Dangers of the Sight
This incident occurred while I was on a mission to Barovia - and for once, it wasn’t to hunt a vampire. There had been reports in Immol about a strange spirit manifesting only as a pair of eyes, said to cause the disappearance of any person who looked at it. I’d seen it once between two books on a shelf in the Teodorus Archives, and was determined to track it again. Young Mr. Weathermay (“For the fifteenth time, Rudolph - just George”) had already pointed out that this fascination is likely what had lured the victims of this peculiar abberration, so we must be twice as careful with our investigation. Damned abberrations. Undead are dangerous enough, but the clearer you see their powers and limitations, the safer you are. With aberrations, the sight itself might be the greatest danger, for to truly understand them, you must cross to the other side of the unfathomable abyss between us and them - and once you do, when you look back to the humanoid side - even assuming you retain your life and sanity long enough to do so - it will be the unknowable one.
We were eating dinner in the Bolting Stag - or, rather, George and Markil ate. I was too distracted by the mystery ahead of us to think of base matters such as food - after our second, mostly fruitless day in the town. We’ve gathered five testimonies of sights of the monster, but we couldn’t find a clue as to where its lair might be, or what is it up to.
“All victims so far were Thaani.” I pointed out. “This might have something to do with their Bluestpurian heritage. But it could easily be a matter of probability: they make about half of the population here.”
“Do you have Thaani blood?” George asked.
“Frankly, I have no idea.” I sighed. He laughed for a moment, then realised my seriousness.
“But surly an educated man such as yourself would know his own ancestry!” The young man seemed shocked.
“Darkon is an immigrant country, and we rarely remember our roots.” I shrugged, and watched the Mordentish struggling to wrap his head around the concept.
“It… It means that as far as we know, your great-grandfather could have been anyone?” He stared at me, wide-eyed. “Like, he could have been Kartakan? Lamordian? Even a Vistani?”
“Loas, it’d explain so much if Dolf was part-Vistani.” Markil smirked. “I read somewha that people usually have somewha down their bloodline the group they’re most racist to.”
I took a long breath and tried to respond to the accusation calmly.
“First thing first, if you started reading articles in your free time - more power to you.” I said with no little pride. When the Souragnien kid first joined us, I fought tooth and nail to convince him that written language was even worth learning. It just wasn’t in his lexicon (no pun intended): His friends couldn’t read, his parents couldn’t read, his Nana couldn’t read - he wasn’t sure even his plantation owner could read - and they were doing fine, so it never occurred to him it might be a valuable skill. It took me two months until he let me teach him the letters, and three more till he could read whole paragraphs. Within seven he was helping the team with research, and now, after less than a year, he was reading out of his own volition. “Second, I am not racist. I don’t see the Vistani as an inferior race. My problem is with their culture and value system.”
“Potato potato.”
“What do potatoes have to do with it?”
“I’m not sure either, but you really should try them.” George pointed at my plate. “They’re amazing, especially with the sausage.”
“We’re straying off the topic.”
“We already had. My original point was that you’re this thing’s next target. You’re getting obsessed - “
“Since when I’m not?”
“This time it’s worse. You haven’t eaten all day, Dolf. Usually you’re the one reminding us to take care of ourselves even during the stress of a hunt.”
“And my point is that I can’t see how hatin’ people based on cultah is bettah than hatin’ them based on race.”
“Culture is a choice, race isn’t.” I glanced at a Nova Vassan merchant who was sitting at the bar. “See that man. I wouldn’t hate him simply because he’s Vassi - there’s no reason to, and even if there was, it would be unfair: You can’t blame a man for the parents he was born to. However, if I knew that man was among the faithful of the Lawgiver, then I might have something against him, because it’s within his choice whether or not to support a religion that actively encourages tyranny.”
“Do the Vistani actively encourage tyranny?”
“They serve Strahd.”
“Doesn’t mean they like it.”
“Which makes it even worse. It’s one thing to be misled by your master, and another thing to know in your heart that a deed is wrong and still do it.”
“But,” Markil insisted, “You wouldn’t avoid talkin’ to the Vassi guy. Not if he knew somethin’ we need to find out.”
“What is your intent?”
“Ma intent, Dolf, is that a bunch of those gypsies made camp outside the village this afternoon. Prob’ly still there. If we can’t find this reverse beholdah ourselves - “
“ - Reverse beholder?”
