Fantasy Hunter's Moon [IC] [CLOSED]

[Infab]

"Save your tears. Indeed, you attempted to use your activities with the Witlock Inquiry to advance your station. You made a deal with Joseph Ashwood to become a pureblood through supernatural means, then turned around and betrayed the man whom granted you the gift. Then you made a deal with the Icon of Vainglory, whom promised you the kingdom you always wanted." responded Velin. "And the members of the Inquiry didn't exactly seem like friends of yours, Mariette. You even tried to twist the minds of the scholar Theodore, as well as Camille and the vampiric priest Aleister, using your dark magic. The only ones you seemed to remotely get along with were Witlock herself, and...the dullahan, Rosanna McFadden." Velin spoke with anger on her breath. "You should know that the group accomplished their mission. The Duke is dead." she said, "But Sazak still won. He now has complete control of Valeria Witlock, as well as both the ring as well as my sword."

She leaned forward, eyeing Mariette. "You could have stayed in Sazak's service and got your kingdom."

 

[K0mori]

"Indeed. I was not good to them, while they were good to me," she said, almost serenely, "and so they were my friends, but what I was to them is less easily defined. You omitted Jakob Phillomon, the good constable, and Aleister Germain's cries for my salvation are my final memory of life. I was troublesome, but I certainly don't believe they all wished Ill of me.

"And Camille... Had I not been reduced back to an ordinary vampire, it would have been her blade granting me a merciful end to the nightmarish road I walked. She showed uncommon compassion, and agreed to carry out my final wishes," then a fiercely confident gaze cut through her foggy eyes. "She was my friend," Mariette insisted.

"It saddens me to know that they failed to stop Sazak. I regret having not stood my ground a while longer, and making my defiance of that unholy pact into an open betrayal. For once, my faithlessness would have served me well. Now Valeria is... She belongs to the demon, now. But alas, the whole world is behind me now, there is nothing I can do."

To Velin's final words, Mariette replied starkly: "If I desired that kingdom more than my soul desired salvation, more than it cried out for the providence of the Inquisitors, then I would be Queen of the Vampires. There still remains a human fragment which begs for your recognition, madame."

 

[Infab]

"The lycan constable and the vampiric priest matter not to me." responded Velin. "Camille is weak. She claims she wishes to defend her homeland, but does not see it through completely. She kills only the vampire whom has placed itself in the public eye through horrific acts. She has it in her to be a true hunter, but fails to bring that hunter forth." Velin sat back on her stone throne. "...And she fails to understand the concept of following orders. Now the mortal realm is in a situation that could have been avoided." Velin went quiet for a few moments afterwards, her hand balling into a tight fist. "She's worthless." she said, rather spitefully.

She returned her attention to Mariette. "Undite has claimed there's still humanity within all of you, and that you should be shown compassion. I do not share her views. Its been proven to me, several times over, that you do not deserve compassion. I shall place you in the Abyss."

 

[K0mori]

Mariette blinked, having listened to the supposed Goddess of Judgement casually dismiss evidence and the value of Mariette's few friends, before issuing a blanket condemnation of all vampires. She waited a moment before speaking, wondering if Velin would follow up her verdict with some irrefutable fact, but there was nothing but prejudice behind her reasoning. She wanted to scream at the Goddess, but her short stay in Purgatory had already crystalized her thoughts and emotions.

Instead, she spoke calmly, her eyes sharp and critical. "Before you do, Lady Velin, may I ask you a single question? Why did you not stop Sazak yourself?"

 

[Infab]

"...Why did you not stop Sazak yourself?"

Velin went silent, the electricity beginning to crackle from her armor once more. Darting across the stone surface of the throne she sat upon. The pair of angels that flanked her on her sides cut a look to her, before looking to Mariette. Their eyes said it all. They were scared. Soon, one of them spoke. "...My lady was unable to stop the Icon of Vainglory, as she was in a deep slumber." they said. Then the other spoke as well. "...She had been sleeping to conserve her power since the Age of Darkness in the mortal realm. The sword's use to slay Joseph Ashwood is what woke her, as she is tied directly to the blade itself."

 

[K0mori]

"Sleeping..." Mariette replied, blankly with a nod of her head. "That sounds fitting. Well, while you slept, Camille Giguere rode across the continent to answer the call. She stood by the Inquisition as it faced greater and more terrible danger than has been seen in centuries, tolerating incompetent leadership, the harrying of a malignant vampire witch, and the demands of a distant, unreasonable god," she listed, her voice rising in timber, "and crossed swords with creatures who slaughtered entire cities in their wake. So, you have an interesting definition of 'useless.' But maybe not quite as interesting as your idea of weakness. A strong heart forgives others. A strong heart overcomes prejudice. It took far more strength for me to kill myself than it would have to carry out that infernal bargain. Sit and sulk, as you are now. Throwing me and every vampire you cross into the jaws of Hell won't buy back the time you've lost in your slumber, madame. But strangest of all is your idea of justice," she added with a bitter laugh. "Perhaps I'm mistaken- as of now I'm not sure there is such a thing, because if there was, you wouldn't be the Goddess of it.

"So send me to my soul's eternal rest. I'm not afraid to face Sazak again, if it comes to that. You may join me some day if you ever find your strength." She took a deep, theatrical bow, knowing that there was no possible consequence to her words more dire than the one already assigned to her.

