Finding more questions than answers.

Excusing himself, John left the seer’s quarters with a lot on his mind. Lorelei’s cryptic warning had left him with several questions, some leads… and a bit of jealousy. Seeing her at work had been a reminder of just how defective his own precognitive powers were. In comparison to ‘the Lady’s Sight’, Planning was a literal headache, and his inability to trigger it at will was growing increasingly frustrating. He’d even considered asking her for advice, but with his own experiences, he could imagine she probably wouldn’t have much to give.

At least he had a lead now. One detail of their meeting had been important enough to be merit being added to his quest log in The Vanishing entry.

-Find an item linked to Vanessa Hawthorne’s soul
-Locate Vanessa Hawthorne

He had no idea where or how he could find anything like that, but presumably, that’s where the rest of the seer’s vision would come into play. Hopefully. John wasn’t sure how ‘the seventh of seven sins’ fit into the picture; which one was that again?

The rest of the message had been a mix of bad to worse news. ‘A shadow in the guise of man’ heavily implied that Vanessa had gotten mixed up with something, or someone, non-human… and ‘shadow’ wasn’t often used to refer to anything nice. Combined with Lorelei’s inability to find her, it meant the chances were high that the bitchy cheerleader was dead.

John had mixed feelings about that idea. When the possibility had first been brought up, he should’ve been disturbed or horrified… but the sensation he’d felt above all else was frustration. Vanessa deserved whatever terrible fate happened to her, and if she’d fallen victim to the Abyss, he wouldn’t shed a single tear for her. Except he felt cheated. If she was dead, then how was he going to get justice for Laetitia or any of the other people she’d harmed, including himself?

Plus, I still have to go dig up whatever’s left of her…

Even in , Vanessa Hawthorne still found ways to fuck up his life. It almost made him hope she was still alive… almost.

John pulled his thoughts together and texted the relevant stuff to Erica, hoping that maybe she’d be able to shed some light on things. Unfortunately, she was probably still wrapped up in reporting to Moira since the message remained ‘unread’. While he waited for her, he started browsing the internet for information on the seven deadly sins to refresh his memory.

Envy, Greed, Sloth, Lust, Wrath, Gluttony and… Pride. Vanessa has no shortage of that one.

One list placed gluttony as the seventh sin; maybe she’d been at her favorite restaurant? No, that probably wasn’t it. A rich customer suddenly going missing would attract way too much attention. It’d have to be somewhere isolated, or a place where she wasn’t well known.

Lust could refer to the Ruby Road, maybe Vanessa was whoring herself out? It’d suit her. Greed… her family has wealth all over town, that could be anything. Wrath doesn’t seem associated with anything.

There were too many possibilities to narrow it down. He checked his messages to see if Erica had any insight, but she still hadn’t read his. What was taking her so long?

He looked out the nearest window and out over the tree line, which… hold on. Trees? John looked around his surroundings in confusion. After he’d left the seer’s room, he’d headed up some stairs and then just kept walking without looking where he was going, and now he was in an outermost hall on the second or third floor. Where was the garden with the huge tree?

There were no doorways or any exits other than the turn behind him that he’d presumably come from and a twist back to the right ahead. Instead, the hallway was lined on one side with large curtained windows and on the other with portraits of redheaded women, former wardens, and suits of armor. It wasn’t particularly unusual decor for the manor, but the layout made no sense. John sighed and looked back down at his phone.

John N. (11:58): Hey, I’m kind of lost. Help?

A familiar, resonant voice spoke up from behind him, “Mr. Newman?”

Jesus Christ!

Frantically whirling around to find the source of the voice, John nearly ran into the familiar silhouette of Reginald, who had apparently been standing only a few feet away. In a hallway that had been empty seconds ago. Without making any noise. The butler was like a dapper wraith, appearing out of nowhere. Brighton manor was like the castle from Memories: The Shaded Slide, except the jump-scares were provided by an exceptionally polite, elderly man rather than a horrifically mutilated zombie. Hopefully that was the only similarity, and the Brightons didn’t keep people chained up in unnecessarily professional basement rooms…

Do they have those?

John wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

What he was curious about was the Brighton family’s enigmatic head servant. He’d initially dismissed the man, but that seemed pretty foolish now. After all, the Brightons probably didn’t hire anyone that wasn’t immersed in the world of the magical, even for the more mundane positions. John tentatively cast Observe.

Reginald Garrick
Level 31 Crusader
<Champion of Chains>

Well… huh. He didn’t quite know what to make of the result. Reginald’s level was in the middle of a range he hadn’t been exposed to yet and had no easy comparison he could make. The butler was three times his own level, twice Erica’s and half Lord Brighton’s. There was no question he was powerful and not someone that John wanted to anger… but it was somewhat relaxing to be around an older person that wasn’t a superpowered monstrosity.

“Ahem, Mr. Newman? Is there something wrong?” Reginald asked.

John blinked, shook his head and pulled himself together. “Sorry. Uh, I’m… a bit lost,” he sighed in defeat. “Obviously. I’m probably not supposed to be here.”

The butler nodded, “I regret to inform you that Lady Carpenter will be delayed for a short while further. Please, follow me, and I can arrange some refreshment or entertainment while you wait.”

While the offer of hospitality was enticing, John sensed another goal behind it: to keep him under supervision. It would have been insulting, and honestly, it still was a bit, if not for the fact that he was in someone else’s home. He wouldn’t want Moira poking around his bedroom. Besides, there was a good reason to accept the offer.

He was starting to suspect the shifting hallways he’d encountered were a form of defense mechanism or tangible illusion built into the manor itself. It’d be an effective way of keeping an invader occupied… Setting aside the fact it was probably being used on him, John was actually rather impressed. It was an idea he filed away for the future. Nevertheless, without a guide he wasn’t going anywhere but home via Hearth.

It can’t hurt to play along. I really wish Erica were here though.

“That’d be great, thanks,” John said.

Without another word, Reginald turned and began walking back in the direction that John could swear he’d come from. He shrugged, then followed. As he did, John examined the portraits of the past Wardens with mild interest.

Helena, Eileen, Abigail, Theodora, Ariel… Wait a second, Ariel?

He stopped at the last one before the bend, caught by the recognition of a familiar name. Ariel Brighton, the Warden that had been mentioned in the Thorn’s flavor text. The woman portrayed above the gilded plaque was shockingly beautiful: a raven-haired woman with pale skin and piercing crimson eyes clad in well built full-plate and gripping the hilt of a gilded sword. The painting captured an expression of stern seriousness that seemed to permeate every element of her body. ‘Impervious, adamant and iron-willed’ were the words that came to mind for John… and yet there was something more to her. The unusual captivating red of her eyes drew in his attention like a black hole. Two rubies that stared back with a painful… emptiness.

What kind of woman was she?

“Mr. Newman.” Reginald had paused to look back at him.

John wasn’t listening, distracted by the plaque inscribed beneath the painting. It held more than just a name.

The Martyr of London, who fell in the service of Our Lady in September of 1666 at St. Paul’s Cathedral fighting abominations of the Cabal. She had no heiress, and her Inheritance passed to Warden Sofia Lichtsinn.

He was a bit disappointed that the plaque didn’t give him any insight into the Black Rose, but based on her appearance and the distinct lack of a golden shield, he guessed it was tied into whatever that ‘Inheritance’ was. Maybe Erica would recognize the name.

It dawned on John that Reginald had been waiting as politely impatient as possible for him to stop staring at a random piece of art and that maybe now wasn’t the best time to get drawn into another mystery. He could worry about history after the Vanessa situation was dealt with.

He took one last look at Ariel’s somber expression, cataloguing it in his mind, then walked over to the butler saying, “Sorry, sorry. Lead the way.”

---

Refreshment took the form of tea and things called ‘biscuits’, though as far as he was concerned they were really just a form of cookie. At John’s confusion, Reginald had offered to get him a soda or some ‘potato crisps’, but he’d declined. He wasn’t sure what to do with the biscuits, and the tea wasn’t bad, but… John felt, if he’d accepted the alternative offer, he’d look like a commoner in a noble house or something. Besides, the biscuits had turned out pretty good.

