The place was dreadful. Crow knew it would've been even if he was completely sober - most of the furniture was completely trashed, broken and shattered into pieces on the floor. Only the peeking remnants of rich fabrics and masterfully carved wood here and there reminded very bitterly of their former glory. But the looming misery swirling around everywhere was much more bitter. This was never a happy house, he knew instantly. Not even for a split moment.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” - He whispered.

“So do I when I look at this, and compared to you in this state right now, I might as well be a blind man. Lord Calmbank won't be an easy job, that's for sure. Maybe you can see him already?”

“No, there's just the two of us here now. And all the spiders, of course. Their strings are very joyous. It's warm again, so their bellies can finally be full.”

“Spiders you say? That could be useful. They see things that humans usually can't. I'll have a little chat with them.”

Crow nodded eagerly. The moss made everything fall into place, as if it glued together some of the shards of his broken mind. Arnath could speak with animals, because he was a Life Mage. It was as simple and natural as the fact that the sky was blue.

“Good morning, friends!” - The Deathspeaker gave a courteous bow. - “I'm sorry for intruding upon your kingdom, but I come to help a restless soul pass to the Hereafter. I don't suppose you'd mind if I made your land free of its violent inhabitant?”

The Undead was completely at peace with the thought that he would only be able to listen in on one part of the conversation. He didn't have Arnath's powers after all, so it only seemed logical, even if a little disappointing. So when he actually heard a chorus of tiny, shrill voices, he gasped both in surprise and delight.

“It is speaking to us!”

“What do we do?! Humans shouldn’t be able to speak, should they?!”

“Call the broodmother, it might be dangerous! She will dispose of it!”

“Should we be worried?” - Crow asked, raising his eyebrow at the crowds of tiny creatures now scattering to seemingly find their mighty leader.

“Certainly not. There are spiders that could, uh… Dispose of me, as they said, but they don’t live in our climate.” - Arnath chuckled quietly. - “Judging by the markings on her children, the brood mother will be a simple cross spider. So if worse comes to worst, I might get an unpleasant itch upon being bitten.”

“Pfft! Simple?! The last time I bit you, you got serious swelling and nausea, mister!”

“Spindle!” - The old man’s face lit up with a joyous smile as a considerably sized arachnid descended from the ceiling on a thread of her own webbing and landed on his nose. - “So this is where you went after I fixed your leg!”

“I always told you I’ll make it big in the world, didn’t I? And now look at all this!” - Spindle turned around in circles with her front legs outstretched, as if she wanted Arnath to really take in the sight of the ruined manor. - “I am the queen of the most beautiful kingdom under the sun!”

“I couldn’t be more proud of you, little one.” - He said and brought his finger up to her. She rested her head against it, and Crow realized, with some help from the moss, that he didn’t touch her first because he was afraid to crush her tiny body.

“Come children, come! This human is a friend!” - Spindle called upon her brood and the spiders swarmed around Arnath, some of them starting to crawl up his legs, ooh-ing and ahh-ing curiously as they did so.

“Alright, alright!” - The Deathspeaker put up his hands. - “Give me a little space my good fellows! You’re all very beautiful individually, but in these numbers you make me feel a little skittish!”

An offended murmur went through the crowd, but the creatures dispersed, however reluctantly.

“Aww, you made them sad…” Spindle didn’t seem to mind for that long, since she almost immediately chittered again, this time as happily as if nothing happened. - “Anyway, who’s your friend?”

“Oh, this here’s Crow. My new apprentice.”

“Crow? It doesn’t look like a crow. Crows are proud and majestic. That’s a little jackdaw who’s been caught in the rain!” - The Undead felt a rush of embarrassment as he realized the clacking sounds that the spider was making were laughter.

Arnath cleared his throat and threw Crow a brief, apologetic smile.

“Now, Spindle, as much as I love discovering that you’re doing well for yourself, I didn’t exactly come here with a friendly visit. I’m on a job, you see, and I’m pretty sure your kingdom hosts an angry ghost. Would you mind helping an old friend out and telling me where exactly it roams?”

“Oh, that thing… If you could really get rid of it, I’d be forever grateful. It keeps messing up our webs.”