 

[Infab]

The two angels nervously looked to Velin, as the sparks of electricity began to ripple violently across the throne she was sitting on. "...I wish you had lived." she replied. "That way...I could killed you just like I did Cassandra on that rooftop." Velin then snapped her fingers, and a black portal appeared next to Mariette. "Go, before I put you through it in pieces."

 

[K0mori]

Mariette was briefly troubled by the thought that Cassandra lived on a while longer after the final time the two had faced each other, but the feeling passed as she realized that she might soon encounter her in Hell, which, of all things, was a silver lining. At least she would be accompanied in her suffering by one of the most deserving of all people she had known. Velin's brutality was utterly childish, and it didn't scare her in the least. Mariette threw out her arms on either side and smiled at Velin instead. "You have nothing left to say. Is this your solace?" she taunted, and then turned and stepped through the portal, laughing bitterly once again. Whatever terrible fate awaited her on the other side, she would cherish this moment forever.

 

[Infab]

Velin watched as Mariette taunted her, before turning about and stepping through the portal as she laughed. She didn't speak a word, but snapped her fingers a second time once Mariette was gone. "...Who's next?" said Velin, without looking to either of the angels. They twitched, and one spoke up. "Ser Edmond of Sherida." they said. "The knight, whom became an abomination at the hands of Sazak. Who went on to serve Joseph Ashwood...Fine, bring him forth." she said, waving her hand. "Yes, your grace." said the other angel.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

It was peaceful. A beautiful, and yet somewhat unnerving sight. The limbo of souls, awaiting judgement from the gods. Edmond sat there, in complete peace as he gently rubbed his fingers through the fallen leaves on the ground. He felt liberated, like a massive weight had been taken off his back, but he knew that feeling was not going to last. He knew Velin's judgement would be swift and cruel. The mere hope of seeing his beloved husband was naught else than a dream. He knew his sentence, and he was going to take it with dignity. Then the angels came. Edmond said nothing, as he simply got up and followed them. It was time, and soon enough he found himself face to face with the Goddess of Judgement.

 

[Infab]

Velin gazed upon the nosferatu as he approached and stood before her. She seemed disgusted almost immediately, as she viewed his tall malformed body. "Ser Edmond of Sherida." she said, eventually looking back to his eyes. "You are here because you died fighting Camille Giguere in mortal combat. You served as an honorable knight over the years prior to your capture by the Icon of Vainglory, Sazak. You protected the innocent, you slew the monsters that would plague the land, and you upheld your oath to the gods that came before me. Even after Sazak corrupted your body." she stated. She recognized his service prior to his affliction.

Then she leaned forwards in her seat. "Yet hundreds of years after your capture and corruption at the hands of Sazak, you became almost an entirely different person. Joseph Ashwood took you in, and soon you were slaughtering the very innocents that you chose to protect previously. You claimed that you still were an honorable knight, but an honorable knight does not turn countless innocents into ghouls. Did you think sparing the children and hoarding them into a church would grant you any forgiveness from me?" She continued after a moment. "You did nothing to stop people like Gabriel Wallace, his subordinate, Cassandra Bainbridge, Rayne and Tarja Devonshire, Tristyn Protheroe, or even Joseph Ashwood himself. Instead, you continued to fight for the man up until the very end when you and he were backed into a corner. Did you not at all consider the pureblood insane previously?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Edmond simply smiled at the Goddess. "Save your opinion...on my actions, Lady Velin...for I care naught for your judgmental words...I know the man I am. I know...my mistakes. The greatest one...was losing my purpose in life. Joseph wasn't always a monster...he was one of the greatest people to have ever walked the mortal realm." He then pointed at the Goddess, his smile growing larger. His eyes judging her. "...It was you who made him the man he is. You are nothing more than a brutal thug, that is but a sinister caricature when compared to the previous Gods of Judgement." He then lowered his hand. "You are nothing, Lady Velin. The Red Knight... Jonar the Hammer, Lady Eothes... They'd laugh in your face, or become horrified by your actions...Now, lets get this show over with...I am guilty. I have killed...innocents, and my soul will suffer for the rest of eternity for it...and I'll do it with dignity! For I am Ser Edmond of Sheridia! If Sazak did not break me, neither will your petty judgement."

 

[Infab]

Velin's grip on the stone arms of the throne grew so tight that the stone cracked and shattered from the pressure. Visible lightning bolts shot from her armor to the seat, as she stood up. The pair of angels at her flanks looked on in terror, as Velin marched towards Edmond. "I have had ENOUGH." she spat. She held out her hand, as if she was grabbing something, and jerked it downwards. Suddenly, Edmond's legs violently caved beneath him and he collapsed down to his knees. "YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A MANNER, YOU WORTHLESS DOG. I AM YOUR GODDESS!" She moved to him quickly, and her hand wrapped around his throat. "I REFUSE TO BE SPOKEN TO IN SUCH A WAY. I HAVE ALLOWED IT ONCE ALREADY, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW IT AGAIN."