“ - A beholdah kills ye by lookin’ at ye. That thing kills ye when ye look at it.” He explained. “I mean, if anyone can find somethin’ like that, it’s a seer.”
“Well…” I sighed. “I think we just need to find the pattern. If we don’t make any progress by tomorrow - “
“ - Another innocent villager could disappear.” George said coldly. “ I agree with Markil. We should take all the help we can get.”
I considered telling them to go find the camp themselves, but knew this would be unwise: The first rule of monster-hunting is to never split the party.
“Tomorrow morning, then.” I said finally. “I want a good night’s sleep tonight, the doom prophecies can wait a few hours. Just to show you two I’m not more obsessed than usually.”
George made the jesture commonly known by kids these days as ‘face-palm’.
“And anyway,” I added, “This whole argument might prove pointless. If the Vistani want to be found, rest assured that they’ll find us first.”
And one of them had.
Sooner than even I was expecting.
I opened the door to our bedroom, expecting a quiet night of recovery before the next stage of our operation, only to find someone was already there. A boy of fourteen or so, slight of frame, with round face, tan skin, dark green eyes and flaming red hair, wearing oversized brown cloths, was sitting on one of the beds.
“Hello, Dr. Van Richten!” I could see the anxiety behind his smile. “You can call me Quoth. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I stared blankly at the youth who broke into our room, knew my name and shared his own with a raven.
“Shauten let me in.” He answered my unspoken question. Mists, the mage was getting more and more mysterious lately. Half the time he was on side-quests of his own, and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. If only I knew what’s on his mind! “I see he didn’t tell you.”
“We have not seen him since morning.” I confirmed. “Do you know where he went?”
“I met him near the lake. He led me here, bought me lunch and told me I can stay with you for now, then left.” Quoth explained. “He said nothing as to where he’s going. I guess I could try to divinate, but it didn’t seem like my business. I’m sorry for burdening you, good men, but I have no where else to go.”
Wait. I thought. Divinate. This could mean one thing.
“It’s alright, alright. No burden at all.” I shook my head. No matter how much I dislike the Vistani, it’s not my custom to refuse aid to innocent teenagers in distress. “May I ask what trouble you got in to? Why can’t your tribe help you?”
“They’re the trouble.” He said, then put his hand on his mouth, as if shocked by his own words. “They…” He then opened and closed his mouth a couple of times without making a sound. “Madam Eva is trying to kill me. Help. Please.” A grim chuckle burst out through his closed lips. “Now these are words no prophecy in the world could predict I’d utter! This cannot, should not, be real! Let it all be a nightmare, one I shall wake from in a moment, finding myself back in my bunk. My sister, Isabela, would try to calm my down, and I’ll tell her I’m just fine, and cousin Papusza would ask who’s the lunatic who woke up everyone screaming in the middle of the night, and my mom would come in and ask what happened, and when I tell them of it all, they’d reassure me it was merely a bad dream, this and nothing more, and will never come true…”
“That’s what we all think, the first time we’re made aware of the world’s horrors.” I found myself saying. “Let such things not be real - and if they’re real, let them not exist here and now, but only in faraway lands or eras long-forgotten - and if they exist here and now, let them not happen to me and mine. That’s what I thought, I know. But we are thus unfortunate that such horrors are real, and exist here and now, and happened to us and ours. This world of us is cruel and unfair, perhaps more so than others. But let this be a consultation to you: We - and by ‘we’ I mean even the least powerful or significant people - can make it a little less cruel and more fair.”
This seemed to encourage the poor lad. I’d seen this effect on people. The mere loss of safety is frightening, but not nearly as much as the loss of agency. Give the most broken man or woman an assurance they can still do something about the troubles they’re facing, and you’ll have them made anew.
“So… Quoth is stayin’ with us for a while?” Asked Markil the next morning. We were standing in the corridor, as Quoth asked us to stay outside while he dresses up. I would’ve expected one who grew up in tight quarters as he had to be less shy, but as it gave us hunters time for discrete discussion, we cared not.
“I guess.” I yawned. “We can’t just let those warlocks have him.”
“And you don’t - “ George lowered his voice.
