Surprised he’d been asked, Herbert simply shrugged his shoulders, a minute gesture masked almost entirely by his shuddering, “Perhaps it would be so under different circumstances.” There were certain sights meant never to be seen by certain eyes, and if the scene was as awful as Dimitri told, then one such sight was awaiting their fair maiden companion. Herbert, on the other hand, had likely seen worse before. He hoped. 

The tiny skeletal creature undulated its entire form, watching the large monk, making a high-pitched scratching that would make eardrums vibrate rather noticeably. As it chirped, it would flap its membrane-lacking wings; long bony protrusions that seemed to fan out. It hung tremulous in the air, but at a strong gust, it was quick to latch back onto Herbert. Regardless, it seemed happy.

“I think it is fond of it. How quaint,” Herbert said with the ghost of a smile. 

He fell quickly in line behind the larger man, somewhat pleased that he was taking point. It was not the blood Herbert cared about; it was not uncommon in the medical field, and was far too common in his research. No. With every step Dimitri took, Herbert answered with one of his own, resigned to be led, rather than to lead. That was a great weight of off his shoulders. 

He cast nothing more than a glimpse back at Ryann. How old was she? Sixteen perhaps? Certainly not that far out of childhood.  There was an instinct to protect her, to keep her ignorant to the scene they were fast approaching, perhaps a remnant of a shared dream that never bore fruit. Then he remembered her wings. She was no human. The urge dissipated quite suddenly then. He gathered his jacket around him a little tighter, turning from her, bristling. He strode onwards. 

The ground went from slick-crunch to sticky. “BB” scurried inside his Jacket, hiding in the breast lining. Herbert slipped past Dimitri to get a better view. There was an oily sheen on the floor, a charred residue. The room was a circle, swathed in fire, blood and ruin. Around the periphery, charred bodies lay mangled, stripped of all skin and clothing, black immolated flesh with weeping red sores. There were about a dozen of them, maybe more, maybe less; Herbert did not let his eyes linger, trying to keep them moving to avoid the scene. Human debris and viscera grew denser around the centre. Moreover, the centrepiece itself, upon a stone altar was-

[i]"Hey. Am I interrupting? It looks like you've already got some introductions going on. I'm Will and this is Dzel- aside from that we'll just join the queue."
[/i]

He looked at them; one seemed practically dressed. The other reminded Herbert of Sir Gawain when the eldest schoolchildren acted out [i]Sir Gawain and the Green Knight [/i]at the festivities around every summer solstice celebration, only in this case, “Sir Gawain” was a female. He was surprised he had not noticed either sooner. 

“Salutations,” Herbert managed, blinking exaggeratedly, trying to clear his swimming vision, “I’m sure Dimitri will be rather fond of you both.” 

His head felt light, and he could swear the whole room was spinning about. He smiled at them curtly, and drifted away, towards the centre of the room, very much disinterested with these new people. He knew what lay at the altar, he had seen it, and he wished he could omit that sight from his mind, but he was drawn to it like iron to a lodestone, drawn by morbid curiosity. Each step was unsteady. Each breath was ragged. The wickedness grew stronger, and he had to swallow back the bile rising in his throat. Lone tears fled from his watering eyes.  He stood over her.

A woman. An untidy cut down the centreline laid bare her insides, from just above the sternum, across the abdomen, finishing at the womb. Ribs, terribly white against the sanguinity, snapped and broken, marrow-filled shards protruding from the cavity, pulled wide open. Most disturbing of all, arguably, was that her insides, instead of being definite organs and bodies, were a liquid, a macabre soup of that which was most vital to life. A veil of steam rose from this, as if he had once been hot, and now was cooling. Mercifully, her eyes were closed, but her mouth was wide and gawping. Flecks and splotches of red marred her face and matted strands of her hair. 

It was odd, that he had never worked upon a female before, and perhaps now he realised why. His mind was drawn unavoidably to memories of his late wife, and the vile thoughts that began to manifest were overwhelming. So, he tried to distract himself, hoping to lock the grief away again.

With utmost care, and the steady hand of man from a walk of life that demanded it, he began to wipe away the blood with the cuff off his jacket, and clean her face as best as he could. There was still the radiating foulness that permeated this area most strongly, but, in his distraction, he was able to partly forget his knotting stomach and raised hackles. He propped her head in such a way that her mouth would stay closed, and her hair fell in auburn waves. The split down her middle was far too large to bind with a strip of fabric. He thought about cauterising it with the heat from the unending flames, but that would be too difficult, as he doubted he could find iron suitable. 

Instead, after a little consideration, he took off his jacket, and draped it over her exposed front, tucking her arms over the top. The cold bit him immediately, but if they would be heading inside soon, a mild discomfort was a far lesser sacrifice to make than a woman’s dignity in death. 

And then, because he felt it expected, he spoke a few words, for his sake more than that of the woman. “Rest well, forever undisturbed.” A small amount of closure. Nevertheless, enough to sustain the shocked and readily accepting state that had kept him sane thus far, locking away portions of his mind for his own safety. 

He turned. Suddenly he was very aware of how queasy and weak at the knees he was. He needed to sit down. Blood everywhere. If he was to take a step, he feared he might have fallen, so he stood, swaying slightly. 

The whole thing wouldn’t have taken more than a few moments, and he drew his attention back to… “Will and Dzel”, those were their names. 

“Have you any idea what happened here?” He very much doubted so, but you never knew until you asked. Somebody had to know something. Herbert had his suspicions of course; the whole thing spoke of sacrifice. The body on the altar was the only one in the room not burnt to a cinder; not a mere coincidence. Not that he was foolish enough to believe that such poppycock worked; he was a man of science, not arcane suspicion.

He rubbed his arms, trying to generate some friction to keep warm before they delved inside, to where it was hopefully much less cold.