She then began to squeeze tightly. "I care not for the previous gods before me. I care not for the Red Knight, Jonar the Hammer, or Lady Eothes either. You WILL show me respect, abomination. Sazak did not break you, but I most certainly will. A demon prince PALES in comparison to me."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"Y-YOU...ARE...NOTHING, VELIN..." Edmond raised both his arms. "I lived...through countless centuries...before you! I fought evils...greater than you!" Edmond began to laugh. "You...could kill me a thousand...times, and you still wouldn't break...me!" Edmond's eyes gazed into Velin's helmet. "I...lost my humanity! I lost...my beloved husband! I lost my friends! MY DUTY! I LOST EVERYTHING!" He laughed as her grip became tighter. "What both you or sazak might do to me...PALES in comparison to that...Now, be a true goddess once in your life...and judge me for my actual sins."

 

[Infab]

Velin was quiet for a few moments, then oddly she chuckled. "There's a place that I can send you, abomination, that would break you. And I wouldn't even have to kill you." she said, with malice in her voice. She leaned in a bit. "...Where do you think the sword sent Ashwood?"

She finally slung Edmond down onto the ground, before straightening up. "I'm not evil. Those that lurk in the Abyss are. Those that prey on humanity in the mortal realm are." she said, stepping back. "For the sins you have committed in life, I place you in the Abyss." she said. She then snapped her fingers, and a black portal next to Edmond.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Edmond coughed a few times, before getting up and looking at Velin. "Oh...you are evil, Velin...Your brother and sister Gods don't even want to look you in the face...That's how evil you are." He turned to the portal. "...And those evils? Heh...I've dealt with worse ones." And with that, Edmond stepped into the portal. It'd take a lot more for Sazak to try and break him this time around.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Three months later...

"It hurts so much..." Jakob was sitting next to his wife, his watering eyes looking upon her as she lay on the bed. Cecil had been diagnosed with an unknown type of cancer, similar to the one Abraham had suffered many years ago. But this one was incurable. The best doctors in Redgorge and nearby towns had come to treat her, with no sign of betterment. "It hurts...Jake. It..." Jakob looked as his wife. Her veins were now darkened, her skin far paler than before. Her beautiful hazel eyes were reddened by hours of unstoppable crying. All Jakob could do was hold her hand and gently kiss her, treating her the best he could. Giving her the morale she so desperately needed.

"I can't...take it...anymore." Cecil's eyes locked onto Jakob's. Her pleading only made Jakob weaker. It was hard for him to even breathe or speak. "Be strong, my love. You can beat this...the doctor said there's a chance...I..." Jakob looked away for a moment. "Lucy needs you...I need you, Cecil." A knock on the door interrupted them. Standing there in the doorway was Jessica, his little sister, whom had recently taken a break from her responsibilities as a hunter. "Jake...go wash your face. I'll take care of Cecil. You need rest." Jakob looked to his sister. He was a husk of his former self, the man whom was once constantly smiling was now perpetually trying and failing not to cry. Who needed to be reminded that he needed to eat and sleep. "I...I can...stay." he said, to which Jessica shook her head. "No, you can't...Look at yourself, Jake. You're a mess...Go, you need the rest." Jessica walked over and gently placed an arm on her brother's shoulder, and Jakob simply nodded. He gave his wife a kiss, before getting up and gently walking out of the room.

He slowly closed the door, looking into the dining room where little Lucy was. Ever since Cecil showed symptoms of the disease similar to those of Abraham, the little cheerful girl was just silent. Submerged into her fantastical drawings of angels and knights. Jakob didn't know what to tell her. Nobody did. As much as he wanted to...no, begged for. He knew Cecil wasn't going to survive, and that made the lycan weak. Desperate. He quickly walked out of the house, trying his best not to show his weak state to his daughter. He closed the front door quickly, and began to cry while sitting down on his porch steps. His tears fell onto the reddish sand of Redgorge. Why was his family being punished like this? After doing so much, after trying his damnedest to be a better man. A better father. A better friend. A better gods damned human being. Why were these things happening to him? Were his crimes during the war that despicable? Was this an action of Velin herself? Condemning him for his cowardice, and his current form?



"Mr. Phillomon?" Jakob quickly raised his head, and cleared his face as he noticed a man wearing the uniform of the Atracan royal postal service. Jakob quickly stood and moved to the man. "Y-Yeah?" he asked meekly, as the courier checked his bags. "Here, sir. An important letter from Escaria." Jakob took the letter, while looking to the man a bit confused. As far as he was aware, he knew nobody in Escaria, with the exception of some of his companions from the Inquiry on Grimtham Isle. And sadly, due to the delicate state of Cecil, he had not contacted any of them. He looked at the seal on the letter, and he recognized the coat of arms imprinted. The courier then walked away back to his horse. Jakob opened the letter and began to read it carefully, sitting on his porch.

To the Good Constable Jakob Phillomon.

I, Juste, steward of Lady Lisette Travere of the La Cygne estate and executor of the will of the most excellent Countess Mariette Desrosiers, regretfully inform you of the passing of Madame Desrosiers in October of last year. I would have written sooner, but it appears the dear Countess's desire to have her remains transferred back to her homeland were not honored, and, in desperation, I personally traveled to Grimtham Isle to confirm the terrible news. It appears the cause was suicide, brought about by disillusionment of immortal life. While Lady Travere wishes to avoid any formal service honoring Mariette at La Cygne, she has permitted me to invite those named in the late Countess's will to the township in order to collect their share of Mariette's considerable wealth, and may also pay their respects individually at the grounds of her residence. I therefore inform you that you are guaranteed one fifth of her fortune, should you choose to come. I am also able to transfer this wealth across borders on your behalf, but please be aware that a considerable portion will be lost to customs and insurance purposes. While we have never met, Mr. Phillomon, I knew Mariette Desrosiers for a very long time, and I consider any friend of hers to be my own as well, and, considering the large sum she has left for you and your family, I must assume that you were very dear to her.

