So.

The village is haunted.

This is a very literal and very real haunting, too. By very corporeal, confused, and irritable ghosts. She thinks she remembers stories about ghosts being a thing? Probably from when she was human? But she definitely hadn't seen any until now. They are all very, very real, and very much want to kill her. At least they don't seem cognizant enough to work together; this makes them ultimately less dangerous than the spiders.

This isn't really what she was hoping for when in her attempt to find some sign of civilization, but it's, you know. Something.

It seems... kinder, to put them to rest, than to just leave them. They don't seem particularly happy about their situation. Besides, she's curious about what exactly happened, here. It has to have been something, right? So she'll carefully start picking her way through the village, methodically obliterating the irate spirits of the dead as she goes. Well, as they try to kill her, anyway, some of them seem content to linger in sorrow in various corners, and for the most part, she'll leave those alone.

Whatever happened must have been really weird because, even though the village doesn't look particularly rich—or, at least, doesn't look like it was particularly rich while its people were alive—some of these ghosts are... strangely well-armed.

Take, for instance, that person over there, ambling in her direction with murderous intent (or at least murderous vague thoughts) in their heart. They might've been a farmer or even a village guard in life, but it would be really surprising if whatever they'd been had access to a sword like this. If nothing else, had they had access to something so clearly enchanted, they would probably have been able to better fend off their attacker. Or their corpse might have at least been looted.

To be fair to the dead, the sword doesn't scream that it's enchanted. Even to Iovetra's magical senses its signature is muted, subdued. Someone that didn't have any practice looking at magic could be excused for thinking it was a normal (albeit beautiful) weapon. At least until they swung it once.

First order of business is, of course, reducing the ghost to nothingness with careful application of magic and crossbow bolts. She is not, generally speaking, in the habit of staying still to be hit by things. While she notices the sword, and also notices how it doesn’t seem to match the owner, it’s information to be tabled until the danger is sorted. A note of extended reach to be avoided, nothing more.

Then the ghost dissipates from being blasted and pincushioned enough times, and the sword still remains.

… it’s really quite gorgeous. And magical, in an artfully subtle way that screams efficiency. It’s a good thing she didn’t let this touch her, that the wielder was so confused and clumsy, because this would have hurt.

She’s torn between wanting to keep it for herself forever, and the feeling that these people have lost enough already, and it’d be worse to take such a prize from them. On one hand: this doesn’t seem to fit with the environment it came from, and the owner didn’t seem any kind of swordsman. On the other hand: if anyone should have respect for the dead, it’s probably the fellow dead, so. … maybe she’ll just. Keep it for now. While she explores the village. It’s much better than clawing at someone with her bare hands, literal ability to grow claws or no. Once she’s done, she can make a more informed decision about the graverobbing. Maybe this sword is responsible for this haunting, she wouldn’t know.

And if she tests it one or two or three dozen times, on the available angry ghosts as she explores the place, well. That’s just efficient, isn’t it.

The enchantments are subtle, elegant, and very, very useful.

Wielding this sword feels like wielding her own hand, like moving it comes naturally. But not because it's giving her skills she didn't have; rather, it seems that if she wants the sword to be somewhere, and she swings it in that direction, then... that's where the sword will be. It's not subjected to such lowly concerns as mere physics. If Iovetra wants to cut something with it, it will be cut, that's it.

And that's not all. It feels like if she wants to—and wants to is very much operative, here, the enchantment is clearly asking for her permission to do this—she can let it enhance her some more. Make her faster, nimbler, more sure-footed. It can give her subtle hints and intuitions about how and where to best use it, it can let her know when her footwork is suffering. It wants her to wield it, damn it, and it will make her to be a good swordswoman while she does it. If she lets it.

So, on one hand: the sword would like to mess with her mind a bit, and she has kind of a flinch response to this. She's still not used to her thoughts being entirely her own, and is protective of them. She went and did that whole risky magical experimentation thing based around protecting herself from being messed with ever again. This continues to matter to her very much, her brain is not for touching.

On the other hand: she doesn't, actually, know all that much about swordsmanship, and wants to be better. Very importantly, it's also asking permission. That changes a lot of the context. It's not clear that it's better to figure everything out from first principles just out of sheer bloody spite, when she wants to get to the same location the sword seems to want to lead her to. And she does have that safety net of not-all-of-her-is-here-to-control. It... makes it safer. It's offering her knowledge, not assuming control, and that's a prize she's going to have trouble turning down.

Iovetra hesitates for a while, absently (and clumsily) wielding it against various ghosts without any kind of assistance, before her own inability annoys her enough to accept help. Even if she does decide to find the original owner of this sword and return it, these lessons are useful.

She resolutely ignores the rapidly diminishing chance that she will ever willingly give up the nice sword without reasons more solid than 'it seems like it's vaguely the morally correct thing to do.'

She is made into a better swordswoman. Not a perfect one, by any means. Not even a truly exceptional one. But definitely a good one. Even with her permission, the enchantment still tries to be gentle wherever it can, tries to show rather than tell, and she has the option to withdraw consent at any time.

Whoever made this sword: 1. is very respectful of its users, 2. is a really, really good swordsman themself, and 3. is one hell of a good enchanter. If Iovetra ever stops to actually look at the magic, she will find layers upon layers of intricate, complex workings, scaffolding each other and complementing each other and just being overall very very thorough, all of that while still being very efficient about it.

