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>>487979

Lize, bowing to the paranoia that seems to be an inseparable part of the College experience, allows herself to be stopped as you head for Wehrlain's office. With Kessler's macabre story still fresh in your mind, you've got questions for the sly Scholar. Namely, questions of safety – if Kessler's words are to be believed, the northernmost lands are inherently hostile to human life and sanity. Wehrlain – if he is as clever as he thinks he is – must have found some defence against it.

Arriving once more in his private chambers, you feel a surge of resentment. It's not hard to guess why - the look of cool disinterest, almost bordering on contempt, in his eyes cannot be denied. “You look uneasy,” he begins, “Should I assume by that, Hunter, that you believe every word of Kessler's ghost stories?”

It sounds like they were more than just stories, you counter, there was plenty of evidence. A ship full of dead men, for one thing.

“And yet, we cannot be sure of what killed them,” Wehrlain smiles faintly, sitting back and waving a dismissive hand through the air, “But you are correct – I put enough value in Kessler's warnings to adjust my plans accordingly, and take precautions of my own. You see, when we sail north, we shall do so with a most potent shield protecting us. I would explain the science behind it, but...” looking you in the eye, he raises an eyebrow, “I fear it would be a wasted effort.”

Because a simple Hunter like you wouldn't understand, you think bitterly to yourself. What really stings is the fact that he might be right. How confident is he, you ask, that this shield will work?

“You may not think much of me as a man, Hunter, but my work speaks for itself,” Wehrlain smiles again, and this time the expression is proud, “I'm willing to bet my own life on this – would I really be leading this expedition myself, if I wasn't absolutely certain that I would be protected. No, the Wehrlain Engine will neutralise any attempts to... interfere with our ship or its crew.”

And he even named it after himself, you remark lightly, how modest.

“Once I've proven the success of my invention, and the whole of the north lies open before us, every man worth anything will know my name,” Wehrlain's voice grows heated, and for a moment you almost expect him to boil over into open anger. Then the air clears, and he slicks back his hair. “Why bother, then, with false modesty?” he asks calmly, as if his composure had never slipped.

Why indeed?

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>>487980

“The Wehrlain Engine,” Lize repeats later, when you're recounting the details of the conversation to her. The thought that this might be a breach of their strict policy on secrecy does occur to you, but you don't dwell on it. It's a senseless waste of your time, and you like being able to talk things like this over with Lize. More often than not, her advice isn't particularly useful, but putting the situation into your own words helps you think. “Sounds like a load of bullshit to me,” she adds, “Do you believe in it?”

Hard to say, you muse, but Wehrlain himself certainly does. He's not just staking his reputation on this device – he's putting his life on the line. For that, you have to admit a certain grudging respect. In terms of the science behind it, though, you couldn't offer a comment.

“I see,” Lize's blank look tells a different story, “But, I mean, at least he's doing something, right?”

“You're still here, good!” a new voice butts into the conversation, breathless and ragged with panic. Looking as though she just finished running a race, Mirrah approaches you and almost blurts something out. Then, thinking better of it, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “I came from the archives,” she murmurs to you, “Master Kessler was... unwell, but he managed to ask if “the Hunter” was still here. He had a message for you.” Patting herself down, Mirrah takes out a folded scrap of paper and hands it over. Unfolding it, you are confronted with ancient words in an eldritch language, glyphs that are slashed into the paper by-

No, wait, the old man just has terrible handwriting. The message itself is blunt and simple.

“Witchcraft will be your only defence against this. South of Petrovar, in the withered woods, there are those who can help you – or harm you. They are capricious, but they follow the old ways.”

He would have you risk yourself in enlisting the aid of these witches. Clearly, you think, Kessler has little faith in Wehrlain's device. But then, with two days before the expedition is set to leave, you've got time – just - to consult with your own witch back in Thar Dreyse.

“If you don't mind me saying...” Mirrah offers, “The Ministry has been watchful lately, trying to learn about the expedition. Seeking out this... other help may be dangerous, legally speaking. The Wehrlain Engine, at least, is accepted science... safe to dabble in.”

>I trust Wehrlain's science – we'll let his device protect us
>Kessler is right, we need witchcraft for this
>I want to speak with a friend about this. The matter can wait for now
>It doesn't matter – I'm not coming on this expedition
>Other

>>487982
>>I want to speak with a friend about this. The matter can wait for now
I'll go with the one we can trust.

>>487982
>>Other

I want Lize to go entreat with the witch we can trust.

Henryk entreats with the witches we can't.

>>487982
>I want to speak with a friend about this. The matter can wait for now
Hemwick focuses on blesses and protection I think.

>>487982
>I want to speak with a friend about this. The matter can wait for now

>>487982
>>I want to speak with a friend about this. The matter can wait for now
Science will never fail us but it can't hurt to be cautious.

We should bring a female animal along with us on the expedition and then use the birthing blade on the animal when its about to give birth to its deformed monstrosity of a god-child.

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>>488027
What?

No, that's okay. I'll pass. Probably doesn't work on animals anyways.

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>>488031
C'mooooooooooooooooooon

We gotta eat those umbilical cords somehow

>>488035
Of course it was you.

But in all seriousness I don't think Northern Gods would waste time on animals. They want dem mortal human womenz.

>>488036
Fuck. And that one witch chick with the amputated leg has probably been executed by now, iirc. Don't know if its been confirmed.

Is there someone female we just don't like?

Does Ioselfka REALLY need that cello virtuoso?

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Kessler's suggestion is sound, you muse, but you'd rather take this matter to someone you already know and trust. At least, someone you trust more than a complete stranger. A round trip between Thar Dreyse and the College should still leave you with plenty of time to discuss the issue with Alyssia. She'd know more about the northern territories, after all, and she has mentioned her focus on protective charms.

Besides, you'll be parting ways with Lize soon – you might as well see her back to the capital. When you explain your plans to Mirrah – in vague terms and without naming any names – she nods hesitantly.

“Well, yes, I think that would work,” the young Scholar offers, “I don't want to make it sound like I distrust Master Wehrlain or his methods, but...”

But his device is still unproven, you finish, and there's no harm in getting a second layer of protection. One shield is good, but two shields are even better.

“Yeah, but if you've got two shields, how do you attack?” Lize asks, “Do you, like, smack people with them?”

You weren't being entirely literal.

“Oh,” she pauses, “I knew that.”

-

Port Daud seems busier than normal, with a great many people bustling about the docks, their attentions all focussed on a single ship – the Fomalhaut. It's a vast ship, but you don't see any cannons bristling at the prow. Not a whaler, then, but something else entirely. Judging by the way that the guards carefully shoo away anyone who tries to approach, you have to assume that this is the ship that will be taking you north soon. With a little luck, it might even take you back south once you're finished.

Not just luck – luck and care. Wehrlain is doing his part to keep it safe, and you'll do the same. Time will tell which method proves more potent.

As you're boarding the train bound for the capital, you notice something unusual. Lize has been quiet, barely responding to your comments about the great ship or anything else. Not quite sullen, she wears a gloom around herself like a low storm cloud. It's only when the train rattles into life that she speaks up.

“What are they even hoping to find up there?” she asks suddenly, “Why can't they just run their stupid experiments down here, where it's safe?”

So that's what's bothering her. They're not sure what might be up there, you tell her quietly, but they seem convinced that there's something up there worth recovering. Old research, maybe even something that might change the world. Maybe, you add, something that might limit the ravages of the Dragon's Blood.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, looking out the train window, but she says nothing for a long time after that.

[1/2]

>>488038
>Does Ioselfka REALLY need that cello virtuoso?
YES. Cello girl is a cute. Probably. Maybe we could have brought Blair if she hadn't been executed and we somehow managed to steal her away. My sick curiosity definitely had a similar thought about bringing Lize along when the trip was first mentioned but I came to my senses soon enough. Then my mind wandered a bit and I found myself wondering if the gods would fall for a trap or a reverse trap.

>>488050
Oooh, we could bring Lize's mom.

Bring home the god baby and show it to Lize. Tell her she has a new baby brother/sister/deep one

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>>488040

“We should pick up some cake.”

That's the first thing Lize says to break the silence between you, pronounced in a thoughtful tone as you're passing a fragrant bakery. When you stop in your tracks and regard her with a mixture of amazement and confusion, she offers a faltering laugh and explains.

“I mean, you're gonna be hitting up Alyssia for information, right?” she shrugs, making a gesture with her hands that explains precisely nothing, “So you're gonna want to be in her good books. Hence, you bring cake – perfect logic, see?”

Of course, you muse, and would she like some of this cake as well?

“Well...” smiling faintly to herself, Lize bends down to look in the bakery window, peering at the racks of cakes on display, “Maybe. Those ones look nice, don't you think?”

You just sigh.

-

Burdened not just with a box of fresh cakes, but with a good deal of other supplies – you'll be gone for a few weeks, so you wanted to keep a good supply of food in the apartment – you trudge upstairs. Pausing only to dump your own food and baggage in your apartment, you quickly knock on your neighbour's door. She doesn't leave much, as you understand it, so you're fairly confident of catching her at home.

Confidence that is rewarded, as Alyssia opens the door within a few moments of your first knock. Greeting you with a warm – and only slightly nervous – smile, she waves for you to come in. Then, pausing, she sniffs the air.

“Cakes, Henryk? You really shouldn't have,” her smile takes on a more natural glow, and she hastens to get some plates. As soon as her back is turned, Lize glances at you with a look of “I told you so” written boldly on her face.

“So, Henryk,” Alyssia returns a few moments later, setting out plates for the delicate pastries, “How's your, ah, business?”

Booming, you reply simply, both officially and unofficially. In fact, you came here because you thought she might be able to help you with a few things. Knowledge, for one, and a practical solution to a problem you might have.

“Well, I'll do what I can,” the witch promises, “What do you want to know?”

It's about the north, you begin. As the words leave your mouth, Alyssia's smile grows stilted, brittle. Silently, she gestures for you to continue.

>Something you'd rather not talk about?
>What was it like, living there?
>I'll be travelling far north soon, and I need a way to protect myself
>What's the furthest north you've ever been?
>I had a specific question... (Write in)
>Other

>>488055
>Something you'd rather not talk about?
>What's the furthest north you've ever been?
>I'll be travelling far north soon, and I need a way to protect myself
"The Old University. I'm sure you've heard stories of what goes on that far north. Is there anyway to protect myself from whatever happens on this 'Red Moon'?"

>>488055
>>I'll be travelling far north soon, and I need a way to protect myself
>>What's the furthest north you've ever been?

>>488055
>>I'll be travelling far north soon, and I need a way to protect myself
>>What's the furthest north you've ever been?
>>I had a specific question... (Write in)
Do you think the Nameless Northern Gods would knock up a dog or a cow or something if they were in the mood?

>>488055
>I'll be travelling far north soon, and I need a way to protect myself
>What's the furthest north you've ever been?

Something she'd rather not talk about, you ask when you see that crooked attempt at a smile, something she's uncomfortable with?

“No, I mean, yes, but...” Alyssia pauses for a moment to put her thoughts in order, “I dreamed about home for the first time in a while last night. It wasn't exactly a happy dream either. So now, hearing you ask about it, it seemed like...”

Like quite the coincidence, you finish, right? Only, you're not convinced it was a coincidence. Perhaps it was a message, something sent to prepare her for your questions. The issue about that theory, though, is the matter of who – or what – sent the message. In either case, you continue, she can probably guess what you're about to ask next.

“Perhaps so,” recovering, Alyssia takes a bite out of her cake and chews it slowly, without much sign of enjoyment, “But ask it anyway.”

You're going to be going far north soon, you begin, as part of an expedition. You'll be heading all the way to the Old University, and you're sure that she's heard stories about that place – about the red moon, and what it brings. What you want to know is, does she have a way to protect you from it?

“Well, perhaps. Even the northern folk don't often go that far north. Not without good reason, at least,” Alyssia considers the issue for a long time, “I know a certain charm, one that is said to direct the eyes of the gods elsewhere. It's... not a rite that is commonly performed, though, so the information I've been able to gather is a little sparse. For most witches, it runs contrary to their wishes and wills – the faith often circles around drawing the eye and not averting it. What I'm saying is... it might not be perfect.”

But it would, in theory, keep the nameless gods from influencing you or the ship itself?

“In theory, yes,” with a frown, Alyssia corrects herself, “Well, not quite. I don't think I could protect an entire ship. Maybe... maybe an area within a ship. The engine room, perhaps, or a section of the living quarters.”

Enough to create a bunker of sorts that you could retreat to, you think to yourself, if Wehrlain's device happens to fail. You can work with that – it's not perfect, but it's certainly better than nothing. While you're talking about the northern territories, you ask, what the furthest north she's ever travelled? Has she seen the Old University with her own eyes?

“My, no,” Alyssia is quick to shake her head, “That part of the north is regarded as sacred ground, not for men to trespass on. A place where reality grows frail – even time is said to grow mutable there. A man could live one hundred years in such a place and only grow a few days older. At least, that's the sort of story I was raised with.” She laughs nervously, as if trying to distance herself from such outlandish claims.

[1/2]

>>488084
>time is said to grow mutable there

Time is convoluted.

The dark.

You're going to lose all your souls.

>>488084
>A man could live one hundred years in such a place and only grow a few days older.
And so I predict that it is the Pygmy that we'll face there.

>>488084

“Though...” Alyssia adds, as if the thought had just occurred to her, “Once you travel even more to the north...”

Wait, you ask, isn't the Old University about as north as men can travel?

“Yes, that's right,” the witch nods, “Beyond that point, it is said that no man has returned. So, really, we don't actually know what's beyond the Old University – it could be a paradise that nobody has ever wanted to return from.”

It could, you admit, but it's more likely to be immediately lethal.

“Well, yes, true,” forcing a small laugh, Alyssia takes a delicate bite of her cake, “Still, I wonder. It's a question that will likely never be answered.”

There's another question you've got, you begin. You've heard that the nameless northern gods sometimes “bless” women with deformed children, you pause here as Lize winces, do they ever do the same with animals?

Perhaps its your blunt delivery, or the nature of the question itself, but Alyssia nearly chokes on her cake. Coughing, crumbs and flakes of pasty flying from her lips, she struggles for air. “What?” she wails, “Why would you ask... I mean...” It takes a long time for her to composure herself enough to answer you. “In truth, I don't know,” she replies, “There are stories that say they can – that the first beasts were born in such a way, before giving rise to their own children – but there are many stories in the north. I can't speak for the validity of all of them.”

So... that's a “maybe” then?

“Henryk, I...” sighing, Alyssia shakes her head in despair, “I'm going to need some supplies for this ritual. I'll be ready by nightfall, but I'll be out of town until then. Unless... would you like to come with me?”

>I have other business here. I'll meet you here at nightfall
>Sure, why not?
>I had some questions first... (Write in)
>Other

>>488098
>>I have other business here. I'll meet you here at nightfall

>>488098
>>Sure, why not?

>>488098
>Sure, why not?
Don't think we have other business really.

>>488098
>Sure, why not?

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>>488040
>“Oh,” she pauses, “I knew that.”

>>488098
>>Sure, why not?

Sure, you agree, why not? You might be able to help her with whatever she needs, and it'll work out quicker for the both of you. Besides, if she's venturing out of the city, having someone else around to watch her back won't be a bad idea. So, you ask, where's she going?

“East,” Alyssia crosses to her desk and takes out a very old map, “In the shadow of the mountains, there's an old withered wood that should have all the supplies we need. Oh, and don't worry, I'm not going to need anything unnatural. Mainly just wood, branches from particular trees and, well, you know. That kind of thing – you've seen the kind of crafting that our kind gets up to.”

Lots of wicker, dried grass and straw dolls. You know what she means, you reply, you've got some experience with witchcraft. Perhaps a little too much experience, considering.

“So, uh, this sounds like a lot of walking through the wilderness, and...” Lize pauses as she searches for a good excuse, “And hey, you need someone to unpack the shopping, right? So what I'm suggesting is...”

