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prose-priest-potentate · 22 days ago

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In the Interim

Fic on Ao3: Here

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Chapter 9: Bluto's Trial

The morning they’re due to leave is going reasonably well - everyone is in clean armor, bags packed, and horses rested for the long trek to Ravenloft, Imrath’s shoulder is healed, and he and Nikolai have sent out letters to Krezk and Barovia in efforts to band the three villages together for the upcoming winter.

All in all, the whole trip had both taken significantly longer than he had wanted, and been wildly more successful than he had dared to hope.

So of course, Imrath isn’t really surprised when they step out into chaos. He can hear the familiar voice of Luvash, and so many steps that he can only assume are the Vistani scattering. Beside him, he feels Izek cross his arms and Wixen shift her weight. Her tail smacks his on the backswing.

“What are they freaking out about now?”

Imrath sighs. “Let’s go find out.”

It’s a short walk into the general area of the open street before Luvash spies them. His footsteps are loud and quick as he stomps up and grabs Imrath’s bicep. “You! My friend, you must help me again.”

Imrath is reminded how forward and unfriendly Luvash has always been - demanding, even as he calls them friend. He supposes that it’s part and parcel of being so wrapped around the finger of an evil man. The priest decides to focus on the friend part. They’ll need that, when the fight comes.

Wixen leans her chin on Luvash’s wrist, blinking up at him with eyes that get a little more animalistic every day, from a face that surely resembles his enemy among the dusk elves. “What’s going on out here? Why’s everyone running around again?”

Even as some semblance of allies, won the hard way twice over, the leader of the Vistani is still reluctant to be too friendly with them. Luvash takes his hand back and throws them in the air, frustrated. “I swear- It’s Arabelle! As soon as I let her out of my sight for even one second- she’s gone again! You must help me again, my friends. Where did you find her before?”

Imrath’s heart drops down into his stomach. They had been told that many prisoners were released upon Baroness Wachter’s accession… but among the many thoughtless pardon’s given, was Bluto released? He cannot possibly be any less desperate and delusional… Wixen bristles at his side, and Imrath doesn’t bother to soothe her - he’s on edge too. Just hiding it better.

“The…” He moves to put his hand on her back, in a desperate attempt to ask her to keep quiet. Hold it together for her father. “The orphanage, last. I hope she’s there playing with the children again.”

A vain hope, perhaps.

“That was the first place I checked.” He crosses his arms over his chest and growls, “That pathetic drunkard isn’t jailed anymore. I already told the guards,” He curls his lip, “Not sure how helpful they want to be… I swear on my life, if I find that he’s got her again-”

As soon as he confirms that Bluto is free, Wixen turns to head off in the direction of the lake again, and Imrath is already reaching into an unassuming little bag slung on his hip. All pretense gone, the tension in his voice is obvious. “We’ll find her.”

He pulls out a fistful of fur - pulls and pulls and keeps pulling; russet fur with black spots that walks the rest of the way out of the bag on its own black paws. Imrath is quick to pat the Giant Hyena’s neck. Luvash’s eyes go wide and he steps back - just once, to his credit.

“Unsinti.” She moos at him and lays her head heavily over his shoulder. He readjusts to the weight and pats her snout. “The light shines on you, my dear. Today we are hunting.”

She’s excited for it, and happily sniffs at Luvash’s chest, rumpling his shirt. She almost mouths him, before Imrath hooks a finger around one of her canines and clicks his tongue. As she begins to sniff around, circling, Imrath takes Izek’s wrist.

“Will you follow Wixen?”

Izek, who was having a decent enough morning before it was ruined by yet another disaster that isn’t really their responsibility… though, the fire in his chest does burn all the way up his throat at the thought of one of his prisoners being loose. He’d had a lot of fun ripping the confession out of Bluto the last time. And besides that Bluto was one of his. It felt like failure. He doesn’t like to fail.

Still, Izek frowns at the man holding his hand. Whether he can see it or not, Imrath always seems to know when he’s unhappy. He always asks so sweetly when it’s something Izek doesn’t wanna do. Like this. He doesn't like leaving Imrath alone in situations like this.

Training and divine power be damned, the dragonborn is a magnet for nonsense. Nonsense like the chaotic shifter loping through the streets, off to do something stupid… Fuck. She is especially volatile. No longer the same woman who dragged Bluto’s sorry ass to jail before. She might kill him. Izek might let her. Curse his weakening will - he’s getting worse at saying no.

He groans and pokes Imrath in the chest. “You’re gonna owe me for this.”

“Anything. Thank you.”

