>>465170

Like the ticking of hundreds of clocks, you count the hours pass by listening to the rain pounding at the roof of Yadhos' ramshackle house. Morning comes to the slow sound of the rain easing off, and the rivulets of water seeping through the roof dwindle first to a trickle and then cease completely. Lulled into a more restful sleep by the sound of the rain, and now rouse by the absence, Lize stirs and sits upright. As she's rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Yadhos approaches, a plate of fish – dried, salted and hacked into pieces – in one hand and a battered tin box in the other.

“A fine morning,” he says, by way of greeting, and sits between you with his legs crossed. In the background, signs of life are returning to his kin. A baby starts to wail, but quickly hushes down to a murmur. “You'll be wanting to make tracks, then?”

It sounds, you think, like you're being thrown out. If only your real landlord, back in Thar Dreyse was so polite. Yadhos seems to read your expression, for he shakes his head.

“Don't mean nothing by it, stranger. You're welcome to say as long as you like. At least, so long as you're willing to pull your weight,” he rasps out something that comes close to a laugh, “Don't rightly look like a man who's afraid of a bit of hard work, but I figure you'll have business elsewhere.”

True enough, you tell him, you need to head back to Artyom. It's going to be a long walk.

“Not a walk you'll want to make with wounds like those,” Yadhos leans forwards a little to peer at the gashes on your head and hands, “The smell of them would draw out all kinds of beasts and horrors. Got something you can put on them. Cityfolk might turn their noses up at it, but there's not a thing wrong with folk medicine. You really think I could walk about with the head still on my shoulders if it didn't work worth a damn?”

He may have a point there, you admit, especially with all the blood he lets. Nodding slowly, reluctantly agreeing with him, you watch as he opens the tin case and takes out a smaller jar, one filled with a rust-red paste. With a blunt knife, more of a paddle, he scoops out a slice of the paste.

“It'll burn a little, but it's the good kind of burning,” he assures you, “Burn away anything bad, anything that'll fester and sicken you. Can't promise aught, but it's supposed to speed along the healing as well.” Without wasting any further time, he slaps some of the salve onto the first of your cuts and smears it in. His warning was an accurate one – it burns with a familiar bite, the fire of a wound being sterilised. Ignoring the occasional grunts you let slip, Yadhos works with a quick and competent hand.

He's done this kind of thing before, often enough for it to be routine.

File: Lize.jpg (136 KB, 700x727)

136 KB JPG

>>465171

“So that's, like, some kind of herbal tincture, right?” Lize asks as Yadhos turns his attention to her, to the gash left behind her her “offering”. She looks nervous, but not nearly as fearful as she had been during that particular trial.

“Aye, herbal,” Yadhos waits until after he has smeared on a thick layer of the paste, and Lize has finished writhing, before continuing, “But the most of is made from the slugs we get crawling out of the ocean. Fat red things they are, bloated and oily, but properly prepared...”

“Oh gross!” Lize pulls away, first moving to scrub the rust-red paste off her arm and then pausing. To do that, of course, would mean touching it even more. “You put mashed up slugs on your open wounds?”

“Never got an infection,” the sailor boasts, “Not one.”

“I'm gonna take a guess,” Lize mutters, “You don't have, like, League papers for this stuff, right?”

“Never knew I needed them,” Yadhos replies, sounding genuinely bemused.

-

“Well,” Lize remarks a while later, as you're leaving Yadhos' settlement behind, “Slugs and blood sacrifice aside, he seemed nice.”

Culturally degenerate, you reply, but that doesn't make him a bad person. If anything, you have to respect Yadhos – he was a good, honest man, the kind that was willing to help a pair of strangers without asking for payment. If only more of the “civilised” people back in Thar Dreyse could be so virtuous!

“Yeah but, like, capital folk don't rub dead slugs on their skin,” your young companion points out, before pausing, “Though, if you told them it might make them look younger...”

Might be a nice little earner for someone one day, you think aloud, but not you. Too much trouble, too much paperwork. You'll stick to something easier – like killing things.

“Business as usual, right?” Lize forces a small laugh, “Hey, listen, about what happened...”

>This wasn't exactly normal business. I'm sorry I got you involved
>I warned you. It's a hard life
>You were dreaming, earlier. It sounded bad
>Something you wanted to ask me about?
>Other

>>465173
>>This wasn't exactly normal business. I'm sorry I got you involved
>You were dreaming, earlier. It sounded bad

>>465173
>>Something you wanted to ask me about?

>>465173
>I warned you. It's a hard life

>>465173
>This wasn't exactly normal business. I'm sorry I got you involved
"Between this and Kolyat's business it's been a strange trip even for me. Usually I just hunt something in a forest and that's the end of it"

>You were dreaming, earlier. It sounded bad
>Something you wanted to ask me about?

>>465173
>This wasn't exactly normal business.
>But we're probably going to have to do more, and worse, looking up in the North for clues.
>You were dreaming, earlier. It sounded bad

>>465173
>>This wasn't exactly normal business. I'm sorry I got you involved

>>You were dreaming, earlier. It sounded bad
>>Something you wanted to ask me about?

You warned her, you begin, it's a hard life even when things are close to normal. This, everything with Kolyat included, is far from normal business. Normal business, you add as you indicate the trees around you, is more like stalking some overgrown wolf through the forests. All this has been... strange, even by your standards. Strange, and somewhat unwelcome, but you suspect that things are only going to get worse as time goes on. For what it's worth, you're sorry that she got involved in this. What happened in Canid was your business, not hers.

“Hey, I knew what I was signing up for... kind of,” another awkward attempt at laughter, at lifting the mood, “You didn't drag me along or anything, and yeah, a lot of it kinda sucked, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing with my life.”

Her talent for optimism – even if much of it is faked – never fails to impress you. Anyway, you ask, was there something she wanted to ask you about?

“Uh, sort of,” Lize shrugs, “This is gonna sound weird, with you being the professional at this and all, but... are you okay? I mean, are you holding up alright?”

Not the question you were expecting, and not one you can answer right away. Between your various duties and being attacked by a flock of birds, you never really had the chance to sit down and consider your own feelings. Oh certainly, you've done your share of brooding, but none of it has ever let you to a proper conclusion – brooding tends not to. Taking a moment to consider Lize's question, and what sort of answer she might be expecting or hoping to hear, you settle for a safe, generic answer.

You're fine, you assure her, you've always been the resilient type. So long as you've got work to do, you'll not have anything to worry about.

“Isn't that, like, just running away from your problems?” the girls asks, fiddling with the medallion around her throat, “I mean...”

She'd be the expert in that, you point out delicately, running away from her problems.

“Yeah, okay,” she laughs, and this time there's a genuine note to it, “You've got a point there. You handle things your way, I'll handle things my way. I'll come whining to you if I need help, but you gotta do the same, deal?”

Deal, you reply with a sigh and a weary smile, seems like a fair trade.

-

You walk on in silence for a while, before you start the conversation back up again. She was dreaming last night, you point out, and it sounded pretty bad. Struggling, talking in her sleep – although you couldn't make out any of the words – and all manner of other things.

“Oh, was I?” Lize feigns ignorance, indifference, for a moment, “Yeah, I... It happens sometimes, especially if things have been, like, stressful. Usually, it's not a big deal – I mean, it still isn't a big deal, they're just dreams – but it's been bad lately.”

[1/2]

>>465210

Does she remember her dreams, you ask, anything about them at all?

“I never used to be able to remember anything about them,” Lize kicks at a clump of moss, digging it out the ground with the toe of her boot, “But it's getting easier. Clearer, like. I don't think I could write them all down, like a diary or anything, but the general feel of them... You ever get nostalgic for stuff you've never seen before? Or something might feel familiar, even though it's the first time you're seeing it?”

Her comment rattles you a little. Not so long ago, you were stepping into Artemis' temple and feeling that same feeling – a recollection too vague to be considered a memory, like the impression of an impression. Just the slightest fleeting feeling that you'd seen the temple before, when it was in its prime.

“Anyway, the weird thing about my dream is that I do recognise some stuff. Like, the palace back in Thar Dreyse. I went there once when I was younger, some formal event or something, and now I remember it – perfect detail, mind – in my dream,” pausing, Lize shudders, “Only, there's a fight going on right in the middle – a real one, not a fancy duel. I can feel it in the air, like... someone's gonna die, see?”

Another familiar sensation, albeit one you know all too well from your waking life. Considering her words for a long time, you realise that you need to be certain. You need to know for sure. Has she ever seen a woman in her dreams, you ask, a pale woman in the snow and ice?

“No, never,” she shakes her head and, with a wicked smile, pulls the conversation onto safer – or perhaps more dangerous – grounds, “A woman in the snow, huh? Is that what you dream about, Henryk? Well, I won't judge, but you better be careful – frostbite, y'know?”

Don't make this out to be something it's not, you warn her, she's deliberately misinterpreting things. Lize, for her part, just chuckles to herself.

-

The rest of the journey passes without incident – nothing that warrants a mention, at least. Taking the carriage from Artyom, you arrive in Canid. Taking the train from Canid, you arrive in Thar Dreyse. Stepping out into the streets of the capital, you nearly recoil from the simple rush of noise and activity, battered by all the bustle of civilisation. You draw a few eyes, your wounds and the crusty red paste sealing them shut causing people to look quickly away.

“So where we going now, boss?” Lize asks as she takes a deep breath of the city air, clearly more at ease here, “Straight home, or...?”

Gotta stop off somewhere first, you tell her, you've got to go take your medicine.

[2/3]

File: Iosefka.jpg (25 KB, 432x600)

25 KB JPG

>>465228

“Henryk, what butcher put you back together?” Iosefka asks, before you can even order a drink, “I hope you didn't pay him much for that treatment – although I can barely credit it with such a lofty term!”

It's not so bad, you reply as she leans across the bar to peer at your injuries, you'll be fine. Besides, it was free – you can hardly complain about the price.

“These need stitches,” the former doctor tuts, shaking her head, “How did you even get injuries like these?”

“He picked a fight with a flock of birds,” Lize announces, before you can say anything, “Smart idea, right?”

“Certainly sounds like him,” Iosefka grunts, before looking around at her silent assistant. The girl sits on a high stool with her eyes closed, fingers dancing through the air as she practices some piano piece. “You there,” the doctor says, “Keep an eye on things here. I'll be through in the back.”

You question the logic of leaving a mute girl, one who doesn't even look old enough to drink, in charge of a bar, but you know that arguments would be pointless. Once Iosefka gets an idea in her mind, she won't change her mind for love nor money. At least you won't have to pay for a real doctor to take a look at you. Plus, you consider, it might be worth showing her the dagger you recovered – Iosefka has an eye for old things, old and interesting things especially.

“Sit,” she orders as she leads you and Lize through to the back of the bar, “This won't take long. Can't offer you any laudanum though – my license to sell that expired years ago. Hell, I shouldn't even be doing this – my doctoring days are supposed to be long over.”

“So, like, why are you?” Lize asks, lingering in the doorway.

“Ah, I can't help it. I'm like some old fool who keeps feeding stray cats,” shaking her head, bemoaning her own foolishness, Iosefka begins to thread a sterilised needle, “So, Henryk... what's been going on with you, lately?”

>Just business. Nothing special
>I found something, some old dagger – anything you can tell me about it?
>I've been away, what's the latest gossip?
>Other

>>465241
>>I found something, some old dagger – anything you can tell me about it?
>>I've been away, what's the latest gossip?

>>465241
>I found something, some old dagger – anything you can tell me about it?
"Found it in a temple south of Artyom. Abandoned other than a pissed off flock of birds."
>I've been away, what's the latest gossip?

>>465241
>I found something, some old dagger – anything you can tell me about it?
>I've been away, what's the latest gossip?

>>465241
>>I found something, some old dagger – anything you can tell me about it?
>>I've been away, what's the latest gossip?
>Any more panic stirred up?

You found something, tucked away in a ruined temple south of Artyom. An old dagger, you explain, is there anything she can tell you about it? As Iosefka pulls on a pair of white linen gloves, you retrieve the dagger and set it next to you.

“Just give me a minute...” Iosefka murmurs, as she starts to stitch up the worst of your cuts. The little pricks of pain are nothing compared to the attacks that left the wounds in the first place, and you're able to put it out of your mind without too much trouble. “Birds did this?” the former doctor whispers, leaning close enough that her breath brushes against your scalp, “Must have been nasty buggers...”

They were, you almost nod, they were the only things in that temple. Other than them, it was totally abandoned. Conversation falters then, as Iosefka focuses on stitching up your injuries. Occasionally she hums or murmurs some soft words of reassurance – an old habit from her days as a doctor, you presume – but mostly she matches your silence. Until, that is, she finished the job.

“I see. There we go, all done!” leaning back again, Iosefka pats you on the shoulder and looks down at the dagger, “Now let's take a look at this... Oh, this IS interesting. You said you found this in the south?”

South of Artyom, you repeat, is that unusual?

“I've seen one of these before – rather, something very similar,” taking the dagger, Iosefka twirls it in her hands, “That one, though, that wasn't designed to be a weapon. It was a medical tool used by the northern people. They're not all barbarians, you know. The one I saw was smaller, more delicate than this thing. They called them “birthing blades”, and they were used to cut open a pregnant woman if something went wrong.”

“Wouldn't that, like, kill them?” Lize asks, her face pinched with disgust, “I mean, you're cutting them open!”

“Very true – it was rare for the woman to survive,” Iosefka nods, “But, if these blades were being used, the odds of survival for both mother and child were low already. This way, the infant might survive. Over time though, the birthing blades took on something of a ritual significance – the interplay of birth and death, that kind of thing. Infants born in this way were seen as... unusual. Blessed or cursed, depending on who you ask, while the rare few mothers who survived such an operation were considered to have the protection of, well...”

The nameless gods of the north, you finish for her, you understand. She learned all this when she was working up in Port Steyr?

“I learned a lot, working there. Most of it, I wish I could forget...” her voice catches a little, “Anyway, got to take the bad with the good!”

Sure, you reply, got to take the light with the dark.

[1/2]

>>465276

Since you've been away, you hastily move the conversation along, you've not heard the latest gossip. What's the word on the street, any new panic?

“Things are calm here. Of course, that means some people are claiming that “the big one” is coming. And no, before you ask, they don't get any more specific than that. Something big, something bad, I don't know...” tutting again, Iosefka turns to take a bottle and two glasses from a cupboard, “Sometimes, I think people are only happy when it seems like the world is ending. I'm not complaining, mind – it gives them an excuse to drink their sorrows and worries away.”

Is that what you're doing now, you ask as you take the glass, drinking away your sorrows and worries?

“Oh no, that's what I'll do tonight when I'm cold and lonely,” the sarcasm in Iosefka's voice is sharp, but her smile softens it, “Really though, I've put my share of sorrows behind me – the past is the past and the present is the present. So... what should we drink to, now we're in the present?”

To unlicensed medicine, you offer. Iosefka laughs at that, a smoky chuckle that is all the reply you need to hear. Still laughing faintly, she clicks her glass against yours and drinks.

“Now we're talking about it, though, I do recall hearing something interesting. I had an old friend from the College in a few days ago, and he was very quiet,” Iosefka swirls the dark wine within her glass, looking into the whirlpool she created, “And I'm talking about a man who normally won't shut up about anything. There's something brewing up north, I'd bet my bar on it. No idea what it could be, mind. He said that the whole land would hear about it, when they were ready.”

Sounds like bad news, you muse, all these big announcements always do.

“Well that's the only big news I can think of,” Iosefka shrugs, “The southern colonies are getting pissy again, as usual, but that's hardly news these days. I'd say they're more trouble than they're worth, but...” she looks down into her glass of wine, “A lot of good trade comes out of the colony. Shame to lose out.”

“Hey, can I try some of that?” Lize asks, taking a few steps closer and reaching for your glass. You cover it with your hand before she can take it, and she sighs with disappointment.

“Try again in a few years, we can celebrate your birthday,” glancing between you and Lize, Iosefka laughs again, “A nice family event – it'll be fun!”

[2/3]

>>465286

After finishing your wine, Iosefka practically chases you out of the bar's back room. Any extra drinks, it seems, you'll need to pay for yourself. Slipping the dagger into a deep pocket – wrapped in a borrowed cloth to keep the keen blade from cutting you – you start back to your apartment.

“That thing was northern, right?” Lize asks as you walk, “What was it doing so far south?”

