Fantasy Hunter's Moon [IC] [CLOSED]

[Infab]

September 1st, 1880
Romlein, Daristein

"[Alright, they said they're clear.]" stated the soldier, clad in Daristeinian garb and carrying a long rifle, as he looked to a woman nearby wearing a top hat and rather formal attire. Blair nodded, grinning as she turned to her plungers. She stepped over to each of them, and systematically shoved each of the three before her down. There were massive blasts in the distance, the side of a mountain being carved out to make way for a new train route into northeastern Escaria. The only problem that they had encountered so far had been local elves appearing and complaining to them about the blasts potentially damaging the trees. Blair had to repeatedly explain that they were only blasting away the rock in the mountain side. Nothing else. Behind them, workers were still constructing the new rail line as pieces of wood were lid down and steel rails were laid atop them.

Blair paused, waiting to see the result of the three large blasts. As the dust cleared, they eventually got a thumbs-up from some of the Daristeinian engineers near the mountainside. The route was clear. "[We'll pack your things, Ms. Lockhart. There's one more mountainside along the way to blast through, before we hit the Escarian's rail line.]" Blair nodded, as she began to disconnect the wires from the plungers. As she set the plungers aside, she heard shooting in the distance. Everyone paused, as several bolt-action rifles sounded off almost in unison. Afterwards, there were shouts. Vampire. All clear. They must have encountered one while searching the area for hostiles.

Blair sighed. Things were getting crazier and crazier over the past few years, since Grimtham happened. She knew Edmond was dead. She had heard that they found his corpse at the castle, along with what appeared to be the Duke's body. She still felt horrible about being forced to leave by Edmond. She had wanted to stay behind and help him, but he wouldn't let her. As she stood there, dwelling on what had happened, there were more gunshots in the distance. More than the last one. Then, another set of shouting. Another vampire. All clear. It snapped her out of her trance, forcing her to continue putting her plungers away. She looked back to the soldier nearby, and he waved at some others to come up and gather things.

She had been contracted in to help out, as she was an alchemist talented in the use of explosives. Which of course she quickly accepted. She loved blowing things up. The railroad company intended to pay her quite well, too, so that was a bonus. She stepped back, watching the Daristeinian soldiers gather the equipment and head down the grassy hill to a waiting carriage. Once everything was moved, she joined them. On to the next blasting zone, and then back to the railroad's office to get paid. Then...to Eshax. Her old mentor requested to see her. As much as Edmond pushed for her to stay away from Christoph Heilmeier, she just couldn't. The man helped her improve her alchemical mastery. She climbed into the carriage next to the soldier that had been stationed with her, and he flicked the reins.

---
​

Lysehall, Nivarden

"[Maksim Volkov, yes.]" said the rather rough looking man, as he looked at the old fisherman. "[...And you want to go to...the Nocturne Islands?]" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "[Yes. Will that be a problem? I can pay, if need be. I have a friend there that I wish to see.]" The fisherman eyed him. Things in Adonia had been getting worse and worse for those of the population that were more supernaturally inclined. He had already been hired by three others to take them over to the islands, where a small colony had been set up as a safe haven for the supernatural. Oddly enough, a heretical church had appeared there as well, praying to Undite and Gyasis but declaring Velin an archdemon. He didn't care much for religion, really, but it didn't seem like a smart idea.

"[Alright, I'll take you to the islands. Same fare as the others that asked. Two gold notes. Its dangerous with the Church lookin' for you folks]." said the fisherman finally, as he motioned to the bearded man. He grinned. "[Alright. That's fine.]" he said, digging into his long coat and eventually pulling out a wallet. He opened it, and drew out two gold notes to hand to the fisherman. As the fisherman took them, he spoke again. "[Might not be safe there very much longer, though. That Velin woman will find out what's going on eventually...and it won't be pretty when she does.]" he said, putting the notes away, before patting the bench next to him. He'd have to wait there for now till it was time to go. Maksim moved over and promptly sat down, folding his arms as he looked around at the other fishermen walking around Lysehall's docks.

---
​

Eternis, Atraca

"So...you have no idea where all these creatures are going? Redonia? Nirdonia? The isLANDS? THE IN-BETWEEN?! THE FUCKING ABYSS!?!" spoke Velin, her voice escalating as she proceeded to get angrier and angrier with each passing moment. Electricity shot off of Velin, as she stood from where she was sitting. As she stepped away from the chair, the tile beneath her cracked and shattered. Bolts of lighting began to strike the walls around the room, scorching the stone and burning holes in the hanging decorative tapestries. Cassiel took a step back, narrowly avoiding a bolt of lightning which hit a painting behind him.

Marshall looked on wide-eyed, backing away rather quickly as Velin went into a rant in another language. "Eres un maldito IMBECIL! ¿¡Como puede ser que seas tan INUTIL!? bruto, IDIOTA! ¿O acaso tengo que hacer todo YO?" she spat, her voice almost bearing an echo as she stomped towards him. Cassiel looked quickly to Marshall, and motioned for him to flee the room quickly. He didn't need a second warning, as the inquisitor spun about and quickly darted out the door. As Marshall darted down the hallway and began to descend the stairs, he could still hear her yelling. Thunder and lightning began to crack outside, as a sudden storm formed above Eternis.

Cassiel had to calm her down. And fast. "My lady, we'll find out where they are going. The inquisitors will follow every possible avenue to locate them. It is very likely that they haven't gone far." he said, taking a few steps towards the angry goddess. Her head snapped about, and she glared at him for a moment. Then the lightning began to recede into her armor. The storm outside faded. "They had better. If not, I will begin an island hopping campaign. And I will burn all that I see." She straightened up, looking back towards the door. Then, she spoke again. "...Have there been any more Sazak sightings?" she asked. Cassiel nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It has been confirmed that he has reverted back to his blonde vessel. He stopped using Witlock as a vessel a few weeks after the Grimtham incident."

"Of course...he used her to get the sword. That's all he needed her for." said Velin, after a grunt. "He continues to search for the artifacts, but we've discovered through a source in the Abyss that he frequently makes trips back to the Abyss to inform Taranoch of his status." Velin looked back to Cassiel. "A source in the Abyss?" she said, a hint of anger in her voice. Who in the Abyss could be feeding them information? Then, there was a knock at the door, and in the doorway stood a pair of women. Both dressed quite formally, while one wore a bowler hat and carried a short cane. "Lady Velin. A pleasure to meet you." said the woman in the bowler hat. Her eyes then shifted to the typical look of a demon.

"My name is Tariun."

---​

It had been several months since Jakob had received any letters from the pair of priests he had come to know. Father Bartley's letters mostly told him things he already knew, though they did have some interesting bits of information. Rosanna's body was never found, but the body of the knight dullahan they had encountered had been located after the incident. Her body wasn't found anywhere on Grimtham. It was quite likely that she was still alive.

Father Weston's letters served to fill him in on any activity that the Church picked up on. They had been tracking Sazak, and he informed Jakob that Sazak was no longer using Valeria anymore. The question was...where was Valeria being held if Sazak wasn't using her? If she was even still alive? His letters also told him that Sazak was searching for the other artifacts for his lord Taranoch.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Ever since that day, Jakob decided to leave flowers not only for his wife and son, but also for his old friend William. Putting flowers at the bottom of the grave to hide that mark of shame that was engraved into the stone. William was no deserter. He was a good man and a good friend. The memories of that day in the trenches, they were starting to haunt Jakob once more. After years of trying to forget them, he got them back. Now haunting him along with memories of Abraham and Cecil. Jakob got up and fixed his hat, before noticing the gravedigger looking at him once more. This time, he wasn't alone. A cowboy was sitting behind him, under a tree. The gravedigger gave Jakob a smile, and Jakob simply walked away from the cemetery.



It had been almost three years, and Jakob saw that Redgorge had almost changed completely over that period of time. There were no longer wooden frontier houses scattered about, as they were now replaced with buildings that ranged from typical central Atracan styles to western Escarian, to even some impressive buildings with Eshaxian aesthetics. But despite the mixture of foreign cultures, the old Swampfolk, Atracan, and Escarian traditions prevailed. Fin de l'été was being celebrated today, commemorating the coming end of Summer. The streets were full of people celebrating. Parades full of musicians walked through the streets, people wearing masks and costumes danced. Jakob noticed that the vampires hiding out in Redgorge used the day to their advantage, using parasols and masquerade masks. Jakob couldn't help but feel nostalgic. Back in the old days, the celebration was just as lively, but with less people. Cecil would have loved to have been around to celebrate it together with her family. Jakob sighed, walking through the hundreds of people back to the agency.

Jakob walked inside, seeing some of his detectives playing a game of Dwarven poker over a bottle of whiskey. Due to the celebrations and their seemingly good abilities at solving cases, today was a slow day at the agency. With a few detectives out doing what they did best, they had been leaving a mark in the region. The Hunter's Guild requested their help from time to time, attempting to locate creatures in the Eshaxian deserts called Basilisks. Jakob looked over at the detectives as they played, and shook his head while smiling at them. He got back to his desk, sitting down and opening his own bottle of whiskey. He eyed the letters next to him. Over the past few weeks, he and Father Weston had exchanged letters with each other. The High Inquisitor had helped him quite a lot in putting his case together, not to forget Theodore whom was somewhere. His exchange with Father Bartley, while less useful, still gave him hope that Rosanna was still alive out there but was unable to contact him or her family. He was sure to inform the McFadden's of the information, and told them that he wouldn't rest easy till he found Rosanna.

- Valeria: Missing.
- Aleister: Alive, Cursed.
- Rosanna: Missing.
- Theodore: Alive, Cursed.
- Camille: Alive, Cursed.
- Galina: Missing, Cursed.
- Wesley: Missing, Cursed.
- Mariette: Dead.
- Ethraeil: In the Abyss, Cursed.
- Francis: Missing, Cursed?
- Erwin: Alive.

He looked to the board, carefully writing down his latest findings. It was certainly confirmed that all the members of the inquiry, except for Erwin, had been cursed after the incident. Erwin, whom had actually played by Sazak's rules and had left the Inquiry earlier, didn't suffer his wrath. He assumed that one Tsavanian doctor that they had met before in Peltragow wasn't cursed either, despite only having joined them for a little while. Jakob made sure to inform most members of the Inquiry about the curses, having recently sent letters to Camille and Aleister. Hopefully the letters would reach them in a few days. He was still unsure of what happened to Galina, or why Wesley hadn't come into contact with him yet. He also didn't know the whereabouts of the man named Francis either, whom had joined the Inquiry at the end of the adventure.

"DAD!" Jakob's attention snapped about, as he was quickly embraced by Lucy. "Hey there, little angel!" He saw that she was wearing a pretty yellow dress, and that behind her was Jessica wearing a nice dress as well as wearing a mask. "Hey there, lil' sis! Enjoying the celebrations?" Jessica smiled, as she removed her mask. "Oh yeah, gonna go out again in a moment with Lucy. Just came back to check on you, since you weren't here today." Jakob gave the two a nod. "Yeah...I went to...do stuff, you know." He looked down and patted Lucy's head. He then noticed a weird looking stick in her hands. "I hope you have fun, sweetie. What's that in your hand, by the way?" Lucy smiled, waving it. A ray of color burst out of the end. "What the fuck!?" he said aloud, and Lucy was quick to raise her voice. "SWEARING!" Jakob ignored his daughter, looking to his sister quickly. "Where did she get that?!" Jessica shrugged. "I bought it for her...what of it?" Lucy was still shouting 'swearing!" while shaking a jar full of coins next to Jakob. "What of it?! Its a magical item! You don't know what it could do to her!" Jessica pushed her finger against Jakob's mouth. "Hush. She likes magic. You know that, right? In fact, Volog says she's got a knack for it. She wants to be a sorcerer like that weird crow dude that visited us." Jakob looked surprised. "I...I didn't know that." Jessica crossed her arms. "...Maybe you should hang out with us more? You know...actually bond with your daughter rather than that board?" There was an awkward silence between the two siblings...only interrupted by the jar of coins shaking next to him.