He glares, “I am going to take you up on that.”

______________________________________________________________

Izek jogs off after Wixen, who just barely disappeared around a corner by the time he takes off, and Imrath climbs onto Unsinti’s back so she can run as fast as she likes through the streets.

He trusts the villagers to move out of the way of a massive beast galloping right at them.

Wixen and Izek have a head start, but when she catches the wind right, Unsinti runs past Izek and veers right when Wixen’s tail comes into, and then disappears from, view. Toward Bluto’s decrepit little house.

Imrath’s heart drops into his stomach. By the Light, let her be okay.

His boots dig up dirt at the speed he hops off Unsinti, and he is through the little door in seconds, blindfold ripped off, mace drawn. Unsinti stands with her head stuck through the door, still sniffing. Waiting with a maw of bone crushing teeth if he needs them.

It’s… cleaner than the last time he was inside. If only just a little. There are fewer bottles of rotting wine, the table and chairs have been reset. No blood greets him, though he does find a mildewed journal by the unmade bed.

The pages are full of lamentation - the things they’d gotten used to hearing from Bluto about the lack of fish and loss of his livelihood… but there are also the expected ramblings about demons under the water and a list of hastily scratched out ideas for sacrifices to appease it. Imrath scowls.

Arabelle’s name is underlined. He tosses the book into a satchel and spins to find his mount. If she isn’t here…

______________________________________________________________

Wixen doesn’t need to hear anything more once the Vistana mentions Bluto: watery memories from when she was still Willow provide context: Bluto had lured and captured a little girl, tied her up with a bag on her head, and tried to drown her alive in the lake.

A growl bubbles up out of her chest. Memory provides the stench of his cowardice.

The critical part of her mind suggests that perhaps this was survival of the fittest, if Arabelle didn’t gut him on sight, but another, kinder thought demands action, so her feet move in a straight line towards the lake. The echoes of Willow insist that they like Arabelle, and Vixen is content to have prey, so they hunt.

She can smell the water. And the booze. She speeds up. Her mouth begins to water. Izek has to run to keep pace as they leave the village proper, and is already drawing the greatsword off his back by the time Wixen zeroes in on what he’s seen across the lake on the farthest shore.

There.

By a boat, a man struggles with a sack.

Arabelle’s little feet hang limp out the opening. She takes off in a sprint on all fours, shifting more of herself into a beast. Izek yells for him to freeze, and Bluto jumps. They both watch as Arabelle’s weight shifts, and he doubles over backwards on the slick shore rocks. Arabelle’s body falls first and he lands on her hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Sloppy.” Izek curses, right behind her.

Wixen gets there first and lashes out with a handful of claws, ripping into Bluto’s forearm and yanking him up and over the side of the boat he’d been trying to dump Arabelle into. She follows him in, shrieking in his face with a mouthful of fox teeth.

She smells it when he pisses himself.

“You bastard! You didn’t learn your lesson the first time, and now you’re gonna die for it.” She hauls back and punches him in the head. Once. Twice. She’s laughing. Swung back for a third time, when Izek’s claws lock like a vice around her neck and yank her off him.

“Not yet!” He tosses her onto the beach. “We need to interrogate him!”

She snarls up at him, but gets distracted by the scent of blood. Huh? She scrambles over onto her feet again to find it. The burlap sack that Bluto had plopped on is staining red, so she rips it open with her claws from the end.

Arabelle is unconscious, but breathing. Her face is screwed up in pain, and the bones in her forearm are all crunched at the wrong angles. The fat fuck must have snapped it when he fell - the blood there is fresher than the blood dried in her hairline.

“He broke her arm.” Wixen announces. She hears Izek curse, and the thundering of heavy paws.

“Thank the Gods.” Imrath rushes to her side and falls to his knees.“Is she alive?”

“Barely. Bluto fell on her.”

“Fell?” He is already moving to conjure sunlight and heal her, while Wixen reaches into one of the bags on his waist for the med kit to set her arm. He has to hold her elbow so that Wixen can pull the bones back apart and into the right place, for leverage, and because Arabelle is fighting them as she wakes back up. Imrath coos reassurances and pets her cheek.

“I’ve got him tied. He isn’t going anywhere.” Izek comes up to look over their shoulders.

Imrath shakes his head. “I can’t believe he tried it again.”

Wixen wrinkles her nose. “Really?”

He pauses, acquiescing, before easing back up onto his feet to look down at Bluto who lays unconscious in the bottom of a boat. Imrath can smell the blood, and feel that he’s off. Then one of them got some good hits in. Good.