Fine, you tell her, she can stay behind if she wants. Perhaps its better this way – she doesn't need to get caught up in anything if you get caught.

-

Snug and warm inside your thickest jacket – with your usual one split open down the sleeve, you've had to pick something else to wear – you follow Alyssia as she leads you out of the city. It's strange, you think as you walk, this might well be the first time you've left the capital on foot. Normally, you take the train, travelling along strictly chosen paths. The idea that you could simply pick a direction and walk out of the city doesn't always occur to you – or anyone else, if the curious glances you attract are any indication.

There's no definite line to cross that marks the transition between city and wilderness. Rather, the looming concrete tenement blocks give way first to older stone buildings and then to almost rustic cottages. Like the city itself is degrading, devolving into a more primal state, you slowly leave the trappings of civilisation behind and embrace nature. Snow carries on the wind, blowing through freely, but it doesn't look like the beginnings of a storm – not yet, at least. Just regular shitty weather.

“It's not far,” Alyssia assures you, looking back with uncertain eyes. Somehow, you're not sure you believe her.

[1/2]

>>488137

Although the blustery snow picks up as you walk, you soon make it into the relative shelter of the woods – withered and dead as they may be. It's hard to tell if the trees around you have simply perished from the cold or if they are some curious style that thrives in these conditions. Lean, skeletal and bristling with thorns, they hardly seem like living things at all – save for the fact that their branches are strong and untouched by decay. A harsh form of life, perfect for these harsh conditions.

“We're looking for the white ones,” Alyssia calls to you, raising her voice over the shrill whistling of the wind, “Pure white, you'll know when you see them. Oh, and pebbles – round ones, as close to perfectly round as you can find.”

Pebbles and white trees, you reply, you understand. Though... why those particular items?

“The white trees are thought to have been touched by the nameless gods,” Alyssia tries to explain, “Charms made with their thorny vines are especially potent, or so the traditional wisdom says. The pebbles are going to represent eyes – I'll paint on the details later, back at my place.”

It all has a certain logic to it, you think, but perhaps “logic” isn't the right word. The oldest witches were scientists in their own way, testing and experimenting with ways to draw the nameless gods down upon them. By comparison, the modern witches – Alyssia among them – are just blindly playing with the crumbs left behind. Even if Wehrlain and his cronies find some amazing discovery up in the Old University, some miracle of ancient science, would they really be any different?

Well, it doesn't matter – you'd rather focus on the practical matters. Practical matters like sawing down long ropes of thorny vine – thin, yet hardy enough to resist the bite of your knife. All the while you saw away, the snow just keeps getting heavier.

-

“C'mon!” Alyssia yells over the building wind, “It should blow itself out soon enough. I know where we can take shelter!”

You won't argue about that. With the weather howling around you – heavier than you ever thought it might become – the idea of shelter is a very appealing one. Thankful for her dark clothes – easier to spot in the midst of this churning white – you follow Alyssia as she leads you through the withered forest. All around you, trees sway and reach out with the skeletal branches, their lowest fingers clutching at you as you pass them by. Their constant motions leave you feeling uneasy, especially paired with the gathering storm – through the veil of snow, you see their vague silhouettes moving and they look... not at all like trees.

“We're here!” the witch calls from ahead, dragging your attention away from the delusion, “Shelter!”

[2/3]

>>488174

“Shelter”, in this case, turns out to be the remains of an old village. Crumbling stone piles just barely resembles houses and cottages, arranged in patterns that suggest streets and squares. Waving for you to stick close, Alyssia leads you into the largest of these buildings, something that might once have been a hall or meeting place. It's intact enough to have four walls and a roof, so that's good enough for you.

“Bloody hell,” she murmurs, pulling down her hood and brushing loose snow from her clothes as you enter, “The gods must be angry today. I hope this is just a coincidence.”

Should it be anything else, you ask, have either of you done anything to offend them?

“Depending on who you ask, maybe,” Alyssia looks away from you, refusing to meet your eyes, “Some say that this rite offends the nameless gods, denying them the right to see whatever they wish. I didn't believe it before – I thought it was merely a way of denying protection to those who wanted it – but looking at this storm... I can well believe the old stories.”

Who said that, you ask, other witch cults?

“Yes, ones far more willing to wound and kill,” the witch – a white witch, by her own definition – nods, “There's no real one power or leader among the northern tribes, but there were always warlords and priestesses, those who sought to rule through strength or faith. Sometimes, there would be wars, conflicts between sects and tribes. My family was isolated from most of it, but... not all of it.”

The way she speaks, you get the impression that Alyssia has a lot of memories to unburden herself of. Bad memories, like she said. Still, what she said about warring tribes catches your attention. You've never seen anything like that, you mention, has it stopped in recent years?

“It has, as I understand it,” Alyssia nods, “The White Tyrant has united most of the tribes, or crushed the one who resisted him. Anyway, I... I don't know much about that, I made my way south before things got really bad.” Abruptly pulling up her hood, hiding her face from sight, she crosses the room to peer out the hollow doorway. “Looks like the weather is clearing already. I told you it would clear, didn't I?”

True enough, the weather does seem to be improving. Not a proper storm after all, just a little tantrum – or a warning.

Either way, time to move while you've got the chance. If the blizzard descends once more, you want to be safely inside when it happens.

[3/4]

>>488216

If you drew a few eyes when you were leaving the city on foot, you draw a whole lot more when you return with coils of thorny vine slung over your shoulders. The way it bristles and hides amidst the thick coat you wear, it almost looks like you've grown a thick armour of needles – one more gift to give the beasts pause. Then again, if the alternative choice was being eaten alive, you'd happily accept a mane of needles.

“Thanks for this,” Alyssia mentions as you walk, heedless of the people that pause to stare, “It would have been a lot harder to drag all this back home on my own.”

Not a problem, you reply, but isn't she worried about the people watching? If someone reported her – and, by extension, both of you – for suspicious activity...

“Huh, that would be... huh,” Alyssia's eyes widen, as if she'd never actually considered the possibility, “Why would anyone do that? There's nothing suspicious about carrying some cut vine, is there?”

Maybe not where she comes from, you reply quietly, but she might have noticed that this is a very different place indeed.

“Yeah, it... sure is,” glancing around in vague worry, Alyssia starts to walk a little bit faster. By the time you reach your tenement building, she's practically running.

-

With a cup of strong tea to settle her nerves, Alyssia sets to work painting eyes on the individual stones she recovered. “Each and every one of them has to be painted just right, perfect detail,” she explains quietly, “But they can't all be the same. They need to be slightly different.”

Is there a reason for that?

“Because the nameless gods have many eyes,” she replies, “And they must all be turned elsewhere. We can't blind them, but we can divert them. Anyway, this is going to take a while, and I need you ready in the evening. Maybe you should get some rest now, while you can. It's... going to be hard work, later.”

Wait, you ask, you've got to take part in this rite as well?

“Of course!” Alyssia looks confused, “You have the most important part to play. Is that... a problem?”

>No, not a problem. I was just surprised
>Damn right it's a problem – this is against League regulations!
>I'd rather not get any deeper involved with witchcraft
>Other

>>488254
>No, not a problem. I was just surprised
"What does it entail though?"

>>488254
>No, not a problem. I was just surprised

>>487979
Psst, Moloch: >>487231

>>488254
>No, not a problem. I was just surprised

I suppose somewhere in my mind this was always a possibility

>>488269

>Wow, I didn't check the old thread. That's quite the unexpected praise! If that was your comment, then I really must thank you for it!

>>488254
>No, not a problem. I was just surprised
I mean we are already killing great beasts for the Goddess in our head. What's a little 'white' witchcraft?

Not a problem, you reply smoothly, you were just a little surprised. It makes sense though, now you think about it – if the rite is going to divert attention away from you, it seems logical that you'd need to be a part of it. Anyway, you're already killing monsters of the bequest of a goddess – after that, a little white witchcraft seems harmless, little more than dabbling in the arts. You've got to ask, though – what exactly is this ritual going to involve?

“Well...” Alyssia looks up from her painted rocks and nods to the thorny vines, “You'll need to weave some of those into a kind of wreath. It's not complicated, if you were worried about that.”

Complicated, you repeat. Reaching out, you touch a finger to one of the thorns. With only a little pressure, it could easily break the skin and shed blood. You weren't worried about complications, you tell Alyssia, but these thorns get stripped off first – right?

“Not... exactly,” once more, Alyssia avoids meeting your eye, “And, uh, you can't use gloves either.”

Fantastic.

-

Taking Alyssia's advice, you head back to your own apartment to get some rest. Lize is sitting at the table when you arrive, carefully cleaning the disassembled parts of her handgun with a wire brush. When she sees you heading straight towards your bedroom, she gives you a brief wave before getting back to work. She still seems quiet, restless and ill at ease. Thinking, you don't doubt, about what might be waiting in the north.

Lying back in bed, you wonder again about Wehrlain's device. He claims that it would allow men to travel freely in the north, without fear of the nameless gods or their influence. The whole of the Northern Hunting Grounds would be opened up, ready for gutting like a caught fish. It should be a good thing – a victory for mankind over a hostile land – but you can't quite bring yourself to celebrate it. It's hard to put an exact name to your misgivings, to define where your own unease comes from.

Isn't this exactly what the northern barbarians are fighting against, you wonder, and won't this just make things worse? If the White Tyrant is still around to unite the tribes, and the Free States try to expand north, it'll be war – open conflict, bloody and savage.

And that, you suspect, would suit the northern warlord just fine.

[1/2]

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>>488349

Perhaps it's to be expected that you'd wake up in Nihilo upon falling asleep, waking with your back on black ice and your eyes facing a dark sky. There are worse places to wake up, and this abyss is starting to take on the familiarity of a second home. A second home, admittedly, that is rapidly filling up with monsters. As you lie there, one of the smaller snakes – split away from its abhorrent progenitor – worms its way up and over your torso. Even knowing how deadly its bite can be, you don't move to brush it off.

You're safe here, some instinct whispers to you, no harm can come to you in this place.

“It's going to get busy here soon,” Artemis remarks, her voice drifting to you from somewhere out of sight, “Strange, isn't it? Here I am, in an infinite wasteland, and I speak of it being busy – odd, how we come to think of things.”

Is it infinite here, you ask as you rise, or has she just never reached the end?

“That's a matter for the philosophers,” the goddess replies, “I don't care to wander too far. It all seems rather pointless, when all the action is here. Speaking of action, dear Henryk, are you looking forwards to your little holiday? Of course, that's hardly an accurate term to use – I think you're going to be very busy indeed.”

As you expected. One of her great beasts?

“Hmm, I wonder...” touching a finger to her chin, Artemis debates with herself for a moment, “You're not wrong, but maybe... maybe more than one?”

Shit, you mutter, it does sound like you're going to be busy.

“Oh, don't worry,” laughing lightly, Artemis pats you on the shoulder, “I have faith in you, dear Henryk. Ah, but I did have one thing to warn you about...”

You're listening.

“Even with all the protection in the world, you won't be able to waltz around untouched,” her voice turns grave, serious, “Unharmed, yes, but not unaffected. Things could get very strange indeed, and your senses might not always tell you the truth. Even I can't predict what will – what could – happen up there.”

>Don't worry, I'll make it back in one piece
>Do you think Wehrlain's device will work?
>Can you tell me a little about the next beast – the next Knight?
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>488403
>>Do you think Wehrlain's device will work?
>>Can you tell me a little about the next beast – the next Knight?

>>488403
>Can you tell me a little about the next beast – the next Knight?

>>488403
>>Do you think Wehrlain's device will work?
>>Can you tell me a little about the next beast – the next Knight?

>>488403
>Don't worry, I'll make it back in one piece
Though just in case
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
"Any advice for when I am up there? Did any of your other Hunters go that far North? Knowing about their experiences might help me."

>Do you think Wehrlain's device will work?
>Can you tell me a little about the next beast – the next Knight?

>>488417
This but skip the firsy line bravado

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

72 KB JPG

This device that Wehrlain has created, you ask, does she think it'll work? You ask this without wondering if Artemis can even comprehend science like Wehrlain's, without any expectation of much of an answer – a snap denial perhaps, or an indifferent shrug. When Artemis takes her time to consider the question, you're a little surprised.

“I think it might work,” she decides after a moment, “Consider... a still pool of water. The gods shine down like the moon, and their influence is the reflection. Do you see? Now, it may be possible for men to disturb this pool – to cast ripples across it so that the moonlight never forms a coherent image. That, to put it simply, is what this... Wehrlain creature is trying to do. I won't promise that it's perfect, though. Machines are just as prone to malfunction and failure as beasts are to disease and death.”

Sounds like it was a good idea working on a second line of defence, you muse, just in case the device does break down. You think for a moment before asking Artemis your next questions. Can she tell you anything about the next beast, you ask, or rather... the next Knight?

“The Furtive Knight...” Artemis' eyes glaze over a little, sliding away from you to gaze into the dark sky, “He always hid behind a larger friend. Even before he came face to face with me, he had others to do his dirty work. Oh, but he was never far away – he was always skulking there, with a crooked little dagger. So quick to run and hide when you looked him in the eye, but always ready to stab you in the back...”

Her voice starts faint, but grows increasingly venomous as she speaks, until her last words are spat out like curses. When she turns back to you, her eyes seem to snap from dead and glassy to blazing in an instant.

“But that doesn't matter now, does it?” she asks viciously, “Because soon he's going to be dead, dead, dead!”

Holding her gaze, not daring to blink or allowing yourself to look away, you nod slightly. That's right, you tell her evenly, it's going to die soon enough. That's another thing you'll promise her, here and now. Even before you've finished speaking, Artemis has wrapped her arms around you, embracing you with an almost girlish glee, her body shaking with what might be silent laughter. Accepting the unnerving embrace for a moment, you cautiously pry her body away. Stepping back, she looks you in the eye once more, and there is neither mania nor melancholy in her eyes.

Once again, she's all business.

[1/2]

>>488505

Since you're going to be heading north, you ask her now that her capricious mood has settled, you wondered if she had any advice for you. Have any of her other Hunters been that far north, and what happened to them? Knowing their experiences might make your time a little easier.

“Actually...” Artemis thinks to herself, “That's a little strange, now I think about it. It's not often that the path will take a man such as you that far north. Kolyat never had to venture this far north – not once. Of course, dear Kolyat didn't make it very far, so he would have had to go north eventually. Likewise, I've had northerns in my service before, but they were never sent south. I wonder why that is... Maybe you've got a northern heart, Henryk.”

Maybe so, you reply with a shrug, but you've got no way of knowing for sure. Your family tree is far from well charted. In either case, that doesn't answer your question – her northern Hunters, what were they like?

“Unwashed barbarians mostly,” the goddess rolls her eyes, reminding you – in some small, absurd way – of Lize, “All too eager to kill, all too quick to die. Still, they had no reluctance towards dabbling in witchcraft, using it as another weapon in their arsenal. Not that it often helped much. Tell me, Henryk, would you like to hear a story about the red moon?”

Certainly, you reply, so long as it's a useful one.

“A cautionary tale, perhaps,” Artemis purses her lips as she thinks, roaming slightly away from you as she paces a wide circle, “Once upon a time, there was a gang of barbarians who lived far, far to the north. Now, these were men who feared nothing – so, they ignored the warnings and trespassed on sacred ground. A priestess tried to stop them, or at east offer them protection, and they...” she pauses, “Well, perhaps we shouldn't dwell on her fate. It's not very interesting – no, it's their fate that you'll be interested in.”

“Lost in the far north, with no protection, these barbarians still feared nothing. Then, the red moon descended,” pausing for effect, Artemis looks back over her shoulder at you, her neck bending at an unnatural angle, “They became as beasts – some even say they DID turn into beasts – and they tore one another to shreds. When there was only one left, he tore himself to pieces, such was his fury. You understand the moral of the story, don't you?”

The red moon is bad news, you conclude, and you shouldn't go north without protection.

“Very good!” applauding, Artemis laughs softly to herself, “And speaking of protection, I think it's time for you to go – duty calls, dear Henryk. Have fun with the witchcraft!”

