Symon paused, surprised at Keelgrave's sudden return to wakefulness. He'd expected another ten, maybe twenty minutes for his vessel to cleanse the gharzoth's undead vitality, but that figure had always been a rough estimate. Even with his magic giving him a certain intuitive understanding of it, he was still a novice when it came to vitality, especially in the case of the strange, corrupted version recently come into contact with.

<Hello? Don't tell me the damn thing has you tranced,> Keelgrave butted in.

Realising he'd spaced out, he returned his attention to the spirit and the dishevelled elf currently standing on shaky legs next to the bed. "Uh, no, I'm fine," he said, keeping his speech contained to his thoughts so the elf didn't think he was crazy. "I found her passed out and almost dead in one of the manor's hallways, and healed her up. Oh, we're in the bottom floor of the manor now, by the way. I'm not sure how aware you were while you were... asleep? Fighting the vitality? I can't really tell what it is. Oh, oh, and there's good news too! I managed to get Seize up to—"

<Godsdamnit, no, I mean do you not see it's an elf just standing there!?> he interrupted.

Symon stared at the filth-covered elf, who stared unblinkingly back with her large, midnight black eyes. "Of course I see her, I was the one who moved her here. What's gotten into you?"

<Fucking kill the thing then!> the spirit shouted, the volume and the words themself making Symon wince.

"What?! Why the hell would I do that? Sure, she's a little strange looking, but she's clearly the victim here. Someone wanted to put her in a zoo, I think."

<Because they eat babies, Symon! You idiot, kill it before it wakes up enough to try eating you!>

Symon frowned, looking at her sharp teeth. She bared them slightly with a toothy, too-wide smile before pointing eagerly towards the chains around her ankles. "Really, Keelgrave? For all your faults, I didn't take you for a racist. Wasn't your best friend an orc?"

<That's besides the point! Orcs are an honourable and noble people, while elves are just monsters with two legs.>

The claws and teeth were certainly monstrous traits, but she still looked like a scared and starving young woman underneath all the filth, blood, and posturing. Was she really doing something to his mind? Keelgrave had mentioned that mental manipulation abilities were very limited and had many caveats, so he doubted it was the case here. Plus, Willpower was one of his highest stats, and that was supposed to protect his mind.

"They eat babies? Really? How would you even know that's true?"

<Godsdamnit, just... just look!> the spirit said. With his words came the sensation of something being pushed.

It was a quiet night aboard the Grymjaw. Most of the crew were asleep, the wind was silent, and the sea lapped slowly against the hull. They were in as safe of a territory as they could possibly be, which admittedly wasn't saying much when you were at war with the largest country Cathar had ever seen. Personally, he couldn't relax. His responsibilities were too severe to risk losing focus, but he knew the crew needed a break.

That was why he'd cracked open their finest reserves and waived the night's usual schedule and curfew, although he was still using the vague awareness his Leadership provided of them to ensure they didn't get up to too much trouble, not that they could cause much out on the empty sea.

He went over his mental checklist of the ship and crew for what must have been the thousandth time this night, finding nothing out of the ordinary. A few stragglers were still up drinking and gambling, One-tooth was fiddling with the elemental engine like he always did, and...

He frowned. One of their scouts, a kid named Meyo — although he'd been in the crew long enough that he wasn't much of a kid anymore — was out under the waves. He was an unawakened orphan they'd picked up after they found him slumped over the body of an imperial infrantryman he'd stabbed in the back, surrounded by his dead family. It wasn't strange that he was in the water, he'd asked permission to look for a pearl to put on a ring for this portside girl he was sweet on. Stupid, but Farron had been young once, too, and his Intelligence made sure he never forgot.

The problem was how deep he'd gone. Meyo was barely on the second step, but he was already a few hundred metres down and rapidly sinking further. Pressure rose fast the deeper you went, faster than most people would think, but the kid had done this hundreds, thousands of times. He knew his body wouldn't survive the crushing depths, so Farron knew he wasn't going willingly.

He leapt off the deck in a flash, sending a wordless pulse of alarm through his Leadership skill as he did it. It didn't allow for proper communication, but it was more than enough to rouse the crew from their rest and revelry. He impacted the gentle waves and pierced through like a blade, his twice evolved Swimming sending him depthsward faster than a horse could run on solid ground.

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It was night on the surface, and the scant light barely illuminated the deepness of the ocean, but he could still make out the occasional blotch of something darker floating below him. Blood.

Above, he could feel his crew moving around in a focused panic as they prepared the diving bell, but it was already too late. The faint connection his Leadership providedfar below him, even after already diving down a hundred metres, flickered out into nothing.

He kicked harder, his powerful legs propelling his form deeper and deeper, but the boy was well and truly gone. He found a body, barely visible even with his enhanced senses, although he saw enough to know it wasn't Meyo.