Izek stands by his elbow. “So what do you wanna do with him?” From Arabelle’s side, Wixen suggests killing him, and Izek sends her an unimpressed look, but Imrath nods his head. Sorry, what? Izek asks, “Did you agree?”

Imrath nods again, more clearly. “I think she’s right. He’ll need a trial, of course, but the evidence is overwhelming.” He waves down at Bluto’s body, disgusted. “He’s a danger to the community, and willing to keep feeding people to an imaginary monster.”

Wixen’s ears swivel back. “Do we know that it’s imaginary?”

Imrath, without hesitation, walks knee deep into the water and reaches down to touch the surface. Several ripples of light roll out of his fingertips and illuminate the water in pulsing waves. As he shakes the water back out of his boots, he confirms it. Nothing in there but pond scum.

______________________________________________________________

Arabelle is barely conscious - just mumbling and blinking and cursing Bluto with every foul thing she can remember hearing, as is her right - when they make it back to the center of town. Luvash is drawn up in the face of a young guardsman with his hands on his hips, demanding to know why his people have not yet done their jobs, but he halts all insults as soon as he realizes they’ve come back with her. He is distinctly displeased to see Bluto still breathing, lashed to Unsinti behind Imrath’s tail like a hunted deer, but Arabelle is his priority.

As he pulls her into his arms and takes stock of her injuries, he snarls at the guard he’d been ‘talking’ to before. “Hear me when I say that you lot had better kill him for this or I will.”

The guard looks offended, and like he’s about to shout something at the Vistani man’s back, but nearly jumps out of his skin when a giant wet nose finds his hand. Imrath scratches under the giant hyena’s chin where’s he’s guided it to distract the guard and give Luvash a moment to get far enough away with his daughter.

“We have a prisoner for your cells, I believe.”

“He looks pretty beat up already…” The guard pokes at Bluto’s cheek with the hilt of a sword and grimaces at the blood that dribbles from his mouth. Bluto groans.

“We caught him trying to drown that girl before, but you all let him loose.” Wixen gnashes her teeth and pins her ears back. The memories of the first time she’d smelled this man’s stench sit heavy in her ribs.

The guardsman clearly does not like being sassed by two strangers in as many minutes, and squares his shoulders. “We did our duty and followed the Baroness’ orders to release everyone.”

Izek rolls his eyes and elbows into the conversation before Wixen can say something else that will make the situation significantly worse. “Doesn’t matter. He was attempting murder and he’s crazy. Lock him up before he does something else insane.”

“Ca- uh. Mister Stazni. We-” Izek looks entirely unimpressed with the correction, which does nothing to lessen the grating on the man’s nerves. Faced with Izek who no one is really sure how to handle still, and the undoubtedly complicated feelings surrounding it all, the poor guard stutters, “We need evidence to hold someone, and to do an investigation.”

Imrath silently, perhaps too quickly, offers the tattered journal out to him. He flips through to specific pages in the guard’s hand. First, to the front, when Bluto still signed his entries, and then to the last scrawling with Arabelle’s name and all his insanity. The guard blinks, and then takes the book to read a bit closer. “Huh. Uh - well, this is certainly a start.”

Imrath’s voice is calm and diplomatic when he speaks. “Please allow us to leave him in your custody, as the law enforcement of the town, while we gather our case and bring it to the Baron.”

He feels the eyes staring at him from all gathered company, his own companions and the guard, but ignores the unspoken questions. He has work to do

He excuses himself as soon as the guard accepts Bluto into custody and heads straight for the baron’s mansion. Wixen and Izek are forced to follow after him, demanding to know what the plan is.

“I don’t have the luxury of dispatching wanton violence the way that either of you can.” He doesn’t tilt his head, but feels both of them bristle in different ways. Izek verges on offense, while Wixen snickers. He continues, ever serious in the face of his religious duty. “I cannot kill Bluto without some semblance of a trial, so I am going to arrange one and see him persecuted for his sins.”

______________________________________________________________

It isn’t a quick afternoon, or an easy conversation.

They are a sight to behold waiting in the drawing room for Nikolai to fit them in his new schedule - Imrath sits, stiff, petting through the mane on Unsinti’s giant neck, Izek hovers somewhere behind the chair, arms crosses and guarded as he always is in this miserable town, while Wixen sniffs around the room.

Unsinti and Wixen both perk up toward the door before either of the men hear Nikolai’s boots on the marble down the hall.

“Im? Sara said you need- oh whoa. What is that?” Nikolai stops in his tracks, staring at the beast laid out across the entire carpet. “It’s huge.”

