Caravan Campsite
Just across the Milk Run bridge from Stonebarrow, this flat, clear area has been set aside for travelers and merchants. Two freshwater wells are on site, along with a large map of the area and some bathroom facilities next to the swamp (where nobody will notice the smell). A sturdy corral is set up for Dromodons or other drays.

Night has begun to fall on the day after the dam incident. The shadows from the nearby trees are long and the air is heavy and somber as Amelia enters the campsite where the gypsies are currently camped. Several campfires are burning where several ragtag looking families are huddled around them, eating some rather sparse looking meals. Divan is still snoozing atop one of the wagons (figures), and the windows of Bravil's wagon are lit. Natasha's windows are shuttered and covered with curtains, so it's hard to tell if she's there or not.

The Kadie struggles with a large clay pot full of several helpings of Legitimate Fish (the Oggton's version of Poached Fish) as she makes her way to the wagon of the large Jupani. "Bravil, are you in there?" she calls as she reaches the wagon door.

The rocking of the wagon a moment later answers that question. The door swings open and the large wolf lumbers down the front steps. He looks at the small Kadie, blinking and looking a bit surprised. "I wasn' expectin' to see vou again," he admits.

"Why not?" Amelia asks, shifting the weight of the pot slightly. "Here, I brought you a local dish made by the otters. It isn't even flammable, I'm told." She offers forward the pot, hoping the big man will take it off her hands at least.

"Cuz no one ever comes to see me villingly. No one outside de tribe, anyvay," Bravil remarks. He reaches down and takes the pot … with one hand. He sniffs the pot tentatively. "An especially no one bearin' food."

Amy sighs in relief as the pot is taken from her. "Well, you probably get lots of visitors within the tribe though, right? You protect them, so you must be popular," she says, smiling to the big wolf.

"No really," the wolf replies and sits down on the steps of his wagon. "Only Natasha comes t' see me regularly. De others don' much. I no exactly de smartest person in de tribe an let's face it, I' huge. No exactly comfortable to be aroun' for de smaller folk."

Amelia thinks of Djivan's habit of sleeping on things. "I don't see why they wouldn't be comfortable. Don't the children play with you at least?"

"No a lot of playin for a long time," Bravil remarks absently. He glances towards Natasha's wagon and sighs.

"Bravil, did you bring some of your stew to Natasha last night?" Amy asks, following his gaze towards Natasha's wagon.

"No. She wasn' hungry last night. She was twitchy," the wolf notes.

"Do you remember if she ever had any of your stew on nights it tasted minty?" Amy asks.

Bravil scratches his cheek. "No, don' think so. Some nights she no hungry," he says. "Hard to remember all the nights, though."

Amy asks the big one next. "Is Natasha the only reason you stay with the gypsies, Bravil? You don't seem to get much out of being with them."

The wolf looks upward at that one. "She my frien'," he replies quietly. "She no afraid of me. She … " He shakes his head and sighs.

"She needs you?" Amy prompts.

"She beautiful," the wolf says in a quiet voice. He looks at his hands and closes them slowly.

Smiling again, Amelia asks, "Do you have another bowl? I can bring her some of the fish, and see if she's feeling better tonight."

"Yeah," the wolf answers. He goes back inside the wagon for a moment, then returns carrying a smaller bowl and a ladle. The wolf settles back down and scoops some of the fish meal into the bowl. He offers it to Amelia.

"I'll bring your other bowl back later, after I wash it out," Amy promises. "I should see about getting your cooking pot scrubbed out too," she adds, somewhat to herself, before heading towards Natasha's wagon.

"Why was dere somthin' wrong wit' it?" Bravil asks.

Amy stops mid-step. She turns and says, "You need to keep it cleaner, is all. And if you ever get that minty taste again… you should just dump it all out and not eat it, Bravil."

The wolf scratches his neck and shrugs. "Mint no bad. But, I guess so," he says. And with that, the wolf goes back inside to presumably eat what he was brought.

That done, Amy continues on to Natasha's wagon, and knocks lightly on the door.

"On' momen'," comes Natasha's voice from the inside. A few minutes pass and the door opens. Amelia finds herself face to face with Natasha. Though, not quite as she's normally seen her. She's just wearing a light threadbare evening robe and her hair is pulled back and tied loosely. "You are de persistent one," she says.

Amelia blinks at this. "I told you earlier I'd be back. I brought you some dinner, since I heard you didn't eat last night," the Kadie says, offering up the bowl.

