“I’m starting to see why you required an assistant.” – Crow muttered as he carried Arnath’s bag up the steep hill that Lord Calmbank’s estate was built on. The thing was filled to the brim with various Deathspeaker paraphernalia, and looked as if it was about to burst at any moment. It wasn’t really a problem for him that it was heavy – but it was also uncomfortable to carry, with the numerous magical instruments poking at its stretched leather walls, and by extension, at the Undead’s ribs.

“Nobody said that lute’s going to be easy to earn, boy.” – The old man laughed. – “I vaguely remember you not wanting to be a loafer?”

“Excuse me? Boy?” – He stopped in his tracks for a moment, turning back to his new companion and furrowing his bushy brows in a show of extreme disapproval.

“Why, you must be. You only have one tattoo, after all. I took a peek under your sleeve when my vines were restraining you.” – As Arnath spoke, the downwards contraction of Crow’s forehead made way for an upturned curve of pure confusion.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What does my tattoo have to do with anything?” – He huffed.

“It’s an Eternal’s age mark, from the looks of it. Means you must’ve been after your two hundred fiftieth birthday, but before your five hundredth when you died. Surely you must know this?”

“You’re saying it has meaning, besides mocking me?!” – The Undead asked excitedly, but his face quickly dropped. – “Wait… Eternal? I can’t be Eternal! They’re a bunch of oppressive slavers! And besides, my teeth are normal.” – There were many ways to spot one of these dangerous, ageless creatures, but their elongated fangs were the most foolproof one.

“Hmm… Are they? Open up…” - The Deathspeaker suddenly pulled down Crow’s scarf and pushed his fingers forcefully between his lips in a show of agility that didn’t fit his elderly body at all.

“Hey… Hmmmmpf!” – He tried to protest.

“You’re right…” - The old man hummed, as he took a peak at his pearly whites, running his fingers across the tips of the canines. - “...I don’t think they’ve been filed down either. Most curious!”

“AH WIW BAHTE YAH!” – The Undead whined.

Arnath completely disregarded him.

“They’re in very good shape, though.” – He continued. – “An adult Mortal would have at least some traces of decay… Maybe you’re some sort of freak of nature?”

“Mhhmpf, ah know…” - Crow’s shoulders slumped in resignation.

“Well, more than we already know you to be, I mean…”

“Shplehndid…” - He rolled his eyes, but sighed with relief once the man retracted his hands and he could close his mouth again. His fingers reached the hinges of his jaw and rubbed them meticulously. It didn’t physically hurt, but his pride was in pain. – “Do you have any idea what personal space is, by the way?”

“Apologies… You’re just such a fascinating specimen..”

“Enough!” – The Undead protested. – “I’m a person! Would you push your grabby fingers into the mouth of someone at the tavern, for example?”

“I have been known to.” – The Deathspeaker replied with a blunt shrug. – “I’m Khaede’s healer. And some people are so afraid of dental care that you have to get a little forceful.”

“You’re a madman… What have I gotten myself into?” – Crow grasped his hair.

“Calm down, I’m just trying to help. Before I took that look into your mouth, you didn’t even know that you’re not a mortal. If we are to discover your purpose back on Earth, I’d say we need to learn as much as possible about you, no?”

He took a moment to consider his words. He was right, in a way, but…

“Just ask, next time. I don’t like people touching me without warning. And especially when they reach for my scarf. It was very rude.” – He grumbled, carefully wrapping the tattered and dirty piece of cloth back around his face.

Arnath pulled out a worn down notebook from the inside pocket of his coat, along with a piece of sharpened coal, and started scribbling.

“The subject… Doesn’t like… Being touched.” – Then, he looked up at Crow. – “Can you elaborate more on that?”

“So far, every time I’ve been touched, someone’s been trying to hurt me! I thought that was obvious!”

“Mm-hmm… The subject is able to develop mild traumas stemming from events occurring after his death… Completely unlike disembodied spirits…”

“This is still incredibly rude. What happened to “considering my feelings” and “kindness at every step”?” – The Undead said with a long, winded sigh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! But I need this written down, I really do! You break all the rules of my trade, my friend!”

“How so?” – He raised his eyebrow.

“Well, let’s take our quickly approaching face-off with Lord Calmbank, for example. I won’t be wasting my time on asking him whether he’s raging because the local youth uses his manor as a drinking spot. The dead, as far as I know them, don’t concern themselves with things like that. They’re always hung up over something that happened when they were still alive, barely caring about the current reality around them. If some rambunctious teenager decided to throw a plate through his ethereal head, he surely would make them perish, but he wouldn’t become sensitive about dinnerware. Do you get what I mean? You’re very special! Very human.”

“That human is very tired of being called a subject. Can you write that down?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s simply the language I use in the notebook to keep it professional…” - The Deathspeaker tried to explain himself, but Crow snatched the thing from his grasp. His shadow reached for the coal in the man’s other hand and gave it back to his master too. He seemed to be in agreement that it was very humiliating. The Undead started furiously striking out every mention of a “subject” and replacing it with his name. Then, he threw the book back to Arnath.

“Crow. My name is Crow for the time being, and that’s how you’re going to write about me, at least until we learn my real one. That, or you can carry that bag yourself. I don’t have much dignity left, but for what little is still there, I care about more than about a lute.”

The old man went noticeably paler than he was just a few moments before.

“Y-yes, of course…” - He hid the writing supplies back in his pocket, and flexed his fingers for a few moments. – “Damn, you’re strong.”

“I thought you could already tell from how I treated your vines?”

