>>672149

At least it's all in good humour, a bit of harmless sparring. Neither of them is seriously trying to injure the other – although, admittedly, it's only the first day of the journey. There will be plenty of time for that later.

A cheering knot of soldiers and sailors have gathered around the pair of Hunters, their shouts drifting out across the ever-shifting fields of ice. The Majestic carves a path ahead of you, while the Ghoul skulks in the wake of your passing. Onwards, this lonesome caravan forges northwards, and every single soul on the deck knows what waits there. It's that knowledge that fuels the cheering, a desperate desire for escapism and entertainment. Silence is the enemy, for dark thoughts easily form during long moments of emptiness.

The cheering reaches a new peak as Ilse slips and falls to the cold metal of the deck, shrieking out mad laughter as Stukov jabs at her with the oar. When their struggles cease, so too does the riotous atmosphere, and the gathered soldiers slowly start to drift away. Their shared violence forgotten, Stukov sets his oar aside and offers Ilse his hand, helping her back up to her feet. Laughing and joking with each other, they amble below deck.

-

The Ogre's vast and cavernous cafeteria is busy, surging with crowds, and yet you've got plenty of empty seats at your table. It's not something that surprises you.

“Sort of feels like we should be eating out of dog bowls,” Stukov jokes, forcing a smile, “Don't you think?”

“I'm telling you, they don't have to put up with this kind of shit in the north,” Ilse shakes her head, “We'd be heroes to them, I was reading this book about it. It said-”

“Damn it, Ilse!” Hyde snaps, pointing his knife at her, “Why are you even here? You know we're going to kill the White Tyrant and not join him, right? Keep up this treasonous talk, and it's going to get you in some serious trouble.”

“I'm here because it's my job,” smirking, sneering even, Ilse meets Hyde's gaze and his challenge, “And I'm damn good at my job. Why are you getting so worked up, anyway, did I strike a nerve? Maybe you're the one who's thinking about getting a better life in the north – I bet it would be real easy for someone to vanish. It's gonna be chaos up there, after all. Damien Hyde – missing, presumed dead. Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Just shut up, you groan, all you wanted was one meal in peace. Is that really too much to ask?

Silence and staring eyes meet your comment. Without an argument to keep things flowing, nobody quite knows what to say.

“That book,” Krebs rumbles after a long while, “What did it say?”

“I'll lend it to you,” Ilse says breezily, “You can still read, can't you?”

“...I think so,” the old Hunter replies, his answer coming after a long moment of thought.

[2/4]

>>672150

“I'm just here for the money,” Stukov offers later, in a half-hearted attempt at building a bridge, “I'd like to retire young, while I've still got my best years ahead of me. That's why I took this job – I take any work that I can. What about you, Hyde, why did you sign up?”

“Long story, but I guess I did it to help keep people safe,” Hyde replies, his voice still wounded and resentful, “At the time, it didn't really seem like I had much choice in the matter, though. Now that I'm here, I'm starting to think that I made a massive mistake.”

“The only massive mistake around here is Ilse,” Stukov chuckles, “Don't pay her any mind. Speaking of her... did you really mean that, Ilse? You signed up because it's your job?”

“Because I'm good at my job, and I want to prove it. I want everyone to know that I was the Hunter who killed the White Tyrant,” she looks between you all, a challenge burning in her eyes, “Any of you got a problem with that?”

“A problem? No,” shaking his head, Stukov grins, “But it's awfully presumptuous. We're not even close to the target, and you're already claiming victory. You must really be confident about this... confident enough for a little wager, perhaps?”

“For a man who signed up for the pay, you're awfully quick to throw away your money,” Ilse jeers, “Yeah, I'll take any bet you have to offer. Later, mind – we're not finished here. Krebs, we all know why YOU signed up – no mystery there – but what about you, Henryk? You're the unknown element here, all brooding silences and secrets. What brought you out here? Money, duty... blood?”

If you told them the truth, you think to yourself, would they even believe you for a moment? No, any honest answer you could give them would be seen as a bad joke at best, a sign of madness at worst. With that thought in mind, you meet Ilse's eyes and give her a deliberately vague shrug.

You've got your reasons, you tell her plainly, and that's all you really have to say on the matter

“Like I said, the unknown element,” she snorts, amused by your answer, “Yeah okay, good one. Do me a favour, will you? Don't tell us why you're here. This way, we can pass the long hours with idle speculation. Here, I'll go first... the White Tyrant killed your childhood sweetheart. Am I close?”

This game is ridiculous, you laugh, utterly ridiculous.

“Ah, so it WAS close!” Stukov points an accusing finger at you, “Now you've got to tell us the real reason! I mean, you wouldn't want us spreading this kind of gossip, right?”

You're surrounded by madmen and idiots.

[3/4]

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>>672156

Later, in the shared dorm, you find yourself left alone with Ilse. Alone, that is, if you discount Krebs, who slumbers away in the background. Hyde and Stukov left a while ago, mentioning something about a game of cards down in one of the other dorms.

Ilse had laughed at them, genuine bitterness in her voice, and called them a pair of fools. If the crew won't eat and sleep with dogs, she asked, why would they play cards with them? For a moment, it had looked like another argument would develop, but then Hyde simply walked out. Probably the wisest decision he could have made, in retrospect. Ilse had seethed with anger for a while, but then she had settled down with a book.

The same book, you realise, that has given her all these dangerous ideas. Bound with scuffed brown leather, it has no title or author that you can see. She flicks through the pages without much apparent interest, and then she sets it aside.

“I'm not about to turn traitor, you know,” she announces suddenly, “You know, just in case you were wondering. The northerns have a lot of good ideas, but I couldn't live among them. I'd miss flushing toilets and shitty radio dramas too much.”

You laugh aloud at the crude simplicity of her words. So, you ask, is it a good book?

“Read it for yourself, if you like. I've got it pretty much memorised by this point,” picking it up, Ilse offers it over to you.

Accepting it, you take a look at the inside cover. Still no title, but it does have a name. Greta Bannerman.

>Thanks. Mind if I take a read now?
>Bannerman... your mother?
>How about you just tell me the good bits?
>I wanted to ask you something, Ilse... (Write in)
>Other

>>672161
>>Thanks. Mind if I take a read now?
>>Bannerman... your mother?
The hunters seem like nice pals, hopefully they can stay alive and meet up occasionally.

>>672161
>Bannerman... your mother?
>>How about you just tell me the good bits?

>>672161
>Bannerman... your mother?
>How about you just tell me the good bits?

Bannerman, you say aloud as you read the name on the inside cover, her mother?

“Grandmother,” Ilse replies, “I guess you could say I've got history with the north. She was from those parts, never even tried to hide it... and she was like me. Us, I mean. A Wolf, through and through. Never had anything to do with the League, mind you – she didn't give a shit about rules or regulations. At least, that's what I was told growing up. I wager you could have guessed this, but I never got the chance to meet her. By the time I was around, she would have been... you know.”

Sure, you reply, you know all too well.

“Anyway, the only thing I have is that,” the Hunter nods to the book you hold, “Her diary. Well, I've got her blood, I reckon, and my mother always said I inherited her temper. You think maybe there's some kind of a link there?”

You'd give her an answer to that, you say with a faint smirk, but you'd rather not take the risk. Her grandmother, you ask after a moment, did she ever speak about why she left the north?

“The way my mother told it, Greta got herself in a bit of trouble with a southerner – a traveller from the Free States. Not a good thing for a northerner, so she fled back to the Free States with her lover,” Ilse laughs suddenly, “At least, that's the story. I always wondered how truthful it was – seems a little too neat and tidy, you know?”

Like something out of a fairy tale, you agree, or a cheap romance novel.

“Anyway, you can take a read of it if you like. Just don't fold any of the pages over or anything,” shaking her head, Ilse lies back on her bunk, “I don't got much in this life that I'd call precious, but that book means a lot to me.”

You'll give it a read, you assure her, and you'll be careful with it. Before you get stuck in, though, you were wondering – what are the best bits?

“What, you want me to spoil the ending for you? I don't know, it's not really a... a story, or anything like that. Greta, she just wrote down whatever, in whatever order she could think of. That's how it reads, at least,” Ilse pauses to think for a long time. It's so long before she speaks again that you almost took her for sleeping. “When I was a kid, reading it – even when my mother said it was too scary for a kid to read – I liked this one story. Greta, she described going on a hunt. With nothing but a harpoon and a bow, she stalked a bear from one side of a great forest to the other. I mean, she was young then, still a kid pretty much, but she was a better Hunter than most.”

All because of the Wolf's Blood, you mutter.

“Yeah – and she was treated like a hero because of it,” Ilse shakes her head.

[1/2]

>>672225

“Like I said, she brought down this massive bear, dragged it back to her village, and they ate well for the next while. Kind of the short version, I guess, but I read it over and over again growing up. When I got tested, and I learned about my blood... I was so happy,” warm nostalgia creeps into Ilse's voice, a far cry from her usual bristling hostility, “Yeah, now I know that it isn't all great – and Greta, she probably exaggerated a hell of a lot – but still. That stuff made me who I am today.”

When she adds nothing more, you take the conversation to be concluded. Leaning back in your own bunk, you open the book at a random place and start to read. The handwriting is faded, and the pages feel fragile – age has left its marks on this tome – but it's in good enough condition that you can read it without too much trouble. The script isn't bad either, a neat and simple handwriting that invites the eye to read on. This particular passage talks about wise men – those who were wise to the ways of the world and the nameless gods, even though their knowledge came at a terrible cost. Age would wither them, and the void would eventually swallow their thoughts. Snakes, you think to yourself, their own crude style of Scholar. No doubt some other part of the book will mention Bulls in some vague way. Suspicious folks who can read the hearts of men, perhaps.

Something like that, at least. Flicking forwards a few pages, you find a lurid description of a feast. A male Hunter, powerful and successful, had brought a fantastic bounty of meat – far more than a single tribe or village could eat. Nearby communities came to barter and trade, offering vessels of crude spirits or metal trinkets in return for a share of the kill. As you read further, you realise what the petitioning tribes really wanted – they brought young brides for the successful Hunter, in the hope of winning strong sons for their own people. In this way, a gifted Hunter could be more than the heart of a single community – their potent blood spread alliances and ties of friendship.

Closing the book, you think back to Thar Dreyse, and the way that your neighbours would avoid meeting your gaze. Things really are different.

-

Stukov and Hyde return a while later, grumbling about their luck at cards. Apparently, they found a game willing to accommodate them, even if the reception had been cool – outright cold, even – at points.

“When we showed how eager we were to lose our money, though, they warmed up to us,” Stukov explains, offering a humourless smile, “Funny how these things work, right?”

What happened to saving money, you ask him, for an early retirement?

“Early days yet,” he assure you, “I'll win it back. Just you wait and see!”

[2/3]

>>672258

Day two of the journey north, and it's time you met the rest of your team. Five men under your command, and none of them look particularly happy about it.

Five men – Gerritson, Quincy, and bookish Lem. Mule – a nickname, you presume – is the radio operator, while Hawthorn is the team's leader. He'll be your direct subordinate, although the men are technically under his command. Regulations aside, everyone here know who is going to be giving the orders. As you're looking the five of them over, Hawthorn takes you aside for a word in private.

“I've worked with your kind before,” he tells you bluntly, “Hunters, I mean. Hell, I even worked with one of your lot once.”

As you wait for him to make his point, you study the man. He has sharp, intelligent eyes, and a dark complexion that suggests some trace of southern blood. He wears his uniform well, and you quickly recognise him as a trained fighter. A guard of some sort, perhaps, or a Ministry worker. His face is familiar, and it takes a moment more to place him. He was at the briefing, just the same as you were.

“Like I said, I've done work with a Hunter. I started with nine men under my command, when he came into town. End of the first day, I was down to seven men. By the time he was leaving, it was me and two others,” Hawthorn glares at you for a moment more before nodding, “It wasn't his fault. Hell, if he hadn't been around, I wager I'd have lost more – and my own life, along with them. What I'm saying is, most folks see Hunters as a bad omen. This cold shoulder you've been getting? It's not personal, and when things get rough... I wager the folks here will be glad to have you around.”

It has the air of a rehearsed speech, something he'd been preparing for ever since he knew who he'd be working with. Still, you appreciate the effort – and the fact that he looks you in the eye as he speaks.

“Right. That's all I wanted to say. I hope we're at an understanding,” he nods to himself, “Now, I wanted to show you the radio equipment, how it works. Any questions?”

>Show me this equipment
>How good are your men, are they well trained?
>Your men – are they prepared to die, if necessary?
>I did have a question... (Write in)
>Other

>>672292
>How do your men feel about northerners in general? I need to know if they're willing to ignore a few barbarians if it'll bring us to the White Tyrant faster.
>How badly damaged can the radio get before you can't patch it up?
>Any particulars about your loadouts? Rifle and knife, nothing fancy?
>You lot confident in swimming in freezing waters? Worst case scenario, but I still need to ask.

>>672292
>>Show me this equipment
>>How good are your men, are they well trained?
No need to spook them, they should know what they got themselves into.

>>672292
>Show me this equipment
>>How good are your men, are they well trained?

>>672292

Show me this equipment
>>How good are your men, are they well trained

>>672292

>>672299
All of these

You had a few questions to ask him, you begin, about his men. What's their general take on the northerners? Are they-

“We're prepared to kill,” Hawthorn cuts you off, his voice hardening, “You don't need to worry about that, when the times comes... we'll do our duty.”

That's... good to hear, you falter for a brief moment, but would they be willing to NOT kill? If it advances your cause to work with some of them, would his men be able to handle that? There is a pause, your question hanging in the air like a dark cloud, and then you expand on your point. All you need to know, you press, is whether or not they can obey orders even if it means working with a few barbarians.

“For the greater good, is it?” Hawthorn nods slowly, “You mentioned such at the briefing. I don't think they'll like it much, but if I give them the order... I think they'll do it. Don't get me wrong, we'll be cooperating with our teeth clenched, but we'll do it. One other warning... you're willing to trust these northerners?”

You're willing to use them, you counter, if it means getting a good shot at the White Tyrant. That, at least, seems to please him, but you hasten on to the next question regardless. How good are his men, you ask, are they well trained?

“All the Hunter teams are drawn from the best,” he assures you, “The best recruits were skimmed off, given some extra training and assigned to this position. I'm the only man here with real combat experience – unless you count tavern brawls and street scuffles, at least – but I'm confident in my boys. They move well, their aim is steady, and they've all got guts.”

Good to hear, you think, but all that can change when the bullets start flying. Still, their confidence is such that you're not about to call them into question – not without good reason, at least. What about their weapons, you ask next, anything more complicated than rifles than knives?

“Most of the men have their own pistols – personal weapons and such – but that's about it. Our training made a point of travelling light. The main attacking force, as I understand it, are given heavier gear, but we're going to be carrying the minimum,” a note of concern creases his brow as he mentions that, “We could be in a tight spot if we get stranded, or forced into a drawn out fight. Hell, even just running out of food could be an issue if we can't fall back to the Ghoul...”

You're not planning on fighting an army, you assure him, but his concerns are noted. Now that he mentions the Ghoul, you want to be sure of something. In the event of a disaster – and this is last resort territory, you stress – can all his men swim? More specifically, can they swim in the freezing waters up here?