Don't worry, you call as your senses start to recede, you'll be fine.

[2/3]

>>488552

You don't wake up straight away. Instead, you shift into a more mundane dream – a dream where your mouth tastes of blood, and the world around you is nothing but an infinite plane of white. Racing on all fours, you charge blindly through this uncharted world. As you run, pieces tear free from your body, strips and scraps of flesh. The wind takes them eagerly, scattering your body far and wide. Even when everything else has been flayed away, the taste of blood lingers in your mouth for a long time.

Even after a knock on the door wakes you, that taste haunts you for a brief second. Shaking off the dream, you stumble through your apartment – waking Lize from her nap in the process – and answer the door. Alyssia looks tired, with great dark circles ringing her eyes.

“Ready?” she asks you, “Sorry if I woke you, I just...” trailing off, she just shrugs. Best not to speak too loudly of certain matters in a public corridor. When you tell her that you're ready, she leads you to her apartment and sits you down at a table. It's actually cleaner in here, with a wide space cleared for you to work.

Not too far away, a roll of bandages and a flask of disinfectant waits, a looming reminder of what you're about to do – a reminder that you really didn't need or want.

“Ugh, my shoulders are stiff. I spent far too long paint those stupid...” grumbling, Alyssia shows you a few of the painted eyes. Only a few of them are human – most are the eyes of cats, serpents, and stranger things aside. For all her complaints, they are incredibly detailed – some almost look as though they could have been plucked from a living being. “A shame,” she mutters as she puts them back, “That they won't be visible.”

Why not, you ask, what's going to happen to them?

“They'll be hidden away,” the white witch shrugs a little, “The eyes go on the inside. Anyway, before we start... do have any questions?”

>Let's just get this over with
>I spoke with Artemis – she told me a story about the red moon destroying a group of men. Heard of it?
>While I'm gone, can you keep an eye on Eliza?
>I did have a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>488600
>I spoke with Artemis – she told me a story about the red moon destroying a group of men. Heard of it?
>While I'm gone, can you keep an eye on Eliza?
Between Hemwick and Iosefka she should be fine.

Then
>Let's get this over with

>>488600
>>I spoke with Artemis – she told me a story about the red moon destroying a group of men. Heard of it?
>>While I'm gone, can you keep an eye on Eliza?
I have a weird feeling that Lize is gonna be up to something when we're gone. Maybe she'll try to sneak on board or just do something crazy, but it feels like she's in danger.

>>488611
I strongly doubt she'll want to go north with us if anything.

>>488600
>>I spoke with Artemis – she told me a story about the red moon destroying a group of men. Heard of it?
>While I'm gone, can you keep an eye on Eliza?

This Furtive Knight tho...

>>488600
>>I spoke with Artemis – she told me a story about the red moon destroying a group of men. Heard of it?
>>While I'm gone, can you keep an eye on Eliza?

>The eyes go on the inside
[Bloodborne intensifies]

>>488417

Seconding this

You spoke with Artemis, you say – strange, how casual that kind of declaration has become. She told you a story about about the red moon descending to destroy a group of them, you pause for a moment as Alyssia dumps a bundle of vine in front of you, has she heard of that one?

“The fearless men who violated sacred ground... among other things,” Alyssia nods, “I've heard a version of it. These tales, you know, there are as many variations as there are tribes – everyone has their own version, with the moral changing to fit the situation. The story I was told was meant to teach us to respect those who commune with the gods – respect them, for one day they might withdraw their protection. Of course, when I got older, I learned a different version.”

And what version was that, you ask as you start to unravel the vines, the adult version of it?

“Something like that,” the witch lights a few candles, setting them up in a rough circle around you, “First of all, I learned that it was my duty to protect my people, even if they didn't understand the need for it. That was a pretty fringe belief though – most of the witch cults were only too happy for unbelievers to march to their deaths. Here, start with some long strips...” Pausing in her story, Alyssia draws out some of the vines – wincing slightly as they bite at her fingers – and clips them off. “No, the second lesson was that the northern reaches can reveal a man's true nature. The barbarians that violated the priestess were beasts, and so they were turned into monsters... or perhaps they only saw each other as monsters. Either way, they didn't live to tell the tale.”

Which raises the question – who told the story in the first place?

“That...” Alyssia pauses, “You know, I never thought to ask that when I was younger.”

Maybe Artemis herself witnesses it, you suggest, passing it on to those whose dreams she touched up against. Anyway, that doesn't matter much – it was just a passing curiosity. This ritual, you press, what first?

“Uh, right, let me see...” taking a few of the eye stones, Alyssia sets them in front of you, “Wind these with the vines. Cover them up completely – they need to be blind. It's going to hurt, I know that, but...”

It's fine, you reply boldly, you can handle it.

-

It's hard to wind vines into tight loops when your hands are slick with blood. You've learned something new today. Grimacing with every movement, and every new thorn that bites into your hands, you set aside the last of the stones. Finished, you grunt, what's next?

“Making the wreath itself,” Alyssia hesitates, “Uh, are you... okay? We can stop for a break if you want.”

Shaking your head, you reach for the next cord. You'd rather get it done, you tell her, no matter how long it takes.

[1/2]

>>488685

The wreath turns out to be the easy part, without the delicate work that wrapping the eye stones required. Even so, it leaves you with several more stinging wounds. On their own, the thorns don't leave bad wounds – not particularly deep or ragged – but the cumulative effect soon leaves you light headed. Combined with the smoke from the candles, curiously scented smoke that suggests some herbal infusion, your mind is soon swimming. Strangely, it's easier to work like this, with your hands moving on their own.

“Finished?” Alyssia asks, her voice seeming to come from the end of a very long, very echoey corridor, “Good. Just wait there a moment. Just... wait.” Bringing over a dish – absurdly, you're certain that it's a stew pot – Alyssia uncovers it and releases a great cloud of smoke.

Burned the dinner again, you murmur aloud, she's a worse cook than Lize.

“Shhh,” she hushes you, “Don't talk. Don't even think.”

What a strange request – as soon as she says that, you start to think about not thinking. As the smoke boils up to fill the cramped apartment, your mind seems to come further apart from your body. Within that black smog, you see shapes forming and unforming – a whale burst from the tide, slowly turning over in the air. Crashing back into the water, it dissolves into a rush of insects – parasites of a kind you're all too familiar with. Scattering for the furthest corners of the room, the parasites fade away to nothing. Trying to follow at least one of them, your eyes fix upon a pair of flickering candles. As you stare into the winking flames, they become a pair of gold eyes, reptilian in form but bearing a very human amusement.

Then, with a clash of metal, Alyssia claps the lid back down on the pan, and the smoke begins to clear. As it fades, your mind settles back into the damaged cage of flesh that is your body. Your legs are numb, but your hands are alive with a thousand prickling pains.

“It's over now,” the white witch assures you, “Let me just clean up those wounds for you – they should close by tomorrow, they're not deep.” Nodding slowly, you let her swab the wounds with stinging disinfectant before binding them in clean linen. After binding your first hand, Alyssia pauses. “Did you see anything?” she asks, in a very conversational tone.

Maybe, you murmur, you saw a whale and some bugs. You saw a pair of golden eyes. It's... hard to be certain.

“I see. Nothing too remarkable. All things you've seen before, right?” nodding to herself, Alyssia continues working on your hands.

Right. You've seen plenty of whales before, and far too many of those loathsome parasites to count. Only... you've never seen someone with golden eyes before. You'd remember something like that – you're sure of it.

[2/3]

>>488760

“Hmm,” hesitating, thinking to herself, Alyssia takes a long time to say anything other than vague humming noises, “Something still to come, maybe?”

A premonition, you ask, is that even possible?

“Perhaps. If it's something you'll later see in the northernmost territories, it could – theoretically – surface now. Things get... strange when those lands are involved. Remember, time becomes mutable in such places,” offering you a sheepish, uncertain smile, Alyssia shrugs, “Or it could have been a hallucination. You can't place too much significance on every single dream or instinct – you'd go mad if you tried to view them all as genuine prophecies.”

Sometimes, you mutter, you feel like you went mad a long time ago.

“Oh yes, you said something when you were, ah...” Alyssia fumbles for a suitable word, “Anyway, you said the name “Lize”. Someone you know?”

Just something you call Eliza sometimes, you reply with a shrug, a friendly nickname. Speaking of Eliza, actually, you did have something to ask of Alyssia. Could she keep an eye on Eliza while you're away? Just to make sure she doesn't get in any trouble or in case she starts feeling lonely. It shouldn't be too much hard work, and the two of them seem to get along, so...

“I don't mind popping in now and again,” Alyssia seems only too happy to accept your request, “I think we'll have fun together.”

-

With the bandages tight around your hands, and the last of the smoke bleeding away, you take the time to examine the idol you've created. Just as Alyssia complained, the magnificently painted eyes are hidden, buried beneath several layers of thorn and vine. The wreath is quite wide – about ten inches at its widest point – and the inside contains a straw doll, exactly like the ones you've seen so many times already.

Not exactly something you can hide in your back pocket, unfortunately.

“As far as I'm aware, everything went off without a hitch,” Alyssia sounds both proud of herself and vaguely anxious, as if she can't quite silence the voice of doubt in the back of her mind, “As I said, it won't protect a whole ship, but it should keep you safe. You especially – its your blood soaked into it, after all.”

Yeah, you grunt as you look at your bandaged hands, and plenty of it.

“Eat plenty of red meat,” Alyssia orders, in the tone of a nagging doctor, “And give yourself a while to recover. You've got time for that, right?”

Right, you nod, you'll be on a ship for close to a week – plenty of time to recover. For now, though... you need a drink or a nap – maybe both.

>Invite Alyssia for a drink
>Head out for a drink
>Return home and rest
>Other

>>488935
>>Invite Alyssia for a drink

>>488935
>>Invite Alyssia for a drink

>>488935
>Head out for a drink

>>488935
>Invite Alyssia for a drink
Iosefka is going to give us a hard time cause our hands are all bandaged.

Lize can come too if she wants, but she isn't getting any alcohol.

>>488935
>Invite Alyssia for a drink

Where are we going to hide this?

>>488974
It seems damn near impossible to hide, maybe if we had a backpack we could shove it into the bottom of it.

>>488935
>>Head out for a drink

>>488974
In our luggage or gun bag maybe?

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

25 KB JPG

This, you consider, might be a good opportunity to get Alyssia out of her apartment for a while. Judging by her eager response to the idea of visiting Lize, she doesn't really have much of a social circle. With that thought in mind, you shrug and extend the invitation. You're going out for a drink, you tell her, and she's welcome to come with you if she feels like it.

Your offer seems to take Alyssia by surprise, and her lips flap for a while before she can answer you. “I'd... I'd like that, yes,” she decides, “I don't really know any bars though, so...”

That's fine, you assure her, you know a good one. In fact, you know it a little too well. You can't exactly bring the icon with you, though, so you'll need to leave it somewhere. Here, perhaps?

“Huh? Oh, sure, sure,” Alyssia nods, “Just dump it somewhere, you can pick it up on the way out.”

So you do just that, leaving it on her table as you both head out.

-

Lize, grumpy and half-asleep, waved away your offer of a trip out – no point, she insisted, if she couldn't drink like everyone else. Accepting her logic, you leave her behind to watch your apartment. Before you've even closed the door, you can hear her snoring. At least the door has a good lock on it.

The city streets are damp with melted snow, a relic from the earlier weather, but nothing that indicates there was any trouble. Just some muddy puddles here and there on the way to the Medicine Melancholy that you have to step around. After all the time you spent running about the woods today – or perhaps yesterday – dodging a few piles of melting snow is a trivial matter. Alyssia doesn't talk much as you walk, but she doesn't seem upset of afraid – rather, she's enjoying the cold night air, and the unusual stillness that has descended over the streets. The rest of the world feels like it's sleeping, giving the pair of you free reign over the city.

The illusion is broken when you approach the Medicine, and the first drunkard lurches past you. It was nice while it lasted.

-

“Broken glass, was it?” Iosefka asks wryly, looking at your bandaged hands, “Shoddy, inferior glasses are so common these days – that's why you should do all your drinking in here, much safer that way.” Chuckling at her own “subtle” suggestion, Iosefka looks to Alyssia. “And who's this, another sister you found somewhere?”

Hardly, you remark, she's your neighbour – and a friend.

“Oh, I see,” smiling, folding her arms, Iosefka sizes Alyssia up like a predator sighting prey, “So what can I get you?”

Two beers, you order before glancing across at Alyssia, and something to eat – red meat would be good.

[1/2]

>>489093

The beer – very dark and rich – arrives in two tall glasses, and the plate that comes with them carries a number of fat sausages, still sizzling from the kitchen. Pork sausages, you notice.

“Beef prices are up lately,” Iosefka informs you with a shrug, “Something to do with supply problems, the Ministry has been strangely quiet about it. Officially, I mean. I've heard all kinds of rumours in here – contamination, disputes with the workers, that sort of thing. Anything you can tell me, Henryk?”

You couldn't possibly comment, you reply, that's Ministry business – you're just in the Hunter trade.

“Hmm,” unconvinced, Iosefka leans back and starts to polish a glass – out of boredom, more than anything, “Say, you've not seen Vas around lately, have you?”

Vas, you look up suddenly, something wrong with him? He hasn't gone missing, has he?

“I wouldn't say “missing” so much,” shrugging, the former doctor sets her glass aside, “But he sent me a letter – kind of a rambling one, talking about how he wasn't going to be around much. He was going up to Port Steyr for a while, he said, and then he was going somewhere far worse. Maybe he was just drunk when he wrote it – it won't be the first time Vas has written me a drunken letter – but it all seemed rather final. I thought maybe you might have known something.”

You've not heard from him, you reply, not for a while anyway. Still, you've got to wonder. Port Steyr would be a good starting point for an expedition, and Vas DID say he was going somewhere worse. Maybe he's found himself roped into this fool's errand as well.

“Just keep me informed, if he gets in contact,” Iosefka orders, “I miss having the old sea dog stinking up the place.”

“Sounds like you like him a lot,” Alyssia offers, her voice earnest and honest. Compared with Iosefka's more... worldly tone, she sounds very young and innocent. Iosefka just laughs, moving away to call some muffled words into the back room.

“Show's starting soon, if you want to stick around,” she offers. Banging open, the door behind her reveals a large suitcase – and then, a few moments later, her dark assistant pushing it along. That case draws your eye, capturing your attention for a long moment. It's not a curiosity based on what it might contain – no doubt, it's some archaic musical instrument – but what you could use it for. A case like that could hold a lot of luggage – including a particularly unwieldy icon.

That case, you nod to Iosefka, how much would she want for it?

>I think I'm going to pause things here for tonight, and pick them up tomorrow. I'll stick around for a while in case anyone has comments or questions
>Thanks for posting today, and I apologise for some slow posts!

>>488277
You're welcome. Just keep writing mate, you're really good at it.

>>489172
Thanks for running Moloch.

Random question, but can Artemis conjure up material objects in Nihilo? Knife, glass of water, etc?

>>489172
No prob, had fun! Thanks.

>>489189

She can't. Nihilo is pretty much entirely empty - it's just Artemis, her "pets" and any Hunter she brings in. The only object we've been able to bring in ourselves are clothes and the birthing blade

>>489172
Thanks for running Moloch.

>>489215
Fugg. I wanted a dreamscape beer sometime. That would've been nice to have if we got pulled into Nihilo right after the reality warping red moon. Keeps us grounded you know?

>>489228

>Arriving at Nihilo to find a full candlelit dinner set up
I won't lie, I kinda want this now. Though, that might do the opposite of keeping us grounded in sane reality...

>>489249
Honestly we are so used to Nihilo that it would probably be more grounded then whatever the red moon throws at us.

I wonder if getting drunk in your dreams gets you drunk in real life...

>>489172
I swear to god Vas, you better not bring a girl with you when you stow away on the ship headed for the Old University. Not even a northern prisoner.