Even as the salty water stung his eyes, he could make out the sword impaled through the creature's chest, and recognised the simple figure on its hilt. His eyes dragged themselves to the figure, also noticing its dark blue skin, pointed ear tips. Its dead, overly large eyes stared mockingly at him, the the fingers of severed arm still in its mouth waving gently in the deep sea current. He felt the heat rise in his chest even as the stinging in his eyes intensified, the—

With a tearing sensation, Symon forced his mind back to the present.

"Goddamnit, quit fucking doing that! Use your words!" he growled out, slamming a fist into the wall, half in anger and half to steady himself. The dizziness he'd come to associate with reliving Keelgrave's memories faded faster than it usually did. He was getting better at dealing with them, but that didn't improve his mood. This wasn't the first memory episode he'd had during his waking moments, but it was the first that seemed intentional on Keelgrave's part. "You and I are going to have a long talk once I'm done here," he said, distantly registering the faint trickle of vitality that travelled to his knuckles on one hand.

In the real world, less than half a second had passed. Entisse was still standing across from him, her oversized eyes doing a good job of broadcasting her confusion. From her perspective, he must have suddenly reacted for no reason. "I... sorry, don't mind me," he said, trying to inject the positivity he didn't feel into his words, as she could no longer understand their meaning without the translation ring being charged.

Keelgrave was silent, but Symon would force him to speak later. He'd put up with a lot, partially because the spirit was often helpful, and partially because there wasn't much he could against him, but deliberately forcing his memories into Symon's mind was a step too far. They would discuss things and he would lay down the law as soon as he handled things here.

Symon pointed to the chains at the elf's ankles, then in the direction of the front entrance. She got his meaning and began shuffling forwards unsteadily, the heavy manacles clanking with every laborious step. When he reached out to steady her, she hissed and swatted at his outstretched hand.

He bit down on his lip and clenched his fists as he stormed out of the bedroom, down the hallway, into the foyer, and out into the open air. Once outside, he took several deep breaths to try and calm himself down, but it was difficult to do when every inhalation scratched at his mouth and throat with the gritty pollen. Why did everything always have to be so difficult for him?

"She doesn't eat babies, Keelgrave," Symon said mentally, now breathing shallowly through pursed lips to try and keep any pollen from slipping around his face cloth. "I'm going to cut her out of the mana draining manacles, then talk to her myself. If she really is some monster just pretending to be a hurt woman, I'll kill her myself. How does that sound?"

<Listen kid, I... I'm sorry. I was just—>

"Enough!" he said. "We'll handle this after." His introduction to Cathar had hardly been pleasant, but at least his mind had been his own. Keelgrave could only read his thoughts when they were directed to him, but would that last forever? The innocuous little number growing next to Essence Bond represented more than just simple strength, it was a tracker that showed how closely entwined his soul was with the pirate living in his vessel. Even sleep provided no solace, his nights filled with strange dreams, both relived past memories and more mundane visions. Would his waking hours too be changed into something unrecognisable?

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his Anatomy skill unhelpfully telling him that he was feeling stressed. He'd been so focused on controlling Seize that he'd glossed over the ramifications of levelling Essence Bond.

Focus, Symon, focus. One thing at a time.

He had a minute to try and put his thoughts in order before Entisse slowly clanked her way out of the manor, before stopping alongside him. He continued onward without turning to face her, and made his way to the stone shed that the groundskeeper had collapsed. Finding the largest loose stone he could — a large, flat brick that had once been at the apex of the doorframe — he pulled it out and laid it on the path.

His magic had lashed out at the roses throughout this process, though his vessel was already full. He couldn't bring himself to care about the few wasted points of vitality, although they still went towards slowly increasing his capacity. Once he was done with the stone, he turned back to find the elf staring intensely at him.

"Legs on the stone," he said, pointing at the slab he'd placed on the ground. She understood his meaning, laying down on the ground and hefting her bone-thin legs onto the slab with what seemed like monumental effort.

He sighed, the anger and frustration bubbling inside him not enough for him to bulldoze past the temporary amputation he was about to perform. It was ridiculous, really, to think that less than two weeks ago he'd been waltzing around without a care on Earth, and now he was about to cut off an elf's feet and heal her with magic.

Shaking his head ruefully, he pushed the manacles as far up her leg as they could go, which happened to be just below the knee. He had a full 22 units of vitality in his vessel, which would be enough to heal replace two feet as long as he didn't cut too far up the calves. He could only estimate how much it would take, but he'd found that one unit was enough to replace one of his fingers back.

Briefly, he went back over his math. Would he need to replace more than 22 fingers worth of mass? Hmm, probably. I'll have to do them one by one. It wasn't a perfect unit of measurement, but it was all he had.

He spared a final glance towards Entisse, who nodded seriously.

Here goes nothing, he thought as he took a step back and raised his sword to the swirling black mist above.

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