"I didn' expect today," Natasha notes and steps back inside, leaving the door open. So, apparently Amelia is welcome to come in. The inside is …   more brightly lit than usual too. The Khatta gathers up some books and papers from the table and starts putting them away. For the briefest moment, she sees the same tattered book Natasha was reading earlier.

Setting the bowl on the now clear table, Amelia asks, "Been doing some research?"

"Of a sort," Natasha replies and waves her hand dismissively. She sits down heavily in a chair and peers at Amelia. "Vou don't trust me," she says flatly.

"Would you trust you if you were in my position?" the Kadie asks.

"No, I vouldn'," the Khatta remarks, looking rather unconcerned by the whole situation. "But, for other reasons den vou haf."

"My reasons are basically that I don't know anything about you," Amelia explains, sitting opposite the Khatta. "That's easy to fix though, just tell me about yourself!" she suggests, smiling.

Natasha mutters something and waves her hand. The door behind Amelia suddenly closes. "I am de mystic of dis tribe. Vhat else is dere to know?" she asks, hands spread wide.

The Kadie's tail jerks upright and poofs out a bit at the closing door, but otherwise Amy remains calm. "Well, how about who you're running from that makes you cry in your sleep? Or used to, anyway," the girl asks.

"Ve all haf skeletons in our closets, child. Memories ve vish ve did not haf," Natasha remarks then reaches up to her robe. Then suddenly, the Khatta shrugs the upper part open. Across her lower abdomen the fur pulls and turns, and in small spots is missing. The patterns indicate one thing very plainly to Amelia. Claw marks. A moment later, she pulls her robe closed. "I've simply seen, an' survived, my share o' horrors. Some nigh', I can still remember de feel of de ghoul's claws on my flesh vhen I was younger."

"Were you set out as a sacrifice for it?" Amelia asks, a little less pointedly.

"No," Natasha answers bluntly.

"Do you know who put corpseweed into Bravil's stew last night?" the Kadie asks next. "It isn't cultivated locally."

Natasha stares at Amelia for several uncomfortable minutes. "That plant is the domain of necromancers," the Khatta hisses, her fur actually starting to puff out. Her expression darkens and she says, "If vou know of it, vou must be… "

"I spent eight years of my life training to be a witch," Amelia admits. "Isolde is practically my mother. And she knows herbs. Now, more to the point, there are only two reasons I can think of for putting that into Bravil's stew. Are there any others I should know about?"

"It is a drug used by those perverters of nature to manipulate people. It dulls de senses an makes dem susceptible to suggestion an influence. Basically, it make a living person act like a zombie," Natasha says through clenched teeth.

"In the right doses, yes," Amy says. "But larger doses will just put someone into a deep sleep. My mind says that if you cared about Bravil as much as he obviously cares about you, then you would be the one drugging him to ensure he didn't tangle with the dark attacker of your visions, especially if you had a good feeling of when the attacker was about to strike. Right now, I'm seeing that that isn't the case. Which means Bravil most likely is the one being used to make the attacks you foresee. Who would do that?"

"I wouldn't touch that plant," Natasha says and crosses her arms, glaring at the Kadie. "And how dare you walk in here and make presumptions about my feelings towards Bravil. You know nothing about him or things he's been through. You think it's natural for him to be that large? You think I can risk doing anything to him, given his state? I couldn't even guess what normal sleeping drugs might do to him, much less that plant. I wouldn't dare risk hurting him further than this land already has," she nearly shouts … and completely without her usual gypsyesque accent. It's still Sylvanian, but it definitely has a tone of something foreign to it.

Amy is forced to lean back a bit from the force of Natasha's sentiment. "You're avoiding the question, and your food is getting cold," she replies. "You know about a rare plant used by necromancers. Do you also know who might be using it on Bravil then?"

The corners of Natasha's eyes twitch in agitation. She then just brings up her hand and rubs her fingertips over her eyelids. "No," she says, sounding tired as much as angry. "He's a good man. Kind hearted. I don't know why anyone would even want to use it on him. I do not know of him having any enemies."

"But you have enemies, don't you?" Amy asks.

"Once perhaps. But it was along time ago. And they're dead," Natasha says, sighing.

"Being dead doesn't mean being out of the way," Amelia points out. "Do chimes… er… ring any bells with you? The sound of chimes is probably the hypnotic trigger for Bravil."

"Child, when someone of my training destroys the undead, they stay gone," Natasha remarks. She closes her eyes and sits back, thinking. The Khatta then clutches her stomach where Amelia saw the scars and sits up, eyes wide. "No. It couldn't be."