Jakob looked back at the board, as the jar continued to shake. He then let out a heavy sigh, before glancing back to Jessica and dropping a coin quickly into the jar. "...Alright, you know what? You're right. I gotta spend time with my little angel." Lucy's eyes grew in size while gazing up at her dad. "R-Really?! Y-Yay!" Jakob gave the pair a sincere smile, before standing and walking with them back outside.

 

[Dmaster]

Shortly after he sent the letter to Camille he received a reply from her, though the envelope had a distinct difference from those Jakob received before. Sealing it shut was a wax seal of some kind, stamped with what appeared to be a crest of some kind. It featured a raven with wings spread in the center of a shield-like shape, clutching a rapier in one talon and a bastard sword in the other. Once the detective opened it, he was greeted with familiar handwriting, and the contents were far more verbose than what he had received in the past.

Jakob

I must apologize for that letter I sent you some time ago. I was not in the proper state of mind at the time of writing it, and truthfully your investigation was of little concern to me in those moments. What did matter was your loss, and I can only express regret and sadness over the loss of your love. Know this, you are a kind and caring man and I am certain that you will live on in spite of that loss, become even stronger and preserve her memory through the good you will do for this chaotic world.

This curse you speak of does affect me as the other members, though at the time I had no idea the extent of the affliction. I am doing better now, but am left with a deep pain within me that I may never truly be rid of. Beyond such vague descriptions I cannot disclose the nature of my curse. It is simply too painful and I am not strong enough.

Another blow was dealt to my state at the time I received your first letter. Aleister was rumored to commit the mass killing of Church members. Though he was kind enough to get in touch with me afterwards, I could easily see through the lies presented of his innocence. I had every opportunity to slay him before he went down this dark path, yet I hesitated. His compassion and sensibilities were not something I had ever seen in a vampire before - and I could not rightly end him after being exposed to it for so long. I even swore to him that I would be more considerate to those I hunt, vowing to never be like Velin. Consumed by hatred and contempt. Another lapse of judgment, a terrible weakness that has cost scores of lives and it is all on my hands. I do not know if the descent he openly wills himself into now is the product of Sazak's curse or his own madness, but frankly I do not care. I cannot rest until he pays for the horrors he has committed.

You have no doubt been in touch with him if he had sent me those messages in the first place. I urge you for your own safety and the safety of your family, do not believe him, and do not seek him out unless you either wish to kill him or become his next meal.

Take care of yourself.

Camille​

 

[K0mori]

August, 1880

The Order's faithful gathered in the village square, having marched and hitched rides a long distance overland, or having sailed the cold northern seas to abridge the journey, to go where they had been ordered. For these men, that proved to be the ruggedly cold northwestern corners of the Tsavanian frontier, not far from where the most hotly contested territories had hosted pitched battles during the war with Atraca in what now seemed another era of history. The Order of Velin by now had grown wise of the mass travel patterns of the supernatural, but had not yet discovered their final destination, or even how many safe havens the creatures of the night could rely upon. Here, in this remote farming village, the purge was in full fervor, and the faithful were administering tests to prove the guilt or innocence of the unfortunate people brought before them.

A masked enforcer stood before the lot of them, pacing back and forth in heavy armor which was covered by a long coat. "Hurry up with those chains," the man demanded. "All the ones we've confirmed need to be transported before dawn," he added, choosing his words carefully while within earshot of the vampires and werewolves in his midst. There were roughly a dozen of them, and while he had implied that they would be taken somewhere, each of them knew what Francis had really meant. They would soon be killed en mass, and the only thing preventing it was the security of forty-two guns of the execution squad bristling at them at every angle. There was no escape, so the exterminators could take as much time as they needed. This was how the countryside would be cleansed and reclaimed for humanity, one village at a time.

The creatures were shackled to a central post in the middle of the village square using silver-clad chains in a great display of Velin's judgement. Once there, the commanders would order the execution, which would take the form of a mass immolation. Those which survived would either die by sunlight the following morning, or would be blown apart by heavy slugs, fired by the Inquisitors' newly manufactured shotguns. These guns would not only prime themselves for fire once shells were loaded in, but the empty casings would automatically eject themselves when the breach was opened. This latter fate was typically reserved for werewolves, but occasionally a particularly unruly vampire would taste death before the macabre display could be fully brought to fruition.

"Sir," a junior officer said, "one of the lycans says she knows where the vamps were headed. The one over there, between the two bald ones..." The young man pointed at a calm but fierce-looking Tsavanian woman in elaborate, folksy attire from the east. She slowly rocked back and forth on her bottom as she sat on the ground, her eyes glowing faintly yellow the entire time.

Francis raised the face guard of his helmet and looked at her sharply. "Don't believe a word it says," he cautioned. "Look at it. It's barely holding itself back from ripping our throats out. I'll bet you ten silver pieces that when I walk over there, it lashes out at me, fangs and all. And when it does, I'll blow its fucking head off."

The young man grinned sadistically. "I'll take that bet. Sooner or later one of them has to talk."

"We'll see," Francis said, slapping the visor closed again and heading over to the lycan woman. "I'm in charge here, speak," he ordered. She spoke softly in reply and muttered a response, doubtlessly trying to goad Francis into stooping downward, putting himself within reach. Instead, he jammed the barrels of his shotgun into her face, painfully jabbing her in the nose and cheek. "Last chance. Speak!"

"Vodka!" the young woman demanded. "Then talk. No vodka, no talk. Kill me, secret dies. Your decision, foolish man."

Francis shook his head and turned the barrel away from her face before firing both shells into her shoulder instead, completely blowing the flesh and bone open to the air. "Die slowly if you want. I don't negotiate," he told her as she screamed in agony, eyes bright yellow and teeth already shifting to fangs. She clutched at the gaping wound and eyed him with deep hatred.

"You fire both shots; words and gun - both empty," she replied in a half-growl before grabbing kicking her legs up, grabbing the barrels of the shotgun with her legs before twisting her whole body to wrench it loose from Francis's grasp. Her hands were still locked into the shackles, and her shoulder was pouring blood onto the pavement, but she still had enough strength to kick the man to the ground. After which, the other enforcers opened fire on her, blasting other parts of her body so badly that it flattened her against the ground. Francis picked himself up, slightly humiliated but also ten silver pieces richer.

"Take it to the wagon," he ordered. "If it really knows where they're all going, then I'm going to wring it out until it talks. What's its name, anyway?"

The werewolf let out a terrible growl, one which Francis wasn't accustomed to hearing. He looked down to find her half-transformed and abhorrent. The junior officer from before approached with the money he owed Francis. "That's Anya Voronina, sir. She came a long way out from the tundra to get here, so I think we can assume that wherever safety is, it's west of here."

Francis grunted in agreement. "We'll try again with her in a day or two. Those slugs almost ripped her in half," he added with a sinister chuckle.

---

It had been nearly thirty years. Time passed differently in the Abyss, and throughout all of it, Sazak had been true to his word and kept Mariette and Cassandra tethered to one another by a painful silver chain, but over time, the former Countess of La Cygne had become desensitized to its sting and its weight. Cassandra, however, was impossible to fully accustom one's self to. She was arrogant, moody, and provocative, and when the two servants were in trouble for one thing or another, it was always the pureblood at fault. Cassandra complained so much and so often that Mariette almost savored opportunities to do mindless work which passed the time, as she was doing currently, polishing the innumerable reflective tiles which lined the floors of Sazak's palace in the Abyss, with nothing more than a brush and a clump of soap smaller than her fist. At the far end of the room, there was a cauldron of water which allowed her to continually re-wet the brush so that she could continue her work.

Cassandra wasn't helping. In fact, during most jobs like these, she would simply sit around, staring off into space or criticizing Mariette for one reason or another. Whatever thoughts were occupying the pureblood's imagination were being constantly interrupted, however, by the Countess's frequent requests to go re-wet her brush. Cassandra had tried to move the cauldron earlier, but, humorously enough (to Sazak), the cauldron was too heavy even for the pureblood to budge, and so the pair were forced to walk across the room every few minutes as they slowly completed their pointless task.

This time, unlike many other times, Cassandra spoke up about her thoughts, and asked Mariette about a subject they had discussed many times before. Although they still hated each other, being ceaselessly in each other's company for three decades had given them plenty of time to share stories, memories, and opinions, often just to avoid the boredom of it all. By this point, they knew each other as sisters would, and Cassandra had heard Mariette's explanations of her plans for La Cygne dozens of times. "You said there was a alchemist in Daristein who was working on a blood-making serum. Do you think he's finished it by now?" she asked wearily.

"It's only been three years," Mariette replied, swirling the brush around in circles as she cleaned unseen grime off the tiles. "He was close, last I heard, but who knows what that means." They had discussed the alchemist many times. In fact, it was probably the part of Mariette's scheme that Cassandra apparently enjoyed the most. The reason is that any rational vampire, reflecting on the prospect of a vampiric nation, would realize that bringing too many of their kind together into one location would exhaust the local supply of blood, dooming the project to failure. Mariette, however, claimed to have a true solution, and she eloquently detailed how it would be used to secure Chalmette Florissante as an independent, vampiric state.

Cassandra, while still testy and unpleasant to be around, was now more sane and sober than she had been at any point in the last century while alive. It appeared that the Abyss returned her faculties to her in order to torture her with her previously-lost memories, and gave her the good sense to see error of her ways and the time to agonize over what could have been done differently. When Mariette explained these matters of government and administration to Cassandra, however, she seemed far more interested in her company. She would even join Mariette in the work sometimes, prying deeply for any more knowledge she could offer about the blood-making serum. I would reward the humans for consuming it, Mariette had explained many times. They would pay in blood or they would pay in gold, and I would adjust the amounts required by tax to fit the needs of the state.

And then, inevitably, as soon as Mariette reached the end of her knowledge on the subject, Cassandra would return to her brooding and Mariette would return to her work in peace. Mariette didn't know why Cassandra liked to talk about these things when they were no longer relevant. Eventually, she began to assume that it was something akin to a bedtime fairy tale to the broken woman, something which soothed a mind which could never truly be healed, even with all the powers of the Abyss. Regret and envy for the living were poisonous to the soul, and were a feature of suffering in the Abyss, and not an unintentional side-effect. It was sometimes out of pity that Mariette continued telling her about the ideas, just to witness the briefest blooms of reassurance on another prisoner.

Nonetheless, after decades of pointless labor, occasional beatings, and general hopelessness, Mariette was beginning to see the Abyss in Cassandra's eyes, and she knew, if she had the courage to look upon her own face in the mirror, that she would see the Abyss within herself, as well.

 

[Doomevil]

The Warden arrived in the mess hall after unpacking her supplies in her assigned cabin. A few ship members waited in line to receive a douse of the good grub from the main cook named Jon. As soon as she walked in, the sound of her boots allowed everyone to turn to the mysterious knight that arrived. Awkward silence filled the room for a good few seconds until people turned to their business, grabbing trays of lunch. Senya knew the armor didn't help, but it was what she was comfortable in. A few members gave hushed words between their ears as she approached the line, awaiting to receive her food.

From the distance, the cook looked rather pudgy, brown curly hair restrained by a hairnet. The line eventually died down leaving her next. He simply waved at her to get closer. “La mujer de la armadura! Cómo te llamas?” The cook asked happily, excited to witness the Red Warden from Valencia. She stared blankly, bringing up her name as it was only polite to introduce herself to the Marianne crew.

“Me llamo Senya Melgaeron, Senor.” She responded with a simple answer leaving the cook to give a warm chuckle. “Just testing you Red Warden, some tend to forget about their native culture when they spend hunting for so long.” It was true Red Wardens spent most of their time in other places in the world, through different temples or on a contract. This was no different, but she always remembered to keep contact with close relations by any means. Technology advanced in such a short time. Getting advanced it started to worry her and other Wardens. They all knew the Red Wardens was an old institution, dealing contracts through swords and magic. Even the Church adopted the usage of modern techniques.