“No, I don’t care he’s a vistana. As I said yesterday, I’m not ra - “
“ - think it’s a little suspicious?” He pointed at the bedroom door. “I mean, we don’t know him. We find him in our room one night. He claims Shauten let him in, but how would we know it’s true? He could be lying. Maybe he just broke in - he’d know who we are by magic. Or maybe he charmed Shauten, or tricked him in some way. And that’s assuming we trust the wizard.”
“I’d trust Shauten with my life.” I stated.
“And normally so would I, but you have to admit his behaviour was a little odd lately. Odder than usual.” He counterargued. “Anyway, even if our little friend is telling the truth, I think there’s a very important question we’re forgetting: why do they want to kill him?”
“I don’t care what stupid reason they have! It’s a kid!”
“You assume their reason is stupid.”
“And I suppose that’s racist of me?” I rolled my eyes. “To not want a child of theirs to die?”
“No, that’s just lethally foolish.” He stared me. “The Vistani do nothing without cause. They know things we don’t, and ignoring their warnings is going toe-to-toe with fate.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked. “Do you really think an entire race is dedicated to some grand scheme? And that this conspiracy must be somehow for the better, more trustworthy than the simple, intuitive conscience the Overseer gave us?” I watched him blushing. “Frankly, it sounds to me more biased than anything I ever said about the gypsies, albeit to the other direction.”
“I’m not saying we should trust them blindly.” He retreated to a more moderate stance. “But right now, we only have one side of this story. How about, we hear the other side, figure out what’s really going on here - then find a solution that doesn’t get anybody killed?”
“At the same opportunity we can ask ‘em about the reverse beholdah.” Markil suggested.
I had to admit this was a fairly logical course of action.
“The problem is how to do this without putting Quoth at risk.” I pointed out. “We can’t ask them without revealing our involvement - oh…”
We three let out a collective sigh as we realised that our involvement must already be revealed. Using secrecy against prophets is about as useless as archeological research in Dementlieu.
“He’s still in there?!” Markil stared at the closed door. “How long does it take the kid to dress up?”
George nodded. “Almost like he’s doing something he doesn’t want us to know about…”
“Please no - “
He opened the door, and immediately startled, his face redder than Hazlik’s robes.
This time it was my turn to usefully adopt the ‘face-palm’ gesture.
It wasn’t as bad as I feared. He wasn’t naked. However, he wasn’t wearing a shirt - only a tight cloth-wrapping around his chest, the sort actresses sometimes wear as costume for a male role.
“Oopsie.” Said George, covering his eyes with his hands, and by this meant ‘Wow, this is awkward. Sorry for entering the room while a fair maiden such as yourself is undressed. Mercious Ezra, please don’t let any word of this get back to Mordentshire, and especially not to my mom!’
“Oopsie.” Said Quoth, snatching his (her?) shirt from the floor, and by this meant ‘Mists, I have some explaining to do!’
“So, long story short,” Quoth explained over breakfast. “Though female in body, I’ve long suspected that I possess the soul of a boy.”
“How?” Asked George. “Did you steal it?”
The vistana rolled his eyes.
“I know it might sound weird to giorgios - “
“ - Not at all.” I shook my head. “Gender dysphoria is a well-reccorded phenomenon. The medical community is divided about it, but I’m of the opinion that it’s a natural variance, not illness or preversion. What pronouns do you prefer?”
“Ugh… He?” He shrugged. “Are there other options?”
“They, it, ey - I met once a halfling who used ‘meow’.”
“ ‘Meow’ as a pronoun?”
“The world is full of wonders.”
“Wow. Ahem. I didn’t expect you to be so cool with it.” He chuckled. “My parents weren’t, and our raunie definitely wasn’t. The moment I told her, she started muttering a curse only my sister’s pleading stopped her from finishing. That night, Isabella gave me a bag of provisions and extra clothes, and told me to run where not even Madam Eva can find me. ‘run, Quoth’ she said - the first time she ever used my chosen name, and likely the last.” His face turned more somber as he recounted the tale. “I tried fleeing into the mists, but found myself on the same side of the mountains, not a hundred feet from where I entered.”
“We found the one Vistana who can’t navigate the mists.” I tried not to laugh.
“I can’t navigate, period.” He laughed shamelessly. “No sense of direction in that brain. The joke of the clan. But that night - the night before yesternight - it wasn’t a very funny joke. I thought I’d wander aimless in the woods until some wolf decides to make a meal of me - ”
“ - It’s actually pretty rare for wolves to attack humans unprovoked. They’re more afraid of you than you’re afraid of them, in my experience.” George shrugged. “The real danger in getting lost in the woods is dying of thirst.”