“I’m sorry for bringing her inside. She can be a bit nippy with strangers,” Nikolai, who had been reaching to pet her, pulls his hand back to his own chest, “and I didn’t want anyone getting hurt just because they’re curious.”

“Yeah, alright.” Keeping a wide berth, the young baron props his hands on his hips, glancing around at the rest of the party. Imrath is keenly aware that the camaraderie he has built with Nikolai doesn’t necessarily extend to his friends. “What’s going on, man?”

“We found Bluto trying to drown a young Vistana girl again. I’d like to work with you to put him on trial.” Perhaps a bit strong of an opening, but there’s no way word hasn’t gotten back to him yet that his guards have been preoccupied with the very same thing for an hour or more today… and if it hasn’t, it should have.

Nikolai stares at him - stares at Izek, then Wixen, before sucking in a breath and sighing it back out. Weary, he flops down onto a couch and leans his head in his hands.

“Morninglord have mercy.”

______________________________________________________________

They make their way, through rounds of unpleasant truths, to the little game table in the middle of the room. Nikolai sits with his elbows sprawled on the desk, and Imrath keeps a hand on Unsinti - soothing her as much as himself. Izek and Wixen eventually sit down too, as they try to parse out the necessity of a trial so soon into Nikolai’s rule.

Nik, who understandably doesn’t think it’s a good idea, with so much he’s already been convinced to try to change politically, when Strahd, as always, looms large on the valley. He rubs both hands down his face again, groaning, “I don’t know, Imrath. I just took over - is it really the time for a public execution? Isn’t that gonna look like I’m just as bad?” He doesn’t have to say as my mom and Vallakovich.

Imrath sighs and shakes his head - torn, but too deeply convicted to concede. “I have tried for months, and I can’t think of a better solution.”

“What if we just keep him in jail?”

“We just looked at how little food you have stored, and Winter will be upon you in weeks.”

“So he goes a little hungry.” Nikolai shrugs, but doesn’t seem happy with that himself.

Imrath doesn’t much care if Bluto is tortured or starved, but he cannot leave without knowing this nuisance is dealt with.

“He’s dangerous to your people, Nikolai. We tried to have him jailed before - I’m pretty sure he was beaten and starved last time,” To his left, Izek nods. The party knows Izek was the one giving that beating, but they leave it in the spaces between, “and it didn’t stop him from doing the same thing again. Punishment is not enough. The man is delusional.”

He is careful not to say mad given the state of Nikolai’s dear sister, locked away in the top of their childhood home, but his care does very little. Imrath can feel the tension rolling off the young Baron across the desk. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, and Imrath thinks he feels control of the situation slipping away from him, so he sighs and tries to reign it back in with calmer arguments. “If I may offer my thoughts…”

Nikolai sighs and moves around in his chair. Uncomfortable. He shakes his head, exhausted already. “Go ahead.”

Imrath starts with the reality as he sees it, as gently as he can. He’s seen many poor souls driven to madness in the short time he’s been in the valley: the mongrelfolk, the wizard on the mountain, a priest’s son in Barovia village, and Nikolai and Karl’s own sister… He’s seen just as many people that could not be saved in time or after, but sometimes, with enough effort or magic, madness can be cured. Except that Bluto’s delusion is not simple madness, he hasn’t been stricken by anything specific - it’s just desperation. And no one in town can afford to cage and keep him long enough to hope that his sanity comes back on its own - if it ever does. He’s a burden in the face of a difficult season, and worse, he’s dangerous.

Certainly to Arabelle, but what happens when Luvash and the other Vistani get tired of his threat? If they kill him themselves, which is likely enough as is, then Nikolai will need to decide his stance on the murder of one of his people. At best, it’s an ally lost, and at worst, a costly fight and risking Strahd’s direct ire.

And if they leave him alive and just leave themselves - as they are wont to do - then it is again, an ally lost, and Bluto left just as desperate as before. Will he go after one of the orphans next? Someone else’s daughter? And when he does something else to someone else, would Nikolai rather him be mobbed, or have justice dealt at the Baron’s order, to protect his people?

He knows the weight of this responsibility on the young baron’s shoulders because it mirrors his own - exhaustion in young bones, power in new hands, a burden that isn’t your place to put down… He is sympathetic, but his own responsibilities demand that he see this to its just end.

Nikolai sighs and rubs both hands his face. “Alright, alright. What do you suggest, then? Let the Vistani have him?”