[1/3]

>>672371


“That... could be a problem,” Hawthorn grimaces, “We can all swim, I believe, but the cold waters can be lethal. Plus, these uniforms would soak up water quickly and weigh a man down. I don't want to give you false hope, sir, so if it comes to swimming across the waters... I don't rate our chances very highly.”

No matter, you assure him, in all likelihood the Ghoul will suffice. Even if the larger ship is forced to retreat, you should be able to improvise something. You're not about to die in the northern wastes because of a thin stretch of water. In either case, that's the last issue you wanted to know about – now, how about he shows you this radio equipment?

“Right you are,” he nods, before pausing, “Just... don't laugh too hard. I know they said it was portable, but...”

-

Suffice to say, it's a good thing that Mule takes after his nickname. His shoulders are fantastically broad, but even he looks unhappy with the burden they will be bearing. The “portable” radio equipment is like a solid metal backpack, but somehow even more bulky and unwieldy. Considering that the rest of the team is outfitted to move fast and light, it seems like a tremendous joke.

At the very least, it doesn't look fragile. You could beat a man to death with a backpack like that, and it might only come away with a few surface dents. Mechanically, it's not too different from your radio back home – a dial adjusts what it will be broadcasting and a clunky metal box, connected by a length of wire, houses a speaker. A second metal box carries a microphone, something to speak into. You couldn't even begin to explain how it works, but it seems simple enough to operate. Mule has already scratched several markings into the metal, indicating which frequencies relate to the other teams.

Now you think about it, though, the Wehrlain Device looked sturdy enough as well, and it was fragile enough that a few good knocks could endanger it. Best not to take any chances with this sort of thing. How much damage can this thing take, you ask, and still function?

“I'm told that it can survive some good firm knocks – the sort of damage it might sustain in rough travel – but a more direct attack would kill it,” Hawthorn raps his knuckles against the side, “It might stop a bullet, but we sure as hell won't be using the thing afterwards.”

And what about fixing it?

“No chance,” Lem says suddenly, “Not out in the field. Maybe if we could take spares from someone else's radio... but then, we might as well just use theirs. I must say, the technology could still use some work.”

No kidding, you mutter, the weight alone...

[2/3]

>>672389

“I know what you're thinking,” Hawthorn frowns, “The weight is a pretty big issue, and the size isn't exactly great either. I was talking with team one, earlier – they were planning on ditching their equipment as soon as possible so they can move faster. I tried to argue against it, but... orders are orders.”

Team one, you think, that's Krebs' team. Who issued that order, you ask sharply, was it the Hunter?

“Aye,” Hawthorn nods slowly, “He was pretty quick to dismiss the radios, said he didn't have any faith in them. Actually, I...” Pausing here, his voice fades away to nothing. Instead, he just shakes his head slowly.

It's fine, you tell him, you need to know this.

“I was just thinking, it doesn't surprise me. Krebs, he doesn't seem like the type to have faith in any kind of machine,” picking his words carefully, Hawthorn continues, “I don't think he even uses his rifle. I heard a story – and, you must understand, this was just a story – that he threw it overboard early this morning.”

It's gossip, but it wouldn't exactly surprise you. From what you know, Krebs favoured a bow from his earliest days as a Hunter. His distrust of modern technology was something of a joke for a while, albeit a cruel joke. Using a bow is one thing, but discarding these radios – when so much of Loch's plans hinge on using them – is a whole other matter. You could try and talk to him about it... but would it really do much good?

Maybe Hyde could try. For whatever reason, he seems to have a better relationship with Krebs – protecting the old Hunter from barbed comments and thinly veiled insults. Then again, skulking around behind Krebs' back might well backfire, especially if the ageing Hunter takes offence.

>Speak with Hyde about this
>Confront Krebs directly
>Leave the issue. It's not your place to interfere
>Ask the team a few last questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>672427
>Speak with Hyde about this
I don't really care about his choice of weapon or how archaic he is, but he really should keep the radio. He doesn't even have to use it, leave it's use to his second in command like Hawthorn here.

>>672427
>Speak with Hyde about this

>>672427
>Speak with Hyde about this

>>672427
>>Confront Krebs directly

Truth be told, most of what you know about Krebs is second or even third hand knowledge – rumour and gossip, often of the most dubious kind. Even those scant sources of information are doubtless outdated by now, leaving you without much idea how to approach the ageing Hunter. He's falling apart, that much is obvious, but knowing that doesn't help you talk him around. You'll see what Hyde has to say on the matter, and then you'll decide your next move.

Nodding your goodbyes to the rest of your team – they seem a little less cold towards you now, you note, which can only be a good thing – you head off in search of your fellow Hunter. The Ogre is a big ship, and Hyde could be anywhere, but it doesn't take long to find him. He's in your shared dorm, bent over the wooden stock of a rifle with knife in hand. Working carefully, meticulously, he slowly carves looping designs into the butt of the gun.

Nice work, you remark as you sit opposite him, you never realised he was an artist. His rifle?

“No, it's for one of the men in my team. My way of convincing them that I'm not a savage brute,” Hyde replies, without looking up at you, “Go ahead – tell me I'm a fool. It's what Ilse would do, if she was here. We've all got our ways of trying to build bridges, and this is mine.” Setting aside the knife, he looks up and rubs a hand across his shaven head. “Sorry, I'm tense,” he frowns at you, studying your face for a moment, “What's the problem, then?”

No way of hiding it, you mutter, is there? It's Krebs – you've been hearing some pretty disturbing talk from his team. Apparently, he's ordering them to discard their radio equipment as soon as possible. To move faster apparently, you add, although you're not sure. He knows Krebs better than you do, has he heard anything about it?

Hyde is silent for a while, long enough that you start to wonder if he's refusing to answer, and then he finally finds the right words. “I heard rumours,” he replies simply, “But I'd hoped they weren't true. In one sense, though, I can understand his reasoning. I'm not long back from examining those things myself, and I can barely believe we're supposed to drag them around.”

Hell, you groan, he'd better not be thinking of doing the same thing.

“No. Not even slightly,” Hyde's voice is even, “We need to stay coordinated out there, and our radios will be vital when it comes to making our escape. Abandon them, and you might as well announce that you don't plan on coming home.”

Which is Krebs' intention, you mutter darkly, more or less. Forget the fact that he's got men under his command, he's looking for a good death.

[1/2]

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>>672495

Taking up his knife once more, Hyde examines the blade for a second. Taking out a small whetstone, he starts to sharpen the weapon. The tiny grinding sound provides a background to your stilted conversation, filling in the frequent silences. “I agree that it's a bad situation,” Hyde says slowly, “But we're operating on our own. I don't have the authority to give Krebs any orders, and neither do you. Even if I had that much power, how could I enforce it? Once his team have left, it's out of my hands.”

Anger boils up within you at Hyde's weak words, but then his tone – weariness, resignation and regret – causes the flames to dull down. What you first took as acceptance and indifference are nothing of the sort. It's a quiet kind of frustration in his voice, but the intensity is undeniable.

“Still, you came to me rather than marching off to start a fight with him or making it official,” Hyde points the knife at you, but the gesture has no hostility to it, “Why?”

It seems like he knows Krebs fairly well, you offer, and you wanted his opinion. You wanted to know what you were dealing with before you made a decision.

“Smart,” nodding, Hyde puts his knife away, “Sure, I know Krebs better than anyone else here. We have history, so I'm not quite so eager to write him off. Still, I can't deny it – he's not got long left, and he knows it. If he wants to die doing his duties, fine. I can respect that, at least. You're correct, though – he's got no right dragging five other men down with him.” With a sigh, Hyde runs his fingers across the looping designs he carved into the wooden stock. “I was going to talk with him, try to get him to change his mind, but...”

But what, you ask, not something he knows how to say?

“Got it in one. Not an easy thing to discuss, is it?” he grimaces, “Now, though, I can't put it off any longer. The sooner I start trying to talk him around, the more time I'll have to work on him. I might even manage to change his mind, although... don't bet on it. Hell... alright, I'm going to have a word. Do you want to come along?”

>Better if I leave this to you. Good luck though
>Sure, I'll come. A bit of moral support can't hurt
>Can I ask you something about this? (Write in)
>Other

>>672566
>>Sure, I'll come. A bit of moral support can't hurt
We can back him up and have a chat with Krebs ourselves.

>>672566
>Sure, I'll come. A bit of moral support can't hurt

>>672566
>>Sure, I'll come. A bit of moral support can't hurt

>>672566
at least if he's so intent to go to his death maybe we could get his men into each of the remaining teams.

Sure, you tell Hyde, you'll come with him. A little moral support can't hurt, and you might be able to help sway the older Hunter.

“Moral support, right,” Hyde rises from the bed and brushes curls of shaved wood from his clothes, “More like someone to pry us apart if we start trying to kill each other. We've got history, but that doesn't mean it's all good history. He never could take a lecture, Krebs, even when he sorely needed one.”

Great, you mutter, just what you wanted to hear.

“Look, what else have you heard?” Hyde asks as he starts to lead you out, “He hasn't been starting any fights, has he?”

No fights, you assure Hyde, but you heard a rumour that Krebs threw his rifle overboard. Just a rumour, but you believe it.

“Yeah,” nodding slowly, Hyde pauses, “So do I.”

-

From the way Hyde moves quickly and purposefully up to the deck, you'd have to guess that he knows exactly where Krebs is hiding out. Maybe he's even come up here recently, preparing to give the older man a good talking to, only to back down at the last minute. You wouldn't blame him for doing so – this kind of talk is never easy, never a welcome task. Frankly, you'd rather be walking into combat than this.

When you first spot him, you take Krebs for asleep. He lies on the ship's deck, flat on his back and staring up at the sky. Upon getting closer, though, you could never mistake him for a sleeping man – his eyes are wide, uncommonly alert and active. Swiping back and forth with the fervour of a madman, his eyes track every bird that flies overhead. His bow and a quiver of arrows rests nearby, and you can imagine him taking up that bow to shoot a bird from the sky, without so much as a second thought or moment of hesitation.

Hyde clears his throat, and Krebs sits up. It's rather like watching a mountain range rising from the earth before your very eyes, and you suspect that a mountain would have more human warmth to it. In sharp contrast to when he was watching the birds above, Krebs' eyes have grown dull and sleepy, swaying between you and Hyde for a moment. A pause, and it almost looks like Krebs is simply going to lie back down again without a word. Then, thankfully, he stands completely.

“We have to talk,” Hyde's voice is firm, deliberately so, but the tension in his shoulders suggests the effort in keeping his voice level.

“Talk,” Krebs repeats. It could be either a command or a question, and you might never know the difference. Hyde certainly doesn't know, all his plans and preparations evaporating at a single word, and you're not even convinced that Krebs himself knows.

[1/2]

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>>672660


Grimacing, Hyde takes a different approach. “I heard that you threw your rifle overboard,” he begins, “C'mon man, you know that's Ministry property. They'll take it out of your pay.”

“I didn't need it,” Krebs says slowly, and something that might be human feeling enters his voice, “You know that.” It's a soft insistence, more intent than actual feeling, but you take it as a good sign.

“Sure, you're good with a bow, I get that,” Hyde presses on, before his resolve can falter, “But we're all working under someone else's orders here. If our boss tells us we have to carry rifles, we have to carry rifles. If our boss tells us we need to carry radios, we need to carry radios. Regulations are important, Krebs, we can't go shirking them just because we don't like them.”

“It's too heavy. Too loud. Might as well go hunting with a bell around your neck,” the older Hunter argues, “Loch. He doesn't understand hunting. He can't understand it like we do. What right does he have to order us around?” As Krebs talks, a slow anger begins to grow in his voice, and you suddenly know why Hyde was so reluctant to have this talk. Just being close to Krebs like this, while a rage builds deep within him, causes your instincts to cry out warnings. You feel, for a single moment, like an animal faced by a bellowing predator.

It's not so far from the truth, really.

“We do this our own way,” Krebs grunts suddenly, “Not his way. Not your way. I don't follow your orders, Hyde.”

Fine, you cut in, he doesn't follow orders. That's fine – but his orders are going to get five men killed. They could die, for no reason other than his stubbornness.

“If they die, it's their weakness,” turning away, Krebs lumbers over to the edge of the ship and leans on the railing, “The weak don't survive out there. It's nothing to do with me.”

>You bastard, you're supposed to be their leader!
>At least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them
>You're going to need that radio, Krebs. What if you run into trouble?
>Other

>>672685
>At least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them

>>672685
>At least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them
>Other
"Are you thinking this is going to be your last hunt Krebs?"

>>672685
>>At least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them
Or at least get them near Port Tyrant before you cut loose.

>>672685
>>At least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them
Hey Moloch. Glad i finally caught a thread.

>>672685
"Idiot. You're acting more like a beast than a man. Even Kolyat had the decency to face his end as a human."

>>672685

least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them

Is Wolf really the most apt descriptor for the Hunter blood? Wolves are pack animals and Hunters have a tendency to act alone.

>>672685
>At least let them act on their own, if you won't lead them.
> If you want to run out there to die as a man or live as a beast, do it on your own. Seems you've already given up on living as a man.

If only we could tell him about Kolyat.

>>672731
>>672685
I'll also support this.

At least let them act of their own, you snap, if he won't – or can't - lead them. Those men will need orders out there, and if he isn't capable of that... let someone else call the shots. They have their own leader, don't they?

“Do they?” Krebs asks. It's not a mocking question – it's sincere confusion.

“Krebs, didn't they tell you about this?” Hyde groans, “The men have their own team leader, we're only here to lead them and offer advice. Officially, at least – they've been told to follow our-”

“Someone else can do it,” the ageing Hunter grunts, “Let them give the orders. I don't know anything about orders.” He almost sounds relieved, eager to shift responsibility onto someone else. He stares out across the waters in silence for a moment, before asking a sudden question. “Do you think they'll run?” he wonders aloud, “I let them decide their fate. Will they run?”

They'll do their duty, you tell him firmly, even if it means dying in the process. It's better than dying senselessly, walking into a massacre that they could have avoided. Let them keep their radio, you urge, even if he doesn't want to use it.

“They can do what they like,” Krebs rumbles, his sullen voice rolling out like a thick fog. His indifference is starting to wear on your nerves, and you can see that Hyde is feeling the same frustration.

“Damn it, if you're trying to get yourself killed, just say it!” Hyde cries, with a sudden flash of anger, “Just say something, instead of this... this nothing act!”

Is Hyde right, you ask Krebs, does he think this is going to be his last hunt? Is he trying to make it his last hunt?

“...I've got that right,” the old Hunter says, his voice as harsh as two icebergs grinding against one another, “A man can choose his own death.”

Idiot, you sigh, he isn't acting like a man – he's acting more like a beast, with all this talk of running off to die in the wilderness. If he wants to die as a man, he should find some way to sell his life with purpose. If he wants to die as a beast – or to live like one – he shouldn't make others suffer for his selfishness.

Krebs turns, then, to look you in the eye. For a rare moment, his gaze sharpens until it cuts through you like a knife. He stares at you like he gazed up at the prey above, and something he sees in you causes a faint smile – or perhaps a snarl – to cross his face. “We'll all be beasts, sooner or later,” he tells you, his words grating out of his throat, “You know that.”

Kolyat taught you that, you reply in a tone that matches his, but he still managed to die as a man. Will he be able to say the same?

“Will you?” Krebs retorts. Then the sly light leaves his eyes, and he prowls away without another word.