No idea, you shrug, maybe a traveller brought it with them. Maybe the northern people once covered more territory than you thought. You're no historian, you couldn't offer a definitive answer to that. Nor can you explain how it came to be buried in a tree in the middle of a ruined temple, but you're not sure that even a historian could answer that one.

“Guess not,” your young companion shrugs, “I mean, the northern barbarians, they don't really write stuff down – they just talk about stuff. If everyone who knew their secret died, that's gonna die with them.”

Which might be for the best, you suggest, depending on what the secret might be.

“True,” Lize admits, “Can't argue with that.”

-

On your way up to your apartment, you pass your landlord in the lobby. He coughs once – very loudly and very deliberately. Turning to see what he wants, you gaze into his sullen face.

“Here,” he begins, his grey eyes flicking up to the wounds on your face. For one brief moment, it looks as though he might ask after your health, showing some tiny scrap of compassion. Then... “Rent's going up next month,” he grunts, turning back to his broom.

That cockroach of a man. You start to sigh, but then a thought strikes you. Maybe he knows a little about your curious neighbour. Really, anything he could tell you might be worth listening to. When you ask him about her, he pauses for a long time to think.

“She's single, if that's what you're asking,” he leers, “Widowed, I mean. Husband died young, or so she said. Other than that... she keep quiet, never had any trouble from her. Pays her rent on time, never complains. Saw her a few moments ago, actually – she went out shopping, she said.”

Meaning her apartment is going to be empty. This presents you with a rare opportunity to investigate her quarters for any evidence of witchcraft. Of course, you'll have the lock to deal with...

>Attempt to investigate Hemwick's apartment
>Leave it – it could be risky
>Other

>>465311
>Of course, you'll have the lock to deal with...
Never seem to get good rolls with those.

>Attempt to investigate Hemwick's apartment

>>465311
>>Attempt to investigate Hemwick's apartment

This might not be an opportunity that you'll get again. Alyssia Hemwick, from your limited encounters with her, seems to the type who doesn't leave her apartment very often. Whether it's because of some desire to protect her secrets or just a simple reluctant to venture outside, it means that you might not get a chance this good for a long time indeed – especially considering how often you're away from the tenement block.

So you'll take this chance while you can, even if there's a risk involved. If she came back to find you rummaging through her things, well, that would be quite the awkward situation. You'll be quick, then, and you'll have nothing to worry about.

Of course, that's getting ahead of yourself – you've got the lock to take care of first.

Leaving Anders to his pointless sweeping – the place never seems to get clean, no matter how long he spends listlessly pushing that damn broom about – you head upstairs. He shouts a reminder about the rent after you, and you mutter a curse back at him. Maybe he could hear you, maybe he couldn't.

Taking the steps two at a time – you're in a hurry here, after all – you race up to your floor. Lize calls up after you, struggling to keep up, but you can't afford to move at her pace. You need every second you can get your hands on here, even if that means leaving her behind for a while.

She'll understand – when she catches up and you can explain.

Breathing heavily from your upstairs sprint, you take the leather roll of picks from your pocket and unfurl the kit. All too aware of time ticking away, you take up your tools and get to work.

>Calling for a Crafting check, that'll be 1D100+10, aiming to beat 70. I'll take the highest of the first three results!

Rolled 23 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>465343

Rolled 13 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>465343

>>465348
>>465347
Yeesh

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>465343
I don't know why we even bother trying to pick locks

>>465351
oops no modifier

>>465351
At least you clutched it out.

>>465351
Good save Anon.

Still panting a little from your hasty ascension, your hands tremble and cause the tools to rattle within the heavy lock. Even so, these old doors aren't difficult to spring – the locks are fat and durable, designed to resist attempts at kicking them in, but there's nothing complicated about them. Steadying your hands and holding your breath for a few painful seconds is all it takes you open the lock. Just as Alyssia's door is swinging open, Lize emerges behind you.

“Man, what's the rush?” she complains, “That wine go straight through you, or...” Stopping in the middle of her sentence, Lize notices – for the first time – that you're standing before the wrong door. “You, uh, you got a good reason for breaking into your neighbour's apartment?” she asks, “And don't say “stealing stuff”, because that's not a good reason!”

Just hush a minute, you tell her, you'll explain later. For now, if she wants to help you, she should wait a few floors down. If Alyssia comes this way, stall her – distract her, ask her about baking, whatever – you just need as much time as you can.

“Ugh, fine!” Lize throws her hands up in exasperation, “But this better not be anything weird, okay?” With those words as her parting shot, she retreats back into the stairwell and slinks away. Alone – hopefully, for as long as you need – you slip into Alyssia's apartment.

-

Careful not to disturb any of the teetering piles of books or other junk – most of the books are nothing suspicious, textbooks on gardening and trashy romance novels from what you can tell – you move straight to her desk. This is where you saw those strands of dried grass, that tenuous evidence, and this is where you'll start. Pulling open the main drawer, you find yourself staring right at a straw doll.

Alyssia Hemwick, it seems, doesn't believe in hiding the evidence. Setting the stray doll aside – it's a perfect match for the one you found in your mailbox – your gaze falls on a heavy book, one without any markings at all to grace the cracked leather cover. Taking up the book, you open it to a random page – the words are handwritten, penned in either a language you can't read, or a cipher you can't break. Stifling a curse, you flip forwards a few pages in the hope of finding something you can use – a picture, even.

At first, nothing presents itself, and then you come across an annotation – a note scribbled in a different hand, written in the margin with words you can read. Dragging back the chair, you sit down and begin to read.

[1/2]

>>465388

“The old gods care little for grandiosity or spectacular gestures of worship,” the first annotation you find reads, “As long as the ancient rites are performed, and the totems are gathered, their eye will be drawn. It doesn't matter whether one performs the rites or one thousand – the results will be the same. Anything else is a matter of placebo, a display of faith that benefits the worshipper more than the gods themselves. The rites can be performed in the majesty of a temple, or a squalid tenement block, the results will not differ.”

You detect a faint bitterness in the annotation, the air of a frustrated intellectual looking down upon their degenerate relatives. Yet, that bitterness is irrelevant compared with the real implication – that all the thundering drums and flashy displays are unimportant. There could be real witchcraft thriving in any dark corner that cared to hide a few dedicated worshippers, and there would be no way to tell. At least, no way of knowing until they either fulfilled their goals or made a fatal mistake. Glancing around the room once more, you flip to the next annotation.

“It is a mistake to condemn the nameless northern gods as evil,” Alyssia, if she was truly the one to write these notes, writes, “They are both above and beyond what we call morality. They rain curses down upon us, true, but their blessings are given just as freely. If we have forgotten that, it is because men reach for dark purposes above all. I will not repeat that same mistake – if I am to be considered a witch, then let me be a white witch!”

After the things you've seen, it's hard to shrug the nameless gods off as being above things like evil. But then, they seem to offer their protection to whoever bears their straw idols... whatever form that vague “protection” seems to take. You move on, turning to a blank page. Blank, save for Alyssia's notes.

“I had a dream tonight. I know what I have to do,” the note reads, and you can't help but imagine it written slowly, at the dead of night, “I am no Hunter, I can slay no beasts. All I can do is offer my protection. The rest lies with the old gods.”

It's not quite an admission that Alyssia was the one to put that straw doll in your mailbox, but it's as good as you're going to get without confronting her directly. That, combined with the doll's twin in her desk drawer, paints a convincing picture of her actions.

The muffled sound of a raised voice drags you out of the book. A warning, Lize making her approach heard. Slamming the book closed, you place it back in the drawer and put the doll on top, just as you found it. Then, balancing haste and caution, you let yourself out of the apartment. Standing in front of your own door, you start to fumble with your keys.

[2/3]

File: Hemwick.jpg (160 KB, 900x1434)

160 KB JPG

>>465412

“Hello Henryk!” Alyssia greets you warmly as she emerges from the stairwell, burned down by several bags of... things. Lize follows, also carrying a number of bags. When Alyssia goes shopping, she plays for keeps. “I didn't know you were back today, I only heard about it from your sister. A business trip, wasn't it?”

Even knowing what you know, you can't help but laugh a little at the quaint way she words that. It makes you think of sitting down and talking things over with the beasts, negotiating favourable terms and conditions. Still smiling faintly at the mental image, you return her greeting.

“And the rent's going up again, I hear,” she groans, taking off her hat and running a hand through her hair, “Typical! I wouldn't mind if this got a little nicer, but it's always so glum here – I try to make the best of it, but...”

But there's only so much one person can do, you agree, that's just the way the world turns.

“I wonder. One person can make a lot of difference, in the right place and time,” Alyssia touches a finger to her chin as she thinks, “Someone high up in the Ministry, he could sweep in and have this place cleaned up in an instant. Ah, I almost wish they would!”

You're not so sure about that, you reply carefully, you wouldn't like someone from the Ministry to go digging through your apartment. You value your privacy a little too much for that.

“My, you might have a point there. The things I've collected over the years...” the “white witch” stops herself here, putting her hat back on and making a lot of fuss getting her keys out, “Well, ah, you've seen my place – it's so untidy! Speaking of my place, though, would you like some tea? I think I've got three clean cups somewhere...”

>Drop the act, Hemwick. I know you're a witch
>Tea would be nice, yes
>I can't, I'm rather tired from travelling
>Other

>>465458
>>I can't, I'm rather tired from traveling
Gotta take a rest and get healed up so we can move onto the next business trip.

>>465458
>Tea would be nice, yes
I think once everyone is settled everyone should just come clean about the situation. If she is trying to help us and Art is giving her dreams we can work with her to understand the enemy witches.

>>465458
>Tea would be nice, yes
Really, I think it'll go over better this way.

>>465458
>Tea would be nice, yes
After we start having tea
"So is weaving a hobby of yours? Got any examples of your work?"

And then from there we work to get everything out in the open.

>>465458
>>Tea would be nice, yes

>It makes you think of sitting down and talking things over with the beasts, negotiating favourable terms and conditions.
Heh.

>>465458
>>Tea would be nice, yes.

>>465458
>Tea would be nice, yes
Just being a good neighbour and not a dour asocial Hunter who probably never shaves.

Tea would be nice, you agree, yes. You might as well get this over with, and see how much she's willing to reveal. Even if no secrets are shared, well... you'll get a nice cup of tea out of the deal, that's not something you're about to complain about.

“Alright Henryk, Eliza, come on in and make yourself comfortable, I think there's three-” Alyssia pauses briefly as she enters her room, and you almost see her sniff the air. Like an animal returning to its den, only to find the scent of a predator there, she lingers in the doorway, caught between fleeing and pressing forwards. In the end, she manages to move onward, setting aside her suspicions and crossing the threshold. “There should be three seats, if I move my desk chair over. Ah, but will there be enough room...”

Leaving her to mutter and mumble to herself, you sit down in the chair she waves at, the same chair as last time. Lize sits nearby, and then you notice the desk chair. You pushed it back when you were leaving, but you never moved it back into place. It seems absurd to imagine that she could notice a thing like that in the clutter of her room, but you have no doubt that she saw it within a matter of seconds. She saw it, and now she's waiting to see what you're going to do. Leaning over to watch her prepare the tea, you see her hands tremble a little.

You've got a duty to report her, after all. In her mind, this might very well be the last cup of tea she gets to enjoy as a free woman. Hopefully, she bought the good stuff.

“All done!” she announces, retuning with a tray. Three cups, a pot of steaming tea, and a painfully fake smile on her face. Still trembling a little, she pours out the tea and settles down into her chair, waiting for you to speak – waiting for the axe to fall.

So, you ask slowly, is weaving a hobby of hers? You've never really tried it yourself, but you'd like to see some of her finished work if she had any to hand.

“Weaving,” Alyssia repeats slowly, “You mean... with straw, dried grass, that sort of thing. Dolls, you mean.”

That's exactly what you mean, you tell her calmly, it's quite an interesting skill. It has a fair amount of background to it – a real heritage, you could say. Of course, it's not often that you find someone in the city who still practices the craft. Most tend to the more remote corners of the world.

The silence draws out, and Lize fixes you with a strange look. No doubt, she's wondering just why you started rambling about weaving and straw dolls. She'll find out soon enough, you don't doubt.

“Are you going to report me?” Alyssia asks, in a tiny voice, “I've done nothing wrong...”

You're just talking, you assure her, sharing a cup of tea and talking.

[1/2]

File: pls_no_bully.jpg (7 KB, 150x120)

7 KB JPG

>>465548
>“Are you going to report me?” Alyssia asks, in a tiny voice, “I've done nothing wrong...”

>>465548

“I didn't even realise the old ways were banned for a long time,” Alyssia begins, “I never thought of a reason why they should be banned. I was young then, I didn't know that... I didn't know that the gods being curses as well as blessings. My mother only taught me the pure rites, just as she learned them by her mother. That's how things worked up north, we passed our secrets down through the family. People here, in the south, they give blood to their children, but that's all. You learn from strangers – how is that any way to live?”

“Hey,” Lize protests, “It didn't do me any harm, I got a proper education and everything!”

“It doesn't matter. Times change – I know that,” Alyssia sighs, setting aside her cup of tea to rub her brow, “I don't know what you want me to say, Henryk – I moved here to get away from... I had my reasons for coming here. Over time, I learned more about the wider world, about the curses as well as the blessings. Even so, I stuck to my old beliefs – the nameless gods offer their protection willingly.”

And she offered her protection to you, you point out, or rather – she gave you her protection. A straw doll in the mailbox, without the slightest bit of explanation. A risky move.

“A risk, I know. I had no guarantee that you would take it, and not just tear it apart,” drawing in a deep and shuddering breath, Alyssia continues, “I'm glad you kept it.”

>Does it really do something, or is this all just superstition?
>I read your book – you have dreams, don't you?
>This protection, is this the only thing you've tried to do to me?
>I'm sorry, but I have a duty to report this
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>465594
>I read your book – you have dreams, don't you?
>This protection, is this the only thing you've tried to do to me?
>And what have you tried to do to others?

>>465594
>>I read your book – you have dreams, don't you?
>This protection, is this the only thing you've tried to do to me?
>unlike some other witches who have summoned up monsters to kill people, revived them from the dead to kill people, or destroyed ships's engines with magic so they and theirs cold kill people, you've done me no wrong. I have no reason to report a kind woman who simply sticks to her harmless northern beliefs.

>>465608
This

>>465594
>Does it really do something, or is this all just superstition?
"Eliza mentioned that the beasts in the snowstorm stayed away from this place, which is odd. Did your doll grant this place protection?"
>I read your book – you have dreams, don't you?
>This protection, is this the only thing you've tried to do to me?

>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
"Do you have any idea what's going on with the 'black' witches up north? They've been very active lately, working with the White Tyrant it seems."

>>465594
>I read your book – you have dreams, don't you?
>This protection, is this the only thing you've tried to do to me?
>I'm sorry, but I have a duty to report this
Never trust witches, they're fishy as hell

>>465635
Now that's just mean Anon. We've bullied her enough, lets turn a blind eye since we would get roped down if we were to report her.

>>465635
Give her the benefit of the doubt considering what she's done and how open she is being here.

We are going to need an ally who understands witches to beat the bad ones.

>>465594
>>I read your book – you have dreams, don't you?
>>This protection, is this the only thing you've tried to do to me?

Her husband dying young sounds fishy you know. There's a reason to believe it's not natural considering witches and their kind

>>465650
He was probably killed yeah. Maybe the reason she moved down here. North is a dangerous place.

This doll, you ask, this protection... does it really do something or is it all just superstition? Eliza mentioned that the beasts have been avoiding this building during the storms – is that her doing?

“Ah, well, I think so,” Alyssia clears her throat, perhaps relived that you've not shot her yet, “It's impossible to be certain. By their nature, the influence that the northern gods hold over the world – at least, the world this far south – is subtle. Oh true, the effects can be grand, but it's hard to trace them back to direct intervention. If we wished for an illness to be healed, we would pray over the sick and ask for blessings. When our sick recovered, was that really the gods intervening or was it just nature taking its course? Are the two even that different?”

So, you ask slowly, what she's saying is... yes?

“I set out to protect this building,” the witch sighs a little, “And it seems to be working, yes.”

Then, is this protection the only thing she's tried to do to you? What about other people, you add, has she worked her magic on them as well?

“No, I... I've been careful. Cautious. I don't want to make waves,” Alyssia bites her lip, “I'm afraid of the Ministry, I won't lie about that – they show no mercy in persecuting anyone with my... beliefs. I've done no harm to anyone, but that wouldn't matter. So I've had to be subtle about what I do, and about who I mix with. If people around here knew about where I came from...”