“Well,” Imrath starts, but then stumbles over his own thoughts and pauses. He furrows his brow and tries again. “Actually, I would normally follow the laws of the land in the absence of an established judicial system, but Vallakai has been through so many systems lately…”

Nikolai blows air through his lips and sits back, dejected. The feet of his chair scrape loudly as he gets up and wanders off to get another pitcher of water for them all. His voice warbles as he moves around, “Yeah I know man. Izek just killed anyone Vallakovich said to, and my mom just ignored a lot of it in general. What the hell am I supposed to do? What are the guards for if they’re not handling crime?”

“I am an ordained judge.” Across the room, Nikolai pauses pouring. The pitcher clinks against the edge of the glass when he isn’t looking - presumably watching Imrath. “I’ve presided over disputes before-”

He goes on to explain that they would only need a small group of people to provide evidence, that Bluto would be given a chance to explain himself, that the baron himself could represent the well being of the wider village, and that Imrath himself would channel the divinity of his god to weigh all the options put forth in the trial.

“So, I’d still be seen as a good baron?”

“You could even take public opinion into account, if you wanted. You might invite a few members of the community to sit on a tribunal with you to hear the evidence.”

“I would like Karl there…” Nikolai mulls it over for a few minutes, while Imrath enjoys his own glass of water. He’d not realized how parched he’d become. Too busy talking, apparently. “How many people should I get?”

“As many as you like. An odd number will allow a majority, if you want to do it democratically, but you can always maintain the final say as Baron regardless.”

“Hmm… Okay. I guess that works. He’s in jail already, right?”

Imrath nods.

“Good. I guess I need to talk to the captain, too. Mercy this is a lot of work.”

“I am sorry it’s fallen to you.” Imrath pats his forearm, and Nikolai sighs. He pats Imrath back.

“Yeah. Me too.” He shifts his weight and downs his drink. Izek stands and Imrath follows suit. Nikolai leads them all back towards the door to the hall. “C’mon. I want dinner before I do any more work. I’ll send someone to the tavern to get you later. All of you, I guess. You guys caught him, right?”

“Yes.” Wixen responds, and Imrath lets himself focus on other things for the first time in hours. He is getting used to walking around this house. Perhaps he’s spent a little too much time in it. Nikolai walks them to the front door, and then leans on it to see them off.

“See ya, Im.”

“Later, Nikolai.”

______________________________________________________________

A young guard whose name they didn’t ask for comes to fetch them a few hours later. They’re escorted to the Baron’s mansion, into a garden through the back of the building Imrath and Wixen have never been in. When they enter, he feels Izek pause a half step - it must have been rearranged since he lived here.

There are, as expected, a few strangers and Karl milling around Nikolai. Father Petrovich has been invited and hovers between the groups - ill fitting among the aristocrats and unwelcome by the protective Vistani. He seems used to it. Imrath makes sure to greet him.

Arabelle herself, sat between her father and uncle who both wear murder like a second skin, is doing better. She’s still viciously angry and suffering with her arm in a sling, but Wixen makes her seat there, chattering with the girl and trying to distract her with stories of their adventures. She is delighted to hear about Marileina bringing down the onion mill with a tidal wave, and even her uncle cracks a smirk as they go on. If she leaves out details, Imrath and Izek do not correct her.

Imrath takes this moment to pat Izek’s elbow and excuse himself to work. There is a table set up in the far side of the garden presumably for the event, so the dragonborn takes up a post to the side and waits patiently for Baron Wachter. It isn’t his place to rush the proceedings, so with his arms linked loose behind his back, he tucks his head down against his chest and spends some time praying and reviewing his lessons in the past year.

This won’t be his first time weighing a soul on the scales - he’s done it a handful of times in his travels, but it will be the first in Barovia, and the first in a while. It sits heavy in his chest, though it will not be the first man he’s put to death. Perhaps it feels more important because Imrath has gotten so attached to the people here, or because the timeline of the mess with Strahd and Mari sits constantly in the back of his mind…

He repeats his devotions and the words his god has taught him to center himself. This sentence is just as important - and just as unimportant as any other. All are his duty. And each requires that he get up to his elbows in whatever is happening.

Sometimes, unfortunately, that is blood and pondscum for a murder like this one, but the others have been their own type of exhaustion: spending a month pouring over specific archaic legal documents as the only person who could read Celestial, shmoozing through magistrates social events to understand the workings of it, or having to play genealogist and surveyor before painstakingly comparing letter by letter two crumbling contracts to settle a land dispute outside Arrabar.

Exhausting, but rewarding. It is his holy work.