[1/2]

>>672846

“Damn it,” Hyde hisses, turning and taking a few steps after Krebs. He stops, reconsiders, and turns back to you. “Better to leave him for now,” he decides, “I don't want to force the issue. At least we've managed to give him a bit of a push. With luck, that should be enough to keep his men from dying needlessly.”

Can't say the same about the man himself, you reply, unfortunately.

“It's his choice,” Hyde tells you sadly, “I'm in team two, so I'll be hitting land just after him. If he leaves his men behind, they can join my group. It'll be safer than leaving them alone out there, and I don't mind travelling a larger group.”

It could slow him down, you warn.

“I'm not going anywhere in a hurry,” he shakes his head, “I'd rather play it safe. If that means someone else takes all the glory... so be it. I'm not looking to make myself rich or famous by taking the Tyrant's head.” Muttering something else under his breath – quiet enough that you miss the words completely – Hyde gathers up the discarded bow and quiver. “I'll get these back to Krebs next time I see him,” he adds, “It'll give me a good excuse to check up on him later, at least.”

Sure, you say, nice and convenient.

“Yeah, well,” a shrug, “Henryk? Thank you – for the help, I mean.” Hyde looks you dead in the eye for a moment, as if weighing up how much he might owe you. Then he shrugs again and heads off below deck after Krebs.

Alone on deck, you lean over the railing and let the cold wind strike you in the face. With your eyes closed, you hold that position for a long, long time.

-

Day four of the journey, and nobody has died yet. That's enough to warrant a few celebratory drinks.

“Alright, alright, everyone shut up a moment,” Stukov slurs, pointing an accusing finger at the three of you – Hyde, Ilse and you, “I've got something to say.”

“And I'm sure it's going to be fascinating,” the female Hunter drawls, “I'm thrilled just waiting to hear what it is.”

“You better be thrilled, because it's about you,” this time, Stukov's pointing finger lingers on Ilse, “Why'd you even throw that poor bastard out a window in the first place? Don't act innocent, we all know you did it!”

“Shit, you people are still talking about that?” she curses, but she laughs at the same time, “Don't you have anything better to gossip about?”

Not really, you reply as you take a measured sip of some burning spirit.

“Ugh, fine, I don't want you cretins making up any stupid rumours,” Ilse throws up her hands in disgust, “I was having a bad day, and this guy called me a bitch. So yeah, I threw him out a window – it's not like he died!”

“But Ilse,” Hyde blurts out, “You ARE a bitch!”

A stunned pause, and then the whole table breaks down into uncontrollable laughter.

[2/3]

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>>672923

The final day of your journey is a grim one, thin snow drifting down from a sky the colour of lead. Port Steyr doesn't exactly look any less miserable, all concrete and bitter resolve, but at least it makes a change from life on a ship.

The five of you watch as the blocky buildings draw closer. Even Krebs is here with you – looking, you note, happiest our of all the Hunters. Just being off a ship is enough to give him a trace of comfort, it seems. By contrast, his presence alone is enough to make everyone else that little bit less comfortable. Needless to say, conversation doesn't flow naturally.

“Apparently, we're only going to be stopping in Port Steyr for a few hours,” Stukov offers eventually, “Just long enough to sleep through a last minute briefing, and then we'll be shifting over to the Ghoul. After that...”

“All bets are off,” Hyde mutters.

“Hey, we've still got a bet!” Ilse protests, “I bet Stukov that I'd get to the Tyrant first. You better not be calling that off, I stand to make a damn good chunk of coin if I win.”

“It's a figure of speech,” Hyde replies, in the tone of a man undergoing actual physical pain.

“Unless I have to pay up,” Stukov adds quickly, “And then it's a binding agreement, meaning that I don't have to give you shit. Tough luck!”

“Children,” you hear Hyde muttering to himself, “I feel like I'm watching a pair of children...”

-

Berdan Loch surveys you all for a moment, his gaze lingering on Stukov to take in the Hunter's black eye, before leaning heavily on a thick cane. The cold northern air doesn't seem to be doing him any favours, and he looks older than ever. A withered corpse, you think as you look at him, held together with willpower alone.

“And that will be the new plan,” he finishes, “The Ghoul will crawl around the southern side of the target island, but all other aspect of our earlier arrangement will proceed unchanged. You all know your duties, and I expect you to perform them with diligence. Is that understood?”

A ripple of confirmation runs through the gathered crowd, the Hunters and their team members. You nod along with them, although your heart is far from peaceful.

“We remain at dock for another two hours,” Loch adds, checking a plain timepiece, “If you have any last issues, I'm willing to discuss them. Otherwise, I want you to take your positions on the Ghoul. Remember – do not divulge any details of the plan to any of the locals. The northerners could have eyes and ears in Port Steyr.”

>Head to the Ghoul and prepare to depart (Time skip)
>Ask Loch a question in private... (Write in)
>Do something in Port Steyr before you leave (Write in)
>Other

>>672991

Do something in Port Steyr before you leave
Lets go see the she bull we like

>>672991
>Head to the Ghoul and prepare to depart (Time skip)
Good to go.

>>672991
>>Head to the Ghoul and prepare to depart (Time skip)
I can't think of anything that needs doing, lets go for it.

>>673000
I'm fine with this. She's one of the 4 or so friends we have.

I wonder how Lize would react if she found out we slept with her.

>>673000
This

>>673007

Well she naver meet or asked about her so idk mybe be surprised.
And yer we dont have many friends and she might get pissy if she found out we wore here and didnt say hi.
Gove her a heads up about whats happening

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You can't think of anything that needs doing before you leave for the Ghoul, so you leave the improvised briefing room – an even more cramped, awkward space than the one in the Saive manor – behind you and head out. Stopping by the dorm room to gather your kit, you sling the heavy bag over your shoulder and disembark. You're about to head straight for the Ghoul when you see a very familiar cloud of cigarette smoke, with an equally familiar woman standing within it.

Camilla Borghild, Ministry agent – even if she is seen as something of a loose cannon these days – and your one-time lover. It's always strange to greet her, as if neither of you is quite sure what to say. Still, you approach her and raise a hand in greeting.

“Hanson,” she returns your greeting with a cool smile, “I thought I might see you here. Whenever there's a ship coming in with “trouble” on the side, you're never far away.”

Purely a coincidence, you assure her, no connection whatsoever.

“Right, right,” Camilla lets the cigarette drop, crushes it out and immediately lights another, “Actually, I believe you – it was trouble around here long before you came swanning in. I don't know what's going on here, but it's been a real witch hunt lately.”

Literally?

“Actually, yes,” she tilts her head and smiles softly, as if the joke had been entirely unintentional, “So what exactly is all this?” Before you can answer, even just to say that you can't answer, she cuts you off with a gesture. “No, wait, don't tell me,” she says quickly, “In fact, don't even say if you can't tell me. Better for both of us that way. Are you busy?”

You can't stop for a drink or a proper talk, you warn her, but you can spare a few moments to catch up. Saying this, you nod towards the Ghoul and start to walk together. The snow falls slightly thicker as you walk, and the heavy sky promises a whole lot more to come.

“Strange business lately,” the Ministry agent mentions, “We've been busy chasing up any troublemakers, but we've not found much. It's like every rogue, criminal and reprobate has packed up and left town in a hurry. Normally, I wouldn't complain, but when it happens all at once?”

It's a sign, you guess, of bad things to come.

“But these days, what isn't?” she shrugs, her shoulders moving slightly beneath a heavy coat, “What about you, how are you doing? Make it back home okay with that bag of skulls?”

There was only one skull in there, you correct her, but yes – you made it back home okay. Some small weather trouble, but nothing too dramatic. Business as usual, really.

[1/2]

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>>673081

With nothing more to say to each other – you've both got official business keeping your lips sealed – you settle for walking the rest of the way in a companionable silence. When you reach the Ghoul, you both stop.

“Looks good,” Camilla remarks, nodding towards the ship, “No expense spared. I'm not an expert, but I think it'll get you where you need to go.”

You won't be going far, you answer vaguely, but that's already saying a little too much. Anyway, you'd best get your things on board – they won't tolerate anyone being late.

“I don't doubt that,” she smiles faintly, “Whoever “they” are, in this case. You go and do what you've got to do, Hanson, I'll be fine here. More than fine – I don't even have anyone to arrest, now that my usual customers have vanished.” Her tone is light, aiming for joking, but it doesn't quite manage that. She's worried, even if she doesn't show it openly.

Worried about you, if you're feeling sentimental. Worried about Port Steyr, if you're being realistic. Up on the Ghoul's deck, someone shouts something and causes you to turn. As you're turning back, Camilla darts in close and brushes her lips up against your cheek. They're dry, and not particularly warm, but the fleeting moment of contact still startles you.

“For luck,” she tells you, “I suddenly felt like you might need it.”

You start to reply, but then you hear a loud and jeering cry from the nearby ship. Without even turning around, you know exactly who let out that shout. With your lips twisted up into a thin, half-amused smile, you give Camilla a firm nod. That says everything you need to say to her, and soon you're boarding the Ghoul.

-

You were led to believe that the smaller vessel was barren, but you never expected it would be this stripped back. It feels like everything that could be removed has been torn out and thrown away, leaving room for five smaller boats. One of those will be carrying you to shore soon, you think, it better not let you down.

“Henryk!” Vas cries out to you, “Nice day for a spot of sailing, don't you think?”

You look up at the sky, at the falling snow and the slowly descending mist. Sure, you reply, a really nice day.

“It'll make your job easier,” he mutters as he approaches, lowering his voice to a darker tone, “Sneaking in under the cover of darkness, I mean.”

Maybe so, you counter, but it cuts both ways. Anything that tries sneaking up on you...

“Just don't give the bastards the chance,” Vas tells you, as if it's that easy. Then, clapping you on the shoulder, he retreats to the Ghoul's controls. The engine growls into life, and the ship slowly creeps forwards.

With every moment that passes, the mist grows thicker still.

>I think I'll pause here for today. I'll pick things up tomorrow, and I'll stick around for any questions.
>Sorry for the long pauses today – writer's block

>>673175
Thanks for running Moloch. See you tomorrow.

>>673175
Thanks for running Moloch.

>>672923
>“But Ilse,” Hyde blurts out, “You ARE a bitch!”

I laughed.

>>673175
Quality over quantity my man.

I wonder if Hyde would be amenable to acting as a reactive back-up force if we left our guys behind as well.

Range up with Kelb, go in as two hunters being better than one. After all, there's no glory in dying while failing to kill the White Tyrant.

Let him know that if he wants to die as a man we'll do our best to help him. And if he wants to live as a beast, we'll give him a head start before hunting him.

Because that's what we do. Hunt beasts. Until we die or become one ourselves.

Also maybe see if he knows about Artemis. Honestly seems like she sluts it up.

>>673217
>sluts it up.
Nonsense, Artemis is clearly the picture perfect image of purity. Now that Camilla, SHE seems like a total slut.

>>673232
She's about as pure and Fate's Medbh is.

>>673175
Thanks for running Moloch.

>>673217

Well, while I don't want to reveal too much about the next part of the thread, we will have an opportunity to make plans for working with the other teams. Moving quickly ahead compared to lingering back and moving together, that sort of thing.

>>673255

Thanks man
And oh my that kiss next min youl have them hand holding

>>673303
>hand holding
Woah man. This is a blue board remember.

>>673316

Tell that to moloch
We got to get back now so we can grab the bull by her horns and ride her.

>>673336
Yaaaay broken people get it on as much as you can between the restriction of genetics, political positions, and your own inability to form emotional bonds untainted by insecurity and selfishness let alone affected by the first two issues.

>>673336
Are you shooting for harem anon?

>>673488
I don't anybody is shooting for anything. Other than just shooting the shit.

Just talking mang.

>>673569
I dunno man, a couple of people seem pretty keen on taming the bull. I personally don't like the idea, but if the majority goes along with it, I can't exactly fight them.

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>>673336
>Not being faithful to Lize

>>673606
There wouldn't be time for that honestly. We are moving from Great Beast to Great Beast with hardly any pause inbetween. Not really conducive to start a relationship.

Not even mentioning the fact that she'll be stuck in Port Steyr all the time or the fact that we have no idea what's going to happen in the near future with our blood and Artemis.

I kinda like the relationship they have right now honestly. Good friends with a little extra in the mix. Mutual attraction, but nothing like love.

A suggested alternative for teams could be having Krebs take the lead on his own and leave his team at the beach to serve as a rearguard at the landing points and to keep the extraction point secure for retreat.

>>673745
Not a bad idea.

Like a child skulking in the shadow of their vast parent, the Ghoul cuts through the water left in the Majestic's wake. The thick, cloying fog almost feels like a solid wall, something you need to fight against with every inch you travel. These are dangerous conditions to be sailing in, even with bright lights blazing a path ahead, but Vas seems unconcerned. He stands behind the controls of the Ghoul, his eyes hard and determined. Nobody dares speak to him, or even look at him for too long for fear of spoiling his focus.

So, turning your eyes forwards once more, you tightly grip the railings at the prow of the ship and wait. By your side, the Majestic and the Ogre loom like mountains, like the walls of a great fortress. Then they are sliding away as the Ghoul turns, breaking away and slinking down the narrow passage that cuts between the two islands. To your right, you can just barely see the forests of Port Steyr. To your left, the barren wastelands of a nameless island.

It probably has a name, now you think about it, but you've never cared to ask.

-

“I see fire on the horizon,” Krebs murmurs, looking out towards his landing zone. At the sound of his voice, you crane your neck and peer into the gloom. It's perfect grey to you, trees and mountains visible only by the faintest silhouette, and you mention as such to the old man. “They're out there,” he rumbles, “Pagan barbarians, dancing around their bonfires.”

That's probably the most poetic thing you've ever heard him say. Glancing across the deck, you meet Hyde's gaze and watch him shrug. You've done all you can to talk some sense and reason into Krebs – once he gets on his ship, it'll be out of your hands.

“How much longer?” Ilse breathes, even her brash will faltering in the face of the coming operation, “I'm getting pretty tired of staring at fog.”

“It'll be a while longer,” Hyde mutters to her. Nobody seems willing to raise their voices above a conspiratorial murmur – or rather, nobody is willing to be the first to do so. It's almost as if to speak aloud would draw some malign attention down upon them. Then again, you're in no position to mock them for superstition or delusion. Your voice is as quiet as theirs.

Can't travel too fast out here, you whisper to nobody in particular, not without some serious danger. Slowly and steady, the Ghoul will carve a path to where you need to be.

Still, you can't help but wish it would get there a little faster.

[1/4]

>>676215

“Team one, ready!” a low call – still louder than anything you've heard in a while – rolls out across the deck. The first boat is lowered down into the water and, one by one, the five crew climb down into it. Krebs starts to join them, but then hesitates for a moment. Starting with Hyde, he shakes hands with the other Hunters – his grip, you find, is firm without being cruel. It feels right, parting ways like this, as though you're parting as gentlemen.

He'll be okay, you mutter to Hyde as the boat sinks into the gloom, he'll make the right call when the time comes.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Hyde shakes his head, “It's done now. I won't think about it until this is over. I can't afford to be thinking about anything else. Henryk, when you get to shore, I want you to call me up. Maybe we can work out some kind of plan.”

“We should all call each other once we've landed,” Stukov offers, “Just to make sure we're all okay. Even if we can't work together, we can at least share what we know. If I see some movement, or if you see lights in the distance... that sort of thing.”

