages. The chamber seems dedicated to the maintenance of the chapel machinery, workbenches around the perimeter holding spare parts, some extra tools similar to the ones Lilac found on the altar above, buckets, and so on.
Finding nothing of use, Lilac returns to the room with the great bellows, and stares at them. She isn't sure they're of any use save for starting the machine, but she ponders if she could somehow burn the holy oil through them, and cast it about the chapel as ghosts and Korvs come to investigate. The idea seems plausible, but potentially vicious; she doesn't want to bring more needless pain on these people than she can help. Sighing again, she steps forward and starts to examine the machinery. She should at least figure out how it works while she's here.
After considering the machine a while, Lilac thinks she gets it. The machine powers the cogs and gears, which in turn pump the bellows, which then push air through the tubes – a lot like her flute really. And if she understands it, she can leave it started for a while and not risk it being discovered – or exploding somehow – while she considers other actions. So, she decides to begin to start it up. First, she proceed to the furnace and begins shoveling in coal. Once that's done, she attempts to light the thing.
There's coal in abundance, and a broad spade to move it with. Chunk. Shak. Chunk. Shak. Once there's enough fuel in the furnace, flint, a small piece of steel, and some jugs of cheap oil are enough to encourage it to light. The fire sputters, the old oil smokey and viscous, but it's enough to eventually strengthen and begin greedily consuming coal. The chill that pervaded the basement begins to retreat, as well as the dark and gloom, the orange glow from the furnace strengthening to light the chamber, and demanding yet more fuel.
Lilac provides fuel, glad to at least be doing something that requires a simple approach – even if it is shoveling. She shovels and shovels, until she's sure the fire will burn bright and last. While she works, she ponders her next step. She may need to rush to a valve or something to release all this pressure to turn the gears and move the bellows.
It's hard work, but it's simple work for now, at least. Dig the spade into the coal, toss the coal into the furnace. Dig the spade into the coal, toss the coal into the furnace. The hard work and the heat soon brings a sheen of sweat to Lilac's face, and she finds her hands and arms smudged with coal dust, but soon the furnace is stoked and roaring, its light strong. As Lilac is looking for valves that she may have to be released, she is at least able to find a gauge… they're on the boiler. It says 'steam pressure' and right now the needle seems to be pointing at zero.
"Isn't it suppose to have, um … pressure?" Lilac taps it to make sure the gauge isn't broken, not that she could fix it if it was. She bites her lip, which now tastes a lot like coal dust, and thinks. Deciding she may have missed something, she looks for a valve dealing with water, since she knows water makes steam – something she learned back on the Equalizer.
Lilac's search brings her back to the hand-cranked pump she passed earlier. It looks like the water pumps she's seen in some of the better developed villages and cities, like Rephidim and Chronotopia. Its spout hangs over a trough, however.
The trough is sloped, and seems to pour down into the pipes. They seem to lead all over the place, but at least one of them goes to the boilers.
Glad her adventures have at least given her some significant stamina, Lilac begins to work the pump. It reminds her a little of churning butter, which she had to do, on rare occasion, back home. Occasionally she stops to wipe her face with the back of her sleeve, which just makes her face more sooty. At this rate, she thinks she'll be as black as the beast she sometimes is. Pump, huff, pump, huff.
The pump creaks and groans. It takes some working at it, but Lilac's sharp ears can hear gurgling below. After a good number of cranks, water begins spilling into the trough and flowing down. The bardess can hear it drumming inside the hollow bellies of the boilers, the note getting higher as they're filled.
The bardess keeps at it, listening attentively. When the boilers sound about half way, she glances at the stream pressure gauge. It wouldn't do for her to blow herself up down here, how could she face everyone in the afterlife if she died like that?
Right now, the steam gauge still reads zero, but water takes some time to boil. The machine is cleverly designed, however… water eventually backs up to the sealing valve, indicating the boilers are filled.
Lilac stops pumping and steps aside, returning to the furnace to watch the gauge build slowly. While there, she glances at the skeleton beside her, and sighs. "What am I do do with you, Dame Riesling?" She then remembers the holy implements she picked up, and thinks back on what she learned about ghosts and funerals. Her town was founded, long ago, but the cast-offs of a war of necromancers, and has always been both suspicious and superstitious. She isn't sure which of the tales are true, but she has heard that sometimes ghosts are allowed release by properly seeing to remains that were poorly tended to. She bites her lip, which still tastes like soot, and considers trying to give Dame Riesling the blessing she had so long been denied. "Some priestess I would make," she whispers, thinking back on all the less-than-holy situations she's stumbled into over the last year.
The remains look mutely back, their equally mute owner adding nothing. The steam gauge is encouraging, at least, however. It takes a while, and a few more scoops of coal for the hungry burner, but the needle begins creeping up. It looks like it may take a while for it to reach the green colored part of the gauge, but the rise is steady.
Having time to spare, Lilac decides she may as well try her hand at consecration now. She isn't exactly sure she may not defile the corpse more, just by being near it, but at least she's sure her heart is in the right place. "I wonder why Dame Riesling seemed so intent on poking my belly that one time," she suddenly thinks out loud as memories of the ghost return to her. She shakes her head. "I may never know, but at least maybe you can find peace. You deserve that much. If you cursed me, I forgive you. If I caused you this pain, somehow, I hope you'll forgive me."