Amaunator is not always present for his easy reach- he isn’t a cleric, after all. His duties are actionable, not evangelical, but when Nikolai does finally usher everyone forward and call order, the sun disk on his chest grows warm and Imrath knows he is listening.

______________________________________________________________

Izek is bored. He is often bored while other people talk, and this trial, much like any Vargas had ever put on despite the actual sincerity everyone seems to be taking this one with, is still a lot of chitchat and no action for a while. He supposes he should be happy for Imrath that everyone is taking it as seriously as he is, even if it clearly took about twenty minutes for Narkarov and Alastro to realize they should be listening instead of making faces at each other.

Oh well. Not his problem anymore.

His problem is the fox woman getting progressively more irritated every time someone tries to brush away the issue because the girl is Vistana, or makes some comment about the various reputations of the party as a bunch of strangers - and it was funny, he had grinned when he’d cleared his throat loudly at that and the fucker had jumped.

Hells, he’s got half a mind to encourage her to go chew through their stupid faces, but does he really want to deal with all that? He is almost sure he’ll have to scruff her to keep her in her seat before she rolls her eyes and pins her ears back.

He almost missed it, but when he looks, he sees Imrath’s head turning back towards Nikolai and his tail smoothing itself back out behind him.

Ha, she got scolded.

He zones back out for a while, content enough, until it’s time to present evidence, apparently.

Izek thought that Imrath was in his element in battle, once. Then he thought it was surrounded by screaming kids, but this is it.

Rarely does he look imposing, even in a fight, really, when he has his wits about him. He had once explained (in the middle of yet another bout of sentimental, lyrical waxing) that he tries to seem gentler for smaller races that aren’t as used to him because he needs to be trusted. After having it pointed out to him, Izek takes notice.

Enough to recognize the times when he isn’t doing it, anyway.

Like now, with his focus on the trial and his pride in the work straightening out his shoulders. He’s professional - of course he is - but anyone with sense can see that he’s having a great time reading out in excruciating detail the journal entries and escorting people up to the table for their own versions of the story. He isn’t shy or willing to let any of them brush over anything without getting his claws in and digging around. When he’s questioning Wixen and Arabelle, he is lost in the chase of it - Izek can tell from the way his feathers bristle up, fighting against his hair tie and his tail loops over itself, working off energy.

He’s geared up.

Like this, Izek sees the way it’s all the same. This is just a different fight for him, and he’s better at this.

It’s nothing Izek hasn’t heard before, as the dragonborn does his work - letting the girls rant, encouraging the gorey, vicious truths, and prying out as many threads as he can to try to unravel the whole thing. Izek’s been present for both incidents, so his attention wanes quickly enough. He’s only interested in seeing Bluto handled (though the satisfaction of torturing him isn’t on the table anymore - it’s a shame he’s lost his plaything) so they can leave already.

Watching his friend - ally, companion, whatever - work though, is entertaining enough.

______________________________________________________________

For his own trial, Bluto Krogarov is absent for the first half. When the guards do escort him in, the room boils over; Luvash and Arabelle both spit in his direction, which several of the people Nikolai invited take offense to, and Wixen snarls and snaps her jaws at him as he is walked past, hands trembling.

Imrath can hear the shackles clinking as he moves to stand in front of the little chair Bluto’s been sat on.

“You again. I- I thought you left.” To his credit, he sounds more present in his own mind today. His voice doesn’t shake like his hands.

“And I thought you would have learned from your mistakes.” It’s harsh, perhaps.

The man readjusts in his chair, glancing around to Baron Wachter. “My Lord, your mother pardoned me.”

Nikolai sounds as tired as he surely is of all this. He rolls his eyes and gestures over the garden towards Arabelle. “And you did it again, man. What do you have to say for yourself?”

He tries to lie, first. Tries to claim that he didn’t start it - that she came back to his house for revenge or something- Imrath’s lips curl and the air in his lungs heats up when the fisherman spews excuses, and he is quick, when Bluto pauses, to kneel down.

The moment catches all their attention and everyone’s head snaps around to watch as he lays his palm on the damp ground. As soon as he makes contact, a swift pressure, barely strong enough to disturb the grass, sweeps past all their ankles. The air in the garden rushes and around them all, the ever present Barovian fog clears a dome. Even the light seems more clear. No lies in his presence.

“Excuse me, I believe it is in all our interest that we make sure the truth is brought to the light, yes? Would you please tell us again, sir?”

The words do not come as easy a second time. Bluto’s own tongue ties itself in knots, and the man’s eyes go wide. He stands from the chair, opening and closing his mouth, gaping like one of his beloved fish. The poor creature starts to look around - perhaps foolishly getting ready to run? Nikolai rolls his eyes and the guards shove him back down.