“Okay… Thanks for letting me know…”
“Droppin’ random wildreness lore is George’s way of makin’ new friends.” Markil explained. “It means he likes you.”
“And Markil’s way of making new friends is embarrassing his old ones.” George mumbled.
“Anyways,” He finished, “I did have the sense to look for water. At dawn I saw a lake in the distance and went there, and that’s where I met your wizard friend, collecting herbs on the shore. He saw I was in distress, and, after hearing my story, led me to the inn. And here we are.”
“As I said, stupid reason.” I eyed George.
“My apologies for suspecting otherwise.” He stuck out his hand to Quoth, who shook it hesitantly. “Mark, are you putting sausage pieces in your mamliga?”
“It’s not spicy enough without it.”
“I don’t think mamliga is supposed to be spicy.”
“What’s the point of food if it’s not spicy?”
“To provide nu - nevermind, I won’t even argue with that.”
“Are they always like that?” Quoth whispered.
“Only when their responsible adult - me, that is - isn’t sufficiently ridiculous.” I answered. “Jokes aside, we have a serious question at hand today: On the one hand, we’re in dire need of a clue as to the whereabouts of the ‘belook’ - more catchy than ‘reverse beholder’, isn’t it? - which I reluctantly admit a seer’s reading could easily provide; On the other hand, I’d be surprised if the caravan Markil mentioned yesterday isn’t Quoth’s own clan looking for him. Thus, how can we progress with our investigation without risking our new companion?”
Quoth raised his hand. “How about I do the reading for you? I don’t have too much experience with it, but I can try.”
“I hope your Sight is better than you navigation skills.”
“First the eldest.” Quoth sat cross-legged on George’s bed and shuffled his Tarrokka deck, and I nervously approached.
“Past.” He layed out the first card. “There are more tragedies in your life than any man should suffer, and you take blame for all of them but for the one you should.”
Great way to start, huh?
“Care to tell me which one I should take the blame for?” I asked without much hope.
“Man, I can’t see that specifically!”
“I hate seers.” I sighed heavily. “You always leave out the most important part!”
“And I hate giorgio! You always get mad for us not being omniscient!” He sighed too. “It’s art, not science. I’m looking at the cards, picking up the vibes - ”
“ - Making it up as you go?” I raised an eyebrow. There weren’t that many male seers, were they? I haven’t met many of them - usually I try my best to avoid the Vistani - but the few I met were all women. Maybe only they get the power. It makes sense that such a mystical ability would be tied to one’s soul rather than body. Quoth - a boy’s soul in a girl’s body, as he defined himself - simply couldn’t develop it, yet was expected to learn how. Maybe he just… learned how to pretend? “It’s okay if you can’t do it for real. You don’t have to fake it. We all have different talents and limitations - “
“I am doing it for real. I swear to fate itself. I’m just kinda new to this…” He breathed deeply then layed out the second card. “The present. You’d seen the belook, were marked by it. You’re tied to it like a fish to a rod. You might feel the line pulling you right now. Let it pull, and you’ll surly find it - but only the help of one who had not been pulled yet can stop the hunter from becoming the prey.”
I felt the ‘line’ he was talking about. The fixation that haunted me ever since I glimpsed upon it in the library, the urge to get a better look, as if I won’t rest until I know exactly what this fleeting sight was. It almost faded in the drama of Quoth’s arrival, but now reemerged. I suddenly knew I will see this monster again, even if it will be the death of me - and that was exactly the problem.
“And now the future. That’s always the most interesting part.” He examined the third card with appreciation. “Well… You’ll start - have already started, in fact - something that will far outlive you. But it’ll only do so if you remember that the pen really is mightier than the sword. It will make sense for you soon enough.”
“Do you mean I should stop running around hunting monsters and start writing a book?” I guessed.
“Why either or when you can have both?”
“Schedueling issues.”
At that he smiled. “Being an adult sucks, huh?”
Next was George’s turn. He approached far more enthusiastically. I suspect having his fortunes told was one of the ‘adventurous’ fantasies he was entertaining long before he decided to join me in my travels.