Lilac unstoppers the oil, and proceeds to sprinkles it across the remains. She thinks on what should be said at a time like this, that as a bard she should be more eloquent and on-the-spot, but she finds speaking like this rather hard. It makes her choke up, and more, she knows so little she isn't even sure she'll be accurate. So, she sticks to the basics and speaks from her heart.
"I, Lisandra Dragomir, consecrate the body of Dame Riesling in the name of the Great Gear, knowing that I am not a priestess, but acting with good faith and compassion in the Gear's name. Dame Riesling was by all accounts a good and kind person, drawn into a curse she could not foresee or deflect, twisted and forsaken until slain and left in the dark. May this blessing ease her spirit and her suffering. May the Great Gear hear my words, and take her unto its bosom, that she may find eternal peace at last. May-" Lilac has to pause to choke down a sob; the words are hard to say, their emotion threatening to pull her into tears. "M-may she rest in peace, knowing forgiveness, l-love, and s-salvation." She sprinkles the oil again, then makes the sign of the Gear, as she saw the father do in Justininople.
The oil spatters over the naked bones, clear and pure enough to only slightly darken where it lands, running down and leaving shining trails, reflecting the strong orange glow of the furnace. Gradually, the steam gauge's needle lifts into the green stripe on its dial.
Lilac restoppers the bottle and, after giving the remains one last look, hurries into the gauge. "Now I need to find some kind of release lever don't I?" She begins to search for a means to vent the steam and drive the gears, which should begin the operation of the bellows if she understands the machine correctly.
Acting quickly, the bardess finds a lever jutting up near the crankshafts, a brake-like squeeze handle topping it and a series of gears at its base.
Working, Lilac begins to try and release the steam, squeezing the handle to attempt to dislodge the device and get the steam moving. She's never seen a handle quite like it, but having worked with these other machines, can only assume that, like the others, it's built to be convenient.
Perhaps not convenient, exactly, but it's easy enough to figure out… without holding the brake in, she can't move the lever at all… it's like a catch release. It takes some muscle to move, as well, but with a groan, the gears turn, with a thick sounding 'k-k-k-k' of teeth fitting together. Somewhere inside the machine, there's hissing, and steam seems from portions of the machine. Chuff… chuff… chuff… the crank shafts begin to push, and the wheels move, slowly at first, and then turning faster as the pressure behind them builds. Clouds of dust fall away from the bellows, revealing treated zolk that seems to have withstood the test of time. The bellows fill and compress, eventually settling into a steady alternating rhythm. The basement seems alive now with moving machinery, creaky and complaining, but working. The silence of before is now filled with clicks, hisses, clanks, the rumble of flames and the wheeze of the bellows.
Lilac leans back to regard her work. She knows she's not as smart as Umeko or as clever as Anisa, but she's fairly proud of this. It's quite a machine, and its mysteries aren't so mysterious anymore. "I guess I can stand on my own. It'll be okay, Lady Riesling, I can find my own answers," she promises. With the machine now going, she no longer needs to remain here. She gathers the remains in her cloak, heading back up with them.
Up in the chapel, it's considerably warmer now, heat rising from the vents. Dust stirs in the air. As before, the organ sits above the hymnal in the back, and now Dame Riesling stands near it. She looks less confused now, less distraught, but far more urgent, looking down at Lilac and occasionally throwing her glance back as if she were looking out for or listening for someone.
Lilac gently places the remains next to the pew, leaving them wrapped in her cloak, then quickly takes wing to join Dame Riesling. "Are the Murder coming?" She asks as she approaches. "Or … Or maybe The Raveness?"
The Korvish apparition nods hurriedly. She's agitated now… not in an angry sense, or the distraught way before, but almost impatient, as if she were on the verge of something she's been waiting for for much too long. Her beak works and she gestures fruitlessly, then steps back… and INTO the pipe organ. She's lost to view, leaving Lilac with the instrument, the steady stream of air whirring inside it.
"I think I understand." Lilac regards the massive instrument once more, taking it, and the moment, in. She, too, can feel the weight of the moment. Perhaps it's her bardic soul, or maybe she's been at the crux of fate so often she's become sensitive to such things, but she can feel all of this matters – if not exactly how. Snapping from her brief revere, Lilac pulls out the hymnal and turns it to the first hymn. She places the book above the keys, a map to the music she must play. Then, after taking a deep breath, she settles her hands across the keys, and begins to play. The organ speaks with authority, and even as neglected as it's been, its voice is majestic… and not entirely its own. In the first three chords, there's another voice in it… over it, and it speaks with each note played, the rising loud enough to vibrate in Lilac's chest.
"KAAAAAAAAN… "
"… TEEEEEEEEEEEH… "
"… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR!!!!"
The last becomes something between chord and scream, years of constrained anguish being released all at once, rising higher than the stop should allow, setting the stained glass windows of the chapel shivering in their panes… and burst. The air behind Lilac is suddenly filled with glittering shards of colored glass sparkling and flipping, thousands of pieces spinning end over end and twinkling like a storm of crystal.