Jakob's tears fell to the ground. A rush of emotions came pouring through his head as he gently closed the letter, placing it carefully next to him. Mariette, whom had been nothing but a truly gentle being with him had seemingly killed herself. And now? She had left a bit of her fortune to him. But he just let out a heavy breath. He would have prefered to have his friend alive. She promised she'd visit him...and now she was gone. Jakob knew Mariette wasn't stable. She wasn't herself after fighting the Devonshire twins. She had lost herself, and he wished he had been there to be a better friend. He looked back at the letter, then up to the blue sky above him. He didn't know where Mariette was now. In a better place? In the Abyss? All he mustered up was... "I hope you are at peace, Mariette." He grabbed the letter, slipping into his pocket. He had to visit La Cygne , and give her a proper final goodbye.

 

[Infab]

A year and a half later...

"Lady Velin, we have thoroughly investigated the various churches across Adonia, and singled out all those that we have found to be of inhuman nature. We have pushed through their excommunications, and are proceeding on with the investigations at other levels within the Church. The investigations into the deaconship as well as the administrative staff have begun." stated the man, dressed in inquisitorial garb. His outfit was of a higher ranking, bathed in more red than black to signify his status. He wore no hat, but a pair of reading glasses did sit upon his head as he gazed upon Velin. The office they stood in was once his, but when Velin arrived a month after the Grimtham incident, she had declared that he was 'unfit for his role' due to the rise in supernatural activity as well as the incident itself. Saying that it 'could have been prevented' long before it had occurred.

Velin stood in front of his former desk, reading over the documents that had been brought in by a rather casually dressed angel. Cassiel. He was polite, and friendly at least. Far moreso than the Goddess herself. "Good, Sir Armstrong. It seems you're actually proving your worth, now." she remarked, without looking to him. Marshall Armstrong wanted to say something, but held back as Cassiel looked to him and shook his head slowly. Not a good idea.

Velin turned after a few moments, finally looking to Marshall as he stood there. "...And what of the vampiric priest that started this mess?" she asked, "Aleister Germain?" Marshall shook his head, a few of his grey locks drooping down in front of his eyes. "We're still searching for him, my lady. He disappeared after you declared him excommunicated." In the months following Grimtham, the public caught wind of a vampire priest walking among them. The outcry over a creature of the night posing as a member of the cloth forced the church to try and cover the matter up. Once Velin arrived, however, things took a different turn. She promptly ordered that Aleister be stripped of his status as a priest and removed from the Church's service. Then, she ordered a continent wide investigation into the priests of the church, to expose and remove any other non-human members of the cloth.

During the investigations, there was an uproar in Tsavania when it was discovered that a member of House Kholda was secretly a banshee. Members of royalty began to accuse one another of being of an inhuman nature. Some were even accused of lying with werewolves and vampires. During the interhouse spats, the banshee was ousted from her house. It is currently unknown where she is, but some say she may have fled to Nivarden.

And another thing that was bearing down on the Church was how to explain the sudden appearances of buildings and races that hadn't existed in several centuries. The appearances began six months after the Grimtham incident, when portions of a Age of Darkness-era castle began to appear on a man's farm in northern Atraca. Then, elven buildings and materials began to appear in both northern Atraca as well as northeastern Escaria. The stranger parts of the reappearances were that sometimes there were people inside of these buildings. The elven races of the west and east began to reappear. Sometimes singularly, other times in clusters. The Dwarves and Orcs began to reappear, as well. The Order and Church had a hard time trying to explain these happenings to the public without causing widespread panic over the loss of the Ring of Adona, and the various kingdoms of the continent attempted to keep things under control. The Orcs were rounded up and kept in one general area, due to their tendency to warmonger, while the Dwarves and Elves were kept under watch until it was proven that they would not cause trouble. It seemed that these ancient races were just as dumbfounded by their sudden reappearances as well. Not to mention a bit confused and terrified of their new surroundings in the modern era.

Velin turned back to the paperwork on the desk. "Time is falling apart, and we can't do a damned thing about it until we find and kill that bastard Sazak." she muttered. Cassiel quietly corrected her. "My lady...time is malfunctioning. If time were falling apart...things would be erased, not suddenly reappearing." Velin cut the angel a look, before sighing. "...Right."

 

[K0mori]

November, 1877

There was a small crowd of people gathered outside the equally small town jail of Westerly, a building with only four cells, three of which were currently unoccupied. The entirety of the police force, which is to say a half-dozen constables and their chief inspector, were posted at the entrance to prevent the crowd from becoming a mob, as the sole detainee within was about to be released. The trial had been a sensational one, as news of the schoolhouse arson of Westerly had spread far faster than the investigation could proceed, and in the eyes of the public, Francis Adams was guilty of killing his own students. However, when the case was brought before a judge, there were several indisputable facts which led to the dismissal of criminal charges. First, Francis was confirmed to have left town long before the crime took place, and second, local residents clearly recalled a lightning strike nearby the Adams home just before the fire began to spread down the hillside. An expert from the mainland was called upon and, after seeing the crime scene for himself, declared that there was no way that the schoolteacher could have created and stored enough fuel to execute an arson on the scale suspected of him.