This time, it’s Karl speaking up. “Bluto, this isn’t making your case the way you think it is.”

When he still struggles, Imrath breaths out a deep sigh. He turns to Nikolai. “May I?”

“Go for it.” The young baron shrugs.

Imrath nods. He turns back to Bluto, and shakes his head. “I expect that this is a novel experience for you, Mr. Krogarov, so let me impress upon you the severity of this moment. This,” He gestures around the garden to the crowd. He feels Bluto jerk his head around, looking to the faces of the assembly. “is your justice. I am the priest of a god of law and order, and you cannot lie to me anymore. I will pull the truth out of you and then I will sentence you, body and soul, to whatever Baron Nikolai decides for your punishment.” Imrath is unmoving except for his tail that swishes slowly along its length. He speaks again and his voice echoes out of his chest.

“Confess.”

Bluto’s sins spill from his gritted teeth, pulled syllable by syllable from a throat that betrays him. When he is finished, heaving and sweating, Imrath lifts the command and steps back. Next, he addresses the room.

“We have read Mr. Krogarov’s journal, heard the testimony of the victim, and those who found her twice, and forced the truth out of his own mouth. If there is nothing else,” A quick glance to Nikolai, who shakes his head, “then I invite Baron Nikolai to deliberate.”

______________________________________________________________

Everyone regroups, and Imrath hovers for a moment, still in the moment, before he steps away and slides his hand into Izek’s claws. His grip is tight.

Wixen raises an eyebrow up at the dragonborn. “How do you like all this? It’s so stiff and boring. We’ve wasted hours when I coulda just killed him this morning and been done with it.”

“No, this is important.” The residual energy radiates off him. It warms the air. “This is my life’s work. I have to do this - as much as deposing Strahd’s tyranny. Thank you for being here, it means a lot to me.” He squeezes Izeks’ hand and reaches out to scratch behind one of the shifter’s cute little fox ears.

Before Izek can be forced to face the reality of saying something sappy like Of course or something sarcastic like Where else would we go? Wixen spares him.

She is happier with a bit of grooming affection as Imrath combs through her hair with his claws. She asks, “Are you nervous about what they’ll decide?”

Imrath shakes his head, but it’s slow. Thoughtful. “No… I can’t be. Whatever Nikolai decides on is what must be. My job is the before and after, this time. I’ve done what I can.”

Izek watches the groups that have recollected: talking and rubbing hands down faces, hands on hips, arms crossed, sighs and nods… Nikolai and his brother make rounds between them, asking more questions of Bluto and Arabelle both. The thought strikes him that it’s convenient that they had essentially put Nikolai in his position, and now Imrath is handing over power to… a man who owes him. It’s tricky and conniving and clever, if it’s on purpose. Not the kind of thing he’d expect from Mr. Bleeding Heart, Help Everyone All The Time… but not out of the question.

He’ll ask later when they have some time alone.

“You’re done? So we can leave?”

“Sorry, darling. If Nikolai decides to execute him like I hope he does, I will not be letting anyone else cut his head from his shoulders. That is my responsibility.”

“One of the guards can do it.” Wixen offers. She’s losing her patience for this garden that looks like a little stone cage to her.

Imrath snorts a quiet laugh out his nose. “I will not deny Amaunator the swing of his sword.”

______________________________________________________________

Nikolai deliberates for about an hour, altogether, though Imrath is pretty sure that most of his final decision was made in the last ten minutes when he and Karl disappeared into the mansion by themselves. Karl, apparently, reappears in the doorway and catches Izek’s attention, who then nudges Imrath and pushes him towards the door.

As he steps into the hallway with the brothers, Imrath links his fingers together to handle his own resurfacing nervousness. He wants to ask if they’ve made a decision, but catches it on his tongue and instead asks, “What can I do for you?”

“I think you’re right.” Nikolai starts, and Karl butts in to finish. “Just about everyone agrees, too.”

Imrath perks up, despite his best efforts. Clarity though, is of the utmost importance. “You have decided to execute him?”

Both young men nod. “Nobody really cares about him anyway. He’s a drunk that doesn’t do anything.” Karl supplies.

“Except fucking blood sacrifice, apparently. I don’t like that stuff - s’the whole reason I didn’t join mom’s cult.” Nikolai is more comfortable with his brother present, and it’s nice to see. They both take another moment to complain openly. Perhaps this is what happened the first time they hid away here ten minutes ago too. Imrath nods along as they vent, satisfied two-fold that 1.) his preferred outcome was ultimately given the go ahead, and that 2.) they still have each other to shoulder all this.

