>>1148468

“Orin!” Hartmann scolds, “Forgive me, my boy, animals will do as they please. I fear that I spoil her rotten, give the little rascal anything she asks for – allow an old man his foolishness!”

“She's adorable,” Alyssia says, leaning across to stroke the cat, only to draw sharply back when it hisses at her, “Well, uh, anyway. You have a very nice home!” Judging by the thin and frail tone of her voice, this compliment was simply the first one to come to mind. Hartmann, however, doesn't seem to notice – if he does, he doesn't take any visible offence.

“It's been too long since this old place entertained guests,” he muses, “After all, I'm only just getting settled back in myself! Now, before we get settled in to our discussion... Greta, could you bring us some tea? Once you're finished with that, could you see to the, ah, unpacking? Some of the more fragile goods are still boxed up, but I trust you'll give them the care they deserve.”

“Yes sir, very good,” Greta bows slightly, her voice flat and hard, “I'll see to it right away.”

“I don't know what I'd do without her,” Hartmann admits, once his housekeeper has withdrawn, “She handles the practical matters around here, so I can focus on my, ah, research. With that in mind, how about we get started? Lay the groundwork, so to speak.” The old Scholar nods to you first, beaming at you like a teacher praising their favourite student. “I know you, my boy, but you simply must introduce me to your colleague,” here, his eyes flick across to Alyssia, “Might I ask, are you two..?”

A pause, and then Alyssia lets out a faint gasp of surprise. “Oh, no, it's nothing like that,” she hastens to explain, “It's, um, purely a professional relationship. I mean, we're friends, but that's all! Right, yes, my name. That's a good start. It's Hemwick, Alyssia Hemwick. It's a pleasure to meet you.” That, at least, sounds sincere.

Conversation pauses again as Greta returns, bearing a tray burdened down with cups and a pot of tea. Good tea, judging by the smell and the way that Alyssia rubs her hands together in anticipation. Once the housekeeper has left again, bowing softly as she leaves, you take your revised report – more a set of notes than anything else, just the salient points – from your pack and set it down on Hartmann's desk.

“My dear boy!” Hartmann blusters, “I cannot overstate how glad I am to see these notes! Would you do me the kindness of answering any questions I might have, once I've had the chance to read these? My home is open to you, you're free to explore as you wish. Unless... you wished to ask me some questions as well?”

>We'll give you some time to read
>I heard there was a blacksmith in Weiss, one who specialises in swords...
>Your housekeeper, is she... discrete?
>Other

>>1148470
>>I heard there was a blacksmith in Weiss, one who specialises in swords...

>>1148470
>Your housekeeper, is she... discrete?
Regardless anything we discuss pertaining to witchcraft/sprits should be in private.

>We'll give you some time to read
>I heard there was a blacksmith in Weiss, one who specialises in swords...

>>1148470
About everything in a certain order, Greta, time, blacksmith.

Checking once again to be absolutely sure that Greta hasn't returned to check on anything – the woman is so damn quiet, she seems like she could appear out of nowhere – you lean forwards and lower your voice. His housekeeper, you ask Hartmann carefully, is she... discrete? You're only asking, you hasten to add, because a certain amount of this discussion could involve... sensitive matters.

“Ah yes,” Harmann nods sagely, “Witchcraft, and the like.”

Sure, you think with faint despair, just say it out loud for the whole world to hear.

“No, you needn't worry my boy, she came highly recommended, a list of glowing references as long as your arm. As far as she's aware I'm just an eccentric old collector, interested in southern native art,” winking cheerfully at you Hartmann offers a broad smile, “I can't imagine any of that should change. This is all pure theory, after all – we're not about to light any bonfires and dance around, are we?”

“Not inside, no,” Alyssia corrects him, “That would be a fire hazard.”

Somehow, you suspect that she's missing the point. In either case, you give Hartmann a long and careful look before continuing. Regardless, you suggest, anything you discuss here should be private and confidential. For his ears only.

“Of course, of course. I'm not about to take this material on a speaking tour of the Free States,” Hartmann chuckles ruefully, “Not after last time...”

You... don't even want to know. Clearing your throat, you rise from the stiff armchair and smooth out your clothes. You'll give him some time to read. Before you go, however, had a question about the local area. You heard that there was a blacksmith in Weiss, you ask, a specialist in making swords. Does he know anything about it? You ask this without much hope – Hartmann, after all, seems strangely ignorant of anything beyond his area of study – but the old man surprises you by nodding eagerly.

“Roland Heyak,” he tells you, “Charming man, quite fascinating to talk to. His business is in swords, of course, but he's something of a collector as well – has a little museum with all sorts of weapons. In my youth, I found a dagger there, one of those odd southern things. That's what really sparked my imagination! I'm sure he'd be happy to show you around, provided he's not too busy.”

He works with nobles, you muse, he must charge a high price for his services.

“You'd think. I really hate to gossip...” Hartmann begins, his tone telling a whole other story, “But they say the noble families aren't as wealthy as they used to be. Too many bad investments, too much money squandered on doctors and whatnot. A shadow of what they once were, let me tell you.”

Well, you decide, you'll give him some time to read. When you get back, you can see about answering any questions he has.

[1/2]

>>1148485
>“Not after last time...”
goddamnit Hartmann

>>1148485

Greta herself is waiting by the front door when you head out, bowing slightly and opening the door. As she does, you take careful note of a slight bump in her otherwise immaculate outfit – a ridge under her neat jacket. It's well hidden to be sure, but you're almost certain that it's a shoulder holster. A housekeeper with a concealed pistol – definitely Ministry, here to keep an eye on Hartmann. More to keep the old fool out of trouble than anything else, you suspect, but still no reason to let your guard down around her.

“He seems nice,” Alyssia mentions as you're leaving, “Maybe a little bit, um... eccentric. I'm sure it's just an act, something to keep people from thinking he's up to anything suspicious. Pretty cunning, when you look at it that way.”

Sure, you agree with a sigh, it's all an act.

-

The Heyak workshop is a surprisingly discrete building, with the simple emblem of a pair of crossed swords hanging above the door. That simplicity is mirrored inside the shop, with a sparsely decorated reception room greeting you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of metal being pounded into shape, and an acrid smell hangs in the air – a strange contrast to the modestly decorated entrance.

Two empty doorways – no actual doors, just empty frames - stand before you, one marked “workshop” and the other “collection”. With nobody about to talk to, you start towards the first doorway. Before you can pass the threshold, however, a sharp voice stops you.

“Here!” the voice calls out, “It's not safe in there. Don't want anyone just wandering in.”

Then perhaps, you think to yourself, he should install some doors. Turning slowly, you face the old man who had emerged from the second doorway. A very old man, you correct yourself, although still robust and strong. Age hasn't left him withered or wizened, that's for sure. Behind the thick beard he wears, you can make out old burn scars – a scar left by his trade, perhaps.

“Roland Heyak,” the old man introduces himself, “Hmm. A Hunter, if I'm not mistaken – you'd want something... maybe mid-length, possibly with serrations. Practical, not decorative. Except you could stroll into any smith up and down the land, walk out with a brand new knife or harpoon. You didn't – you came to the best. Interesting. Let's hear what you've got to say for yourself.”

>I have a sword. A bit of one, at least. I was wondering what you could do with it
>Hartmann tells me that you have a collection of weapons. Can I see it?
>How did you know I was a Wolf?
>Other

>>1148497
>Do you recognize this? I was wondering what you could do with it.
If he keeps up with history, we may as well come clean.

>>1148497
>>I have a sword. A bit of one, at least. I was wondering what you could do with it

>>1148497
>>I have a sword. A bit of one, at least. I was wondering what you could do with it
>>Hartmann tells me that you have a collection of weapons. Can I see it?
Can't hurt to have a look see.

>>1148497
>I have a sword. A bit of one, at least. I was wondering what you could do with it
>Hartmann tells me that you have a collection of weapons. Can I see it?

>>1148497
>Hartmann tells me that you have a collection of weapons. Can I see it?

You have a sword here – a bit of one, at least. You were wondering, you ask, if there was anything he could do with it.

“Well, you've got my attention. Let's see what we've got to work with,” Hayek wipes his hands on the smock he wears – although they didn't look dirty to you – and holds them out to you, “Come now, let's see it.”

As you take the broken off tip of the blade out of your pack and hand it over, a thought occurs. If he keeps up with his history, he might recognise the blade. If he recognises it, he might be able to tell you a little about it. Does he recognise this, you ask, does he know anything about it?

“Hmm. It's old, that's for certain. High quality work, to have survived this long without much damage. Someone was taking care of this blade, correct?” looking back up to you, Hayek gives you a curious scowl, “I can't say I recognise this particular blade, but I know the style. It wasn't made for human hands, was it? No, this is a Knight's weapon – just where did you find it?”

Up north, you tell him cautiously, it's kind of a long story.

“No, I understand all too well,” Hayek's frown deepens, “You're not the first man I've had in here, waving a piece of northern steel under my nose. I've had three men so far, all of them certain that they had a priceless piece of history on their hands – all of them wanting to sell it. Battlefield salvage, I presume. All sorts of strange things have a habit of turning up in the north, I don't see why a Knight's weapon should be any different. So, I'll tell you what I tell all the others – I'm not buying it.”

The thought that he might actually be holding a priceless piece of history crosses your mind, and you smile faintly to yourself. You weren't looking to sell it, you tell him, you were wondering if he could make it into a usable weapon instead.

“Hmm? That's more interesting, for sure. I dare say that it wouldn't make a full sized sword, not a scaled down version of the original style, but a smaller piece... yes, I think it would be possible,” Hayek turns the blade over in his hands again, “I'll need time to work, and more precise measurements. If it's for yourself, I can take measurements now. If it's a gift, you can send them to me later.”

It is a gift, you tell him, you can wire him the specific measurements when you have the chance.

“Hmm,” the blacksmith hums in thought – he seems to do that a lot – and nods, “So that's that. Most of the price is in ornamentation, but we can talk of such things later. Have you any other business here?”

Hartmann told you about this place, you tell him, about his collection of weapons. Can you see it?

“So that old fool is still around, is he?” Hayek chuckles, “I remember the good old days. He'd come in here and talk my ear off while I was trying to work. Ah, why the hell not? Come on, I'll show you the good stuff.”

[1/2]

>>1148533

Perhaps sensing that you're here with more specific interests than normal, Hartmann doesn't waste time telling you about the more conventional weapons in his collection, instead taking you right through to “the good stuff”, as he called it – weapons too large and unwieldy for any human to use effectively.

“It's not impossible to find Knight weaponry,” Hayek explains, “But it is damn hard. This right here is probably the finest collection you'll ever find. Most of it comes from local sites – back before the League, Weiss was the domain of a single Knight and his slaves. Konstantin Volkov Vorona, his name was. Interesting bit of history there, actually – the League was never able to confirm his death. Might be, he was one of the Knights that fled north and vanished there. Might not be, though, the evidence is a little... Ah, but that's not what you're here for. Go on, take a look around – anything catches your interest?”

Although oversized, most of the weapons are normal enough, but one does catch your eye – a long sword blade mounted on an extended handle. It reminds you of the White Tyrant's weapon, albeit in a far more refined style. Underneath, it has a simple paper label, the word “Giantslayer” penned in with a spidery hand.

“Fascinating piece, that one,” noticing your gaze, Hayek points to the oversized weapon, “A sharp point for thrusting, and a long handle to get leverage behind a blow. If the old stories are to be believed, it was – as the name suggests – used to kill the ancient Giants. In the hands of a Knight, it could punch right through their legs, bring them down to size.” Hayek chuckles at the thought, his laugh like a creaking gate. “Hmm, but we've only got their word for it,” he adds, “Knights weren't the most honest folk, I've learned.”

From what you hear, you agree, they did have a habit of writing history to make themselves look good.

“That's one way of putting it,” the old man grunts, “Anyway, we've all got our work to be getting back to. You leave that blade with me, and send me the details when you can – I'll see what I can do. Anything else you'd like to hear about? Maybe Hartmann made an impression on me, I don't mind the chance to lecture a young man like you!” He chuckles again, a fondness seeping into his voice.

>No, I'll leave you to your work
>That Knight you mentioned, can you tell me a little more about him?
>Do you know anything else about slaying Giants?
>I did have a question, yes... (Write in)
>Other

>>1148548
>>That Knight you mentioned, can you tell me a little more about him?
>>Do you know anything else about slaying Giants?
Interested in both. Seems like a cool as hell weapon too even if not really in Henryk's style. Though getting a weapon to do a specific job isn't a bad idea.

>>1148548
>That Knight you mentioned, can you tell me a little more about him?
>Do you know anything else about slaying Giants?
>If you want I can tell you what I know of the price I brought you.

>>1148548
>Have you ever seen this Birthing Blade? It was also "used to kill giants", apparently.

>>1148556
Peice*

>>1148548
>That Knight you mentioned, can you tell me a little more about him?
>Do you know anything else about slaying Giants?
>Have you ever seen this Birthing Blade? It was also "used to kill giants", apparently.

That Knight he mentioned earlier, you ask, could he tell you a little more about him?

“Konstantin Volkov Vorona...” Hayek muses, “It's a mouthful, isn't it? You can see where our glorious nobility got most of their habits from. Let me think... Vorona had an estate here, I think it's been turned into the big hotel up on the ridge, but he was the one who ordered it built. Ruled the place like a tyrant, if you believe some of the stories, like it was his own private kingdom. Now, I mentioned that he was never confirmed as dead...”

He did, you agree, but he didn't seem sure about that.

“Hmm, you see, I have my own theories. Vorona kept a journal of sorts, and some of the entries have survived. It's possible that the later entries were destroyed, but the last entry I've been able to find was written long before the League rose up. If you ask me, Vorona left his estate behind for some other reason,” the old blacksmith grunts thoughtfully, “Probably went off to hunt a Giant, only to get himself killed up there. Stupid bastard. That was something of a rite of passage for Knights, going north to kill a Giant – explains why they made weapons like that one.”

How did they do it, you ask, kill Giants? You'd like to hear anything else he can tell you about hunting them.

“Hmm, I suppose you would – planning on hunting one yourself, are you?” he chuckles at the thought, “Vorona left behind notes, plans... like he was preparing to kill a Giant before vanishing. With a weapon like that, they'd jam it right through the back of the knee and cripple the thing. While it was still stunned, the idea was that they'd pull the blade out, slip back around to the front, and...” Turning away from anything delicate, Hayek swings an imaginary blade in a high vertical arc. Despite his age, he swings with enough ferocity to cause Alyssia to yelp in surprise. Closing your eyes for a moment, you can almost picture it – a heavy blow, meant to strike the head from the body.

“You see, they tried damn hard not to mark the torso,” Hayek continues, breathing rather heavily from his theatrics, “Not to damage it at all, in fact. They wanted to take the heart intact.”

“That's barbaric!” Alyssia cries, “Was it a trophy, or... or did they have some other reason for it?”

“I can't say for certain,” shrugging, the blacksmith frowns slightly, “Not all the notes survived. Other than a few mentions of “chasing the heart's blood”, I can't find any other reference. All I know is, they tried damn hard not to damage the chest. Limbs and head were fair game, but... well, Knights were strange folk, they didn't think quite like us. Might be, they had their reasons.”

Giant's blood, you muse, could it have something to do with collecting Giant's blood?

[1/2]

>>1148582

Putting that thought aside for now – as he said, Hayek doesn't know any more about this than you do – you take your blade from its sheath and hold it carefully out. It's perfectly cold to the touch, something that you find reassuring and yet strangely... dissatisfying. This Birthing Blade, you tell him, was also “used to kill giants” - or so you've heard. Has he ever seen it before, you ask, can he tell you anything about it?

“Hmm, it's a familiar style. Northern, as crude as you'd expect. Very old – very, very old. You seem to have a way of finding old things, Hunter, other men might find a way of making a fortune with your kind of luck. Well, regardless, let me take a closer look,” taking a small lens from the pocket of his smock, Hayek screws it into his eye and peers down at the Birthing Blade. Fortunately, you cleaned it not so long ago. “I suppose you know the basic history behind these sorts of things,” he asks you, “They're not unheard of, even today.”