“I never forget about my homeland.” She assured, observing the vast amount of Florentinan food available on deck. What’s currently on the menu was fresh rice, pork, and ranch style beans. The cook grabbed a steel scoop utensil, "These are fresh goods from Valencia. Jose ordered them in when we docked there, so they should be good for the first few weeks. We got beans, tapas, chicken. You name it."

Senya crossed her arms, leaning forward as if she had a hard time deciding what to choose. She eventually switched her view to the cook’s face. “I’ll have everything, please.” She stated. The cook happily obliged, passing small portions from the menu, filling the entire tray as Senya’s eyes stared. “Gracias.” She gave a quick bow.

“De nada.” The cook nodded, allowing Senya to finally sit down and eat. She went to a nearby table seeing a group of men discuss their own lives and news. The crewmen laughed simultaneously until the sound of boots made them turn. Senya took the empty seat, sitting down as she took off her helmet. The others kept silent, trying to kickstart their conversation again despite the strange newcomer’s features. Senya jabbed a fork against the tender pork, digging in recklessly while she scooped the ranch style beans second. She heard some of the crew mates talk, listening in.

"I heard the Church's finally putting the boot down on vampires. What do you think about that?" A woman asked towards one of her friends, eating a cheese sandwich. The man shrugged it off, "Who gives a rat's ass. It's not hurting us. If you ask me, it's about time they're starting to do something about them. We've dicked around with the supernatural long enough. And if Valencia doesn't like it, screw them." The woman glanced towards Senya, then to her friend hushing him up. She spoke in a whisper now, "Keep your voice down. I heard that knight over there came from Valencia. You really want to piss her off? I've seen knights cleave people in half before." She looked annoyed.

"No, but I'd like to see her try." He mentioned.

Senya narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the conversation from here on out. She continued eating her meal but by the time she actually enjoyed the food, she already cleaned the plate. Senya shook her head in frustration, taking the tray to the dishwasher. She couldn’t wait for dinner though.

…

The sun went out as everyone prepared for night time. Every once in a while, Senya witnessed sailors vomit due to sea sickness. She had to take over on watch duty if a worker was missing. The Warden stood watch when it was clear The Marianne’s discipline standards left something to be desired. Several members made the decision to make up a group, singing folk songs and recalling previous weeks about the world meeting Elves and Orcs. But the way the crew conducted themselves through singing and playing poker games reinforced their personalities. Senya had to admit, it was rather inspiring. A man from the group went up to the same railing as her, enjoying the view.

“Another day out at sea. Get used to it. Until we make a stop at Naverro or somewhere on land, we’re going to encounter harsh weather and get sick.” She heard him as he leaned next to the rails, holding a half bottle of whiskey. Senya nodded, observing the endless ocean. Out at sea indeed.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been through this before.” She mentioned, sparking up some small talk between each other. He smirked, “Have you? When?”

“To Redonia. Contract was on a dangerous Oni named Kimura. Older brother used to travel there. Not anymore.” Senya gave a short explanation, but it satisfied him just enough. Redonia was known as the Jungle Continent and for good reason. Her brother Ryden Melgaeron traveled there on a Hunter mission, experiencing interesting places over there she'd ask what was it like. The sailor extended a hand afterwards, “Ramón. Judging from what you’re wearing, you’re a knight? Dame?” Senya shook his hand in a second, allowing her to clarify.

“Warden.” She said, earning a nod. Ramón gave a short thumbs up, “So I guess you don’t hunt Chupacabras and Demons then?” He tried to lighten up the mood, as best as he could at least. Chupacabras, not the first time she heard about them. Demons? Of course. Her specialty. But Senya didn’t want to brag about the details. She went with something boring for Ramón.

“Sometimes.” She responded. Ramón nodded, viewing the dark ocean. The sailor turned to her. “Listen, uh. I’ll keep watch for the night. Get some rest. We could use the extra muscle in daylight.” He said with honesty. Thinking through this, he was probably right. Senya’s different from the rest, but she wasn’t invincible, and besides she’s done all she could for the day. She gave a swift nod to the sailor, heading down inside the cabin deck getting ready for sleep. The Warden passed by the group, singing a folk tale named El Coco.

Senya’s cabin room was at the end of the hallway, leaving her to walk until she saw another sailor head the opposite direction. Both unfortunately bumped into each other by the shoulders most likely due to Senya’s pauldrons. After realizing what she's done, she had to apologize for not moving out of the way fast enough. “Disculpe seno-” She interjected.

“Fuck off freak.”

The man could only glare at the Warden as if the sight of her presence disgusted him. He simply turned away. Senya watched the man leave in a hurry. She decided to pretend she didn’t hear that in the first place, resuming her walk until she found her cabin door. All of her equipment settled on the floor just as she placed them. But there was a white envelope with a red seal displaying a dragon crest. Of course, the letter she picked up before she left Valencia. She clenched her hands, taking off her black helmet so she can place it next to the wooden desk. She wiped off the excessive smudges on her face with a washcloth. Senya kept eying the sealed up letter in there. Despite her attempts to avoid it, she grabbed the envelope, tearing the cover for the message inside, sitting down on a chair so she can relax.

Senya unveiled the letter, letting out a deep sigh. Here it was. Her eyes laid on the letter, reading through the contents.

Dear Sister,

It has been a while since me and sister saw you when we would always bicker inside the estate, getting in trouble. I will never forget the times we practiced our swordsmanship together. I sincerely hope you are doing well outside of home. It can be dangerous work within your line of profession, and even though you know how to take care of yourself, you’re still family. Please whatever happens, try to be more careful. But you probably knew that already.

If you’re wondering what’s happening here. I suppose I can give you the good news and the bad. Rena is getting engaged to Antonio Clemenza, one of the sons of Gabriel Clemenza you may not remember during our childhood. You can’t believe how much she’s excited to tell you it’s a marriage of love. Our little sister is finally growing up, and soon she’ll start a family of her own one day. As for me, I'm doing okay. Our other kin... well a lot of interesting stuff. I've heard rumors our cousin Damon is headed to Volusia for investigation due to corruption concerns.

Then, there’s other stuff I should tell you. It’s about Father. The doctor has said he’s currently suffering from great fever to the point he’s forced to sit in bed until he’s back to full health again. I pray to the dragons every night to give him strength, but I fear he grows worse. I decided to handle the estate until then and making sure Father gets all the rest he needs. I thought it would be better to tell you rather than hide recent events like Cousin Daeran.

Remember Senya, you are always welcome to talk to us on how are you doing. I know we’ve grown distant over the years and I know you still feel guilty about our older brother, but don’t let it overwhelm you. Times are changing but I believe change can be for the good. Trust your instincts and keep on practicing. A Melgaeron is always at their best when prepared.

Stay safe and may Karnax give you strength, sister. I hope to see you again someday.

Aedan

Senya stared at the letter, growing uncomfortable at the idea of her father bedridden, knowing there’s nothing she could do to change that. Especially far from home. By the first flame why was this happening? She gave a deep sigh, hands covering her entire face as she rubbed her forehead repeatedly. Between sitting on a ship for a whole week retrieving insults and minor threats from ship members, it never fazed her. But now, she started to regret reading her brother’s letter, knowing she’ll never get to witness Rena’s happiness, or even a chance to talk to Father. Despite the realization, Senya knew the world couldn’t stop. Why was she doing this? Out of guilt? Something to keep her mind off of? It boggled her to no end in sight.

Eventually she calmed down, checking the time through a small clock near her bed. It was about time to clear her mind.

She removed her heavy armor, starting with the pauldrons, untying the straps piece by piece until she switched to something comfortable for the night. Senya started to feel the concept of overabundance weighing down on the body. She set the sword on the dresser close to the edge just in case. With nothing else to do, she walked over to the single lantern on her desk, shutting it off, leaving the room completely dark.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Redonia
1880

The ride through Oshima would have been pleasant if it wasn't for the screaming crowd, the cage, the silver fetters, and the startling abundance of rotten fruit that was hurled her way. Fortunately, the cage bars stopped most of the flying debris from reaching her. It was difficult to look noble and keep up appearances when one was splattered with tomatoes and lettuce. Had the divine winds been kinder, and had she been stronger, this peasant harbor town could have been hers. The flatboard sidewalks, dirt lanes, and old period houses would have looked better covered in soot and crimson, and she didn't mean her clan banner, either.

"Kill her! Take her head!"

The crowd was in enough of a frenzy that Matsumishi's men had to keep the people away from her cage, strapped onto a wagon which rattled its way down to the docks. Even with silver fetters binding her wrists and legs close together, she could still move around enough in the cage, and she leered back at the townsfolk with a toothy grin from between the paper-talisman shrouded bars.

"If I am to die, your sons and husbands will serve me well in the afterlife!"

Just a little smile and a few words was enough to send them into another incredible uproar. She would have taunted them more had a bamboo stalk not impacted her legs with force. It was sharpened so it bit well into her flesh, forcing her back into a seated position lest she want another stab. The guard who had the pleasure of holding the bamboo was wise enough to be quick about it and keep his distance, because had she seen the small spear coming, it would have been hers and someone else would be missing an eye, or worse.

A cordon had been set up at the docks, and she watched mildly as the guardsmen kept the crowd from going any further as the wagon made it past. She crawled back up to the bars, grinning again as she offered a little wave at the distant faces of the furious townspeople. They should have been more grateful. That foreigner, Winchester, had saved all their lives - and hers. Matsumishi was greedy for money, not revenge, and she could imagine that little imp was paid a pretty amount of coin to have her given up to the foreigners rather than executed. She couldn't complain too much. The other clans were going to have his head on a spike before too long for it, and she would be far across the great sea in Adonia.

The thought soured her mood as she looked out towards the ocean. She could not stand water deeper than streams or ponds. What she had done at Norikawa went beyond terrifying the living - it incensed the spirits to no end. Her death would likely come by the water spirits at some point, she figured. There were still bodies showing up downriver years later, though after all this time it was hard to say if the emaciated corpses were by her own hand or not. Not that it mattered. If every body on the river was credited to her, then that was for the best. That was another little detail the mighty river spirits would likely be displeased about, though. She stole the power of their awe and made it her own.

Some sea spray hit her cheek and she quickly retreated into the center of her cage away from the bars, her grin gone in an instant. Chained in a cage over water, and she was destined to travel on some giant foreign ship. If she didn't end up dead here then the spirits weren't trying hard enough.

Nearby, a few sailors from Adonia laughed as they saw her cower back into the cage. She eyed them back quietly. Simply because Winchester had bought her didn't mean that these men would obey orders and keep away from her. She didn't need any more torture. From the foreigners she had seen and spoken with, they were either wide-eyed fools or greedy snakes. A few military sailors had proven more interesting, though she knew little of their ways and honor. Had these been her men, whoever was trapped in the cage would have been in for a terrible time.

Instead, they left her alone. She had to close her eyes when a small crane hoisted her cage up from the dock and into the dark cargo bay of the steamship. The ships were marvelous creations, and if she made it to Adonia alive, she would return here with a fleet of them and lay waste to Oshima. The idiots would never expect that and the blaze from a naval bombardment could probably be seen all the way in Kyokomori. What better way to announce the return of their beloved Daimyo?

A figure appeared above her on the deck, looking down upon her in the cargo bay from the hole she had entered in. She knew that tall handsome man anywhere. Winchester. A shame he already had another kitsune bitch around somewhere, she couldn't get close enough to thank and manipulate him. He had to have some power to manage the things he did here, that was for certain. Maybe magic. Maybe weapons. Maybe a lot of money.

She considered a playful remark, but that would have been a waste. If there was one person who could still assist her aside from a scattered warband, it was him.

Shaguma Inari bowed her head low, touching the floor, before she raised it and looked up at him.

"Find my daughters, please. Keep them alive. If anything were to happen to them, I'd...." She hesitated, having to stop from offering a threat to a man she was pleading to, and went with the truth. "My heart would shatter. They may be warriors and they may be my children, but they are innocent of what I have caused them to do."