The negotiations are furious, but eventually you emerge victorious. For the low price of what it would cost a similar case new, and a sworn assurance – just short of a blood oath – that you'd never visit another bar in the capital. Not the best deal in the world, but definitely an improvement on her earlier offer. Before, Iosefka would have barred you from every other pub, tavern and watering hole in the Free States, but you managed to haggle her down.

Needless to say, Alyssia found the entire process bewildering.

“I don't understand you two,” she murmurs later, once you've retreated to a more private table, “I mean, I don't understand a lot here, in the capital. Where I was growing up, you knew everyone around you, even when you needed to walk for an hour to see them. Here, people live stacked up on each other, but they never talk – never even meet face to face.” Falling silent, Alyssia stares down into the remnants of her beer. “You know what I mean, don't you?” she asks, without looking up, “Do you feel the same way?”

That's hard to say, you reply after a moment of thought, you know what she means at least. You're just not sure if you share her sentiments. True enough, you don't speak much with the people of your tenement block – and they do their best to avoid you as well – but you've never really been bothered by that. You've got a few friends, a few people you can trust, and that's good enough for you.

“Perhaps that's just the way of things here,” Alyssia says morosely. Drink drives some men to rage and others to merriment – the witch, on the other hand, grows despondent with it. It is, after all, as she says – perhaps it's just the way of things.

-

The day of the expedition itself finds you in a mood of considerable unease, although – as is so often the way – you can't pin down what it is that lies restlessly within you. There are, of course, plenty of reasons to feel anxious or fearful, especially considering where you're bound for, but none of those are at the root of your discomfort. This feels like something altogether less logical.

Perhaps it's the ship itself which has set your stomach churning bitterly. No expert in naval construction, you'd find it difficult to pinpoint what it is, but something about the Fomalhaut seems vaguely obscene. It seems bloated in places, like a sack bulging from being overfilled, and the towers that rise up from it seem to be every so slightly crooked. You have no doubt that it's seaworthy – Wehrlain wouldn't dirty his feet with a substandard vessel – but you still don't savour the possibility of spending a few weeks on board.

The sacrifices you make for your work.

[1/2]

>>491282

Of course, perhaps the Fomalhaut isn't the source of your unease, but what lies in the bottom of your luggage, concealed beneath a layer of spare clothes. Carrying around a witch's totem like this could be trouble. You just hope that nobody decides to search the luggage for any contraband – that could definitely be bad, even with a hasty explanation or excuse. If word, true or otherwise, got around that you were associating with witches, it's not much of a leap to link you with the northern barbarians – and, by extension, the White Tyrant himself.

Once those kinds of rumours start to circulate, it's only a matter of time before mob justice prevails, and you find yourself thrown off the ship. If you're lucky, they'll wait until you're close to dry land before doing it.

“A fine ship, isn't it?” Wehrlain appears from somewhere, completely misreading your mood as he stares up at the Fomalhaut, “We had to make several modifications, of course, but they were carried out with both speed, precision and efficiency. The full might of the College has been devoted to this vessel, and it will surely serve our purposes!”

Is that so, you ask, there were no problems with this Wehrlain Engine?

“None at all,” the Scholar boasts, “We've even been running it in short bursts, just to ensure that nothing will go wrong when the time comes to use it properly. You see, Hunter, men of the College such as ourselves don't rely on ignorant faith – we have evidence!”

Looking away from the pompous Scholar, you turn your eyes back to the Fomalhaut and wait for him to leave you alone. When he doesn't – instead lingering like an uncertain child – you sigh and return your gaze to him. Was there something he wanted, you ask, something you could help him with?

“Actually, I wished to extend an invitation,” Wehrlain's voice rolls out like silk and oil, “Dinner with the captain, tonight – it will be a far finer meal than you'll get anywhere else in the ship, I promise you.”

An unusual offer – why exactly is he giving you this opportunity, and not sharing it with one of the other Scholars?

“Well, you see, Captain Bach is a rather rough type,” the Scholar hesitates for a fraction of a second, “I rather thought you could mediate any discussions we have. You're a rough type yourself, after all, but I sense a spark of wit and intellect within you. I feel we would all benefit from it. What do say, then?”

Insults aside, he's right about one thing – it's likely to be the best meal you can get for a long time. Ships like this one are hardly known for their cuisine.

>Alright, I won't turn down a good meal
>Sorry Wehrlain, you're on your own for this one
>Other

>>491285
>Alright, I won't turn down a good meal

Hey Moloch, how big is the AoE of the Icon's protection?

>>491285
>Alright, I won't turn down a good meal

>>491285
>>Alright, I won't turn down a good meal
Doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

>>491290
>Hey Moloch, how big is the AoE of the Icon's protection?

>About the size of a particularly large room - a meeting room or hall, that sort of size. Not large enough to take the entire ship into account

>>491293
Will we be taking our luggage off the boat when reach the Old University?

Cause if not we are going to have to get some kind of backpack to keep its protection with us while we explore.

>>491296

>I expect we'll be keeping our luggage with us. With all the scholars working there, one more case won't look out of place. So long as nothing goes horribly wrong, that should keep us protected.

>>491285
>>Alright, I won't turn down a good meal

Alright, you decide as gluttony wins over your innate desire for privacy, you won't turn down a good meal. It means having to deal with both Wehrlain and this Captain Bach – a man you've never met, or even heard much about – then you can accept that.

Unless the meal is a terrible one, of course, in which case you're going to be nursing a grudge for the rest of the journey.

“Excellent, I'll look forwards to dining with you, Hunter,” Wehrlain pauses, as if a bleak thought had just occurred to him, “Oh, you do have some neater clothes, don't you?”

You'll wear your finest rags and animal pelts, you assure him with a cold smile, you wouldn't dream of attending a dinner without them.

Wehrlain, bless him, can't seem to decide whether or not you're being serious.

-

For all its lumpen, crooked appearance, the Fomalhaut is a good ship – cutting through the water with speed and efficiency. It doesn't seem like long at all before the northern passage is approaching, that great skin of ice. With your case next to you, you stand at the prow of the ship and look out ahead, savouring the cold wind on your face. Before you can really, properly relax, an announcement comes blaring out from the ship's bridge.

“All crew, stand aware,” an indistinct voice blurts, “Activating the Wehrlain Engine in three... two... one... Activate!”

A shudder runs through you. Your thoughts scatter and dissolve like panicking rats. Every hair on your body lifts up as though the air around you has become suddenly charged. It's like standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, waiting for a crack of lightning to release some of the sudden tension – lightning that you know will never come. Standing here at the prow of the ship, it feels like your mind is about to boil away to nothing. Something's wrong, you mutter to yourself, that device – that damn device...

But slowly – excruciatingly slowly – the machine's influence fades. It fades... or you just adapt to it. It's hard to be sure, but you're not about to split hairs. You've been granted a reprieve, and you're not going to throw that aside for want of an explanation. Even so, your hands tremble a little as you rub your face, turning to look out at the few other crewmen that were on deck. Every single one of them seems to show some discomfort or unease, some more than others. At least you're not the only one suffering here.

Grumbling to yourself, you take your case and start off to find your quarters. Even later, when you're getting settled in, a faint buzz lingers in the back of your mind. Before you've quite realised the time, or even noticed it passing, dinner at the captain's table is upon you.

[1/2]

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>>491310

Within the first few moments of meeting Captain Bach, you start to like him. Even if “like” is too strong a term, you certainly respect him. Like most men who've made their living out of the sea, he is as tough as old leather. His face looks deceptively sleepy, but there's nothing dull or unaware about his eyes. They follow every movement that you and Wehrlain make, filing the details away for later. It's good to know that there's another man of competence aboard.

“So,” he rumbles, in a voice ruined by cigars and dubious liquor, “Would you be Master Wehrlain's right hand man, then?”

Hardly, you laugh as you look across the room at Wehrlain. Dinner is yet to be served, and so you're lingering in the captain's quarters – to break the ice, apparently. That seems to mean that you talk with the old sailor while Wehrlain skulks about examining the few artworks dotted about. No statues or busts, nothing that would be damaged by rough seas, but a good few paintings of the ocean. Seems a little pointless to you – couldn't he just look out the window if he wanted to see the ocean?

“I didn't think so,” Bach laughs along with you, lowering his voice to a murmur, “You look far too competent. You've got your own reasons for being here, I take it?”

That depends on what he means by “here”, you reply, does he mean dinner or the expedition as a whole?

“Both!” shifting from a murmur to a roar of laughter, the heavyset man claps you on the shoulder, “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the money, but you don't look like a man who goes grubbing for pennies like me. The thrill of it, then? Breaking new ground, exploring new horizons, that kind of thing?”

Something like that, you offer evasively, but it's also business. You're a Hunter, after all, and there's no way of knowing what might be stalking the halls of the Old University. Even the waters between here and there aren't safe. But then, you probably don't need to tell him that, do you?

“Oh, I've got my share of horror stories about the north,” Bach's expression darkens, “But I'll save those for dinner. A few gristly tales won't put you off your food, will they?”

Not at all, you assure him, but you can't promise the same for Wehrlain.

“Why do you think I'm saving them for the table?” Bach's eye droops in a wink, and you decide that you definitely like him.

-

Dinner is served, and after the mandatory small talk – complaining about the price of beef and drinking to a safe journey – you sit down to eat. Just as Wehrlain is cutting into his meat, Bach begins to tell his story.

You've been looking forwards to this.

[2/3]

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>>491329

>>491340
Meh you don't get to the head of The research facility if you're not ready to face down disgusting things.

>>491329

“I was Port Steyr at the time, waiting for my ship – this was before the Fomalhaut, I should say – to be readied,” flashing you an amused look, Bach fills your glass with pale wine. It's a good selection, perfect for the fish it has been paired with, and Wehrlain is clearly enjoying the refined food.

That, you suspect, won't last.

“It caused a fair commotion at the time, from the sound of it, I thought we were being attacked,” the captain continues, “The gate alarms started to ring out, dragging every soldier, guard and Ministry agent out of their beds to see what was going on. A fair few sailors as well – even after a night of drinking, we were keen to see what the fuss was all about. When the gates opened, and the guards dragged in the stray they'd found, we all took a step back – every man among us.”

What was it, you ask, some awful beast that had been slain in the forests?

“It was awful, but it was no beast... and it was alive,” savouring the moment, Bach takes a deep drink of wine, “It was a man, a Ministry agent, going by the tatters he wore. Most of a Ministry agent, I should say. His hands, you see, were neatly severed, like someone had taken a hot knife to him. Alive... but barely living, his eyes were like glass marbles. The worst of it came later, when I bought a few drinks and got the full story.”

“Is there a point to this story, captain?” Wehrlain, pale and uncomfortable looking, asks, “Some warning you want us to hear, perhaps?”

“Oh, it was a warning, no doubt about it,” chuckling to himself, Bach meets the Scholar's eyes, “When they found the poor bastard, he had a scrap of leather tied around his neck. That was the real warning - “The north is not yours to take”, it said. It was a message from the Tyrant himself!”

Silence for a long time, and then Wehrlain pushes back his chair. “Excuse me,” he announces with forced calm, “But I'm finished eating. It was a... a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Bach, a rare treat. Now, I have... I have duties to attend to.”

“Wait,” Bach orders, his voice hardening. Reluctantly, Wehrlain obeys. “That device of yours,” Bach continues, “It's bothering my men. They're getting restless because of it.”

“Captain,” the Scholar replies earnestly, “They would be far less comfortable without it, I assure you.” Then, bowing his head, he retreats and leave you alone with the captain.

“Prick,” Bach mutters once he's gone, without much malice.

>So what was a true story?
>I hate to say it, but he's right – your men need that device
>So, got any more stories to share?
>Other

>>491344
>>So, got any more stories to share?
>>I don't like the device either, buuuuuuut it's the lesser of two evils. You did hear what happened to the last expedition so long ago?

>>491344
>>So what was a true story?

>>491344
>>So, got any more stories to share?
This guy is cool.

>>491344
>So, got any more stories to share?

>>491344
>>So, got any more stories to share?
>>Share some of our hunts

>>491344
>>Other
"There isn't a Vasily on this ship is there?"

>>491344
>Well it's either the device or some witchery, so I'd give it a shot.
>Are we in for an encounter with the Tyrant, or do you think war will come while we're away?

>>491355
Silly Anon, you can't be a stowaway if the captain knows your on board! R-right?

>>491358
Shhh. Don't even bring up witchcraft like it was an option.

It totally is for us, but I don't think anyone else on board will see it that way.

So, you ask calmly, was that a true story or just something he made up to rattle Wehrlain's cage?

“Oh aye, it was true,” Bach nods sombrely, “Every word of it. Truth be told, it still rattles me a little to think back. I've seen beasts tear men apart often enough that I don't blink twice, but I've never seen a man who would do that to his fellow men. This Tyrant, he maimed a man just to send a message – that, the callousness behind it, stays with me more than anything.” His eyes grow vague as he speaks, and his hand sneaks out to find the wine glass. When he's drained that dry, he moves on to a decanter of stronger spirits, pouring out two careful measures and offering one across.

Speaking of the White Tyrant, you ask, does he think you'll run into him on this expedition? You're going to be heading pretty far north, and he might take that as a challenge.

“I couldn't say for sure,” Bach sips his liquor, “As I hear it, the Tyrant sticks mostly to the east... for now, at least. He has a ship, something he captured and turned into a floating blasphemy, but even that's a myth. Some folks, they won't accept the idea of barbarians with a ship at their command. There's going to be a clash sooner or later, though – mark my words.”

Taking the glass, you nod your agreement. Just a matter of when, you reply, and who makes the first move. Seeking to lighten the mood a little, you begin to recount one of your own hunts – the second great beast. Playing up the drama and tension, you describe creeping through the silent woods with nothing but a rifle and your wits. When your story reaches the climax, and you paint a vivid picture of the killing blow, Bach roars out laughter.

“That's what's good in life!” he bellows, swigging his drink without flinching, “Man against nature, steel against claw! I've always envied Hunters like you for their trade. I've taken whales before, but it's not the same. I've never had the chance to look one in the eye when I kill it.”

Most whales, you remark, don't even have eyes.

“Exactly!” Bach's voice is bitter, as if this blindness is a personal offence, “At least they make a good meal.”

Anyway, you tell him, it's his turn again – any other good stories to share?

“I've got a story, but I can't promise it's a good one,” refilling your glasses, Bach settles back into the role of storyteller, “This all happened when I was younger, not yet a captain of my own ship. I was working on a ship coming back from the southern colonies – a good trading voyage, and our holds were fat with tobacco and other luxuries. That wasn't the only thing we had on board, though...”

Some kind of beast, you ask, something unique to the south?

“Not quite, but it was bad enough,” laughing bitterly, Bach drinks, “A damn snake – that's all it was.”

[1/2]

>>491378

A snake, you ask, just a normal snake?

“Aye, but we didn't know that at the time. First thing we heard of it, one of the boys checking the cargo came running up, yelling about something stinging him. Then, not two seconds later, he dropped flat dead. The captain, well, he thought we'd brought back something awful, so he had the hold sealed. Let it starve to death, he said. Course, there was a problem...” pausing again, Bach shakes his head, “There were a few other boys – and I mean that, they were just kids – down there. Captain didn't care, he had them sealed in with it. No light, no idea of what else was down there...”

Shit, you mutter, tough deal. What happened to them?

“Most died,” Bach scowls, “All but one. End of the second day, he started pounding on the door, claiming that he'd killed it. Caught it and strangled it with his bare hands, he said. Brave kid, I think his name was... Vas, was it?”

No way, you laugh incredulously, it wasn't Vasily was it?

“Aye, Vasily. Pale one, with dark hair,” Bach's eyes widen a little, “This wouldn't happen to ring a bell with you, would it?”

You know a sailor – a captain now – who calls himself Vas, you explain, and he always had a deathly fear of snakes. Never liked to talk about it, no matter how drunk he got. You never thought you'd learn the truth. Say, you ask after a moment, he doesn't have anyone by the same name in his crew does he?