Used to help with traumatic births, you've heard.

“Right. I've not really heard of them being used as weapons. No reason why you couldn't, mind you – it's sharp as you like, even after however many years it's been. Can't imagine it being used on a Giant though, even pushed right into an eye it might not reach very far,” Hayek pauses here, handing you back the blade, “If Giants even had eyes. Records are a little... vague. I'm sorry, Hunter, but I'll have to plead ignorance here. Other than telling you that it's old, which I think you already knew, there's nothing I can really tell you about this. If you happen to learn any astonishing truths, though, do come back and tell me – I'd be fascinated to hear any theories you might have.”

Shrugging, you sheath the dagger again – no harm in trying. If he likes, you offer, you could tell him a bit of history about the piece you gave him. It's something he might find interesting, if he believes it.

“Oh yes?” offering you a cynical smile, Hayek nods for you to continue, “The other men had fine stories as well, all meant to inflate the price a little. You're not selling, though, so maybe you're telling the truth. Let's hear it, then.”

That sword was used as the tip of the White Tyrant's spear, you tell him simply, and before that it was part of Old King Leonhard's greatsword. You took it in the north, and now here it is. There he has it – no exaggeration or theatrics, just the truth.

“So let me get this straight...” Hayek gives you a probing frown, although a faint smile flickers around his lips, “You've brought me this, an item of real and historical value, and you want me to make a new weapon out of it?”

That about sums it up, yes.

“Ah, good one! I almost believed you for a moment,” cackling like a witch, Hayek reaches across to slap you on the arm, “Old King Leonhard, indeed...”

[2/3]

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>>1148533
Parrying dagger maybe? Either a main-gauche, or even a sword-breaker? It would be ironic if we had him turn it into a sword-breaker (a type of main-gauche)

Can we commission a sword just for Liz as well?

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>>1148640
>>1148613

Just saying. If it isn't going to be a full sword, then it might as well be a sidearm.

>>1148613
"What reason do I have to lie? I killed the White Tyrant for that blade after all."

>>1148613

In the end, Hayek refuses to believe your claims and soon, you stop trying to convince him. You have to admit, you probably wouldn't believe your story either, if it was coming from a relative stranger. Still, neither of you comes away from the discussion with any ill-will. With your business more or less concluded, you turn over the blade fragment and prepare to go on your way. Hayek even gives you a receipt for it, proof that he is holding it for safe keeping. If he should go back on his end of any deal, the glossy certificate reads, his entire business is forfeit.

“Nobles loves that kind of thing,” the old man grunts, smiling wearily, “It makes them feel important, like they've got a gun to my head. You needn't worry, I've never fouled a deal – reputation means a lot, when you deal with Dragons. Some of them, they'll spare no expense ruining you if you cross them. Well, no matter...” Biting off what you sense could be a long tirade about nobles, Hayek settles for giving you a small card with his details, and the details you'll need to get for him. Height, finger length, palm width... all manner of measurements and information.

“Now then, to business,” Hayek weighs the blade piece in his hands as he says this, “With this amount of material to work with, I'd suggest a smaller weapon – something for the off hand, perhaps. Parrying daggers were rather popular a few years back, and they're still quite the statement piece. Do you know much about duelling, then?”

Not much, you admit, just a few things you've seen.

“Then perhaps it's best leaving it with me,” he suggests, “Of course, if you had a more specific idea of what you want, I'd be happy to oblige. An accompanying sword, perhaps?”

>A sword and parrying dagger would do nicely
>I did have something specific... (Write in)
>Other

>Sorry for the delay. Had to do some rewrites

>>1148640
>Can we commission a sword just for Liz as well?
That's what we're doing? The sword fragment is for making Lize a cool weapon with history.

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>>1148640
Main-gauches had enormous guards, it's fine in a battle but carrying it around?

A sword-breaker is better but why not a Rondel? A straight dagger with great armor piercing ability.

>>1148657
>>A sword and parrying dagger would do nicely
Lize is training with a knife so something small like a dagger would be perfect.

>>1148657
>A sword and parrying dagger would do nicely
If there is enough material, no reason not to go with this combo, it's all business.

The rondel was the standard side-arm for knights in the middle ages because it could punch through chainmail, I'm sure that can be handy against beasts.
Adding my vote for that as the side-arm to the sword.

>>1148657
>A sword and parrying dagger would do nicely

Simple and effective

>>1148657

>A sword and parrying dagger would do nicely

I like the irony of it being a Sword breaker.

>>1148657
>>1148661

I'm the dude who suggested the MG / Sword breaker.

So I guess I'll go with that.

Just at lunch now on my phone.

>>1148677
> Not wanting best girl to have some D.

If it's not a MG, I say we get her a shield. A light dueling targe or something.

A sword and parrying dagger would be a fine choice, you decide, it would do nicely. Best not to go with anything too complicated – the simple things are often the best, and for good reason. Besides, Lize has been training with a dagger already, this will just be a natural extension of what she already knows.

“Very good, very good,” nodding, Hayek takes a small pad of paper from one of the deep pockets of his smock and scratches a small note, “A popular choice. Sometimes, it's best not to stand out in a crowd. Would you care to add anything specific, any particular style of hilt or grip?”

A thrusting blade, you suggest, something with a bit of punch behind it.

“I see...” Hayek glances up and gives you a strangely knowing look, “Not purely a decorative piece, then. If this is something likely to be drawn in anger, I can suggest adding a notch to the blade – say, near to the base? It aids in disarming a foe, you see, without compromising the strength of the weapon. A guard at the hilt as well, perhaps, to protect the hand...”

You get the impression that Hayek could spend all day talking about swords and daggers, all the countless variations of them all. Feeling faintly helpless, you nod your agreement.

“Hmm, yes. I can picture it in my mind now,” a low hum of thought escapes Hayek as he narrows his eyes, “A masterpiece, just like every single piece that I create! You will not be disappointed, I assure you.”

Business concluded, you shake on it. His grip is firm, hardy and reassuring. When he tells you that he won't disappoint, you find yourself believing him.

-

“That must be the hotel Hayek mentioned,” Alyssia remarks, pointing out a grand building as you're walking back to Hartmann's manor, “Gosh, it looks like a palace!”

Or a fortress, you reply as you look at the ancient building. Fine enough, but with a faintly foreboding air to it. Perhaps it's knowing who lived there once that gives it a sinister feel, or perhaps some of his past crimes have stained the place with a permanent mark. Indulging your curiosity, you approach the doorway and glance up at the crest above the door. The name “Vorona” is just barely visible, although the years have been unkind to it.

That must be it, you agree as you return to Alyssia, the old Vorona estate. Once the fortress of a cruel Knight, now a plush hotel for pampered nobility. There's a faintly delicious irony there, even if most of the people staying there will never appreciate it. Come on, you tell Alyssia as you head on ahead, Hartmann has probably finished his reading long since.

“Oh yes,” laughing lightly, Alyssia hurries to catch up with you, “I wonder what he thinks.”

[1/2]

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>>1148706
> MFW we get all of the things

>>1148706

“This was a simply fascinating read, my good boy!” Hartmann announces, patting the notes with a beaming smile, “The blending of native traditions and modern cultural trends... inspired!”

“Modern cultural trends...” Alyssia repeats slowly, tilting her head.

Wild parties, you explain, and people drinking themselves stupid.

“Oh, I see,” nodding, the witch gives you a smile, “That does seem to happen a lot, doesn't it?”

“But there was one thing I wanted to hear a little more about,” Hartmann cuts in, coughing politely to catch your attention, “This spirit you mention, I would like to hear a little more about it. Do you think it had the capacity for hostility, if treated poorly? The name “Revelle” - did it give you that name specifically, or did the name come to mind instinctively? I have a theory that spirits are inherently bound to a name, in contrast to northern beliefs. The colour yellow, do you think it had any specific significance?”

Slow down, you warn him, one question at a time. The spirit gave you it's name, and it seemed very certain about it. The colour yellow, you couldn't say about any special significance – it doesn't mean anything to you. Does it have some meaning down south?

“Yellow dye is somewhat expensive, but I can't think of anything else that might be important,” Hartmann taps a finger to his nose as he thinks, “Perhaps it's just a bright, cheerful colour. We can't obsess over every little detail, after all. Not everything has a hidden meaning. No, I'm more interested in what you didn't answer – do you think the spirit could have harmed you? Was it, in your opinion, trustworthy?”

>You're the expert, you tell me – should I trust it?
>It seemed friendly enough, just a little... odd
>It's a tool. Trust doesn't come into it
>I wanted to ask you about something, actually... (Write in)
>Other

>>1148746
>>It seemed friendly enough, just a little... odd
She can play nice, though I'm sure it's possible to get on her bad side if we fuck her over somehow.

>>1148746
>It seemed friendly enough, just a little... odd

>Mosts people can harm someone when threatened or angered enough. Why should a spirit be any different?

>>1148746
>>It seemed friendly enough, just a little... odd
I'm not sure if she can harm someone: when she threatened Henryk, all she implied was a simple withdrawal of protection. Harm, I think, would only come in the form of a sudden retreat of whatever shield she holds over people when they'll miss it most.

>>1148746
> Define "Harm". She's not human and could probably do harm unintentionally or with the best of intentions.

> I don't think she's harmful, but dangerous . . . . ?

>>1148746
>It seemed friendly enough, just a little... odd

>>1148746
> It seemed friendly enough, just a little... odd

> I don't think it's malicious, but that's different from not being "dangerous"

DO. *CLAP* NOT. *CLAP* TRUST. *CLAP* FAE. *CLAP*

>>1148817
What? I couldn't hear you over the clapping.

It seemed friendly enough, you begin, although it was certainly a little... odd. Cultural differences, perhaps. Frankly, you found the humans down in the southern colonies to be a little strange, you'd be more surprised if the spirits had been any different. Still, if he's talking about whether or not it could harm you... that's a more complicated question that it first appears. “Harm” can be caused through both action and inaction.

“A spirit of protection can then withdraw that protection,” Hartmann muses, “That makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? But I wonder – what would prompt such an ill reaction?”

Most people can be angered if threatened or pushed hard enough, you tell him with a shrug, spirits shouldn't be any different. Revelle seemed like a playful sort, but that could well change. When you said it was odd, you weren't joking – it's not necessarily what you'd call predictable. Malicious and dangerous are two very different things, after all, and capricious whims can easily land people in trouble just as easily as overt malice.

“My research has led me to believe that. The nameless northern gods CAN be predicted – these rituals lead to these results,” Hartmann nods to Alyssia, “That is how it works, is it not?”

“Ah, well, yes. I believe so,” the witch nods, only freezing for a brief moment, “Everything I've learned would agree with that. Most of the variations seen are due to gradual shift in the, uh, ceremonial aspects. The padding, I guess you'd call it. Anyway, what I've learned-”

These two, you think, could talk at each other for hours. Days, even. Whether or not they'd learn anything from each other, though... that's a different issue.

-

“Thank you again, my friends!” Hartmann declares, “I've been considering writing a monograph on these matters, I'll be sure to credit you when it's published!” He pauses after that, his smile faltering. “Don't worry, I'll definitely change your names, nobody needs to know that you were my assistants. Oh, but... it probably won't be published, will it?” his smile wilts even more, “Not after last time...”

You... definitely don't want to know.

“Never mind, we must always look up!” cheering up in record time, Hartmann's broad smile returns, “Even if I can never share what we've learned with the world, that I know it is good enough for me!”

“That's the spirit,” Alyssia smiles, patting the old man on the arm.

Now then, with your business concluded all that's left is to catch the train back home. It's been a very... educational day.

>Head back to the capital
>There's something left to do here... (Write in)
>Other

>>1148821
>"Please make sure to give me a badass pseudonym when you credit me"
>Head back to the capital

>>1148821
>>Head back to the capital

>>1148821
>Head back to the capital

>>1148821


>Head back to the capital

>>1148819
Dats raycist

>>1148821
>Head back to the capital

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

204 KB JPG

If he insists on crediting you, you tell Hartmann, could he at least give you a good pseudonym? Nothing that makes you sound foolish – you want a good, strong name.

“Oh, I think I can handle that,” Hartmann chuckles, “Now you're getting into the spirit of things too! Ah, we do make a good team, the three of us. If you should ever feel like doing a little more research into... southern matters, do feel free to drop by. I'm sure that I can find something for us to do!”

There's no guile in his voice or eyes when he says this – by contrast, his sincerity is so sharp as to be painful. Your reply, originally a glib thing, dies in your mouth, to be replaced by a solemn nod. You'll do that, you assure the old man, you'll keep his offer in mind.

“Thank you, thank you again,” shaking your hand one last time, Hartmann gives you both a grateful smile, “My door is always open.”

-

“You know, I had fun today,” Alyssia tells you later, as the sound of the train rattles away in the background. It's a faintly hypnotic rattle, and you soon find yourself slipping – the day's business pulling you down into a deep fatigue. Of course, it's not just that, not just a regular fatigue. You've felt it often enough to know what a summoning from Nihilo feels like.

“Henryk?” Alyssia asks, her voice coming from an increasing distance, “Are you... Oh, I see. Uh, well, good luck with... whatever it is!”

She says something else, but the distance has grown too vast. Her words are simply lost in the void.

-

“You know, Henryk, you've got a strange smell about you,” Artemis says slowly, circling you and sniffing the air like a hound, “It smells like... hmm, spices and wine. Or maybe spiced wine, I'm not sure. I've never actually had any wine, so I couldn't really say what it smells or tastes like.” Pausing, she leans closer to you and smells your skin. “I want to try wine now,” she thinks aloud, “That's on my list, now. Try wine.”

She might not like it, you warn, and what list is this?

“The list of all the things I'm going to do when I'm free from here,” she explains, “So far, I've got... drink wine and travel a lot. It's not a very long list.”

Well, you tell her with a shrug, early days yet. She's got time to think of new things to add to it.

“That's right! It'll give me something to think about,” sighing, Artemis pauses in front of you, looking you in the eye, “Something to pass the time – ah, but I don't have long to wait, do I?”

Compared with how long she's waited already, it's not long at all. Just one more drop in a bucket that was overflowing a long time ago.

[1/2]

File: 533.png (354 KB, 976x600)

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>>1148899
>she leans closer to you and smells your skin

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

72 KB JPG

>>1148899

“Oh wait, I'm getting distracted again. Silly old me!” shaking her head, Artemis gives you a wide and deadly looking smile, “We never had a chance to finish our business last time. Well, I figure now is as good a time as any – I've had a good long talk with that slug over there, and I think I've got a new offer for you.” Gesturing for you to follow, she strides across the black ice towards the mermaid. At the sound of your approach – Artemis is making no attempt at staying quiet, humming a tuneless dirge to herself – the mermaid turns and glares. At least, it tries to glare – a difficult thing to do, with the blasted remains of its eyes.

“You like talking, right? That thing people do with their mouths that isn't ripping out throats,” laughing at her joke – you hope it's a joke, at least – Artemis moves quickly on, “Well, you might like this little gift. Speak, and people will listen. Loyalty, fear, obedience... your words can command them all.”

That sounds a little... manipulative, you reply, a little bit like you'd be controlling their minds.

“That's a very harsh way of putting it. I'd call it “influencing” them. Influencing them strongly,” shrugging, Artemis gives the mermaid a sour look, “Anyway, if it makes you feel better, you can't just tell someone “stand still and let me kill you”. You've got to be subtle about it, you see?”

Subtle, you repeat, right.

“Well, it's your choice. I have power to offer you,” Artemis holds out her hand, “If you wish to take it. The beasts here are at your disposal, every one of them.”

A gift is on offer – which, if any, should you accept?

>Cripple's Strength – spend Focus to numb all pain or discomfort for a long time
>Tyrant's Might – spend Focus for a brief burst of incredible strength
>Glutton's Regrowth – spend Focus to regenerate light wounds, at the cost of growing briefly sluggish
>Lunatic Visions – spend Focus to meditate on a situation and gain new answers
>Ancient Knowledge – learn the art of formal duelling. No Focus required
>Glorious Voice - spend Focus to instil a certain emotion in whoever can hear your words
>None

>I'll keep this vote open for 15 minutes, then call it and write.