“I could… But still, feeling it first handedly if you forgive the pun, is completely different…”

“I hope it was about as unpleasant to you as having my teeth inspected was to me.” – Crow said, and resumed his march towards their destination. – “I still don’t think that I’m an Eternal, by the way.”

“You do have an age mark, though. Mortals don’t ink themselves this way.”

“I’ve never seen an imperial soldier bearing one either…”

“That’s because most of them are too young. As I’ve already tried to explain, they only get those every quarter of a millennium. And the squadrons patrolling Perin consist mostly of thirty, forty year olds. Boys and girls barely in their adulthood…” - There seemed to be an odd hint of sadness in his voice.

“Then how do you explain my round canines, hmm?” – Crow decided to ignore it. If the man had some sympathy for that scourge plaguing the Mortal lands, then that was just another of his little madnesses, better left untouched.

“I don’t know, but I will find out. I have a friend who could help.”

“Please don’t tell me that friend is an Imperial.” – The Undead sighed. It seemed like the matter would come to light anyway.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you so terribly, but he is.” – Arnath chuckled quietly. – “He’s different than most, though. A decent man. We call him the Kind Commander and Khaede is lucky to have him as an overseer of our lands.”

“Kind Commander, eh? Does he first ask politely for your food and able-bodied workers, before threatening to raze the village?” – Crow laughed bitterly. He has seen an Imperial raid with his own eyes before.

“He never asked for more supplies than he needed, and doesn’t take slaves.” – The Deathspeaker said firmly. – “That’s more than we could ever pray for. And what’s more important, as long as he is the one in charge, the more savage individuals steer clear of our home. When you’re born in Perin, you quickly learn to count your blessings. Lirius Thanred is one of them.”

Something about the man’s name made Crow’s hair stand on end. Maybe he had heard it before? But where? He couldn’t remember… Thanred… Lirius… Lir… The diminutive was almost pushing itself to his tongue. Had he known any “Lir”? Maybe there was one in Khaede? People did sometimes give their children names of their overlords, in hope of striking some affection in the cold Imperial hearts. A disgraceful tradition in his opinion, but still, it was a thing.

“That sounds oddly familiar.” – He admitted to the Deathspeaker.

“He is quite famous.” – Arnath said with a nod. – “Youngest Commander to ever join the Imperial army, and a war hero to his nation, too.”

“Yes, that must be it.” – He muttered, trying to convince himself. If he used to know that Thanred in his previous life, then that probably made him an Imperial as well, and he desperately didn’t want it to be true. – “Must’ve heard it in Tedrick’s inn.”

“Anyway…” - The old man looked up to the manor drawing closer and closer to them. They could easily make out all the details of it now – the glassless windows barred by hastily nailed planks of wood, the overgrown, mossy stone, and the roof lacking more than half of its tiles, with a gaping hole exposing the worn down rafters at the front. The Calmbank Manor was already falling into ruin when its owner was still alive, but it seemed like his departure accelerated it greatly. Such was the power of an agitated, raging ghost. – „...It seems like we’re here. I’ll need a moment to prepare my supplies and brew a potion. The bag, if you don’t mind?”

“A potion? Is that why the damned thing is so stuffed? You’ve put a whole brewing apparatus in it?” – Crow asked, putting it down on the ground next to the Deathspeaker. – “Why not make it at home?”

“Ah, you see, my friend, this potion is a very special one. Bloodmoss Draught, a thing of my own invention. Makes it considerably easier to commune with the dead, but is extremely quick to decay. If I made it right before leaving my hut, it already would be completely useless upon our arrival here. It needs to be prepared on the go. I told you, the job isn’t an easy one.” – He chuckled.

“Can I help?” – The Undead asked. He did agree to be the man’s apprentice after all. And that meant participating in his weird rituals, didn’t it?

“Just by giving me some peace and quiet to focus, my friend. The craft needs extreme precision. I’ll show you the ropes one day, but for now, I’m afraid you’d have considerable chances of screwing up the process. No offense.”

“None taken… I guess.” – He sighed, offended just the tiniest little bit, and took a seat in the shade of a large birch tree, as Arnath started working his magic… Or his science? Crow wasn’t exactly sure, but it seemed like both.

“I’m quite proud of you.” – He heard a whisper in his head as he settled comfortably, and it almost startled him with how alien it sounded – it was his shadow, he realized quickly, though it never used such a soft tone when talking with him so far.

“Why? I thought you’re quite exasperated with me?” – He asked quietly, careful not to interrupt the Deathspeaker at work.

“You stood up for yourself. When the old man was crossing the line, remember?”

“Well… I got angry. He got me believing that he saw me as person for a moment, back at the hut. And then, he suddenly started to completely objectify me. It felt like a little betrayal.” – He was only barely moving his lips now, almost completely soundlessly. He figured that if the shadow could read his mind anyway, that would be enough for proper communication.

“Good. It pleases me. That’s why I helped you snatch his coal.”

“My anger makes you happy?” – He asked with surprise. – “I thought you liked him.”

“I still do. But he went too far, didn’t he? We can be a little angry without completely giving up on him. That’s how sane people act. They protect their own boundaries.”

“I… Suppose you’re right. It’s just that there was no place for anger in my existence so far. It was only fear and sadness… Well, mostly fear. It’s not like I got much time to pity myself either. Just little specks, here and there.” – He chuckled bitterly.

“It does us good, you know? Protecting what little dignity we have left, as you put it. We’re still human. He pointed it out, and you know it to be true as well.”

“I think I was quite convinced that I’m not, by now. It’s sobering to actually interact with another person. I owe you thanks, don’t I? You pushed me to do this…”

“You’re most welcome… Master.”