“Let me think...” Bach, still amused by the coincidence, ponders for a moment, “Only one, but he's a big lad with red hair. Doesn't sound like your man, does he? Could be that he's travelling under an assumed name, but its not often you'll have a captain serving on someone else's ship. He between ships, this friend of yours?”

He could say that, yes. Last you heard, he was moving north to Port Steyr, and you just wondered...

“Always work for an experienced captain up in Steyr,” the venerable captain nods, “Not always exciting work, mind, but it's good money. Anything that far north is – has to be, to get people interested.” Conversation dwindles here, as both you and Bach focus more on drinking. You're not sure why, but you get the feeling that you're going to be drinking a lot on this journey.

“That damn buzzing,” Bach mutters angrily, breaking the silence, “You hear it too, don't you?”

That's the Wehrlain Engine at work, you reply, at least... you think that's what it is.

[2/3]

>>491396

“It's a damn nuisance, is what it is,” Bach rubs his head, “You stories about men going mad from hearing noises all the time – whistling, or buzzing, or anything else. They try to pierce their ears for relief, or they get doctors to dig around in their skulls, anything to make it stop. I heard a tale about-”

Not all stories are true, you warn Bach. Even if they are, Wehrlain's right – the device is doing important work. Has he heard anything about the first expedition that tried to reach the Old University? Considering what happened to those poor bastards, a little buzzing is the lesser of two evils. Still, you admit, you don't much like the device either.

“A constant whining drone,” Bach laughs, “Takes after its inventor, wouldn't you say? You're right about one thing, though – I heard a little about the first expedition, and that was enough for me. Takes a lot to get an old dog like me to let folks change things on my ship, but those stories did the job good and proper. Still... it's hard to explain that to the men. Not so educated, most of them. They don't think about madness and deformity – they're just distracted and bothered by the noise. An uneasy crew, friend, is a danger all of its own.”

He's talking about what, you ask, mutiny?

“Let's just say, I've had guards posted around this bloody device,” Bach tells you, “Just to be on the safe side. Anyway, let's not dwell on such things.” Topping off your glass, he raises his in a toast, “To another week on this bloody ship!”

You'll drink to that.

>I'll take my leave now. Safe travels
>A question, before I leave... (Write in)
>Other

>>491416
>>A question, before I leave... (Write in)
What weapons are on board? I anticipate we'll be running into monsters, possibly several. given this is a place men have not tread in a long time...... They will probably be strong, mean and like nothing we've ever seen.

>>491416
>I'll take my leave now. Safe travels

>>491416
>I'll take my leave now. Safe travels

>>491420
This

>>491420
In retrospect we should have brought the Maus Four-Sixty with us just in case.

Oh well, we'll make do.

>>491420
>>491416
This. Fekkin white tyrant got us last time because of that

You've got a question, you ask Bach, about his ship – what kind of weapons does it have in storage? You're likely heading into somewhere that's left civilisation behind a long time ago, and there's no way of knowing what could have moved in since then. You've got your own weapons, but you're only one man – you can't be everywhere at once.

“The Fomalhaut itself is unarmed - “Master” Wehrlain's orders – but we've got a good arsenal on board for the crew. Shotguns mostly, with harpoons for anything that gets close. Most of the men have their own personal weapons – pistols, mostly, but a few rifles – and I presume the Scholars came armed as well,” Bach frowns at the thought, “I just hope they don't shoot themselves as soon as things get busy.”

Basic firearms training is supposed to be part of the College education, you point out, so they'll at least know how to handle a gun. Whether or not they can actually hit anything with them is another matter. He mentioned that Wehrlain ordered the ship to be disarmed, you add, was there a reason for that?

“He didn't want us getting distracted by a juicy whale,” Bach's expression darkens, “I warned him that we'd be unarmed, but the stupid bastard didn't care. He seems to think we're savages, with no self control at all.”

He might come to regret that, you point out, if the ship runs into trouble.

“I dare say it won't matter,” a note of disdain enters Bach's voice, “If there's trouble, we'll be the ones to get it. That's what we're here for, after all.”

And you thought your job was bad.

-

After that question, you say your goodbyes and wish Bach safe travels. He returns the courtesy, offering you a firm handshake on your way out. You've made a friend here, you think to yourself, a reliable ally. Making your way back to your quarters – luckily, you have a private room of your own – it occurs to you that Lize might like hearing about Captain Bach. You'll send her a letter once you reach Port Stery – assuming the ship actually stops off there long enough to arrange something.

Sitting down at your simple desk – all the furnishings are simple, tough and practical – you take out a notebook and pen to scrawl out a letter. Perhaps it's the liquor you drank, or the strangely hypnotic buzzing in the back of your mind, but you soon feel your eyes droop. Even getting up and collapsing into bed seems like too much effort. Yawning only once, you slump low in your chair and fall into a fitful sleep.

You don't dream – not at all. When you wake, though, your hands are dark with ink. The notebook page before you is covered in a scrawled script, the letters tangled and overlapping. Still, you can make out some of what you wrote.

turn it off turn it off turn it off turn it off turn it off

This is going to be a long week.

[1/?]

>>491448
>turn it off turn it off turn it off turn it off turn it off
This engine is going probably going be way more detrimental then beneficial huh?

>>491452
What are the odds that the engine can stop Artemis from calling us to Nihilo? That sudden sleepiness seems like the normal call but we didn't actually go there.

>>491456
Possibly. I don't doubt that the engine is causing some kind of interference.

I wonder if they even tested this thing for effects over a long period of time.

>>491448

Day two.

In another attempt to alienate the entire crew, Wehrlain issued an order to keep both halves – his party of Scholars and the unwashed, hard working sailors – from spending too much time together. The Scholars were given their own common room, to aid in their independent study or so Wehrlain claimed, while the sailors were confined to a lower deck, and the less luxurious chambers that are found there.

Needless to say, you prefer the company of the sailors, and spend much of your time in these lower quarters. The air is bad here, with cigarette smoke forming a cloud thick enough that you can't see the full length of the room, but you still prefer it to the stink of intellectual superiority. Every one of the Scholar's you've met so far seemed like they'd be perfectly happy to plunge a dagger into your back if it gave them an advantage over their “colleagues”.

Still no dreams, and sleep doesn't seem to refresh your mind. More than once, you've heard a sleepwalker shambling down the corridors at night, wailing despondently.

Day three.

A storm blew in early on the third day of your journey, one of the harshest storms you've seen in a long time. If you're any judge, it'll roll all the way back to Thar Dreyse and cause some fair trouble there. Hopefully, Lize is smart enough to stay inside and wait for it to tire itself out. At the very least, she'll need to take shelter during a storm like this one. Alyssia is there to keep an eye on her – and Lize is there to keep an eye on the witch – so you don't need to worry.

Anyway, you've got your own troubles to worry about. Once again, your sleep is deep and dreamless, somehow leaving you more tired than when you laid down to rest. The mood among the crew is very rapidly deteriorating.

Day four.

Desperate from a break – although you couldn't exactly say what you were wanting a break from – you spent the evening with Captain Bach and some of his crew. Among them, you didn't see a single fresh face. Every eye was ringed with dark shadows, and feverish with growing paranoia or resentment. The wine and ale flow freely in an attempt to lift the mood, but drunkenness just encourages the pained mood.

“This is all one of them experiment things,” a sly looking crewman tells you, in the tone of a man revealing a great and terrible secret, “We're just pawns in a greater game. They said they tested this device? Bullshit – this is the test, and we're the subjects. Out at sea like this, we've got no choice but to let them do what they want. Well, I'll tell you this – I've got a choice! If one of those doctors comes near me...” His words trail off, but the way his hand drops to the pistol in his belt says more than words could ever tell you.

No dreams tonight either.

[2/3]

>>491477

Day five.

“You know, Hunter, I think people resent me,” Wehrlain says slowly, his voice seeming to fade in and out as he speaks. He asked to see you in his private quarters, and you'd accepted – hoping, perhaps, that he was prepared to listen to your advice.

Your advice would be simple. Turn the damn thing off, for a day at least. For a few hours even. Just turn it off for a little bit. When you realised what you were about to say to him – those words, repeated over and over again, you were very careful to keep your mouth shut. Simply waiting for Wehrlain to get to the point, you just nod faintly.

“Really, it's very short sighted,” the Scholar continues, “The College has produced so many miracles in its short lifetime – cures to diseases that once meant certain death, to name one single example. Yes, we're suffering some side-effects of the Wehrlain Engine, we're all suffering, but this is just a passing hardship. Some sacrifices must be made, if we hope to achieve progress.”

You can't help but notice that Wehrlain himself doesn't seem to be suffering much. Maybe he just hides it well, smothering his discomfort beneath a smug mask.

“Your kind is no different,” he adds, “All your practices, your training, your fighting techniques... how many men died in the process of refining them? Nothing can be achieved in this land without sacrifice.”

His point, you rasp, what's his damn point?

“I need to know that you understand the situation,” Wehrlain explains slowly, “The realities that we're facing. If you understand, you can keep Captain Bach happy. If Captain Bach is happy, his crew will remain peaceful. Without his crew, there can be no expedition... do you understand?”

>Turn it off, Wehrlain – before someone dies
>You're right, progress can't come without a price
>You're toying with us, you bastard. This whole expedition is a sham, isn't it?
>Tell me something... (Write in)
>Other

>>491491
>You seem to be suffering far, far ,far less than the rest of us. Combined with the segregation you're the one fermenting unrest. It's suspicious as hell to me, much less the men. That combined with you de-arming the ship makes it look more like you're doing this as one big test, rather than an actual expedition. Regardless your engine is disrupting their sleep, and men without sleep will break. Even I, although everyone on this ship would be dead well before that point.

>>491491
What shields you from its effects?

>>491491
Ask him if the side effects are expected and if not is he even confident the thing is working. Also if he wants to keep the crew happy he should stop antagonizing them

>>491491
>>Tell me something... (Write in)
"Why have we had this thing on since we left? There is plenty of travel time before we start reach 'reality warping territory'. Why not keep it off until we start getting close?"

>>491491
"That 'big picture only' mentality is going to get yourself or possibly everyone on this ship killed Wehrlain"

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, you look Wehrlain in the eye. You understand one thing, you tell him, and that's that he seems to be suffering these side-effects far less than everyone else. What's his secret, you press, how does he shield himself from its effects?

“You don't understand at all!” Wehrlain laughs bitterly, “You think I have secret that protects me from my device? Let me guess – you think that I wrap my head in metal foil when no-one else is looking, to ward off the effects? No, nothing so simple. If I appear unhindered, it's because of the long, long hours I've spent working on my device. I've long since grown accustomed to its song.”

He's adapted to it, you ask in disbelief, does he dream?

“It's been a very long time since I dreamed,” the Scholar's voice quietens down as he says this, a trace of sadness creeping past his contempt, “No great loss. Wasting time on empty fantasies... no, that's just one more sacrifice I was prepared to make.”

Fine, you snap, he's burned out his mind with this damn device of his – but why inflict that on everyone else? Why has he been running the Engine ever since leaving Port Daud, why not wait until reaching the north when it's really needed?

“I thought to give the men time to adjust. Not long enough for the effects to be permanent, of course, but enough for it to become an accepted part of daily life. I will admit that perhaps I miscalculated,” spreading his hands wide, Wehrlain almost seems to brush away the responsibility, “There were unforeseen complication.”

Of course there were, you groan, what didn't he predict?

“It never occurred to me that normal men would be more... susceptible than Scholars such as I. I'm already gathering data about this, it'll make a fine research paper. The Weissman Procedure has further reaching influences than thought,” he looks pleased by this, as if all this misery has just paid off, “Of course, those who don't have the Procedure...”

Wait, you realise suddenly, he separated out his Scholars from the rest of the crew because...

“Because I could no longer be certain how the normal crew would react,” he nods, “I couldn't guarantee the safety of my fellow Scholars. I understand that the separation is causing friction between the two groups, but I simply could not risk violent outbursts.”

Which is to say, he couldn't risk HIS men getting hurt. The rest of the crew can go to hell, as far as he's concerned.

[1/2]

>>491555
Maybe Snake blood has a better resistance to this?

>>491555

You're going to lay this out for him, you begin slowly, this “big picture first” mentality of his is going to get someone killed. Maybe a lot of people, maybe everyone on this damn ship. He's looking at this like it's a test, something he can study from behind a microscope, but he's right here in the middle of it with everyone else. Without real sleep, the crewmen are going to break – it's just a matter of time. They'll break, and eventually you might well break as well. By the time that happens, though, it won't matter – everyone else will be dead, or as good as.

“You make a convincing case,” Wehrlain admits, “Although you seem to favour threats over direct evidence. I can't deny, though, that the threats are somewhat persuasive. I asked to speak with you to ensure that you were on my side, but this... this raises numerous issues.”

The possibility of madness and death, you say with as much patience as you can manage, those are certainly issues. You've got a question for him, though – does he even know if this is working, if it's causing as many problems as its supposed to solve?

“Oh Hunter,” he laughs darkly, “These trifling issues are nothing compared with what the north has in store for us. A few headaches and sleepless nights are nothing compared with what awaits us. Still, you may have a point – hoping for attunement appears to be fruitless, so perhaps it could be deactivated... for a time. However, I'm really very busy – too busy to waste time on this myself. Could you, perhaps, bring the message down to the lower decks? I'll give you my seal, so the guards will know your words have authority.”

If it means turning it off, you tell him, you'll gladly do a little legwork. Where is it hiding?

“In the guts of the ship. The engine room, I believe you'd call it. Needless to say, you'll know it when you see it,” Wehrlain takes out a leather wallet, one containing a carving of a silver snake, “Oh, and do be careful – it's rather fragile.”

-

He said that you'd know it when you saw it, and Wehrlain certainly wasn't lying. When you arrived at the engine room, the guards reluctantly stopped you – they hardly seem enthusiastic about their job of protecting the device – but one look at the silver snake turned them away. They didn't just let you past, they wandered off entirely. Perhaps being so close to the engine room made it worse, taking an already bad condition to unspeakable levels.

Alone in the engine room, you stare up at the majestic – and terrible – construction.

[2/3]

>>491604

To put it simply, the device looks like something plucked out of a nightmare. Ironic, you think to yourself, considering that Wehrlain no longer dreams.

With long metal spikes – copper, you guess – reaching up towards the roof of the engine room, the thing looks more like a torture device than anything else. Set in the body are thick glass tubes, alight with cracking arcs of power. The glass itself looks burned, blackened and scalded by a heat greater than any you've ever seen. That's all you can recognise – spikes, reaching up to rape the air around it, and bottled lightning. Just being this close to it feels like poison, the charged air bitter to your nose and painful against your skin. In the back of your mind, all you can hear is the tortured screaming of metal grinding against metal.

Wehrlain is insane. It may be a quiet, polite kind of insanity, but it's still madness. If you ever doubted that before now, those doubts leave you at a single glance at the device that bears his name.

A level is set deep into it, pointed towards the ground. Just raising it skywards would be enough to grant a moment's peace. It seems like a binary choice – on or off, nothing else.

...Or you could destroy it, shattering the glass tubes and tearing down those copper spikes. A malfunction, that's all it is – a catastrophic failure when you tried to deactivate it.

>Turn it off
>Destroy the device
>Leave it alone
>Other

>>491636
>Turn it off
Tempted to destroy it but it may play a part in survival up north. Don't want to get rid of a potentially useful tool.

>>491636
>>Turn it off
>Examine it for witchy shit or beast taint.

>>491636
>Turn it off

>>491636
>>Turn it off
I'm sure nothing will go wrong the instant we turn it off.

File: Murmur.jpg (402 KB, 600x870)

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>The notebook page before you is covered in a scrawled script, the letters tangled and overlapping

Murmur's Boogaloo

How you dearly wish you could tear this abomination down and scatter the pieces! How you yearn to break it apart, ripping and rending and shattering and-

Stop. Be rational about this. Wehrlain might think of you as little more than an attack dog, but that's no reason to prove him right. As much as you loathe this edifice, and the diseased mind that brought it into existence, you know that it yet serves a purpose. Without it, your journey north will be that much harder and more dangerous. So, pushing all your rage and frustration down inside yourself and freezing your heart, you settle for the pragmatic option. You'll turn it off, and then you can enjoy some peace and quiet.