>>1148951
>Glorious Voice

>>1148951
>>Ancient Knowledge – learn the art of formal duelling. No Focus required

>>1148951
>Lunatic Visions – spend Focus to meditate on a situation and gain new answers

We won't need eyes where we're going.

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>Alright, I'll take this to a tiebreaker roll. 1 = Glorious voice, 2 = Ancient Knowledge, 3 = Lunatic Visions

>>1148988

>Glorious Voice it is. Writing the next post now. Probably going to wrap things up soon, I'm getting a little tired

>>1148998
>>1148988
I am happy with this.

Also we should tell Artemis that she should add making friends to her list.

File: The Mermaid.jpg (346 KB, 700x700)

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Already dreading what this might involve, you point to the mermaid. That one, you tell Artemis cautiously, you'll take that one's power. It might come in handy, you consider, you never know what doors can be opened with the right word in the right ear. Just, in this case, the right word might be one that “strongly influences” them to trust you.

“Okay, let me see here,” tapping a finger against her lips as she thinks, Artemis leans down and stabs that very same finger into one of the mermaid's eye sockets. Flinching back as best it can – which isn't all that well, considering – the mermaid lets out a screech of nightmarish pain that stabs deep down into your mind. Even Artemis looks shaken by it, pulling her bloodied hand away quickly. “Wow, that thing really can scream, can't it?” she remarks, a faint tremor in her voice, “Anyway, hold still.”

You're not gonna have to taste any of that, you ask, are you?

“Don't be silly,” smiling sweetly at you, Artemis reaches up and smears the blood across your forehead, just as before. As it burns into your skin, she reaches out a slender tongue and laps some of the blood off her hand, chasing drops of it as it trails down her pale arm. Tasting it slowly, she frowns. “Yuck,” grimacing in disgust, she turns away from you and discretely spits, “That's revolting.”

Really, you reply, you're not sure what she was expecting.

“Neither was I, really,” shrugging, Artemis turns gives the mermaid a harsh glare, as if blaming it for not tasting good enough, “Well, no matter. It's done now – a learning experience for everyone involved. Not quite tasting wine, but...”

Speaking of her list, you begin as you scrub at your forehead, you thought of something she should add to it – making friends, perhaps.

“Oh? Making friends with Spiced Wine, I suppose?” returning to the act of circling you, Artemis sniffs the air again, “I wonder if they taste like they smell...”

No, you scold her, that's bad. No eating other spirits!

“Hng...” Artemis grumbles, shuffling her feet and looking down at the ground, “Fine! I won't eat it, and I'll be nice. I'll try really hard!”

This is clearly the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

>Yeah, I'm going to have to close things here. I'll continue things tomorrow, same time as usual.
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>1149059
thanks for running

>>1149059
Thanks for running.

How long is the Glorious suggestion active for?

>>1149059
>No eating other spirits!
This is good. Artemis a cute. Would likely have gone for dueling if I was around for the vote but the voice thing does seem pretty damn handy. Thanks for running Moloch.

>>1149125

Good question. The initial strong effect lasts for the duration of the conversation, but it leaves a longer lasting impression behind. For example, using it while saying "Trust me" will invoke a strong feeling of trust in those who can hear you. After the conversation ends, that effect will fade to a more general perception - they'll see Henryk as more trustworthy, even if they couldn't say why. That second effect would slowly fade away to nothing, but it takes long enough that it likely won't be relevant.

Just had a somewhat random thought, can Revelle show up in Nihilo? Maybe if we throw a party with Artemis, Tyrant and Yvette. Then her and Artemis can chat for a bit while we chat with Tyrant or at least introduce them.

>>1149171

I'd say that Revelle can follow us to Nihilo if we've been drinking mazka, that would let her tag along with us

>>1149197
dang, mist voting for the boon.
good thread anyway

>>1149197
I am voting for this next time.

Artemis needs to be socialized.

It's not often that Lize can't think of something to say, but this is one of those rare moments. She sits, fidgeting and flustered, with absolutely nothing to say for herself. Frankly, you're enjoying the change.

“H-hey,” she manages to say, but that's all she can come out with. Instead, she just squirms a little more.

Sit still, you tell her, you're trying to work and she's making everything take twice as long. Having said this, you look down again and turn her small hand over. Frowning slightly in thought, you measure the first of her fingers and carefully note down the size. You're really not sure why Hayek needs to know the exact length of every individual finger, but he's the expert – maybe he just has a compulsive need to know every little detail before he feels ready to start work. In either case, you're not about to argue. You'll just note down the details and send them away. Not, you lament, that Lize is making it easy for you.

“Jeez, it just tickles, that's all,” she complains, pulling her hand away as soon as you're finished, “And you've got cold hands. What, you couldn't take five minutes to warm them up before grabbing me like that?”

Is that it, you ask patiently, or does she have anything else to complain about?

“I guess I'm done,” Lize grudgingly admits, “But I ain't gonna promise anything, you understand?”

Understood, you sigh, now – her other hand. If she holds still this time, you can be done soon enough.

-

As you're checking over the measurements and preparing to send them off, Lize snaps her fingers and lets out a little cry of surprise. “That reminds me!” she says, hurrying across to the kitchen and grabbing a bit of paper, “This arrived while you were out. I, uh, kinda forgot about it. Hey, it can't be that important, right? I mean, it doesn't have “high priority” stamped all over it or anything, so...”

Letting her ramble on in the background, you unfold the telegram and skim the contents. It's from Vas, opening with a simple greeting before launching straight into business. The day after tomorrow, he'll be taking the Ghoul back north from Port Daud. There's a place for you on board, if you wanted it. The letter concludes with the same simplicity that it opened with – wishing you well with whatever you decide to do.

Folding the letter back up again, you consider the offer. As you told Vas before, you do have business in the north – at the Garden of Giants. With Revelle ready to protect you, there's not much else in the way of preparations to take care of. Then again, you might be gone a fair while. Best to think twice and make sure you've done everything you need to do here.

>You're ready to head north now
>There was something else to take care of... (Write in)
>Other

>>1151593
>You're ready to head north now

>>1151593
>There was something else to take care of... (Write in)
Bring a bigger gun. Vials for blood or some kind of storage in case we find something. What about that quiet Blood Scholar should we bring him along? He might have extra insight.

If you're going to be heading north, you'll need to gather a good deal of supplies now, rather than relying on the dubious offerings to be found at Port Steyr. The Maus rifle, for one thing – you're not sure if it'll be able to punch a hole in a Giant, but it's the biggest gun you've got. If the Maus can't do the job, you'd need a serious step up. Heavy artillery, perhaps. A shame that you can't borrow the Majestic and its heavy naval guns, but that's life – you can't always get what you want.

Weapons aside, you'll need some way of harvesting blood from the Giant - a heavy duty syringe perhaps, with a protective case to keep your prize safe on the journey home. Where would you find something like that, though? Other than “borrowing” some equipment from the College, you can't-

Wait. Solberg, one of your southern associates. He's an expert in studying blood, he might well have something to gather the stuff. Hell, he might like to come along and see for himself – it's not every day that he would get the chance to see one of the ancient Giants, and he did seem to have a particular interest in those mysterious beings. You'll go and visit him, you decide, see what he has to say about the matter.

-

After sending off Hayek's telegram, you take a detour to the noble district. It's a nice night to walk, cold and clear, so you take your time winding through the streets of Thar Dreyse towards your destination. As expected, the guards at the checkpoint stop you, but soon let you pass once you've shown your League papers. At the sight of your credentials, they're only too happy to help you and offer directions to the Solberg manor.

There's something faintly uncomfortable about the area around the Solberg manor, but it takes you a moment to realise what it is. The Alkaev manor, Lize's old home, is just a stone's throw away. Putting the coincidence out of your mind, you rap your knuckles against the manor door and wait. From inside, you can hear the faint sound of music and conversation – quite lively, although nowhere near the wild festivities that you enjoyed not so long ago.

When you explain the purpose of your visit to the aged servant who answers your second knock, he gives you an unreadable look before nodding solemnly. Leading you inside, he shows you inside the lushly decorated manor, heading straight for what seems like a ballroom before taking a sharp turn and indicating a steep set of stairs leading down into... somewhere. You want to say a basement, but “dungeon” feels more appropriate.

Awkwardly thanking the servant, you start down the rough stone steps. The lively sounds from above seem to fade very quickly indeed as you descend, soon vanishing altogether.

[1/2]

>>1151623

“Basement” was definitely not an appropriate word to use for this place, but neither was “dungeon”. In truth, it's more of a crypt than anything else – a relic from some dark and unenlightened time when the dead were buried, not cremated. Thoughts of disease and miasma cross your mind, but you push them away. No point worrying about such things now. Focusing your gaze on a light ahead of you – the flicking glow of candlelight – you emerge down into the lowest level. Ahead of you, bent over an antique desk, you see Solberg's skeletal form.

“I think you've taken a wrong turn,” he says slowly, without looking up, “The party is upstairs.”

No, you reply, you're exactly where you want to be.

This causes Solberg to look up and turn in his seat, scrutinising you without anything that might be likened to surprise. “Well then,” he says at last, after studying you for a long while, “You must have business with me. Let's not pretend that this is a social call.”

That's a very cynical way of looking at things, you tell him, maybe you came to see how he was settling in. The north must feel like a very different place after living down in the colonies. You say this quietly, allowing your attention to wander about the crypt. Arcane equipment – medical in nature, you're certain – is neatly stacked up against the walls, while countless tiny vials of blood glisten in the light. Taking a closer look at those, you skim some of the paper labels and see names penned in - “Alkaev” among them.

“It's like anywhere else,” Solberg replies flatly, indifferent to your attempts at making conversation, “There, I worked. Here, I work. I like it this way.”

There's a simplicity in that way of life, something that you can almost admire. Still, you did come here for a specific reason – to talk business, in a sense.

>I'm preparing for an expedition up north, to the Garden of Giants. Would you like to join us?
>I'm looking for some medical equipment. Something to drain and store blood
>So what work are you doing down here?
>I had a question to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>1151649
>>I'm looking for some medical equipment. Something to drain and store blood
I'm not the only one that doesn't remember Solberg right? Either way doesn't seem like the kinda guy that would come along on this sort of expedition.

>>1151649
>>I'm preparing for an expedition up north, to the Garden of Giants. Would you like to join us?
>>I'm looking for some medical equipment. Something to drain and store blood
>>So what work are you doing down here?
"Seems like you have samples of some of the noble families down here."

>>1151653
Solberg was the guy that we talked to at length in the temple in the south about Giants, Knights, Blood, and theories on history. That's his main focus. He would jump on the chance to visit the Garden.

>>1151653
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/918959/#p940153

>>1151649
>I'm preparing for an expedition up north, to the Garden of Giants. Would you like to join us?
>So what work are you doing down here?

>>1151663
Thanks anon, yeah that cleared things up. Yeah, bringing him along is a good idea, let's do it.

You're preparing for an expedition up north, you tell him, to the Garden of Giants. There's a place for him there, if he wants to join up – what does he say?

This, at least, causes a flicker of emotion to pass across Solberg's normally lifeless features. He frowns slightly, considering the offer in silence. “I cannot,” he says, with a trace of what sounds like genuine regret, “I have a great deal of work to catch up on. Were it not for my commitments to my family, I would gladly accept the chance to join you.” He actually sighs after saying this, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “However,” he adds, “I would be willing to offer you information or material gain, on the grounds that you return in kind. I would like to learn about what you see there, what there is to be found that far north.”

It seems like a fair deal, you think, considering that you might need to share your results with him anyway. You'll need someone to study any blood samples you can recover, and you trust Solberg a hell of a lot more than anyone at the College. So, nodding, you gesture to some of the esoteric items dotted about the crypt. You're looking for some medical equipment, you tell him, something to drain and safely store blood. Does he have anything that he's willing to lend you?

“So you're really chasing Giant's blood,” the gaunt noble says quietly, “Well then. I have something that should please you. Allow me a moment to find it.” Rising from his desk, he heads straight for a single specific pile and draws out a large metal case. Gesturing for you to come closer, he sets it down on the desk and snaps the locks open, lifting the lid to reveal a comically oversized syringe. The needle looks more like a thrusting sword, like something you saw in Hayek's collection.

Good lord, you murmur as you take a closer look, what was this used for?

“Extracting whale blood,” Solberg explains, “There was an old theory, several old theories in fact, about whales. For one, men thought that they did not die natural deaths – they were, in essence, ageless. The theory led to people injecting whale blood as a means of prolonging their lives. In many cases, whales were correlated with the ancient Giants – some even suggested that the two were one and the same. Time can cause strange myths to develop.”

Huh, you muse, what happened to the people who injected whale's blood?

“They died,” shrugging lightly, Solberg closes the case and locks it up again, “Painfully, if the records are to be believed. Looking back, it seems like a foolish idea, but desperation often drives men to do foolish things.”

Yeah, you reply with a hollow laugh, no kidding.

[1/2]

Also there was that thing about taking the entire giant's heart intact wasn't there? That a thing we should do? Maybe it's not just the blood itself but the blood specifically in the heart that has special properties?

>>1151695
Yeah we should get the heart as well. Cover all bases.

>>1151687

Still, you ask after a moment, he mentioned that he has work to catch up – what sort of work is this? It seems like he has samples of blood from several of the noble families down here, are those related?

“Well,” Solberg pauses, “I am bound to keep much of my work secret, so you must understand that I can only tell you so much. A large part of my business is to study samples of blood drawn from my family. A way of... predicting future issues. Health concerns. There, on the wall there, you'll see another aspect of my profession. Go on, take a look – I would be interested to hear what you think it means.” As he says this, the thin noble points to a faded chart on one wall. Shrugging lightly, you approach it and take a closer look.

Names, you note, long lists of names connected with arrows. The names are all arranged as pairs, although several of the links are assigned question marks or other symbols. You notice the initials L.A.A halfway down the list – Lizbeth Akilina Alkaev. If you had to guess, you suggest, are these... arranged marriages?

“Exactly so,” Solberg sounds faintly pleased at your deduction, “Fortuitous pairings, based of well-balanced bloodlines. Certain pairings are more viable than others, so noble parents often arrange for their children to marry well. It is no secret, although some reject the evidence in favour of the old ways of keeping their bloodline pure. Those, I do not wish to speak of.”

Ah, you guess after a moment, you've heard about that - certain families are closer than others, to put it delicately.

“If that is how you wish to put it, yes,” a faint terseness enters Solberg's voice, and he is quick to change the subject, “In either case, since I have returned here my family – a rather... large group – have provided me with a great deal of samples to analyse and record, sooner rather than later. For this reason, as I said, I will regrettably have to decline your invitation. I apologise.”

Shrugging, you accept his apology. It was worth a try, and he seems genuinely appreciative that you made the offer. If nothing else, it certainly put you in his good books. Before you go, though, you ask one more question. Does the term “heart's blood” mean anything to him, you ask, especially in relation to the Giants?

“It does,” nodding slowly, Solberg considers your answer, “A minor piece of myth, something I had forgotten. It was said that when the Giants retreated from the world, and took on the guise of trees, the blood hardened in their veins – but not within their heart. There, it would remain live and vital for all time. To chase the heart's blood is to seek those few precious last drops... or so the stories go.”

>Interesting. I'll leave you to your work
>I had some last questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>1151725
>>Interesting. I'll leave you to your work

>>1151725
>>I had some last questions... (Write in)
"Has there ever been a recorded case of a someone with diluted Dragon's blood. Like their parents and grandparents never gave a damn about bloodlines and mingled with other humans, mundane or otherwise which resulted in offspring that is 1/8th Dragon or something. Are they just mundane at that point or does that slight connection still give them the same issues later in life?"

Just curious if Uriah will suffer from Dragon defects even if Wolf won out in the long run.

You start up the crypt stairs, but then a thought strikes you and causes you to pause. Turning back, you ask Solberg a new question. Does he know of anything like diluted Dragon's blood, you ask quietly, any recorded cases of it? For example, noble families that freely bred with other sections of society regardless of bloodlines or any such considerations – would the offspring of such a union be any different from a regular person?

