The Last Hunter
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Legacy of Evil: Bad Medicine
🕑 Added 2024-04-11 01:32:58 +0000 UTCOut of everything I had expected to find, it certainly wasn't this. But offhand comments, behaviors and more I had seen before suddenly collided and became all the clearer as I stared at the patient in the bed. She looked like a burn victim, wrapped up in bandages and as she laid against the bed and watched us, my eyes would flick to the picture as I examined it more carefully. I could see why there was such animosity between Amos and Jeff now, if this woman was the connection but why wouldn't he share her survival? Why was she down here, cared for in such obvious secrecy?
"Tom." Said Conan suddenly, his tone worried and I looked away from the picture as he pointed towards the bed itself.
At a second glance, the bed itself was far sturdier than it should have been. Bolted into the floor, reinforced with magic similar to what you'd find in a spellward for healers with more... Dangerous cases. Something increasingly setting my spine to tingling as I noticed the silver chains on the floor. Not exactly standard fare, before I looked back into her eyes. Despite the explosion and both of us here, there was no fear in her eyes nor resignation. Just an open curiosity before I finally spoke.
"Can you talk?"
She shook her head. Damn, ok we'll have to be a bit more creative. I tapped my foot, deep in thought before Conan spoke aloud, curious.
"Are you cursed?" I threw a look at him and to Mrs. Slade. To neither of our surprise, she nodded sadly. Conan glanced at me before speaking. "Tom, the cauldron. You are better at this than I am. I will ask what we can." This was logical enough and to be honest, I would be first in line to say I had a horrible bedside manner. Some arcane deductive work would be far better suited to me and as Conan pulled up a chair and spoke quietly, I investigated the cauldron in the corner.
Standard potion maker kit, whoever used it dared not brew it elsewhere. I wondered why, as I ran a finger along the edge and took a taste, smacking my lips as I did so. Making a face, I grimaced and muttered to myself. "Healer potion alright." Even in magic, there was no mistaking that medicinal aftertaste so unique to many of the items for health in our world. Wanting to be sure again, I ran my finger along inside once more and pulling out the substance, began rubbing it between my fingers before I hummed to myself. Smooth, thick and.... I brought it to my nose, sniffing once before nodding.
Lotion based. This was meant to be rubbed into the skin.
For the curious, potion making is perhaps one of the more unusual aspects of the arts arcane. As demonstrated by Snape in canon, a proper master of potions could do all sorts of tricks and though I wasn't quite as proficient in firsthand experience, I made up for it in theory. This would be my first proper test of it however, as I began flicking my eyes back and forth before finally finding a stocked drawer full of ingredients, matched by four more just like it. There wasn't a list of course of the potion in question, of course that'd be too easy. But I had clues enough and moreover, a drawer that looked as though the owner was meticulous in what he kept in here. All I had to do was look and see which ingredients seemed to be used the most and from there, I could continue my working theory.
Whoever was brewing this potion seemed to use a lot of Centaury. In my mind, a little hand waved a file denoting its uses as I recited aloud, following up with the other ingredients likewise seeming to run out.
"Centaurium erythraea. Used as a base against foreign magic. Potentilla. An amplifier, used to enhance the qualities of the ingredients. Agrimonia for evil spirit banishment-wait." I paused, staring at the ingredients before my mind began working rapidly again. My eyes flicked back and forth, curious and somewhat astonished now as I realized what I was looking at.
The potion was a variation of the Wolfsbane, for the outer skin rather than ingested as the former was. And was keyed against something entirely different as I spoke very carefully. "Conan. Be very careful with her."
I rose to my feet, turning around as I stepped forward. Mrs. Slade just laid there, unafraid as she looked at me before I spoke. "I am going to go over events. As I do, tell me if I'm wrong or otherwise."
I paced, Conan looking wary as he glanced between me and the woman on the bed before I spoke. "Let's go back... A good twenty to twenty-five years, give or take. In the town of Blackwater, there was a wedding between a squib and the daughter of the town sheriff. All seemed well, Amos was a hard worker and for a while, you were all good. Then when you were establishing your homestead, you ran into something. A strange beast, that was dying and acting... Uncanny." I looked at her, she looked at me. So far, she was revealing nothing as I continued on.
"When you tried to help, something came out. Like black smoke, seeking to possess you. Choking, hateful and ugly-wanting to turn you against your family."
I stared, continuing on as I added nodding to her body and what I suspected laid beneath it.
"But you weren't alone. And when you realized what was happening, or whether someone else did? Betty engulfed you in fire."
She flinched for the first time, Conan making a move to help before she waved him off before nodding wearily. Good to know I knew that much. Those bandages were hiding severe burn wounds, and in a situation like that, her options must have been limited.