“Yes, yes, Spindle, that’s exactly what I’m going to do, but you need to tell me where it is now.” - The Deathspeaker was losing his patience, still worried that Crow won’t be able to hold the potion in long enough.

“The small room. One filled with all the chopped down trees bound in dead cows’ skin! An absolutely dreadful place! The very cursed outback of my kingdom!”

“Does she… Mean books?” - Crow chuckled.

“I don’t care what your kind calls it! It’s pure brutality packaged in small compact boxes!” - The spider flailed her front legs around in agitation.

“Yes, uh, I’ll make sure to get those monuments of death and destruction out of here when I’m done.” - Arnath offered the broodmother his finger again and when she climbed it, he put her down on one of the dusty shelves close to the ceiling. - “Come, Crow. We’re headed to Lord Calmbank’s study. I’ve been there once, when he was still among the living, so I should be able to find it on my own.” - He lowered his voice to a whisper. - “I’m afraid that if Spindle was to guide us, we’d spend a week here…”

“How was she able to understand me? And how did I understand her?” - The Undead asked as they walked the decrepit corridors.

“The moss. It lifts a veil, so to speak. Lets you experience all the magic that surrounds you without any blockage.”

“So I’m not just “really high”, as you’ve put it before.” - Crow pouted and sent Arnath an offended glare.

“I beg you, don’t start with the Divine again. I need you focused and cautious now. I’m pretty sure the study is behind that heavy door at the end of the hallway.

“Cautious, huh?” - He glanced down at his tattoo for the second time that day, and then at his shadow. - “Liristera.” - He said loud and clear, with an exact vision of what he wanted to achieve formed in his mind.

Power flowed from his tongue, burning the tip of it like a particularly sour fruit and just like his dark companion told him earlier, the thin strings connecting everything and everyone resonated to the tune of his voice. The shade beneath his feet straightened up its back and began turning its head around in search of any danger. Crow smiled with gleeful wonder. His first spell worked.

“Huh…” - The Deathspeaker seemed to be amazed as well. - “You’re quite talented.”

“He’s the one who taught me, really.” - He pointed to the shadow. - “Or maybe I knew already. I did choose it for my wrist, after all.”

“Well…” - Arnath nodded at the door. - “...Shall we? I don’t want to risk on you puking halfway through and having to start all over again.”

“Right. The ghost. That’s what we’re here for.” - Crow grinned, hazy and with his mood still boosted to the limits by both the magic and the moss, and pushed the heavy door open.

His face quickly dropped. He didn’t know what to expect upon entering the study, but it definitely wasn't that.

First and foremost, there was the chair. It was the most disgusting thing he has ever seen, more disgusting than the thousands of corpses laying in the forest where he woke up, and than the stubborn insects that would crawl up into the wound in his chest only to die there and make him utterly repulsed with his own body. There was no corpse in it anymore, but its outline had bled firmly into the plush fabric. Lord Calmbank must’ve started to liquify before he was found. Partially, of course. Because here and there, there were chunks of dried up flesh stuck to it. Crow felt bile rise up to his throat. And just as he did, his shadow, bound to caution, put its hand over his mouth, forcing him to swallow it back down.

And when the first shock of seeing the man’s physical remnants was gone, there were also his spiritual ones to consider. Because he was sitting right there, in that revolting piece of furniture. The ghost of Adald Calmbank.

Crow thought that he’d be terrifying. Thin and withered, or maybe just as rotten as his body must’ve been when he was discovered, with chains dangling from his wrists and ankles, and all the other bone-chilling stuff that always came up when village folk whispered worriedly about ghosts. But he wasn’t. He was proud, young and handsome, and he regarded him and the Deathspeaker with superiority.

“Petitioners? On Sunday? Who even let you in?” - He asked pressingly.

“He’s here, I can feel it… Be polite.” - Arnath reminded.

“Right. Right, I’ll be extremely polite.” - Crow cleared his throat. - “Uh… Hello, your… Highness? Majesty? Lordshipness?”