"I saw that expression earlier," Amy notes. "Who or what is it?"

Natasha seems to calm herself and waves her hand. "It couldn't be that, so it is unimportant," she says.

Amy's fists come down on the table-top hard. "I hate it when people do that! My friend is nearly dead, and may be all-the-way dead soon, and how many others have died in these attacks already? Tell me who it couldn't be!" she demands.

And right at the end of Amelia's yell, the door swings open. Right outside is Djivan, gripping a staff and looking rather angry. Right on his tail is Olivia, who apparently just arrived, presumably to talk to Djivan about the goings-on. "All righ' what de hell is going on here," Djivan growls, looking, for once, very serious. "Is this Kadie threatenin' vou, Madame?"

Natasha just covers her eyes and sighs, looking weary.

"Djivan!" Amelia snaps at the interrupting Skreek. "Do I look like I'm making threats?" she practically growls.

Olivia immediately places herself between the two women, just to make Amy think twice if she's considering charging the Khatta. "It certainly sounds like threatening," she says as evenly as she can, glancing in between Amelia and Natasha. "What in the world have you two been fighting about??"

"Djivan," Natasha says quietly, "Please leave us. Miss Weaver, stay. I have something to discuss with both of you."

Olivia now looks uncertainly at Natasha. "Well… all right," she says, then glances over at Djivan. "I suppose I'll just visit with you when I'm done?" she asks the Skreek.

Djivan doesn't look very happy at being told that. He looks between Amelia, Natasha and Olivia. "As vou vish, Madame," he finally replies then steps back out of the wagon. "But, I vill no be far."

"And no eavesdropping," Amy warns the rat. "Make sure Lili isn't snooping either."

Djivan looks even more annoyed at that, as he probably was planning to do that.

One corner of Olivia's mouth actually twitches at that. "That's like telling the sun not to shine," she mutters very, very softly to no one in particular.

"Close the door and both of you sit down," Natasha says. "Nothing I say in here must leave this wagon. Is that understood?"

Amelia crosses her arms against her chest, and says, "Agreed, unless there is a threat to the town."

Olivia, meanwhile, escorts Djivan to the door and kisses his cheek in a placating way. "I'll see you later… all in one piece, I hope!" she whispers to him.

"Vou better," Djivan notes, then just closes the door. Natasha waits quietly for a few minutes, so that Djivan should be out of eavesdropping range. "All right. Both of you have tried to pry into my past," Natasha says tiredly, and completely without the gypsy accent. "I have my reasons for not wanting it known. For my safety, and for the safety of my tribe."

"I think we've determined that the tribe is already in danger," Amy points out.

Olivia looks at Natasha warily, then comes back into the wagon proper, sitting down in the nearest chair. "Ah, so that's what all the yelling was about?"

"Well, the tribe has not been attacked. But, I shall start at the beginning. If you understand me, you will understand why I do not wish my past known," Natasha says, looking absolutely defeated. She looks between the two girls and draws a breath, then closes her eyes as if expecting her end to come. "A long time ago, a lifetime ago, my name was Tasha Al-Nadia, Alumnus of Spirit and Adept of Mind. I was a Collegia mage. I … I was a witch hunter."

"From the Emirate?" Amy asks, thinking of the odd sounding name and subtle accent.

Both of Olivia's eyebrows threaten to vanish into her hairline at this pronouncement. "Well, that's… that's… not exactly what I expected," she says in a hushed voice. "I mean, a few things you told me at our last meeting, paired with things that Amy told me recently put certain ideas in my mind, but this was one of those ideas that I thought had the least probability."

"Originally, yes. But I went to several campuses for training. I was especially skilled with spirit magic. A prodigy, they called it; I learned and grew in power faster than had been seen before. I could outdo most of my teachers within a couple years of studying with them," Natasha says, her eyes opening slowly. "I had a bright future. Well, until I offended the visiting diplomat from the Emirate. I didn't share the attraction he had for me. So, his 'revenge' was to get me assigned to a College expedition into Sylvania about twenty years ago. To bring the proper College ways to the abusers of magic here. Or destroy them if they resisted."

"They actually got more than one of you to go on something like that?" Amelia asks in amazement.

Olivia sighs a little and plays with the material of her skirt before adding, "I'm guessing that you couldn't carry out what you set out to do? Or else, you couldn't do it for long?"