“An interesting point of discussion,” Solberg muses, “But a field of research that is sadly undeveloped, largely due to the social stigma. I won't pretend that noblemen do not lie with their common maids, but the results of these unions are rarely studied in any depth. Quite the contrary, in fact – the offspring are usually hidden away, struck from the records or otherwise rejected. Still, a certain amount of information has been recorded.”

Alright, you ask, you'd like to hear about it.

“No names, I'm afraid, but there was the case of one child. A noble mother, and a father of no notable bloodline. The child lived a long life, but died a madman – screaming away in isolation. Was this madness due to their mixed blood? I cannot be certain,” shaking his head, Solberg pauses for thought, “By contrast, a second case – girl, one quarter noble blood – lived with no abnormalities. To conclude...”

There's no consistent result, you finish, correct?

“Correct. However, if I might offer a personal comment,” the noble pauses again, torn between cold objectivity and indulging a gut feeling, “Children of such mixed blood are ill-fated. Born under a bad star. That is all I can say.”

There's not much you can offer in response to that, and so you settle for a slow nod. Taking the syringe case and tucking it under your arm, you climb the stairs leading up from the dungeon. The party is still going when you leave the Solberg manor, genteel laughter twinkling like choir bells.

You're finished here. You'll have a good night's sleep and take the next train to Port Daud in the morning. From there, the north awaits.

>I'm going to pause briefly here, get some notes in order and write up the next chunk. Shouldn't be too long.

>>1151777
Hey Moloch. Mr and Mrs. Alkaev was a arranged marriage correct. They aren't a case of 'keeping it in the family' right?

>>1151792

>They had an arranged marriage, yes. They were both from more forward thinking families, rather than the traditional types.

>>1151805
So is there something that makes Lize have Ifox as her ancestor?

Granted Ifox was the original Alkaev so it's logical, but after enough arranged marriages to other noble families she would technically have multiple ancestor Knights in her blood. Was it just luck of the draw that she got Ifox or something else?

>>1151811

>Partially luck of the draw, like being born with a particular eye colour, but she also "resonated" well with Ifox. That might not be the best word to use, but I can't think of a more appropriate one. You could say that she identifies more strongly with Ifox than any other ancestor, although it's largely an instinctual thing. That's generally how nobles with these kinds of inherited memories function - they tend to latch onto a specific ancestor and favour them about any others.

>>1151820
I get you. Because she is Alkaev and considers herself one (when she isn't fantasizing about being a Hanson) she got Ifox.

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The Ghoul has changed since you last saw it. It's still a sleek thing, quick and quiet, but now it has teeth – a single harpoon mount, set up at the prow of the ship. Vas must have had it added later, at no small expense you imagine. No matter how much it must have cost, he seems ludicrously proud of it, leaning on the gun and patting it like a man lavishing attention on his prize hunting hound.

“She'll never be a whaler, of course,” he explains again, “But it's good to have options. This should be enough to drive off anything that tries to pick a fight with us. We've got an ample supply of both steel lances and grenade rounds – it's a fine toy, and no mistake.”

The way he gushes over it, you wouldn't be surprised if he wanted a reason to use the gun – to show off, if nothing else.

“Anyway, we have a pretty specific window for leaving. The ice in the pass is thicker than normal, given the time of year, so we'll need to follow in the wake of a larger icebreaker – in other words, we'll be going at their pace, not ours,” a dark displeasure steals its way into Vas' voice as he tells you this, irritation visible on his features, “Damn shame too. I wager the Ghoul could make it through in six days if we had a clear run. That's about as fast as you're ever likely to get.”

“Slow and steady, captain!” one of the passing crewmen remarks, chuckling to himself.

“You can piss off and all,” Vas counters, waving a crude gesture at the sailor, “Bah, can't get the staff these days. Slow and steady...” Grumbling, the old captain rises from his position at the gun and waves to the lower decks. “We've got plenty of room, pick an empty cabin and get settled in. Make yourself comfortable,” he grunts the next part to himself, although you overhear it perfectly well, “We're going to be at sea long enough, after all...”

-

“Comfortable” might be stretching it a little, but the cabin is nice enough. Small, but you don't need a lot of room. You don't have a lot of luggage, and a single bed is enough for you. Boredom is more of a factor than anything else – short of playing cards with some of the crew or staring off into space up on the deck, there's not much to do at sea. Even Vas doesn't seem all that talkative now that you're in motion, his gaze locked on the broken ice ahead.

A few days into the journey, and you feel something as you're lying back in your bunk – sleep tugging at you, softly insistent but unrelenting. Artemis must want something, you think with a weary smile, and she's asking nicely this time. Still, this does give you the chance to try something out – a little experiment of your own. Taking the flask of mazka out, you take a deep swallow of the harsh liquor and wait.

“Oh hey!” Revelle's oddly lilting voice sings out as you fade away, “Wait, you're going to sleep? Wait, hey-”

[1/2]

>>1151848
Ohboy time for friends.

>>1151919
>You might have to, of course – I want to DIE, no doubt about that, but I have to wish for it to suffer.

You might have to, of course – I want it to DIE, no doubt about that, but I have no wish for it to suffer*?

>>1151848

“Henryk,” Artemis croons as you slowly wake back in Nihilo, “You've brought me a...” She pauses here, just as you think she's about to say “snack”. The pause stretches out for a few seconds more, and then she laughs. “You've brought me a friend!” she says instead. Opening your eyes, you sit up to see the pair, Artemis and Revelle, standing together. Artemis has her hands firmly set on Revelle's shoulders, while the southern spirit offers a trembling smile.

That's right, you stress, a friend. You're going to be working together, so it's best that they get acquainted with one another. More privately, you're impressed that it worked – that you could pull Revelle into this place. Of course, the spirit herself looks somewhat less pleased with how all this has worked out.

“You know,” Artemis purrs, bending down to smell Revelle, “You really do smell of spices and wine...”

“Wah!” Revelle wails softly, reaching up and pulling her yellow silk veil lower down on her face, as it that would hide her away.

Play nice, you warn Artemis, you don't want her causing any trouble.

“Oh, don't you worry,” patting Revelle on the head, Artemis gives you a jagged smile, “I think we're going to to get along famously. For now, though...” She lifts her hands from Revelle's shoulders, and the young spirit – it seems odd to consider her “young”, when she might very well be as ageless as anything else here, but you can't help it – scurries away. “For now, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Artemis finishes, her voice growing slightly more solemn, “About what lies ahead.”

Revelle skips off into the background, laughing and marvelling at her new surroundings – any fear or worry immediately forgotten. As she cavorts, you look back to Artemis. Alright, you tell her, what's this about?

“The Nemesis Knight,” Artemis muses, “This feels odd to ask this, but... don't be cruel. Out of all twelve, every one of them, this the only one that I have no grudge against. So, what I'm asking is... don't make it suffer, if you can. You might have to, of course – I want it to DIE, no doubt about that, but I have to wish for it to suffer. You see, what I've come to realise is... I owe it a lot, in a strange kind of way.”

Well, this is not exactly what you expected from her. It makes sense, though – perhaps the Giant thought that it could “purify” Artemis of any filth or incompleteness, and the other Knights had simply been a means to that end.

“Well, that's it,” clearing her throat lightly, Artemis crosses her arms in a faintly awkward way, “That's what I wanted to ask you, so... what IS she doing?”

Turning, following Artemis' gaze, you see Revelle riding atop the Brute's broad shoulders, laughing and cheering all the while. She looks, you remark, like she's having fun.

Artemis lets out a disapproving sniff, but there's the hint of a smile there. You're sure of it.

[2/3]

>>1151921

>Good catch. I'm a little out of it today, so thanks for that. Kinda changes the tone of the whole thing, a mistake like that!

>>1151945
But you ended up posting the same thing

>>1151950
He deleted his original post and fixed the typos.

Refresh the page.

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>>1151941

“So you're dealing with spirits now,” a gruff voice behind you announces, a kind of weary amusement heavy in it, “You're more like my people than you like to think, Hunter.” The White Tyrant, Isten Kardja, ambles up to stand beside you, watching the same absurd sight that you'd been focussing on. As the Brute stamps back and forth, Revelle still gleefully riding on top, Artemis follows it. Not quite chasing it, but there's definitely something playful about it all.

“Never thought I'd see anything like it,” Isten adds, laughing at the sight, “Like watching a bloodstained killer toying with a pup. A sight like that... well, it's almost enough to make all this worth it.”

Yeah, you admit, it's certainly something.

“But my point stands,” the old tyrant reminds you, “Seems like you're quick enough to throw aside your “civilised” ways when it suits you, boy. What did you do to win her favour, shed blood beneath a full moon? Raise idols and totems to her glory?”

Actually, you correct him, you threw a party. The look of amazement and disbelief that appears on his face is perfect, a prize equal to any of the trophies you've taken so far. Taking advantage of his stunned silence, you press ahead with a retort of your own.

>So maybe I do deal with spirits – but I approach them as equals, not thralls or servants
>Your witch, Hebona – did she have a necklace of whale bone?
>I took the tip of your spear, by the way, and I put it good use
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>1151989
>>So maybe I do deal with spirits – but I approach them as equals, not thralls or servants
>>I took the tip of your spear, by the way, and I put it good use

>>1151989
>Your witch, Hebona – did she have a necklace of whale bone?
>I took the tip of your spear, by the way, and I put it good use

>>1151989
"Civilized ways? Isten I'm a Wolf. I'm probably the most uncivilized part of my society, at least that's what other people might say. Besides my society tries to disbelieve in all the supernatural elements of the world and I've been exposed to a lot. It's only natural I start working with them to work towards my goals."

>>Your witch, Hebona – did she have a necklace of whale bone?
>>I took the tip of your spear, by the way, and I put it good use

>>1151989
>>Your witch, Hebona – did she have a necklace of whale bone?
>>I took the tip of your spear, by the way, and I put it good use

>>1152006
>"Civilized ways? Isten I'm a Wolf. I'm probably the most uncivilized part of my society, at least that's what other people might say. Besides my society tries to disbelieve in all the supernatural elements of the world and I've been exposed to a lot. It's only natural I start working with them to work towards my goals."
supporting this

Civilised ways, you muse, are a strange thing for a Wolf to consider – as far as the rest of society seems to think, you're the least civilised part of it. Your society rejects mysticism, spiritualism, all of that... but you've seen too much to reject all that out of hand. It's only natural that you work with spirits to achieve your goals.

“The reject seeks the rejected,” Isten jeers, “That must be why you gather these waifs and strays to your side – so that you won't ever be alone, so that you'll always have someone to fawn over you.”

That's where he's wrong, you counter, you deal with them as equals – you don't treat them as thralls or servants. Maybe it's not his way of doing things, but it seems to be working out well enough for you. In fact, you add with a sly grin, you seem to doing better than him.

“Is that right?” the old tyrant laughs, “How long before one of them strays? You ARE strong, Hunter, and the north respects that... but a strong hand only has value when it is used. Those who let their strength go to waste will end up as trophies for those who have the will to succeed.”

Trophies, you repeat, you know a thing or two about trophies – the tip of his spear, for one. You took that as as a trophy, but now you've put it good use.

Isten growls softly, but then forces a curt laugh. “So be it,” he replies, “You think I have need of such things? No, I have left a deeper scar than any mere weapon or trophy – my people remember me, Hunter, and they will always do so. Do what you will with my weapon, I care little – nothing – for it!”

For someone who doesn't care, you think, he's certainly getting defensive. You're having it forged into a new weapon, you tell him casually, for a girl – a young Dragon. Isten's face twists into a grimace for a moment, a very long moment, but then his reply comes as a surprise – he laughs, a deep and booming laugh.

“A weapon for a new generation!” he announces, “Hunter, did you think that would wound me? No, I cannot think of a better fate for that old relic – I can only hope that this child forges her own legacy with it.” Still chuckling, Isten prowls around you like a wolf on the hunt. “You continue to surprise me, Hunter,” he tells you, “I can only imagine that in another life, we could have been the strongest of friends – you would have been an excellent servant, a fine blade for me to wield.”

Maybe, you reply, until the day when you turned and cut him to the bone instead. His “servants” seem to have a habit of turning on him – his witch, Hebona, for one.

[1/2]

>>1152065

“Ah, Hebona,” Isten offers a smile that holds equal parts fondness and bitterness, “She was no blade, and she never was. A blade can be trusted, but a witch always has her own goals – her other masters. Warriors bow to their masters, but witches do not. They scheme, and they perform their rituals. You'd make a fine witch, now that I think about it!” He gives you a cold laugh, his words as much an insult and a compliment.

Speaking of rituals, you ask, did Hebona use any tools in hers? Something like a necklace of carven whale bone, perhaps?

“She did,” a thoughtful tone enters Isten's voice, “Although she never would explain its purpose. She toyed with it, gazing up into the night sky and comparing what she saw with the carvings on that necklace. She claimed that the nameless gods gave it to her, so that she could be their servant on this mortal world – but then... she said a lot of things.”

That, you agree, is definitely true.

“You amuse me, Hunter,” Isten slaps you on the shoulder, “I enjoy these little talks, these little sparring sessions of ours. There is seldom little else to do in this dismal place. The woman does not talk, save to cry or shout insults.” He glances around at distant Yvette as he says this, scowling darkly at her.

Well, you suggest as you look back to Artemis and Revelle, he could always join them. They seem to be having fun.

“Hmm,” the old tyrant mutters, “Perhaps not.”

No, you agree after a moment's thought, it's not really his sort of thing.

>Let yourself leave Nihilo
>Do something else here... (Write in)
>Other

>>1152122
>Do something else here... (Write in)
Ask Revelle if it's possible to protect everyone on the boat here and if so does she have a limit to the range of her protection?

Other than that, good to go.

>>1152122
>>1152141

>>1152141
This

>>1152141
Seems like the ideal place to talk to Revelle, yeah.

>>1151989
>>Your witch, Hebona – did she have a necklace of whale bone?
>I took the tip of your spear, by the way, and I put it good use
hmm, would explaining to Liz what the weapon is and who wielded it work as some bridge building attempt? Old and new, civilized and barbarian. Through it he'll live on a testament both to spite at the civilization and to the wilderness.
That should be something that tickle him pink if we can spin a good story. What did we take from Saive again?

>>1152176
Fuck, didn't refresh the page before I typed all that. bah.

>>1152176
>What did we take from Saive again?

>We took a monogrammed handkerchief. Nothing too fancy, but it beats a finger or an ear.

Crossing the ice, you trudge across to meet back up with the frolicking pair. For a while, they're too busy with their nonsensical game – Artemis chases the lumbering beast about, while Revelle urges it to shamble faster – but then you clap your hands loudly. All three of them freeze, and then turn your way.

There's something very unsettling about having the headless Brute turn to face you, looking down with the shattered remains of its skull. You never thought that something could glare without eyes, but now you think differently.

“This is fun!” Revelle shouts down at you, “We don't have anything like this back home!”

“It IS rather fun,” Artemis admits, with forced reluctance, “I can't guarantee that playing like this is more fun than... well, my original idea, but it's amusing enough. You should join us!”

You're about to reply to that, when you notice that Revelle has vanished from her place at the Brute's shoulders. The brush of silk against your back soon tells you where she is, although you're certain that turning around would reveal nothing but empty air. Looking straight ahead instead, you address the unseen spirit. Revelle, you ask, can she protect everyone you brought with you? Everyone on the same ship as you?

“Huh?” circling around from behind you, Revelle pushes back her long floppy sleeves to count on her fingers, “I can do that, I can do that easy!”

Of course she can, you agree with a faint smile, because she's the strongest. What about distance, how far can you travel before she can no longer protect you?

“I don't get it,” Revelle tilts her head to the side, lips pursed in thought, “I can go as far as you can. Oooh, you're thinking about my totem, aren't you? That's just an empty shell now, like a jug with all the wine poured out. I can follow you to the furthest corners of this land!”

“And you know,” Artemis muses, “She might very well have to.”

What, you ask, what was that?

“Oh, I... I thought I remembered something,” a frown darkens Artemis' face, “But it's gone now. Ah, I thought I'd remembered it all, there's still something left that I can't quite grasp! You know what that means, don't you Henryk?”

It means you've got more beasts to kill, you guess, right?

“Absolutely right!” Artemis agrees, nodding eagerly and giving you a smile like broken glass.