“You people gossip like old women,” Ilse lets out a low, scornful laugh, “But... sure. I'll pass a message on once I've reached land. You'd better not be dead by the time I get there, Henryk, you understand me? That goes for the rest of you mongrel dogs as well – we're all getting out of this alive.”

She almost sounds convinced of her own words.

-

“Team two, ready!” the call goes out, and Hyde stiffens. Nodding to himself, he offers a pale smile as you clap him on the shoulder. Another round of handshakes, and he's ready to leave. Maybe not “ready” exactly, but it's his time to go.

“Remember, radio me once you've landed,” he reminds you grimly, just before he descends to the waiting boat. His bald scalp catches a faint light for a moment, and then he is gone.

Your turn next, and all of a sudden you regret wishing for the moment to come sooner. Gripping the cold metal of the railing tightly, you bow your head and steady your nerves. It's only for a moment, and a brief one at that, but you feel a shiver of anxiety running through you. Something jabs you in the side, and you look up to see Ilse's attempt at a reassuring smile. It's a pretty poor attempt, with her lips drawn back in a tight line, but you appreciate the effort.

You've all had your squabbles and your differences, the five of you, but when the time came... you drew together. Maybe Ilse was right, maybe you will all make it through this.

[2/4]

>>676216

When it's your turn to leave, you go without ceremony. The boat is lowered down into the water, and you follow Hawthorn down into it. Pausing just long enough to press the palm of your hand against the Ghoul's hull – to reassure yourself, perhaps, that you'll see it again – you settle down into the boat and take up one of the oars. The sooner you're ashore the better.

The small boat cuts silently through the water, quickly closing the gap between the retreating Ghoul and dry land. You'll be landing in desolate, empty space – a far cry from the forests Krebs was met with and the mountains Hyde faces. Not much cover, save for whatever concealment the low mist offers you, but anyone else around will be just as exposed. All in all, not a bad place to begin your part of the operation.

As the boat bumps up against the coastline, you're given a display of how well Hawthorns men are trained. Wasting no time at all, they ready their weapons and fan out, covering the wide half-circle of ground that is your landing zone. Only their leader might be a professional soldier, but all of them have proved to be quick learners. When no threats appear, the men form up a tighter group and glance across to you for their first instructions.

“Hold on,” Mule tells you gruffly, as the heavy radio on his back begins to squeal, “Getting a call here. Let me tune it in...” Sighing with faint relief, he takes off the backpack and sets it down, adjusting the dial and searching through the various channels. “Team one,” he says, his voice surprised. You approach and take a listen.

-

“This is Palmer, team one,” the distant voice crackles, “I've got... Wait.”

A rattle of background as the radio equipment is moved, passed to a new user. The next voice you hear is not one you were expecting – Krebs, his voice coming slowly from the speakers. “We're not alone,” the Hunter tells you bluntly, “I smell something out here. Maybe men, maybe beasts. If it's a beast, it can smell us as well – it knows we're here.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you picture beasts – or men not too dissimilar to beasts – prowling though the gloomy forests, circling and waiting for any sign of weakness. Not a pretty scene to imagine.

“The men are restless,” Krebs adds after a moment, “Scared. This isn't their land, and they know it.”

This isn't his land either, you remind him, and he shouldn't forget that.

A long silence, from the other end of the radio, before the connection is severed. Standing there, holding a dead speaker and feeling increasingly hopeless, you let out a muttered curse.

[3/4]

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>>676218

Get team two on the radio, you order after a moment, you need to make contact with Hyde. Mule nods and makes an adjustment to the device, twisting the dials with a precision that contrasts with his brutish frame. When the link is open, you hold the speaker to your ear and listen.

“Henryk, is that you? I'm not getting a very good signal – something to do with the mountains, I think,” Hyde's voice comes quietly, almost entirely lost beneath a tide of static, “But I think we can talk. For now, at least.”

How are things looking over there, you ask, any signs of hostile life?

“Hard to be sure. We've found the remains of camps, but never another living thing. It's slow going, though, the terrain here is rough. One wrong step might leave a man crippled,” Hyde curses, loud enough for it to reach you over the radio, “Did Krebs radio you as well? He spoke of something following his team, and then he went silent. Could be trouble – anything on your end?”

No trouble, you inform him, but Krebs told you the same thing. At least he's still travelling with the rest of his team... for now.

“Listen, Henryk, I'm going to try and meet up with him. I can see some flatlands ahead, it'll make a good place to join up. It could take a while, though, if he even agrees to meet up,” a pause, and you faintly hear the rustle of paper – a map, perhaps, “Could be a little out of your way though. I'll give you the coordinates...”

As you take out your own map, you note down the coordinates Hyde reads off. He's not wrong – it IS out of the way. Definitely too far for Ilse and Stukov to meet you, and you'd be too far to help them if something bad happened. Frowning down at the map, you offer Hyde your answer.

>We'll meet up and travel together. Safety in numbers
>I'm going on ahead. Stay in contact, and maybe we can group up later
>I had a different plan... (Write in)
>Other

>>676219
>>I'm going on ahead. Stay in contact, and maybe we can group up later
"I need to be in a position to help out Stukov and Ilse if they need it."

>>676219
>I'm going on ahead. Stay in contact, and maybe we can group up later
As the middle group we gotta be flexible.

>>676219
>I'm going on ahead. Stay in contact, and maybe we can group up later

>>676219
>I'm going on ahead. Stay in contact, and maybe we can group up later

>>676219
>I'm going on ahead. Stay in contact, and maybe we can group up later

>>676219
>We'll meet up and travel together. Safety in numbers

You're going on ahead, you tell Hyde slowly, you can't afford to meet up with him. You're going up the middle path, you need to stay flexible – if Ilse and Stukov need help, you can't afford to stray too far away. Still, you want to stay in contact with him and his group. You may be able to meet up later, depending on how things go.

“I see,” Hyde pauses, and you can picture him tracing a finger across the map, “Right, you're probably right. Once I've made contact with Krebs or his team, I'll let you know. Have you reached Ilse or Stukov yet?”

Not yet, you reply, but they might not have reached land yet.

“Sure, right,” the radio blares out a fresh wave of static, and you have to pull the speaker away from your ear. “Damn it!” Hyde snaps, when the interference has died, “These damn radios... Stay safe Henryk, and keep your eyes open.”

Will do, you nod to yourself as you reply, good hunting.

“Good hunting,” Hyde repeats, and then the line goes dead. Passing the speaker back to Mule, you gesture for your team to get ready. Time to move out.

-

Snow crunches underfoot as you walk, the sound of boots blending together into a single, drawn out note. That sound is almost the only one you can hear – anything that might come from the outside world is smothered, stifled by the cloying mist. Once or twice, one of the soldiers cursed or muttered something to themselves, but those small interruptions soon died. As before, when you were waiting to depart, making too much noise almost seems like a crime in this place – or a blasphemy, if not a crime.

Ahead of you, the forest looms up out of the gloom. Thick rows of evergreen trees rise up like a fortress wall, and the mere sight of the woods is enough to give your team pause. The forest here looks faintly different to the one outside Port Steyr, but the precise difference eludes you for a long time. It's only when you draw closer that you can put a name to it – this stretch of woodland is older and untamed, almost primal.

When the radio crackles out another burst of static, you almost welcome the distraction. Nodding for Mule to set it down, you take the speaker and listen carefully.

“We've got a problem,” Hyde says, without wasting time on any introductions, “I managed to meet up with team one. Krebs is... missing.”

Missing, you repeat slowly. Not dead, and he hasn't run off – he's missing.

“They can't explain it either. There were noises, just as they reached the edge of the forest. The men paused to survey the area, but when they formed back up again...” Hyde pauses, “Krebs was gone. No trace of him. I think he went on ahead, leaving the rest of his team to meet up with me.”

Maybe, you mutter.

[1/2]

>>676270

The radio goes dead in your hand as Hyde cuts the connection, and you let Mule take the speaker from you. Krebs is missing, while Ilse and Stukov are yet to check in. You've not seen any emergency signals yet, but that doesn't mean much. A man can't send up a signal flare if he's had his throat slit, after all.

“Looks grim,” Hawthorn offers, his voice taut and hushed.

Looks grim, you agree, but not unexpectedly so.

“Your orders, then?” he asks, “Are we going... in?” As if he doesn't even dare name it, Hawthorn nods towards the forest. His reluctance is understandable, but you can't allow yourself to share it. Not openly, at least.

You're going in, you confirm, move quietly and stay alert. Forests like these have a way of making men disappear, it seems.

-

“Hell, look at this stuff,” Lem breathes, pointing his rifle at one of the thicker trees. A wooden figure, woven from twigs, has been nailed to the trunk of the tree. Above, in the branches, more of the little dolls are hanging. Hanging, you note grimly, in a way that suggests execution. “I've read about this kind of thing,” the bookish soldier continues, “It's a sign of-”

“Quiet,” Hawthorn hisses, “If you're talking, you're not listening. Stay alert, boy!”

Lem glances across to you, and you nod silently. You all know what these dolls are here to signify, and saying it aloud won't help anyone. Better to keep quiet and listen out for any trouble. As Lem steps away from the tree, you point the way forwards, and the group resumes its pace. Creeping like thieves in the night, you advance through the tight ranks of trees. Thorns claw at sleeves or scarves as you pass, while the tangled bushes underfoot cling at boots. As the men stalk forwards, you slip Alyssia's pendant from your pocket and hide it in the palm of your hand. A little thing, you think, but you'll take whatever help you can get.

When all eyes are elsewhere, you slip it over your neck to rest alongside the medallion Lize gave you. Gifts from two of the women in your life – and the Birthing Blade resting at your hip is a third.

“I hear something,” Gerritson whispers from ahead, holding up a nervous hand. Everyone stops, listening hard to the stillness of the night. When no sound immediately presents itself, you gesture for them to stay still and move a few paces forwards. Careful not to step on any fallen branches or uncertain ground, you range ahead of the men.

Then you hear something, some distant and incongruous sound. You hear... bells.

[2/3]

>>676286

Lifting your rifle, you check that a cartridge is loaded and throw it against your shoulder. Behind you, lingering in uncertain stillness, the five men watch you with wide, staring eyes. Waiting to see what you do, you suspect, waiting to follow your example.

Rattling and jangling, the sound of bells grows closer still, and then the mists part to reveal a human figure. Draped in thick, fur-lined robes, they lean heavily on a twisted wooden staff – one tipped with a pair of tarnished metal bells. You point the rifle square at this new arrival and prepare to call out an order, to command them to stop, but the words die unformed on your lips. The air in your lungs turns cold, and you find yourself mute. Your finger tightens on the trigger as the cloaked figure approaches, a small pressure away from firing the weapon.

Raising their head, the figure almost meets your eye. A pair of dark lenses separates the two of you, leaving her eyes unseen and unreadable.

“I knew we'd meet eventually,” she purrs, her voice easily carrying to meet you, “A Hunter with a white bird upon his shoulder – a bird whose beak is red with blood. We share the same master, you and I.”

Your mind goes blank for a single second, and then your thoughts rush back like a blizzard – whirling badly and never resting still. A name starts to form on your lips.

“Hebona,” the witch murmurs, her lips moving in perfect symmetry with your own, “That's right. Be at peace, Hunter, I did not come to fight. I carry no weapons.” As you track her with the rifle, Hebona lowers her staff to the ground and then casts off her thick robes. She is naked underneath, her skin bare except for the sprawling tattoos that adorn it, and you see the truth of her words – she has no weapons hidden. Her stomach, though, is distended – swollen with the early signs of pregnancy. “I carry nothing,” she continues, “Save for that which I carry within me.”

Lifting your eyes from that bloated body, you meet her eyes for the first time. They are not human eyes.

“I know why you are here, and I know who you are here to kill,” Hebona says slowly, pronouncing each word with care, “I wish to help you. We can cooperate, you and I. There need not be violence between us.”

You were prepared to work with the barbarians, if it helped you, but this? This is not what you were expecting. To take her help or not... before you can decide that, you need to know what you're dealing with.

>Why would you help me?
>You spoke of Artemis... Arktis. Do you dream of her as well?
>You're not human. What are you?
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>676297
>Why would you help me?
>You're not human. What are you?

>>676297
>You're not human. What are you?
>Why would you help me?

>>676297
>You're not human. What are you?
Nemesis?
>Why would you help me?

>>676297
>>Why would you help me?
We're totally gonna shoot her in the face right?

>>676303
She's too old for that.


>>676306
Eventually

>>676308
>Eventually
Not right now? Not while she's busy answering our questions? She'll never expect that!

File: Hebona.jpg (646 KB, 672x900)

646 KB JPG

Hebona bends down and gathers her robes, slipping back into them. For some reason, you get the impression that she wears them out of preference rather than necessity. Even when she stood naked before you, the cold wind didn't seem to bother her at all. Every movement she makes, you follow her with the muzzle of your rifle. That weight, the deadly weight of a loaded gun, brings you somewhat back to your senses.

She's not human, you breath, what is she?

“I AM human,” she corrects you, “At least, I think so. I would consider myself human. Do my eyes displease you? That is often the way.” Slipping those dark lenses back into place, Hebona hides her ancient, reptile eyes from sight. “The far north has a way of changing people... but I needn't tell you that. I made pilgrimage there once, a very long time ago, and the experience left me... as you see me now.”

At the mention of the far north, your eyes flick down to her stomach – and the child that forms within it. Swallowing back a wave of revulsion, you force yourself to gaze back into the coal black lenses that cover her eyes. Why would she help you, you ask, if she knows why you're here?

“Because it serves my own purposes,” Hebona replies, with a simple honestly, “Kings reign, and then they fall. It is time for the White Tyrant – that is how you know him, after all – to fall. I've known that his time would come, and I have been waiting for the instrument of his downfall to come. We both stand to gain from this, Hunter... and we're not the only ones. Many of your kin seek this, while a lesser few of mine share the same wish.”

And this help, you press, what form would it take? What exactly is she offering?

“I can get you close – close enough for you to slide a blade between his ribs,” at the mention of violence, Hebona's voice lowers to a sensual whisper, “And then you walk free. I attach no strings, you would owe me no favours. After all, simply doing this would be a favour in its own right. However, it would only be you – your companions would have to wait behind. I can vouch for the virtue of your blood, but them... they cannot claim the same blessing.”

Of course, you think grimly to yourself, Wolves are prized among the northern folk.

“Follow me, if you so desire,” Hebona picks up her staff and slowly turns to depart, “Or remain here. The choice is yours, Hunter. My trail will be easy to follow.”

Then, with her corroded bells rattling softly, she begins to leave. You hold the rifle's sights on her retreating back for a moment longer. With just the slightest pressure on the trigger...

>Follow her
>Let her leave
>Take the shot
>Other

>>676286
>Gifts from two of the women in your life – and the Birthing Blade resting at your hip is a third.
We gotta get something from Camilla next time we're in port.

>>676342
>>Follow her

>>676342
>>Take the shot
Will we get another easy shot like this? I just don't trust her anyway, who's to say she won't just kill everyone else when we're getting nice and comfy with the White tyrant?

Let's think about this for a minute. If we do take this then we have to explain how we fucking disappeared from our team and assassinated White Tyrant. We open ourselves up to a lot of questions. It would be less casualties this way, but that's only if she actually follows her word here. She could be pulling one over on us.

>>676342
I would say "shoot her" but she wouldn't be doing what she does without some form of bullet immunity I think.

>Let her leave

We definitely need to murder her later though.