“Wait, hold up a minute,” Lize speaks up suddenly, “Are you, like, a barbarian or something?”

You wince. Alyssia winces. Lize looks between you, confusion blossoming on her face.

“I wouldn't exactly use that term,” Alyssia replies, with a vast degree of care, “I find it conjures up images of rampaging hordes and... worse things. But, if you're asking if I was born in the Northern Hunting Grounds... yes, I was. I hope that isn't going to be a problem for you.”

“Uh, no... I guess,” Lize looks down at her cup of tea, as if it might have blood swirling within it, “I mean, you're trying to kill us or anything, so...”

Moving on, you interrupt, you saw Alyssia's book – it mentioned dreams. What kind of dreams are they, exactly?

“The same ones you have, I'm certain,” glad to move on, Alyssia meets your eyes and nods, “I dream of the goddess Artemis – to use your name for her. Traditionally, my people would call her Arktis. As for the dreams themselves, they all started when... well, this is a long story. It's best that I start at the beginning.”

That tends to be the best place to start, you agree, especially if the tale is a long one.

“Well then,” the witch clears her throat again, “It all started not long after I married...”

[1/2]

>>465693

“Life in the north can be brutal. It can be beautiful as well, but the cruelty is never far away,” Alyssia begins, “We marry young – and yes, we do marry, no different from people here – and we start our families early. I married my husband, but I didn't realise that I was inheriting a grudge with him. I don't know how it started – I dare say that neither side of the vendetta knew that – but the end result was the same. Men from a neighbouring settlement raided us, burned our home, killed my husband – they almost killed me. As I lay in the ashes, I dreamed for the first time.”

Of Artemis – Arktis.

“Yes, she appeared as a woman, not the great vulture I had been expecting. She offered me the power to avenge my husband, if only I entered her service to slay twelve great beasts,” a smile finds its way onto Alyssia's lips, darkly ironic, “Sounds familiar, does it not?”

Sure, you nod, all too familiar. Somehow, though, you get the feeling it didn't play out the same way.

“You'd be right in that. I was no Hunter – I was a witch, a healer, a priestess. I wouldn't make it past the second beast. I told her that, and she let me go freely, with a command in my heart. She told me that I would need to go south to survive – otherwise, the men who killed my husband would return for me,” Alyssia shakes her head, “It wasn't easy coming here. Through Port Steyr, I travelled in the belly of a great iron ship – the largest thing I'd ever seen – to the Free States. There, I taught myself civilisation. I got a room here, and... here I am. When I dreamed of Artemis again, it came as a true surprise – I thought we had parted ways long ago. She told me that I was still useful, that I could serve her true champion.”

By offering protection, you guess, and dealing with the nameless gods on your behalf.

“That... and to help open your eyes,” Alyssia hesitates, “The northern gods are not evil. If you've read my book, you'll know that. Civilised men may scorn then, but you cannot afford that blindness. You've started down that path already, have you not?”

You start to deny it, but then you pause and reconsider. Offering blood sacrifice, dealing with witchcraft as a matter of fact rather than myth, even the simple fact that you're serving Artemis... yes, you've found yourself on quite the strange path indeed. So what's her point, you ask, should you take to dancing naked in the woods now?

“Nothing so drastic,” Alyssia laughs, your remark breaking some of the tension, “But... the old ways are not inherently evil, and you can learn much from them. Keep open eyes and an open mind – that's all I ask.”

[2/3]

>>465767
Probably should show her the dagger and tell her where it came from. She might have some insights.

>>465788
Right

>>465767

Alright, you say slowly, you'll see how far you get by asking witches for their knowledge. What does she know about the witches up north who DO use their magic for evil? They've been very active lately, and they seem to have thrown their lot in with the White Tyrant.

“Yes, they are... hostile to the idea of southern civilisation,” Alyssia winces a little, “The White Tyrant promises much – that the north will never bow to you, rather... you, in time, will come to bend the knee. He claims the right to rule, by merit of his blood. Though the claim is thin, tenuous, it is a claim nonetheless – through his veins flows the blood of kings, of Knights. There has long been a prophecy in the north, that his child may very well sit upon the throne one day. To that end, many of the northern witches follow him – including the greatest and most ancient of them all, a hag by the name of-”

Hebona, you reply, right?

“Then you know her,” Alyssia nods sadly, “And she, in all likelihood, knows you. He careful of her, Henryk – her allegiance is only ever to herself. She uses her students like puppets – seeing through their eyes, speaking with their tongues, making their hands commit her crimes...”

You've seen that before, you reply, although you weren't sure what it was at the time. Now you know... you're not sure that makes you feel any better. Leaning back to think, you feel the dagger in your pocket. A dagger of some significance, considering where you found it. Taking it out and unwrapping it, you set it in front of Alyssia. You found this in a temple to Artemis, you explain, buried in the trunk of a bloated tree.

“It's beautiful...” Alyssia whispers, tentatively picking it up, “A northern birthing blade... although this one seems more tailored to death. A weapon, rather than a tool. You say it was buried in a great tree?”

Stuck fast, you confirm, looked like it had been there for a long time.

“Interesting. Trees are often associated with rebirth, with cycles. Dropping seeds, you see, which become new trees. There are some northern tales about the ancient Giants turning into trees as well, in the hope of being born anew,” her voice falters a little, “Just stories, I always thought...”

Maybe one day you'll be able to find out, you reply.

“And I'll be happy to hear the truth,” Alyssia gives you a bright, hopeful smile, “Does that mean... you'll show mercy? You won't report me to the Ministry?”

>I won't. You may yet be an important ally
>I won't report you, but I don't trust you – our association ends here
>I'm bound by duty to report you. I'm sorry
>Let me ask you something first... (Write in)
>Other

>>465814
>I won't. You may yet be an important ally

>>465814
>I won't. You may yet be an important ally
"Open mind right? If I am actually going to have a chance at completing her task I am going to need all the help I can get."

>>465814
>I won't. You may yet be an important ally
Could this be non-asshole #7?

>>465814
>I won't. You may yet be an important ally
Probably owe Lize an explanation too huh? Seeing as she just heard a bunch of crazy shit.

>>465814
>>I won't. You may yet be an important ally

>>465814
>>I won't. You may yet be an important ally

>>465814
>>I won't. You may yet be an important ally
>Unlike other witches I have met you mean me no ill and have done me no harm. Why should a simple hunter p=go after a woman for her harmless beliefs?

>>465910
Well cause technically the Ministry has a no tolerance policy and all that. They would totally send Hunters after a 'white' witch as it were cause she is a witch.

>>465915
Is she a witch though? All she's done is make dolls out of weeds. That's not witchcraft that's handycraft a woman does in her spare time.

>>465930
The Ministry would probably see her as much regardless unfortunately.

You won't report her, you say slowly, she might yet be an important ally. Besides, if you want to complete her task, you might need all the help you can get. You don't know what the future has in store for you, but for time being at least... you won't need to worry about getting a new neighbour.

“Thank you, thank you!” Alyssia leans forwards, almost clasping your hands in her own before pausing and pulling back, “I, um, I'm very grateful for this. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, though – I can't promise much help. It's very much down to the will of the nameless gods. If they choose to turn their eyes away, all I'll have is my knowledge. The knife work...”

That's your job, you nod, that's what you were expecting.

“Well, ah, I'm glad we understand each other,” she laughs nervously, still a little giddy from her brush with death, “Excuse me, though, but I might need... um...”

Some time alone?

“If you don't mind,” Alyssia shakes her head, offering a faint smile.

That's fine with you, you nod, you've got some more explaining to do. You add that as you glance across to Lize, noting her uneasy expression. This is the first she's heard of Artemis – it was coming sooner or later, but it's a hell of a way to learn about it. Good day, you tell Alyssia as you rise, you'll see her again soon – and her secret is safe with you. Unlike the other witches you've met, she's done nothing to you. It's not a Hunter's place to persecute a woman for her beliefs.

“Technically,” Lize points out, “That's the Ministry's place.”

-

“So what you're telling me is... an ancient, possibly insane goddess has tasked you with killing twelve horrible monsters,” Lize asks slowly, once you've finished explaining your recent “work” to her, “All so she can become whole once again?”

That sounds about right, you confirm, once she strips it down to the bare minimum.

“And all those times you passed out on me, she was speaking to you in your dreams?” the girl presses, “Man, all this time, I thought you were just lazy!”

Out of everything you've just told her, you ask slowly, out of everything she's just learned... that's what she focuses on?

“Well, I mean, look at it from my perspective,” Lize insists, “You go about killing weird stuff – that's basically your job. You start passing out, that sounds like some kinda brain problems. It makes sense, see?”

A certain... twisted kind of sense, you admit, there is a tortured strain of logic there. Anyway, logic – or the lack of it – aside, you need to get some sleep. It's been a long time since you got a decent bit of rest. Leaving Lize to think about what she's learned, you collapse into bed, and into a deep sleep.

[1/2]

>>465961

The next morning, Lize wakes before you – it's the smell of burning food that wakes you up. She's in a darker mood this morning, that much is obvious from the way she attacks the pan of eggs with a whisk, glaring down at them with enough bile to curdle milk.

“I've been thinking,” she says, without taking her eyes away from the pan, “Say you kill all twelve of these beasts. All nine, whatever. Say you manage to kill them all without getting yourself killed – do you even know what's going to happen then?”

Not really, you admit, Artemis herself wasn't sure. Her mind is still incomplete, and she can't answer all of your questions.

“And that doesn't, like, bother you?” Lize presses, bringing over the pan of scrambled eggs and slopping the contents out onto two plates, “I mean, you're doing this stuff – dangerous, really dangerous stuff – and you're not even sure what might happen at the end of it.”

If she had the chance to cure her affliction, you ask, and to escape the fate her blood guarantees – would she take it, no matter what it might involve?

“I...” the question cuts through Lize like a knife, “That's different, that's-”

It's no different, you tell her firmly, you've got your own doom lurking ahead. Kolyat did what he did because of that same fate – to hold onto his humanity at all costs. Through Artemis, you might be able to transcend the hunt and remain a man – that's worth the risk.

“I guess maybe it is,” staring down at her plate, Lize pokes the eggs with her fork, “Seems to me like you're assuming something, though.”

Really, you ask as you rise to your feet, what's that?

“That you'll stay human,” Lize doesn't look up, and her voice has a lead weight of dread in it. Without any response to that, you simply get your jacket and head out. You've got work that needs doing.

Worry about that later.

[2/3]

File: Sokolov.png (896 KB, 990x1067)

896 KB PNG

>>466061

“I received a report from Canid,” Sokolov says slowly, tapping a slim file on his desk, “Regrettable, what happened to Old Wolf Kolyat. We grew distant, but I still considered him a friend.”

And you considered him a mentor, you reply carefully, even to the end.

“But we cannot allow ourselves to wallow in grief or mourning,” half a second of regret later, Sokolov is all business again, “There is a matter that I want you to investigate. You won't be working alone this time – I'm sending a team, one with members of from all branches of the League.”

That's unconventional, you think, not something that happens often. This must be a serious matter, you say aloud, what can he tell you about it?

“Firstly, I want you to travel to Odyss and meet up with the rest of the team. Investigator Saburakh is in command, and he can give you a full briefing,” Sokolov rubs a hand over his jaw, “You'll be going to Haveer. This matter concerns Governor Stukov, the local authority, so discretion will be important. Is that understood?”

Discretion, you consider, isn't necessarily something that comes naturally to you. You're prepared to do your duty, you assure Sokolov.

“Excellent,” the old veteran nods firmly, “Do you have any questions?”

>No questions, sir
>Tell me a little about Saburakh
>What's the situation in Haveer?
>Can you tell me about Governor Stukov?
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>466078
>Tell me a little about Saburakh
>What's the situation in Haveer?
>Can you tell me about Governor Stukov?

>>466078
>Tell me a little about Saburakh
>What's the situation in Haveer?
>Can you tell me about Governor Stukov?
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
"Who is on the team?"

>>466078
>>Tell me a little about Saburakh
>>What's the situation in Haveer?
>>Can you tell me about Governor Stukov?

File: 1470429587398.png (264 KB, 816x1410)

264 KB PNG

>>466078
Haveer is a Southern Colony right? Is most of the land on that island untamed Moloch?

>>466078
>>No questions, sir
>>Tell me a little about Saburakh
>>What's the situation in Haveer?
>>Can you tell me about Governor Stukov?
>>I had a question for you... (Write in)
Does this involve killing beasts?

>>466150
Pick ALL the choices!

>>466146

>Haveer is on the border of the southern colonies - the bulk of them are actually on a separate map. Most of the land there is tamed, used for cattle grazing.

>>466157
Oh we haven't even seen the Southern Colonies map then. Interesting. I was wondering why everyone was stressing over 4 islands.

>>466150
>No questions
>Proceeds to ask a bunch of questions.

You'd like to know a little about Saburakh, you begin, you've heard the name but nothing more than that.

“One of the Ministry's best investigators,” Sokolov actually smiles a little as he introduces the man, “I mentored him for a time. He's a hard man, Hanson – he doesn't suffer fools gladly, and he has little time for humour. Although he is the assigned leader of this team, he won't be a tyrant. He's hard, as I said, but he's fair and he values productive input. He won't refuse an opinion. Just don't expect to make friends with the man.”

Making too many friends has never been a problem you've had. Still, it's good to know that you'll be working under a man Sokolov trusts. What about the situation in Haveer, you ask, what's going on there at the moment?

“Haveer is an important city for meat production,” Sokolov explains, “A vast amount of beef and pork moves through its port. If there was an outbreak of disease, something that spread to the abattoirs, it could be disastrous. That's one reason why I'm putting forth as much effort as possible to resolve this situation before it gets out of hand.”

Are there other reasons?

“Yes, there are. Due to a... breakdown in communications, I have very little information to go on,” Sokolov scowls immensely, “There should be a Ministry base on the island, but there have been no messages from them in some time. I'm forced to consider every option – including covert rebellion. Haveer has close links with the southern colonies, and it's believed that there are many sympathisers among the population.”

Plague and rebellion make for a volatile mixture. Disease can easily spread during times of unrest and chaos. What about Governor Stukov, you ask, what can he tell you about the man?

“Under Stukov's rule, Haveer has become increasingly productive, yielding greater quantities of meat and leather,” Sokolov doesn't look especially pleased by this, “Stukov himself is nothing special, something of a traveller in his youth, I believe. It's possible that he holds some sympathies with the southern colonies – it is known that he visited them often. Additionally, he put his brother in charge of the abattoir – I disapprove of nepotism, but I can't deny the results. Overall, Stukov has been an unremarkable worker, one content to rule his territory without harbouring greater ambition. An important cog in our great machine.”

[1/2]

>>466238

He said that you were going to be part of a team, you ask, who else will you be working with?

“Saburakh will be accompanied by a number of Ministry soldiers – men he has picked for their trustworthy nature and obedience. In addition, I requested the aid of the College in this matter. If there is a disease at work, your team will need someone to study it. The College was slow to respond to my request – it seems they are preparing for some project of their own, and they have little time for the Ministry. They will be reminded of their place... in time. For now, I have their assurance that a Scholar will be waiting for you in Odyss.”

This College business again. Curious. One last question, you promise – is this going to involve killing beasts?

“I believe it may. There have been certain... discrepancies, all pointing to one thing,” Sokolov pauses, studying your features for a moment, “There appears to be something feeding on their cattle – and a few of the locals, if rumour and speculation are to be believed. In the absence of any reliable information, I have chosen to cover all eventualities. Including, yes, beasts. You've shown yourself to be reliable, Hanson – show Saburakh that you can be trusted.”

Yes sir, you say as you rise to your feet, you'll get the job done.

-

Lize is waiting for you, anxiously fiddling with the medallion around her neck, when you arrive back at your apartment. “Hey, look,” she begins, “I didn't mean to go off on you earlier. I'm just worried, y'know? I was worried that you'd, like, get swept up by a goddess and sent to hunt... weird stuff in some other place. Somewhere... away.”

Away from her, you ask mildly, is that it?

“C'mon, don't make this sound like I'm some swooning damsel!” Lize protests, “If you're off killing stars or... or space whales, who's gonna pay the rent on this place?”

Alright, you laugh, you'll keep that in mind. Anyway, it doesn't matter now – you've got work to take care of. How does she fancy a trip south, to Haveer?

“Sounds good to me, I've never been to Haveer!” she nods eagerly, happy, “I don't mind doing a little work!”

