Down to the very last. Are you acquainted with a man named Rogier? You know, the piteous fellow hiding away on the balcony? He was a formidable spellblade, in times past. Have you ever heard of black knifeprints? Dear Rogier likes to talk of them when abed. And the ancient plot, in which the first of the Demigods was slain. The black knives wielded by the assassins who committed the act, along with the impressions they made, somehow hide the truth of the conspiracy. These grand affairs are hardly my forté... But dear Rogier began to weep as he spoke... Dear Rogier likes to talk of it when abed. The ancient plot, in which the first of the Demigods was slain. I heard that you lent a hand to dear Rogier. He seemed positively elated. He must be possessed of great mental fortitude. You truly are a champion. To dear Rogier, and myself, too. In truth I've heard tell from someone else, about the black knifeprints that fascinate dear Rogier so. But It wouldn't be right to give this to him, stuck as he is in the Roundtable Hold. Perhaps you could make use of it? Fia, Deathbed Companion Finally, it is returned to its rightful place.

I'm afraid there's something I must tell you. Do you know of Those Who Live in Death? The very notion of life in death defies the Golden Order. By D's account, these defiled fiends must be expunged. But truth be told, I seek the cursemark to save them. You may find this peculiar, but I discovered something in my examination of the Night of the Black Knives. These souls have committed no offence. They have every right to life, only, they happened to touch upon a flaw in the Order. Yes, indeed. If D knew what drives me now, he would surely boil over with rage. Or perhaps, he would even feel some pity. But no need to fret, none of that will come to pass. I can tell a good lie when I need to. And...that thing is to blame for the shape I'm in now... I urge the utmost caution. Don't disturb the corpse more than necessary... Oh? Forgot something, did you? Alright there. Good to see you safe. I see... When Ranni shed her flesh, she shed the cursemark, too. You know, not everyone would trust such a tale... But, if she in her current form is nothing more than the living doll you profess... Then perhaps it's true after all. Hmm. Forgive the bluntness of the notion, but... How would you like to become one of Ranni's vassals? Ah, only in order to get what we want, of course. The location of the body which bore the cursemark, which right now I haven't the faintest. And the best way to find out is for you to enter her service and take a poke around on the sly. I know you've got what it takes. Not only are you a superb fighter, but people want to trust you. I've seen it. Can you become Ranni's vassal to advance our agenda? While in her service, you'll be able to take a poke around on the sly. And determine the location of her original body that bears the cursemark. I realise that I'm asking you to put yourself in grave danger. But I know you've got what it takes. Quite possibly the only one, in fact. Not only are you a superb fighter, but people want to trust you. I've seen it. D was telling me. That he discovered the mark of the centipede. The centipede is an ancient symbol of the cursemark. As long as whoever finds and uses it is not nefarious by nature, then we may be able to form an alliance. If only I could speak to them in person. And if they were like you, all the better. Hmm. Maybe I should tell you. Lately, I feel I'm on the precipice... Of falling into a deep...fathomless slumber. And I have an inkling it could spell trouble for you, somehow. So I just wanted to get the apology out of the way, beforehand. Since you're so scary and all. Off..er her c-curse...m-mark Fi…a's… fi…a's… T-to... G-god... wyn A…fu-full...circle F-forms…a…r...rune... (Dies) For me, really? Why thank you very much. I'll try anything once. ...No thank you. I don't need your pity. Ah... Sorry. You were only trying to be nice. It would be my pleasure to take it. My thanks. Oof! I fear you are mistaken. I am no foe of yours, far from it. This is rather unfortunate. I don't normally find myself cornered like a rat. But I have my ways... No need to grandstand; you're not even on stage. Well, this is unfortunate. Couldn't change a thing... Agh! I fear you are mistaken. I am no foe of yours, far from it. If you think I am helpless, you are quite mistaken, I'm afraid. If this doesn't cause you shame, nothing will. Well, this is unfortunate. Couldn't change a thing... C-curse...m-mark Fi…a's… fi…a's… T-to... G-god... wyn Not seen you before. Name's Bernahl. Tarnished, just like you. Let me ask you something. Are you here in the Lands Between to take up the fight? Does your faith in the guidance of grace hold firm, despite the collapse of the Golden Order? Yes, you're a Tarnished through and through. Takes me back, but that's a quality needed now more than ever. Any interest in bearing the torch, of my battle arts? All I know is the sword. Picked up a fair few tricks in my time, too. Now's the time to pass 'em on. To a good and proper Tarnished, like you. Oh, not had your fill, eh? Worry not, I've enough to keep you busy. Ah, hello. Glad to see you safe. Here to learn a battle art or two? There's a myriad of battle arts in these lands that I've yet to discover. Mementos of all the warriors who raised their arms in battle, lost, and died. A fine tale, all told, of true chivalric romance. That's how I fell in love with the sword, and the arts of combat. It grants meaning even to falling in battle, to death itself. Honest to a fault, I see. Such thoughts won't behove you, as a Tarnished. But there's nothing wrong with that. Any interest in bearing the torch, of my battle arts? All I know is the sword. Picked up a fair few tricks in my time, too. Now's the time to pass 'em on. To a good Tarnished, like you. Not floating your boat, eh? Well, there's no rush. Knowledge of the arts can wait another day. There you are. Decided to bear the torch of my battle arts? Well, until we meet again. You... What in heaven's name are you doing here? The Volcano Manor is a pit of recusants who spit at grace and hunt our own kind. I hope you understand the weight of my words. Well. As long as you understand what you're saying. I thought you a Tarnished bred by virtue. Perhaps playing that part led you to your doubts, I wonder. But know that the path you walk is blasphemy, and leads only to a miserable death. Before you consider hunting any of your own kind, think on that. This blasphemous path leads only to a pitiful death. Before you consider hunting any of your own kind, think on that. So. You've bloodied your sword in the hunt. Then I shall introduce myself once more. Bernahl, a recusant, just like you. Recusants have particular battle arts, styled to our methods of slaughter. Why not add some to your repertoire? Oh, not had your fill, eh? You're still alive, I see. Why not learn another battle art, see if we can't keep it that way. You've come to understand, now, eh? To take power and make it his own, The recusant must hunt his own kind. To raise the flag of revolt against this sanctified pillaging, We recusants must become the most wretched of predators. All you can do is laugh. Look at you. A recusant through and through. I knew you had it in you. Take this. A special invitation, to hunt some of the first Tarnished who sat at the Roundtable Hold. If you should accept, I'll next see you on the field of battle. Ah, I had hoped you'd soon return. I have the reward from Lady Tanith. Take it. It's yours, by right. Let us tread the path of the recusant together. Till we reach the miserable death that awaits us.