>>676342
>Follow her

Something tells me shooting her would not be as simple as it sounds.

We can think of this as information gathering for ways to kill her later.

>>676342
>Let Her Leave

Goddammit, she's carrying a God babby so she needs to die ASAP but now is just not the time. Get back to our men and then follow her trail.

>>676342
Weighing our options here I just don't trust this bitch. Regardless of the 'How' we are still going to kill White Tyrant here.

For those of you saying 'it won't be that easy' remember what Alyssia said. Witches when you have them in your sights go down just like any other human. They do their shit through proxies indirectly and rituals. You might be right that she set something up but on the off chance she didn't cause she thought name dropping Artemis would stay our hand we can't let this chance go to waste.

>Take the shot

>>676342
>Take the shot

Remember when she killed the engine on our ship and sent all those men to their deaths? It's payback time

>>676371
And that other ship we found. And that ambush at Port Steyr that killed most of Camilla's men.

And that's only what we know of.

>I'm going to close the vote here, and get to work writing up the next post. Looks like we're going with taking the shot!

>>676358
>bullet immunity
I thought the same, especially when she froze us over for a second. That shit is deadly. I still think we won't have another chance like this though, this is our first time meeting her and could possibly be our last so we might as well finish things now. Or at least try.

A lot of people have died because of this witch. She almost killed you and Vas, laying a hex upon his ship and sending it to the bottom of the ocean. There's a lot of blood clinging to her hands, old and new, and you can't just let her walk away from you. Not while you've got a good shot at her. Tightening your grip on the rifle, you prepare to squeeze the trigger.

It won't work, you think suddenly, something will get in the way and foil your aim. The cartridge will be a dud, or your rifle will misfire. Even if it fires, the shot will surely fly wide of its target. Maybe you'll hit, only for her to walk off as if nothing happened. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, this won't work. It won't be this easy. It won't-

The gun barks in your hands, bucking against your shoulder, and Hebona drops. She spills forwards, crumbling to the ground without so much as crying out in pain or surprise. Frankly, you're probably more surprised than she is... or was. It's too early to celebrate yet, not while you don't know for certain.

Racking the rifle's bolt, you load a new shot and cautiously approach the body. With every step you take you expect her to rise, scuttling away like a spider or lashing out in blind fury. Over and over, you keep thinking the same thing – it can't be that easy.

Her body is still – perfectly so – and she offers no response when you kick her lightly. You kick her again, harder this time, and there is still no reaction. Emboldened by this, you roll her over with your foot and take a long, hard look at her face.

Hebona, the woman you shot, had been youthful and attractive – the kind of woman whose charms could easily sway an ignorant victim into lowering their guard. What gazes blindly up at you as you turn the body over is a far older creature. Sunken flesh, green with quickened decay, clings to ancient bones, while the few strands of hair that still remain are colourless and brittle. Her hands are arthritic claws, tipped with long nails, while her mouth hangs open in a toothless grimace.

The eyes are the worst parts – hollow sockets, as if those inhuman eyes had been mere illusion. How old was this thing, you ask yourself in futile wonder, how ancient was this creature? Even as you examine the body, decay takes a tighter hold. Dark bone starts to peek through as the face is eaten away from within, and soon there is nothing left but a skull leering up blindly at the sky.

Huh, you mutter to yourself, it actually worked.

[1/2]

>>676429
>Huh, you mutter to yourself, it actually worked.
I-I won't be tricked! This was probably a body double or something.

>>676429
Burn the body BURN THE BODY

>>676436
>nothing left but a skull leering up blindly at the sky.
There is no body. Should we take it?

>>676429
Gross.

Hmm, now that their leader (or at least I think she was) is dead the witches should a bit more disorganized.

And if what Hebona said was true and the others also wanted White Tyrant dead killing him might get us some good favor and maybe influence. Maybe.

>>676439
Nay. Crush it under our boot.

>>676439
BURN IT ANYWAY.
And make sure the child didn't survive somehow.

>>676452
The whole body decayed to nothing. I think the kid went with it.

>>676456
We need to make sure.

>>676429
one body down, wonder how many more Hebona has. Can't be that many.

I kinda wonder how the guy gonna react at Henryk shooting an pregnant woman in the back.

Reminds me of Vergil sperging out in DmC.

>>676463
Hm. If we take a tissue sample maybe Alyssia could divine the location of the rest of them with sympathetic magic.

>>676467
I thought it was the right thing to do.

Henryk was the main supporter of working together with them, so it wouldn't be hard for them to swallow if even he thought that shit be whack.

Besides, whatever remains of the baby we see will definitely NOT be human.

>>676467
They also saw her with her charms off and how fast her body decayed.

Honestly they might thank him. His Hunter senses must have picked up on the disguise! Or something.

>>676474
So we should take the skull back?

>>676429

Whatever pleasure or satisfaction you might have felt soon darkens and turns to a sickening dread. It wasn't just Hebona you were confronted with, there was her child. Any normal humann being, and you wouldn't have been concerned – it was too early for anything to survive the death of its mother – but Hebona was... different. If that child had been born from the union of human and divinity, nothing is certain.

Though the thought sticks in your mind like a curse, you know what you have to do. Rolling the sack of bones that was once Hebona's corpse over fully, you push open her mouldering robes. Coiled up within her is a small corpse, that of an infant. Grimacing, dearly wishing to look away but forcing yourself not to, you reach down and lift up the small skull.

Fully formed, no matter how early the child had been in development, it leers up at you. Crowning its brow are two stubby horns, rising up like the symptom of some deeper corruption. Returning the skull to the crumbled robes, you find yourself wiping your hand clean on your jacket, as if it had left a clinging stain. As you're looking down at the remains, Hawthorn finally dares to approach.

“Sir...” he begins, “What was-”

Get some branches cut, you order quietly, you want the makings of a fire prepared as soon as possible.

“But-”

League regulations are clear, you continue in that same bland tone, bodies should not be left to fester and rot. Prepare a fire.

-

“We shouldn't linger here for too long,” Hawthorn warns you later, once he's gathered his composure, “The smoke might draw unwarned attention. The barbarians...”

You'll get moving soon, you assure him, just a moment longer. He nods awkwardly and then retreats a few paces, leaving you to watch the bonfire consume what remains of Hebona's bones. In truth, she could be ash, and you'd still feel this deep void of uncertainty. It still seems too easy, and you can't quite bring yourself to believe that Hebona could be truly dead. Perhaps that's because of what lies silently in your deepest pocket – a single bone, taken from the witch's finger. You felt compelled to take something from the remains – not a trophy, you had no desire to think of it in such terms, but something to keep.

Shaking your head, you turn away from the bonfire. Hawthorn is right – you need to move, before someone sees the fire. Calling out an order, you wave for the men to fall into formation. As you lead the way forwards, Hawthorn himself approaches, only to linger nearby like an uncertain suitor.

>Say it, if you've got something to say
>How are the men?
>I've got nothing to say, Hawthorn
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>676487
A small piece of it.

>>676506
>How are the men?

>>676506
>How are the men?
>Say it, if you've got something to say

>>676506
>>How are the men?
Hope they weren't too spooked.

>>676506
>Say it, if you've got something to say
>Would you have preferred if I trusted her? All I can tell you for sure is that she was definitely involved in sinking Vas' old ship, and probably the sinking of a Scholar ship. I don't know why she thought of me as an ally, but I sure didn't.

>>676506
>Other
"That woman, Hebona. She was personally responsible for the deaths of many men and women including most of Port Steyr's old garrison. I had no idea she was...'that' though. I was surprised just as much as you."
>>How are the men? How are you?

>>676506
I know that my actions and my wanting to work with the Northerners are at odd at this time but if there was one person that I would refuse any kind of proposal it would be her.

I owed it to the men she killed with her foul magic.

How are the men, you ask, how they holding up? You throw out your question in the vain hope of filling the void, and it's a long time before Hawthorn can summon up an answer to it.

“They're... dealing with it,” he replies carefully, “I don't think any of them were expecting that, what happened. Speaking plainly? I think they would have been happier if she'd come at us with an axe or a rifle. At least that way, we'd all know where we stood.”

Have they offered any complaints, you ask, were they hoping you'd deal peacefully with her?

“You're not about to face a mutiny or anything, if that's what you're asking. They're still prepared to follow orders, without question, but seeing what happened – seeing the remains, I mean – everyone's a little rattled,” Hawthorn forces a quiet laugh, “Myself included. I can't explain what we just witnessed, and that's going to leave a pall over things. In truth, I don't think any of them expected to deal peacefully with any of the northerners. You talked for a while, but I couldn't hear what you were saying. Who... what was she? What did she want with you?”

She was a witch, you reply, one responsible for sending a great many men to the grave. She was responsible for sinking ships and spreading sedition among the people of Port Steyr. You came prepared to deal with the northerners, even their witches if the situation demanded it, but not her. Why she thought you might be willing to listen, you'll never know. Common cause is one thing, but it could never forgive her past crimes. Killing her was a duty, something you owed to her victims.

“Did you know she was...” Hawthorn flaps a vague hand back at the smouldering remains of the bonfire as he searches for the right words to use, “Like that?”

No, you reply honestly, that came as a surprise to you as well.

“Oh,” he falls silent, and that seems to be the end of things. At least, until he sticks close by with that same tormented look on his face – the look of a man grappling with an unwelcome secret.

If he's got something to say, you order after a long moment, just say it. You won't stand for this skulking about, especially if it might be important later. If he has to just blurt it out, so be it.

“Right, yes, right,” Hawthorn nods a few times, “How did she find us? How did she know exactly where to look for us? Don't even try and pretend that it was an accident, a chance meeting.” He falls silent for a moment, and then speaks up with renewed determination. “Do you think we have a spy?” he asks, “Someone leaking information?”

[1/2]

>>676589
>How did she find us?
Is it in bad taste to say she was blessed by god?

>>676604
Kek.

In all seriousness though I'd just chalk it up to 'Witchcraft lol'

Cause in reality I think she found us in particular because she was looking for Art's Hunter.

>>676589

Loch was certainly ready to consider the possibility, you think as you dwell on his question. Your plan changed at the last minute, with the Ghoul taking the southern route rather than approaching from the north, so it would have been a fairly recent leak – likely one of the Hunters.

Krebs, then? He went missing, if his disappearance had been cover to meet up with some barbarians and share his knowledge, it might fit. Then again, Ilse and Stukov have been radio silent since you left them, you've got no clue of where they might be or what they could be doing. The idea of a spy is all too possible. You've got to admit that, even if the thought causes you to clench your fists with a bitter anger. Swallowing back the wave of frustration that boils up within your gut, you force a calm mask onto your face.

Impossible to know for certain, you tell Hawthorn, and this isn't the time to get lost in speculation. Leave the paranoia to men of Loch's ilk, and focus on the operation ahead.

“Yes sir, understood,” Hawthorn nods hastily and finally retreats, slinking back to give you some breathing room. He's still far from happy, but at least the dark cloud of uncertainty that hangs over him has lessened somewhat. You, on the other hand, feel less sure than ever.

Hebona spoke of the white bird on your shoulder, and you're not fool enough to miss her implication. She knew of Artemis – Arktis, in the northern language – and she wasn't shy about letting you know. Is it not possible, then, that Artemis herself guided Hebona to you? After all, if it made killing the White Tyrant easier, the goddess would have good cause to arrange a partnership of that sort.

Well, too bad for her. Maybe Artemis was willing to move you both like pieces on a chessboard, but you weren't playing that game. You're going to kill the White Tyrant, but you'll do it in your own way.

With that thought, you reach a decision. Calling out to the members of your team, you order a halt. You'll stop for a rest and plan your next move. You could all use some time to think on what comes next.

>I need to take a brief pause here, hopefully no more than an hour at most. Your patience is appreciated!

Anyone have any plans for now? We should be damn close to Port Tyrant so we could go in and scout ahead for the other teams or take out the Tyrant ourselves. We could also get in touch with Stukov and Ilse since they haven't radioed in yet, maybe see if anyone is nearby to maybe meet up with if need be.

>>676701
Scouting seems wise. Can't really make plans if we don't know what we are dealing with.

And yes a quick check in with the other teams for coordination is also a good idea.

>>676701
Get a bit of distance from the fire, then ping everyone on radio. It's been long enough to start aggregating info.

The order to rest up is eagerly received, and the men waste little time in getting settled in. Backpacks are opened, and small packages of dried meat are quickly devoured. Hawthorn takes it upon himself to stand guard, slowly patrolling around the group in a loose circle. With only five other men here – five tired, scared men – it's the best that you can do. For a moment, you bitterly regret not joining up with Hyde and his growing party. It's a passing regret, and not one that lingers. Travelling with a larger group might well have its own troubles.

Still, thinking of Hyde is enough to get you checking the radio. Shaking off his fatigue, Mule helps you tune in to Hyde's radio, and you have to wait for what seems like a long time before you hear a voice on the other end.

“Team two, this is Hyde,” the weary voice answers you. When you greet him, though, Hyde manages to summon up fresh reserves of energy. “Henryk, good to hear from you again. We're getting close to the fortress, taking shelter in the forest now. What's your position?”

Checking your map, you make the guess that Hyde is likely in the same forest you're lurking within. When you read your coordinates aloud, and he replies with his, you know it for a fact. Only a short distance, relatively speaking, separates your groups. From this position, you could meet up fairly easily, without committing too much time or energy. The idea of discussing your plans face to face is a tempting one. For now, though, you're content with trading information over the radio. That, in fact, is the next thing you ask Hyde – has he encountered any hostile forces yet?

“Some. A small band was coming out of the forest just as we were approaching. Avoiding them would have been impossible,” a faint bitterness seeps into Hyde's voice, “Two men dead, but we got all of them. No survivors to report back, fortunately. Nothing since then, these thick trees are good for cover. What about you?”

One very minor encounter, you reply after considering your words, no losses on your part. Has he heard from the others?

“Not at all. I'm starting to get concerned,” Hyde pauses as a hum of background static rises and falls, “Could you try them? I'm not convinced that my equipment is working perfectly. Radio me back when you know more.”

Got it, you tell him as you end the call. Team four – Ilse – next. Mule adjusts the dial carefully, and then the line opens... to offer nothing but static. You listen to it for a while, long enough for it to start sounding like the waves, before Mule shakes his head.

“Damaged equipment maybe,” he offers, “If her kit caught a bullet...”

Team five, you order quietly, try team five.

[1/2]

File: Alternative plan (Updated).png (106 KB, 731x533)

106 KB PNG

>>676893

With only a slight hesitation, Mule tunes the radio to Stukov's team. When you hold the speaker to your ear, you get the expected wash of static for a while, and then a voice cuts through.

“Team five... what's left of it,” Stukov's voice is lifeless, broken under fatigue and pain, “Who is it? Ilse, is that you?”

It's Henryk, you reply after swallowing heavily, what's his situation?

“Shit, it's not great,” he forces a laugh, “Operation went to hell pretty much immediately. Must have been some barbarians lurking up in the mountains, because they came out to meet us more or less as soon as we were ashore. They hit us hard, I lost three men there and then, but at least we managed to drive them back. Only... now they know we're here.”

Breathing out slowly, you hiss a faint curse to yourself.