Then get packing, you tell her, there's just one thing you wanted to ask her first...

“Yeah, what is it?” tilting her head, Lize waits for your question.

Space whales, you ask in an incredulous voice, really?

>I think I'm going to stop things here for today. I'll pick things up tomorrow, same time as usual, and I'll stick around to answer and questions or comments
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>466330
>Space whales, you ask in an incredulous voice, really?
I think a space whale is like God in the Rance universe or something.

Thanks for running Moloch.

>>466330
>Space whales, you ask in an incredulous voice, really?


That's going to be the whale boss isn't it? A flying space whale with laser beam eyes.

>>466353
>That's going to be the whale boss isn't it?
Very likely considering the carvings we saw in Art's Temple.

>>466330
Hey is bringing Lize going to piss off Saburakh? I mean I'd still bring her regardless but is squad leader going to make a fuss about bringing a civie on this investigation?

>>466364
>Hey is bringing Lize going to piss off Saburakh?

Officially, she'll be there as an assistant - brought along on our authority. It might irk Saburakh a little, but everything pisses him off in some way or another, so it's not too big of a deal. So long as she follows orders, she can tag along.

>>466353

A flying laser space whale? Nah, that would never happen - nothing to worry about!

>>466330
Thanks for running Moloch.

>>466375
>nothing to worry about!
That just makes me worry even more! We better get some special harpoon or maybe have Vas tag along for some whaling adventures.

>>466385
>We better get some special harpoon
Yeah, maybe something like an explosive pile driver
Moloch pls

>>466385

Well, I don't think it'll be too much of a spoiler to say that we'll be killing a few more whales in future!

>>466401

I'm not even sure how something like that would work! Close combat with whales sounds pretty risky

>>466401
Maybe just a explosive harpoon. Which will probably be just a normal harpoon but with TNT duck taped to it.

The knife was used to kill a giant, who grew into a tree(DS2)

The knife will probably help in killing giants.

The tree will possibly be reborn into a giant, which is what the birds didn't want to happen.

“Apparently, there are more cows on Haveer than there are people,” Lize murmurs, reading aloud from a booklet of quaint little facts. They were selling the things – pamphlets really – at the station, opportunistic traders looking to squeeze a few extra coins out of bored travellers waiting for their trains. You never saw her buy one, but that doesn't mean much. She has quick fingers, Lize, and a keen eye for when a shopkeeper is looking elsewhere.

They do have a lot of cows, you reply in a bored voice. Fighting back a yawn, you try to think of an equally interesting fact about the island. It isn't easy – there just isn't much you can say about a flat rock covered in cattle and swine. The train rattles onwards for a while as you search your memory, but it's Lize who speaks up first.

“And there's this herb that grows everywhere,” Lize continues, “The pollen isn't dangerous – so they say – but it gets everywhere. Oh, it's in full bloom this time of year – yuck. According to this, it's almost like a fog that hangs over the entire island. You think maybe we should have brought masks or something?”

It'll be fine, you reply with a shrug, they'll sell something suitable in Odyss. They sell everything in Odyss – it's got a hell of a marketplace, the sort of thing that puts Artyom to shame. All kinds of exotic goods from the southern colonies. Spices, silks, tobacco and wine, all manner of foreign items. Finding something as basic as a mask shouldn't be at all difficult. You might not even need to buy anything – the Ministry should have ample supplies, masks and gloves to ward off contamination. They'll be good enough.

“Maybe,” Lize frowns out the train window, “But they won't have style.”

-

Strange. You don't recall falling asleep. Whether you remember it or not, though, there's no denying what this place is – Nihilo, the furthest thing from mundane reality that you've ever encountered. Ice as black as the night sky, and sluggish waters as bright as moonlight fill your vision, while a single white point – like an immaculate statue of purest marble – lurks a few paces away. Artemis watches her menagerie, her three great beasts, shuffle about, staring as if hypnotised by their shambling pace.

“You're making friends, I see,” she remarks, without looking around. Sitting up, you see a gleaming metal object lying across your legs – the birthing blade, the weapon you took from her temple. It feels strange, carrying a weapon here, like you're pulling out a gun at someone's funeral.

She means Alyssia, you ask, right?

“The girl? Yes, there was a girl,” Artemis turns, tilting her head to the side as she looks you in the eye, “We're not so different, her and I. We both keep things close to hand – after all, one never knows when something might come in handy.”

[1/2]

File: Nihilo.jpg (204 KB, 2400x1374)

204 KB JPG

>>468843

“But really, she's far from the most important discovery you've made,” Artemis approaches, taking your hand – the hand gripping the birthing blade – and holding it tightly, “This is a potent tool, Henryk, a weapon of no small significance.”

You thought as much, considering where you found it. It's a fine weapon, there's no denying that – the steel is some of the best you've ever seen, and the blade has held its edge despite long years buried in a tree – but is it really a weapon of significance?

“Its true power is yet to be revealed,” Artemis promises, her voice soft in your ears as she slides one hand up the length of the dagger, her palm pressing against the blade. No blood flows, no ugly scar disfigures the porcelain of her skin. “But you'll see it soon enough. Birth and death are inescapably entwined – the northern people realised this – and that blade is a tool of both. When the time comes, and the hunt begins anew, listen to it... and listen well. It will guide you, refine you... and end your enemies.”

As a blade tends to do. You're no expert in birth, but you know a fair few things about death.

“Mmmm...” Artemis lets out a satisfied sigh, “That's what I like to hear. We all have a place in this unfolding drama, and you know yours. The girl, the witch... she doesn't understand, and that is why she will never be more than a minor figure, a cowering rabbit among a pack of wolves. A pack, dear Henryk, with you at its head.” Nodding to herself, the goddess lets go of the blade, lifting up her unblemished palm for you to behold.

>Your next beast – it's on Haveer, isn't it?
>What do you mean, Alyssia doesn't understand?
>I visited your temple. Interesting place
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>468844
>Your next beast – it's on Haveer, isn't it?
>What do you mean, Alyssia doesn't understand?
>I visited your temple. Interesting place
"So why was there a giant bloated tree with a dagger stuck in it and a bunch of pissed off birds? The hell happened there?"

>>468844
>>468852
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
"You assured Kolyat that you could prevent his blood from taking him over at the end of the hunt, even with you accelerating it. But you don't actually know if you can huh? You told me yourself that you don't know your completed form's capabilities."

"How far has one of your hunters ever made it in terms of Great Beasts killed?"

>>468844
>>Your next beast – it's on Haveer, isn't it?
>>What do you mean, Alyssia doesn't understand?
>>I visited your temple. Interesting place

File: Artemis.jpg (72 KB, 540x576)

72 KB JPG

What she mean, you ask, when she says that Alyssia doesn't understand? What doesn't she understand?

“Oh, she understands a little – like someone reading a few words on a page,” shrugging, Artemis almost seems indifferent to the witch, as though she was a regrettable but necessary burden, “She's right, when she claims that the nameless northern gods are beyond moral judgement – the sun is not good, and the baleful winds are not evil, after all – but that's where her knowledge ends. A man who only ever walks in the sunlight... is he good? What about a man who prefers the cold wind, is he evil?”

Alyssia's claims to being a “white witch”, you guess, Artemis doesn't put too much faith in them.

“She's too preoccupied with virtue, with earning her place among civilised men, to be of any real use to you. She was right when she said that she would never be a Hunter – while she was agonising over good and evil, the beasts would be feasting on her innards,” Artemis laughs, as if the whole idea is a fine jest, “Don't think about good or evil, think about survival... sound familiar, Henryk?”

Kolyat said that a lot, you muse, he taught his students that same mantra.

“And I, in turn, taught it to him,” Artemis nods to herself, “Funny, isn't it? Long before we ever met, I was being an indirect teacher to you. Could it be that we were destined to meet like this?”

Destiny... she assured Kolyat that she could free him from his destiny, from being overtaken by his blood. Can she really do that, you ask, when she herself admitted to not knowing her full abilities?

“I did tell him that, and I meant it – I didn't say it to offer him false hope. But, yes, you are correct in that I cannot be certain. Much of what I know, I could not tell you how I know – where I learned it, or who taught it to me. So, if you're asking me to give you a sworn promise...” she holds her hands out, both empty and unsullied by blood, “I cannot. Faith it all you can reply upon, Henryk, just I have faith in my own destiny. We're both venturing into the unknown, making a path from the corpses of my... our enemies.”

And how far has this path reached, you ask, what's the furthest one of her Hunters has walked?

“Let me think – it's so hard to remember...” touching a finger to her lips, Artemis thinks, “It was getting fairly crowded around here, so it must have been... the seventh? No, the eighth, that's it! Yes, I remember now – quite unfortunate, what happened. In their lifetime, the eighth beast happened to take the form of, well, a rather notable public figure. Killing all those beasts, only to die in the executioner's gallows... that's no fate for a Hunter.”

Silence for a long moment, before you murmur out a curse. Somewhere in the distance, a beast bellows its sympathy.

[1/2]

>>468874

Pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you look back to the goddess. You visited her temple in the south, you tell her slowly, it was certainly an interesting place. You've got to ask, though – the bloated tree, the dagger, the flock of birds, just what the hell happened there?

“A lot must have happened, over the years. Long, uncounted years...” Artemis pauses, her voice trailing off as the usual mania leaves her eyes. In that moment, she looks frightened – alone and confused. “The tree is... it's important to me, isn't it? I'm certain it is, but I don't quite know how...” a frown creases her brow as she thinks, “And the birds were guarding it, protecting it from anyone who might harm it. My little pets...”

If her pets were guarding it, you suggest, she must need it intact.

“Yes, I rather think so,” she doesn't look at you as she murmurs these words, “They harmed you, didn't they? Perhaps they thought you meant to interfere with... something. I should know this, I'm sure of it. I've seen it!”

Seen... what?

“I've seen myself, standing at the base of a great tree,” Artemis looks up at the featureless void that is the sky here, “Was I... alone? No, I don't think so. A memory, or a prediction... is there even a difference?”

This is starting to creep you out a little too much. Seeking to move the conversation back onto safer ground, you clear your throat loudly. Her next beast, you ask, it's on Haveer isn't it? That's why she called you here – to give her usual mix of warnings and encouragement.

“Beast?” Artemis pronounces the word like a foreigner tacking a difficult concept. Then the light returns to her eyes, and she turns back to face you. “Blind growth, mindless proliferation, venom festering in an open wound! Yes, that's it – the next beast! It's waiting for you, Henryk, you won't let it wait too long, will you?”

Stuck dumb by the sudden shift from melancholy to mania, you can only shake your head. Grinning wildly, Artemis moves to take your hands, but then pauses. She pauses, and the world seems to grow very distant indeed. You must be-

-

Waking up.

“C'mon Henryk, knock it off,” Lize shakes you, “We're here – Odyss, right on schedule. We're supposed to be meeting someone here, right?” Pulling away, she looks worried for a moment. “Oh hell,” she groans, “I wasn't interrupting anything, was I? I mean, I thought you were just napping, but... it was more than that, right?”

No, you grunt, it doesn't matter. You had heard all you were going to hear. All the useful information, at least.

[2/3]

Will killing all the beasts unlock the Artemis route? Artemis a cute.

File: Saburakh.jpg (130 KB, 500x778)

130 KB JPG

>>468888

As you're getting off the train, you check your written orders for confirmation. You are to meet Saburakh by evening at the latest, at his ship docked in the Odyss ports. Otherwise, your orders tell you to wait at the local Ministry offices for him to make contact. Either option is fine, so long as you're ready to leave by sundown.

Plenty of time, then, to take a walk and clear your head. After the conversation you've just had, you're going to need it. Artemis speaks of taking things on faith, of trusting that she can free you from your looming destiny, but it's not her life on the line. If she's wrong, you're the one who'll pay the price. But then, isn't it more the case that, simply by merit of your blood, you would pay the price anyway?

There was a quote you heard once - “all men are born with a debt, and all men must repay it”. Perhaps the poet who wrote that knew of his fate, the same kind of doom that you and Lize both face... or maybe he was just being dramatic. What the hell do you know about poetry, anyway?

-

By the time you've wandered to the Ministry, you feel... not better exactly, but clearer. You can focus now, focus on the task ahead of you. Asking at the front desk, you're directed to a back office – remote enough that someone could yell and curse without being heard from the front desk. Probably not a good sign, you think as you knock and enter. Inside, seated behind the desk, Saburakh awaits.

An uncouth looking man, his face scarred and ragged, Saburakh immediately lives up to your expectations. His eyes have a carefully shackled fury in them, as if the whole world has offended him for some reason.

“Investigator Saburakh,” he barks, standing and offering you his hand to shake. “You're the Hunter,” he presumes as he looks at you, before looking around at Lize, “And you're not.”

Henryk Hanson, you introduce yourself, and this is Eliza – your assistant.

“Assistant,” Saburakh repeats the word, his voice dripping with disdain, “She's your problem. Keep her on a short leash and make sure she follows orders.”

For a moment, you're certain that Lize will argue back. This time, her instinct for survival wins out, and she has to settle for nodding sharply.

“Our team isn't complete yet. We're still waiting for that damn Scholar to arrive,” Saburakh pound a fist into his palm, “Dirty College bastards – they forget their place...”

>So what's our objective on Haveer?
>Do you have a problem with the College?
>Maybe it's best we come back later...
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>468897
>>So what's our objective on Haveer?

>>468897
>>So what's our objective on Haveer?
>>Do you have a problem with the College?
Well he sure seems like a nice guy!

>>468897
>>So what's our objective on Haveer?
"Just investigate the problem until we find the source and have me kill it?"

>>468897
>>So what's our objective on Haveer?
>Any news from the guild branch there?

>>468897
>So what's our objective on Haveer?

The best way to deal with Saburakh, you consider, is to keep things professional. He'll never be a friend, but you can probably manage colleagues without too much stress. So, you ask him in a crisp voice, what's the objective on Haveer? Just an investigation, with you to kill any beasts that might be lurking?

“Exactly so,” Saburakh nods, “My goals are to investigate three main points – the abattoirs themselves, the local Ministry, and the regional Governor. If there are any problems with these, I'm permitted to dispense judgement as I see fit. Incompetence, treachery, apathy... all crimes deserving of a bullet. Your main role will be to destroy any hostile wildlife that we encounter, although Sokolov assures me that you're capable of assisting with any investigation I carry out.”

Typical, you think to yourself, Sokolov has gone and stuck you with some extra work.

“I'll be blunt – I don't trust you,” Saburakh meets your eyes, the grey flints set deep in his face cold and harsh, “But I do trust Sokolov. If he vouches for your capabilities, I'm prepared to believe him.”

Maybe you were being optimistic earlier – this might be more stressful than you first thought. So what about the local branch of the Ministry, you ask, what can he tell you about that? You've heard that they've dropped out of contact lately, is that the case?

“Their communications have become unreliable,” Saburakh takes two sheets of paper from his desk drawer, handing them over. The first sheet is old – a routine status report handwritten in dark ink. The second one is a more recent report, this one typed with a mechanical typewriter. Both reports heap praise upon the Governor and his work. “We were told that the local Ministry was given new administrative equipment – a “kindly” donation from the Governor. You'll forgive me for being suspicious.”

It does look rather suspect, you agree, the typed note doesn't even have a signature. These are forgeries, is that what he's saying?

“Correct. I suspect that the Governor could be covering up something. Lax hygiene procedures, perhaps, or some problem with his workers,” another scowl, worse than before, creases Saburakh's face, “I've heard bad things, that the Governor has been importing southerners to work instead. Cheaper, and they work hard, but... they live like dogs, the southerners. Rutting amidst piles of their own waste. If they're allowed to flout Ministry regulations at will, a pandemic is inevitable.”

[1/2]

File: Mirrah.jpg (114 KB, 463x785)

114 KB JPG

>>468939


The rather unprofessional outpouring of bile prompts you to indulge your curiosity and ask a question of your own. Does he have a problem with the College, you ask, some bad blood between them?

“They need to remember that they exist as part of a system,” Saburakh snarls, “They are not above the law – their experiments and projects all too often come close to breaking regulations... when they even pay attention to the regulations in the first place. I could tolerate such acts if there was no risk involved, but these educated fools deal with disease and corruption on a daily basis. One mistake, one breach of containment, and the death toll could be incredible. A small blessing that their damn institution is kept on a separate island. Easy to quarantine, should the worst happen.”