She doesn't need to sound so enthusiastic about it.

>I'm going to have to pause things here. I'll continue this tomorrow, and I can stick around in case of any questions
>Sorry for some of the delays today, thanks for posting!

>>1152209
Not quite what I meant. I know she is connected to Henryk but say we make landfall and Henryk goes inland. Are the people left on the boat screwed without Henryk nearby? I suppose we can take them all with us like we did at the University.

Thanks for running.

>>1152226

Right, sorry, that's my mistake. Revelle is capable of splitting her protection between different places. So, someone remaining on the ship would be safe, even when Henryk traveled inland. I'll clarify that IC when the time comes

>>1152258
Alright cool. Thanks.

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>>1152258
She really is the strongest! Is there anything this spirit can't do!

>>1152327
Tell how many people there are on the bus.

>“She did,” a thoughtful tone enters Isten's voice, “Although she never would explain its purpose. She toyed with it, gazing up into the night sky and comparing what she saw with the carvings on that necklace. She claimed that the nameless gods gave it to her, so that she could be their servant on this mortal world – but then... she said a lot of things.”
>“Oh, well, some phases of the moon traditionally have associations. Uh, this one is Father Moon, for example. Often associated with, um...” looking down at the table, breaking her eyes away from you, Alyssia lowers her voice a little more, “Associated with male fertility.”
I don't think Iosefka wants to wear that necklace.

>>1152617
There would be one for female fertility as well

>>1152617
She should(?) be okay if she doesn't go far north. I think. I'm hoping that since it's male fertility it won't have any effect if it even does in the first place.

>>1152642

Probs so the gids could knock the witch up.
But next time vas bangs her guses whos going be a new dady

One day out from Port Steyr and Vas hands the controls over to one of his crew, taking you aside to his cabin. There, he sets about wasting time making drinks for you both – strong tea, brewed over a portable gas stove. Vas never drinks on the job, you muse with a faint smile, and he's never sober off-duty. Of course, making the tea is just a way to delay the inevitable, and so you assume he's got something serious to talk about. Letting him procrastinate, you walk a slow circle of the cabin and examine the decorations – what little there are.

The biggest and most obvious piece is a map of the northern hunting grounds, framed and screwed to the wall. It's a damn good map as well, far more detailed than the College map you have. The difference between a mass produced copy and a hand drawn decorative piece, you suppose. There, in the upper right of the map, you see the Garden of Giants – your goal. The other decorations are just photographs, prosaic landscapes or old friends. You recognise Captain Bach, the old veteran who took you to the Old University, and an older photo of Iosefka.

“I used to have a picture of her when she a young slip of a thing,” Vas mentions, nodding to the picture of Iosefka as he presses a steaming cup of tea into your hands, “Lost it when my old ship went down. Lost a lot of stuff. A lot of money as well, but that doesn't matter as much. Plenty of chances for a man to make money in these parts.” Laughing, he nudges you with his elbow. “Don't get me wrong,” he adds, “I'm not saying I don't want some extra coin. I'm always looking for the next big score. The thrill of it, as much as the coin itself.”

You're not so different, you agree, it stopped being about the money when the ship went down. After that, it was... different.

“A thing like that changes a man,” Vas nods slowly, “Well... I'm getting distracted, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk business. I've got a few things to take care of in Port Steyr – debts to settle, mostly, but once I'm finished there I'm going to be looking for business. You said you had something for me – I think, it's a little... hazy. Anyway, what I'm saying is, I want to hear what you're offering me. Something exciting, right?”

This is it, the moment you've been trying to delay for as long as possible. Turning back to the map, you point to the Garden of Giants. There, you tell Vas, that's what you''re suggesting.

A long pause, and then Vas speaks. “I know I wanted something exciting,” he says slowly, “But there are limits, Henryk.”

>You wanted a big score? This is it, the biggest you're likely to find
>I know there are risks, but I have a way of protecting us. I can prove it to you – just drink a little of this
>Fine. I'll find my own way there. I don't want to strong arm you into anything
>Just hear me out... (Write in)
>Other

>>1155603
>You wanted a big score? This is it, the biggest you're likely to find
>I know there are risks, but I have a way of protecting us. I can prove it to you – just drink a little of this
"I picked up a little something from my time south."

>>1155603
>I expected as much. Even I had to delve into things.....less than encouraged by the League to even be somewhat confident about this. A little fusion of Northern and Southern....culture.
>But if you're curious, you're going to have to drink some of this.

>It's not for money, not for revenge, more about seeing an "end" to the story about blood that's on everyone's mind. One that doesn't involve me dead.

You expected that he would be cautious, you tell Vas slowly, and he has good reason to be. This is a big score, likely the biggest either of you are likely to see, but you'll need to take precautions – some of those, you add, might not be the sort of thing that the League encourages. A little something that you picked up down south, mixed with a bit of northern traditions. It should work, but he needs to trust you.

“I want to trust you,” Vas admits, “Because the alternative is accepting that you've lost your damn mind. You really think you can go that far north, don't you?”

Why not, you point out, you've done it before.

“That was different. I heard stories about some of the devices they used,” shaking his head, Vas takes a deep swallow of his tea, “I don't have anything like that, and I don't think you do either. No, you've got this... southern business. I don't even know what that is – I couldn't even say if I want to know what it is.”

If he's curious, you tell him as you take out the flask of mazka, he'll need to drink some of this. It might not be the most pleasant experience in the world, but it'll give him the answers he needs. Vas takes the flask, almost despite himself, and sniffs the contents.

“Ugh,” he curses, “I don't drink on duty, you know that.”

Just this once, you urge, he could think of it as medicine if that helps.

“Damn it, this is going to be rough,” offering a bleak and humourless smile, Vas grits his teeth and swigs from the flask. Shuddering, he wipes his lips and passes it back to you. “So...”

Give it time, you explain as you take a drink of your own, he'll know when it's taking effect.

“Hrn,” he grunts, “Alright, then you can at least tell me what this is about. The Garden of Giants... what are you looking for, some long forgotten treasure or something you can sell to the College? Or is this personal? You've got that look in your eye, like this means something to you...”

It's not about the money, you assure him, and it's about revenge either. This is about bringing things to an end – putting an end to the longest story you've ever heard. An end, you add with a dark laugh, that doesn't involve your death. Hopefully. Falling silent here, you wait for Vas' reply, but no response comes. He shifts uneasily, his eyes flicking restlessy about the cabin as the mazka begins to take effect. The first time is always rough, you think with a rush of sympathy, and the latter times aren't much better.

“Hey!” a ghostly voice sings out, slowly clarifying and clearing, “You're new, I've not seen YOU before!”

Where there had previously been an empty seat, now sits Revelle.

[1/2]

>>1155643

At the sight of the spirit, Vas' eyes seem to bulge out of their sockets. Turning sharply, although wavering as though the ship was caught in a storm, he lunges for his desk drawer. As Vas turns back, the pistol in his hand, you step close and seize his wrist tightly. Pushing down until the pistol is pointed harmlessly at the floor, you hiss for the man to calm himself. You hadn't been expecting quite this kind of reaction.

“Damn it, what the hell-” Vas' lips draw back in a fearful snarl, instinct and superstition taking over for a moment, “What the hell was in that drink, Henryk? You drugged me, or...”

Technically, you consider, he might be right there – you've got no idea what does into that stuff. Still, that's hardly what he wants to hear right now, so you give him a more... polished version of the truth. He's not hallucinating, you tell Vas, and he's not in any danger. There's no need for this, you add as you ease the pistol from his grip, it might not even do anything.

“Witchcraft,” he says bluntly, “This is witchcraft, Henryk.”

Not exactly, you admit, it's more like the southern equivalent. Small difference, but...

“It's witchcraft,” Vas stresses, turning and looking you dead in the eye, “The same damn witchcraft that sank my ship.”

Revelle is a protective spirit, you try to explain, she's not-

“You gave it a name!” sneering, Vas turns away from you and collapses down into his desk chair, brooding in silence for a few moments. “Have you any idea how illegal this is?” he hisses, “What the Ministry would do to you if they found out?”

You know exactly how illegal it is, you tell him quietly, and you know exactly what the Ministry would do to you – but you told him anyway. Because you trust him, you add, and you wanted to be honest with him. With this knowledge, you've given him power over you – what he does with that is his call.

“I...” Vas begins to form an answer, then he sighs and shakes his head, “Damn it all, Henryk, you're really serious about all this, aren't you? This... Garden of Giants really means this much to you, that you're willing to stoop to such measures?”

That's right, you nod solemnly, it means that much to you.

“And that thing can protect us?” Vas asks, shooting a dirty look at Revelle – who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now.

“Sure I can!” the spirit announces, “All of you, everyone here. That's what I asked for – to keep everyone safe, not just the boss. I can do it too, easy as anything!”

“Damn it,” the old captain repeats, “Spirits, witchcraft, whatever you call this...” Lapsing into a sullen silence, he rises and stalks over to the map, glaring at your destination.

>This isn't the same witchcraft that sank your ship. Does it feel like the same thing to you?
>Just talk with Revelle a little, at least
>It's an adventure, Vas. I promise you that it won't be boring
>Other

>>1155677
>You should hear the story of how I met Revelle.
>The garden though, that's going to be a different sort of exciting for sure. Technically, I could wait for a better version of the Weirhlain Engine, but the last I saw it it exploded.

>>1155677
>>This isn't the same witchcraft that sank your ship. Does it feel like the same thing to you?
"Hell Vas, I killed the bitch who did that to your ship personally. And from what I've learned over the past few months witchcraft is like a gun. Dangerous for sure, but how it's used is up to the person wielding it. It can be used for good or malicious intent."
>>Just talk with Revelle a little, at least

>>1155677
>The witch who sunk your ship got a bullet from me.
>Just talk with Revelle a little, at least
>It's an adventure, Vas. I promise you that it won't be boring

>>1155677
>>This isn't the same witchcraft that sank your ship. Does it feel like the same thing to you?
>>Just talk with Revelle a little, at least
Seconding that we should tell him we killed Hebona if he doesn't know.

This isn't the same witchcraft that sank his ship, you tell Vas firmly, does it feel like the same thing?

Vas' shoulders tense, and you can only imagine how dark his expression has grown. Silent for a long time, he lets out a long hiss of breath. “No,” the old captain admits, “It's different. I can't say how or why, but feels different. But that doesn't change anything, I don't-”

Hell Vas, you stress, you killed the witch who sank his ship – she put a bullet in her back yourself! You get that he's reluctant to place his trust in a spirit after everything he's seen, but you've learned a few things since then. Witchcraft, spiritualism, all those sorts of things... they're no different to a gun. Dangerous when put in the wrong hands, but an invaluable tool in the right ones.

“You killed the bitch?” this gets Vas' attention, causing him to turn and give you a suspicious look, “Shot her dead, did you?”

At Tyrant, you explain, she came to you with an offer – one that you declined.

“You didn't trust her,” Vas nods slowly, pointing at Revelle, “But you trust that thing.”

He should hear the story of how you first met Revelle, you tell Vas, maybe that would put things in perspective. Hell, just talk with her a little – get to know the spirit a little. Then, he'll see why you're willing to trust her.

“Talk with it,” he muses to himself.

Talk with HER, you correct him.

Scowling, Vas returns to his desk and starts to pick up his tea, then reconsiders and takes a liquor bottle from inside the desk. Pouring a generous measure into his cup, he drinks greedily before reaching a decision. “Out,” he tells you, pointing at the cabin door, “You think we should talk, we'll talk – but I want to do it alone, without you here to put a spin on things. I've spoken one on one with every member of my crew, this is no different.”

“I don't mind,” Revelle agrees, with a little more caution than normal in her voice, “Wow, I'm meeting a lot of new people lately!”

Looking between the pair of them, the hoary old captain and the silk-draped southern spirit, you nod slowly. Alright then, you tell them as you hold up the pistol, but you're keeping hold of this.

-

As you step out of the cabin, you hear the lock clanking into place. Frowning, you head up to the deck and take a deep lungful of the cold air, letting it chase the tension away from your thoughts. This whole conversation isn't going quite as you planned, but neither is it going as badly as you feared. Vas hasn't thrown you off his ship just yet, so you've got room to work.

“Wow,” Revelle announces, already up on deck as you arrive, “It's COLD out here!”

Wait, you reply flatly, wasn't she-

Revelle just giggles at your stunned expression.

[1/2]

>>1155715
Revelle best godmother for potential kids

>>1155715

“I'm down there,” she laughs, nodding vigorously, “But I'm also up here! I can be as many places as I want to be, because I'm-”

The strongest, you agree, so if you were to get off the ship and go elsewhere – an island, say – could she still keep the crew safe?

“Sure I can, no problem!” Revelle nods again, “Hey, your buddy down there... he doesn't like me very much, does he?”

He's got history with this sort of thing, you reply vaguely, bad history. The sort of history that makes it hard to trust anything he can't hold in his hands. Material, physical things like ships and guns, those are what Vas trusts and understands.

“Back home in the south, folks don't really bother about if they understand something or not,” the spirit says thoughtfully, “They just accept things as they come, they don't ask too many questions. They're happier that way, I think.”

Maybe, you agree, the simple life does have its appeal...

“Oh hey,” clapping her hands together, Revelle gives you a bright grin, “Looks like we're done, come on back!”

-

When Vas unlocks the cabin door to answer your knock, he gives you a probing look. “How'd you know we were...” he begins, “Ugh, never mind. I don't want to know. Come on in, I've been thinking. Your... friend here told me about how you met. I'll freely admit, it wasn't what I expected.”

Not exactly dancing naked under a full moon, you reply, was it? She's not that different from most of his crew – she just likes a good party.

“Well, she... it...” frowning, Vas shakes his head in irritation, “She seems like an honest sort, I'll admit. I don't think she's got it in her to lie. I still don't like this much, placing so much faith in this madness, but... you say it'll work, and I'll be damned if I don't believe you.”

So, you ask with subdued hope, is he in?

“I didn't say that,” Vas warns you, “This Garden of yours...”

It'll be a real adventure, you promise him, he won't be bored. Maybe not the kind of excitement that he's used to, but trying new things is a rare pleasure. If he really doesn't like this, you offer after a moment, you could wait for a new version of the Wehrlain engine – only, they seem to have a habit of exploding...

“I don't explode,” Revelle adds, “I've never exploded, not once.”

“I must be the biggest fool in all the Free States,” Vas sighs, “I must be mad, letting you talk me into this, but... hell, I'm in. Make no mistake, I'm not joining your coven or anything like that, but I'm in. Don't make me regret this decision, Henryk.”

Letting a slow breath escape you, you give Vas a thankful nod. You appreciate this, you assure him, and he won't regret it.

Probably.

[2/3]

>>1155752

“This does raise a new issue,” Vas warns you after a moment, holding up a hand to keep you from celebrating too much, “I might need a little more time than I thought.”

Time, you ask, for what?

“I need to speak with my men about our destination. Warn them, give anyone who doesn't like it a chance to stay behind. Don't worry,” he adds quickly, reading the look on your face, “I'm not going to tell them about any of this, about your... assistant. They'll be kept safe, that's all they need to know. Coming from me, I think they'd believe it. Thing is, I want to speak with them all, one by one. It'll give me a chance to answer any questions they might have, ease any worries, all of that. Problem is...”

That takes time, you finish for him, but what if he loses half his crew?

“I'll need to find some replacements, I suppose,” shrugging, Vas gives you a vague gesture, “There's never a shortage of men looking for work, I'll just need to find the ones desperate enough to sign on. Once we reach Port Steyr, give me a few days. The crew would have needed some time to blow off steam anyway, so this isn't much of a delay. That work with you, Henryk?”

It doesn't sound like you've got much choice in the matter, you sigh, but that's fine. You're certain that you can find a way to pass a few days in Port Steyr.

“Hnr,” Vas grunts, pinching his brow, “But first, I'm going to sleep this crap off. Where did you find that filth, anyway?”

>It's an acquired taste. Anyway, I'll let you get some rest
>I had something else to discuss.. (Write in)
>Other

>Sorry for the delay, my internet died for a bit

>>1155805
>It's an acquired taste. Anyway, I'll let you get some rest

>>1155805
>Courtesy of a man missing a few fingers.