Lilac's ears flatten at the power of the instrument, then try and bury themselves in her head as she realizes the instrument speaks with a voice from beyond the grave. The realization comes to her like a thunderbolt! Dame Riesling wanted the instrument so she could speak! Her already light flesh goes pale, her eyes wide. When the note reaches its crescendo and the glass breaks, the bardess feels a shiver run down her spine. "Speak at last, Dame Riesling!" Her shout is one of joy; finally she can be of help, finally the ghost has a voice! A the glass clatters, she thinks it's like so many tears, finding her own cheeks wet at the sheer emotion of the moment.
Riesling speaks with each note of the hymn that Lilac plays, her voice rising and falling with the song. "KANTEMIR! KANTEMIR SLEW ME! SLEW THE HOUSEMEN IN THE VILLAGE! THEY WERE BRINGING SOMETHING BACK! A SWORD! I WASN'T MEANT TO SEE, KILLED US ALL! HE'S DONE SOMETHING TO OUR LADY!"
As the emotion fades, Lilac comes to another realization: Kantemir. At first she thinks it was Greyswand's first name, but her memory offers another face to the name: Seneschal Kantemir! The dour, business-like Korv pops into Lilac's mind; she remembers him from her dream of this place, and from meeting him in the waking world. As she plays on and listens, Lilac's face slowly shifts from joy, to confusion, to a mask of anger. "Kantemir," she growls. With the truth revealed, the mystery now has a face, a villain, and a means forward. But there is also a new mystery to replace the old: a sword. Lilac wonders if Dame Riesling knows more, and dares a question, "What sword, Dame Riesling? Is it the orb? or something more?" her ears perk, her attention riveted.
"A SIMPLE BLADE! I DON'T KNOW WHY! I DIED, LINGERED IN DREAMLESS SLEEP, BUT I COULD NOT REST! I PASSED BEYOND THE WALLS OF PIEKSVALDT, WEAKENING… BUT I FOUND YOU! FORGIVE ME! SURVIVE, LILAC! I AM WITH YOU! WE ARE OUT OF TIME, SHE IS COMING, WE MUST-… " Suddenly, the feed of air to the organ ceases, the last note tapering off and dying. The comfortable warmth that the furnace had piped into the chapel flees, replaced with an abrupt, deep chill. The chapel becomes deathly silent, except for the crunch of glass underfoot below.
Something between whisper and murmur… an old Korvid woman's voice. "… Children? Are you… there?"
The bardess sucks in a breath – she doesn't need the warning of supernatural senses to know what comes. "Stay with me Dame Riesling," she whispers, placing a hand on the organ to try and touch Riesling's spirit and help her away from any pull the Raveness's presence might create. Then, the bardess steps backwards, every hair on her body standing on end. She knows The Raveness is no normal being, a creature that can step through space and time, could be anywhere in the blink of an eye. Frantically she thinks on how to evade such a being, and decides to simply escaping through a broken window, ready for the Raveness to appear from any angle, out of any shadow.
A little tingle travels up Lilac's arm, the only sensation to indicate Dame Riesling's answer. Below the balcony, the dark shape of the Raveness, stooped, moves slowly up the chapel aisle, the butt of her scepter tapping through the thin, faded rug lining the center, clicking the stone underneath. "Come, come children… the hour… is late. We should return. Keep… your frail liege lady… company… "
Lilac speeds across the platform in her toes, hopping on to the balcony rail, then taking to the air with fluid grace. She isn't about to risk being in proximity to The Raveness. As far as the bardess knows, the The Raveness may sense people as much as see them, just like the Temple of Being once did. The woman wants to get away, and as quickly as she can mange without making noise. So, she angles towards the space left by a nearby broken window and soars for the open air, hoping the strange phantom Korv missed her exit, for surely any kind of confrontation with the specter is a doomed affair.
Below, the bardess can see the lady of the keep as she makes her leap from the balcony and through one of the tall, now-empty windows. She has turned, to the side, enough to see the front of her gown caked with dark spatters. The Raveness looks up with those empty eyes, featureless black with no hint of a living sheen, following Lilac as the cursed human speeds through the window. Her expression is thoughtful for the fleeting second Lilac can see it, and then the bardess is out of the chapel and swooping across the courtyard.
It takes Lilac several long corridors worth of anxiety and alertness to finally feel like The Raveness isn't going to pop out and suck her body dry. Breathing heavily, she considers all that just transpired. Finally, she has her answers! But she realizes the answers are only of partial use as long as she, alone, knows them, and so makes haste to Lady Umeko's quarters. In this way she can make sure the Lady returned safely as well as pass on what she's learned. Plus, after all that's happened, Lilac could really use the comforting presence of her dear friend.
Slipping through the window, Lilac closes the shutters behind herself and steps into Umeko's guest quarters. Seeing the woman isn't in yet, Lilac checks for anything out of the ordinary, then flops down upon the oversized bed to rest and wait. "I hope you're okay, Ummy. I hope you're all okay," she whispers, then closes her eyes and tries to catch her breath.