For some reason, you expect the level to be stiff and difficult to move. It feels like it should move with the squeal of rusting metal. Contrary to all your expectations, it moves with the smooth grace of a well oiled mechanism, and the results are... unimpressive. No crack of thunder, no explosions or discharging energy. Just a faint whine as the lights dancing within die away. The lights fade, and so too does the hellish noise within your head.

Then, with the weight of several sleepless days, fatigue crashes down on you like a lead curtain.

-

“Shut up, shut up, shut up...” the voice, murmuring softly, forms a refrain at the edge of your senses. It continues on like that for a while, repeating the words like a mantra, before finally stopping. “Wait,” the voice says, startled, “It stopped, it stopped!”

Then you open your eyes, at last, and stare at what isn't the roof of an engine room. Open sky, as black as the deepest hours of night. Nihilo's sky, and that means that the voice could only have been...

“Henryk, you're here!” Artemis rushes over. For a moment, you think she's about to pull you upright, but then she sinks down to her knees by your side. Reaching out with an unsteady hand, she touches your face. “Oh, I never thought that...” she murmurs, “That this would happen. I never thought that wretched device would keep us apart.”

It was affecting everyone, you explain slowly as your thoughts gradually clear, nobody could dream or sleep properly.

“I don't care about that!” Artemis protests, “I was worried about you, not THEM!”

She was worried about her investment, a cynical voice in the back of your mind whispers, she was worried about another Hunter failing to meet her standards.

Still, her concern – as shallow as it may or may not be – is enough to set a warmth glowing in your heart. Closing your eyes and smiling faintly to yourself, you allow yourself to relax. The goddess hums softly, and you start to drift into a deep sleep.

[1/2]

>>491780

Waking to the real world, disorientation immediately sweeps you up into its talons. You're not sure what you're staring up at, or even what you should be looking at. The engine room, the ceiling of your quarters, or Nihilo's black sky – which is the “right” place to have woken in?

Right or wrong, dream or reality, you slowly realise that it's the ceiling of your personal quarters that you're staring up at. More refreshed than you've felt in days, you sit up and stretch. The ship is still moving, but slower now – the careful speed of a ship guiding itself into port. Have you arrived at Port Steyr already?

Just how long were you sleeping?

Stretching stiffness out of your limbs with every step, you make your way from your quarters to the bridge. Captain Bach is there, as you expected him to be, watching carefully as one of his crewmen steers the Fomalhaut into port. Wehrlain is here as well, seemingly oblivious to the hateful looks that nearly everyone – Bach included – throw his way. Dark stares, ranging from accusations to unfounded contempt. Somehow, you suspect that he hasn't revealed the depths of his knowledge, or his involvement in running the device for so long. If he had, there's a good chance that he'd be hanging from a makeshift gallows by now.

“Found you passed out in the engine room,” Bach explains, without looking around, “Some of my men – the few who weren't passed out as well – brought you back. Been a lot of sleeping going on since that bastard thing was shut down. I've had to organise shifts, just so I can have some crew at their stations.”

Impressive, you reply, they let you sleep though.

“Figured you'd earned the rest,” the captain grunts, “And, with all due respect, you're no sailor. If we had something we needed dead, we would have woken you soon as.”

“I'm very optimistic about all this,” Wehrlain adds suddenly, “The Wehrlain Engine could prove very useful in sleep deprivation experiments. It would be very interesting to see just how long men can be exposed to-”

“Wehrlain,” Bach snaps, “Shut the hell up.”

-

“We're going to be docked here for a while,” Bach explains as you're leaving the ship, “The men deserve some rest, and we need to get some fresh supplies. Once that's done, and the crew have spent the last of their drinking money, we'll be leaving immediately.”

“No you won't,” a sharp voice cuts in, “This ship is going nowhere for the time being.”

[2/3]

>>491834
>Have you arrived at Port Steyr already?

Holy shit we weren't even at Steyr yet? And we had the fucking engine on? What the hell Wehrlain? Overkill much.

File: Camilla.jpg (133 KB, 692x900)

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>>491834

With an exasperated curse forming on your lips, you turn to the speaker, the curse dying when you see who it is. This was... not something you'd been expecting.

“Henryk,” Camilla Borghild doesn't quite know how to greet you – a sentiment that is mutual – but she soon settles for a firm nod, “I wasn't expecting you here. Then again, perhaps I should have – you're never far from trouble.”

You're not sure if you should be offended by that or not.

“Regardless, my orders are unchanged,” professionalism slams down like a visor, “The Ministry is not allowing any ships further north than the oil platforms. Not until the situation there is under control, at least. There have been several reports of a highly aggressive whale in the area, and it's trying to sink anything that gets too close. We're setting up a hunting party now though, so it shouldn't be more than a few days.” A cold smile touches her face. “I hope this doesn't inconvenience you too much.”

“Nothing to be done about it,” Bach doesn't seem at all upset about being grounded for a while longer, “Send word when we can leave, will you?”

Being addressed as a simple messenger causes a faint twitch of anger to show in Camilla's face, but she quickly covers it up. “Of course,” she assures him, “You'll be the first to know about it. Henryk, can I have a word in private?”

Sure, you tell her as she leads you away, looks like she's still got a job.

“Not much of a job, but they're letting me carry a sidearm again,” Camilla smiles faintly, “That's good enough for me, even if I do spend most of my time carrying messages for people who used to be my subordinates.”

Sounds rough, you offer.

“I get by,” the Ministry agent shrugs, her nonchalance forced, “Anyway, I mentioned a hunting party – are you interested? Your friend is going to be leading it, I can show you to where they're gathering if you want.”

>Sign me up
>Sorry, I'm already on a job
>Have you got time to catch up first?
>Other

>>491923
>>Sign me up
Our buddy Vas? Yeah lets go with him.

>>491923
>Sign me up
"I was wondering where Vas has got up to. Good to see he is okay even if he is going on a hunting party."

>Have you got time to catch up first?
"How's Steyr been? Witches been quiet since that last encounter?"

>>491923
>Sign me up
>Have you got time to catch up first?

>>491923
>>Sign me up
but
>Have you got time to catch up first?
And maybe some good sleep in a good bed

>>491923
>Sign me up

My job isn't happening unless this gets taken care of anyways.

>Have you got time to catch up first?

>>491923
>Sign me up
>Have you got time to catch up first?

She's talking about Vas, you confirm, right? You were wondering what he was doing, what kind of trouble he was getting in now. A hunting party is exactly his kind of thing – an excuse to get out on the open water and kill a whale.

“Sure, that's him. You two were out drinking the town dry when we first met, remember?” Camilla actually looks nostalgic for that innocent time.

You remember all too well, you agree with a faint smile of your own, you'll be happy to join in this hunting party then. She can count you in, though... has she got time to catch up first? It won't be leaving immediately, will it?

“No, it's... not due to leave for several hours, and that's IF everything is running to time – which it won't be,” Camilla looks, for a very brief moment, indecisive, “Sure, we've got time for a drink. I'm on duty, mind you, so it'll be terribly dull – tea only.”

Technically, you think aloud, you're on duty as well. Not that that's ever stopped you from drinking when the opportunity presents itself, but you'll just have whatever Camilla is having. It's only polite.

-

Leading you to a surprisingly light and airy bar – clearly a cut above the kind of miserable pits you usually drink in – Camilla orders something and sits opposite you. Then, letting her guard down for a moment, she sighs heavily.

How have things been in Steyr, you ask her, any more trouble with witch cults or barbarians?

“Nothing of that sort. Which, speaking honesty, worries me. There were a few arrests since you were last here, but nothing that led to any charges,” frowning, she fiddles with her holster – as if she'd grown unused to having the weight of a pistol on her hip. “They were political arrests, intended to send a message.”

A message to who, you ask, to the witch cults? You were under the impression that they didn't read much news.

“No, it was to reassure the people that we were doing something – anything – to keep them safe,” disgust, dark and poisonous, surfaces in Camilla's voice, “The arrests were big news, very high profile, but the releases were done very quietly. As I understand it, everyone involved was forced to flee – their names were dragged through the mud. Sloppy work, Henryk, I wouldn't have stood for it... but it's not up to me now, is it?”

No, you reply, and Port Steyr seems to be suffering for it. Who's calling the shots now?

“Someone they sent from the capital,” Camilla dismisses them with a sniff, “Caine, I think their name was. A bureaucrat, more concerned with making up the numbers. I'd rather not dwell on them – it might ruin my appetite.”

[1/2]

>>492096

When the tea arrives – a pitcher with two delicate glasses – the conversation has already moved on to safer ground. In terms that go beyond vague and border on meaningless, you tell Camilla about your neighbour, and the occasional meetings you've had with her. Stripping out everything that links her with witchcraft, Artemis, and everything else you're wrapped up in, you're left with not much else to say. She doesn't get out much, you offer, and she wasn't born in the capital.

“She sounds... like she needed a friend,” Camilla shrugs slightly, taking a drink of tea, “I just wish everyone here was so quiet. We'd have a whole lot less bother if there were more people like her about.”

Nearly choking on your tea, you have to stop yourself from laughing aloud at the irony of it – of wishing to have more witches in the community. It's fine, you tell Camilla when you can speak once more, the idea just amused you. Anyway, you move on swiftly, you met a Ministry agent not so long ago – Saburakh. Anyone she knows?

“By reputation only,” Camilla grimaces a little, “He's brutal. I'm prepared to execute a prisoner when I have to, but Saburakh openly enjoys it. He's a monster, if you ask me, but at least he's a monster on our side. As I understand it, he's fanatically loyal to the Ministry... luckily for us. Well, either way, you're still alive – he must have gone easy on you.”

He wasn't so bad, you shrug, a little brusque maybe.

“That's one way of putting it,” she mutters to herself.

-

When the pitcher stands empty, Camilla rises, smoothing down her uniform and returning to a cool, professional persona. Talking sparingly between you, she leads you down to a separate section of the docks. These ones are for smaller ships, faster and more manoeuvrable. The ships themselves look like harpoons, glistening and ready to kill. One in particular looks specifically lethal.

But that's just because of who stands at the prow, radiating a kind of offended anger. Angry at what – nature, the wider world, society in general? Maybe all of them, and more besides.

It's been too long since you went hunting with Vas. You're going to enjoy this.

>I'm going to pause things here, and pick up tomorrow. I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions or comments
>Thanks for sticking around today!

>>492238
Fun thread, and I feel obligated to tell you that your writing is damn good:easily the best I've had the pleasure of reading.

>>492238
Thanks for running man. Keep up the great writing :)

>>492238
Thanks for running Moloch.

>>492248
>>492252

Thank you for the kind words! I'm glad you're enjoying this - I'm not a great judge of my own writing, so it's good to hear that I'm doing something right

>>492238
thanks man

File: Captain Vasily.png (368 KB, 470x495)

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“This is the life,” Vasily shouts from ahead of you, “Wouldn't you say, Henryk?” He has to shout, raising his voice over the roar of the engine, the whistle of the frigid wind, and the sound of water crashing against the ship's hull.

You've got to admit that he has a point – compared with a week spent under the hellish influence of the Wehrlain Engine, crashing through the open waters like this is a beautiful dream, a luxury. Behind you, Port Steyr retreats into distant memory, with the looming monoliths of the oil platforms soon facing the same fate. Once those are behind you, you'll be entering the prohibited waters, the domain of your prey. An errant whale, attacking anything that has the misfortune to stray into what it has arrogantly claimed as its territory – territory that you need to pass through on your journey north.

And so you've come to run the beast down. It's just as Vas said – this is the life.

-

The engine cuts off quietly, one layer of noise falling away as the boat grows still. Frowning – thinking about the last time you were out on these waters, and your ship died – you make your way back to the bridge. Vas has returned to the wheel, staring out ahead with hard eyes. What's the situation, you ask him, is there some problem with the engine?

“No problem,” Vas assures you, “I just turned it off for a bit. I wanted some time to think, and that rumbling was giving me a hell of a headache.”

Sounds more like a hangover, you retort, he looks rough.

“You're one to talk,” turning to look you in the eye, Vas examines you carefully, “You look like you've aged a few years since I last saw you. It's a tough life, I know, but even so – you've been getting in trouble without me, haven't you?”

That's certainly one way of putting it. You've been busy, you tell Vas, that's about all you can say. After your week aboard the Fomalhaut, you're looking paler than normal, with dark stubble clinging to your hollow cheeks. Aside from that fine meal with Captain Bach, you barely ate over those few day. You never wanted to eat – you hadn't wanted anything except respite, and a chance to dream. You've got that chance now, but it won't be long before you're heading north once more, and Wehrlain flips the switch again. That thought alone is enough to make you shudder.

“You're ill,” Vas decides, “You need a good meal in you. This whale can wait an hour – you're no use to me like this, looking like you're about to pass out. Once you're fit for duty, we can get to work.”

[1/2]

>>494296

Down, deep down within the guts of the ship, you sit spooning thick stew into your mouth. Eating with haste, fast enough that you barely taste what you're shoving into your mouth, it doesn't take long before your spoon scrapes against the bottom of the metal tray. Finally sated, you push the tray aside and let out a heavy sigh.

“They weren't feeding you on that damn ship,” Vas mutters, lighting a cigarette and regarding you through the film of smoke that bleeds from it.

Doesn't matter about that, you say as you wave away the smoke, what's been going on with him? He gave Iosefka a hell of a fright with that letter, even if she'd never admit it directly. All that talk about heading north, and then somewhere worse, it got her thinking he was about to do something stupid.

“Well, she came close to being right,” drawing on his cigarette, Vas exhales a fresh plume to replace the smoke you waved away, “I told you about that work we might need doing, right? Well, I heard that it was being delayed indefinitely – something about the ships needing new engines fitted or... something like that. Whatever, the end result was, I was left high and dry without any work. Needless to say, I wasn't happy about it. Ended up coming here, looking for work. I almost signed on with this crazy expedition of yours, but then I heard a rumour about where you were headed. Couldn't back off fast enough.”

Honestly, you can't blame him for that. This job has a bad scent, and you've known that from the start. It's no wonder that word managed to get out about it – they don't seem to take the College's secrecy nearly so seriously here.

“I'm older than you, more experienced,” Vas says, after an uncommonly thoughtful pause, “You get a nose for these things, for trouble like this. Here's something else you get a nose for – men. A lot of men you meet out here on the water have the same look about them, like they're running from something – debts, bad luck, whatever. You've got that same look, Henryk.”

Is that right, you ask slowly, can he tell what you're supposed to be running from?

“I respect a man's privacy,” reaching across, Vas stubs out his cigarette in your empty tray, “Either you'll tell me, or you won't. It doesn't matter – feeling ready to hunt a whale?”

>Let's get to work
>Heard anything about our target?
>I've got to ask, have you sailed with a man named Bach before?
>I Think I'll sit this one out - I still need some time to recover
>Other

>>494297
>>Other

You may have a nose for men.

But I've got one for women.

You know that female ministry agent back in Port Steyr?

Totally banged her, bro.

>>494297
>Heard anything about our target?
>I've got to ask, have you sailed with a man named Bach before?
>Let's get to work

>>494301
Go to sleep.

>>494303
I REFUSE!

>>494297
>Let's get to work
>Heard anything about our target?

>>494301
Pretty sure Henryk didn't randomly turn into a dudebro. Also that line is terrible.

>>494313
>1 post by this ID

Yeah, nice try shitposter.

>>494314
What?

File: Bait.png (66 KB, 625x626)

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>>494316

>>494297
>>Heard anything about our target?
>I've got to ask, have you sailed with a man named Bach before?

This whale, you ask, has he heard anything about it? All you know is that it's been attacking ships that stray too far north.

“Aye, that's right,” Vas nods, “Not an uncommon way for the damn beasts to behave, but this is something else. Something's pissed it off good and proper, and it's looking to cause some trouble. Worse, I'm told that its territory is getting wider and wider with every passing day. Back in Port Steyr, they're worried that it'll start targeting their oil platforms. Still a ways before things get that bad, I reckon, but they're not taking any chances.”