>It's an acquired taste. Anyway, I'll let you get some rest

>>1155805
>>It's an acquired taste. Anyway, I'll let you get some rest

>>1155805
>>It's an acquired taste. Anyway, I'll let you get some rest

It was a gift, you tell him, from a man missing a few fingers.

“You must have really pissed him off,” Vas laughs, “What did you do, shoot his dog?”

It's not so bad, you reply, it's just an acquired taste. Anyway, you'll let him get some rest – you could do with clearing your head as well. Between the terse discussion and the mazka, your thoughts have grown sluggish and slow. A nap will do you a world of good.

Port Steyr can wait until you've woken up.

-

You arrive in Port Steyr in the early hours of the morning, and it feels like setting foot into a crypt. With no drinking songs or merriment drifting out from the waterfront, for all its bars and taverns, the fortress city is quieter than you've ever seen it before. Heard it before, whatever. Your first thought is that some terrible calamity has descended upon the settlement in the time that you've been away – a plague that ravished the place and left it barren. Whatever the truth is, it puts an ill feeling in your stomach.

“This is... different,” Vas mutters, “Wasn't like this when I left. Just over two weeks... Hell, I've got a bad feeling about this.”

No kidding, you reply as the Ghoul slides silently into port, it looks like the place has been abandoned for months – maybe even years.

“I'm going to check my usual haunts, see if I can dig up some answers. Might be best if you follow my lead, Henryk – sailors, that kind of folk, they can get a little odd at times like these. You've got to approach them in just the right way,” offering you a brief and crooked attempt at a smile, Vas turns his gaze back to the waterfront, “Otherwise you're lucky to get a stony silence. You're unlucky, you get a glass to the face. I've seen it happen often enough.”

Well then, you reply, maybe you'll let him ask around at the docks. You'll see if you can get any answers out of the Ministry here, you've got a friend who's likely to know a thing or two.

“Right, split up and cover more ground,” nodding slowly, Vas checks the pistol at his hip, “I can work with that.”

-

A light flurry of snow fills the air as you walk the streets of Port Steyr, not falling so much as hanging, transfixed, in the air. Pressing ahead through the morning gloom, a flash of muted colour catches your eye. A poster, dampened by the snowfall and peeling off the wall. An official Ministry announcement, you realise as you take a closer look, warning that the “Resettlement Area” is off limits to all unauthorised personnel. A further warning advises against contact with any “indigenous elements”.

Well, this all sounds charming.

[1/2]

>>1155856
>Integrating the northerners into normal society.

I mean it had to happen sometime but man it's probably pretty rough.

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

133 KB JPG

>>1155856

At least your path to the Ministry takes you past a few other people, so Port Steyr isn't completely deserted. The people you do see, however, are clearly in no mood to talk – they pass you by with bowed heads, squared shoulders and sullen silences. Trying to ignore them as much as they try to ignore you, you forge ahead to the Ministry outpost. Pushing open the front door, you're met with a wave of subdued voices – harsh muttering and clipped orders. At one desk, smoking a cigarette with a carefully controlled fury, you see Camilla.

“A friendly face at last,” she remarks as you sit opposite her, “I'm glad to see you, Henryk. How's your... your health?”

You're not dead yet, you tell her with a grim smile, but you're more interested in things here – it seems like friendly face are in short supply.

“There have been a number of incidents,” Camilla says carefully, lowering her voice slightly, “Lucky me, I've been given the case.”

Incidents?

“Murders,” she explains, her voice just barely above a whisper, “Five so far. Nasty ones. We've been trying to keep the information from getting out, but all manner of rumours have been spreading regardless. You probably noticed the rather... subdued atmosphere in town, correct? Well, that's why – people are scared, some of them won't even go outside. I've been pushing to release some more information, try and quash some of the more dramatic rumours, but the higher ups have other ideas.”

If they're keeping it quiet, you muse, does that mean “that stuff” is involved?

“Can't rule it out yet,” Camilla grimaces, crushing out her cigarette, “But that's all I can say. No matter what we're dealing with, I AM going to put an end to this – it's just a matter of time.”

>You're a damn good agent, Camilla. I'm sure you can get to the bottom of this
>Is there anything I can do to help?
>Other

>>1155917
>Is there anything I can do to help?
"I'm here for a few days anyways. What do you say? Need a Wolf?"

>>1155925
supporting, +"Heading for the Garden after that."

>>1155917
>>Is there anything I can do to help?
Got some time to kill after all.

>>1155917
>Is there anything I can do to help?

>>1155917
I wonder what kind of child Camilla and Henryk would have.

>>1155917
>Is there anything I can do to help?


>>1155963
A cute one

>>1155963
Probably pretty broody. And scowls a lot or something.

You're going to be in town for a few days, you suggest, so is there anything you can do to help?

“You know, I think there might well be,” nodding slowly, Camilla glances about the office, eyeing up her colleagues, “Come on, let's get some fresh air. It'll be easier to talk outside.” Rising from her desk, she calls over to one of the other Ministry workers. “Suspicious ship just pulled in,” she tells him, “I'm going to check it out, make sure its papers are in order.”

“Sure thing Chief,” the man replies, “I'll cover your desk.”

What's with the “Chief”, you ask once you're outside, has she been promoted since you last saw her?
“Not officially, no,” smiling bitterly, Camilla stretches the tension from her shoulders, “But sometimes it seems like I might as well be in charge around here. Never mind that now, though, let's talk business.”

Right, you agree, does she need a Wolf?

“I've already got one, a pup really, but he's not worth a damn. I was hoping he could sniff out some clues, maybe pick up a trail, but he's pleading helplessness,” the smile, humourless as it was, drops completely off her face, “He's lying, mind you. I asked him to take a look around one of the crime scenes, and he's barely left one of the taverns here since. If he didn't have a rock solid alibi for most of the killings, I would have arrested him already. He's got a favourite haunt, I can show you the way later.”

Later, you agree, once you know a little more about what you're dealing with.

“Okay, let me give you a rundown of what I'm dealing with. Five murders so far, all in the Resettlement Area – oh, that's what we're calling Port Tyrant these days, it's just another part of the ongoing efforts to bring the locals to heel. You'll like this, we're not even officially allowed to mention the White Tyrant – the higher ups are trying to erase him from the historical record,” a sour look crosses her face, “They seem the natives are less likely to rebel if they don't have a figurehead. Anyway, I'm getting distracted – five deaths so far, all of them virtually torn apart.”

Torn apart, you repeat, she's sure about that?

“Not entirely sure. The current theory is that a hatchet or machete was used, but the ferocity we've seen so far... it's above and beyond what you might expect. At first, we thought it might have been a beast, but the killings have been too deliberate for that,” shivering in the cold, Camilla lights a new cigarette, “This thing is smart, and it's careful.”

Beasts can be cunning, you caution, sometime they can be just as cunning as men.

“But they don't pick their victims,” Camilla argues, “Not like this thing does. All the victims have been natives, and they've been working with the Ministry on the integration efforts – that's deliberate.”

[1/2]

>>1155999

That can't be helping the integration efforts, you decide, can it?

“Honestly? They're dead in the water. Every time someone swallows their pride and tries to make a little progress, they end up dead. The garrison is tense, while the locals are getting hostile. Every day we have fresh squabbles and fights, but they've all been fairly minor so far,” exhaling smoke, Camilla looks up to the sky, “That won't last forever. Sooner or later, the situation is going to boil over. I'm starting to think that the whole Resettlement Area was a damn mistake, but what other choice did we have?”

Well, you suggest, they could have tried letting the natives govern themselves.

“Right, that was never going to happen. The garrison commander over at the Resettlement Area – a bastard named Dunajski – would sooner die than allow that,” bitterness returns to Camilla's voice, “I'm working against him as much as anything else, and his men aren't much better. If you ever get the chance to meet him... well, you'll see what I mean. He sees the natives as a waiting army, preparing to rise up against us.”

He might not be wrong, you muse, if this situation gets much worse.

“I've thought the same thing myself. Anyway, the latest crime scene dates from two days ago, and I'm sure I can get you clearance to examine the site,” shrugging, Camilla gestures to the docks, “Get a ship to take you across, it won't take long. Otherwise, if you want to know anything about the case... I'll tell you what I can.”

>Can you tell me more about the victims?
>What are conditions like in the Resettlement Area?
>Do you have any witnesses?
>I'd like to speak with this other Hunter. Can you show me to him?
>Alright, let's take a look at this crime scene
>I had a question about the case... (Write in)
>Other

>>1156049
>Can you tell me more about the victims?
>>What are conditions like in the Resettlement Area?
>>Do you have any witnesses?
>Alright, let's take a look at this crime scene

>>1156049
>>I'd like to speak with this other Hunter. Can you show me to him?

>>1156049
>Can you tell me more about the victims?
>What are conditions like in the Resettlement Area?
>Do you have any witnesses?
>I'd like to speak with this other Hunter. Can you show me to him?

>>1156049
>>I'd like to speak with this other Hunter. Can you show me to him?
Meanwhile:
>Do you have any witnesses?
>What are conditions like in the Resettlement Area?

>>1156049
Looks like we're killing a Knight with his sword as practice for the giant.

>I had a question about the case... (Write in)

What times did they occur at? Hopefully we can infer if the beast is hiding in town, or further away since I presume it's moving unseen.

It might be being used (lol) by the natives if it's smart enough to pick its targets it might even be sheltered by them.

Also what about any family members they might have had? We should extend our protection to them. At the least, if it's all political, we can have them wait on Vals ship until we resolve this.

> Future plan - walk around the Northerners area and see if the birthing blade reacts.

>>1156049
>Can you tell me more about the victims?
>What are conditions like in the Resettlement Area?
>Do you have any witnesses?
>I'd like to speak with this other Hunter. Can you show me to him?

>>1156077
>>1156049

Whoops I forgot.

We could use them and any other collaborators as "Bait". Make a big show of tucking them away somewhere "safe" by getting the commander to refuse to allow them actual shelter and putting them all in one place as "the best we can do" and barricading all but one entrance.

I suppose we could then set guards, and then fake an "emergency" to pull them away from protecting "just northerners anyways. Besides, a beast wouldn't attack them all at once anyway, they're usually cowardly things." Maybe some sort of explosion, or fire, or alarm. That should goad the Knight into attacking due to his pride.

> Only one entrance? It's not going to keep me out, it will keep them all in. *Chuckle.*

Then we sneak them onto the boat and set up a trap for the "beast". Preferably a couple of traps, like a net to tangle it and a pit in front of the entrance and a trip wire that can be pulled up behind it if it tries to back out and a bunch of guys with guns.

Probably should also have guys with guns on the Harpy, or have it pull out from the harbor. I assume knights, being so large, would not be great at swimming. And Vas does have that lovely harpoon. OH! And a fire will give him light to see any clever dick trying shit like swimming over using a barrel to float.

Too much?

>>1156099
>Too much?
Ideas to consider and keep in the holster.

Let's get our bearings and see what we can learn in the next few updates before we commit to anything just yet. We might learn something that can polish potential plans.

You'd like to speak with this other Hunter, you ask, can she show you to him?

“Certainly. I'd be interested to see if he'll be more honest with you. Maybe this is a Hunter thing, no outsiders allowed,” scowling, Camilla gestures for you to follow, “He'll be at the docks, so we can talk on the way. Where do you want to start?”

The victims, you decide, can she tell you some more about the victims?

“They're a mixed bunch – men and women, young and old. The only common trait they share is that they've been willing to cooperate with the Ministry. The first victim was working to coordinate food and medical supplies. The second was working to defuse a feud between two rival groups – now that she's dead, we're looking at a real chance of open conflict. The third was advising the Ministry garrison about local customs,” counting the victims off on her fingers, Camilla pauses and gives an even darker frown than before, “The last two are... more problematic. The fourth is technically missing, but we're fairly sure that they're dead – we found their arm.”

Ah, you note, that doesn't bode well for their survival. What about the fifth victim?

“She was in our custody when she died,” Camilla says flatly, “We had her locked in a cell, and she was still butchered. She was our witness, and she was killed right under our noses before she could make a statement. None of the guards were harmed, or even noticed anything was wrong until the found the body.”

Shit, you mutter, that doesn't sound possible. She said that the latest victim was a witness – have they had any other witnesses?

“None. Not a single damn one. The natives won't even talk to us, for fear of being targeted next,” shaking her head, Camilla sighs, “I can tell when someone is lying to me, Henryk, but that doesn't make a damn bit of difference when they won't say a single word.”

What about the victims' families, you ask, do they have any? If so, they should be offered protection... or used to lure this killer into a trap.

“As best we can tell, the families have gone into hiding – and I don't know if they're hiding from US, of this killer,” Camilla tells you, “I've asked that any natives willing to cooperate be given as much protection as we can offer, but I don't think we're going to get any takers – since the last killing, the natives won't even talk to us if they can help it.”

And the killings, you press, what times did they occur at? Is there a pattern there?

“It's always at night,” she explains, looking up at the gloomy morning sky, “Always. The bodies are usually found the following morning. Every night, we're starting to expect new ones to be discovered.”

[1/2]

>>1156134
>“She was in our custody when she died,” Camilla says flatly, “We had her locked in a cell, and she was still butchered. She was our witness, and she was killed right under our noses before she could make a statement. None of the guards were harmed, or even noticed anything was wrong until the found the body.”

Now that is odd. The guards wouldn't be incompetent, not with Camilla here. Don't think it could be a turncoat since Camilla or any Bull can just question the guards stationed.

Might be witchcraft since it's specialty is to target people indirectly with grass dolls and such or a extremely skilled assassin that likes to make a mess for some reason.

>>1156151
Witchcraft seems the most likely. I pictured something whisking its way into a cell and slashing things up then whisking away. No idea how any such thing would work or anything. Having bait and watching over the person to see if it happens even under a watchful eye would be interesting, since I'd rather not be bait ourselves until we know we can even attempt to fight it.

>>1156151
It's the skeletons.
The witches are animating the skeletons right inside of the victim.

File: 1468351055204.png (21 KB, 180x204)

21 KB PNG

>>1156157

>>1156155
>>1156151

Probably just simple hypnosis.

See if the guards were served any food or ate at a place they could have been drugged earlier.

Also check out that prison cell with our wolf senses, maybe they used some sort of smoke or incense.

>>1156134

I wounder if we know this young hunter!!??
My theres this is a hunters inner beast killing people?

Also i was woundering what would happen if you got all thr beasts powers?
Would we change?

>>1156155
Or it can travel shadows. So let's make sure to have a light source on us. A flare would be great. Even if it can't, surprise flare in the face at night is literally blinding.

>>1156174

But fire will hurt the night vision.
Also if its witchcraft we will be fine since we got the party sprit

It could be the beast of a northern wolf

>>1156179
Maybe it's time for us to become alcoholics. Let's take a little sippy and ask Revelle if she can tell if there is anything odd. She should know if it is witchcraft or a spirit.

>>1156187
Let's try to find out what we can without depleting our limited supply of mazka.

>>1156134

For a while, you walk in a grim silence, both considering the situation and reaching dark conclusions. This Resettlement Area, you say after a while, what are the conditions like there?

“Bad,” Camilla replies simply, “Most of the old buildings were deemed unsafe or unhygienic and torn down, replaced by tents or other improvised shelter. There are food shortages, and barely any law to speak of. So far, it's a damned miracle that most of the locals are too weary to cause trouble. If they decided to riot, containing it would be a nightmare. I'm worried about disease as well – it's only a matter of time before something gets into the community. You'll see for yourself soon enough, it's awful out there and these killings shoulder a lot of the blame.”

Because every time someone tries to work with the Ministry to improve things, you guess, they get murdered. What about the garrison, you ask, are they in better conditions?

“Just barely. Dunajski has commandeered the Ogre to use as a base, so his men don't have to mix with either the natives, or the locals here at Port Steyr. From what I hear, morale is pretty low amongst his men – they don't want to be here any more than anyone else,” sighing again, the Ministry agent runs a hand through her hair, “This killer is yet to target anyone from the Ministry, but that's hardly offering the soldiers any comfort.” Conversation pauses as Camilla nudges you, pointing up at squalid building. “Here we are, The Red Sail,” distaste slips into Camilla's voice, “Your Hunter should be inside. Let's go and have a friendly chat.”