"No. It was just me, and a small contingent of soldiers," Natasha says and sighs. "It was intended as a suicide mission, really. One mage against all the witches and users of magic of Sylvania? Not that we had a choice to refuse at the time. My 'suitor' made sure of that. It was a 'go' or I'll make sure your family suffers, not just you. I … hate politicians."

"We usually kill ours if they start trying to, you know, do stuff," Amelia says. "That's why the Mayor has always been a Skeek."

"There was some logic to it, though," Natasha says and looks directly at Amelia, then shakes her head sadly. "I know where most of the witches of these lands draw their power. And since you had some years of training … you know what the effect of having a strong spirit mage cast a several day ritual of spiritual dispel on a land spirit backed witch would be, don't you? In all honestly, I … I could render most witches powerless for a time. Long enough for them to be captured, anyway."

Amelia frowns. "Yeah, I guess so. Of course, then you'd have monsters and ghosts moving into the void right afterward."

"Hence, the soldiers. We were … effective. For a time, anyway. Far to the south, in the lands now occupied by the Gallee, we came across a town called Schadel. It was a corpse factory, in truth. Ruled by a Skreek, a very powerful necromancer; more powerful than we expected. We thought we could take him out. We were wrong," Natasha explains.

"I haven't heard of that town," Amy admits. "I didn't think any necromancers that were still around would be that… obvious about it."

Olivia seems somewhat confused by all this talk of spirits and spirit magic, so she just sits back and absorbs as much as she can, hoping to make sense of it all eventually.

"When you have assembled an army of a thousand undead, you don't have to be as subtle," Natasha says grimly. "Besides, he wasn't exactly in the most populated area of Sylvania. He took that town and was using the people to feed his soldiers." The Khatta wraps her arms around herself and shivers. "I'll never forget the smell of that place. I … thought that the dispel wiped out his army. We had never seen so many undead before. We thought we had won. But … he had been waiting for us. He heard of us and was more than ready. He moved half his army out of range … and when the effects of the ritual faded, they surged in. We were caught. The soldiers … my friends, were slaughtered one by one as we tried to escape. In the end, there were just a few of us trapped on a clifftop, fighting them off. We held out a day, maybe two."

"I hate to point it out, but… sounds like you could have used a few witches on your side," Amelia says, quietly.

Olivia looks at Amy and smiles bitterly. "Well, Natasha did say this was supposed to be a suicide mission… "

The irony of the statement isn't lost on Natasha. She laughs softly, sadly. "Yes, we could have. In the end, I was the last one standing. His minions did not kill me. No. That pleasure he wanted for himself. You said chimes. He … he had chimes. I remember him walking up the hill, his twisted staff made from bones and the hollow bone chimes that swayed from it. I remember that sound as the Skreek smiled his yellowed and rotted teeth at me. He has special plans for me, oh yes, he said. He was going to use my sacrifice to finish a powerful ritual. He … he was trying to become a lich." Natasha pulls inward more, shivering softly, her eyes now clenched shut and tears trickling down her cheeks. "He … tortured me for half a day on that clifftop. He … delighted in hearing the screams of anguish." Again the Khatta pauses, then says in a cracking whisper, "The scars I showed you, Amelia, were just the physical ones, from when he allowed his servants to touch and taste my flesh. He did much worse to me magically."

"A staff of bones," Amy mutters. Then she looks up, and says, "I don't think we need the details of what he did… but you obviously survived, and you don't think he did. How did that come about?"

Olivia finds herself wanting to put a hand on the Khatta's shoulder, or do something, anything to stop this powerful woman from crying, but she also doesn't know if anything she could do would really help. Instead, she asks softly, "Pardon my ignorance and the timing, but before you go on, Natasha – what's a lich? I really don't know anything about magicks."

"A lich is a creature of undeath. It is a wizard who pushed his soul into a body outside life and death, a walking eternal corpse," Natasha explains softly. "It is a forbidden ritual. Once a lich is formed, it takes incredible power to destroy it. It would take a dozen or so mages or witches to take one down."

"And they grow in power by feeding on the life force of others," Natasha adds.

Olivia nods in understanding, then says, "Thank you. Please continue?"

Natasha draws a breath, steadying herself. "As for why I survived. One of the soldiers who made it to the cliff with me is the reason. Haruti … gods, he was a kid. He couldn't have been more than sixteen," she says, continuing. "He was still alive, barely. I remember seeing the Skreek over me, about to plunge his dagger into my heart. He was gloating, ready to complete the final stage of his ritual. And then a scarlet blossom of a chitin blade tip burst through the right side of his chest. Haruti had forced himself up. Bleeding and crippled, he made himself get up. He had stabbed that Skreek then just pushed. We all went over that cliff together. The last I remember was seeing the water of the river below rushing up to meet us as we fell. I awoke some time later miles down river. There is no way the Skreek or Haruti could have survived. Their wounds were deeper than mine, and it was a miracle I survived."