The sword is beautiful, but the magic in it might be even more beautiful.

And in any case these ghosts cannot, really, stand a chance.

As she learns, she desperately wants to meet the forgemaster behind this gorgeous work of art. It's using magic in a way she hadn't even thought of, and it's, it's so damned polite and efficient about it. She wants to find the maker responsible for it and pick their brain for the next century on enchanting, and probably ask them to please make her a better crossbow while she's at it. It's not that hers is bad, or anything, she was competent enough in its making to be sure it fires straight, with vampire-strength levels of force packed into a delicate and easily carried frame. There's even a small enchantment that let her easily transfer poisons to the tips of any fired bolts, but. It's just so very, very obvious that she's an amateur in comparison.

She... is now kind of running out of ghosts to kill, actually. At least the ones wandering around outside. She decides to start poking her head into buildings to see about acquiring more practice. And maybe some sort of hint as to who made this beauty. Helloooooo, are there any ghosts that hate her and want her to die in these dilapidated buildings, she wants to educationally stab you.

...something isn't the same.

It's been so long that anything other than ghosts and Foulrot happened that it takes Cyllian a whole second to realise that something's different, and then a further second to realise that he's hearing noises that aren't ghosts or Foulrot. Or, well, some of the noises are the ghosts, but it sounds like there's... someone else? He's. Unsure. He doesn't want to hope hope is not an emotion swords feel.

He hopefully apathetically walks over to the window to try to see what is going on.

The nearby ghosts have learned to give the tavern Cyllian is bound to a wide berth. They have trouble with things like 'retaining information,' but even these cheap copies can figure out to avoid a place that is reliably defended by a very bored phantom. After some several dozen times of the same set of ghosts being destroyed, over and over again, they stopped wandering close enough for his attacks to reach them. Sometimes, he can see them, glowing faintly through the mist that clings to his prison latest binding point.

It's hard to see through the fog, but there is another figure, cloaked and hooded, cutting various ghosts down.

The shape of the weapon is hard to discern from this distance, but he might recognize the logic behind them. Like... someone that has one of his weapons. Someone that is listening to it.

What.

Where did they get one of his wea- he supposes he has been outfitting these ghosts with them in a bid to have literally anything happen, hasn't he. Hm. So maybe this figure has just recognised his work for what it is and is using it correctly?

That'd be. Novel.

No, not really, his previous masters used him perfectly well, it's just the Soultaker— Swords don't resent their masters.

The flashes of dying ghosts fade to nothingness. For a little while, he can see nothing through the mist.

...wait are they. Gone? Did they just grab his sword and leave?

Is he alone again?

But.

But.

There are the faint sounds of footsteps, creaking against the half-rotten floorboards of the the entrance to the prison once-tavern he is bound to defend.

!

!!!!!!!

...he is bound to defend it and that is of course the only reason he is sprinting madly in the direction of the entrance.

Cyllian's forge isn't one. Or not a proper one, not according to him.

The repurposed tavern and inn was probably good enough for what it was, before Foulrot the Soultaker decided they would take residence there. There's a general sitting area out front, where tables formerly used by patrons have been commandeered by the phantom to serve as, well, something approximating storage units. The cabinets in the bar and kitchen areas are not sufficiently sturdy for much of what he needs to store, the tools of his trade and the results of his work and the raw ores the Soultaker brings him and the ingots he's refined and so on, so he has a well-organised system of which table holds what that he optimised to perfect efficiency to minimise time spent getting to and searching for and accessing whatever he needs.

The wall between the bar and the kitchen has been completely demolished, though, to make that entire section of the building the forge proper, with the walls and floor made of materials that won't catch fire due to stray embers. It's clearly visible from the entrance and, though it is not currently in use, it has barely-smoldering embers indicating it's been used recently.

So the sight Iovetra sees, when she gets close enough to the rotted-off doorframe, is piles upon piles of enchanted weapons and materials to create same placed seemingly-randomly all over the bar area, a weirdly-placed stone furnace, and, of course...

...the forgemaster himself. "You are trespassing."

"Oh?" the hooded figure asks. The voice is feminine, and from this distance he can see the pair of glowing eyes looking back at him. They are the same color typical of the (other) ghosts.

She flickers back several paces (and that's what it looks like, she disappears and then reappears) to just outside the tavern, and then calls inside, "How about now?"

"I suppose now you are no longer trespassing," he allows, suppressing the brief panic he feels when she vanishes.

"Oh, good. I'd hate to offend. You're different from the other ghosts, none of them were much for talking."

She pulls down her hood, revealing a mane of too-red hair, and leans forward to peer inside without quite passing the threshold.

Then she takes in the environment and appears to brighten.

"Wait... you're a smith? Did you make this sword?"

She obligingly shows the sword that does look familiar.

"Yes," he says, twitching when she almost but doesn't quite get into the tavern forge. "And I am not a ghost. I am a phantom.

"...what are you?"

"Iovetra. A vampire. Hello."

He's heard vampires mentioned before, mostly from the Shadow Priestess. Once, they ruled the world, masters of shapeshifting and mind control and blackening out the sun itself in their power. Then, humanity discovered holy magic, anathema to them, and rose up in superior numbers to drive them to extinction.

The vampire then smiles brilliantly at him, displaying fangs. "Well, this is gorgeous," she gushes, sincerely and with great enthusiasm.