-

If The Red Sail looked like a slum from the outside, it doesn't look much better on the inside. It's not quite the worst tavern that you've ever seen, but it's certainly in your top five. The patrons don't seem to come in groups, either – every one of them sits alone, lost in their own thoughts. They must get here early, you think with a weary amusement, to get the best seats – the dark and shadowy corners.

“There he is,” Camilla murmurs, pointing across to a slumped figure, “He looks drunk, but he isn't – he gets a single beer, nurses it for as long as he can. I'm guessing he has some kind of arrangement with the owner – that, or the barman just doesn't care enough to throw him out. Come on, how about we say hello?”

You're already approaching, settling into the seat next to him and putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. The young Hunter freezes, and you sense the conflict running through him – stand and fight, or break and run? Perhaps he senses that running would be pointless, because the energy seems to flood from his body, leaving him limp and helpless. Slowly, he turns to face you.

Wide eyes set in a grey face – you recognise that fearful expression, just as much as he recognises your face.

[2/3]

>>1156207
Is that the kid we caught being a spy?

>>1156207

The last time you saw Stefan Neuberg, he had been spying on your apartment. After catching him in the act and probably traumatising him for life, you “suggested” that he head north for a while. As it turns out, he took your suggestion to heart, because here he is – really doing a fantastic job.

“Uh...” Stefan begins, reflexively clutching at one of his hands – the hand, you recall, that you damn near crushed.

Hello Stefan, you tell him calmly, it's been a while.

“Yeah,” he says weakly, “It... really has, huh?”

“So you two know each other. That makes things easier,” Camilla smoothly slides onto the stool opposite Stefan, just in case he had been reconsidering his decision to stay put, “I was just telling my associate here about how you had been helping me, Stefan – or trying to help me. You couldn't find a trail, wasn't that right?”

“Okay, look, you got me,” gathering up what little courage he can, Stefan looks between you and Camilla, his gaze settling on you, “I'll talk, but just to you. No Ministry, I don't want this being official. Just between the two of us, us Wolves.”

“Fair enough,” mere moments after sitting down, Camilla rises again, “I'm going outside to have a cigarette. Remember Stefan – I know where to find you, if I need to.” Patting him on the shoulder, she gives you a cold smile as she leaves the bar. It would be inaccurate to say that Stefan relaxes once she leaves, but he does... recover some of his wits. Some of the danger, he seems to think, has passed.

He's wrong, of course, but you're not about to correct him. Let him take what little comfort he can.

>Sorry, but I'm going to have to pause things here. I'll continue this tomorrow, same usual sort of time
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>1156241
Camilla is scary. Thanks for running Moloch.

>>1156241
thanks for running

>>1156246
on the hardest and toughest will do for henryk.

>>1156241
Huzzah!

>>1156241
Thanks for running!

>>1156241
This poor kid, he's a little shit and not cut out for the job as it is. This murderer is really not improving his situation none.

>>1156437
Or he smell'd something that he would not want the ministry finding out that he could identify

>>1156437
>>1156458
man, it could be either. He is so up shit creek.

>>1156559

His out of his deep here so are we going to take him along with us or let him chill well we do the work?
Wounder what he found?
Mybe minsty people are explodeing people? And thats way he donst want to talk

>>1156613
Of course we're going to drag him along make a wolf out of him.

>>1156635

Are we going have a song im gona make a wolf out of you playing in the back round?

As miserable as it is, The Red Sail is nevertheless a crowded bar, without much spare room for two gentlemen to have a quiet conversation. Even so, something causes the other patrons to all shuffle that little bit further away, so that by leaning in close and lowering your voice, you'll have all the privacy you need. Stefan doesn't look all that happy with the arrangement, but you're not doing this for his benefit.

He might have an alibi for most of the killings, but he's sure as hell helping to cover them up. It's too early to say whether cowardice or malice lies at the root, but the end result is the same – the pup has to shoulder his own share of the blame.

Heedless to your grim thoughts, Stefan starts to speak almost despite himself, the words falling from his lips. “You don't know what it's like there, over in Tyr... over in the Resettlement Area. The Ministry says that they're maintaining standards over there, but they're lying. The filth is piling up, and I'm certain that there are other bodies in there, left to rot,” he shudders, looking down at the gouged wood of the bar, “The soldiers don't care, they just focus on getting their patrols done as quickly as possible. How was I supposed to pick up a trail under those conditions?”

That sounds like an excuse, you murmur as you pick a loose splinter out of the bar, is that an excuse?

“No... maybe...” Stefan trips over his words, “I'm just...”

Out of his depth?

“Yeah, I guess,” slouching forwards, Stefan lets out a weary sigh, “You know, I thought that just because I've got the right blood, I'd be cut out for this sort of thing. I guess I was wrong there – seems like wherever I go, I just end up screwing things up.”

Careful, you warn him, too much self-pity really wears on your patience.

“Give me a break, man. I've already got Borghild on my back every other day, asking the same questions. She's had it in for me since...” swallowing hard, Stefan looks away from you, “Since I told her I lost that damn trail. That's why I'm here so much, so I got an alibi – so I can prove that I'm not off... doing other stuff.”

Stuff like killing people, you say flatly, that sort of stuff?

“That sort of stuff,” Stefan agrees.

So first he said that he couldn't pick up the trail, you begin, then he said that he lost the trail... so which one is it? You ask this softly, without the harshness of an accusation, but Stefan still flinches back as if he'd been struck.

>Something scared you pretty bad out there, at that crime scene. I want to know what it was
>Before, it sounded like you disapproved of the Resettlement Area
>I'm heading over to the Resettlement Area, and I want you to come with me
>What do you know about Commander Dunajski?
>I had a question to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>1159209
>Did the Ministry really send you here? We must be really understaffed to send someone as green as you for this. Or is there another reason?
>Something scared you pretty bad out there, at that crime scene. I want to know what it was
>Have you at least made some friends here? It'd make my job easier if people didn't huddle away from me when I try to ask something.

>>1159209
>>Something scared you pretty bad out there, at that crime scene. I want to know what it was
>>What do you know about Commander Dunajski?

>>1159210
>Did the Ministry really send you here?

*We* sent him here anon.

>>1159209
>Something scared you pretty bad out there, at that crime scene. I want to know what it was
>I'm heading over to the Resettlement Area, and I want you to come with me
>What do you know about Commander Dunajski?

>>1159209
>Something scared you pretty bad out there, at that crime scene. I want to know what it was

the ol' commisar treament, be scarier then the enemy

>>1159217
did we? I thought we sent him to get tested for blood.

>>1159231
We told him to fuck off north and avoid trabble

You'll be blunt, you tell him quietly, did the Ministry officially assign him here or is he in Port Steyr for some other reason? They must be considerably understaffed if someone as green as him is the only other Hunter here. It doesn't really bode well for the rest of the Free States.

“I took your advice, back then, that's why I'm here. Coming north seemed like the safer choice – nobody knew me, and I figured I'd stay out of trouble like you said,” he grimaces, “After lying low for a little bit, I send word that I was here to the Ministry. I'm assigned here, official as anyone else. Wish I wasn't, now...” Sighing sadly, he hangs his head low. “We got lucky for a long time. No beasts or disturbances, nothing the Ministry couldn't handle. Now this...”

The sight of him moping like this is pitiful enough that you feel a faint and reluctant sympathy taking form. He said nobody knew him, you ask, but has that changed? Has he made any friends, anyone you might be able to speak with? It would certainly help if you could talk with someone who didn't try to shy away from you here – maybe get some of these rumours first hand.

“I guess there's...” pausing, Stefan looks away from you, “I shouldn't say, it would get me in trouble.”

He's already running that risk, you remind him lightly, so he should probably just tell you.

“I've... talked with some of the natives, over in the Resettlement Area. They're alright, some of them, they warmed to me a little when they learned that I had Wolf's blood. I don't know if they'd still risk talking to me, after everything that's happened, but...” Stefan lets his words trail off, finishing his sentence with a vague gesture instead.

Friends among the natives, you muse, that could be a useful source of information – if, as he said, they're still willing to talk. Filing that away for later consideration, you ask a new question. What does he know about the commander over at the Resettlement Area, you ask, Dunajski?

“I never met him or anything, but I've stories. He's here to make a name for himself, maybe end up ruling the new port once it's set up. Port Dunajski... huh,” a surprisingly bitter smile creases his young face, “He doesn't get the natives here. He's trying to be a strong leader, but he's doing it all wrong. Sitting on his ship, ordering his soldiers to do everything for him... there's no way that the natives are gonna accept that kind of rule. Far as I know, he's never even set foot in the Resettlement Area itself.”

Leading from the rear, you grunt, that's always a sign of a poor leader. Ruling like that, it's only going to drive a deeper wedge between the natives and the Ministry.

[1/2]

>>1159236

Either way, you decide after a moment's thought, you're heading over to the Resettlement Area soon – and you want him to come with you?

“Me? Why?” Stefan protests weakly, just about as unconvinced as you are, “I don't... Ugh, this is because I told you I had friends over there, right?”

Right, you agree, but that's not all. Sitting here and talking things over is one thing, but it won't match the real thing. Something scared him pretty badly out there, and you want to know what it was. What did he find at that crime scene, to make him hide away like this?

Stefan takes his time answering this, weighing up two fears to see which one is the greater. Rubbing his old wounds as he thinks, he soon reaches a decision. “I DID find a trail,” he admits in a hushed voice, “It was strong, I could have followed it. I'm not the greatest Hunter in the land, I'll be the first to admit that, but even I could have tracked it easily enough. Something about it, though... it scared the shit out of me. Sure, I could have followed it – but I didn't want to. I didn't want to meet the thing that left that trail.”

Why, you ask quietly, just what did he smell?

“It smelled like... us,” he whispers, “It was a Wolf, just like you or me.”

This is getting interesting.

-

“Seems like you had quite the conversation,” Camilla says to you as you're getting settled into the Ministry ship. It's a small vessel, just used for quick jaunts around the area, but there's still enough room for Stefan to shy away from you both. With the air of a sulking child, he watches the horizon and ignores as much as he can. At least it gave you a quiet moment to relay what he told you to Camilla.

An interesting conversation, you agree, you might be able to get a few answers out of some of the natives with Stefan's help. They might not know anything – or they might pretend not to know anything – but it's another possibility.

“Anything would be an improvement on what we've been working with so far,” Camilla mutters, her words almost lost as the engine fires into life, “I don't blame him for being cautious, though – mixing with the natives is discouraged. Another one of Dunajski's orders. Speaking of the commander, I'll need to speak with him before we can get to work – it's just a formality, clearing you for access into the Resettlement Area. Shouldn't take too long.”

>Alright. I'll leave the official business to you
>I'd like to meet this Dunajski while we're there
>I wanted to ask – are there any other Hunters assigned to the area?
>I had a question for you... (Write in)
>Other

>>1159249

>Alright. I'll leave the official business to you
>I wanted to ask – are there any other Hunters assigned to the area?

>>1159249
>>Alright. I'll leave the official business to you
>>I wanted to ask – are there any other Hunters assigned to the area? If not our target would be a Northern Wolf

>>1159249
>Alright. I'll leave the official business to you
>I wanted to ask – are there any other Hunters assigned to the area?

>>1159249
>>I wanted to ask – are there any other Hunters assigned to the area?
Seems unlikely but just maybe.

The culprit could also be leftovers from Tyranst Wolfs or their Beasts.

>>1159257
I had that thought too. Still it'd be hard for the Beast to break into a guarded jail unnoticed.

Alright, you tell her, you'll leave the official business to her. She's probably better at it than you. There is one question you had, however – are there any other Hunters assigned to the area? If not, you might be looking for a northerner with Wolf's blood.

“According to the records we have – and I checked recently, to see if I could get a second opinion on that trail – there's only one other Hunter around. A woman named Jagoda, I believe, but she's on a long haul whaling ship. There was Kursk, however, but he died out in the wilderness a short while ago,” with a faint amusement in her eyes, Camilla glances around at you, “And before you ask, we recovered a body. It was in a pretty bad shape, but there was no mistaking it. If Stefan is right, and he DID smell Wolf's blood... it's not one of ours.”

Just as you thought, a northern Wolf – a remnants of the White Tyrant's forces, perhaps? Someone like that would have good cause to fight back against the Ministry, or anyone they might consider to be traitors or collaborators. That still doesn't explain how they were able to slip into a guarded prison, however...

Someone on the inside, perhaps?

-

The Ogre is as formidable as you remember it, looming in the waters around what was once Port Tyrant like a sleeping giant. On deck, you can see figures moving about in loose, lazy patterns, off-duty soldiers most likely, while others stand watch. The Ministry ship pulls into dock nearby, and you climb ashore. Already, you can smell a new scent in the air – a mix of diesel fuel, cooking fires and an undercurrent of rot. Not rotting flesh, so much, as a more general odour of degeneration.

As you approach the Ogre, you pat the dagger at your hip – perfectly cold and quiet, no signs of any special prey. You're not sure whether to be glad or disappointed at that.

“You can get a good look over the Resettlement Area from the ship,” Camilla explains as you walk, “I'd suggest taking a moment to study it. It's not so easy to get your bearings when you're down on the ground. It all looks the same to me, and I've been here pretty often.”

“It's not all the same,” Stefan argues quietly, without much conviction, “There are all kinds of different groups down there, and they mark their territory. There are signs, if you know how to look for them.”

“Then I'll let you be the guide,” she retorts, “Since you're the expert all of a sudden. Anyway, I'm going to see if Dunajski is free – just wait up on deck a few moments, I shouldn't be too long.” Having said this, Camilla hurries on ahead and vanishes into the ship. Shrugging to Stefan, you take up a position at the railings and look out over the Resettlement Area.

It's a mess – hardly an improvement over when it was a barbarian fortress.

[1/2]

>>1159276

Most of the buildings that once crowded the settlement have been torn down, but a few – the most sturdy and intact ones – remain. The demolished structures have been replaced by rows of heavy canvas tents, and you shudder to imagine what sleeping in them must be like. The temperatures here are hardly appropriate for such conditions, and even the hardy northerners must be suffering. Here and there, you spot cooking fires or other, more general bonfires, pillars of dark smoke rising high into the sky.

The central structure, what was once the White Tyrant's inner domain, is still standing strong, a pair of uniformed soldiers guarding the entrance. “That's the Ministry base,” Stefan tells you quietly, “A prison, more or less. They'll lock up anyone they suspect of causing trouble, let them out again after a few days. They're not arresting them or anything, just... putting them in isolation until things have settled down.”

And what about that, you ask as you point out a dense group of what looks like stalls, what's going on there?

“Oh, that. Folks call it the Bazaar, although it doesn't really have a proper name. People barter there, with whatever they can find or salvage. Soldiers aren't supposed to go there, but they do anyway. Mainly, uh...” Stefan falters for a moment, “Mainly because of what some of the women are selling. Or so I hear.”

Or so he hears.

“Hey man...” he protests weakly, “I don't-”

“I've got your clearance,” Camilla announces, returning just in time to rescue Stefan, “You'll have access to the whole Resettlement Area – just don't cause any trouble, it'll be on my head if you do. Now let's go – you wanted to see the most recent crime scene, didn't you? It's inside, protected from the elements, so it should help keep any trail fresh. That's what I'm hoping, at least. Of course, it's not going anywhere, so if you wanted to try something else first...”

>No, I'd like to see the crime scene as soon as possible
>Stefan, can you take me to these friends of yours?
>I wanted to take a walk around or a bit first. Get a feel for the camp
>Other

>>1159297
>No, I'd like to see the crime scene as soon as possible

We can talk to Stefan's friends afterwards.

>>1159297
>No, I'd like to see the crime scene as soon as possible

>>1159297
>>No, I'd like to see the crime scene as soon as possible
>>Stefan can go broach the subject of us visiting to his friends

>>1159303
Is it smart to cut him loose like that? Seems like he could either run away or get put in danger.

>>1159297
>>No, I'd like to see the crime scene as soon as possible

>>1159306
He isn't going to run with Hanson and Borghild working with him. They scary and can find him.