No, you muse, you suppose they wouldn't.

“Anyway, I hear it's a ramhead, a bloody big one,” leading you through the ship's narrow corridors, Vas pauses as the electric lights above flicker and dim for a moment. “Hate this bloody ship,” he mutters, “Looks new and clean on the outside, but the wiring is shot to hell and back. Sea air, you know? Well... where was I?”

A ramhead, you remind him, a big one. As Vas gathers his thoughts, you consider the situation. With their vulnerable head hidden behind a thick cowl of bone – both shield and weapon – it's not always easy to bring down a ramhead whale. Is the ship armed properly, you ask the captain, grenade rounds and all?

“Aye, we've got a few explosives in storage. Enough to get the job done, I wager... unless there's more than one of the bastards out there,” cold wind slaps you in the face as Vas leads you up onto the deck. It's a good wind, chasing away the drowsiness brought on by a good meal and bringing you back to your senses. “We're bringing in good pay for this,” Vas shouts, raising his voice over the noise of the engine growling into life, “A flat fee for killing the bastard, plus whatever we can get for selling the pieces.”

You're getting a cut of that, you confirm, right?

“Step into my office,” the captain waves a hand towards the bridge of the ship, “We can talk the details over.”

-

With light rain lashing against the ship's windows, Vas spreads a map and looks down at it, stroking his beard as he thinks to himself. “We're close now,” he mutters, “If what I've been hearing is true, the fiend should come to find us. Get up on the gun and keep an eye out, okay?”

Sure, you tell him, but you've got to ask him something first – just to settle your curiosity. Has he ever sailed with a man named Bach, you ask, an older sailor?

“Son of a bitch,” Vas wonders aloud, without ever lifting his eyes from the map, “That old dog is still alive and kicking? I thought he would have retired long ago.”

Still alive, you confirm, and still sailing. In fact, he's the one who'll be taking you north soon. The money was too good to pass up, apparently.

“Figures,” the captain grunts.

[1/2]

>>494334

“You probably guessed by now, but you're right – I knew the guy,” Vas offers you a crooked smile, one that borders on bitterness, “Might be, you could say that he was my mentor. He took me under his wing for a while, vouched for me whenever I needed someone to speak up. Hell, if it wasn't for him, I might never have made it this far.” The bitterness fades, leaving only a genuine – if small – smile. “I suppose I must have impressed him.”

The snake thing, you guess, right?

“He told that story, did he?” snorting out a crude laugh, Vas puts away the map, “Figures – he never could keep his mouth shut. I'll strangle the bastard when we get back to port, you can bet on-”

“Captain!” a voice cuts in, “Got something moving out there!”

“Go on, Hunter,” Vas slaps you on the arm, “Get to work!”

-

Rain, heavier now and cold as the grave, slaps you in the face as you leave the warmth of the bridge behind. Wind plucks at your clothes, screaming in your ear as you push forwards to the prow of the ship – and the cannons mounted there. Out in the dark waters, something cuts through them to leave a trail of white froth. Every so often, a lumpen shape breaks the surface of the water for a few seconds – like a boulder somehow rising up from the depths of a lake. Hard to judge size from here, but it's certainly not a young beast.

“Grenade rounds loaded!” a crewman shouts as you reach the first cannon, “We've got harpoons ready for when you break it open!”

Lights, you shout, you need some light – get a searchlight on that thing! Your order passes along a chain of crewmen, and it isn't long before a torrent of sickly yellow light pierces through the darkness. Dragging across the turbulent oceans, it falls upon the circling whale to reveal every detail of its hideous form. Ragged and worn like the face of an ancient mountain, you even have time to spot a few ropes of seaweed clinging to the bony crest, moss and lichen blending in with the whale's armour.

As if that light had been the signal it had been waiting for, the whale bursts from the surface of the water, sluggishly rolling over in the air as it arcs. Fleshy tendrils, sprouting from the base of the armoured crest, steam out behind it like festival banners, while a low and rumbling roar escapes it.

You hate it when they roar, and the way it trembles through every bone in your body. No matter how much you prepare yourself, how steady your nerves were before it gave voice, those roars always send a thrill of powerlessness through you, and the urge to flee.

A fleeting urge. After all, out here on the open waters... where would you flee to?

[2/3]

>>494344

As the ramhead whale crashes back down into the water, it seems to change from circling your ship to openly challenging it. While you track it with harpoon cannon, trying to keep the wire sights centred on its rugged skull, the whale leads you in a merry dance – rearing out of the water as if to charge the ship, only to dive back down as your fingers curl around the trigger. Frustration starts to boil up within you, but you crush it back down.

Impatience is what kills. Rushing things, getting sloppy – that's when you make the fatal mistake. You'll wait as long as it takes, you'll be damned if some overgrown fish is going to outsmart you.

Just then, as you're trying to remember if whales are fish or mammals, your prey plunges into a new dive. This one is different, without a trace of hesitation or tentative care. It's holding nothing back, tearing straight through the water towards you.

Easy shot, you mutter as you centre the crosshairs over the approaching leviathan.

>Calling for a Firearms check, so that's 1D100+15, aiming to beat 80/100. I'll take the highest of the first three results!

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>494354

Rolled 15 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>494354

Rolled 9 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>494354
clutch?

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>494354
Whales are scary.

Focus point.

Rolled 54 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>494356
>>494357
>>494360
Fuuuuu-

>>494362
Right at the start of a session? We might get screwed over later Anon. Then again we might get royally screwed right now if we fail, so go for it.

>>494364
I feel like being on a ship with a whale about to ram us is the worst possible time to fail a roll

>>494366
Pretty much

Let's use a focus point and hope we roll better later.

I'm not sure if this is a good time. But how does someone with no special blood get a permit to work with it?

>>494356
>>494357
>>494360

Oh anons

>>494354
>easy shot
>80/100

>>494380
I think it has a really thick skull

>>494378

>It's essentially a training course, teaching about infectious diseases and similar contamination. Someone who wants to work with flesh or blood visits the Ministry, takes a few tests and gets their permit. Different jobs require more strict tests - a doctor is held to far higher standards than a butcher, for example. Kind of a quick explanation, but I hope that helps.
>Writing the next post now - using our Focus point, I believe

Easy shot, you repeat, just focus – the rest of the world can go to hell, it's just you and the target now – and the rest is easy. Even with the wind tugging at your aim, and the rain splattering against your face, this is a shot you can make.

No, it's a shot you MUST make.

>[Focus remaining: 0]

Rearing up and giving voice to one more of those deathly howls, the whale crashes through the water towards your ship. If it had eyes, you have little doubt that they would be maddened with rage by now. Let it drown in spite and bile and fury – your heart is cold, and your aim is true. Grimacing against one last pull of wind, you tighten your fingers around the cannon's stiff trigger. With a dull thump, the ungainly grenade flies forth and crashes into the beast's armoured skull. Lighting up the night, the explosion rattles your bones and causes the whale to buck away, twisting back from the blast. Through shattered bone and flowing blood, you see the raw flesh that hides beneath.

Red raw, and vulnerable.

Harpoons, you yell to the waiting crew, before it turns! Barely noticing the chorus of acknowledgements, you focus on slamming a glistening steel arrow into your cannon. As you're reloading, the other cannons send their shots forth. The harpoons fly straight and true, throwing off the winds to find their target. One – at least one – digs deep into the raw meat of the whale's head. By the time you've loaded a fresh shot into your cannon, the beast is tumbling down into the water, spewing dark and oily blood.

Not such an easy shot after all, you admit, but you made do.

-

“You're losing your touch,” Vas jokes, as the carcass is being lifted from the water, “You're getting old, like me. Sooner or later, you're going to have to think about retirement.”

No thanks, you reply darkly, you're never going to retire. It does bad things to people, settling down like that. Even if you have go Hunting in a wheelchair, you're not retiring.

“Hell, I don't even think you're joking,” laughing aloud, Vas claps you on the arm, “I can see it, too. Getting comfy, keeping a rifle close to hand...”

Before you can answer that, a creeping dread stills your tongue. Laid out on the deck of the ship, the whale's carcass seems... somehow wrong. Like it wasn't quite dead yet. Of course, that's not an inaccurate statement – inside, the beast is alive with parasites and their larvae, just waiting for the crewmen to split it open. A dangerous job, and not one you envy – a single bite can kill, spreading the Red Eye Sickness to the new and luckless host. Vas continues to talk in the background, but you don't hear what he says. Instead, your attention falls on the men scurrying around the carcass. Two approach it, one armed with a long knife, and the other burdened by a flamethrower.

[1/2]

>>494390
Shit wasn't Furtive Knight's carving a bug like thing INSIDE a bigger monster?

>>494393
uh-oh
>>494390
A-at least we still have the birthing blade focus point

File: Furtive Beast.jpg (301 KB, 646x813)

301 KB JPG

>>494390

Fighting back the urge to shout out a warning – although you don't exactly know what you'd be warning them about – you watch the crewmen prepare themselves. It's always a solemn duty, the dangers never far from the mind, but this time things seem to be moving forwards even slower than normal. Checking each other over, examining their thick layers of leather armour for any cracks or weaknesses, the pair gradually get into position.

“Hate this bit,” Vas mutters, saying what everyone else on the deck must be thinking. “Everything secure down there?” he yells to the scurrying crew, “I want everything sealed up tight, you dogs hear me?”

“AYE!” the ragged chorus of voices calls back, the crew delivering their assurances with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“Alright,” the captain waits a moment, before giving his next order, “Get it open!”

As the flamethrower's pilot light flickers into life, the knife-wielding crewman plunges his long blade into the whale's underbelly. Gripping it firmly in both hands, he tears it across the length of the carcass like a man slitting open a vast envelop – an envelop that is already starting to bulge with writhing foulness. As he ducks back, away from the carcass, the flamethrower opens up and washes a stream of liquid fire across the deck, incinerating the vile little insects that wriggle free. Just as you're allowing yourself to relax again, and the flamethrower cuts off, the situation all goes to hell.

-

As the flamethrower operator turns to give Vas a thumb's up, a new shape tears its way out of the whale's carcass. Larger than the other parasites – the largest you've ever seen, in fact – you have the dubious fortune to make out every detail of its spindly legs and blood-slick carapace. Not quite an insect or a lobster, but something with aspects of both, it scuttles free from its fleshy prison with revolting haste. Brushing past the flamethrower operator, it wastes no time attacking. No, it's target is something else – the metal mesh covering some ventilation duct. Tearing through the wire with ease, the parasite vanishes into the bowels of the ship.

“Bastard, what was that thing?” Vas roars, leaning over the balcony in vain hope of spotting it, “Someone tell me what the hell just happened!”

And as the birthing blade grows faintly warm, like something that had been held against a living body, you know exactly what it was – the Furtive Beast.

>Vas, get the men organised. We need to search this ship, top to bottom
>Get everyone up on deck, I'm going down there alone
>Vas, can we destroy this ship somehow? That thing needs to die, at all costs
>Other

>>494421
>Vas, get the men organised. We need to search this ship, top to bottom
We should give chase immediately while he does that though

>>494421
>>Vas, get the men organised. We need to search this ship, top to bottom
Kinda feel bad about they might die but this is their ship and if you weren't here they would be doing the same shit at best.

>>494421
>>Vas, get the men organised. We need to search this ship, top to bottom

>>494421
Moloch can this thing burrow inside people or are humans too small for it to be really incognito?

>>494430

>It's too big to hide inside a person. It would need something about the size of a cow or an ox to hide, and there's nothing like that aboard, fortunately.

>>494433
Alright good. I was afraid if we sent people down there with us it would just hide away in someone.

>>494421
>Vas, get the men organised. We need to search this ship, top to bottom

>>494421
>>Vas, get the men organised. We need to search this ship, top to bottom

>>494433
Can we use the Birthing blade Focus point on abilities?

>>494444

>Yes, we can! So we could use our tracking ability here, although that would leave us without a safety net in case of an emergency.

>>494447
Cool.

Then guys I strongly suggest using the Tracking Ability. Remember what Artemis said, this thing is weak but is really good at hiding and stabbing you in the back.

We can nullify it's one strength and go in for the kill.

>
“The Furtive Knight...” Artemis' eyes glaze over a little, sliding away from you to gaze into the dark sky, “He always hid behind a larger friend. Even before he came face to face with me, he had others to do his dirty work. Oh, but he was never far away – he was always skulking there, with a crooked little dagger. So quick to run and hide when you looked him in the eye, but always ready to stab you in the back...”

>>494421
>Use Wolf's Blood whilst searching.

>>494447
I'm just wondering, the whales in this quest are based off of the Dishonored idea of whales?

>>494455

>That was a large influence, yes. I always liked the idea of whales being very alien creatures, and Dishonored nailed that mood.

>>494451
How big is the fucking ship? Two decks? Three? They aren't complicated structures, where is it going to hide with most of the crew looking for it.

>>494459
Not taking chances with the 'I am the literal best a hiding and backstabbing' boss.

We strip away it's ability to hide we have a supreme advantage.

Mechanically speaking, if ruining it's surprise attacks lowers the DC by 20 or more we've already made more of bonus than a single +20 would.

>>494458
Feel the same honestly. The ocean's the last great frontier, and there's something haunting about whales and other animals in the deep.

Get the men organised, you tell Vas quickly, that thing needs to die. The ship needs to be searched, top to bottom, before that creature has a chance to find a hiding place. If it gets dug in, you might never find it – at least, not until it attacks someone.

“That thing carries the Sickness, doesn't it?” Vas asks quietly, covering his mouth so that anyone with keen enough eyes to read his lips would be left helpless. He wants to keep this between the two of you, and you really can't blame him. If the crew knew exactly what they were looking for, they wouldn't be nearly so keen to find it.

It probably does, you tell him, but you can't be certain. You'll be sending the men into a dangerous situation, no denying it, but this needs to be done now. You can't let a weed like this take root – you've got to rip it out as soon as possible.

Vas thinks for what seems like a long time, but can't be longer than a minute or two. Responsibility darkens his face, the knowledge that he might well be sending some of his men to their deaths. An unwelcome task ahead, but the necessity of it is clear. Turning to march into the bridge, he pushes past startled crewmen and snatches up the intercom. “All men, form up into parties. There's a bug on this ship, and I want it found!”

Good call, you tell him quietly, you'd better get down there and do your part. You're uniquely equipped to track this thing down, so your place is down there with the rest of the crew.

“Wait a minute,” Vas searches for a moment, before pulling out a crumpled map, “The ship has three main sections below deck – crew quarters, storage, and the engine room. There's a store room here – there should be some weapons left over, and maybe some extra leather coveralls. If this thing really does spread the Sickness, you don't want to take any chances.”

Right, you nod, you'll dig this thing out of hiding.

“Just be careful,” he warns you, “This old wreck is lousy with hiding places. Ducts, pipes, maintenance tunnels... plenty of dark corners for something to hide.”

Of course.

-

Crewmen, their eyes wide and frightened, pass around you like a shoal of fish as you descend into the guts of the ship. Even without the knowledge of what exactly they're hunting for, the men have guessed that it must be a serious matter. Cursing softly to yourself, you wonder how much use most of them will be – two steps away from panic as they are, they'll be lucky to find each other, let alone a skulking horror. Still, they might help to smoke it out.

At the armoury, you take the last shotgun left, and spend a few moments buckling up a pair of thick leather gaiters. With thick gloves and your heavy jacket, you'd call yourself reasonably well armoured.

As ready as you'll ever be.

[1/2]

>>494482
>Queue Men In Black quotes
We going bug hunting

>>494482

“They're saying the crew quarters are clear,” an older crewman – one of the few you've seen with clear, confident eyes – tells you as you're getting ready. What little hair he has is the colour of steel, lending him a stern air of authority. Perhaps its that air that fosters the faint trust in your heart, but you judge him as worth listening to – the vague “they” on the other hand...

So that's what they say, you reply as you load fat shells into your borrowed shotgun, what does he think?