The strange man simply tipped his hat and disappeared. Sailors appeared again and pulled the canvas over the top of the cargo bay, shrouding her in darkness.

This would be a long journey.

---

Aleister examined Jakob's new letter closely. The man deciding not to leave ultimately mattered little to him by this point. If he wished to remain in harm's way, then he couldn't stop him. Perhaps his agency was strong enough to keep Velin's dogs at bay. He could only hope his remaining family had the same protection.

His eyes trailed down the list of members from the old inquiry. It seemed he had been gathering quite a bit of information on them, whereas he had rather neglected keeping track of his old comrades. Seeing that Francis was missing and likely cursed made him delighted to no end, and he hoped that the man was suffering from no small misery, or even better was just dead. The others, however... he didn't want that for them. In fact, he hadn't even been sure if what had happened to him was a curse or not. It seemed Sazak had quite the hand in all of this. Whereas the others atleast had Velin somewhat on their side, he stood at odds with both a terrible demon and a terrible goddess. The work of the righteous was no small task, that was for sure. He grabbed a small piece of parchment and wrote back.

Jakob

Your heart is too pure for this world. I'm afraid for you. If you will not abandon this continent, then I can do nothing but offer prayer. Hopefully the shadows of misfortune shall not befall you again. Under Velin's gaze, I am scared to say that may be difficult. Regardless, I do not doubt your soul or strength.

Your agency seems a rather fascinating business. You no doubt have lots of information, good for helping people. Perhaps we can meet again sometime to discuss some things, though it may be easier if a friend visits you in my stead. Much of the continent is after my head now, it seems. I wouldn't want to put you in any danger.

Do take care,
Aleister

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

Meanwhile, in the Escarian countryside...

A lone woman slogged on a muddy road, head bowed low and arms desperately holding her face. Tears seeped through the gaps between her fingers and into a mess of soggy black hair covering her face. The rain pounded on her head with all the intensity of being pelted by rocks. The mud rose higher and higher until it surrounded her feet like shackles as it trapped them, making it harder and harder for her to keep moving. The leaves from the trees soon stopped offering her any sort of protection from the storm as they were violently blown away and scattered into the winds. Just a bit further now, she kept thinking and had been for the past few hours, it can't be much further now. Whatever 'it' was, she didn't really know. But she can almost see it after traveling towards it for hours. Its bright lights barely shining through the thick grey walls of rainfall and drawing her ever closer to them. She can't turn back now, even if the storm was getting worse.

The closer she lumbers towards it, the more she saw of the utterly gigantic and absolutely magnificent structure that it was. The wetness of the rain made the golden borders of its main entrance shine brightly through the fortified walls surrounding it. She quickly ran up to the gate, she had to get a better look at it just to make sure she's not hallucinating. Her mouth drops as she takes in the sight. Mighty walls of unblemished custard-yellow, bordered with the smoothest of white stone, stood so tall upon one another that their shadow reaches even her. Perfectly rectangular windows cut from diamond-like glass were arranged very precisely apart from one another, and golden veils swayed gently on the other side. Hedges, decorated with all sorts of colorful roses and flowers surrounded the path to the main building, as well as the other paths leading to the greenhouse and the pond. No one in the world could possibly own a home this lavish, she was thinking. Even more shocking was the fact the gate appeared to be unlocked! She slid inside, and disappeared among the flowers, only reappearing again when she got to the main door. She looked behind her, then back at the door as she knocked.

The doors of the manor creaked open slowly, and with the anxiety she feels, it felt like they opened much slower. From the dimly lit interior within steps what appeared to have been a butler. Dressed in a pitch black hooded cloak which reached down to his ankles, leaving only his masked face exposed. He stared her down for a while, leaving her shaking, until she finally spoke. She told him of who she was, where she came from, and why she was running away. He understood. He said no words, made no movements, but she knew he understood her. When he heard enough, he stepped aside and allowed her to enter, and guided her to one of the many rooms for her to stay in for as long as she wanted to, one they spared no expense at all in furbishing in terms of decorations. Every maid and every butler was at her whim, ready and willing to serve whenever she summoned them, and summon them she did.

The days pass by far beneath her notice as she became more and more adjusted in her new home. She grew quite comfortable being served the finest wines, most tender meats, and exquisite of cheeses, even as she started growing out of her clothes. Yes, she did grow fat from it all, but was too content to care. However, there was one last thing she wanted. She wanted to meet the person who was responsible in bringing her in and treating her with such kindness. But they had something else planned before she could do that. They insisted on taking her to the small winery they had behind the manor, and wanted her to sample their latest vintage. She drank it entirely from the goblet they brought before her, without even a single droplet remaining inside of it. It was perhaps the best she had ever tasted and immediately demanded more. She engorged on more, and more, and more till she could no longer stand still. She stumbles around the inside of the little room she had been ushered into. She fell over the table, unaware she had been shoved. She collapses through the doors, unaware she was being dragged away. Finally, she stops moving and decides to rest, unaware she had just drank poison. Hours passed by, and she still hadn't woken up. The clock in the manor rang, signaling it was time for dinner.

A short time later...

Alone and by herself sits a different and far more elegant looking woman in the great dining hall. The light of the fireplace reflects against her mask, definitely more ornate and decorated than those of the butlers in her employ. From behind her seat enters a chef, carrying a platter of assorted cheeses, fruits, and vegetables; all arranged neatly around a rather abnormally large slice of steak with small cups of sauces next to it. The chef always knew to bring food to her this way. If he had brought her any less, she would become very upset. After setting it down in front of her, he backs away; eagerly awaiting her judgement on his craft. After careful examination of how the dish was presented, she picks up some cutlery and cuts off a piece of the steak and dips it in a small saucecup. Through her mask she eats it, and chews it as slowly as possible to take in all the flavor. It's absolutely delicious, and she even goes in for a second bite.

"My, Remi..." she says, very pleased with the chef's cooking. "Once again, you've surprised me!"

The chef wipes the sweat off his brow in relief. "Only the best for you, Madame."

"Tell me, how long did this one take?" she asks as she goes for another bite.

"It took a little over a week, Madame. Though, if you do not mind me asking, did the extra feeding time give it more flavor than the last one?"

"Oh it did! It absolutely did!" she responds, nearly done with half the platter already. The rest of it goes down just as quick as it was brought out. "Giving it extra time for all the things you fed to settle in was a very, very good idea! And I do hope you still have your ingredients in order as I would absolutely love trying this again later." Lifting her mask just slightly, she wipes her mouth with a napkin, taking an unusually long time to do so. "Ahh... you've done excellently tonight, my dear Remi!..." From the other end of the hall, she sees a butler enter with a stack of papers in hand and an ink-pen in the other. "Oh, right. You may go now. I'll have one of the others clean this platter." With her free hand she waves him off, and he departs after bowing to her. The other butler starts coming closer.

"It's the church, Madame. Your generous 'donations'. You know, the usual business with them." he says.

"Right." She takes the stack of letters and begins skimming through them. "Let's see how much they want now..."

 

[KRIY]

Braumwich, Kingdom of Atraca, Two years later...

The sun has come down the capital city of Braumwich, with that. The some of the merchants have started closing up their shops, counting their income and go home for today, "Sophie! Can you please lock up all the doors dear?" A frail, old woman around her 60's ordered a young, fresh-faced assistant, "On it Missus Cabber!" within a few short minutes, the two have closed up their part of the shop, Missus Cabber present Sophie with a pouch of gold coins and hands it to her, "Here's your pay for working all day dear, 200 coins. all accounted for.." The young assistant's eye gleam with joy as she opens the pouch and looked at her earnings, "Thank you Missus Gabber... Hey? What's wrong?" Sophie became curious why Mrs. Cabber's concerned look, "Dear, Those men have been staring at you like a piece of meat ever since they got here earlier. and from what I'm seeing, they're up to no good.. If I were you, You should go home fast." The old woman patted the assistant's back, signing her to get going.

Sophie started walking slowly, going to her usual route and staying calm and composed as she makes her way to the inn where she stays in, her heart raced when she looks back to only see three men slowly trailing her. and when she foccus back to where she was going, came to a fearful realization.

Her usual route was blocked by construction, They were trying to trap her in.

She runs to the nearest alleyway, hoping to lose them in the maze-like path of the alley. She felt her heart drop when she heard one of them men shout, "Go get her!" She manages to escape them for a while, she placed her back against the wall, before sliding in dispair. she catches her breath and asses where she is, she seems to have stumbled into an open area with only two openings, with a tall tower overlooking where she was. A few minutes pass by without hearing any sounds of the men that were finding her, with a sigh of relief...

Only to be stopped when something grabbed a hold of her hand and she was slammed hard against the stone wall behind her.

Her vision becomes a blur as both of her hands were now being held
from each side. like a crucifix.. she blinked a few times before her vision clears up. in front of her was a hooded figure, "Ahhh... I've seen that the meal has already cleared up her mind." The hooded man pulls back his cloak to reveal the deep red eyes and his fangs, Vampires, "Please! Just take my gold coins instead!" Sophie pleaded eith tears in her eyes, but her words fell on deaf ears, The hooded man slaps her hard in the right cheek. "Shut your mouth, you stupid wench!" he tilted her head out of the way and exposed her neck. "Tonight gentleman, we shall feast!"

As soon as the hooded man said his part, his fangs lunges towards Sophie's exposed neck. only to be stopped by the metallic left-hand gauntlet of a man that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"What the..?" Was the only words the hooded man said before he was hit by the new arrival's right hand to the jaw, sending him crashing to a bunch of crates nearby.....

 

[joshuadim]

Somewhere in Escaria
1880

For most the walk through the mountains near the Escarian-Schwyzian border would have been grueling of a task, even to the most experienced of mountaineers and climbers. The trail was uneven, the rocks loose, and the winds were hellish throughout the year. Sometimes, it got so cold that even the best of winter clothing and equipment could not protect one from the cruelty of the elements up here, let alone from the hazards of being up here in the first place. Yet, this was of little consequence to Venextos as he made his way up with a joyous hum of an old Escarian folk song.

While the wind blew terribly powerful on these peaks, near Venextos it was only but a calm breeze as if something around him were preventing it from hitting him. He had been walking for a few hours, and had now approached his destination: a rock inscribed with a circle of runes. The locals at the bottom of the mountain pertain it to an ancient people's ward to protect them on the climbs through the mountain pass, but to Venextos this was so much more. He took his hand and pointed it to three runes in particular: "Izh. Ard. Uz." he muttered to the three respective sigils as he touched them. And almost immediately, the boulder became transparent as if it had phased through to another reality.

From there, Venextos made his way inside without a care in the world as the boulder re-materialized behind him, shutting the entrance behind him. It was a small pathway carved into the mountain itself, and at the end of it there was a familiar light. He was home. As he approached, the familiar vistas of the Escarian Sanctum. From first glance, it almost seemed as if the place wasn't even in a mountain in the first place but rather a very fancy estate complete with marbled floors and cherry wood ceilings with beautiful hand carved engravings on the top. In place of a fancy chandelier as one might expect in the foyer however was a series of slowly rotating rings around a core of magical energy, with streams of orange light streaking across the ceilings of the entire place and into various light sources to power them.

Walking about through its various halls and rooms were members of the Sanctum itself, from all over Adonia and even a few from Redonia. All shared a common interest in learning magic, as they studied and practiced with their peers here as well as in other sanctums throughout the world. As Venextos walked in he was approached by a familiar face, who gave a respectful bow to him. "Grand Magus, we welcome you back home." he spoke with a soft tone and a thick Stiusilian accent.

"It is good to be back indeed Master Antonio. There is much work to be done, and too little time to waste-" Venextos began to speak before being interrupted by Antonio.

"I must interject... I bring dire news. Friedrich has returned and he... he..." Antonio said before choking up. He looked as if he was about to cry and turned his face away in shame.

Venextos' cheery demeanor quickly turned into one of grave concern and then into dread. "Where is he?" he asked.

"The healing room..."