Despite these facts, Francis could hear the ugly shouts of condemnation and assigned guilt. Many of the people outside were parents of the children whose lives were lost. He stood as his name was called, and approached the bars where the jailer was awaiting him with his key ring, and the Constables closed in at the same moment. They silently did their work, unlocking the door and undoing his wrist irons, acting professionally, but nothing more. They guided him toward the exit, where, upon reaching the daylight outside, he kept his head down and focused on the ground beneath his feet, refusing to respond to the insults hurled in his direction. He had only one thing on his mind: Dorothy. She had survived her burns and had already returned to their home to collect her belongings, with the help of her father, who had traveled all the way from Braumwich shortly after the incident. She was in the process of divorcing Francis.

There was no restraining order, however, and Francis intended to beg her forgiveness, even if he was not responsible, even if she would no longer be with him. An awaiting carriage took him in, and it was pelted with a few stray rocks as it was pulled away from the town square. Out the window, the charred remains of the schoolhouse stood like burnt matchsticks, utterly blackened against the pale blue sky. A few minutes later, the carriage arrived at his property. Francis dismounted and retrieved the small trunk containing his belongings from the moment of his arrest, and he shuffled up to the front door. Before he could even reach for the handle, it swung open, and he was greeted with his father-in-law, a powerfully-built man with a bristling white mustache that was wider than his head. Mr. Cooper grabbed Francis by the front of his shirt and threw him off the porch, planting the younger man on his back before stepping up to him, a large plank of wood gripped tightly in his other hand.

"You're a pile of fucking goat shit, Frank," Mr. Cooper told him before swinging the plank at Francis, hitting him in the face. "First I hear about the fire, and then I come to find you've been throwing fists at my daughter, the same daughter you knew as a little girl! When did it start, Frank!?" He hit Francis again, who was now looking back at the constable who had driven the carriage. The officer was calmly staring directly forward, ignoring the action taking place on the lawn. A moment later, he flicked the reigns and the wagon rolled away.

"Dammit, Harold, I didn't start the fire; you know the judge threw out the case-"

Mr. Cooper hit Francis again, as hard as he could muster, badly bruising him and eliciting a loud cry of pain. "And I say the judge is a nutter! You know, sometimes I lay awake at night and think about the disservice your mother's doctor did to humanity by not bashing your damned skull in when you were born!"

"Fuck you, old man!" Francis yelled, exploding from the ground and tackling Harold, and the two men rolled around on the lawn for a while punching and kicking each other. After a while, both were tired and battered, and crawled away from each other. Francis wiped the blood off his face and, between heaving gasps for breath, briefly explained his predicament. "I was with the Inquisitors... from the church... We set out to stop a vampire plot... there was a... a demon. I angered it... the fire was its revenge..."

Harold groaned at him, picking himself up off the ground. "Who're you trying to fool, son? You're no hunter... All that violence inside and you still can't even take down an old codger like me... And aside from that, you still beat my daughter, so you aren't getting through that door until we're gone, you hear? You keep the house, and I take care of her from now on."

"Dad..." a hoarse voice croaked from the house. Both men looked up to find a figure standing, braced against the door frame. She was completely bald, and every inch of her visible skin was pale, striated, and had the texture of windblown desert sand, like waves across a velvet blanket. Her face was unrecognizable- as if the skin was a layer of rubber stretched inadequately across a skull, with no muscle in between. Her eyes were sewn shut, there was doubtlessly nothing for the surgeons to save. Her ears were nothing but holes. Francis went pale at the sight of her, heartbreak evident from his quivering lips.

Harold looked at Francis, judging every detail of his reaction, and only found pain. "I'm here, Dory. Frank is here, too."

"Did you hurt him?" she rasped.

"Yeah," Harold replied, "I hurt him, baby. Don't worry."

"Good."

Francis picked himself up off the ground, but wanted to fall back down into the grass. His knees were weak and the world was spinning all around him. Dorothy, despite his cruelty, was the center of his world, as she was the only one who had ever loved such a miserable man. He tried again and again to find the words, as all the speeches he imagined while waiting in jail were now utterly null. Nothing could have prepared him for the horror of seeing Dorothy now. "It wasn't me," is all he could manage, his voice almost having fled him completely. "It wasn't me."

"Get the hell away from here," Harold said, and Francis turned and ran, hysterically, into the woods. When he finally emerged, two days later, his now ex-wife was long gone, having gone to the mainland to live with her loving parents. Whereas he had previously occupied himself exclusively with killing vampires, Francis now had one target he wished to kill more than anything else in existence, and by the grace of Velin, he would have his revenge on Sazak or die trying.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

A Year and a Half Later
Somewhere in Atraca

"I never thought we'd need a second ship, least of all a third. Almost two thousand folks in, what, eight or nine months?" Charlene Duvaulle said, glancing over the letter before handing it over to the man in the armchair. She was dressed in a black nun habit that had seen some modification, namely the shortening of the sleeves and skirt, though she retained her coif and veil in precise order. Some had forsaken such headgear all together in protest of the recent pogroms and removals across the continent, yet she, like many, steadily maintained her status as a nun.

"Few of us did," the man murmured, clutching the letter in pristine white gloves. He read it over before nodding, and he sat it aside on a nearby tray. "Nocturne has become more than just a new home for the hopeless, the broken, and the persecuted. It is more than a simple safe haven. It is... salvation."