You think about Nethe and her “little ones”, about how close Thar Dreyse came to the worst, and then you bite your tongue. The Ministry isn't always blameless either, but mentioning that to Saburakh would not be wise. The matter is resolved now – you hope so, at least - and dragging up the past would only serve to put you and Saburakh in darker moods. So, you just nod and acknowledge his point – there really is a danger there.

“Besides, they put their personal projects about the Ministry's needs. We had to demand a Scholar from them, and they dragged their feet every step of the way. Vital research, they claimed!” Saburakh falls silent for a moment, clenching his fists tight enough to crack his knuckles, “Even now that they agreed to send someone, their representative is late – at least you arrived promptly!”

It's vaguely worrying, the way his anger seems to swell and fill the small room. You're very glad that you've not done anything to draw his ire – you're not an easy man to scare, but he seems the type to happily beat a man to death with his bare hands. Before he can launch into another outpouring of anger, there is a tentative knock on the door. Shuffling aside to make room, you open the door to reveal the next member of your little team. Not who you were expecting to see, either.

“I'm not late, am I?” the young Scholar asks, “Apprentice Scholar Mirrah, at your service!”

“Apprentice?” Saburakh give the word the weight of a curse, “Bastards! Dirty rat bastards!”

“Uh...” Mirrah looks helplessly to you, as if hoping for an explanation – or protection.

>Don't worry, he's nice really
>They couldn't spare a full Scholar?
>Saburakh, we'll make do – at least they sent someone
>I had some questions for you both... (Write in)
>Other

>>468957
>>Don't worry, he's nice really
Real swell guy.

>>468957
>Don't worry, he's nice really
>Saburakh, we'll make do – at least they sent someone
"Let's work with what we have and start to get to work. Where is the other team member?"

>>468957
>>They couldn't spare a full Scholar?
>>Saburakh, we'll make do
>Haveer first, the College later

Don't worry, you mutter to Mirrah, he's nice really. Totally harmless.

“I don't know, I...” she pauses, “Oh, I know you – you came to the College asking after maps, I remember! I didn't expect to see you here doing, well, this.”

Couldn't the College spare a fully trained Scholar, you ask her, are they really that short on staff up there?

“Well, it's... not really something I can talk about. Partially, the problem is that I don't know much more than the general public. I'm not exactly allowed in to every debate, discussion or meeting, after all,” Mirrah squirms, put on the spot and questioned, “But I do know that something big is in the works. As such, the College was only prepared to send someone...”

“Expendable?” Saburakh barks, throwing the word at Mirrah like an accusation, “Someone they didn't mind losing?”

Calm down Saburakh, you reply, you'll make do with what you've got. There's no point in regretting what he doesn't have – and at least they sent someone out. You'd rather just get to work. What about the other members of the team, you ask, who else is going to be coming?

“I have a number of troops prepared, they'll meet us at the Mandible – my ship,” Saburakh's face manages to darken somehow, growing even more severe than normal, “Less than I'd hoped – there was a minor outbreak that my men needed to take care of. No deaths, but a number of them will need to remain in quarantine for several days, just to be certain. It is as you say – we'll make do with what we have.”

“I know I'm not fully trained – and, really, I'm more of an archivist – but I'm prepared to perform my duties,” Mirrah raises her voice a little, covering up a faltering confidence as she forces herself to meet Saburakh's eye, “I'll obey my orders, you can count on that.”

That's good, you say with a nod, that's all she needs to do. You'll settle things on Haveer, and then you can deal with the College.

-

Saburakh assures you, as he leads you to the docks, that his ship has sufficient supplies to last out the duration of the investigation. Not just medical supplies or sterile equipment – the masks and gloves that you mentioned to Lize – but also a stockpile of food.

“We don't know what we're going to be walking into,” he growls, “If there's some outbreak of disease, the local food could be contaminated. I won't take that risk.”

Paranoia – the same paranoia that service in the Ministry often breeds – or common sense? You want to say that it's the former, but you can't help but feel a little thankful for his forethought. If the worst should happen, his preparedness will not be a burden.

[1/2]

>>468957
>>They couldn't spare a full Scholar?
>>Saburakh, we'll make do – at least they sent someone

>>469027

The Mandible is a nice ship, sleeker and lighter than the kind of vessels you're used to. Upon seeing it for the first time, Saburakh actually smiles – pride showing on his features. A cluster of men, their faces as hard and grim as that of their master, wait up on deck. Seven in all, you note, was the outbreak really that bad?

“I'm not in the business of taking chances,” Saburakh assures you, “There was a risk to the city – to MY city. I wasn't going to allow that. On Haveer, my men will largely be there to assist with searching or managing prisoners. The majority of the investigation is a burden that falls to us.”

Of course, you mutter. Before you can say anything else, though, you spot a looming cloud on the horizon – a thick smog that clings to the ocean like ink spilled on a painting. Bad weather ahead, you mention.

“That's not a weather pattern,” Mirrah corrects you, “I believe that's the local herb growing out of control and shedding its pollen. Um, I'm fairly sure its harmless though – burning the plant, though, is dangerous. For that reason, the locals have no choice but to bear the cloud as best they can. As I understand it, it's less noticeable – less visible at least - up close. Still, it might be prudent to-”

“Masks,” Saburakh orders, his voice flat and blunt, “Nobody goes out in public without a mask. I don't care if they claim it's harmless – none of you are breathing that filth in.”

“I told you,” Lize mutters as the Mandible pulls closer to that murky cloud, “It's just like that book said.”

-

Even with the mask of clean white linen tight across your mouth and nose, the air on Haveer disagrees with you. It's not something you notice straight away, but once you feel the tickling in your chest and the vague pounding in the back of your mind, it's impossible to ignore. Maybe the locals have adjusted to the tainted air over the years, but you're already looking forwards to leaving. Judging by the groans and complaints that you hear from the Ministry men – and the muffled coughing fit that Mirrah succumbs to – you're not alone in your desire to leave.

“Stow the complaints,” Saburakh barks, “We've got a job to do, and I don't want to hear any whining until its over. If you want to gripe, wait until you're off-duty. You're not being paid to complain!”

“Real motivating,” Lize mutters. Saburakh spares her a withering glance before he turns his attention to you.

[2/3]

>>469072

“The city is a small one, mostly slum housing for the abattoir workers. Squalid places, a hotbed for all manner of contamination – moral and physical. I can't guarantee your safety if you choose to go wandering. The frontier, meanwhile, is very large and very empty – a lot of cattle, but not much else. I don't know how well you'll be able to search for tracks or... whatever it is that you Hunters do,” his eyes narrow, his scowl hidden behind the mask, “It would be embarrassing to waste your time tracking down a larger than average cow.”

That was almost a joke. Maybe he's warming up to you. You'll keep that advice in mind, you tell him, but what's he going to be focussing on first?

“I'm going to question the Governor,” Saburakh doesn't sound pleased by the duty, perhaps dismayed by the thought of showing respect for the local authority, “In all likelihood, I'll need his authority to look into the abattoir. I've dealt with men like him before – desperate to cling to his tiny corner of territory. I'll let you decide your approach... for now.”

>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost
>I want to see the frontier with my own eyes
>I'll come with you to see the Governor
>Other

>The next post might take a little longer than usual, I apologise in advance

>>469080
>I'll come with you to see the Governor
If there's scent to catch, we should get one that starts from the Governor first.

>>469080
>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost
On second thought we should be able to get to the bottom of the forgeries by going straight to the people who are suppose to do documentation. Maybe something happened to them.

>>469080
>>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost

>>469080
>I'll come with you to see the Governor

>>469080
>>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost
Tagging along and getting all buddy buddy with Saburakh sounds fun, but I want to check out the outpost anyway since it seems like the ideal place to start.

>>469080
>>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost

A have a feeling that our current arc is similar to Resident Evil 4&5

>>469080
>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost

>>469080
>I'm going to see if I can find the Ministry outpost

>>469132
If there is anything in those spores you might be right.

What did Art say again
>“Blind growth, mindless proliferation, venom festering in an open wound! Yes, that's it – the next beast!"

>Okay, back behind the keyboard. Looks like we're heading to the Ministry outpost first. Writing the next post now

>>469146
Nah, its not the spores they are red herring. The unwise southern workers got 'infected' when the governors, a decent guy if not for nepotism, ruthless brother got the abbatoir job.

>>465276
C-Section Babies for the Win!

You wanted to investigate the Ministry outpost first, you tell Saburakh, to see what the situation is there before you do anything else. Depending on how long that takes, you might be able to catch the tail end of his visit with the Governor. These forged reports have got your curiosity going, and you'd like to find out who's been writing them.

“A good place to start. Depending on how evasive the Governor is, you might well get the chance to join me. I don't expect you'll get lost – the settlement here is old, build to no particular order or design, but it's small enough to find your way back here,” Saburakh frowns out into the smog for a moment, “The Governor will likely be in the grandest – and second largest – building in town.”

The second largest, you ask, so what would the largest one play home to?

“The abattoir,” the scarred man growls, “The great slaughterhouse. I've heard stories – they say that the machines there never sleep, that the work never ends. Exaggerations, I'm certain, but it suggests the scale of what we're dealing with.”

“I'm going to stay with the ship for now,” Mirrah decides, “I have some supplies of my own to set up – a very improvised lab, in case we need any scholarly work done. Blood tests, medical examinations, um... that kind of thing. It's not my area of expertise, but I know enough to get by. Can you spare a few soldiers to stand guard, just in case?”

“Gustav, Brennan, you're staying here,” Saburakh orders, pointing to the two closest soldiers, “The rest of you, go about your duties. You know what to do.”

And with that, the team splits up.

-

Haveer is like no other settlement you've ever seen. The buildings are old, grey stone softened by creeping red moss that slowly – at a pace measured in generations rather than years – eats away at the foundations. Mirrah promised that the air would be a little clearer up close, and she was almost right – you can see to the end of the street, at least, but it doesn't change the fact that buildings periodically loom out of the murk like wandering giants.

“Hey, Henryk?” Lize asks after a moment, her voice muffled by the mask she wears, “I don't mean to, like, alarm you or anything, but... when was the last time you saw someone?”

She's right, you realise suddenly, you had been studying the buildings and the atmosphere here – anything, in fact, other than the barren streets. There is nobody else about, nobody walking the streets or hurrying from one building to another. Even the windows you pass are shuttered tightly, without a hint of light escaping.

“This is... spooky,” your assistant decides. You can only agree with her assessment of the situation.

[1/2]

>>469275
"I should warn you Lize. Artemis told me that the 4th beast is here on Haveer. Though in what form it's going to take, I have no idea."

>>469275

The abattoir is closer to a fortress in design, the heavy gate flanked by a pair of bunkers. There, at last, you see a number of human beings. Wearing masks that make your cloth ones look flimsy and useless – theirs are leather and metal, covering the full face and leaving glass lenses for the dark eyes to peer through – the guards glare at you. Clutching rifles close, they brandish their weapons when you spend too long looking their way. Not willing to cause any trouble – yet – you back away. As you watch from a safe distance, you hear the clatter of a bell.

Leading a pair of hulking cattle, another masked man – what little skin he has visible is dark, speaking undoubtedly of southern blood – approaches. He carries a long staff, a pair of brass bells hanging from the top and rattling with every step he takes. As the guards part, he leads his cargo of beasts into the abattoir. Not a single word is exchanged.

“Y'know, I'm starting to think that there's something weird going on here,” Lize wonders slowly, “You, uh, you got any insights?”

The fourth beast is here, you murmur to her as you watch the guards for a moment longer, Artemis confirmed it. You don't know what form it's going to take, or where you might find it, but it's here. She better keep her eyes open.

“Fourth... wait, these were the picture things from the temple?” Lize thinks back, “The fourth one looked like a pile of guts or something. We're gonna have to fight a pile of guts?”

You honestly couldn't say, you reply with a shrug, there's a certain degree of symbolism involved in the pictures you found. They don't depict exactly what you're supposed to be looking for – that, of course, would be too easy.

“I see. Uh, I think,” Lize is silent for a long time as you lead her away, searching for the Ministry outpost. “Hey, Henryk?” she asks a while later, “Some of those pictures, y'know, they showed people. Like, actual human people. Does that mean...”

Wait, you interrupt, this might be it. This looks like the Ministry now – that bull's head sign above the door is a sure sign.

“Dodging the question...” she mutters darkly.

-

The Ministry outpost looks like a building left abandoned for a very long time indeed. The windows are boarded up, and the door is shut tight. Sighing heavily, you prepare your lockpicks before, on simple instinct, you try the door. It's unlocked – it's actually unlocked.

You just wish that was more reassuring.

If the outside of the building was undisturbed, the inside is desolate. Spilled papers lie everywhere, while the open desk draws suggest a degree of ransacking. The place was either looted, or torn apart by an angry mob. Maybe both.

[2/3]

>>469330

“Man,” Lize murmurs, drawing her pistol and carefully clicking the safety off, “Where do we even start with this shit?”

The main offices are usually on the top floor, you point up before nodding to the floor, while the armoury and secure storage is often below. You'll start at the top and work your way down – and absolutely no splitting up.

“Wasn't even gonna suggest it,” shaking her head, Lize stoops to pick up a few pieces of scattered paper, “Looks like... a whole lot of numbers here. Oh, I see – imports and exports. Woah, these guys sent out a lot of meat. I mean, I knew that's what the place was known for, but still... a lot of beef here.”

Taking the sheet from her, you skim it over. A lot of beef, you agree, but not as much as there should be. They've been exporting less and less as time goes on – almost as if something else was eating through their stockpiles.

“Ugh, this is awful and I hate it,” Lize rubs her hand on her trousers, as if just reading the file had dirtied her, “C'mon, you lead the way – start from the top, right?”

-

If you had any expectations of finding some Ministry agents upstairs, taking desperate shelter in their offices, they would have been crushed. Fortunately – by a relative standard of “fortunate” - your expectations had been low indeed. Even the head office – once belonging to a man named “Elwin”, if the tag on the door is any indication – is barren and empty. With the fervour of a man possessed, you begin to rake through the desks.

“What are you looking for?” Lize asks, covering the entrance with her pistol while you search, “There's nothing here...”

Exactly, you tell her, there's nothing here. Ministry agents carry sets of seals used to stamp reports and mark them as official. With a set of those seals, forging documents would be a hell of a lot easier. Of course, they're not here.

“Kinda makes me wonder what else they took...” a pause, as Lize's eyes widen, “The armoury!”

-

Leaving the empty desks behind – you've seen all you need to see – you move cautiously downstairs. Even though some part of you wants to run, to investigate as quickly as you can and then get the hell out, you force yourself to move with care. Getting hysterical won't help anyone, and you'll need to keep your wits about you. The basement armoury looks almost like a prison cell, with a heavy barred door sealing off the storage area from the rest of the building. A guard would sit at a desk, taking things out of storage as needed.

The wall that the guard would likely sit in front of is scarred, marked with bullet holes, while the barred door hangs open.

“See,” Lize begins, “That's a bad sign.”

[3/4]

>>469438

So what this looks like, you say slowly as you enter the armoury, is a rebellion. A mob stormed in here and started to tear the place up. They must have had a few guns already, enough to overpower the Ministry guards and throw open the armoury. From there, though, you're not sure what to say – the victorious rebels started to forge Ministry reports and send back smaller shipments of meat? It doesn't make any sense.

As you walk, you examine the rows of empty shelves. A few loose cartridges lie on the floor, scattered and abandoned. In their haste to empty the armoury, the rebels – potential rebels, you correct yourself – must have upended a box of ammo or something like that.

“Oh shit!” Lize yells suddenly, piercing the silence with her cry, “What is that?”

Turning to follow her voice, you see her pointing into the darkness. Something moves there, writhing like something plucked from the ocean depths. Drawing your pistol, you get a bead on the squirming thing just as it starts to escape.

>Calling for a Firearms test, so that's 1D100+15, and this is aiming to beat 80. I'll take the highest of the first three results

Rolled 86 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>469507

Rolled 96 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>469507
>>469517
rolling for show

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>469529
>>469517
We already nailed it huh?

>>469529
never mind

It's dark, your nerves are rattled, and this slippery bastard is moving faster than any living thing has a right to move.

Easy shot.

Snapping off a single shot from your pistol, you catch the target in the centre of mass and just about blow it in half – a thin strand of stringy meat connects the two pieces, but that's all. Your ears ring from the gunshot, and the sudden stab of light leaves you blinking away stars, but those are all small prices to pay. Now then, you say aloud, time to see what you just killed. Approaching the small corpse, you take a flashlight from your pocket and click it on, bending down to examine the creature.