“The past,” Quoth repeated the ceremony. “is not as gloomy as you remember it. The family you left behind loves you far more than you articulate. They’re waiting for you, and I think they’d be proud if they knew what you became.”
“If my dad loved me more than I thought, he should have shown it while I was still around.” My apprentice answered grumpily, his excitement dissolving into thin air. “And the odds he’d be proud of me for turning into an adventurer are about the same as the odds Dolf will marry your raunie.”
“Well, I never met the man, so I don’t think it’s my place to judge.” Quoth shrugged. “Some parents are just Uoverensstemmende - I should know. But if he isn’t that bad, maybe you could, I don’t know, send a letter home or something? It just seems sad…”
George seemed embarrassed, as if suddenly recalling he was talking to one who ran away from his family too - not out of spite, but for his life.
“The present.” He continued. “You’re worried that the current threat will stand between you and your mentor. Let it do so, at the right place and time.”
“I suppose that once more you know not the meaning of your own riddle?” George remarked.
“Don’t have a clue.”
“Legit.”
“And for the future,” His face grew solemn as he turned the last card. “You and Markil have critisized your mentor for his prejudice of my people. For this I’m grateful. But will you withstand the test he failed? When the horrors of the world strike close to home, will you have the strength of will to not let them in to your heart?”
George suddenly seemed very interested in his shoelaces.
“My turn now?” Markil jumped from his seat.
“Sure.” Quoth prepared to start a third line of cards, when the door was suddenly opened.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but she was quite stubborn…” The innkeeper led into the room an elderly woman wearing a hooded cloak.
“Here you are, Inza.” She said with a husky voice. “We’ve been searching for you.”
“That’s not my name.” Quoth put the cards back in his pocket and pulled himself to the side of the bed that was closer to the wall. But his voice didn’t tremble as he spoke. “My real name is Quoth. If you are to kill me, grandma, at least have the dignity to let me die as myself.”
I shivered at that last bit.
“You aren’t dying today as anything, son.” I reached for my shortsword. “Madame, I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but if you’re messing with this kid, you’re messing with Rudolph van Richten. Ever heard the name?”
“Once or twice.” She stared me down. “Go back to your vampires, giorgio. You have no idea what you think you’re are doing.”
And I suddenly felt as if I really should as she said. I really didn’t know what I was doing. This was Vistani business, the sort of business I had been trying for the majority of my life to avoid. What say do I even have here? But a wise old woman like her surely knows what should be done, and why won’t I leave this matter to her judgment?
I looked back to Quoth. There was a person here, a child, whose life was at stake. This wasn’t ‘Vistani business’ - this was a woman preferring her twisted traditions over the life of her own kin, a despicable thing in every culture, and I hope my young comrades understood it too.
“When I don’t know something, Madame, I try to find out.” I responded. “Please enlighten me, for I truly am at my wit’s end. Bigotry is all too common in these lands, unfortunately, and I admit I am not completely exempt from it; but to be so devoted to your hatred that you may harm your own kin for its sake?! Where’s the sense - be it rational, emotional or spiritual - in that?”
I saw in her eyes a glimpse of pity, or at least sorrow. But whatever it was, it was not going to stay her hand from the killing. “Can you, Van Richten, of all people, not imagine a circumstance when one must slay their own offspring, as horrendous as the act is, to stop a greater evil?”
I gripped my sword as if I was hanging on it from a cliff’s edge.
Yes, I could imagine such circumstances. No, not imagine - recall.
“I would have given him my own blood if he’d take it.” Every word cut my throat from the inside as it came out. “I told him over and over again - maybe there’s a cure, maybe there’s a way he can live as a vampire without killing, maybe - he wouldn’t take that risk. He felt the instincts of undeath starting to replace those of life in him. He’d seen, before I had, what was the end result: a man to whom the lives and wills of other beings were of lesser interest than garlic peelings, who wouldn’t care enough to think of an ethical solution or stick to one that had been offerred. To be tortured by that man was bad enough - to know he was to become someone like him? That was too much for the poor kid. All that night we argued, as I tried to hold him back, keep him in the living world, and he tried to explain to me that the part of him I loved, the part of him I had hopes for, was already in the Grey Realm. And I still argue with myself, some nights - was there really no other way? Maybe I paid too much heed to words said in the momentary despair of a child who’d just gone through two days of living hell? And if so, does that not make me the monster? I would lose my mind over these thoughts had I not known that though I drove the stake through his heart, Erasmus would still be alive if not for your people and their twisted sense of justice. To think I would do that to him - or to myself - simply because he claimed to be something I didn’t understand or believe in - “
“ - Oh, you really have no idea!” Madame Eva sneered. “On the other hand, I am not sure even the kid understands. I had no time for explanations, and so I left a gap you filled with mundane prejudices…”
All four of us stared at her in confusion. So this wasn’t about Quoth’s gender identity?