He hadn't expected the colony to grow so quickly and furiously. It had been planned to be a small, gradual thing. A simple bastion for those who needed protection. He had scoped out the islands based on some charts from Captain Hardwick, and the 'gentlemen smugglers' as his crew of misbegotten adventurers liked to call themselves charged a not unimpressive fee to ferry everyone away. They were little more than a last hurrah for the long dead age of piracy, though they had somehow kept the spirit alive. As things got worse on the continent, however, they wisely dropped their initial fee as they realized they'd also be needing a safe place to live. Not everyone who crewed the Queen's Pride was human, after all. And now two more captains of acquaintance offered their vessels to the cause. Only the Queen's Pride could be considered a warship, though thankfully they didn't need to take the fight to the seas.

"It is a thing of beauty, Archbishop," the woman said with reverence, though she bowed her head when she caught the look from the man. "Sorry, sir. It's a strong title. Hard not to say it from time to time."

The man closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head lean back against the velvet red armchair. There was a thin but distinct sullen grey band shadowing the bottom of his eyes despite the pristine appearance of his attire, though when he opened his eyes again there was not a hint of weariness or exhaustion. His crystal eyes reflected the flames from the fireplace as he glanced to it, his lips curling into a mild frown, revealing his fangs.

"From a movement, to brotherhood, to a full society. I suppose the formalities were inevitable. How simple were the days when we were merely a group offering fellowship and camaraderie, with a dash of theater. Now its all a matter of life and death, not tragedy and comedy. Though Undite knows we've had enough of the former...."

"Don't be so glum, Aleister, we still put on the best plays," the woman smiled, also revealing her fangs. "You know how much we have all been looking forward to tonight. This will be the greatest production by the Night Choir yet. We have planned meticulously for this moment. The players, the ushers, the orchestra...." Madam Duvaulle shivered at the thought, smiling as she held her hands together in mock prayer. "Oh, it will be glorious. May Undite and Gyasis bless us with fortune."

Aleister said nothing at that. While his own faith had wavered in wake of recent events, stretching back to his journey on Grimtham, he couldn't force Undite or even Gyasis fully from his heart. They were too entwined with him, just as they still were with his followers. Their society had become an underground railroad for vampires, werewolves, sympathetic humans, and all others caught up in Velin's wicked purges. Most of them were connected to the church in some way, and following Aleister's own excommunication and countless others, they decided that - since they were already building a new home far away from the continent on a set of lonely northern islands - they may as well make their own church. And so, as small as it was, Velin had created a schism, not that She would have cared in the first place. The Church of Holy Blood had emerged along with the secret society the Night Choir. Aleister had not divulged once that he had met both gods, any of the gods for that matter, and he would sooner die than reveal that Undite was, in fact, a vampire. It was her secret to reveal, not his. Thankfully the new church were already an unorthodox bunch, so focusing on saint worship alongside Undite and Gyasis was hardly a difficult matter to push through. Aside from some modifications to organization and doctrine, the largest difference of their new little church was labeling Velin as an Archdemon. Few could disagree with that at this point.

There was a knock on the door. Madam Duvaulle checked it, and opened it to reveal a young boy in a red military-styled usher uniform. Not unlike a hotel bellhop. "The esteemed guests have taken to their seats and Monsieur Beckett is beginning his introduction. The symphony will begin the first movement shortly."

"Oh! Its time for us to get changed. Thank you, Matthias. Run along and tell Mistress Irene that I can't wait to see how she dances tonight. It will be most delightful!"

"Before you leave, take this letter, Matthias. Run it down to Gregoire, please," Aleister said. The boy took an already sealed envelope and hurried out, leaving Aleister and Charlene to change into their costumes for the night.

------

The opening symphony finally came to a grandiose and exciting end, all guests now gathered in the main hall awaiting the start of the play. It was a a brand new production from the esteemed Rosaline House Playwrights, a comedy entitled Farewell! and put on for the purpose of raising funds for the Church and, most importantly, Velin. Many proud and staunch members of the Church were in the building tonight, along with their families and close associates. After all, everyone of such nature was especially invited, and all donations were lovingly taken to assist the cause in purging the vampires and other filthy creatures from existence. Quite a few had traveled across the country for tonight's play, including a few from across the border. It was to be a jolly night for a great cause.

Once the applause had ended, a masked figure strode out confidently on stage. Pinned to their collar was an imitation white rose. There was silence and then a slight murmuring as the crowd looked the person over. It was certainly rather unorthodox attire for the spokesperson, though tonight was promised to be an extraordinary play.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my esteemed friends, it warms my heart to see all of us gathered here today in the name of our mighty and pure goddess, Velin. After all, tonight's show is conducted solely in Her righteous name," the figure explained in a grandiose manner, their arms outstretched as they looked the crowd over. It was nearly a full house tonight. The floor was full, and the upper balconies had a number of fine looking men and women with their binoculars and fans out. As they were all front facing the stage, the announcer made a slight twisting flourish with his hand, which prompted a number of ushers to discretely position themselves around the audience. The main doors slowly closed, and even at a distance he could see the ushers fasten the locks.