Amy drums her clawtips on the tabletop, lost in thought for a moment. "Did you link up with the gypsies after that, to let the Guild think you were dead?"

"Not at first. At first I tried to just get help. But … no town would touch a witch hunter. I was an invader, a destroyer. I couldn't even speak the language here. I … I had earned what happened to me," Natasha says quietly. "After several days of looking for help I … I just gave up and collapsed. Imagine my surprise to wake up in the arms of Bravil. He had found me in the wilderness and carried me to his tribe. They … took care of me. They were patient with my nightmares, my days of screaming. And in time, they taught me the language of the land."

"But they weren't the group you're with now, are they?" Amy asks.

"So when you told me that you killed a witch hunter a long time ago, you were speaking about yourself?" Olivia adds her own question. "Not suicide, obviously, but 'killed' in the sense of giving up that profession and passing yourself off as lost?"

Natasha looks at Olivia and nods. "Tasha, the woman I was, was broken, tortured, and left for dead," she says, then swallows. "This tribe, which is the same one as back then … just many of the original members either made roots in time and their kids continued, to answer Amelia's question. This tribe accepted me into their family, no questions. I … I saw things from a different side. I saw what the people I had been hunting had to do to survive. So … I let Tasha finally pass away. I became their Natasha, using the skills I learned from the college to protect them."

Amy continues to drum her fingers, then stops suddenly, her brow furrowed. "Something nags me. I don't know much about magick, because I didn't have the talent for it. But… the end of that ritual demanded a blood sacrifice. It was supposed to be you, but would it really matter if it was the necromancer himself who ended up being sacrificed, given that he was trying to become undead anyway?"

"From my understanding of that ritual, limited as it is, I don't think it would have the exact same effects as if it was another person, but," Natasha says, her voice trailing off. Her expression shifts, eyes widening in horror. "B… but, maybe somehow. No, it couldn't have sustained him through that. It couldn't."

"What couldn't have sustained who?" Amy asks. "I find it hard to believe that Haruti could have lain there nearly dead for all that time while you were being tortured and not be noticed by the zombies. Are you sure he was actually alive, and acting under his own control when he killed the Skreek?"

"I don't know, I remember him sending the zombies away for the last couple hours. He wanted it to be personal, he wanted the power I had gained through my years of training to be part of him," Natasha says, her claws scraping along the top of her table. "But, maybe he screwed up. Maybe Haruti was supposed to strike him down after he struck me. The ritual … it may have been incomplete, could the backlash somehow kept him alive? Not completely a lich, but not completely alive anymore?"

"A vampire, maybe," Amy suggests. "I also need to ask if you visited Bravil's wagon before I showed up this morning? Because there were marks on the ground suggesting someone came there carrying a walking stick or staff."

Natasha's brow furrows and then she shakes her head. "No, I didn't," she answers.

"Anyone else in camp use a walking stick?" the Kadie asks.

"Not regularly," Natasha says, her claws now making grooves in the tabletop.

"Bravil said you were the only one that really ever visits him," Amy notes. "So, I think it's time to deploy the spies."

Olivia quirks an eyebrow over at the Khatta and asks suddenly, "I know you said your knowledge of that ritual for becoming a lich was limited, but do you have any idea of what he might've had to do before the final sacrifice and transformation?"

"To some degree, Olivia," Natasha says. "The ritual can take days to years to perform. Most often it involves several sacrifices, pledges to the dark Gods, assembling the new body they wished to inhabit, even baser and vile acts upon the dead. But the core was always the sacrifices, which could be many over a long … period … " Natasha's expression becomes one of utter horror, eyes wide, fur spiked out. "All the attacks in towns these past years we visited … "

Olivia sinks down into her chair, resting one hand over her eyes. "It could be as I feared, then," she says sadly. "Your friend probably destroyed his first chance at becoming a lich. Now he's trying again."

Amy cracks her knuckles. "We haven't had a good monster hunt in years," she says. "Olivia, have Djivan keep watch on Bravil's pot like we discussed earlier. The otters are already watching the coming and goings of the camp. He missed when he attacked Zahn, and if we deny him the use of Bravil he'll have to risk exposing himself, I hope."