Imrath empathizes. He misses his own family most days - still keeps up his letters to them, despite not being able to send them out or expect the ones he paid the Vistani to deliver to arrive.

He waits until both young men have had their last huff and are looking at him.

“So,” Nikolai shrugs, “What now?”

He takes a deep breath. “Now, we go to wherever you want him to die, I will make all this official, and I’ll do it.”

“You said it doesn’t have to be public, right?” Imrath shakes his head. “Good. Just… do it in the garden, then. Everyone out there is plenty of people.”

“Of course. Give me just a moment to write out the documents and I’ll present them to you.” He thinks for another moment, and then tacks on, “You might send someone to start digging the grave.”

Happy enough to leave whatever paperwork there is to the professional - Nikolai has had enough paperwork for a lifetime already - the Wachter boys head back outside.

Nikolai takes his seat from before and Karl gives quiet orders to a guard before he plops down on his right. Both look exhausted, and say nothing to the crowd, who murmur amongst themselves until Imrath emerges with a folded paper and presents it to Nikolai.

He reads over it, nods, and stands. The standing looks, to Imrath’s blindsight, like he’s stepping back into his role. His voice is tired, but he is trying to keep it even. Noble. He manages it. “Alright Bluto.” He waves his hand to direct the man to come stand in front of him across the table.

Bluto is hesitant at first, but then scurries into place. The crowd waits. Imrath waits. Nikolai waits for a few seconds too long before they all realize someone is missing a cue. Subtly, Nikolai glances over at Imrath and waves him on.

It's awkward. Bless them all, this whole trial has stuttered from the beginning. Growing pains, perhaps.

With a nod, Imrath turns to face the condemned, “By my right as the Paladin of Amaunator, Light of the Law,” his posture changes in the motion. He is rigid, tail stiff without its usual fluid motion. His sword arm, though, is quick as it raises a shining blade up to Bluto’s throat. It isn’t the Sunsword, which still hangs at his hip. Imrath’s own shortsword, the one he’d carried across the world, is blazing with magic. The mace would be more fitting, but is hardly an executioner’s tool. Imrath hears and thinks the sentiment at once - a comment from the god channeled into his body that exists in his chest as soon as it comes to be.

When he speaks the sentence, his own voice harmonizes with others through his teeth - a lower register accented by a half-forgotten language, another higher, feminine voice that rings through the air, and the low rumble of a beast out of Imrath’s own ancestry. It’s a voice that clears any pretense out of the air, thrumming with power. The sun disk on Imrath’s chest is hot through his clothes.

“Bluto Krogarov, by the laws of Vallakai and the Honorable Baron Nikolai Wachter, you have been found to be a danger to the societies around you and sentenced to death. May your next life be kinder than this one.”

The swing is sure, and solid. Fueled by divinity, it does not hiccup on a bone, and Bluto’s body crumples before the arc of the swing is over. The droplets of blood that land on his holy symbol sizzle on impact. It’s white hot on his chest.

The echo of his own mortal sentimentality hopes that it was quick enough that he wasn’t scared for long, as Amaunator burns through his soul one more time, and pulls away, back into whatever remains of his realm after centuries asleep.

There is an emptiness that always lingers for a while after channeling his god, like metal cooling slow. This time, it’s all wrapped up in mortal feelings, and Imrath is… unusually numb.

He finds it difficult to make the smalltalk he should, and can only go through the motions of conversation as he is thanked for the work - of course, it is my holy calling - and as Arabelle and her family thank him for the death - the decision was the baron’s - but they thank him anyway.

After a final check with Father Petrovich that he is content to provide the service without help - you must remember to be polite, especially to other men of the Light - he excuses himself and finds Wixen and Izek.

At their sides, he can cling to their hands and let himself be led while he tries to wrestle with what is left in his ribs.

He loves being Amaunator’s paladin. He loves the work and this chance to be something. The emptiness after spilling over with divinity isn’t the issue.

He knows it was right to kill Bluto - to rid the community of him… Not least of all because the powers that be made it so… but why doesn’t he care? Why isn’t he mourning, standing vigil over the body until it’s interred? Why is he so desperate to get away - get back on the road?

Is this- Is he-? What would his parents say?

Is he really so numbed by the justice - the unquestionable justice of it, that he isn’t grieving? Is this what Amaunator wants from him?

Why does peace feel so foreign?

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#in the interim the novel #in the interim #chapter nine #dnd fanfic #cos fanfic #cos spoilers

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