As for danger he should be okay. He's been okay before and nothing has really changed other than Henryk's presence which shouldn't mean much. Yet.

Should make mention of Uriah, how the kid would be fucking gutted by now if he was still the same little shit he was before Tolnir.

Make him realise that he isn't as bad as that, but that by doing nothing he isn't improving, the new Uriah is a much better person because he had to face adversity.

Hardship like this is useful into making you focus on what matters.You are a wolf, one of the few things Notherners respect, you have to work to earn and keep that respect. No more drinking.

No, you tell Camilla, you'd like to see this crime scene as soon as possible. Once you've got more of a feel for what you're dealing with, you can plan a little further ahead.

“Right. The cell hasn't been tampered with at all... or even cleaned out. Hell of a contamination risk, but I wanted to be absolutely certain that we couldn't learn anything else from it. I'm glad I did, now,” nodding to herself, Camilla points to the makeshift prison, “That's where we're headed, the guards who were on duty that night should be there as well, if you wanted to ask them anything. I don't know what else they can tell you though, I interviewed them myself.”

And did she learn anything?

“All of them were singing the same tune – they never saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. They weren't lying, either,” a pause, “At least, they didn't think they were lying.”

“What about me?” Stefan asks, “What do you want me to do?”

That depends, you tell him, would you regret it if you were to let him go off on his own? If you trust him not to run away or get himself in any trouble, would he honour that trust? You give him a hard look at that, as if urging him to think very carefully about his answer. Stefan swallows nervously, offering you a shaky smile in response.

“I guess running wouldn't do me any good,” he decides, “You'd find me wherever I went, right?”

Exactly so, you promise him, so you're going to trust him with this – you want him to find these friends of his, and speak to them about recent events. See if they know anything, or – better yet – if they'd be willing to speak directly with you. When Stefan still looks reluctant, you sigh and take him aside. Hardship like this isn't something to run away from, you tell him quietly, it helps people focus on important matters. He's not the first Wolf you've met who was uncertain or unhappy with their position, but he needs to straighten up. The northerners respect Wolves, and they respect strength – if he can work hard, they'll respect that. Now... can he do what you've asked of him?

“I can do that,” Stefan nods slowly, after a long pause, “I mean, I can't guarantee anything – especially after everything that's been happening - but...”

But he can try, and that's good enough for you. Now then, you say to Camilla, how about that crime scene?

-

After you split up, Stefan heads straight for the Bazaar – a fact that you note with passing interest and amusement – while you and Camilla head straight for the Ministry prison. The guards at the door look edgy, uneasy, and they take their time scrutinising your papers when you present them. After what happened under their very noses, you can't blame them for being overly cautious.

Once you're inside, Camilla leads you down, down to the lowest levels of the building.

[1/2]

>>1159345

These dungeons had been a horror show when you first visited them, after the battle for Port Tyrant, and they're not much better now. The cell doors have been replaced with studier ones, solid wood and metal reinforcements, with slits cut for guards to look through. The few prisoners you observe differ in mood. Some lounge around with sullen laziness, while others seem... almost frightened of something. When you pass further down the row of cells, you find the source of their fear.

“This is it,” Camilla tells you, “This is the cell where the fifth victim was killed. I'll... leave you to take a look. I wanted to round up the guards who were on duty that night.”

Murmuring acknowledgements, you open the cell door and look inside, just barely hearing the sounds of her retreating footfalls. The cell is like a slaughterhouse, with blood splattered across the walls and almost completely covering the floor. There's even some of the stuff on the roof of the cell, as if cast off by some dreadfully powerful blow. Even dried as it is, the blood still has the ghost of a scent, and you instinctively cover your nose and mouth as you look about. That's all there is in the cell, nothing but the blood coating everything. Frowning, you turn your attention to the door itself.

No signs that the lock was broken or tampered with, you note – it was unlocked with a key, not forced open. Keys can be stolen, but...

On the inside of the door, you find a partial handprint – too smeared to make out anything other than the vaguest possible shape. Four fingers and a thumb, that's all you can tell from it. Either it was left by a human, or by some beast with the hands of a man. Considering the situation with the lock, that doesn't come as much of a surprise – opening a lock like that would take a degree of fine control.

More than any physical evidence, you take a moment to focus on how the scene feels – listening to what your instincts are telling you. Nothing specific, nothing certain, but the whole situation is abnormal enough to put you on edge. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and that's before you've honed your senses to their peak.

Now then, you mutter aloud, what next?

>Try to catch a scent (Focus)
>Speak with the guards who had been on duty
>Meet up with Stefan and see if he's learned anything
>Other

>>1159370
>>Try to catch a scent (Focus)

>>1159370
>>Speak with the guards who had been on duty
Maybe catching a scent is the smarter choice since we should do that before the trail dies out but it probably won't hurt to chat up the guards.

>>1159370
>>Try to catch a scent (Focus)

>>1159370
>Try to catch a scent (Focus)
we can talk with the guards afterwards

>>1159370
>Speak with the guards who had been on duty
>Then try to speak with the other prisoners

Pacing the cell for a moment, you focus your senses on whatever trail might have been left here, pushing the coppery stink of blood to the furthest corners of your mind until you have it – what Stefan had been hinting at. A smell that is as much animal as it is human, sharp with adrenaline and bitter with the stink of an unwashed body. Closing your eyes and focusing on that scent, you picture fur and fang, teeth bared in a bloody smile.

>[Focus remaining: 0]

It's a Wolf, there's no mistaking it – an old one, and powerful. You can practically taste the potency of it's blood, just from the time it spent here. The ferocious violence of their attack has left a lasting stain upon this cell, and a trail that leads out of the prison. Just barely aware of the breath rasping heavily in your lungs, you start to follow that trail up and out of the dungeons. Filtered through a beast's eyes, the world seems to withdraw until only that trail exists.

Something catches your arm, and the trance is broken. Clarity descends, and you see Camilla's face – her expression betraying a faint unease.

“Henryk,” she tells you, “I was only able to find one of the guards, but he's got time to talk. I brought him with me.”

Forcing a more neutral expression, you nod. The trail still dances around at the edge of your senses, tugging and tempting you as Camilla gestures for the guard to join you.

-
He's so boring, you think to yourself as the guard rambles on, he seems like he could talk forever.

“Ain't anything I can tell you that I haven't already told the lady,” the soldier – as fat as a swine and slow-witted to match – says, “I was guarding the door all night, and that's the only way in or out. Nothing passed through these doors that wasn't supposed to. We log the papers of everyone who comes in, note it down there and then. Check the book, if you like – it's clean.” He flaps a meaty paw at a desk, before continuing in an offended tone. “And I hope I ain't being accused of anything,” he grunts, “I done my job just fine. Someone screwed up, sure, but you're looking at the wrong guy.”

There's definitely only one way into the cells, you press, no tunnels or secret passages?

“We checked before locking anyone up there,” the guard stresses, “We checked every loose rock down there, and I'll tell you this – there's only one way in, and it's under constant guard. I don't know what else I can tell you. Only folks that were down there, were locked up in those cells.”

Then maybe you'll speak with them instead, you snap, see if they've got anything better to tell you.

“Feel free,” the fat man snorts, narrowing his eyes to piggish slits, “But don't expect too much from that slime. Half of forgot they've got tongues in their heads, seems like.”

[1/2]

File: I know what I'm getting t(...).gif (979 KB, 400x405)

979 KB GIF

>>1159427
Either Henryk is hungry or being cut out of the trance made him more attuned to the beast.
>W-why are you looking at me like that?

>>1159427

When the guard told you not to expect too much, he wasn't kidding. Of the five prisoners currently held in the cells, three of them are stubbornly mute. They don't even make a show of ignoring you – turning away, scowling, or anything like that. To them, you might as well not exist. Their scents creep through the cell door to pollute your lungs, all unwashed flesh and gathering filth. Nothing unusual about their scents, though, no trace of Wolf's blood in any of them.

With the three sullen prisoners discounted for now, you focus on the remaining two – nervous wrecks, both of them. The first one is all too willing to speak with you, it's just regrettable that he has nothing of any value to say.

“I saw nothing!” he hisses, “Don't know what happened, don't care what happened – don't stick me with this, you bastard! I only got here last night, and it's all a mistake. I never stole anything!”

“That's correct,” the guard calls over, “He was caught last night, trying to steal from one of his neighbours. Stupid bastard is lucky we arrested him, his neighbour wanted to beat him half to death. Either way, he wasn't around when the... incident happened.”

Grunting in irritation, you move onto the last prisoner – in the cell next to the crime scene. He says nothing, and neither does he pay you any heed, but something about him does catch your eye. He's holding some kind of charm, rubbing it feverishly. It's hard to make out any details about the charm, with his hands covering much of it. He smells vividly of fear – a terror strong enough to chase his wits away.

“I told you,” the guard calls over, “They ain't gonna help you. Afraid of being next on the chopping block, I'd say.”

There's a smug note in his tone, and your temper flares in response. It's the smell of blood, staining your thoughts. The sooner you can be out and following the trail, the better.

>I'm leaving. I've got a trail to follow
>That prisoner has something – what is it?
>Were there any other prisoners in here during that night, anyone that you've released since?
>I want to ask you a specific question... (Write in)
>Other

>>1159448
>That prisoner has something – what is it?
>Were there any other prisoners in here during that night, anyone that you've released since?
If so have Camilla gather them and question them. She'll be better at it anyways.

But for us
>I'm leaving. I've got a trail to follow

>>1159448
>>That prisoner has something – what is it?
>>Were there any other prisoners in here during that night, anyone that you've released since?

>>1159448
>That prisoner has something – what is it?
>Were there any other prisoners in here during that night, anyone that you've released since?

>>1159448
>That prisoner has something – what is it?
>Were there any other prisoners in here during that night, anyone that you've released since?
>I want to ask you a specific question... How many copies of the keys to that cell exist and how can I sniff them all?

>>1159448
>>I want to ask you a specific question... (Write in)
You saw it, didn't you? The old wolf, without the tyrant to give him focus the man is trying to keep the beast away by hunting those who tries to make bridges. How long untill there's no more people willing to do that? Do you think it'll stop now that it has tasted human flesh?
I want you to look at me, get a good long look at me. I've seen many of my kind losing to the beast and let me assure you, the beast cares not from where the blood comes from. It knows you've seen him, sooner or later it'll come for you.
Look at me and tell me what do you see.

>>1159466
supporting this as well

>>1159466

>Just to clarify, was this meant for the guard? I don't want to get the wrong idea

>>1159466
Kind of a huge assumption you're going for here. And is this to the prisoner with the charm?

>>1159490
I think its for the prisoner

>>1159490
For the prisoner, although it could work for the gaurd if we go full intimidate.

>>1159503
It wouldn't make sense at all with the guard cause we know he didn't see anything.

That prisoner in there has something, you tell the guard, what is it?

“Huh? He shouldn't have anything on him. Personal possessions are supposed to be forbidden,” frowning, the guard lumbers over and peers through the slit, “Ugh, barbarians. Just some old bones. Half of these degenerates have rotted their minds away with talk of... all sorts of nonsense. Ain't for civilised men like you or me to talk about, if you catch my meaning. I'll have someone confiscate it later.”

“Later?” Camilla asks mildly, “Not now?”

“You want to risk him biting your fingers off, go right ahead,” holding out an indulgent hand, the guard gestures to the cell door, “Let the fool rattle his bones, if it keeps him quiet.”

Returning your eyes to the viewing slit, you watch as the prisoner holds his charm tight. Like a child pleading for protection, you realise, that's what he looks like. Superstitious fear, fear of something that happened that night, has driven him to this – but what? Witchcraft of the blackest sort?

You'll find out soon enough, you suspect. Sniffing at the air one more time, you catch the ghost of another smell. Alcohol of some kind, perhaps. Were there any other prisoners in here during the incident, you ask, anyone who has been released since?

“Aye, now you mention it, there was. Ain't exactly a prisoner, they weren't brought in to keep them out of trouble or anything, but there was someone else here. A young woman, one of them from the Bazaar – drunk out of her mind, she was. Natives ain't supposed to get alcohol, but sometimes they get their hands on some,” the guard shrugs, “She was brought in for her own safety. Couldn't let her wander the camp like that, anything could have happened. We gave her a cell for the night, but you can bet that we questioned her the morning after. Way she tells it, she slept through the whole thing. Her cell was still locked, so we had no reason to think her a liar. Dosia, her name was. Nice girl really.”

“This is the first I've heard about her,” Camilla murmurs, “She wasn't logged as a prisoner, was she?”

“Like I said, she wasn't a prisoner,” stubborn, the guard folds his arms, “So she never got logged. We handled things informally, like.”

“I'll just bet you did,” a humourless smile touches Camilla's lips, “I think I'm going to go and have a word with this young lady. Henryk, it might be best if I handle this on my own. Do you mind?”

No, you tell her, she's probably better suited for that sort of thing. You weren't finished here, either.

“Great. I'll meet you back here later,” nodding, Camilla turns and heads back upstairs, “Good luck with the trail.”

[1/2]

>>1159500
>>1159503

>Right, thanks. Sorry for the delays

>>1159508

As Camilla's footsteps echo up the stairs, you clear your throat to catch the guard's attention. He turns back to you, with his flat cow eyes, and waits for you to say something. The keys, you begin, how many sets of keys to these cells are there? You'll need to examine them all, just to be sure.

“Sets of keys? Three, I think. I'll go and fetch them,” the guard seems faintly bemused by your request, but he turns to obey regardless. Shrugging to himself, the guard follows Camilla up the stairs and out of sight. As soon as he's gone, you approach the old prisoner and peer through the viewing slit once more. Still rocking in place, still holding his charm tightly.

He saw it, you murmur to the man, didn't he? An old Wolf, with no Tyrant to give the man focus - now trying to keep the beast at bay by hunting traitors and collaborators. How long until there are no more of those left, you ask softly, does he think the beast will stop being hungry now that it's tasted them? As you talk, the old man grows still and seems to focus, nodding along with your voice.

Look, you continue, you want him to look at you. You've seen Wolves losing themselves to their blood, and you know that they don't stop once they have. It doesn't matter where the blood comes from, so long as they can slake their thirst. The beast knows that he saw it, and it'll be back for him. Just look, you murmur, and speak – what did he see that night?

“She sang,” the old man mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper, “She called out, and it came to answer her. No doors could keep it out. It tasted flesh, and then it was gone.”

What was it, you press, what did he see?

“A wolf that walked like a man,” the native murmurs, “It was-”

“Here!” the guard calls, his voice ringing sharply out, “What are you doing?” Blustering, he marches across and glares at you, the heavy bundle of keys jangling in his hands. “What kind of deal are you making?” he asks, “This what you were wanting keys for, is that it?”

Glancing back to the prisoner, you see that the moment has slipped away. Cursing softly, you turn back to the guard and try not to imagine tearing his throat out with your teeth. Too much talk of tasting flesh, you think, it's starting to affect your mind. Snatching the keys from his hands, you turn away from the guard and smell each set in turn. Clinging to one of them like an oily stain, you catch that acrid, beastly scent again.

A wolf that walks like a man, you muse, and uses keys like one as well. Pausing only to push the keys back into the guard's hands, you start for the exit. You've got a trail to follow.

[2/3]

>Having some computer problems. Your patience is appreciated!

>>1159575
So Camilla is going to talk to the witch that can control werewolves. Might want to go help her.

>>1159575
Our "drunk" not!prisoner just became our main suspect.

>>1159575
>She called out, and it came to answer her.
This is an unpleasant turn of events.
Hebona's coven or something worse is at play here. Poor piggy gonna have his hide tanned when Camilla gets around to it.

>>1159575
>flat cow eyes
The man must rub Henryk the wrong way, he was a pig now a cow.

>>1159575
>We forgot to ask where this set of keys was stored

>>1155968
>>1155972
Meant more in terms of blood abilities.

>>1159591
She'll be a Bull and know right away Santa isn't real.

Come to think of it, maybe that's why Bulls are such sticks in the mud. They had no childhood.

>>1159591
Coin flip between Wolf or Bull. You don't get both as we saw in Uriah's case.