“We managed to get dug in, but the northerners have been hitting us since. Us... me. I'm the only one left,” Stukov falls silent for a moment, “I almost called for the Ghoul, but I can't risk it. If they know we've got a ship down this way, they might send out their big bastard to hunt it down. I tried to find out where Ilse ended up, but her radio has been dead for ages. As for my flares... the damn things got soaked, wouldn't light for shit. Some luck, right?” Another silence, the static warring with Stukov's rasping breath, and then he continues speaking. “Looks like neither of us will be winning that bet, huh?” he forces a laugh, “Hell, I hope things are better on your end. I... shit!”

What, you call, another attack?

“Yeah, I can see movement. Too damn many of them,” Stukov pauses, and you hear the faint murmur of a curse, “Henryk, I'm going to trash the radio. I don't want them to get their hands on it. Tell the others...” A rattle of gunfire cuts through the transmission for a moment, and when Stukov next speaks, his voice is panicked. “Hell, tell them I said something respectable,” he snaps, “For once in my damn life!”

Then, as you call out Stukov's name, his radio link goes dead. Just static, nothing more than that.

-

Numbly, you reach out and turn the dial back to Hyde's team. Slowly, you recount your findings to the other Hunter, and then it's Hyde's turn to fall silent.

“We need to meet,” he says simply, “We're too vulnerable alone. Even if we don't stick together, we can at least scout out the fortress and see what we're dealing with.”

>I'm going on ahead. I need to move quickly
>Fine. We'll meet up and see what's ahead
>Forget it. I'm calling the Ghoul – this mission is over
>Other

>>676972
>Fine. We'll meet up and see what's ahead

>>676972
>>Fine. We'll meet up and see what's ahead
We're close enough so it shouldn't take that long. We can always split up again if we have second thoughts.

>>676972
>I'm going on ahead. I need to move quickly
I'm on the fence, but Hyde has the bigger party and might be better suited looking for Ilse. She'll be under fire most likely, so the bigger group should go for her.

>>676972
>Fine. We'll meet up and see what's ahead

Notice how the team that got ambushed was the one closest to the original path? Makes you think.

>>677006
That's a good point. We can move on ahead and take care of the Tyrant ourselves and send Hyde and his huge group to try and help the other two. He can attack them from behind which they might not expect.

>>676972
>>Fine. We'll meet up and see what's ahead

A note about Hebona, if she was in contact with Artemis she would be the unreliable ally in the north Artemis mentioned to us while on Wherlains 'Pleasure Cruise'.

There is some small part of you that wants to charge forwards without so much as a moment's pause, even charging into the gates of the White Tyrant's fortress itself. Not so much to avenge Stukov, but just to put an end to things. This operation has left a bad taste in your mouth, and a bitter frustration in the pit of your stomach. Bringing it all to a furious end has a certain visceral appeal.

Only then you think of Krebs, and your anger cools. You're no beast, mindlessly throwing itself into the jaws of danger. You're a man, and you can choose your battles. No doubt you'll be rushing off into a messy situation before the end of this operation, but you can decide the exact circumstances for yourself.

Fine, you tell Hyde, you'll link up with his team and see what you're dealing with. Maybe you'll stay together, and maybe you won't – that's a decision you can make when you know what you're dealing with.

“I'll keep an eye out for you,” Hyde confirms, “Be careful though, some of my men have reported hearing noises. Movement in the trees, even voices at some point. Same thing that team one reported, not too long before Krebs went missing.”

Grimacing, you warn Hyde not to let his guard down. He has enough men to set up a respectable guard, you ask, doesn't he?

“That's right, but-” pausing, you hear Hyde swapping a few murmured words with another man before he returns to the radio, “But hurry.” With that last remark, he cuts the transmission and leaves you, once more, holding a useless radio.

You're getting pretty sick of hearing static. Handing the speaker back to Mule, you call out orders to move. You're heading west, you tell the men under your command, and then you'll be heading to the White Tyrant's fortress.

You get no arguments, no protests or complaints, but the affirmations you hear are flat, with barely enough energy to pronounce the words aloud. Under the circumstances, you consider yourself lucky to get that much.

As soon as all the men have risen to their feet, you take the lead and guide them deeper into the forest.

>I'll have to stop things here for today. I'll continue this tomorrow, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions or comments
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>676972
>>Fine. We'll meet up and see what's ahead
Splitting the party was always a bad idea.

I say we go look for Ilse when we meet with Hyde.

>>677135
Thanks for running Moloch.

Did you expect us to just shoot Hebona like that?

Is Artemis really confused up in Nihilo?

>>677135
Thanks for running!

>>677144
Running back and forth endangers the whole operation. Meeting up with one team on the way is alright, but going back for another, especially when the enemy already knows of our presence and has undoubtedly began strengthening patrols and organizing search-and-destroy teams, is foolish.

>>677160
>send Hyde and his huge group to try and help the other two
What do ya think about this idea? Our team might be able to handle the Tyrant somehow but we can't just leave the other two for dead if we can actually save them.

>>677185
If anything it's we who should go to help Ilse, 'cause we are closer and storming the citadel will be easier with more people.

It's already too late for Stukov's group though.

>>677185
Stukov's team is wiped out and Ilse could be anywhere along her path. We don't really have time to search for her and cover all the ground along with dealing with barbarians that wiped out Stukov's team. We have to assume everything to our east is hostile at the moment. Pray that Ilse took her team to ground and is staying radio silent for a reason. Hopefully they we will meet them at Port Tyrant.

In the meantime we need to focus what forces we have left on our side to the Port. 13 men and 2 Hunters.

>>677158

Shooting Hebona was something I was prepared for, but my prediction would have been to work with her. Still, I can well understand why people were unwilling to trust her - she's not exactly blameless!

As for Artemis, I don't want to comment on her reaction quite yet, just in case it proves important later

>>677198
>Ilse could be anywhere along her path

Actually, this. We have no idea where to look for her. Let's just go bag the Tyrant.

>>677215
All the more reason to send Hyde who has more people right? If it somehow proves impossible to handle the Tyrant we can just go back up Hyde or something.

>>677158
>>677214
>I have... someone in the north,” Artemis looks away, “Not a friend, though, but perhaps not an enemy, either. I wouldn't rely on their help, not now at least. -Thread #7 post 495364
On allies in the North.

>>677249
That's not how infiltrations are done. We get bogged down, we're dead.

>>677249
The nature of this mission is to move fast and hard. We are behind enemy lines and outnumbered. This is an assassination. We need to get it done and get out. All the Hunters knew the risks of this mission.

Like I said, pray Ilse isn't in trouble and is just staying quiet while heading to Port Tyrant. With any luck we'll meet her there and she can flank for us. She hasn't sent any green flares so that's a good sign. Just hope they weren't damaged like Stukov's.

>>677261
If that's true then a small team without Hyde will be better anyway right?

>>677254

At this point, I think I can confirm that Hebona was the "friend" that Artemis mentioned, yes. I think everyone pretty much guessed that already, in either case

>>677302
Sending anyone isn't a good idea. You'll likely be sending them to their deaths/getting them lost in the woods while also weakening the Port assault force.

Ilse hasn't sent a green flare so I think she is alright.

>>677311
Hebona wasn't aware of Henryk's vendetta against her when she came to talk huh? She wouldn't really have any way of knowing.

>>677315
True enough. Maybe if we can take out the Tyrant fast enough everything will just fall apart and we might be a huge help.

>>677324

She didn't specifically know. That said, if we'd mentioned it, she would have remembered sinking our ship. Not that it really would have given her much pause - in her view, that act led to Henryk getting stronger and finding new value in his life. Hebona would have considered that a good thing, in fact.

If she had known in advance, though, she likely would have sent someone else to act in her stead.

>>677342
Hey Moloch, what's the exfiltration plan again? After we kill the Tyrant where do we go?

>>677455

The general plan is to book it back south and send a message to the Ghoul for a pick up.

Sending up a red flare will also call the Ghoul in to the closest area of land, at which point it'll send up a red flare of its own. Generally speaking, the escape plans were left relatively open - it's hard to predict how the situation will look once the Tyrant is dead.

>>677455
Don't think there's a set plan. Just radio in with Vas and tell him where to park the ship. On that note, we could radio him right now and tell him to start backtracking so he can pick us up to the north of Port Tyrant.

>>677455
>>677502

I should also add, there are two last resort plans. The first is to retreat west to Port Steyr, although that would involve crossing open water, potentially without a boat.
The second plan is to hold position in Port Tyrant itself and hope that the attacking force can break through and rescue the Hunter teams. Again, perhaps not something rely on.

>>677538
Could commandeer a boat. It's a port after all. But yeah we'll have to see how FUBAR the situation is when we kill Tyrant.

Also wondering how we are going to manage to get Yvette killed without being implicated but 1 step at a time I suppose.

You're all tired. The weakest of the men under your command – bookish Lem – looks like he might pass out at any minute. Exhaustion haunts your steps like a hunting hound nipping at the heels of a wounded stag. You're all tired, weary and worn, but the look on Hyde's face makes you feel fresh and full of life.

It's not hard to guess why he looks so grim. He spoke of hearing noises on the radio, and now you're hearing them too. You feel like a prey animal, skulking in the shadow of an approaching predator. Without even so much as seeing anything, you know that something is out there – maybe beasts, maybe men. At times, you can hear curiously distorted animal sounds, hollow and not quite echoing, while at other times you can hear whispering. No words, but a stream of sibilant hissing.

Perhaps it's a trick of your imagination, but you swear that there's a dark and mocking humour in those haunting whispers.

-

“It's getting bold, moving closer and closer,” Hyde mutters to you as you approach, “Whatever it is that's out there, it's been following us for a while. It's the same thing that Krebs was talking about, something that's hunting us.”

It would be easy to dismiss his words as the paranoid ravings of a man pushed to his limits, save for the fact that you hear the same thing he's hearing. As it is, you're prepared to take him at his word. Still, you ask, has he seen anything?

“Palmer, one of the men from team one, he caught a glimpse of something,” Hyde points to a large, bleak looking man, “Pale. Skinny, like something that had been starved. It moved like it could think, slipping between the trees like it was using them for cover. I don't know any beasts like that, but... hell, there's a lot out there that I don't know about.” Shaking his head slowly, Hyde runs a hand across his shaven scalp. “Look, we need to keep moving. The longer we linger in once place, the bolder it gets.”

Pausing, you glance across at the waiting soldiers. Although they all look exhausted, not a single man among them seems eager to stay here for a moment longer. They look like they'd march all the way back to Port Steyr, if only there was a safe night's sleep waiting for them at the end of it. Looking back to Hyde, you nod in agreement – time to make a move.

-

“Looks like the fog is lifting,” the other Hunter remarks as you're pressing onwards. Although traces of mist still coil underfoot, twisting around evergreen trees and draping the forest in a veil, it's nowhere near as thick as it was before. “Strange that it's lifting so quickly,” Hyde adds, “Something must have changed...”

You think of Hebona, shot dead and burned, but say nothing.

[1/3]

>>680904

As the cloying mists retreat further, distant sounds begin to reach you once again. The wind carries the sound of gunfire, countless shots from countless rifles all overlapping to form a single wavering note. The attacking force must be in deep now, pushing forwards against the northerners and keeping the barbarians focused elsewhere.

Hyde seems a lot happier now that he's out of those forests and away from those hissing whispers. Whatever gave voice to those damnable noises seems to stalk the thick woods, avoiding the mountains or the open ground. The thought that you might yet have to retreat through the forests occurs to you, but you leave that unspoken. Let Hyde have his moment of comfort, if it keeps him focused on the task ahead.

Neither of you says much as you enter the mountains, preferring to concentrate on looking out for any sentries that might be watching over the paths and passes that wind through the rocky ground. There are a good number of routes through, ranging from thin, tenuous ridges to wider openings – wide enough that they could pass as roads, if only the ground underfoot was more even. Needless to say, you stick to the minor passages as you seek out higher ground. Getting an overview of what you've got to deal with is the first step. Actually dealing with what you find... that can wait until later.

There is plenty to see as you walk the mountain passes, grand – albeit faded – designs painted onto flat slabs of rock and strings of witch totems chief among the sights on offer. For some reason, seeing those straw dolls and wooden icons outside of the forests, their usual setting, leaves you with a strange feeling of disquiet. Averting your eyes, you focus on the path ahead of you instead.

-

Higher ground reveals much, putting you in an enviable position. Looking down upon Port Tyrant, you can watch the ebb and flow of the battle without any risk or danger – with a curious sense of detachment, if anything. It seems that the attack has faltered somewhat, grinding into a bloody stalemate. The northern defence is a fluid thing, shifting and changing to meet any attack that comes at them, but the barbarians can't force the invading forces back completely. Your allies have a foothold on the docks, and that doesn't seem like it's going to change in a hurry.

Port Tyrant is an interesting place to look at. The docks, including the Tyrant's captured ship, reach out into the open waters, while a formidable wall blocks access to the fortress itself. The wall only covers one side, with mountains forming a cradle around the other three sides. Still, that wall is enough to keep the invading forces out. The Majestic's guns should have been enough to bring it down, only...

The Majestic is gone. Nowhere to be seen.

[2/3]

>>680905

“What the hell?” Hyde mutters as he slumps down, leaning back against a craggy boulder, “What the hell is this, where's the damn ship?”

Looking out across the waters, you spot the Ogre. Loch is still here, directing the invading forces, but Yvette – for all her grand ambitions and bold words – has quit the field. There was supposed to be a plan in place for this failure, you think darkly, but that seems to have failed as well. Just one more bitter failure to blight this operation. Looking back to the gathered soldiers, you call for Mule and his radio set. You want some damn answers.

-

“Captain Saive was refusing orders. I instructed her to break open the fortress walls, and she refused to do so,” Loch's voice is flat, but the undercurrent of fury that boils away beneath that calm veneer is intense, “I relinquished her of her command, and instructed my men to take over the Majestic. After that, all radio contact was lost and the Majestic began its retreat. That, Hunter, is everything I know about the situation.” There is a cold silence over the radio as Loch gathers his thoughts. “If you wish to help the attacking force,” he adds, “Get that gate open. Once the outer wall is breached, my men can move into the rest of the fortress.”

Then he cuts the transmission, his unspoken anger manifesting without words.

The outer wall, you note, is the only real defensive formation in the entire fortress. Past it, the buildings – half mansions and half fortresses – are cramped together, like the noble district in Thar Dreyse has been crammed into a much smaller space. One building – a palace, more or less – rises above all others. That's where the Tyrant will be, you'd stake your life on that. Maybe there would have been a full wall encircling the fortress eventually, but those hopes were dashed when the barbarians claimed it for themselves.

Unlucky for them – they've left a gaping hole in your defences.

-

“Getting that gate open won't be easy,” Hyde warns, as you relay the information to him, “We'd have to fight through a mess of streets to get to it, and there's a lot of movement down there. It would be easy to get bogged down and lose momentum.”

But if the gate could be opened, you argue, the tide would turn in Loch's favour. In the chaos of a full attack, you'd have a perfect opportunity to hit the Tyrant's palace. You've got three radios, thirteen men, and two Hunters – more than enough to divide your forces and hit multiple targets.

“It could work,” Hyde admits, nodding slowly as he looks down into the target area, “Alright, how do you want to play this?”

>We'll hit the gate first, and then move onto the palace in the confusion
>You hit the gate, and I'll hit the palace
>We hit the palace together. The gate can come later
>Other

>>680906
>You hit the gate, and I'll hit the palace
"They aren't going to expect enemies intermingled behind their line. You might be able to get in close without firing if they aren't paying attention."