A snake, brown and mottled, with crooked fangs. The whole thing has the aspect of deformity about it, but you can't quite put your finger on why. You're no snake expert, so it could be that you're missing something, but it just strikes you as... unwholesome.

“Aren't snakes, like, not local animals?” Lize asks, crouching down beside you, “I mean, I've never actually seen one in the flesh before. I knew a guy who had a pair of snakeskin boots – wow, they were ugly – and I've seen a few preserved specimens, but... never a live one. I thought they were mostly a southern thing.”

Most of them are, you muse, but there are a few local breeds in the forests around Artyom and Canid. None this large, though. Mirrah might know more about it – she's a snake herself, in a way.

“That's rude! You shouldn't say stuff like-” a pause, “Oh, wait, her sigil animal. Scholars and snakes, right. Uh, sorry.”

Her apology goes unanswered, your attention already elsewhere. Playing the beam of your flashlight across the ground, the light falls upon a ragged hole in the ground. Only a little bit thicker than your arm, the hole seems to stretch down without end. Even pointing the light straight into it, the beam fails to reach the bottom. Rising up in a stagnant wave, the air that comes from the hole is sickening, ripe with decay. Did the snake come up from here?

Impossible – it would need to have broken through the stone tiles underfoot.

“What do we do now?” Lize asks in a whisper, as if there might be more dangerous things than snakes around. She might be right.

>Let's bring this back to Mirrah. Maybe she can tell us more about it
>Saburakh might be in trouble – we'd better hurry and find the Governor's manor
>Other

>>469677
>Saburakh might be in trouble – we'd better hurry and find the Governor's manor
More time sensitive. We'll just hang onto the cadaver I guess. Do we got a deep pocket or bag? Maybe there is a bag somewhere in the outpost. Seems like there is a lot of shit here left behind.

>>469677
Lise take this corpse to Mirrah, I'm going to the Governor's manor.

>>469677
>>Saburakh might be in trouble – we'd better hurry and find the Governor's manor

>>469713
Normally I'd be about that, but I'm considering all of Haveer enemy territory. Let's not split up.

>>469710
This, also it might be part of our beast as Koly fought a pile of living innards for his fourth beast.

>>469677
>Saburakh might be in trouble – we'd better hurry and find the Governor's manor

>>469677
>Saburakh might be in trouble – we'd better hurry and find the Governor's manor
Triage

>>469677
>Other

BURN THE ABBATOIR

>>469677
>Saburakh might be in trouble – we'd better hurry and find the Governor's manor

Saburakh might be in trouble, you tell Lize, this town can no longer be considered safe. You'd best hurry and track down the Governor's manor. He could be walking into a trap there, especially if he goes there thrusting about his League papers. Seems to be that being in the Ministry is a good way of making enemies in this town.

“What about... that?” Lize asks, pointing to the dead snake, “I mean, technically it's evidence, right?”

True enough. Pulling on a pair of clean gloves, you scoop up the snake and drop it into your pocket. You'll hold onto this for now, you tell her, until you get the chance to drop it off with Mirrah.

“Just gonna dump it in your pocket, that's... okay, sure,” Lize shakes her head in exasperation, “I'm not gonna argue. Let's just... hurry. I've got a feeling that we're only just getting started here. If that's the last snake we see today, I'll be surprised. Surprised, and, like, really really glad.”

Yeah, you agree, it's a good thing Vas isn't here. Not exactly a fan of snakes, Vas.

-

With the thick mist falling over you like a shroud, there's no easy way to spot the Governor's manor. In any other settlement, you could ask a passing citizen for directions – not an option here, though, when there are no citizens to ask. Other than the guards you saw at the abattoir and the lone cattle farmer, you're yet to see a single soul. The few people you have seen, as well, didn't strike you as being the helpful types.

So that leaves roaming freely, and hoping that you find your destination quick enough. Your wanderings take you to the edge of town, to the indistinct border between settled land and the frontier. Even hurrying as you are, you can't help but stop and marvel at the frontier lands. You've seen wide open spaces before – the Northern Hunting Grounds are full of them – but the sheer size and emptiness of the frontier disarms you. Cloaked in the murky fog, it could truly be infinite – a sprawling plain broken up only be the lumbering form of cattle. The air is especially bad here, every breath you take rasping in your lungs. It almost feels like breathing in the dusty air of a tomb, gritty and tainted.

“There!” Lize points to a dim light in the distance, a light that just dimly illuminates a boxy structure. Not the abattoir, which means it can only be the Governor's manor. Without another word exchanged between you, you hurry towards the lonesome beacon, and the danger it might very well represent.

[1/2]

Finally caught up. Sick fuckin' quest. Serrated sawblade when?

>>469927
We might need to build our own or find a competent weapon smith for a custom job.

>>469878

When you arrive, you find yourself in the midst of something approaching a stand-off. A pair of rival guards stand at the door – a pallid, drawn local man and one of Saburakh's uniformed enforcers. Moving for the door, the local guard moves to stop you, but his attempts are, in turn, stopped by the Ministry soldier brandishing his rifle. The situation almost seems comical, but you're not laughing. What's the situation, you ask the enforcer, what's happening here?

“This scum won't stand down, won't answer any questions. He just says that nobody is allowed to see the Governor,” the Ministry soldier doesn't take his eyes away from the local guard, even as he explains things to you, “My orders are to keep an eye on him. I'd just as happily shoot him and be done with it. You hear me, roach? Just give me a damn excuse...”

“I have my orders,” the local replies, his voice shaky but undeterred, “Nobody gets in to see Governor Stukov. His work is too important to be disturbed.”

What work, you ask, would that be? Your question goes unanswered, though, as the guard just sullenly shakes his head. In all likelihood, he doesn't even know – he's just been given an order and warned of some vile punishment for failure. Something worse than summary execution, something that leaves him unafraid to die.

Just what has Governor Stukov been up to, here?

-

It's odd, looking around at the inside of the manor. The decorations are luxurious, a far cry from anything else you've seen on this island, but the sheer emptiness of the place give it the veneer of a tomb. There are a number of disarmed guards lined up against one wall – a few pale locals, but mostly darker skinned southerners – with Saburakh's men watching over them. There's a tension about them, and you suspect that it wouldn't take much for the executions to begin.

At the top of a flight of stairs, at the sealed entrance to what might be the Governor's office, Saburakh silently stares down another man, one with the officious air of a secretary. Seeing Saburakh quiet and calm, composed rather than raging, is all the more disturbing than any of his previous outbursts. Gesturing for Lize to stay quiet, you climb the stairs to join the Ministry investigator.

“Hanson, good,” Saburakh doesn't need to turn around to greet you, “As you can see, the diplomatic approach hasn't yielded the results I was hoping for. The Governor is... very busy indeed, or so I'm told.”

“Sir, I have said this,” the foreign secretary struggles to keep from stammering, “The Governor is busy, too busy to be disturbed. I have his authority to handle-”

“I'm going to ask this one last time, with these independent witnesses,” Saburakh pauses, “Are you, knowing the authority I hold, barring my passage?”

The luckless secretary just nods, and you swear that you see a satisfied glint in Saburakh's eyes.

[2/3]

>>470038
That guy's gonna get it now

>>469968
Personally I wonder what's inside those gas masks. I mean, are they filtering out or filtering in stuff?

>>470038
We gotta keep Sabukah from killing people and empowering Khorne. I mean The beast.

>>470070
Nonsense. Killing people solves problems.

>>470038

Lashing out like a striking cobra, Saburakh seizes the secretary by the lapels, pulling the unfortunate man close for a moment before throwing him back. Arms flailing, crying out loud enough that all heads in the room turn his way, the secretary falls back into the sealed doors and crashes through them, splinters flying as wood shatters. Still for a moment – long enough that you take him for a dead man – the southerner lets out a soft groan and curls up into a ball, as if expecting further blows.

Saburakh enjoyed that. You can tell.

Before you can comment on the attack, you look into the sealed room and fall silent. It is an office, richly decorated and with a grand view of the frontier lands beyond. The walls are lined with art pieces, statues crafted in a curious foreign style and paintings that resemble nothing at all – just wild and debauched riots of colour. The desk if particularly grand, perhaps in the hope that it would lend its authority to the man behind it.

But there isn't a man behind it. The office is empty, as desolate as the Ministry outpost.

Cursing, Saburakh grabs the secretary and drags the poor man to his feet, slamming him against the broken door. “Where is he?” the investigator snarls, “Where is Stukov?”

“I don't know, I don't-” the panicked protests are cut off as Saburakh draws his knife and pressed it to the secretary's throat, “The abattoir, he went to the abattoir!”

“That's all I needed to know,” with grim satisfaction in his voice, Saburakh withdraws the knife and lets his prisoner slump to the ground once more, “Hanson, he's all yours if you wanted to question him. I know where I'm heading next.”

>The abattoir. Let's go there together
>Wait, we need to plan this out. Let's get back to the ship
>You, why is Stukov at the abattoir?
>What happened to the Ministry in this town?
>On your feet, I've got a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>470141
>>Wait, we need to plan this out. Let's get back to the ship
He'll probably decline but it's worth a shot. Lets show him the snake anyway and give him an idea to be careful.

>>470141
>You, why is Stukov at the abattoir?
>What happened to the Ministry in this town?

>Wait, we need to plan this out. Let's get back to the ship
"We can't do this half cocked. Let's pool information at the ship."

>>470141
>>What happened to the Ministry in this town?
>You, why is Stukov at the abattoir?

>>470169
Backing this. Mention the snake, and that something is off

>>470141
>On your feet, I've got a question for you... (Write in)

What entrances are there to the abattoir, how many guards, and who was the priest dude leading in the cows?

>>470193
Also remind him of the dangers of infection. Our masks might not be enough.

>>470234
>>470141
can't we get some of those tacticool full face masks?
>ask that to the secretary

>>470141
>>Other
Also search the office for clues. Governor might have left something here.

>>470141
>You, why is Stukov at the abattoir?
>What happened to the Ministry in this town?

Then after that
>Wait, we need to plan this out. Let's get back to the ship

Hey, you ask the slumped secretary, why is Stukov at the abattoir – can he even answer that, does he even know?

“He has important work...” the fallen man whispers, “Him and his brother, they brought it back from the homeland, from the deepest jungles. They are studying it, trying to divine the answers it has to offer them.”

It, you repeat, what is “it”?

For a moment, the secretary's lips flap without ever offering a spoken word. Snarling slightly, Saburakh drives a short, powerful kick into the man's side and makes him cry out with pain. “No more!” he protests, “Your words are... not mine. Unfamiliar. It is a tale we share, in our homeland. A serpent that gives life, always spreading, always growing. The Governor, he thought he could learn from it, learn to give new life to withered flesh.”

“This is absurd,” Saburakh scoffs, “He brought back some monster, and now it's spread its corruption over this entire island. We'll have to purge this place, burn it all and start anew.”

Hold on, you warn, you're not finished here. What happened to the Ministry in the town, you press, were they wiped out or driven away?

“I swear it, I had no hand in what happened, I only typed the letters!” whimpering, the secretary's eyes fall on Saburakh's knife, as if he fears what will happen once he is no longer useful. “It was not a decision that the Governor took lightly, but he knew that it had to be done. The Ministry would never allow this to happen, not without cutting and burning anything that they saw as “corrupt”. He could not allow that. It was a simple thing, sir, to rouse the workers to rebellion. They so resent the yoke placed upon them by the Ministry...”

“Beasts always hate the lash,” Saburakh spits, “And slaves, once freed, all too easily become tyrants. If I had the forces, I'd have every man and woman old enough to hold a rifle executed!”

And that, you think bitterly, is the kind of behaviour that breeds resentment. So, the southern workers attacked the Ministry and wiped them out, but the Governor kept the reports and exports flowing so that he could work without being disturbed?

“Yes, that is right,” mumbling, the secretary shuffles a little closer to you, preferring further questions to further blows. Reaching down to offer a hand, you pull the man to his feet and help him to a seat. If he's starting to trust you, that's something you can work with.

The abattoir, you begin, you want to talk about the abattoir. It's hard to tell with a dark skinned southerner, but you swear that the man grows pale at the thought.

[1/?]

>>470372
Oh god burn it all. This is not good.

Judging by that hole the snake left behind this thing is probably under the town.

Maybe the less cattle going to the mainland is because they are using the remainder to keep this thing fed in the abattoir.

>>470372

First of all, you begin, how many entrances are there? How many guards are on duty, and what are they armed with?

“It has one door – the great gate. It could withstand cannon fire, and the men inside are willing to defend it to the death,” frowning, the secretary shakes his head, “You say guards – they are not guards, just men. There is not a man inside there who would not raise arms to protect their masters. Stukov, they say, he speaks with the voice of the serpent. He is their god now.”

“Ignorant fucking barbarians,” Saburakh curses in the distance, “As if those northern curs weren't bad enough...”

So they have numbers – overwhelming numbers – but no real training. Even so, simple weight of numbers would carry the day in a straight fight. You saw a priest earlier – or something like a priest – leading cattle into the abattoir - who was that?

“An Auroch, we call them,” your informant explains, “An old tradition from the homeland. They guide cattle, leading them to their deaths. A cursed position, dark with treachery, but a vital one. It is said that the beasts see them as kin, and those who slay their kin are...” His voice trails off, and he makes a vague gesture. Not anything good, his gesture seems to say. “They are pariah,” he offers eventually, “We do not speak to them or look upon their faces.”

Yes, you saw that – he was wearing a mask, just like the men guarding the doors. Where can you find some of those masks, and do they have any... special properties?

“They carry herbs, crushed to ward off the choking frontier air,” a pause, as your new “friend” grimaces, “And the vile air inside the abattoir, if the rumours are to be believed. We have many here, but you will need to gather the herbs yourself. They must be fresh, you see.”

Herbs or no herbs, those masks would serve as fine disguises. With plans forming in your mind and Saburakh guarding the prisoner, you set about searching the office. You don't have much hope, but there might be something useful here. The majestic desk has been cleared out recently, but you do find something stuck down the back of one drawer, lost and forgotten. An old photograph, one depicting the Stukov brothers. The younger one is frail, sickly, and cradles a withered arm. He looks like a man suffering from some wasting disease, a man living to the beat of a ticking clock.

You know how that feels.

[2/3]

If the hole in ministry cellar went down, we could dump flamable liquids down it and smoke the bastards out or to jerky.

>>470494

With your questions finished, and the rest of your search turning up nothing, you return to Saburakh. You understand his frustration, you begin quietly, but this isn't something he should rush. The abattoir sounds like a fortress – a full frontal assault would be a disaster. For now, it's best to return to the ship and plan things out carefully. Besides, there's something you wanted to show Mirrah.

“I see,” Saburakh gives the secretary a dark look, “Something you found at the Ministry?”

Something like that, you tell him as you take the snake from your pocket, this might have something to do things.

“Very well,” the Ministry agent decides, with a faint note of reluctance, “We'll see what our little Scholar can contribute to our venture. Perhaps she can lift the College slightly higher in my estimations... but I doubt it.”

Alright then, you say with a nod, now you want to find a few of those masks before you get out of here. They might prove useful – vital even – in the coming moments.

It doesn't hurt to go prepared.

>I think I'm going to pause things here and pick up again tomorrow, but I'll stick around for a while in case anyone has any questions or comments.
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>470589
Thanks for running Moloch.

Is this thing like a giant version of those snake things in Bloodborne?

>>470589
Thanks for running!

>>470608

That's pretty much right, yes.

File: 5 million years in MSPain(...).png (36 KB, 1636x952)

36 KB PNG

>>470589
Making a guess on what the situation might be.

I am such a artist.

>>470589
How would Vas handle all of this?

>>470707

I can't confirm or deny anything at this stage, but that certainly presents a logical scenario!

>>470783

Pretty badly, I'd say. Chances are, he might well have taken the ship and gone home by now. He really doesn't like snakes!

It's not hard to realise that something went terribly wrong at the Mandible while you were away – the dead bodies are a good hint.

Fortunately, by some miracle – the miracle of superior firepower – none of the dead are yours. Half a dozen workers from the abattoir are scattered in a loose semicircle around the ship, drilled out by precise rifle fire. One of the Ministry soldiers – Gustav, you think – casually smokes a cigarette and looks out at the deserted town. When you and Saburakh emerge from the smog, though, he hurriedly throws aside his cigarette and pulls the mask back into place.