As he took a bite of one, he reflected on the oddity of the traditionally British snack selection. The portrait of Ariel in the hallway had referenced London, and if memory served, the Brightons were rumored to have paid an exorbitant sum to have their mansion physically transferred from elsewhere to Springfield. Seeing the piles of gold in the vault, he had no trouble believing that. Still, nobody he’d spoken to from the Order had even a hint of an accent. Had they erased them magically to fit in, or was he just pulling at a pointless thread?
“Hey, dude. Sorry to take so long, had to be thorough with things,” Erica’s voice drew his attention instantly to one of the four doors of the smaller dining hall that Reginald had guided him to. The butler himself was holding it open for the berserker to enter, and he caught them sharing a brief non-verbal exchange.

John stood up, glancing between the two and then past them at the empty corridor beyond, “Where’s Moira?”

“She’s uh…” Erica trailed off.

“The Warden has important business to take care of,” Reginald interrupted her, somehow managing to make even that a polite act. Even so, it was a bit off… “Rest assured, she is aware of the situation.”

There’s something neither of them are telling me… Hopefully nothing bad happened to her.

Erica held up her phone, “I got your message. Lorelei’s as confusing as usual, but I think I might have an idea what she’s referring to. Any chance your thingy helped narrow the search?”

For a moment, John wasn’t sure what she was referring to. ‘Thingy’? His powers were fairly diverse, but they didn’t include any decrypting skills or puzzle solving stuff… unfortunately. Then it hit him.

Right, Planning. I’m stupid.

“No. I’m as blind as you are on this one,” he replied.

Erica raised an eyebrow with a slight smile, “That was bad, dude.”

Now John was just confused, “What?”

“The pun. ‘As blind as you are’. You know… cause Lorelei’s… forget it.”

Oh… Man I’m a fucking moron right now.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure the ‘Seventh of Seven Sins’ is a reference to The Inferno,” Erica continued. She waited for him to say something, but at John’s blank expression, she explained, “It’s a nightclub themed after the deadly sins here in Springfield, but the local location is just a front. The real Inferno is a hell of a lot bigger and has a reputation for… excess.” She hesitated for a long moment, and John wasn’t sure if he should speak. Eventually, she shook her head, “It’s hard to describe. You’ll understand why when you see it.

“The Inferno serves a pretty ‘diverse clientele’, so the Order’s not big on them and vice-versa, but as long as we follow the rules and don’t piss off the owner, I should be able to get us in for a reasonable fee. Plus, Dante’s not stupid. If whatever happened to Vanessa could cut in on his business, he’ll cooperate.”

She turned to Reginald and addressed the butler specifically, “I’ll be taking a part of my salary for this, unless you have any objections?”

“None, Lady Carpenter. Would you like it in dollars or thallers?”

“Hang on a second,” John interrupted, “How much is this going to cost?”

Erica shrugged, “Six thousand each, probably. Don’t worry, I’ll-”

“No, I’ll pay it.” John pulled up his inventory and clicked on his finances, presented with the option to draw it out in virtually any global currency, even cards containing crypto-currencies. Soul Shards were there too, but that option was greyed out. He chose dollars and scrolled up to $12,000, emptying out his reserves almost entirely. A thick wad of hundreds appeared in his hands, which he slapped down on the table. “This is my problem, I’ll take responsibility for the cost.”

I’ll need to refill my bank later, maybe this is a bit of a dumb idea…

“Dude! Where’d you get all that from?” Erica’s eyes widened at the flashy display of wealth, and John momentarily felt less plebeian.

He shrugged, “Work.” Touching the parcel, he returned the funds to his bank and grinned at his partner who returned one of her own. John headed for the door, “Shall we hit the club?”

“You’re on.”

As they headed out together with a promise from Reginald to provide them transport to the club, Erica nudged him, and John took note of something odd. Her hair was slightly wet. Strange.