>>680906
>>You hit the gate, and I'll hit the palace
Yvette ditched huh? Seems a bit silly to run away when you have the big guns.

>>680906
>You hit the gate, and I'll hit the palace

>>680906
>You hit the gate, and I'll hit the palace
We play our cards right and get the timing right we can be in position to hit the palace the moment the gate goes down.

>>680906
>You hit the gate, and I'll hit the palace

Yvette has probably been unwilling to ruin "her" wall. I expect her to try and attack the palace on her own.

>>680906
"One retreats while the other attacks, one rises while one falls"

If we are right about the Tyrant and that girl being the twins then how are we going to deal with her? With whats shes pulled could we get the ministry to execute her for being a traitor?

If he hits the gate, you suggest, you'll hit the palace. Depending on how his timing works out, it could offer you both cover to get the hell out of there. Even if things don't line up quite so nicely, it'll let you cover more ground and secure both targets. You'll take your team in, while Hyde can lead teams one and two. He might well need the extra men, where he's going.

“Yeah, I'm willing to bet the gates will be well guarded,” Hyde mutters, “Sneaking past is one thing, but it has its limits.”

At least he'll have the element of surprise, you remind him, they won't be expecting attackers to come at them from behind their own lines. That'll be working in his favour.

“I'll take every damn advantage I can get,” pausing, he looks out across the water, “Hell... why'd Saive run like that? She's left us with a fine mess to deal with.”

Probably didn't want to put a hole in her wall, you reply, and then maybe she took offence at Loch's attempt at replacing her. Maybe when all this is over, you'll be able to get some answers out of her. Until then...

“No point dwelling on speculation,” with a nod, Hyde waves for his troops to approach and then turns his eyes back to you, “Good hunting, Henryk, but don't push your luck. If things get too rough, remember your flares. I'll send as many men back as I can.” With that, Hyde goes to meet his soldiers halfway, leaving you to return to your own team

Your flares, you repeat to yourself with a bitter laugh, because they helped Stukov so much. Still, you slip the tubes from your pocket and check them over – no signs of water damage or anything else that might deaden them. Hopefully, they'll serve their purpose. If not... you might not live to complain about them.

-

Forging ahead through the mountain path, you approach Port Tyrant from the south-west. Your path runs not too far from a larger, straight passage that cuts through the mountains. A road for moving supplies or large numbers of troops, if you had to guess, now serving as the main southern entrance. Of course, it has a crude checkpoint blocking it off, with a good number of guards lurking. They all have rifles – older models, as far as you can tell – and they move with surprising discipline. The Tyrant has trained his men well, it seems.

You won't risk taking the checkpoint – there are plenty of other ways down into the fortress. From here, without a wall blocking your way, that seems a poor term. It's more of a town than anything else, a sprawling shanty town that has sprung up around the older manors.

Then you hear the echoing sound of approaching horses, and every man on your team drops low.

[1/2]

>>680929
>With whats shes pulled could we get the ministry to execute her for being a traitor?
Loch might get her assassinated

>>680930

Cheering and yelling out coarse victory cries, the barbarian raiders drive their horses through the southern pass, emerging into view a short while after the sound of their approach first reached you. From where you lie, you hear Hyde groaning out in mingled disgust and fury. Your curiosity roused, you raise your head to peer out and look closer at them.

The leader of their band has something tied to his horse, tied such that it dragged behind him as he rode. Although caked in blood and filth, dust and grit, it's not hard to realise what the bastard had so proudly brought with him. Stukov's body, gravely mistreated by the long ride, would never be considered a good trophy. As proof of a kill, though, it would serve its purpose well enough.

Sick anger bubbles up within you as the barbarian guards drag aside the crude wooden barricades and let the horsemen into their settlement. With an arrogant swagger, the leader dismounts and lets one of the other guards take his steed. To your side, one of Hyde's men starts to rise and ready his weapon, but Hyde himself drags the soldier down and shakes his head. You're not here to avenge every little slight and insult – you're here to strike the head from their body.

When the last of the horsemen have ambled into their settlement, you start to slink away on your own path. Not too far away, down a dusty hill, a number of filthy shacks offer you cover, and the chance to plan your next move.

For good or for ill, you're inside Port Tyrant.

-

“I'll take my men straight north, and then curve around,” Hyde tells you, scratching out a rough path in the dirt floor, “It's not the most direct route, but it might let us slip past a good number of the enemy. If we do run into any, we'll try and take them out silently. Anything that might buy us a few more moments of cover.”

The maze of slums and crude dwellings don't give you a direct route to the palace, you reply slowly, but you'll take the shortest route you can. It'll be easy enough to know you're heading in the right direction – the palace looms over the rest of the buildings here, offering you a perfect landmark.

“From now on, I'm going radio silent,” the other Hunter adds, “Unless it's an emergency – a matter of life or death – I won't risk calling. I suggest you do the same.”

Anything to keep the noise at a minimum, you agree, you'll try to do the same.

“Right. Well then,” smiling grimly, Hyde offers you his hand to shake, “See you on the other side.”

Of course, you say as you accept his hand, and good hunting.

[2/3]

>>680938

Years spent in the hands of the barbarians have not been kind to this place, and most of the old manors you pass are in poor condition – little better than the filthy shacks that have sprung up around them, in fact. Most of the empty windows have been blocked off with wooden boards, scraps of sackcloth or otherwise filled in, while the doorways have been left empty. More paintings or graffiti adorn the walls, both inside and out, and old refuse lies in piles everywhere. Bones mostly, animal, or scraps of salvage.

Through the shadow of one of those manors, you stalk onward. Then, rough voices reach you and you hold up a clenched fist to halt the team. Ahead of you, and down the corner, you hear a mob of barbarians approaching. Listening hard for a moment, you catch a snatch of their conversation. Their voices are tense – not surprising, considering the war that is raging not so far away – but it's not the battle that they talk about.

“...Some damn thing killed him,” one grunts, “Slit his throat right open. Must have been a man what did it, no animal kills that cleanly.”

“They found the bastard yet?” another voice asks, “Find 'em and string 'em up.”

“Ain't found shit,” the first continues, “Could still be out here. Keep your damn eyes open!”

The voices are getting closer, and you realise that they're searching for something. Pushing Hawthorn into the one of the neighbouring shacks, you slink into the manor opposite. Darkness swallows you up, and you hold your breath. Leaning to look around the doorway, you watch as the rest of team three ducks into similar hiding places. Not a moment too soon, either – the northerners turn the corner and start down towards you.

With his wide eyes seeming to swallow the rest of his face, Hawthorn mouths a question. “What now?” he seems to ask.

>Go loud, shoot to kill and then run for the palace
>Hide, and see if they pass by
>Split up, and sneak through the buildings. Regroup ahead
>Other

>>680950
>Split up, and sneak through the buildings. Regroup ahead
Sneaky breeki.

>>680950
>Split up, and sneak through the buildings. Regroup ahead

>>680950
>>Split up, and sneak through the buildings. Regroup ahead
Also fucking Kerbs gone all 'Naked Snake' on the barbarians

>>680950
>>Split up, and sneak through the buildings. Regroup ahead

Split up, you mouth to him, and sneak on ahead. Use the buildings for cover, and regroup when the enemies have passed by. Hawthorn nods firmly, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line of tension, and then he relays your orders to the others – all in that mix of gestures and silent words. Some of them, Mule in particular, look uncertain or outright fearful at the order – small wonder that Mule is unhappy, with his bulky radio – but none of them make any gesture of protest.

Waiting a moment longer, watching as Hawthorn ventures deeper into the slums, you draw your knife and start to pick your way through the ransacked manor. Watching your footing as you go, you move further away from the hollow doorway, crouching into the shadows.

“Wish I was out there, fightin' all proper like,” one of the barbarians mutters – his voice reaches you clearly, an indication of how close he is. “We're wastin' our damn time here, chasin' shadows when we got hundreds of those mongrels beatin' their heads against the wall.”

“They're out there,” another shoots back, “And we got someone in here, killin' at will. Might be, more than one of them. You want someone to cut you open next time you take a nap?”

“Huh,” the first voice grunts, “So maybe you got a point. Even so...”

The voice fades as you move on, picking your way forwards as they move past. You've moved through to the next room when you hear footsteps – careless and plodding, compared with your light step – from the manor entrance. “Nothin' here,” the barbarian grunts, “We done here?”

His voice is close, close enough that you can hear him chewing something as he waits for an answer. As he waits, you press forwards – moving into the next room along. As you pass through the doorway, though, you hear a sudden motion behind you. Turning, as quick as a viper, you bring up your knife as another blade lashes down towards you.

Then it stops, caught motionless in the air, and you see who wields that blade.

-

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Krebs draws his knife back and lowers it to his side. Pressing a thick finger to his lips, he nods into the gloom and a second figure emerges. Ilse moves to join the older Hunter, slinking out of the shadows and sheathing her own knife. Her face is marred with dark bruises and grime, but her eyes are alert. More than alert – wild and feverish.

“Henryk,” she whispers, “What took you so long?”

[1/2]

>Next post might take a little longer to get ready, got a small errand to take care of.

>>680985
Holy shit, she's alive. Thought for sure she was a goner. Shame about Stukov, I wonder if we could have helped him out somehow.

>>680985

“Lost my crew going through those damn forests,” Ilse murmurs to you as the three of you advance through the manor, “Never even saw the thing that got them. We'd be advancing as normal, but as soon as someone let his guard slip, even just for a second... it was like the forest came alive and swallowed them up, one by one. My radio man was the first – we found his body a while later. You understand me, Henryk? Something tore his throat out, and then it dragged the body ahead so we'd find it!”

Krebs grunts softly, and Ilse grimaces. When she speaks again, her voice has returned to a whisper. “When it was down to just me and Derleth, my team leader, we made a run for it. Forget caution, forget proper formations, we just ran,” she shakes her head, “I made it into the mountains. He didn't. From there, I just... came here. Found Krebs, and we've been sticking together ever since. Hey, have you heard from the others?”

You came here with Hyde, you tell her, he's heading towards the fortress gates to let the invading force inside.

“Reinforcements. Good, damn good,” Ilse nods, “What about Stukov?”

An awkward pause as you peer out into the streets, waving for the other two Hunters to follow you once you know the coast is clear. He didn't make it, you tell her quietly, there was an ambush not far from his landing zone. It would have been a good place to hit you all, if you'd followed your original path.

“Stukov... I'm going to kill them, I'm gonna kill all these bastards,” clenching her fists, Ilse mutters angrily to hersellf. For a moment, you see something glistening in her eyes, but the glint vanishes at her next blink. Then her eyes are hard – as cold and hard as the knife she carries.

Settle down, you warn her, this is no time to be making rash moves. You need to meet up with your team, and then you can plan out your next moves. You were supposed to be regrouping ahead, so they shouldn't be too far.

-

Leaning around the corner, you spot a rifle barrel first turning your way and then hastily lifting skywards. Hawthorn slides out of cover, lowering his gun and giving you a vague shrug of apology. “Close call,” he remarks, “But I guess these bastards don't care much about a thorough search. We made it out without any trouble, and-” He pauses as Ilse and Krebs join you. “Huh,” the solider adds, “I guess you Hunters are tougher than I thought.”

“We're not invulnerable,” Ilse mutters bleakly, “Come on, we need to talk.”

[2/3]

>>681088

“They were talking,” Krebs tells you, in his typically stilted way, “The northerners. They talked about the dungeons.”

“But we don't know what the hell that means,” Ilse picks up the thread here, shaking her head angrily, “Prisoners maybe? I never thought the barbarians were the type to capture people alive or throw them in jail, but what else could we be talking about? All I know is, there are some cells carved out beneath the palace, and damn near everyone is scared to hell of them. Folks who go down there don't come back up – not even their bodies.”

Sounds like bad business, you mutter to yourself, really bad business. You'll admit, you're curious, but...

“Hey, listen, we've got numbers – we can divide up and hit our own targets. I want to check this out. Can't say why, but I've got a feeling about it,” Ilse gestures with her knife, jabbing it at the ground a few times to emphasis her anger, “How about it? We hit the palace and split up – I take the dungeons with Krebs, you go looking for the target. I reckon you've got a better chance of bringing down this bastard than I do, anyway.”

Another feeling?

“Maybe. Maybe I've lost my nerve,” she laughs bitterly, “How about it?”

>I want us to hit the Tyrant together
>Fine, you check out the dungeons
>We can both check the dungeons first. I want to see this with my own eyes
>Do you think you could distract the northerners instead, lure them away from the palace?
>Other

>>681092
>>Fine, you check out the dungeons
Looks like we are going to fight Tyrant one on one. Sounds good.

>>681092
>Fine, you check out the dungeons
Witches can control beasts. I bet these cells contain war beasts to be let loose at an opportune moment, and the people vanishing there were their lunch.

>>681092
>>We can both check the dungeons first. I want to see this with my own eyes
Got a bad feeling about letting them go down there. As much as I'd like that one on one with Tyrant, I don't want my hunter buddies to end up dead. We could also hit the Tyrant together since the dungeons aren't going anywhere any time soon, unless someone's bleeding out down there.

>>681092
>>Fine, you check out the dungeons
Don't get yourselves killed for curiosities sake though. If it's bad down there fall back.

Alright, you tell her, you'll go on ahead while those two check out these dungeons. You'll want to know what she found later, though – it's got your curiosity piqued as well. On the other hand, you don't want them dying just for the sake of a few answers – if it's too dangerous, you want them to pull back immediately. One dead Hunter is enough for one day.

“Yeah, alright. Not like I'm that desperate to know, anyway. Someone shoots at me, I'm pulling back. If not, we'll take a look around,” Ilse starts to say something else, but then a loud rattle of gunfire – it must be damn close for it to be that loud – shatters the air.

Hyde, you mutter, he''s gone loud. As you scan the horizon for any flares he might have sent up, any sign that he might be in trouble, a bell begins to chime from ahead. It's coming from the palace, rousing the entire fortress to alert.

Things just got interesting.

-

Through the surging chaos that has risen up, you pierce through the slums like a needle – a single point driving towards its target. At points you are forced to stop, falling still and silent as howling packs of barbarians charge past, but their fury has deadened their senses and you pass unnoticed every time. It seems incredible that there could be so many barbarians here, and you can't avoid thinking about insects and their nests – mindless things breeding in dark and lonesome places, only to swarm out at the first sign of danger.

Then, as you round one last corner, the maze of shacks and slums yawns open to reveal the palace. The doorway, as empty as any other that you've seen, invites you inside, while two very surprised looking sentries move to bar your passage. A few shots from Hawthorn and his men ring out, and the door stands unguarded once again. All too aware that the sounds of gunfire will draw attention, you don't stop moving. Hurrying through the open doorway, you step into the palace.

Palace. That's too grand a word for a place like this. It has the deathly air of a tomb, and whatever traces of opulence have survived years of barbarian occupation have long since faded into ash and funeral shrouds. The sound of battle doesn't seem to reach this far, even close rifle shots dulled to unimportant crackling. Reality takes on the phoney veneer of a cheap radio drama, and you're left reeling by the sudden change in atmosphere.

“You know...” Ilse manages to say, “I really don't like this place.”

[1/2]

>>681302

With the momentum lost, and the urgency of the battle outside bleeding away with every passing moment, you linger in the entrance to this fallen palace for a moment more before sense and reason start to return. Time to split up, you tell Ilse quietly, you'll head up while she checks below.

