Ossein

Isherwood steps quickly through Targos. "Everyone’s got their reason for being here," he mutters from under his hood. "Icewind Dale, land of frozen hopes and dreams!" He pats his breast pocket, reassuring himself of what he carries. "I’ll admit, I envy you a bit that you’re getting out of this place."

The archer-turned-politician pauses in an alcove as a pair of guards patrol nearby, their torchlight flickering wildly in the night wind. Once they’ve passed, he resumes his quick pace.

"Of course, I don’t envy the rest of your situation…"

A short time later, Isherwood is without the town gates. He makes his way around the lakeshore, to where a tree grows between a pair of bushes. A few kicks through the bushes reveals an iron shovel, which the man casually retrieves. Next, he examines the ground around the tree and, apparently satisfied with the location, begins to dig.

"So this fella, his name was Bartrand. Nobody knew him much, he was a shut-in. Drank himself to death a couple days ago." He pauses briefly to wipe his brow. "We told the town that he’d wandered outside and was eaten by yetis. No body to miss when the yetis have had at it."

The shovel hits something softer than dirt. "Oops. Well, I hope you don’t mind a small hole in your chest. Bartrand certainly doesn’t care!"

Once he’s finished excavating, Isherwood reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small dagger. He tosses it down onto Bartrand’s frozen corpse. "Well, do your thing!"

Oh, Berty you poor forgotten man. In life you were used and discarded by society, and now you're an unwitting tool by those you likely scorned in life. Well, let us see what I can glean from your memories. Perhaps there is something I can do to make up for the likely unpleasantness ahead.

Motes of putridity sluff off the unassuming dagger and burrow into the corpse.

"Get comfortable my good sir, this will take a few moments. It's unfortunately not a quick thing."

Over the course of the next few minutes, the body of Bert twitches and spasms as dark energy empowers it. The process leaves the body worse for the wear. By time it sits up, the creation looks like it's been dead for much longer than a few days. The skin seems to cling loosely to the bones it covers, sunken and sallow like a flesh blanket thrown over. The flap of skin from where Isherwood dug into the corpse now hangs by a thread and the hole gapes open. Stench and a few maggots waft out of the wound.

Finally life seems to twinkle in its eyes, and the body collects itself. It straightens up buttons its vest over the gaping wound and smiles pleasantly at Isherwood. Picking the dagger up off its lap Bert finally stands up.

Ossein melts in Bert's hands half shifting forms before finally settling on a small, cruel looking mace.

"Bertand here is an interesting fellow, for choosing a mace. Simple and brutal, just like him. I appreciate the effort you went through to give me my payment for past services rendered. He will do nicely. Take care Isherwood, and I hope you don't have anymore... complications that require my services. I bid you farewell."

"Hello Bert, is there anyone we need to visit tonight and give them a good scare? Or some other small form of vengeance? We must delay any real vengeance until I have concluded my business in town."

"Well, that's not unsettling at all," Isherwood mumbles as Ossein/Bartrand rises.

He nearly jumps at the mention of 'complications'. "I should hope not, but... Well. Being a leader means that you have to know about everyone's dirty little secrets. And clean them up."

Targos' Speaker takes one more look at the grisly undead phenomenon. "You really think they'll take you like that? There are plenty of paladins running around these days. I hear Keggruk himself will be going on this trip. He or one of the others might smite you to... wherever you would go."

Bert doesn't respond except to moan rather off-key. It would seem one of the downsides to being wielded by a dead person is that they're... well... dead. And not even really the talkative kind.

Still...

It might be possible to draw on his memories.

"Yes, paladins do tend to be nuisances, especially if they're the smite first talk later sort. Hopefully Keggruk has been around long enough to know not everything is as it first seems. And that I can be quite helpful. Talking to a mace will hardly break his Oath. Now, Bert, what do you remember?"

Isherwood shrugs, gives a small wave, and makes his way back within the walls of Targos.

Bert's brain wasn't in the best condition even during life. With the decay that it's gone through now, the only things it remembers are what were most important to Bert while he was living. Ossein sorts through countless drunken stupors the man got himself into, sensing something deeper, an underlying cause for his misery...