"I do not wish to take up too much of your valuable time, but before we begin, I would like to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight. The play simply couldn't happen without you. Our dear, irreplaceable, actors. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. You are our actors for tonight." The announcer gestured at the symphony to rise, his long sleeves fluttering about at the slightest movement. The musicians offered a round of applause and bow to the audience, who remained in stunned, curious silence. Few noticed the string sections quietly removing the wires from their violin and cello bows. Some sections remained seated as they flipped through their music sheets.

"One last reminder - please save all flowers and bouquets for later. There will be plenty of time for that afterwards. And now, without further ado, I hereby present to you the greatest production this theater has ever seen. Farewell!" The announcer bowed stupendously low, wrapping one arm around their side. When they straightened up, they had removed a rather long concealed blade from within their sleeve. The ushers about the theater drew their own blades as well, and the strings section quietly marched from the pit with their bow strings wrapped around their meticulously clean, white gloved hands.

Those remaining in the orchestra immediately started a cheery waltz when the first throat was slit, and all pandemonium was let loose.

 

[joshuadim]

One Year After

The Far North


Within the empty halls of Kere'nuile, Ethraeil rested in a shard of ice as he collected his strength and renewed himself further. For months now he had been suspended, slowly recovering from his ordeal... as well as awaiting familiar faces to return. On this particular day, on the bridge leading to the fortress itself strode a lone figure. From a distance, it would appear to have been a man but his skin was deathly pale, his form hunched over and crooked, and his own body seemingly almost skeletal in nature and wrapped with a chain down his neck. His bladed fingers were unholy in nature as were the lanterns floating behind his back, peacefully burning away with an unnatural blue color. As he entered the fortress, he spoke out.

"I have heard your call, my lord... it has been so long to hear your voice once again." he spoke out with a raspy, harsh voice into the emptiness of the keep as he moved forward. A few steps later, a response was given.

"Selethar... my most trusted lieutenant. You still held your loyalty through all this time." Ethraeil responded, his voice booming such that Selethar himself felt rattled with its power. The lich quivered slightly at this, finding the power emanating from his liege almost soothing.

"I never stopped believing you would return my lord... hiding in the shadows for these centuries and waiting has been so painful for me." he spoke as he approached the main room. Upon entering, he saw Ethraeil with his own eyes and shivered with joy. "And now that you have returned... I may now serve once more."

"And serve you shall. The others will arrive soon... I can feel their essences coming closer."

And within the hour, they slowly filed in one by one. First to arrive was a construct of flesh and magic, pulsating with blue energies through the cracks of its skin and brimming with power in each step. Baldathar, the Destroyer as he was so colloquially named, was an unstoppable force and one of Ethraeil's more terrifying creations from ages past. And now it would be put to a better cause. Then came a lich by the name of Velkor, Ethraeil's main soul-mage from ages past. His relatively short stature when compared to the others was paired with an unusual green color to the flames that binded his form together, showing the amount of souls gathered within the lich himself. Both bowed to Ethraeil before turning to face one last arrival.

An undead knight with brimming teal eyes and energy strolled into the fortress and into the main hall, its armor clattering all the way as he moved. And when it faced Ethraeil, it placed its fist to its chestplate. "I, MALRIC, ONCE PLEDGED MY SWORD. ONCE AGAIN I DO SO FOR THE LICH KING." he spoke with a rattling voice.

With all his lieutenants present, the ice surrounding Ethraeil cracked open and fell apart to allow him to move once more. He felt... rejuvenated. It was time to make his move now.

"There is only one path for us. Vengeance. To draw blood from those that had enslaved us before and make them pay a hundred times over. Our path lies into the Abyss itself, the heart of darkness. I do not command you to follow me, for this is a treacherous path to travel."

The four lieutenants looked at one another, save for Baldathar, and looked to Ethraeil once more. "We follow where you go, my lord." Selethar spoke. "To the end."

"We head south then, for the door to the Abyss. But I shall make a stop beforehand... to visit an old friend."

---

A Few Weeks Later
Icewrack Glacier

Ethraeil approached a glacial cavern, carved deep into the ice so long ago and big enough to fit massive beasts. And indeed it did fit a massive beast, one that the he knew all too well from ages past. As he went further in, he brought his hand to the walls and let his gauntlet scrape the side of it gently. The glacier was pristine and completely preserved as it had been for centuries now, and as Ethraeil entered the largest portion of the chasm, he saw that it too preserved its former inhabitant. A giant skeleton of a dragon lay resting within the cold and embracing darkness, the only light coming in from being refracted through the thick ice, giving the cavern a blue glow inside.

As he approached the skeleton, he lay a hand on its skull and lowered his gaze downwards. "My old friend... forgive me for what I am about to do. But I need you for the battles to come." he said with an unusual softness as he closed his eyes. At first it was silence, but before long the skeleton began to rumble as blue energy began to pulse between its joints and throughout its form, binding it together once more. And before long, the skull's sockets were filled with a piercing blue light for eyes as the dragon awakened.

It continued to reform and build together before suddenly it spoke up. "...Ethraeil? Is that you? What is... this?" Auriel asked with utter confusion, moving her head around to view her surroundings. "Home... my lair... but something is wrong..."

She then turned her head and saw her body, or mostly lack thereof one, and let out a pitiful wail upon realization of her condition. "Why bring me back to this tormented existence!?"
she cried out pathetically as she began to panic, flailing about from her resting position. The ice began to crack wherever her limbs, tail, or wings collided with such raw power. Ethraeil took the moment to quickly speak.