“I saw that!” Saburakh barks, “Give me a report, soldier – what the hell happened here?”

“Just what it looks like, sir,” Gustav replies hastily, “We were on guard when six of the buggers came out the fog. Looked just as surprised to see us as we were to see them. I called out, said they were under arrest, and they started shooting at us. Worthless shots though – Brennan took a glancing hit, but the doc was able to patch him up. No other injuries to report.”

“Good work, soldier,” with a cold and impassive eye, Saburakh surveys the scattered bodies, “How many shots in all?”

“Seven, sir,” Gustav admits, “I missed once – the bugger dropped low as I was taking the shot. I'll accept any disciplinary action you deem appropriate, sir.”

“Later. When we get out of this mess,” Saburakh casts one last glance down at the bodies before dismissing them forever, “Burn those – rotting bodies are a health hazard.”

-

Field work, you are quickly learning, doesn't suit Mirrah. Safe in the bowels of the ship, surrounded by the various paraphernalia that her work demands – a microscope is just about the only thing you recognise – she looks like a rodent shrinking back into its nest. The gunfire might have had something to do with that, now you think about it.

“Nobody said that there would be shooting,” she protests as you descend to meet her, “I was not warned about this!”

Relax, you tell her, you brought her a present to make up for it. Mirrah's face brightens as you say this, darkens when she first sees the maimed, bloodied serpent you offer, and then brightens again once she realises your intention.

“You want me to study this, correct?” she confirms, “This isn't some cruel joke, like stuffing my mailbox full of insects or anything like that?”

No joke, you assure her, you wanted to learn anything you could about this snake.

“Uh...” Lize looks at Mirrah in confusion, “Was that a thing that... happened?”

Silence, a long and awkward moment of it. “I'd... rather not talk about that,” Mirrah replies eventually.

[1/3]

>>472860

“You were right about one thing,” Mirrah explains after a cursory examination, “It's not a local breed. The closest point of comparison I can draw is, um... a southern brasstail. Just... one that's been dead for a few weeks.”

Dead for a few weeks, you repeat, care to expand on that?

“Well, you see, normally a brasstail would have very glossy scales, very bright and clean looking. These, on the other hand, are tarnished and filthy, as if this poor thing had been left in a ditch for a while,” the Scholar sighs, “I suppose it can't be helped. The age of a specimen isn't something we can always choose.”

Wait a minute, you tell her, you killed that thing today – no more than a few hours ago.

Mirrah stares at you for a while, then turns to prod the dead snake with a gloved finger. Having examined the thing closely, she turns back to study your face for any signs of deception. “I don't believe you,” she says eventually.

“Hey, I saw it!” Lize protests, “That gross thing came shooting out of the shadows, but Henryk just turned around and BAM, took the thing out in a single shot. It was so cool, you should have seen it! I mean, it was-” pausing, she clears her throat, “I mean, it was definitely alive. Yeah.”

“I... see,” Mirrah looks back to the dead snake, her mouth trembling a little as she fights back a fit of laughter, “Maybe something in the air here speeds decomposition? I don't think there's ever been long term studies of the contamination. Come to think of it, that might make for a good project – original, and it could yield useful results...”

“Focus, girl,” Saburakh barks, “We're not here to do your homework for you. Can you tell us anything useful about it?”

“Right, useful, well... brasstails like these use a venom to bring down large animals, it stops the heart dead. I could probably knock together some kind of drug, an injection perhaps, that would counter it. It's pretty dangerous, though – an overdose would be no less lethal than the bite itself. So, uh, your best bet might be to...” Mirrah shrugs lightly, “Not get bitten.”

If only it was that easy.

-

While Mirrah tinkers away in her improvised lab, mixing chemicals and doing other... doctor things, you sit down to examine one of the masks you took from the Governor's manor. Ideal for hiding your face, they don't seem to serve much other purpose. The metal pouch at the front gives them an almost canine muzzle, and would normally, you suspect, be filled with herbs.

“Ugly things,” Saburakh grunts as he sits opposite you.

Ugly, you agree, but they've given you a good idea.

[2/3]

>>472861

“Just so we're clear, you're proposing that we sneak into the abattoir by dressing as some of those Auroch priests, relying entirely on barbarian superstition to win out over whatever security measures the workers have put into place,” Saburakh surmises once you've finished telling him your plan, “You think that just because we're wearing masks and carrying staffs, the guards won't dare look us in the eye.”

You've seen it for yourself, you insist, the guards didn't even call out to the Auroch. They couldn't get the priest out of their sight fast enough.

“Perhaps so,” Saburakh considers the idea, “But two armed men, even wearing the right garb, might be a different matter. If we march up to the gates with rifles and harpoons, even those superstitious curs wouldn't look the other way.”

Fine, you retort, what is he suggesting – storming the abattoir and taking on an army?

“My men are good – better than good, they're excellent. It doesn't matter how many of those dogs are skulking inside, we can crack open that fortress and have it under our control by nightfall,” Saburakh's comment doesn't have the tone of a boast about it – rather, he gives it the air of a promise. For a moment, Saburakh is silent as he takes the mask from you, examining it from all angles. “I'm not saying that your plan doesn't have merit,” he admits, “But it's a hell of a risk. Isolated, with only the supplies you can gather from the abattoir itself... If we go in loud, we can bring whatever weaponry we need. There should be a flamethrower among the equipment I brought, and I get the feeling it might come in handy.”

A flamethrower, you have to admit, does sound like something that might prove useful. You start to say something, but Saburakh cuts you off.

“There's a beast here, some monstrosity dragged back from the southern colonies. I can't deny that, and that means...” Saburakh pauses here, as if the following admission is one that causes him actual physical pain, “That means you have authority. I've made my case, but the final decision lies with you.”

>I'm doing this quietly – come with me, or don't
>We'll go with your plan – I just hope your men are prepared for a fight
>I had another plan to offer... (Write in)
>Other

>>472862
How many guards are at the front gate?

>>472860
>the miracle of superior firepower
brings a tear to the eye, it does

>>472862
how armored are the guards? Could we catch a few more of these snake things and blowdart them?

>>472864

>There were two guards visible earlier, with an unknown number of additional men inside.

>>472866

>The guards are basically unarmoured. Catching snakes might be possible with suitable bait and a bit of luck

>>472862
>I had another plan to offer... (Write in)
I go in, infiltrate, clear out the gatehouse, open the doors.

>>472869
>>472862
We can use the disguises to get close and personal with the gate guards and take them out silently with knifes. Then the rest of our forces can take the gate.

Our smaller numbers gives us a bit of an advantage due to the limited visibility on the island.

>>472869
This is a bit of a spaghetti plan, bear with me.
>Catch some snakes to make poison
>Blowdart the guards in front, then enter as an Auroch before they send anyone to check
>Use that entrance to get their attention for the shock and awe team to move into position and go loud

>>472874
>to get close and personal
I thought they visibly stepped away from Aurochs?

>>472876
Not quite. They parted to let the Auroch priest through while not even looking at the priest their attention focused on the outside. So we pass them the as they let us through then turn around while their backs are turned and stab them.

File: Slaughterhouse.png (24 KB, 1640x952)

24 KB PNG

>>472869
Hey Moloch is this gate part of a wall on the perimeter or is it the direct entrance to the abattoir itself?

>>472891

>It's the direct entrance to the abattoir itself. There isn't a separate outer wall

>>472893
So how visible would killing the gate guards be if the doors are opened for us? There is still the foggy low visibility

>>472895
For the people inside to see it I mean.

>>472895
>>472900

>Visibility shouldn't be too much of a problem. The bigger risk might be making noise and drawing attention that way. If the guards managed to get a shot off, it could be a problem

So, I might have a wrong thought here, but the Aurochs don't get looked at when leading cattle in there, right?
Wouldn't we, then, need cattle to lead to not be suspicious?

>>472907
yup. That part shouldn't be very hard, really.

>>472902
I guess that's a risk (dice roll) that we'll have to take. Hopefully a backstab in the right spot should end them before they realize what happened.

So we need two people as priests (Us and someone else) for the two guards and
>>472907
yes a Auroch as well.

>>472862
>>We'll go with your plan – I just hope your men are prepared for a fight
Some of the plans being discussed end up being similar to this so why not just go in guns blazing and burn the place down? From the small fight Saburakh's men had, they either suck with guns and/or have shit guns, we can probably compensate for their numbers with guts and spirit.

>>472908
Thing is, I don't know how difficult it is to herd cattle without a dog, but I don't suppose any of our number would be able to do it while making it look like a routine task.

I'm not saying that we should storm the place, because that has it's own risks. I'm just having my doubts regarding how well it'll work.

So if killing the guards goes off without a hitch I think we should continue to go priest incognito into the abattoir and scope the place out for any surprises before we commit an assault.

Hell maybe when we are for sure ready to kick the assault off we cause a small commotion at the other end of the abattoir so the guards all look at us just for those few magic seconds while our guys come from the other side unopposed.

>>472922
Mitigating casualties and making sure we aren't caught off guard by rushing in. Who knows they might have snake people guards on the inside for all we know.

>>472924
single cattle shouldn't be too hard. Henryk is not unused to dealing with animals, and we aren't targeting its young or anything.

That said, if the cattle can smell the blood/death from the butcherhouse and we can't pacify its panic, we WOULD be in a lot of shit.

>>472926
I dunno, I think there's a lot more risk in diving right into a fortress while trying to not look suspicious and leading cattle all while trying to scout out the place. If we take out the guards, preferably quietly but I doubt that's likely, we can just wait for them to come to us and hope the gates work as a sort of choke point instead of rushing it.

>>472942
Say we do look suspicious and the guards turn to look at us. Our men coming from the gate will be unopposed and have the jump on them since everyone is focused on the suspicious priest.

I dunno, I'm spitballing.

>>472944
that wouldn't be a very useful advantage since that's just jumping 2 guards in an entire facility, and now they can't shoot more because we're in the way.

>>472949
No we were talking about after we killed the guards and kept going incognito into the abattoir.

Let me try and and MS paint this up.

>>472944
I still think the cattle would be a huge problem as well. We'd be putting a whole lot of trust into a cow in hopes that it/they stay quiet and calm while we, someone that probably reeks of death and danger, lead them into a slaughterhouse. I still say we go in guns blazing, there's risk to it but we'll be packing some heavy firepower so we can probably handle ourselves.

>>472956
Whatever we'll decide when we kill the guards.

Hell we can just march in with the masks on and confuse them for a second.

All I literally want is just that second of hesitation of 'Wait what?' so our guys can get to cover and not be in a choke point.

>>472963
....that's what I said here >>472875

You just them to get the gate open, you think aloud, that's the starting point. Once the fortress gates are open, Saburakh's men can join the attack. You'll still have to deal with however many armed men there might be inside, but it'll be a fair fight – you don't need to worry about them defending a fortified position. With the mask and staff of an Auroch priest, you should be able to get close to the gate guards, then take them out quietly once they doors are open.

“The best of both worlds,” Saburakh muses, “This might work – once we're inside, you can track down this beast while my men keep the local forces busy.”

Sounds like he's going to be the one taking a risk, you point out, there could be dozens of armed men inside the abattoir.

“Armed, but poorly trained,” the Ministry man nods to the ship's upper deck, “You've seen what my soldiers can do. Let us draw their attention, you can do the rest.”

Nodding slowly, you accept his reasoning. This is a man who faces death on a daily basis, taking on a task like this is just a normal day at the office for him. Alright, you tell him, it's a plan. You'll go undercover for as long as you can, and he'll draw the guards away.

“It's settled then,” Saburakh rises, “The first step of the plan...”

Is getting a disguise ready, you finish, that means finding an Auroch priest. The frontier lands are the best place to start. Oh, you add after a moment's thought, and you'll need some cattle. Just enough to keep the act going.

-

While Saburakh returns to the Governor's manor to rally his men – you don't want to think about the fate of the prisoners they took – you head further out into the frontier lands. Even a short walk from the city streets feels like travelling a great distance, with the thick smog descending to cut you off from the rest of the world. Even the Governor's grand manor first fades into a blocky shadow, and then vanishes completely behind a curtain.

You're alone now, the air thick in your lungs and all sounds faint in your ears. Alone, save for the lumbering cattle that roam the plains. Their moans – like the breaths of dying men – stir the murky air around you, but then a new sound pierces through the mist. The sound of clattering bells, hollow and lonesome.

You've found your target.

[1/2]

>I'm sorry this taking so long, things should move along a little faster from now on

>>472980

Guided by the distant ringing of bells, you push forwards through the cloying mists. Thick snarls of weeds – bristling with thorns and fat with swollen leaves – claw at your ankles as you step through them, as if the land itself here is trying to hold you back, but you press forwards regardless. The groaning cattle part before you like a tide as you draw your knife and pistol, preparing to deal with the Auroch priest.

When you see him, he sits beneath the spreading curtain of one of the rare trees, as if he sought the thing out as a landmark rather than to shelter from the dim, distant sun. With a kind of idle nonchalance, he waves his staff back and forth like a metronome, causing the bells to sound out their dolorous song. A number of cattle surround him, facing him with dumb eyes. You've never seen beasts of the field so still and calm, as if the sound of his bell has them hypnotised. Maybe that's the trick behind their mastery of animals, as opposed to any mystical blessings. His face is hidden behind a mask, and much of his body is smothered beneath a thick cloak.

Everything you need for a disguise, just waiting for you to reach out and take it.

Approaching him, some small noise must give away your approach, for the priest drops his staff – the discordant clatter causes the cattle around you to shift restlessly and groan once more – and leaps to his feet. When he sees the gun in your hand, though, he freezes in place.

Easy, you order him, take it easy. He doesn't need to die here – you're just here for his cloak and his staff. A fair trade, when you're offering him his life in return.

“You... do not want this,” he warns you, his accent low and musical even through the mask, “Men will fear you, loathe you for this. This is a burden that can only be passed from father to son – it is not for outside men to steal.”

You'll be the judge of that, you reply, you'll give him another chance – hand over his tools, and this can still be easy.

“This is regrettable,” the Auroch priest says as he slowly unbuckles his cloak and starts to remove it. Pausing for a moment – just a split second – you see the muscles beneath his dark skin tense. That's all the warning you get, and his next motion is an explosion of violence. Stripping off the cloak in an instant, he throws it at your face and lunges forwards. Before the flapping leather hides him from sight, you see the glint of metal – the blade of a knife.

Letting yourself fall backwards, putting a little extra room between the him and you, you bring up your pistol for a snap shot.

>Calling for a Firearms check, so that's 1D100+15, aiming to beat 60/80. I'll take the highest of the first three results

Rolled 2 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473013

>>473015
get out

Rolled 73 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473013
Fuck 'em

>>473022
You could try rolling instead of being mildly autistic.

Rolled 50 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473013

>>473013
Aw shit here we go

Rolled 59 (1d100)

>>473063
Forgot roll sorry

You're shooting blind, with that damn cloaking hiding him from sight. The fact that his cloak is one of the things you demanded from him – the irony of it – is not lost on you. Even so, even without a clear shot, you tighten your finger on the trigger. The gun barks in your hand, kicking back against your wrist just as the priest's charge carries him into you. Together, with the cloak tangling up in your limbs, you both crash down to the hard frontier soil.

For a moment, you scrabble to push him back and away from you, but then you feel the heaviness on his body, the limpness of his limbs. Moving slower now, you roll him away and pull aside the cloak – noting, as you do, the neat hole burned through it. A matching hole pierces down into the man's chest, a spreading pool of blood darkening the dirt beneath him. In the silence that follows, the rasping of your breath sounds very loud indeed, loud enough to cover up any other sound. Maybe the cows groan a little, but you don't notice.

Rising to your feet, you pat yourself down and check for any wounds. Nothing – the man's knife lies a few feet away, unbloodied. Just to steady your trembling hands, you drop the pistol's magazine and slide a fully loaded one home, taking some solace from the simple, familiar motion. Why, you say to the corpse, couldn't he have made it easy?

Yet, you can't shake the feeling that his attack had been an act of mercy rather than wrath, as if he sought to spare you from some terrible fate. Damn savages and their superstitions.

-

With the cloak wrapped tightly around you – your shoulders are a little broader than the priest's were, it seems – you take the mask and staff for yourself. Stripping the young man's corpse, you try not to look at his face and focus on anything else. The bullet hole in the cloak shouldn't be too much of a problem, well hidden by the garment's folds. Lifting up the staff, you give it an experimental shake.