So, she decided to make the ultimate one, to protect her children and her husband. For a moment in my mind, her face overlapped with two people. An angry, desperate latina woman with a knife when I had been hunting the Nazi officer and another I hadn't met yet, but I knew intimately... A fiery redhead, with eyes green as jade as she pleaded for her son's life.
'Get out of the way girl. Stand aside.'
"But you lived." I said woodenly before glancing away. "You went to your father for help, convinced him of what was going on. And then he kept you here. Doing his best to help you, respecting your wishes. And more." Because I knew the process of the Naagloshii from my own... Dark future experiences, I could read between the lines as I added.
"Because the spirit lived as well. A host body, especially yours is burned out eventually, sooner or later. So, Jeff began doing something to fix that. Its why he looks so much younger now, and why you're still alive." I looked at her and spoke grimly. "He took part of the Naagloshii too. And whatever he fed upon, he shared with you, helped you survive." Conan gave a start as I continued, eyes fixed on her.
"It was never just one Naagloshii.... It was two."
She closed her eyes, shame filling her frame but making no motion to stop me or correct me. Conan spoke up, cautiously. "How do we know though? For sure?"
"The cells." I said quietly, grimacing as I added. "You'd always see a few drunks, maybe a prisoner transfer, etc. But it was just us. Everything was dusty, unused... Where were the prisoners, Conan?"
Horror filled his eyes, as he looked at the woman in the bed before he finally spoke. "So why now? Why act now so obviously?"
"Because whatever he's doing, it's no longer working." I said distantly before adding. "Remember when I said the best way to know a local monster was to ask the locals? Sheriff Jeff is a man of Montana-to him, the Lakota were always annoyances, people to sneer at and ignore. But the Naagloshii knew otherwise. It knows how much of a threat they are, and it began to bide its time. It... It's like a voice in your head, dark and seductive. Leading you to do more and more horrible things, in the name of its survival till you're no longer sure if you're still in control or ever had been."
I grimaced and added. "When he saw a Lakota outside their protection, he must have thought he could get their help... But they recognized him and the Naagloshii struck."
Mrs. Slade closed her eyes, shame filling her entire frame as she began to cry in silence. I took a deep breath, trying to focus before I spoke gently. "Mrs. Slade... Where can I find Clint Slade?"
Without hesitation, she pointed across the way to a closet I had ignored till now. Glancing at it, I must have looked nervous. Because Conan immediately came with me, both of us preparing as we stared at it-looked at each other, nodded and threw it open to reveal the following.
Conan reeled back in horror, eyes wide in shock as he slumped to his knees. A foul scent battered against us, no longer blocked by the doors charms as we saw the following. It was a cell, it was a trophy room. Piles of clothing, shoes and knick-knacks tossed among boxes and boxes of items. The leaving of victims, who either were passing through town or attacked in the wilderness. I had eyes for the man chained to the wall, Clint Slade who looked delirious and missing his arm and a leg.
I rushed inside, did my best to break the chains and grab him as Conan let out a low, mournful groan. As I slung Clint's arm over my shoulder, I caught his expression and realized belatedly what had happened.
"Conan. Conan!" He ignored me, his expression pale as his eyes flicked wildly from one box to the other, his body swaying as if drunk before I stepped closer and slapped him across the cheek. "Conan! You're not there! You're here!"
He let out a sharp gasp, focusing on me before shuddering as he spoke. "Ah! Yes, apologies my friend. This was... Horrible." I nodded in turn, both of us moving to aid Clint before there was a sudden rattle.
We turned to look at the bed. Mrs. Slade's eyes had grown wider, almost bloodshot as to my alarm, a black fluid began to drip from her eyes as if she was crying. Aloud, I spoke in horror.
"Jeff must have forgotten to apply the potion."
The bed rattled. The frame began to creak, Mrs. Slade began writhing, struggling to break her bonds as the scent of fresh blood filled the air from where her wrists were chained. And for a moment, she was herself as she looked at us, speaking in a guttural, desperate tone.
"Run."
And she wrenched her arm out with a crack, her hand dropping to the floor as it dripped the same, black bile from her eyes as she began to scream in a voice like the legion. Like an entire zoo of beasts were screaming with her, her hand on the ground twitching as it rose, spider-like and rushed to connect back to her severed wrist. To my disgust and intrigue, black threads began connecting the points, creating a whole and forcibly reworking her entire body from the inside out. To something much, much worse as Conan growled and spoke.
"Time to go! MOVE YOUR ASS TOM!" That snapped me out of it, as we began rushing out as swiftly as we could, trying to ignore just how inhuman those cries were becoming by the second.
And with a wounded boy, a werewolf and a wizard, we fled from that scene of horror.
And Horror followed after.