And then he finds it.

Long ago, Bert and his brother used to be fishermen, going out on Maer Dualdon every day to catch knucklehead trout. One evening they threw their nets out for one last time, and when they pulled it up they found a small ornate chest caught in it. This caused no small amount of excitement for the brothers, as they figured it must have something valuable inside. But excitement turned to greed, each wanting the treasure for themselves. Out there on the lake Bert slew his brother with a gaff hook. Unfortunately, in the tumult the chest fell back into the water. Horrified at what he'd done, Bert spent the rest of his life trying to drink away the memory.

As the memory unfolds Ossein feels a bond strengthen between himself and Bert. Off they walked towards the waterfront.

"Well, I can see now why you didn't feel like I should take the form of a gaff hook. Bad memory, that one. Luckily neither of us need to breathe, or sleep. Let us head into the water, and see if we can walk around and find that chest of yours. With any luck we can find it, and someone to open it, and make an anonymous donation to any remaining family of your brother's. Finally, with your business concluded, and regrets laid to rest, I can borrow your body for a bit to handle some of my business. Fear not friend, it won't be long, and you can finally rest in the peace you deserve and avoid any retribution from your brother in the next life."

Avoiding the city itself, but instead entering the water directly, Ossein follows the memory to try pinpointing the location of the chest.

"Well this is certainly awkward. Hello good sirs. I'm sure you have a lot of questions... No down here, no, no, yes! Yes! I'm the talking mace. Glad we got that sorted. Now then where was I? Ah yes, my poor 'rotter' as you say got stuck in your net here. Most unfortunate, but we are dealing with a matter of some import. Do either of you chaps happen to recall if the late fisherman Bartrand's late brother has any living family? I would ask him myself, but we aren't speaking at the moment. Firstly because, well, you can see why, but more importantly because he's terrible at directions! We should have found the treasure ches...errrr lost item by now, and I'm very certain we are close. So, if you don't mind untangling us here, and telling us where Bartrand's brother's family might be, I'll tell you fine chaps where we saw a mighty large schoal of fish while we were down there. And as always we would be much obliged."

The fishermen are obviously taken aback by this strange occurrence. A waterlogged body, a talking mace... But one of them, an older fellow who's seen more of the world than the others, nods his head slowly. "Aye, I recognize Bartrand now. Poor bloke. And his brother, you say? Nah, Murgan had no family. Him and Bartrand had nobody except each other. When Murgan disappeared, Bartrand was never the same." He looks down at Bert again and shakes his head in sorrow.

*Sigh*" No family then? Pure shame. Seems like Bartrand and his brother had a bit of a falling out, and Bartrand regretted that fight to his final day. Well, I'll tell you gents, if you all give me your word on a small matter I'll make it worth your while. Just leave your net in the water for the next half hour to hour and when you celebrate your catch tonight make sure to toast to family, friends, and those that have passed on."

After receiving their words, Ossein and Bart shamble off the side of the boat and go to collect the chest.

The fishermen look at each other, confused, but the oldest of them shrugs and nods his head. "Could be worth it." They all stare as Ossein and Bert submerge once more.

"About time Bert, I know it's not the best resolution, but perhaps these fellow fishermen can make the choices you wish you had and your memory can live on."

Bert picks up the chest in one hand, holding Ossein in the other, they slog back to the fisherman's net. Carefully placing the chest in the net and trying not to get tangled up again, Bert finally gives the net a few tugs to signal readiness.

Gathering his bearings again, Ossein directs Bert towards Easthaven.

"Alright Bert, your turn is over. It's time to see to my business in Easthaven. I have a lead on a group that's being put together. I'm hoping to grow stronger and deal with that bit of unpleasantness I told you of earlier."

The net and boat quickly fade out of sight, but Ossein can hear the shouting aboard the boat above, garbled as it traveled through water.

"Didn't think of this before, but you don't think the chest or items within aren't cursed, do you? Though I guess that would make a certain kind of sense given its history... Oh well, either way we tried our best. Pick up the pace bert, I'd like to be there before the group dies of old age."