As the first peals of bells sound out, the nearby cattle fall silent and turn their blank eyes upon you. When you start back towards the Governor's manor, a pair of the simple brutes split off from the herd and amble after you, following the sound of the bells.

This might well be easier than you were expecting. Pausing only to glance back at the body and murmur a vague apology, you go on your way.

[1/2]

>>473082

When you regroup with Saburakh and his men, their first reaction is to point their rifles at you, fixing you in their sights for a few seconds longer than is really necessary. You don't blame them, not really – there could be anyone hiding their face behind one of these featureless black masks – but it still adds an unneeded measure of tension to the already raw mood.

“Hanson,” Saburakh gestures for his men to lower their weapons, “It's a good disguise – covers that pale northern skin of yours. I don't think you'll have any trouble passing for one of those barbarians, especially if they won't be looking too closely. I think this scheme of yours might actually work.”

Not exactly a vote of confidence. What about him, you ask, is he ready to do his part?

“My men are ready. I left Brennan with the ship, guarding our pet Scholar, but Gustav brought a gift from her,” with great care, Saburakh hands over a small syringe filled with something that looks like plain water, “Only to be used in an emergency, remember.”

You remember, you assure Saburakh. Then you notice Gustav himself, weighed down by the heavy flamethrower. Looks like he got a present of his own, you remark.

“Best to cover all eventualities,” Saburakh shrugs slightly, his eyes already drifting outwards towards the abattoir, “Are you ready to go?”

You're ready, you assure him, ready for anything.

-

As you walk the streets, you're all too aware of Saburakh and his men slipping behind you, keeping to the cover of the buildings and watching for any approaching enemies. It's hard to act natural, to keep staring straight ahead and leading your herd of cattle onward, but somehow you manage to keep up the act. The bells sound out a warning to anyone who might be lurking, watching and waiting – a pariah is coming, and good men should turn away.

When the abattoir rises up ahead of you like a tumour of ancient stone, you feel the tension grip you a little tighter. This is where things could go seriously wrong, consequences piling atop consequences. As one hand clenches around the wooden staff, your other hand slips down to your waist, preparing to go for the knife at the first opportunity. It has to look suspicious, you know that, but you can't help it. Every time you pull your hand away, it falls back into place at the first distraction.

Let the guards suspect you, then – it won't make any difference. By the time you're close enough for them to notice, they might as well be dead already.

[2/3]

>>473150

Stopping at the abattoir gates, you let the guards first look at you and then look away, as if your very presence is an insult. For all the dark reputation that Hunters have accumulated – some wear it like a cloak, others hide their true nature as best they can – this kind of prejudice is new to you. The simple fear that your presence strikes into the guards, the superstitious terror that forces them to look away from you... this is like nothing you've experienced before.

And is it that some part part of you is enjoying their reactions? Maybe so – but it's not a part of you that you care to acknowledge.

While the guards are too busy trying to pretend that you don't exist, you take a second to look them over. Dressed in nothing but thin shirts and trousers – they couldn't get away with that any further north – they are virtually unarmoured. The rifles they carry loosely, without much familiarity, are dark with grime and poor maintenance. If the rest of the forces are like this, maybe Saburakh won't have any trouble taking them on – they must be an ill-disciplined mob.

It seems to take a long time for the gates to begin the slow process of grinding open, far longer than it took earlier, but eventually they start to move. This is it – the moment to strike!

>Calling for a Physical Combat check, so that's 1D100+15, aiming to beat 70/90. I'll take highest of the first three results!

File: 1469964942053.jpg (81 KB, 436x413)

81 KB JPG

Rolled 90 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473164

Rolled 33 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473164
Rolling for fun

Rolled 45 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473166
Vulcan nerve pinch times two, coming right up.

Rolled 11 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>473164

As the gates begin to grind open, you brush aside the cloak and pull out your knife. With his eyes averted from you, the first guard is slow to react, only turning to face you seconds before you barge him back against the wall. It's not your motion that cause him to turn, either – no, it's the rattle of bells that sounds as you let the staff drop. Behind the grimy, oil-stained lenses of his mask, the man's brown eyes – you see their colour very clearly, even though it's only a fleeting glance – grow very wide indeed. A cry forms in his throat, dying as you thrust the dagger through his neck.

Tearing the blade free in a welter of blood, you lunge at the second guard as he fumbles with his rifle. Caught with the sling tangled around one arm, he dies without ever bringing the weapon to bear. Any noise he makes as you punch the knife up and under his chin is covered by the metal on metal squeal of the opening gates. Holding his body tightly, you ease it down to the ground and rest it against the abattoir wall. Still crouching by him, you wipe the blade off on his tunic.

You're breathing hard, the sound filling the confines of the mask. Behind you, the cattle are beginning to stir. Before they can be roused to a full protest, you take staff and give it a savage shake, striking up a new and terrible song with the bells. As they settle once again, you look back to the streets and spot human figures approaching slowly. Saburakh leads his men closer, their rifles raised to cover the bodies – just in case. Pressing a finger to the blunt muzzle of your mask, you urge them to silence. Gesturing for them to wait a few moments, you start to head into the abattoir. You want to put some distance between you and the Ministry soldiers before they start their rampage.

It wouldn't do to get caught in the crossfire.

-

Moving slowly, leading on your bovine followers, you walk down the first and longest corridor of the abattoir. Inside, you can hear the sounds of clanking machinery – just as poorly maintained as the weapons carried by the guards. Educated men, it seems, were purged along with the Ministry staff. Worse than the sound is the smell – an overpowering wind of poison that carries disease and decay to you. Standards have slipped since the workers took over, that's an undeniable fact.

At the end of the corridor, a checkpoint bars your way. This one is a harder nut to crack – staffed with six guards and a seventh man, unarmed and officious looking. Someone to inspect the incoming cattle, perhaps. He pales at the sight of you, and the guards hastily level their rifles.

Oh yes. The blood. The guards at the front gates did not die cleanly.

[1/2]

>>473233

Once again, it is a rifle calibre miracle that shines a light upon your fate. A ripple of gunfire strikes up from the entrance as Saburakh makes his presence known, leading his men to death, glory, and whatever else lies ahead. Unsettled by both the sudden gunfire and the lack of your bells chiming, the cattle begin to muscle forwards through the checkpoint, adding one extra note of confusion to the situation. While the guards flap and scatter, making their lack of training obvious, you break and run – back to the first fork in the corridor. You drop the staff along the way, casting aside the dead weight.

You're out of sight for little more than a few moments, but that's all it takes to become invisible. Militiamen, their dark skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, charge down the corridors either side of you without ever sparing you a sideways glance. You don't even need taboo or tradition to hide from them – you're not firing a rifle at them, so your existence is irrelevant.

Saburakh is buying you precious time – you can't let it go to waste. On the other hand, roaming aimlessly is a risk you can't afford to take. There's a sign, a set of directions, but they don't tell you much. One branch of the hallway leads to the factory floor – their words, not yours – while the other leads on to the supervisor's office. Could Stukov's brother still be here, maybe with the Governor himself?

>Head to the factory floor
>Investigate the supervisor's office
>Other

>>473260
>Investigate the supervisor's office
I'd imagine the supervisor's office overlooks the slaughterhouse floor. We can get a bird's eye view of the situation from up there.

>>473260
>>Investigate the supervisor's office
Probably where all the important things are.

>>473260
>>Investigate the supervisor's office

>>473260
>Investigate the supervisor's office

The supervisor's office would likely offer a view out across the factory floor, you consider, so you'll be able to get a better look at the situation from above. Even if that view doesn't help at all, there might be important information kept in the offices, some clue as to what was going on in this place.

Of course, any useful information is likely to be under guard. A problem to deal with once you reach it – so far, the guards haven't posed much of an obstacle. So, following the path to the supervisor's office, you unbuckle the cloak and let it flap behind you like a pair of wings. At your waist, ready for use at a moment's notice, your pistol and knife wait for blood to be spilled once more.

That wait, as it turns out, might be longer than you first thought. Nobody moves to bar your passage, even as you rise up a tight, claustrophobic stairwell to the upper levels of the abattoir and reach a plain door – the tarnished brass panel screwed to it simply reads “S. Stukov – Supervisor”. Without bothering to knock, you draw your pistol and throw open the unlocked door. There's not much to see in the room, a few desks with meaningless papers scattered across them, but the real attraction is the window. It takes up almost an entire wall, and offers exactly the kind of vantage point you were hoping for.

For obvious reasons, nobody is working the factory floor right now, but you can fairly easily get a read on how things would work. The beasts must be slaughtered elsewhere, their cadavers moved from one station to the next. At the first they would be skinned – that much is obvious from the piles of festering hides that has formed. In a normal factory, they'd be taken and used for leather production, but here they are simply allowed to rot. Next – and this is the bit that catches your eye – the skinned bodies here split open and the entrails removed. Judging by the upended cart, they would have been taken... elsewhere.

“Downstairs,” a thin voice says suddenly, causing you to spin around and point the gun at the emaciated figure. Somehow, your eye had passed over him without marking him down as a living thing. Consider the illness in his features, calling him a “living” thing might be stretching it, though. “Of course, “downstairs” isn't the word I'd use,” the pallid man laughs, the sound like fingernails on a chalkboard, “There's a ramp. Easier, you see.”

Covering the man with your pistol, you study his features. Familiar ones – they were in the Governor's photograph. This must be the younger brother.

“Stanislav Stukov,” he nods, ponderously wheeling his chair a little closer. Not an easy task, when one of his arms is withered and feeble. “And...” he pauses, “You are?”

[1/2]

File: Stanislav Stukov.jpg (69 KB, 680x900)

69 KB JPG

>>473341

A Hunter, you tell him bluntly, and you're not here to play games with him. In case he hadn't noticed, his factory is being shut down. Time is of the essence, so you'll only ask him this once – where is his brother?

“Oh, I suspect he'll be in the pit,” Stanislav laughs again, and you grimace at the sound of it, “He spends so much time there now, watching our pet feed – watching it grow. I remember a time when he thought he could learn something from it, you know. Those days are long gone now...” Slumping back in his wheelchair, Stanislav stares at the ceiling for a long while. “Pardon me, good Hunter, but could you pass me one of those bottles?” He doesn't exactly point, but he waves his hand in the general direction of a few medicine bottles kept in a glass-fronted cupboard.

One of these, you ask as you give one an experimental shake, what's in them?

“Just laudanum, nothing special,” the cripple tries to shrug, the gesture coming off as somewhat lopsided, “I used to take it for the pain, you see, but it's become, well, something of a habit. We all have our vices, don't we? I have taste for opium while you, good Hunter, have a taste for blood – that is, if your dirtied garb is any indication.”

Grimacing, you pry the cap off the bottle and take a sniff. It's bitter, both alcoholic and medicinal - laudanum, no doubt about it. You'll give it to him, you offer, but only if he answers a few more questions.

“Questions – how tiresome!” Stanislav sighs heavily, “Very well, fair and noble Hunter, ask what you will.”

The pit, you ask, where is it?

“I mentioned a ramp – follow it down to the lowest level, and then you'll come to a, well, a pit. Andrei was never the most imaginative when it came to naming things,” another screech of laughter, “I'm sure there's a way back up again, but since I've never been down there myself...”

>Thanks. Enjoy your laudanum
>And this pet – what is it exactly?
>Just what did your brother hope to learn down there?
>I had a question to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>473404
>And this pet – what is it exactly?

>>473404
>And this pet – what is it exactly?
"Snakes?"
>Just what did your brother hope to learn down there?
"You two have done so much for this 'pet', going as far as committing rebellion just to keep feeding it. Are you sure you guys aren't it's pets?"

>>473417
>>473404
And then
>Thanks. Enjoy your laudanum

Can we make a few molotovs from the extra laudanum or go get that flamethrower?

>>473404
>And this pet – what is it exactly?
>Just what did your brother hope to learn down there?
Then
>Thanks. Enjoy your laudanum

>>473404
>>And this pet – what is it exactly?
>>Just what did your brother hope to learn down there?
>I had a question to ask you... (Write in)
What does he plan to do now?

>>473423

>Apparently laudanum is flammable, so yes we can make a few firebombs with the remaining bottles

>>473436
>>473423
Well laudanum is opium dilluted it alcohol, good thing we have a mask of sorts

And this pet, you ask, what is it exactly – some kind of snake?

“It was a snake,” Stanislav stresses the past tense, “Then it was two snakes. Two became four, four became eight... we had a debate once, my brother and I. He wondered if they keep multiplying like that, until the world was naught but snakes. Luckily for us, it remained a matter of philosophy – they started to eat one another before it could get to that level. Still, I have no idea how many there are now, all knotted and coiling in the darkness. Gives me the shivers to think about!”

A deep, dark pit filled with an uncounted – and perhaps uncountable – amount of snakes. The thought gives you a fair shiver as well. Just what did Andrei hope to learn down there, you ask with a sudden vicious anger, what the hell was he looking for?

“Oh, I fear it's my fault,” there's little in the way of regret in Stanislav's voice, only a weary note of resignation, “The southern people, you know, they associate snakes with regeneration and rejuvenation, in much the same way that the northern folk view trees. Andrei never could sit back and watch as I... decayed, and so he swore to discover some way of reversing my miserable condition. To remarkably little success, it must be said – and I didn't enjoy many of the experiments. Have you ever tasted laudanum mixed with snake venom? Not good, my friendly Hunter, not good at all. Speaking of that wonderful drug, though...”

Later, you tell him, what's the next step in Andrei's plan?

“Plan?” Stanislav titters, giggling like a madman, “Oh, maybe he had plans once, some new experiment or test or miracle cure. Now, he just watches and... thinks. Now that I think about it, I've not seen him in a while. I do hope he's okay...”

They've both done so much for this beast, you jeer, even committing a rebellion to keep it sated. It sounds more like the beast is the owner and they are the pets.

“Maybe so,” the laughter fades from Stanislav's voice as he considers your point, “But I wonder. We called it our pet, but did we ever really “own” it? Andrei always claimed to see intelligence in its eyes – perhaps it allowed itself to be caught, pampered and given all the meat it could eat. A fine life, wouldn't you say?”

Better than most beasts, you mutter as you pass him the bottle, enjoy. Careful though, you warn him, it's easy to overdose on-

Twisting the cap off, Stanislav raises the bottle to his lips and takes a deep swallow – enough, you wager, to kill several lesser men. “Oh, don't worry about me,” he slurs, “I have a tolerance.”

No kidding, you mutter as you take the rest of the bottles, maybe you should... confiscate these.

“Enjoy, friend,” the madman grins lazily as you leave, “Share and share alike!”

[1/2]

>>473404
>>Thanks. Enjoy your laudanum

>>473558

As you head down to the factory floor, you come across the scene of a skirmish. Three of the southern militia lie scattered about the hallway, all of them sharing the same stigmata – a single bullet wound in the chest. Stooping, you pick up one of the discarded rifles and examine it, noting the bent cartridge jammed in the chamber. Without any idea of how to clear the jam, he had been defenceless – easy prey for Saburakh's soldiers. Setting the defective rifle down, you prepare to move on. Pausing just long enough to “borrow” a tunic, you start to tear strips off it and make improvised firebombs out of the laudanum bottles.

Hopefully this pit has good ventilation, otherwise you'll be running the risk of suffocating down there.

Moving swiftly through the factory floor, past choking piles of decaying meat, you seek out the ramp. Stepping carefully over a rope of discarded entrails, you begin to descend. Following the path downwards, the reek of decomposition and disease gets stronger with every step you take. As the stench grows, the corridor move further and further from the strict standards of hygiene that you've been raised to expect. The walls are darkened with filth, while the floor is equally sullied – the carts have left trails in the dried gore, giving you a path to follow. A path that leads to what Andrei called “the pit”.

Hardly an imaginative name, but a hideously appropriate one. A ragged hole ripped in the floor, you look down into the blackness and immediately regret it – the pestilent air that rises up nearly knocks you out, and the sound... A chorus of hissing, a heavy animal breathing, and the wet sounds of something writhing through its own filth. How long has it been growing here, feeding on the cartfuls of entrails dropped upon it from above? How large must it have grown in that time that even the frequent offerings of meat were not enough to stop it from resorting to cannibalism?

And you've got to go down there and burn it out. Purge its corruption and end its boundless growth. Drawing in a deep breath – again, regretting your decision soon after – you click on your flashlight and aim it down into the pit. Looking down into that swamp, that mire of corruption, you feel your resolve waver.

Well, you say to nobody in particular, at least you'll have a soft landing.

[2/3]