“Sure, down below,” it almost sounds like she's regretting her decision, but then she squares her shoulders and banishes the fleeting doubt, “C'mon Krebs, we got a job to do.”

“I can smell something,” Krebs warns, his eyes narrowing to dark slits as he sniffs the air, “A powerful beast. Not below... above us. Far above, right at the top. Waiting, lurking in its lair. Be careful.” Smelling the air one last time, evidently displeased at the scent he catches, Krebs turns away and prowls deeper into the palace. He moves like he knows exactly where he's going, like this place was as familiar as the palm of his own hand.

“Hey...” Ilse takes a step after the older Hunter, before pausing and looking back to you, “You heard the man, be careful.” She says this quickly, turning and hurrying off without waiting for a reply. Chasing after Krebs, she vanishes into the depths of the palace. Once she's out of sight, you reach down at touch the Birthing Blade at your hip.

It's warm, but that's exactly what you were expecting. You're here to kill a great beast, after all.

-

It's so quiet that you almost forget that you're not alone here. It's only when Hawthorn curses softly that you remember the soldiers trailing behind you. His voice causes you to pause, to turn, and then you see why he swore. He leans out an empty window, gazing across the battlefield. Beyond, the gate stands open, and a terrible clash has formed around it. Barbarians throw themselves into the defence without fear or hesitation, offering their lives in a heartbeat. Even with such fervour, however, the tide is slowly turning against them. Soon, the invading soldiers will break through the gate and sweep into the settlement properly.

But they'll pay for it. Every inch of land they take will be bought with blood and strife.

Any word from Hyde, you ask Mule, anything on the radio?

“Not a word,” the bulky man replies, “But...”

But that doesn't mean anything, you finish for him, you know that. Stepping away from the window, and the strangely captivating scene beyond, you force all thoughts of Hyde or the invading army out of your mind. Nodding towards the next set of stairs, you move forwards.

Krebs said right at the top. That's where you're headed.

[2/3]

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>>681392

Finally, you find a door. It might not be the right door – although you're fairly sure that it is – but it's a door. The first one you've seen in this desolate place, save for the great gate. Resting the flat of your hand upon it for a moment – taking comfort, perhaps, in this hint of civilisation – you throw it open and step inside.

The room that greets you is strange, contradictory. It feels like it should be dark, close and claustrophobic, but that's far from the truth. It's a wide, empty room, and the large, empty windows let in the light of the rising sun. As Hawthorn and his men gather up behind you, you let your gaze pan across the room. Statues – so old as to be crumbling and faceless – are dotted about the room at random, while a throne of roughly hewn rock stands as the only piece of furniture. A broken sword – too large for any human to carry, even in both hands – leans up against the throne, while a number of skulls dangle from a nearby rack. The skulls are as old as anything else here, blackened with age.

“Not all of the Saive family fled,” a deep, sonorous voice intones, “Those who stayed to defend their claim on this land were brave, to stand firm against an unstoppable force. Even today, I honour them.”

Casting a frantic eye around the room, you spot the source of that voice. Standing perfectly still, he blends in perfectly with the statues. He's a tall man – too tall, really – with only a single trace of colour in his skin. A birthmark, or something like it, darkens his face. Armed, he carries a long spear – the blade formed from the broken tip of that vast sword.

“My name is Isten Kardja, and few men have ever heard those words,” he continues, moving around to look you in the eye, “Most know me as the White Tyrant. You're here to kill me.”

It's not a question, but you nod in confirmation anyway. It seems like the polite thing to do

“But we are both civilised men,” the Tyrant seems amused at this, a faint smile touching his colourless lips, “There's no reason we can't talk for a while, is there? I rarely get the chance to speak to a southern man. Tell me – do they still speak of the Old King? Of Leonhard?”

Only rarely, you reply, few men care for old stories these days.

“A shame,” he nods slowly, weighing the spear in his hand, “But he is not yet forgotten. I can be content with that. Thank you, Hunter, for your courtesy.”

>If we're to fight, let's get it over with
>Why do you care about Leonhard?
>You're beaten, Tyrant – it won't be long before your army is routed
>I have questions of my own... (Write in)
>Other

>>681491
>Why do you care about Leonhard?
>If we're to fight, let's get it over with

>>681491
>Not all of the Saive family fled
That one Anon called it huh.

>>681491
>>Why do you care about Leonhard?
Oh boy, this is gonna be a fun time. Wonder what all the men are gonna do during our battle with the Tyrant.

>>681491
>>Why do you care about Leonhard?
let try to kill him in a way that might allow him to talk to us in Nihilo

>>681524
He's not a Saive. He's talking about the people who stayed behind to fight the barbarians and he uses part of their sword as his spear to honor their bravery.

>>681539
I think thats Leonhards or who ever the fuck kill'd him, the skulls are from Saives

>>681554
That sounds more plausible. Sword is kinda big.

>>681491
>Why do you care about Leonhard?

A villain who knows about your supposedly sneaky infiltration but doesn't do anything about it, just waiting for you in the boss room, is a popular trope. But I always thought it's too unrealistic.

You've answered his question, you reply slowly, so how about he answers yours? Why does he care about Leonhard, anyway?

“Is it any surprise that I should care about my ancestor? Do you not care about the virtue or history of your blood?” the Tyrant sounds genuinely surprised, “Do you not honour your forefathers?”

You would have done, you shoot back, if they had ever done anything to deserve honour. You don't need to lean on a family name – you'll earn your own virtue.

The Tyrant throws back his head and laughs. “An interesting answer. Perhaps we shall see who proves the stronger – you, who fights to make his name and his legacy, or I, who fights WITH his name and legacy. By this sword and my Dragon's Blood, I swear that I shall not be defeated here.”

Sizing up the length of that spear – if offers him a formidable reach, and his grand stature only helps that – you consider the situation. Behind you, Hawthorn and his men stand transfixed, numb and unresponsive. When you draw your knife, however, they snap back into life and raise their rifles. As they form a firing line, the Tyrant laughs again.

“Tell me, Hunter – what value do you place on the lives of these men? Order them to stand down, and we can duel in the old way. No harm needs to come to them,” slowly pacing, weaving between the statues, the Tyrant passes his spear from one hand to the other, “If they intervene, they will die – this, I swear.”

“Awaiting orders, sir,” Hawthorn tells you, “Don't listen to this bastard – we'll shoot him down if we can.”

>No, stand down. I'll fight him myself
>If you get a shot, don't hesitate to take it
>Other

>>681602
>>No, stand down. I'll fight him myself
I trust the Tyrant, they're as good as dead if they get mixed in. Should we send them down after Ilse and Krebs?

>>681602
>>No, stand down. I'll fight him myself
"Watch my back. Make sure he doesn't get any reinforcements."

>>681602
>No, stand down. I'll fight him myself

They're redshirts, they don't have a chance.

Though let's not fight him with a knife. We have a rifle and a pistol.

>>681632
Wouldn't it be better to get in his face and not let him use that spear properly? Then again, I've never been a fan of fighting ranged.

>>681627
Supporting, also I hope this will end in a repeat of Leonhearts death

>>681640
A gun outranges a spear, so no need to cross his optimal range band.

By teh way, there's a fighting style using a rifle in the off-hand as a shield. Let's use that if we have to enter melee range.

>>681645
That's exactly what I was thinking.

>>681649
Now that sounds fun, go full Hunter on the Tyrant.

>>681649
This video talks about the style in question: https://youtu.be/tgbx4qXvOYE?t=259

Do we have our Maus, our "anti-material"-rifle?

>>681632
We are only going to get one shot with either gun. There won't be enough time to reload with this guy. Shoot and then abandon the gun/use as shield, switch to knives, get in close past his optimal range.

>>681679
That's about what i was thinking about, though we might get off several shots if we use the pistol.

>>681679
>>681686
I think this guy is going to tank small arms fire through some Dragon bullshit

>>681695
We can shoot at his face to trigger the twitch reflex at least.

>>681676

>Right, in the interests of clarity, we have our Maus rifle, our pistol, and the birthing blade. Obviously we can't use all three at once, but Henryk can drop the rifle and switch to the knife and pistol pretty quickly

>>681729
So, my proposition is:

>Shoot the Maus
>When the Tyrant attacks, use the Maus in the off-hand to parry the spear, close range quickly, draw the pistol and shoot from up close.
>Drop the Maus and use the off-hand for grappling
>When the pistol is out of ammo/bullets bounce off the Tyrant's face swap the pistol for the birthing blade

We should also tap into Beast's Blood immediately for the strength and agility bonus. We have 2 focus points for this guy, might as well spend one on a buff for the whole fight.

>>681812
true

>>681812

>Yes, that is true, we have our focus and our abilities to play with.

>>681779

>So, unless there are any serious objections or alterations, I'm prepared to go with this plan - at least, until things start to go wrong.

No, you tell Hawthorn and his men, stand down. You'll fight him yourself – they would be better served keeping any reinforcements away, or helping Ilse and Krebs down below. This situation here... you've got it under control.

Hawthorn nods firmly, but he can't hide the naked relief that flashes through his eyes. He knew exactly how dangerous that offer had been, and yet he made it anyway. That alone is enough for you. As he leads his men away into the stairwell, you feel a cold calm descend upon you. Stepping a little further into the room, you size up the Tyrant once again. So far, he's moved slowly – he moves like some ancient creature shaking off a long slumber – but you know how quickly that could change. For a few moments, you both pace the hall in silence, weaving in and out the statues.

“Another relic of the Saive family,” the Tyrant remarks, resting his empty hand on one of the crumbling statues, “Along with the more... fleeting remains.”

His skulls, you reply, you've got a few trophies of your own back home.

“I hope you take one from me as well, should you defeat me,” he gives you a smile that is almost generous, as if he's growing fond of you already, “For you to seek me out, in my own lair... I shall give your skull a prize place among my collection!”

It's a nice offer, you admit, but one that you'll have to decline.

“You refuse a great honour, one granted to only a rare few,” the Tyrant jeers softly, stepping around a statue. He's been gradually getting closer as you pace around each other, closing the distance between the two of you with a calculated grace. It wasn't just idle talk, or the musings of a mad king – it was all the opening move in what must be a much longer game.

He's made his move, so now it's time you made yours. Drawing in a deep breath, you reach deep into the reserves of your strength and focus. The world sharpens, your body sings, and battle calls to you. As the Tyrant slip behind another statue, you raise the Maus and prepare to fire. As soon as his colourless face moves into view again, you pull the trigger.

>Calling for a Firearms check. That's 1D100+20, and this is aiming to beat 80/100. I'll take the highest of the first three results

Rolled 98 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>681868
Here we go?

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>681868
dice
>>681882
and gg

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>681868
Do we even need to roll more?

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>681882
There you go.

>>681868
Rolling for fun basically.

>>681898
>>681895
>>681894
I fear we may have blown our only 90.

>>681907
I roll'd the wrong dice

>>681882
>In recent news, men get rekt when shot in the face by large-caliber rifles

>>681907
Better to get a wound in early. It might make the subsequent DCs lower.

>>681907
>quasi-perfect roll to start off
>then trash rolls to reset the good roll counter
It's optimal

No human should move as quickly as the Tyrant moves, then... but he isn't exactly human. You've seen the monstrous agility with which those with the Dragon's Blood can move – even Lize, with her immature blood, is impressively nimble when in the grips of her blood – but this display raises the bar. By the time you've finished pulling down on the trigger, the White Tyrant has already closed the distance separating you, his spear poised to plunge down through the length of your body.

Then the Maus lets out its voice, and the muzzle flash nearly blinds you. In the flickering aftermath, you see the Tyrant twist his head away and sweep up his empty hand, as if he might catch the bullet out of the air. Maybe he could do such a thing once, with a lesser weapon, but the Maus is a formidable beast. True, the bullet is stopped before it reaches his face, but the attempt leaves his hand as a bloodied ruin.

And yet, the only hint that he noticed is when the Tyrant stumbles slightly, his blow diverted to splinter the stone tiles beneath you. Roaring like a beast – his veneer of civilisation falls away like wet paper – the Tyrant rips his weapon from the ground and swipes out wildly, forcing you to leap back and drop the Maus. In its place, you draw your pistol and the Birthing Blade, relishing the heat of the ancient knife as it spreads through your hand, through your entire body.

“A knife,” the Tyrant rasps, “You come to me with a knife!”

The old stories claim that Tsorig was good with a knife, you counter, and look where he ended up. A man can do a great deal with a knife, provided he has enough guts to back it up.

Roaring out again – his face twisting with rage and hate – the Tyrant lunges, and you bring the pistol up to fire.

>Another Firearms check please, 1D100+20, this time aiming to beat 90/110. I'll take the highest of the first three.

Rolled 84 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>682023
>110
I want to make it.

Rolled 17 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>682023
>90/110
Moloch pls

Rolled 85 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>682023

>>682043
so close

>>682043
You're on a roll anon. Not top tier this time, but still pretty good.

>>682058
Just wait till my usual luck kicks in with that nat 1, I'm scared of rolling again since third time's the charm.

>>682066
Thankfully moloch doesn't do critfails

>>682023
>90/110
The death of the white tyrant was an inside job
Maus cartridges can't penetrate dragon hands

>>682053
Lads should we burn one of our fate points this time?

We have 2 since the tyrant is a beast and we're using the birthing blade

>>682088
We are already in Beast's blood mode using 1. Save the other one for a fail that could be turned into a pass.

>>682053
And thats my last roll, have to sleep. Thanks in advance Moloch
>>682093
supporting

>>682093
Oh didn't notice that
yeah definitely save up then

>>682023
Wow. The Tyrant seems to have used his own blood Focus.

A strange thing, the pistol – carried by both the highest and the lowest of society. Gentlemen openly wear them upon the hip, even if they are seen as a gauche aspect of modern life. Thugs brandish crudely produced versions, reinforcing their threats and bluster with the promise of violence. More or less everyone in the Free States knows how to use one, even if they never have occasion to fire them in anger.

Strange, the things you think about sometimes.

The pistol barks several times, recoil punching back against your wrist as you squeeze the trigger over and over again. It's hard to know how many shots hit and how many miss – certainly, both hits and misses are met with the same utter lack of a reaction – but you're sure that some of them find their mark. When you see bright flowers of blood spreading across the Tyrant's clothes, you know that they hit their mark.

For some reason, you'd been expecting his blood to be as colourless as his skin. It's as red as any you've ever seen, vivid and powerful. As his blood is shed once more, the Tyrant's lunge changes. He drops his spear and bares his fangs, charging like a rampaging beast. As your pistol clicks dry and you ready the blade, he strikes you with terrifying strength. In that instant, your world becomes a whirling storm of confusion, the hall blurring as you both cross its length in an instant. It's only when the cold air strikes you, along with the rattle of distant gunfire, that you realise he has you at the window, half in and half out of the hollow frame.

“I'll throw your broken body down,” the Tyrant snarls, spittle flying into your face as his one hand finds your throat, “And your men will know despair. Their will shall break, and they will falter!”

The world swims around you as his grip tightens. Only the burning blade in your hand feels real, and you cling to that heat like a drowning man seeking rescue.

>Calling for a Physical Combat roll, 1D100+20, aiming to beat 100. I'll take the highest of the first three results!

Rolled 72 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>682158

Rolled 33 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>682158
Lets see what happens.

Rolled 97 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>682158

>>682180
clutch anon

>>682180
Oh shit. Guess we're still good on 90's.

>>682180
Henryk brought his A game it seems.