“You must be the new village idiot.” - The ghost sighed and turned his gaze to the papers thrown around in disarray on the desk. - “Will you leave on your own, or do I have to call the guards?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m the new village weirdo, not the idiot. And… Well, if you’ll excuse me for being so bold, I don’t think you have any guards left. I let myself in, to answer your previous question.”

Arnath groaned. Crow was terrible at it.

Calmbank slumped in his seat and looked to the ceiling as if he too, just like the old man, wanted gods to grant him patience for Crow’s antics.

“I know. I was dearly hoping you’d find this too difficult if I made you think that I didn’t know of my own demise, and just leave. But you’re a stubborn one, aren’t you? Oh, what joy…” - The ghost’s voice was as flat as its pulse.

“This is… Indeed unfortunate. I can relate! I also like to be left in peace, you know? But you’ve been wailing and trashing around and whatnot, and that gives my Deathspeaker friend here the slightest feeling that you might be, pardon my insolence again, seeking his attention.”

“Yes. The Deathspeaker’s attention! Not some halfwit’s that I’ve never seen before! Why isn’t he talking with me himself?!”

“He screwed up the potion. Too much to handle for his frail elderly body.” - Crow explained eagerly. It was polite to be honest, right?

“WHAT?! He does this job for longer than anyone in Khaede can remember, and he SCREWED UP THE POTION?! WHEN IT WAS MY TURN?! Stupid peasant!” - Calmbank aimed one of the books cluttering his desk at Arnath’s head and threw it. Crow’s shadow caught it mid-flight, and gave a salute to his master.

“I’m begging you, get your act together. This is not going well!” - The old man pleaded.

The Undead really wanted to, but the ghost kept on rambling and he wasn’t sure when would be the tactful moment to interrupt him.

“Oh, but of course he messed the job up!” - He rose from his seat and started pacing around. - “He’s ancient! Senile by now! Completely useless! Tell him to fucking admit defeat, finally quit his joke of a career and focus on his hobbies, like licking Thanred’s boots! RE-TIRE-MENT!” - He screamed right in front of Arnath’s face, but the man only heard a pitiful, agonized moan. - “THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE GOOD FOR!”

“What is he saying?” - He asked calmly, seemingly unfazed by the display.

“That you should stop your craft and shift to licking the Imperial Commander’s boots full time.” - Crow whispered meekly. He had a feeling his new boss wouldn’t like that.

And indeed he didn’t. The Undead would never imagine that this jolly old man’s face could contort like that, in this much rage.

“EXCUSE ME?! LICKING HIS BOOTS?!” - For a moment the ghost seemed stunned by the outburst, his jaw slightly agape. - “I’m watching over this gods-forsaken village for generations, I work my ass off to stay on amicable terms with the only person who can warrant our safety, I did that when your father was little, and your grand-father, and great-grand-father, and you call it LICKING SOMEONE’S BOOTS?! DO YOU EVEN REALIZE I’M THE SOLE REASON YOUR FAMILY WAS ALLOWED TO LAST LONG ENOUGH TO BRING FORTH YOUR SORRY EXISTENCE?!”

At that last sentence, the magical strings around Calmbank spiked with fury. The books in the study lifted off of the ground, desk and numerous shelves, flying around them in hasty, deadly circles.

“Maybe you should calm down a little…” - Crow muttered, grasping at his hair in panic.

“FUCK, NO! I’VE HAD IT ENOUGH WITH DAMNED CALMBANKS! EACH ONE MORE STUPID THAN HIS FATHER!”

The ghost let out an unearthly shriek, and its form changed in an instant. Now he was exactly what Crow first expected him to be. A half decayed husk, with maggots coming out of his eye sockets and mouth.

“Alright, we’re getting out of here, now!” - The Undead took the executive decision, as the books were already darting their way, and he could see his shadow struggling to catch them all at once. In one swift motion, he threw the Deathspeaker over his shoulder like he did so many times with the game caught for Tedrick, and darted out of the study as fast as his legs could carry him. He only stopped when they were well out of the manor, because another problem came forth.

“If you want to ask about what just happened, I don’t want to talk about it…” - Arnath grumbled.

“No, no.” - Crow said weakly with a hiccup. - “I’m in no state to talk either.”

With that, he swiftly put him down, before bending in half and retching violently on the ground.