“I'm no Hunter, son, but I know ships,” he puffs out his chest with vague pride, “This one in particular. Name's Collins – I'm an engineer, and I know this wreck like the back of my hand. I think searching up here is a waste of time, which is why the boys are so keen to do it. They're afraid of whatever we're looking for. No, it won't be up here, where everything is neat and clean. You want to find this thing, you'll need to look down low.”

The engine room, you deduce, right? It's the perfect place for it to retreat to – nothing but dark corners and tight spaces to hide in. Plenty of opportunities to leap out and attack people as well.

“Rightly so,” Collins nods, “Speaking respectfully, even a man like you could search the place for days without find it. I can show you the likely spots.”

Dangerous work, you remind him, he'll be putting himself in the line of fire. He might be right about the difficulties in searching the engine room, but he doesn't know what you're capable of doing. You could follow this thing's scent, right to whatever hole it's hidden itself in. You could do this alone, you add, he doesn't need to do this.

“That's my job,” he tells you with a shrug, accepting whatever risks might come with your decision.

>Alright, fine – let's go investigate
>I'll look down there on my own
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track the beast's scent
>Other

>Next post might be delayed slightly, need to run a small errand.

>>494496
>>Alright, fine – let's go investigate
You point me where to go, stay back and do what I say.

>>494496
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track the beast's scent

>>494496
>Alright, fine – let's go investigate
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track the beast's scent

Using the 'Finding' ability on the 'Hiding' boss with the point we can only use on said boss is probably a good bet. It might save Collin's or other people's lives too.

>>494496
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track the beast's scent
Do it quick before shit can happen

>>494496
>>Alright, fine – let's go investigate
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track the beast's scent
have a second layer of protection/detection

>>494496
>>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track the beast's scent
If we use the blood then we have no reason to drag him down, might as well cancel the search too since it might just be throwing fodder at the boss.

>>494516
Yeah plus I'd rather conceal our wolf blood abilities as much as possible

>>494540
>I'd rather conceal our wolf blood abilities as much as possible
Anon Hunters using Wolf blood abilities is normal. Hell I think we are expected to be using them.

>>494547
I feel like it's abnormal for our blood to be strong enough to track a scent like a bloodhound. I could be wrong though.

>>494571
That's an ability we have had since quest start, before we picked up Artemis.

>>494571
We've had our tracking ability since the beginning, before we made the deal with Art. This is what Hunters do.

We didn't bat an eye when Camilla used her Bull ability to force that girl to tell the truth.

You can sniff this bastard you, you assure Collins, he can count on that. Still, if he really wants to help, he can come with you, but only on the condition that he does exactly what you tell him to. That means staying back when you tell him to stay back, and letting you get on with your job. You're not joking here – if he can't obey your orders, he's better off staying behind.

“I know about chain of command,” Collins replies, with a faintly grumpy note entering his voice, “When the captain says jump, I say “how high”. That's how it's always been.”

That's right, you reply, and you're the captain now.

-

Descending through the ship, you stop outside one of the storage rooms. A pair of crewmen stand guard by the sealed door, while a steady thumping sound comes from within. The guards look nervous, pale and ill, with one lifting a cigarette to his lips with trembling hands. At the sight of you, they straighten up a little and at least try to look professional. What is this, you ask them, what's going on here?

“We saw it, that creeping thing,” the first guard mumbles, “We, uh, scared it away. It was hiding, see, up in the roof.” He points up, here, indicating the long lines of pipes running along the upper walls. It seems impossible that something could hide that in such a tight space, but you're not entirely sure what this beast is capable of. Deforming its whole body, stretching itself out and flattening down into a tight gap?

“It dropped right down on our buddy, bit him on the neck, and then it was gone,” the second guard adds, “Went that way, further down. Our friend, he told us to...”

“To kill him, real quick,” the first man picks up the thread of the story, “Only... I suppose you'd say we were too craven to do it. We sealed him in here, hoping that maybe it didn't sicken him with anything, but...”

Enough, you tell them both, he's safely sealed away for now – he can wait. You've got to keep moving, before anyone else gets infected. They said it went further down, correct?

“That leads us straight to the engine room,” Collins murmurs to you, “I was right, it's looking for a place to hide out. Maybe the warmth down there...”

His words fade and grow distant as you grip the handle of the birthing blade tightly and focus. Calling upon the ancient power, you rouse the Wolf's Blood within your veins and feel your senses expand. So many scents, all struggling with one another for dominance, but soon one rises to the surface of your mind. A filthy scent, all blood and brine and sickness – exactly what you're looking for.

Leaving the old man to ramble on, you stalk deeper into the ship. You feel good like this – powerful, lethal. A true Hunter.

You could get used to this.

[1/2]

>>494666

The engine room is surprisingly light, and it's only when you hear Collins apologising for the gloom that you realise the cause. Your eyes are sharp, piercing the darkness with inhuman precision. Grinning to yourself, picturing fangs and claws in your mind, you rack the slide of your shotgun and chamber a round. The noise is lost beneath the maddening grind of the engine – all noises are crushed beneath that wall of industrial howling – but the sensation of the action runs pleasingly up your arms.

“There's a little nook ahead,” Collins murmurs to you, his sickly frail voice – the voice of a prey animal – reaching you through the machine noise, “Some of the boys, we use it to hide bottles. Nothing wrong with it, you understand, just a nip of two for cold nights. That's the first place I'd look. It's over there, see?” He points, then, to a distant corner. Forgetting himself, he starts to approach it when you stop him, one arm slashing out to bar his passage.

The brine smell is strong here, but it isn't coming from that corner. It's closer by, as though the disgusting parasite is lying in wait – watching, waiting for some poor fool to blunder past.

Go, you tell the old man quietly, go back up. Get out of here – he's served his purpose.

“...Aye then,” Collins sounds uncertain, perhaps even afraid, but he obeys without hesitation, “You'll be careful then.”

Perfectly careful, you murmur, and close the door when he leaves. For a moment, it seems like he'd argue with that, but then the squeal of metal on metal reaches you. A normal man, right now, would be plunged into darkness, blind and impotent.

You can see more than enough.

-

With the shotgun at the ready, you move carefully through the engine room, approaching the dark corner even as you hold the scent in the front of your mind. Behind you, scuttling silently, the parasite gets ready to pounce. Grinning, you murmur faint encouragement to it. Come on, you goad, you're right here. You're defenceless. Come and take a bite.

It can't understand you, obviously, but it takes the bait regardless. The brine scent suddenly sharpens into perfect focus as the parasite leaps, but you're already spinning around and bringing the shotgun to bear. Faster than any human has a right to be, you set your sights on the pouncing beast.

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

Rolled 58 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>494685

Rolled 82 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>494685

Rolled 96 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>494685

File: 1468835241656.png (843 KB, 1000x1000)

843 KB PNG

>>494701
>>494698
Nice shot

With its front claws spread like a mantis, the parasite lunges towards your bare face. You can only imagine what it would do if it should close the distance between the two of you, hooking those crooked claws into your flesh and biting, spreading whatever vile sicknesses boil within its body to yours. A death sentence, and no doubt about it – the Red Eye Sickness is cruel, sparing nothing that it touches.

Nethe taught you that, as if you needed the lesson in reality and its harshnesses.

Certainly, you can imagine what the parasite might do to you, but that's where things will end – in your imagination. Reality will take a different path entirely. The beast, furtive and craven, lunges to attack, and you meet it with a tight wad of buckshot. Booming, echoing even above the ship's pounding heartbeat, the shotgun's report punches at your ears and leaves them ringing.

Through a haze of bluish smoke, and the scent of burnt powder, you survey the ruined creature. Getting a trophy out of this, you consider, might not be so easy. All that's left of it are some scraps of carapace and a smearing of blood. Eventually, your heightened eyes fall upon a single intact leg, surprisingly pristine compared with the rest of the shattered parasite. Good enough, you mutter as you pick up the leg, searing the open wound shut with a lighter flame. It wouldn't do to have your newest trophy weeping infected blood everywhere – that's a health hazard.

-

Dragging open the heavy door, you come face to face with a very surprised looking engineer. It seems that Collins, you think with vague amusement, wasn't expecting you to make it out alive. Meeting his wide eyes, you wait for a short moment before smiling. It's taken care of, you tell him, but there might be a little mess. Someone needs to clean it up.

“I... I see,” the old man clears his throat, gathering his composure as he does so, “Damn fine work, son. I'll make sure it's taken care of. What are you going to do now?”

You're need to report this to Captain Vas, you tell him, and then you might have a nap. You've worked damn hard today, and you've earned it.

-

“Four in quarantine,” Vas explains simply, when you arrive back at the bridge, “There was a fifth man bitten, but he... well, he's not a contamination risk any more. He handled that himself.”

Good man, you murmur, didn't burden anyone else.

“I'll take care of the rest later. I'm the captain – it's my responsibility,” grim faced, Vas doesn't flinch away from what he must do, “I'll see to it that their share of the taking does to their families. They deserve that much, at least.”

[1/2]

>>494865

A pall descends over the pair of you, with a few of the crew casting fleeting and fearful glances in your direction. In the silence that hangs over the bridge, the only sound is that of Vas' lighter clicking into life. Once a cigarette is lit and hanging out of his mouth, he feels confident enough to speak once more.

“It's a shitty job, I know, but they knew the risks,” he offers, “It's done now, anyway, and the northern passage is clear. Your expedition has an open path ahead of you – I just hope I'm not sending you to your death.”

It's fine, you assure him, you know the risks. What now?

“I'll take us back to Port Steyr,” Vas explains, without much enthusiasm, “Should be simple enough, just busywork. Leave it with me, and go get some rest.” Looking back around to you, he gives you a tired smile. “From what I hear, you might not be getting much sleep where you're going.”

Not if Wehrlain has his way, you mutter.

-

Taking Vas up on his offer of a rest, you're not surprised to find yourself waking in Nihilo. What does surprise you, though, is what you see there. Artemis stands a few feet away from you, holding her latest guest in a tight grip. Squealing faintly, its legs wriggle and writhe in a vain attempt at escape. With her face set in a ferocious mask, she tightens her grip until you hear carapace beginning to crack.

“Oh, Henryk!” she says lightly, when you take a step closer, “When did you get here?” As she turns, she drops the parasite dismissively to the ground, wiping her hands on the hem of her long skirt.

Not... long, you tell her, not long at all.

“Good, good, I'm glad you're here,” nodding, she steps closer to you. In the distance, the half-crushed parasite drags itself away to recover... or perhaps die in peace. “I've got something special for you today, Henryk,” the goddess offers, “If you care for it, of course. I offer a gift of knowledge – a long dead language, one that keeps many secrets. Otherwise, you know how this works by now – bloodshed or civilisation.”

Holding out those hands – hands that were so recently crushing the parasite – one starts to run with blood. Smiling a secretive smile, Artemis waits for you to make your decision.

>Accept the gift of Bloodshed
>Accept the gift of Civilisation
>Accept new knowledge
>Refuse her gifts
>Other

>>494995
>>Accept new knowledge

>>494995
>Accept new knowledge
Considering we are about to go to the Old University knowing a dead language will probably be invaluable.

>>494995
Why not both? Knowledge + the regular choice?

>>494995
>>Accept new knowledge

>>494995
>Accept new knowledge
This sounds important.

>>494995
>Other
"You uh...really didn't like that bastard did you?"

"Is there any reason why your great beasts have been so active lately? Other than the first one every other beast has been making a commotion that have led me to just through my job as a Hunter as opposed to me personally seeking them out."

>>494995
>Accept new knowledge
Though >>495008
If we can, get Bloodshed too. These lowish rolls 'been scary.

>>494995
>>Accept new knowledge
Tis too good, we'll take it. The one after we should decline tho.

Thinking the choice over at your own leisurely pace – all the while you think, Artemis watches you like a statue – you arrive at an answer. Considering where you're going, the knowledge of a dead language might serve you well. Who can say what secrets lie beneath a cloak of dust in the Old University, useless to any modern reader?

No, you'll take her knowledge – with knowledge, after all, comes power.

“Rightfully so,” Artemis nods graciously. Taking your face in her hands, she presses her forehead to yours and closes her eyes. Mirroring her actions, you feel... something stirring within your mind. It defies any real explanation, but the image that comes to mind is of a bookcase, the collection incomplete. With a slow and deliberate hand, some unseen clerk slides new books into the shelf, filling in a few of the missing spaces. Not all of them, but some. The image fades as Artemis leans back from you, but the curious feeling remains for a moment longer.

Is that all she has to offer you, you ask, you can't borrow any more of her power?

“This is all I have to give,” she explains with a sad smile, “It takes more effort than you think, manipulating the fabric of your body. What feels like a small change for you, is a heroic effort for me. So what I'm saying is...”

Don't get greedy, you finish for her, right?

“Exactly so,” as if to emphasise how hard she worked, Artemis heaves a heavy yawn, “Care to talk a while, Henryk? We never really had time to chat, last time.”

There was something you were wondering, you ask her as you point at the distant parasite, is there a reason why she hates that thing so much?

“I hate them all, in their own ways,” the goddess shrugs slightly, “But yes, I have a particular dislike for that one. The others were, at the very least, prepared to face me. Even to the last moment, the Furtive Knight was different – his knife only ever knew the touch of a back. That kind of craven deception... I loathe it. Caution has a place, but it must be balanced with courage. Do you understand?”

You understand, you agree, there comes a time when a Hunter must hunt – no matter what the risks. Your next question, then – is there some reason that her great beasts have been so active lately? The first one was passive, but since then they've just been getting more and more aggressive. You've barely needed to go looking for them.

“It's interesting, isn't it?” Artemis taps a finger against her lips as she thinks, “I can offer you an opinion, but not an explanation.”

[1/2]

>>495125

“Have you even noticed, Henryk, how animals follow their instincts? Birds know when to migrate, beasts know when to mate, that sort of thing. They may not have minds, in the way that you or I have thoughts and feelings, but they have a keen sense of time,” thoughtful, Artemis almost sounds surprised by her own words, “I think that my... fragments – most of them, at least – share this unknowing link. With the death of the first, they all realised, as much as they can realise anything that is, that their time had once again come.”

And they rise up in protest, you ask, raging against their fate?

“I wonder,” she thinks to herself for a moment, “Or perhaps they make a lot of noise and fuss to bring about their own destruction. All that is incomplete seeks to be made whole, Henryk, remember that. I am incomplete... but that is something I share with the beasts. As I want to pull them close, so too do they seek to return – even if they don't consciously realise that. So really, you don't need to feel bad about it. Whatever you do to them, you're helping them!”

For some reason, her attempts at brushing aside any moral qualms ring hollow in your ears. It won't be long before the Sibling Knights – beasts seven and eight – lie ahead of you. People – not beasts or deformities, but people. Will it really be so easy to dispatch them, when the time comes?

Maybe it will – you've spilled human blood already, and it came easily enough. What difference does a little more make?

“This may be the last time we'll be able to speak for a while,” Artemis warns you, her voice turning grave, “With that awful device keeping us apart...”

>A necessary evil. It won't last long
>Next up is the Lunatic Knight, wasn't it?
>I had something else to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>495185
>A necessary evil. It won't last long
>Next up is the Lunatic Knight, wasn't it?

>>495185
>>Next up is the Lunatic Knight, wasn't it?

>>495185
>"Then i suppose we had better make tonight count."

>>495185
>>"Then i suppose we had better make tonight count."
hold her close and kiss her

>>495185
>>A necessary evil. It won't last long
>Next up is the Lunatic Knight, wasn't it?

>>495200
When i read that this song came on in my mind https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6QZn9xiuOE

>>495200
>>495209
what

>>495200
Morg?

>>495232
Some like the idea of courting Artemis

>>495185
>A necessary evil. It won't last long
>Next up is the Lunatic Knight, wasn't it?

>>495209
>>495200
Kinda random. I can't see Henryk doing something like that.

Yet anyway.

>>495185
>>A necessary evil. It won't last long
>>Next up is the Lunatic Knight, wasn't it?