That was all Venextos needed as he quickly rushed furhter into the Sanctum. His mind raced as he practically dashed past his pupils and peers, all of whom looked surprised at this sudden flurry of events. And once he entered the healing room, his heart sank as he set his eyes upon one of his most promising pupils. The boy was burned nearly to a crisp almost entirely and his skin was charred and cracked which revealed wrinkled, pink flesh underneath. He was barely breathing, kept only alive by the few tending to him at the moment with streams of magic keeping him from passing on.

"Grand Magus!" one of the healers cried out. "He arrived only a few hours ago, carried like this by Hayley and Jonah. He's in serious condition, I'm not sure we ca-"

"You can't. No magic can heal this... I know." Venextos said softly as he approached the bed. He dearly wanted to hold the boy's hand so that he knew that he wasn't alone in all this... to at least try to comfort him, for he must surely be terrified and in excruciating pain. But he knew that even touching the boy risked further damage at this point, so he could do nothing but watch. Antonio followed in a few moments later, taking a look at Friedrich with a look of shock and pain. He then looked to the Grand Magus to speak once more. "Another thing... the Council requires your presence..."

Venextos stayed silent at first, entirely transfixed on Friedrich so much so that Antonio thought that he didn't hear him. "Grand Magus? The Cou-"

"I. Heard. What. You. Said." the sorcerer replied in an unusually hostile tone. "Tell them I will be there soon."

-------------
A Few Days Later

A few figures sat around a table made of petrified wood, most of whom were clad in the same black as most members of the Court were. They were discussing things among themselves, whether it be events from the outside world or small talk from their respective sanctums as they were all heads of. The only not one seated was the only member clad in pure white in stark contrast to the rest of the members. He was faced towards a window, peering out to what seemed to be nothingness. He only turned when Venextos finally arrived, to which the latter bowed to. "Arsenal Magus. I apologize for the delay, I-"

"I know what you were dealing with. A cost of your own meddling." the elf snapped at the sorcerer. The rest of the Council grew silent and faced Venextos in silence. "You have broken several rules upon which he hold ourselves upon. Were you anything less than a Grand Magus, and not a master of a Sanctum, we would have cast you out already. Be thankful you have friends on this Council, for we would not be hearing your side of the story for these transgressions." The elf then sat down at the head of the table and motioned for Venextos to sit at the opposite end.

"This Council is now in session, all rules of de quorum are now in effect." the Arsenal Magus spoke before turning to the man seated next to him, a scribe of sorts. "Do your job." he said in an uncaring matter. The scribe quickly nodded and began writing for the record. "Today we are gathered for the hearing of Grand Magus Venextos Virico ai Gedilli for several counts of transgressions against the Arcane Concordat. What say you in your defense?"

Venextos took a seat and smiled. "Guilty. But not of breaking rules, but for doing what is necessary."

The elven magus narrowed his eyed at the sorcerer before speaking. "Explain yourself." he snarled.

"As I said, I am doing what is necessary. The world itself is growing ever closer in peril the longer we stay and wait with inaction and bureaucratic dysfunction. How are we supposed to sit idly by-"

"But we are not *idle* as you so believe. We are monitoring the situation closely."

"Monitoring? Pfah!" Venextos spat out much to the shock of a few of the Council members. "What good is monitoring when Taranoch wields the weapons of gods!?"

"We have rules for a REASON, you impudent little shit-" the elf snarled back before a gavel was struck onto the table by the scribe. He recomposed himself quickly before speaking once more. "We have rules for a REASON, Venextos. Rules are made to be followed so that we do not mess with the natural order, and YOU have messed with FATE you fool. Your talks with the Lich King, the ascended demon Tariun, and even that lowly mangy werewolf down south, it all meddles with fate. The one absolute we do not touch under ANY circumstance."

"And if fate was allowed to pass, you'd permit this world to be plunged into chaos? Like before when you sat on your ass and did nothing?" Venextos shot back. The Arsenal Magus stayed silent for a moment, clearly taken aback by this question.

"Even if we had intervened, what good would it have done in place of exposing our society to Taranoch? I made the decision to protect everyone, including YOU, when the Age of Darkness came to fruition."

"Then perhaps its time to stop hiding in the shadows and do good for once." Venextos replied with a scowl before standing up. "Judge me as you will. I do not regret anything I have done so far... and I will go to even further lengths to protect our world. Cast me out if you must follow the *rules*, but remember that rules are made to be broken once in a while." And with that, he walked out and began the trek back to his Sanctum. He had to prepare.

The Arsenal Magus then looked to the rest of the Council assembled, before speaking. "Then the vote shall be held. All those in favor of Instituting the Articles of Removal on the accused?" he asked. After a few moments, the vote was written down by the scribe.

 

[Damian0358]

Meanwhile, in Northern Atraca;

If a farmer in the vicinity of New Dewsbury were to look up to the sky, they would rub their eyes, for they would've thought they had seen what looked like a man flying across the sky, over the forests in the distance, towards the city. But whilst they would believe themselves to be wrong, and go back to what they were doing, in truth, what they saw was indeed someone flying.

Making his way towards the city, the man's brown robe fluttered in the wind, his hand kept atop the hat on his head, flattening the already slightly flattened zhuāngzi jīn if only a little, as he thought the string holding it to his head would break. Even his black skullcap, which covers even his upper forehead, fluttered a little. As he approached New Dewsbury, he slowed himself and began to descent.

Landing on the ground, he reached for his legs, removing two talisman-like cards wrapped around his ankles, before straightening them and placing them in a small box he held in his robe. Placing the box back into a pocket within, and pulling out his black cloak to wear over his robe in case of rain, the man stretched and began walking into the city.

It had been quite some time since he had last been to New Dewsbury. The first time he was to this city, he found himself in a difficult position with a local, one which was thankfully resolved by one man - Nathaniel Weston. So grateful was he that Weston had gotten involved, that afterwards he had told him that, if Weston was ever needed some help, he could always call on him. And Weston would ultimately, some years later, ask him for help, for trouble was brewing elsewhere within Atraca, one involving werebeasts. He heeded the call, and jumped into action.

The experience battling werebeasts would be his first proper interaction with the Divine Church, the worshipers of the Five Immortals, or the Divine Five as they called them in Adonia. For they were also known as the Eastern Immortals, he trusted that the names they called them here were more accurate than what they called them in Redonia. Though, unlike how they portrayed them, being in a similar style to the Eight Enlightened, here the Five Immortals were deemed holy beings. Nevertheless, he would interact a few more times with the local church in a limited capacity, doing good deeds as he had done for the past century or so he has spent in Adonia so far.

As he hadn't returned to New Dewsbury since speaking to Weston that last time, and he seldom asked the church questions, he had not a clue what was occurring elsewhere, only hearing glimpses of something happening on Grimtham Isle. He just continued on with his business, as his traveling across Adonia allowed him to see just how things were changing. And not in a way that felt as though he flowed alongside the Dou.

Some days, he would awake to find the day almost in repeat, while on one occasion, the tree he had slept in had turned into a sapling overnight. Structures and people long gone reappeared, beings considered minor myths manifested (having encountered the one-horned 'hag' Baba Roga in a Daristeinian forest), and the list could continue on. And so, things continued over those years. However, he had felt it had been a while since he had last paid Weston a visit. He wished to know how he was doing.

New Dewsbury itself was a nice enough city, certainly larger than the village he hailed from, though nothing to compare with the capital of Northern Redonia. Charming, it was. Taking his usual route, he soon arrived at the home of Nathaniel Weston. He approached the door, and knocked on the door.

 

[K0mori]

October, 1880

There was a terrible storm rolling over Braumwich in the dead of night, shaking the windows with thunder in a rhythmic fashion between the constant low roar of wind and pitter-patter of heavy raindrops on the rooftop. Dorothy sat awake in bed, uncomfortably cold in the autumn chill and in general pain from her crippled state. Parts of her body were numb and incessantly tingling, while others were in a perpetual state of ache or agitation, and there was no comfortable position beneath the sheets to alleviate it, even with all the medicines doctors prescribed and the quack remedies peddlers on the street kept tricking her father into buying. She lived in her own person hell, a darkness which she could only escape in her dreams. Dreams which, tonight, would not come.

She was worried about her father. Harold Cooper had gone out at just before midnight, having had a terrible premonition in his sleep which he refused to explain. His stumbling about in the darkened home had been the cause of her wakefulness, and as soon as the man had gathered a lantern and umbrella, he was off to run some sort of errand, or possibly to ease his mind in some way by seeing a familiar sight. Whatever the reason, he had left Dorothy alone in a home she could barely navigate, which meant that certain rules applied. First and foremost, she was never to undo the chain lock on the door. If there was a visitor, she could open the door if she so chooses, but only a few inches. She had no reason to leave the house when she was incapable of finding her way without help, and there was no friendly company that couldn't wait for Harold's return.

In the main room of the house, the family's heirloom clock, their most prized possession, struck twelve and toned out mournfully with its tubular bell. At that same moment, as if summoned by the witching hour, there was an ominous knock at the front door. Despite the harrying weather outside, the knock was a patient one, and so Dorothy was captivated by it. Had it been Harold, trying to re-enter the home after accidentally losing his key, it would have been much more urgent, but someone so calm clearly wasn't bothered by the thunder and lightning. Dorothy lifted herself up, steadied with the help of a cane, and limped her way through the house by bracing herself against any familiar surface: the frames of doors, table tops, and chair backs, until she came to the front door. Here, the ticking of the heirloom clock was added to the chorus of storm noise which oppressed her from all sides.

With a turn of the deadbolt she opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow and, standing in such a way that the visitor could not see her, rasped painfully, "Who is it? It's very late and we aren't expecting company."

"Dorothy Cooper," a smooth voice replied, "that voice is not befitting of a lady so charming. I can assure you I come as a friend." There was an uncomfortable pause as Dorothy tried to identify the owner of the voice, a man who apparent knew her already. Sensing this trepidation, the mysterious visitor continued speaking. "Ah, you assume we've met before, don't you? That's not the case. I've met your ex-husband, and he's a real bastard, that man. It's a shame you were married for so long."

"Who are you?" Dorothy snapped, having grown impatient with the visitor's easygoing demeanor. He was standing in the rain, surely this couldn't be enjoyable for him.

There was a sly chuckle on the other side of the door. "You paid for his sins, my dear. It isn't fair at all that you should be left so damaged by his errors in judgement. But I'm here to rectify the punishments which were dealt to you. I can offer you an end to your suffering, if you let me in. A taste, if you will..." There was the sound of a finger snapping, and with a nauseating blast of light which seemed to come from within Dorothy's own brain, all at once a cacophony of color and patterns settled in.

Her blindness, her eternal darkness, had been cured. It was impossible; Dorothy hadn't just gone blind, she had lost her eyes entirely, with the sockets sewn closed by desperate doctors three years prior. She blinked, and then felt with her numb and tingling fingers to discover the orbs restored, exactly as they were, eyelids and lashes as well. She let out a shocked and confused sound of miraculous joy, shoving the door closed in a panic before reopening it. "My gods, my gods!" She exclaimed. "Oh my, please tell me I'm not dreaming!" she cried, undoing the chain which held the door and opening it completely to greet the... woman, standing on the front step of her father's house.

"Well now," Sazak said as the voice shifted to a more appropriate feminine one. She made no effort to conceal the black and gold coloring of her eyes, which looked approvingly up and down her own handiwork on Dorothy's scarred body. Despite having been standing in the rain this entire time, Sazak didn't have a drop of water on her as she waited at the threshold. "I suppose I can come in, then?"

Dorothy nodded, spellbound. "How did you-" she began to ask, but was waved silent by the demon.

"It was nothing, I assure you, for a demon prince. You might find that I'm quite generous to friends and allies, and vengeful to my enemies. Your husband crossed me, and I couldn't forgive his transgression. Unfortunately, I had already bound myself to another agreement which prevented me from retaliating directly, and so, it was you who bore that burden. But your suffering has inflicted all the pain it will ever give that man, and now I'm here to make amends."