“I understand you are a boy, Quoth.” She sat by his side, gently stroking his hair, looking almost maternal. He shrinked in fear under her touch. “I am more sure of it than you are, I am willing to bet, and was for quite a while. The signs were there since before you learned to speak, but that alone was alright. If only you hadn’t developed The Sight! But you had. And even then I decided to give you the benefit of doubt, for even I may err, but this week you approved my suspicions.” She sighed. “Oh, I perfectly believe you are a boy, my grandson - and this is exactly why you have to die.”
“It can’t be!” Qouth cried. “I’m not - “
“ - You know the prophecy as well as I do.” She said solemnly. “A man with The Sight - “
“ - But I don’t want to destroy our people! I don’t want to destroy anything!”
“You don’t want to, but you will. Such is your fate.”
“Then fuck fate!” He protested. “I. Won’t. Do. It. Don’t you trust me, granny?”
“It’s not in your control.”
“Do you really think any curse or prophecy can override one’s will so thoroughly?”
“It can and it had. I’ve seen it happening.”
George raised his hand, as if in class. “Any context for us ignorant giorgios?”
The raunie sighed heavily, then explained to us the prophecy of the Dukkar: That one day, a male seer would bring the end of the Vistani.
“So… Do you mean that every boy with The Sight will inevitably become a Dukkar, or that one day one of them will?” I asked at the end of the lecture. “If it’s the former, wouldn’t getting rid of Quoth’s divinitory power remove the danger? In case of the latter, what are the odds he’s the one? Would you kill him for that slim chance?”
Madame Eva said nothing.
“There are many questions that need asking here! A prophecy, even if true, can’t replace our critical thinking!” I continued. Here was the scientist’s advantage over the mystican - the daring to dissect tradition, break it down and tell the fact apart from the superstition and pre-assumption. If only our era’s arcanists could adopt this method, imagine what could be achieved! “I’m sure we could find a loophole of some sort, if we went over the exact wording of the prophecy.”
“I shall not take that chance.”
“Not even for your own flesh and blood?” I asked. “Well, too bad, for I shall. I couldn’t save Erasmus, but I will save Quoth. I swear.”
She gave me a long look - this time one that had none of the dominating power of her charms, only examination. For a second I feared we’d have to fight her off, but then she got up, saying:
“Well done. I shall entrust him in your hands, then. But don’t you dare, even for a split second, let him out of your sight.”
We spent that evening planning our next step, thinking who - barring Eva herself - could tell us more about the mysterious prophecy. I regret to inform you that I was quite distracted, for I had seen the eyes of the belook once more, under Markil’s bed. The third time will be last, I decided, and my comrades agreed. Next time we’d pursue it, no matter where and when.
We paid dearly for my obsession, though. This morning, I found Quoth and his bedroll gone, and this note over the hearth:
Dear Dr. Van Richten,
Don’t get me wrong. I am forever in your debt for your defence last night. Few people would have had the courage or care to interfere there, and I’m lucky you’re one of those few.
However, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense to me that if there’s one way fate would turn me against my own people, it would be by spending too much time with you - a kind, open-minded person who nevertheless hates us. I hope someday you’d be disillusioned from your prejudices, but I’m afraid it will not be by my hand. The chance it will happen the other way round is too high, and when playing against Fate, leaving anything to chance is giving your rival an extra turn. Moreover, one must question why did my raunie miss that catch. I suspect she hadn’t - she simply didn’t expect me to survive very long in your company. Not through any fault of your own, Doctor - but you lead a dangerous life, and it’s made doubly dangerous by the shadow hanging over you. I’m not an expert on curses. If I were, I would stay by your side and help you break yours, just as you promised to help me with mine. As it is, I fear we’d only make things worse for eachother…
Remember my reading, all three parts of it. Good luck with your hunt.
May your roads all be short and straight,
Quoth Zarovan.