Dorothy's elation at her restored sight turned to dread as Sazak sat herself comfortably in her father's chair. "Then the fire...?" she began to ask, and was brought to terrified silence as Sazak simply stared back and smiled, as if nothing truly mattered in the world. "You killed those children."

"May they rest eternally in paradise," Sazak replied, unmoved. "My offer still stands. I've returned your eyes, and you can cast me out now and still keep them, but I have more to offer you. Much more." Sazak's smile turned rather malicious. "Take a look in the mirror, Dorothy. You've never seen yourself since the fire."

Dorothy shook her head. "I- I don't want to!"

Sazak cocked her head a bit. "And why would that be? Now that you have your vision back, it's bound to happen sooner or later... Or maybe you're afraid that if you're compelled by what you see, then you'll take whatever bargain I offer you to never see it again. And that frightens you because you want to hate me, after all that's been done to you." Sazak crossed her arms. "I can appreciate that. But as I said before, I can offer you more than what you lost."

"Why?" Dorothy demanded, feeling more and more like a cornered animal. "Why, all of this, all of a sudden?"

"Because, sweet Dorothy, it will give Francis even more pain to know that I fixed you... that you became a friend of mine while he wanders the world in search of a redemption that will always escape him. All it will take is for him to see you one day, to see your beauty miraculously restored, to destroy him completely, as he'll know exactly how that restoration came about, because you won't just be what you were. You'll be eternally beautiful."

"I don't want to be a vampire," Dorothy rasped, and as soon as the words escaped her lips she felt her heart begin to race. She knew that Sazak would prevail as soon as she had begun to bargain with her.

Sazak chuckled again. "No, not a vampire. I have something else in mind for you."

 

[Infab]

It wasn't long a long wait outside of Weston's house, as soon the man began to hear noises on the other side of the door. The sound of a chain being removed, and a pair of deadbolts being moved. Then, the mahogany door opened to reveal a thin man garbed in the typical black priestly attire of the Church. He had short brown hair, which bore a few streaks of grey here and there, and a well groomed beard. Beyond that, he looked...rough. He was dark under his brown eyes, and his face bore several long scars here and there. Most notably was the scar over his right eye, which carved from over the eyebrow down to the right of the corner of his mouth.

Still, Nathaniel Weston smiled warmly at the man outside his front door. "Takato! Please, come in!" he said, stepping out of the way and allowing Takato into his home. As Takato entered the small house, he noticed the various boxes of paperwork scattered about. The past three years had been hell for the Inquisitors of the Church, with Velin assuming direct control and forcing them to nearly triple their efforts. As Weston was a high inquisitor, he didn't go into the field anymore. Still, he was tasked with overseeing various Senior Inquisitors and their inquiries. Records of operations and kills had to be kept and organized. Meetings had to be conducted with the Senior Inquisitors as well as other church officials. As Weston was also a priest, he had the duty of conducting regular church activities atop his high inquisitorial duties.

Weston motioned for Takato to follow him into the kitchen towards the back of the home, and began to paperwork from the dining table off to the side. It appeared that he had been writing someone down in Southern Atraca, as a half-penned letter sat nearby atop a stack of papers labeled 'Phillomon's Detective & Hunting Agency'. One photograph hung on the wall. A framed picture of Weston with a shorter, red haired girl with piercing blue eyes. Once enough boxes were moved aside, he drew out a chair for Takato. "Please, sit. Would you like some tea?" he offered, looking back as he stepped over into the small kitchen area.

 

[Damian0358]

Upon seeing Weston, Takato Ka could tell that the high inquisitor was far more tired-looking than he was the last time they met. Seeing the various boxes of paperwork confirmed that suspicion, though the reason for the paperwork was beyond him aside from assuming it was related to the church in some fashion. As Weston moved the paperwork from the dining table, he looked at the labeled stack of papers - the name of the agency was one he had seen appear recently, though he had no reason to look into them any further. He certainly had no need for detective or hunting work. He did, however, take a moment to look at the picture. He briefly pondered whether that was Weston's child, despite the difference in hair color, and for a second, he remembered the times before proper photography, before Weston drew out a chair.

"Tea would be much appreciated, sir Weston!" Takato enthusiastically responded, as he nodded in response to the offered chair. He sat down in the chair and watched Weston.

"Hopefully this intrusion of mine isn't too bothersome, sir Weston, for it appears much work is afoot!" Takato spoke up, knowing that the high inquisitor would likely want to know why he was here, "It had been quite some time since the last encounter, and wondersome was I, wishing to know how a friend was doing."

 

[Infab]

"Indeed, it has. I've been dealing with...well, this." said Weston, motioning to the paperwork as he prepared tea for Takato. "...And searching for my daughter." He glanced to the photo on the wall, before turning about and bringing Takato a cup of tea. He then stepped over and drew his own chair out from the table, before sitting. "I'm sure you've heard about the various happenings around the continent...ancient races appearing in the present, along with buildings and other things from long past. Velin, one of the Five Divine, returning and assuming control of the Church here...and becoming my superior. There's a demon prince is on the loose, too. Its...been a crazy three years since the Grimtham incident."

He looked to a letter off to the side, which had been folded and placed under a paperweight. The last letter he had received from Valeria while she was in Grimtham. He then looked back to Takato. "How are you? The last time we spoke, you went off to assist us in dealing with a werebeast problem in eastern Atraca."

 

[Damian0358]

After looking a tad sad hearing that Weston was searching for his daughter, confirming his earlier suspicion, Takato was then surprised to hear about Velin and a demon prince on the loose. He hadn't really hung around the big cities much, and didn't have much of a need to stay in one place for too long, so it appeared that he was floating under a rock this go around. Such thoughts didn't prevent him from looking somber as he noted what letter the high inquisitor looked at.

"Ah, yes, the werebeasts!" Takato tried to crack a smile to lighten the mood, "A most fierce foe they were, but comparable to those back in Redonia they were simple enough. In a mere few days, finished was their ruckus. The church was quite impressed by the work put in, and afterwards there was a tad more cooperation on the local level. After that, however, the forests and roads saw the return of a familiar face in the form of myself. Returned to my travels and explored the land a tad more. These past few years have caused quite a change, as has been noted! Curious characters and blooming buildings, manifest from nowhere!

"Some had even challenged me in combat! Far more impressive were they, compared to those humans that would strike in the night," Takato commented, unaware said humans were vampires, "though oddly they seemed to have disappeared..."

"A-admittedly however, I, ehm, had not paid much attention to recent events aside from that. Cities such as New Dewsbury are good for goods, but the countryside, the forests, beckon for me, so the news of the return of, hm, Velin, and an apparent demon prince on the loose... a surprise, to be sure," Takato tried to get his words out, as he processed what he was told still.

Looking over to the boxes, he continued: "Velin's return must be the cause of this paperwork, no?"

 

[Infab]

Weston nodded. "Since she's the current head of both the Church as well as the Order, I've been getting more and more orders to hand out to my subordinates. Velin has...a different view of supernatural beings than I. Most of these files are centered around the killings of vampires and werebeasts." he responded. "Some of these, like that box there..." he then said, pointing to a box behind Takato, "...Are scouting reports. Creature sightings, supernatural activity, ancient race sightings...I think there's even a few reports of sightings of the demon prince. Sazak."

He then sighed. "Its like this everywhere on the continent, at least in places that are cooperating with the Church. I wish things were like they were before Grimtham. Everything was far calmer." He motioned to the stack of papers from the detective agency. "Redgorge seems to have taken in several of the supernatural beings. I don't understand how they're able to hide them with Redgorge being so close to Eternis, where Velin and the main Church cathedral is."

 

[Damian0358]

Takato nodded as Weston regaled what was going on. Hearing about Velin's different view on the supernatural was worrisome, to say the least, especially considering the nature of Upper Redonia. As he looked over at the boxes, hearing about vampires once more brought him to wonder whether they were really real or not. For all he knew, 'vampires' were something the Adonians made up to intimidate them, especially as they called them 'blood-sucking oni' in Redonia. Nothing he had faced in Adonia so far matched the oni. For now though, he continued to listen.

"Troublesome, it sounds, all of this," Takato replied simply, as he looked at the stack of papers from the agency, "Hopeful they must be, to hide them so close then. But Grimtham... that's the island you spoke of, yes? Even if Velin's return and, ehm, 'Zasak' escaped me, the name Grimtham Island had not. If it isn't much of an issue to ask, how does it relate to all this, given the referring to an incident there?"

 

[Infab]

Weston glanced to the letter with the paperweight on it once more, before looking back to Takato. "Grimtham Isle was the site of an incident about three years ago. My daughter, Valeria...I sent her there to lead an inquiry on the island. They were hunting vampires, as there were reports of sightings as well as murders associated with them." he explained, "It turned out that there was something far bigger going on. The Duke of Grimtham Isle, Joseph Ashwood, had managed to get his hands on a divine relic called the Ring of Adona. It grants the powers of Adona, one of the Five Divine, to the wearer. He was planning to use the ring to alter the social and political order of things so that vampires would be at the top, with humanity beneath them. He enlisted the assistance of several soldiers, a pair of necromancers, a dullahan, a...monsterous knight, as well as a former inquisitor to achieve his goal."

He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before continuing. "...My daughter...made a deal with a demon named Sazak. Sazak, the Abyssal Icon of Vainglory, told her how to kill the Duke and lead her to the tool that could do it...the Sword of Velin, another divine relic. In exchange, she would become his vessel once the Duke was killed. The inquiry fought through the Duke's men, and eventually slew the Duke with the sword. Sazak then took control of Valeria, took both the ring and sword, and disappeared after cursing the rest of the inquiry. When the sword was used, it woke Velin up from her slumber in the divine plane. She came back...and now is in control of the Church. Sazak has abandoned Valeria as a vessel, and has switched back to his previous vessel."

He paused once more, then spoke again. "...We don't know where Valeria is. We don't know where the weapons are, but we assume that Taranoch, the Demon King, has them. We think Sazak is searching for the other three divine artifacts."

 

[Damian0358]

Takato looked awestruck and dumbfounded, and not just because this made it clear that vampires had to be real despite him not finding any (or at least, any that lived up to the myth built on the coasts of Northern Redonia). Three years ago, that's when things started changing too. It all connected, and at the center of it all, was Weston's poor daughter. Such a ring and such a sword, finding themselves first in the hands of an 'abyssal icon' or 'demon prince', and now seemingly in the grasps of Taranoch Daimasumeragi, the Great Demon Emperor, as the oni call him?! What an escalation. Once Weston finished, Takato simply shook his head in awe.

"Never could I have imagined such a thing to occur... all from a single incident..." his voice trailed, reminded of how seriously Shouki Shrine back in Upper Redonia handles the incidents which occur there, especially if oni are involved. In that moment, he could only imagine what impact events here are having back home.

"Truly my sympathies go out to you, sir Weston. Hopefully your daughter is found soon."

 

[Infab]

"Yes...hopefully she's still alive." he said, his voice growing soft. He went quiet for a few moments, before glancing up to Takato once more. "If you'd like to assist...I'm sure the cathedral in Eternis could find something to do for you. They could use your talents, and I could put a good word in so that Velin would be more inclined to use you. The opinions of her high inquisitors still mean something to her, apparently."

 

[Damian0358]

Takato similarly went quiet upon hearing Weston's suggestion. He truly wished to help further in these trying times, even with Velin's views in mind. If Weston's word still meant something, as it did a few years prior when he helped with the werebeasts, then perhaps... he briefly looked down at the ground, contemplating, before looking back up.

"...sir Weston, years ago, after your intervention, swore did I that I am here to help if you ever needed it, personally or in regards to the church. If you believe it to be a good idea, proceed to Eternis I shall, and hope for the best," Takato said 'simply', before continuing to sip from his tea.

 

[SniperComZero]

The elf princess's hands trailed across the stone. There was but a small sliver upon the edge closest to her which remained as she remembered it the day before. The outer edge was decayed, and falling apart. Looking up, she saw vines which choked her once-proud keep's spire sagging under their own weight, sliced with a finesse that even the finest swordsmen could only wish for. Wherever her throne room had reappeared, it was seemingly in the state it was however many years... decades... centuries ago it had been.

Eventually, Gwenaelle emerged from behind her throne's curtain. Both of her guards noticed how her mood had soured. And yet, it was not anger that had taken hold of her, as they had expected, and how it usually did. It was in fact, a look of despair that had spread across the she-elf's face. One looked to the other, and then back. "...My lady?" Silently, she walked past the both of them, stopping at the heavy, barred door. It was some effort, before she finally pulled the bar from its rest, raising a hand up. A command to follow her. "...I am secure in the idea that we are safe. But..." She simply didn't have the nerve to say, before stepping out, and into the hallway.

As the three strode through the castle, what Gwenaelle feared the worst was seeming to be all too disparagingly true. It was all just as how it seemed to be upon gazing out at the castle. Everything which used to be maintained up to the highest standards of quality was found decrepit. The air was stale, and held a distinctly musty odor. Dust hung in the air, and stuck to every surface that it could get upon. The paintings which hadn't burned in those fires long ago were faded, and long since nibbled at by insects. Once-burning torches and candles were rotten, their sconces rusted to a deep, disgusting brown. The swollen wood floors creaked their death throes as they were trod upon, threatening to snap under this new, unexpected weight. Much of the keep was simply inaccessible. Either from the debris of the fires blocking off the doors, or the castle's stones having lost their support many years ago.

One room had piqued their interest, however. In an often forgotten part of the castle. The door cracked slightly ajar, with Gwen having only the vaguest recollection that it was the room of the physician. They stepped inside, hinges croaking to sustain the movement of the heavy wood, before giving way and hanging the door from one hinge, hitting the floor with a dull kthd.

A sudden shout frightened the princess back into the arms of her protectors, as a somewhat gaunt man stepped out from behind one of the standing shelves, shivering as he held an old, rusted blade in his hands. "D-don't come any closer, or- or--..." He suddenly stopped, as he saw just who was knocking at his door. It was a face that Gwenaelle knew, just something else that would haunt her. "Oh-- oh! Mis-mistress Gwenaelle, my apologies!" Nervousness slipped into his voice as he bowed towards them, the trio at the door staring him down. Arnolt, a half-elf that stood no taller than the princess, was the court's apothecary and physician. Though from her recollection, her mother had been banished for convening a child with a human, it was some decades later that her father learned of a rather talented herbalist working out in a remote village. That was not, however, what had fuelled the she-elf's confusion and panic.

The last time she had seen him, he was in the process of being ripped apart by werebeasts, bloodcurdling screams filling the air around him, before heat and smoke did. And yet, here he was, standing-- if a bit worse for wear, with a spring in his step. "...Are you feeling alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Perhaps it was just by virtue of him seeing someone familiar, but he was in rather good spirits, now. Gwenaelle looked up, blinking a few times. "Of-- of course, no, I'm fine." Ever the stubborn one, she stepped inside, looking around. There was some old cloth folded up into a makeshift mattress, and much of the old wooden bowls and boxes that the medicinal herbs were kept in had been thrown into a corner. Some, however, looked cleaner, and had what seemed to be fresh herbs within them. "I... How long have you been here?" She finally questioned.

"Couldn't have been more than... nine moons, I believe. I think I'd... sniffed something a little too hard and passed out-- or perhaps it was just late in the night but--." As if he were the one to be apologetic, Arnolt looked away in embarrassment. "...Whenever I woke up, everything was like this. I'd thought that perhaps the castle had burned, or we'd been raided, but. No one was here. Not for the first few days, anyhow." Gwen's breathing had intensified. "That's--" She once again looked up to her apothecary, shaking her head and putting on a smile. A skill that she had honed into a fine art, owing to her lying, backstabbing lifestyle. "...That's just silly. We had only talked two nights ago, Arnolt. Perhaps we just need to talk more, mm?" She put on her most sickeningly sweet voice, only embarrassing the half-elf more. "Perhaps. I-I mean of course." Seeking to quickly change the subject, Arnolt started to walk to the door. "Anyways, I can show you to Ms. Victorié. She's set herself up in her old tower."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

A year later; September 1880, a warm autumn evening.

​

It had been just over a year since the cursed night which had brought Gwenaelle to this period. She strolled through the streets of the old estate with her court sorceress, Victorié. The two had never seen quite eye to eye, especially when one considers that up until a year ago, that court sorceress was still serving the king, and not his daughter of questionable character. Much as she was loathe to it, however, Victorié was bound by oath to serve the Chamoroux family. Plus, the more she learned of the modern world around her, the more she decided that it would perhaps be better to stay in the company of her own race. Better the devil you know. The sorceress was perhaps the oldest individual that the princess knew. She had served her father for years, and before that, her grandfather. Despite both the natural longevity of a high elf, and rigorous application of magic that kept her in top form, the constables of nature had begun to tighten their shackles on the spellcaster. Wrinkles had begun to crease her face in the years prior, and she began to walk with a bit of a sag in her step, requiring a cane to keep her form.

"So, have there been any other villages that have come back in the past month?" As time becomes more and more convoluted, the princess's castle had soon swelled from a measly five people, into a somewhat respectable demesne in the woods, numbering a couple hundred including the villages that had reappeared. Some had been fortunate enough to have their homes, or at least parts of them, brought along with them, but many more did not have that same luxury. They either made their way to the gates of the barely supported castle, or struck it out into the general Escarian countryside. Some were farmers, others foragers and hunters. They made enough to get by, but not a whole lot more. With comparatively few mouths to feed, the keep was able to withstand its first winter. But the leaves were mottling, browning and falling from their branches, and Gwenaelle feared that they may not be able to sustain even their small community for another. "There have not." The older elf let a dour sigh pass between her lips. "In fact, the past few months-- if you'd have perhaps been paying attention, have seen these... even I don't know what to call them. These reappearances, I suppose, have become much less frequent. I fear that soon they may just stop altogether. But, come. I have something to show you." The sorceress quickly waved off the concerns. They still had time to figure out what to do, and how to address their problems. There were far more exciting matters to tend to for the moment, after all.

Gwenaelle was led to the courtyard which her castle overlooked, the relic blotting out the gentle orange sun, casting a shadow over them. The gardens had, at least to an acceptable degree, been cleaned up. They still couldn't hold a candle to her old pride and joy, but there was a sort of humble charm to them. The fountain had, for the most part, just willed itself back into existence. Save for the arms and the pot it held still laying in pieces at the bottom of a much clearer water. Today, however, the place was practically stuffed with boxes. The same kind that carriages had been carrying up and down the street that they walked. Most were lined up out of the way, against walls and stacked atop each other. Large wooden cubes, filled with all manner of stuffs. There were a few longer boxes, however, that sat by the fountain. They were smaller, but the way they were positioned made them seem a bit more important. "...You brought me here to show me boxes?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than-- what's inside the boxes." Victorié waved her hand to the crates around the garden. "These are mostly essentials. Grains, tools, seeds. I took the liberty of taking some of the gold from the royal coffer in order to procure them." A fact which didn't seem to sit all too well with the younger. "You--" "Discarded some of those frankly gaudy trinkets in order to help us in the long run, yes." ...Gwen always hated how the sorceress would interrupt in order to make herself look better. Victorié kneeled down over one of the boxes in the center, opening it up and digging through. "Either way, knowing you, you'll try and take them back. Forcefully. Something I wouldn't recommend given our position, but... you are the queen, after all." Even after a year, there was still a bad taste left in Victorié's mouth whenever she called Gwenaelle a 'queen'.

It was not long before the sorceress pulled out something which looked so very strange... and yet so familiar to Gwenaelle. She just couldn't place a finger on it. "This, however, is quite the ingenious little invention. Something I'm sure that even you can appreciate those useful idiots for." Gwen rolled a hand, seeming somewhat unimpressed. "And it is?" "Oh, well. It has quite a few names. The ones south of us call it a 'fusil', but I much prefer what they call it in the mountains. 'Vintovka'. Sounds romantic, don't you think?" As Gwenaelle's heels clacked against the cobble, she pressed her hands against her chest, pouting. "Oh, yes, how romantic." She made especially sure to roll her 'r'. "After all, I'm known for being such a bleeding heart." She rolled her eyes, before taking the rifle, inspecting it all over. "...It's like someone took a crossbow and butchered it."

"Ah, but you're not far off. From what I've seen, since humans are too weak-willed to properly attune themselves to the auras of magic, they use the salts of the earth to do it for them. Brutish, to be sure... but effective. See that bird roosting over the gatehouse?" As Gwen turned around, Victorié came from behind, putting her hands into the proper position, and held up the gun so that she could look down the iron sight. "Oh, now I see. So I'm to presume that this... lever acts much the same as it would if it were string and bolt? But, what happens after the fact?" Gwen, ever the unimaginative one. "You've heard stories of their thundering cannons, right? Imagine those, but condensed down into a crossbow-like compact package." Whilst everything was being explained to her, Gwen brought forth her power of 'œil d'aigle'. The eagle eye. Allowing its user to focus in on a target much farther away than a natural eye would be able to. Gwenaelle never fancied herself much of a magician, it was one of a few spells that she'd learned during her life. Whether or not she'd be able to hit it, would be a different story. "Now then, just aim and fire at the bird, like you would were you using a bow."

It seemed so easy, just prepare for a loud snap whenever she's pulled the trigger.

Instead, it was more akin to the sound of an avalanche and glass crashing all around her, right in the she-elf's ear. Such a racket, that it elicits a shrill screech, and causes her to drop the rifle to the ground, it scared her so badly. As for Victorié, she simply laughed, patting the 'queen' on the shoulder. "Ah, it reminds me whenever I first showed you a pyromancy when you were young. How childlike your panic was. Ah, much more innocent times. It doesn't seem like you hit the target, however. I'm sure you can improve, though. It'll be just like... riding a horse." ...Something felt wrong to her about talking to Gwen about riding.

 

[Dmaster]

Eternis, Final Days of September 1880

The hulking mass of steel slowly came to a stop as brakes screeched and the rails of the tracks cried out in protest. At this time of year there was not a terrible amount of travel, especially to Atraca of all places. Whether you fully supported the Church or not, being so close to it and the Order of Velin's center of operations was enough to put both the faithful and heretical on edge. It had been so long since Velin's all-but-hostile takeover of the Church, public opinion was quickly changing to incredibly divisive attitudes. Between the chaos of the time anomalies and old races making a resurgence, transitions were far from smooth. Within the now-stopped train was a man in dark leather clothing, an extremely wide brimmed hat upon his head reminiscent of an inquisitor's. With a bastard sword hanging about his waist and the peculiar flames contained in sharp cages about his body the man's profession was obvious. Hudson could see through the visor of his beak-like helmet how some passengers leered at him, though he was more or less unfazed as he stepped off of the train. His riding spurs clanged loudly with each deliberate step, the cathedral he had been summoned to looming far above him despite the amount of distance between it and himself. The building wasn't particularly monumental, yet its significance was not possible to ignore even for the civilians that shuffled through the streets.

The journey from Escaria was not terribly exhausting due to the railroad system between it and his destination, yet much was on the hunter's mind as he stepped through the streets. His hand rested against the grip of his blade despite there being no pervasive danger, which did little to disarm the various looks he continued to receive. Hudson only walked in this way to prevent his hands from being idle as he made the final steps to his journey. It was overcast now, a stark contrast to the sun-soaked vistas he had left.

---​

"... Must you really go?"

A dark-haired woman spoke to him, the man clad in the same armor and armaments as he wore now. The courtyard behind him was particularly immaculate, well-tended and scenic against the bright green hills it and the estate were nestled in. At either side of her were two small children, babes only a little over a year old clinging onto their mother for both balance and protection. Twins, a boy and a girl. They could barely recognize the armor-clad man before them, who only returned her question with a slow nod initially.

"I don't have a choice." he replied, gruff in tone as he simply stared on. "Do not give me that." she spat back, shaking her head from side to side as she narrowed her eyes at him. "There is always a choice. You do not need to listen to her any longer. The absolution you seek has been earned many times over as far as I am concerned..!"

The armored man stood silent and still for an uncomfortable amount of time, but he shook his head slowly in the interim. "I don't need a god to tell me if I've made things right or not. I know what kind of person I am. What I deserve." he said, lifting a hand to motion to her and the children before he pivoted slow to bring the gesture to the entirety of their surroundings. "... This. You... I cannot accept any of it. Not yet."

She scoffed, tears starting to well into her eyes before she bit them back. "So you intend to set off now simply because you aren't deserving? This is going into the Abyss - this is suicide and she knows it. Are you going to throw your life away for such an empty cause? ... Leave me here alone?" Her voice trailed off as she started to look at his boots, her hands holding the children close to her body.

"No." he said simply, voice carrying just as little emotion as before. All the thinking and bickering over this since his summon had left him numb, the mission had woken him up from this dream. The harrowing tribulations to reach this point not forgotten but shoved to the back of his mind, both recent and far back in his past. "I'll never be at peace with myself until I do this. I never had to fight for this as I should have. That fight starts now."

His hand extended and reached for her chin, a curled finger leveling it up to his visor once again as he looked through her. "I'll be able to come back now that I have something worth returning to." he said, slowly kneeling down as both of his gloved hands were placed onto the children's heads. They appeared confused, somewhat unsure as they looked to him before looking up to their mother. With a gentle caress of his thumbs he released his grip on them, slowly rising as he performed another quick nod. The woman was speechless, choked up but fully aware that he could not be convinced to stay.

A few slow steps backwards pulled him away from the trio, and he turned on his heel before setting off for the horse he would take to the city. He raised his hand to give a slow wave behind him, not wishing to look upon them any longer for fear of breaking down.

---
​

Hudson pushed upon the heavy doors to the cathedral, stepping into the grand entryway as he made his way inside.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Six days after Fin de l'été...

It was the dawn of a new day in Southern Atraca. The sound of galloping and marching men could be heard in the distance. Inquisitors, as well as zealots from the Order of Velin, were moving down the road towards Redgorge. Lead by High Inquisitor Vargas. Over the three years since the incident in Grimtham, members of both orders were sent to hunt down all forms of the supernatural. But despite the fact that Atraca had always cooperated with the Church, King Newmont, his dukes, and even his governors down south have been more reluctant in the past few months. It had been particularly frustrating with Redgorge specifically. Ever since their first visit from the Inquisitors, they had been bringing more and more proof that they were allowed to do their mission. Having to go through hundreds of bureaucratic processes. Yet every time they arrived, the leader of the police force and even civilians waited for them. Bearing arms and bringing even more excuses not to allow the inquisitors in. But Vargas had enough of it. He wanted to please Lady Velin, and he was going to try his damnedest to do it. And thus brought with him loyalists to the goddess as well as a small group of Church forces. Redgorge was going to let him in, no matter what.

But as Vargas and his men approached, things were a bit different this time. Constables, agents, and civilians were standing in the main road. Hundreds of them with weapons, all looking on at the coming inquisitors with distaste. At the head of them were three men: the chief of the local constabulary, one of the members of the Atracan Hunter's Guild, and Jakob. The chief of the constables shouted at the Inquisitors as they approached. "I hope you fellas have a good reason to come back here, after the ruckus you tried to cause last time." There were grunts and anger among the zealots, some carrying banners with Velin's emblem on them. High Inquisitor Vargas just smiled. "This time, I'm afraid we're going to get in and conduct our mission. But fear not...we brought the documentation that you so desperately requested." Jakob and the chief exchanged looks, before Jakob got off his horse and walked over to where the Inquisitor was. He handed Jakob the papers a moment later.

"Tsk tsk tsk...I'm afraid you forgot a seal, m'lord. You have almost all the seals of approval, but you're missing Governor McArthur's! I'm afraid we can't let you in." Jakob then handed the paper back with a smile. The Inquisitor gave the man a look of contempt, then smiled back. "Like I said, sir....This time, we're getting in. No matter what. We tried to do this through legal means, and we have done everything you have asked of us. No more. It is the will of our goddess, and we will execute that will, no matter what." he responded, as he watched Jakob walk away back to his horse. He glanced back to Vargas, then spoke. "It don' work like that 'round here...Us folks from the 'Autonomous Cities of the South' answer to the Governor, who answers to the King...its the treaty. Its the law. And ya'll better understand that." Jakob got back on his horse. "Us people from the south like our laws, sir...So why don't you take your fancy armors, swords, and guns back to Eternis where you belong."

A zealot shouted behind Vargas, at the top of his lungs. "You must be hiding monsters if you're not letting us in!" Vargas glanced back, as his men were starting to ready their rifles and other weapons. "There's no need for unnecessary bloodshed. We're here to carry the work of Velin. There is nothing wrong with that, people." The chief spat on the ground, before pumping his shotgun. "Difference is...y'all aren't welcome here. Turn back or else." Another zealot in the crowd screamed, this time in a mix of shock and anger. "Y-You would shoot your fellow man?! This is blasphemy! We're carrying the word of our gods, and you are interfering!"

And then the people of Redgorge aimed their weapons at the inquisitorial crowd. Vargas seemed unimpressed by the display. "What are you people doing? You want to face the wrath of Velin with this nonsense?" Jakob smiled as the chief spoke again. "We don't answer to Velin. Look, I don't like vampires all that much...but the last thing I want is you crazy bastards burning people alive just because they looked at you wrong. Turn around. Last warning." Vargas sighed. To see all these people willingly trying to enrage his goddess Velin. He didn't say anything else. He simply looked back to the zealots behind him, and shook his head. The group of inquisitors looked at one another, confused, before slowly marching back. As they walked away, Jakob let out a sigh of relief. As did the chief and hunter. "Next time, they'll bring more..." said the hunter, looking to Jakob. "Next time? I don't know about next time... For all we know, Velin will come here thunder cracking. But I doubt it...even that bitch of a goddess wouldn't go against an entire group of people... And if she does? That'd mean Atraca would turn its back on her."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Nocturne Islands
Late 1880
An Incident at Sea

Captain Cornelius Holt nervously pulled on his jacket, adjusted the collar, and marched down the dimly lit and narrow corridor to the bridge while still buttoning his uniform. It was several hours before sunrise and deep into the dead of night, yet the moon seemed nearly as bright as the sun to Captain Holt. It lingered off the portside, low in the sky, casting a wide tendril of white across the placid dark waters of the Great North Sea. During operational hours the bridge was normally kept dark, save for the instrument panel lights, though the only way to conceal themselves into shadow once more would be to lower the sun shades.

As expected, the shoulder patches of his crew at this time of night were all simple white orbs - not unlike the moon that watched them outside. It was a quick identifier of who was and was not a vampire, with all other day-serving crewmen sporting yellow circles on their shoulders. There were still some difficulties in smoothing out the work on ships manned by creatures who couldn't let the sunlight touch their flesh, which resulted in some doubled positions and an abundance of vampires below decks on the guns and engines and humans, generally seen as less prestigious, operating in the traditionally important roles. However, at night, all was as it should properly be.

"A corvette-sized ship, sir. No identifiable armaments, but they refuse to answer our signals and from what we can tell, they fly no flag, either." The lieutenant held over a gigantic pair of binoculars and indicated a direction slightly off the bow. "We've lost sight contact with Eastwatch. Its unclear if they noticed the ship at all. To stern, we have tentative contact with Captain Medici's Condottiero. They are slower than us and unlikely to be able to engage."

Not that they would be able to anyways, Holt figured. The Condottiero and her crew were dependable, which was ironic given that they mutinied from Stiusil, but they lacked forward guns. They weren't a chase ship.

The vessel they were following was making good speed on the open water. One glance at the compass indicated that they were making for a direct line for Grimtham, though that was still a week of sailing away. Fishing vessels were common enough around here, especially ones that belonged to Nocturne. They fly the proper indicators and didn't go too far. The few foreign ships they found were often ran off before they got within sight of the coastlines of Nocturne, though they suspected a few had likely seen more lights on land than expected. Whaling stations have been here for years, but even a large one didn't look any brighter than a small village. And they had proper towns here now. Hopefully few made any connections.

"When the spotted us, they started overfeeding the boiler. Hell of a plume they are putting out. They'll out pace us at this rate." Indeed, there was a monochrome dark smudge barely visible against the already dark sky. "Orders, sir?"

As the first officially commissioned captain manning the similarly fist commissioned ship of the Nocturne Free Navy, all of these little incidents chewed at him. The entire navy was only six ships strong, and three of them were independent "privateers." Admiral Hardwick and his two associate captains were, and are, pirates. It was a blessing that they had labored so hard to ferry souls to Nocturne and join in their defense, but there was no pretending they were anything other than miscreants. It was an embarrassment, Holt felt, that Hardwick was allowed to get away with commerce raiding of ships that belonged to any nationality and not just Atraca, who they were essentially at war with. The wealth he brought in, however... it was difficult to deny the acceptance of money and prize ships during these days. On top of that, Hardwick's ship the Sea Lion was the most powerful warship at their disposal.

He mulled the matter over unhappily. It wasn't simply pride on the line, it was the very safety of their new fledgling nation. He didn't want to be seen as a black flag interdictor, yet a ship that flew no flag - against maritime law - and refused all signals could hardly be legally supported. The chance that they were from the old Church was the worst case possible, though at the same time, they were all alone in the middle of the sea against the Pride of Undite. Whoever they were, they wouldn't be given a chance to get home.

"Contact turret one. They are clear to engage the sighted vessel. Fire until target elimination."

The quiet night was soon interrupted by the heavy thump-thump of the front turret. It mounted two separate guns, both twelve-and-a-half 38-ton rifled cannons. The second turret on the rear of the ship boasted the same armament, while the fair but mediocre broadsides were a mix of heavy smoothbores and rifled 7-inchers. The first two shots indicated how much the gunnery crew needed to adjust, and soon the shells started landing much closer to the small profile ship. It wasn't even a fight, as there was no return fire, yet Holt kept his eyes glued to the smaller ship gradually growing more distant. The engagement couldn't have been going for a few terribly long minutes before a starburst momentarily lit the night horizon as the ship was hit and promptly exploded into a brilliant fireball. A rear hit to the boilers. The ship would go under in seconds.

"Maintain course. How many shells was that, eighteen?" Holt asked, and the spotters and gun crew returned an affirmative. It was about as good of an expenditure as they would get. They could produce small arms ammunition in Nocturne, but not the shells needed for the big guns. Twenty, even ten, years ago round shot would have been sufficient. It still was against civilian ships. But if they came across a warship, the turrets would be their only fighting chance. The crews had to adapt to becoming crack shots out of necessity.

The Pride of Undite sailed over the oil-black debris filled water slowly, spotlights shown over the cold northern water. Sailors examined the wreckage for survivors, and fished only a single body from the water by hook. The dead sailor was in a simple yellow slicker, with a broken neck. There was no indication this was a military man or religious zealot, though contracts could not be out of the question. They remained for an hour longer in the vicinity of the sinking of the apparent fishing trawler before departing back to Nocturne. This should have been work for the other two privateer ships under Hardwick's wing - the Blackheart and the Revolutionary. The last ship of the navy was the Golden Claw, and she was a simple torpedo boat still being retrofitted in harbor. She would be excellent at these little chases, yet as the second official ship of the Nocturne Free Navy, it would also be reduced to these little incidents at sea.

As distasteful as the work was, Holt would sink as many fishing ships as needed to protect Nocturne. The dead would receive full honors for their burial at sea, but home come first. Even over the honor of the navy. Velin was forcing their hand in this, and she was to blame for the destruction of the sanctity of naval honor. Hopefully, in a few more years, the business would all be concluded and Nocturne could boast a navy to truly be proud of one. One that could rival any nation of the continent in prestige and power. A proper vampire navy.