"I only ask for forgiveness, because I would not have done this if I had any other options left." he spoke with a guilty conscience. "Sazak has acquired the weapons of gods, and Taranoch will use that for whatever plot he has in store. They MUST be stopped... and I want you by my side to help me see it through." It was through these words that Auriel became quiet, listening in closely. She took the time to process the words, as dumbfounded as she was to hear them.

"What can you do then...?" she asked quietly.

"No longer will I allow him to be safe behind his schemes and plots. I will slaughter every demon that gets in my way before I drive my blade through his wicked black heart. I will travel to the darkest corners of the Abyss itself, and I will not rest until this is done."

"And you want... me to join you? Why should I?" she asked with anger rising in her voice.

"Because I offer you vengeance too. To avenge your kin who fell at the hands of those who hunted them down for sport." Ethraeil replied.

Auriel was visibly taken aback by this offer, and she took the time to ponder it before replying. "Only if I can rip Azgon apart with my own claws." she growled at him. "Then I accept."

 

[Dmaster]

A Year and a Half Later
Escaria, Giguere Estate

Camille had been seated in the foyer, just by the entrance of her rather considerable mansion. Tucked away in the rolling green hills of the countryside. It was a rather grey morning, pale light breaching through the large window that her plush seat was situated by. Directly behind her was a fireplace with a claymore hung above the currently dormant chute of brick and mortar. Clothed in just her nightgown for the moment, she stared out onto the courtyard, face blank and motionless.

Just across the planes was a modest landscape of structures both new and decrepit. Practically in pieces regardless of age, it was as if portions of those keeps and castles were pulled from their time and placed right back. Jumbled and random. Elves had appeared in Escaria in greater numbers, and as time wore on they chided governments over their lost lands and estates. It was all terribly foreboding, and the huntress could not help but feel guilt over how things were transpiring. Yet another reminder of her failure not so long ago.

Quiet steps alerted her of another walking through the spacious abode, a man wearing a frilled shirt, slacks, and dress shoes that she did not even bother looking at for the moment. His face was mature, stubble decorating the lower portion while long black hair dropped to his shoulders. Well built and just as stoic as the huntress herself, he approached her while clutching a newspaper.

"Cam." he spoke, voice dripping with an accent that hailed from the Atracan highlands. She turned slowly to face him, taking the newspaper from him as she quietly looked to the headline. A massacre had taken place in some kind of theater in Atraca.

"Rumor has it was it was done by that Germaine chap." the man continued, voice rife with contempt at the word 'chap'.

Her eyes went the slightest bit wider, a quiet gasp escaping from her lips as they opened the slightest bit. The hands clutching the paper twitched. "N-No... Surely he wouldn't have..."

"He would. Church officials invited, housed in Velin's honor. It all adds up." the man interjected rather frankly.

"This is... This is my fault... All those people I... could have -"

"Stop. This isn't your fault. You took pity on a wicked being. You were played a fool. Given what you went through together I wouldn't have killed him either."

"I have to make this right... I can..."

"You're not going anywhere. I'll look into this. I'm sure Velin would like me to intervene regardless." he said with a shake of his head. "And we needn't risk yourself in your condition."

She nodded slowly, hands now on her thighs as she stared at the floor. "I am sorry... How long will you be gone?" Camille asked, looking up to him before choking up. "I-If it happens when you're gone I wouldn't..."

"I'll be back before then. No matter what." he said, kneeling down as he put his hand to her cheek, which she slowly held to her face for comfort. "I promise."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she nodded, the man standing up slowly as he withdrew from her. "I'll head out tomorrow." he said, turning to leave her be for now.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Not long after the Massacre at the Golden Empire Theater, a letter arrived to Jakob Phillomon, addressed directly to him in flowery script. Below his name was the sender: Aleister.

Jakob,

It has been many months since we've last spoken, and I do hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I wish I could be sending it from such a position myself; alas, I am not. As you are no doubt aware, Velin has returned to us. She appeared after we had slain you know who. Cassandra, miraculously, had returned in the final moments and was torn to shreds in mere moments. By that point, Sazak had taken the sword and the ring and had disappeared. Like that demon, Velin is no less a monster of inhuman proportions. You may have heard of my ousting from the church. You no doubt are aware of the slaughter of vampires across the continent. This is genocide, Jakob. They are killing our people. And they will come for you next. I urge you, with the full spirit of my heart, travel to Port St. George. Ask for Captain Hardwick and show him this letter. They will take you somewhere safe. Overseas. There is a new home there for the refugees that are turning up from this sickening conflict Velin has unleashed upon us, and you are already no doubt aware of the the strange happenings occurring about the world. The appearance of long gone structures and races thought dead. This continent will burn to ash and everyone with it. Get out while you can, and take your family. I have already lost mine and I have a new cause to fight for. Don't let Velin or her followers find you.

I wish I could say more, but I am running late to a play. Please take care. I know that you will do what is right.

Sincerely, Aleister

 

[EdwardDewey98]

There it was, the memorial of a once kind yet fragile soul. Jakob stood there next to Mariette's trusted servant Juste. He stared at the memorial with utter impotency. He felt an incredible pain in his chest, as he read Mariette's name several times. In a way, he felt responsible for her fate. What if he had forced himself to go with the Inquiry? Would Mariette still be alive? What if he had told her how important she was to countless other vampires. She was missed, not only by him but by all these vampires whom wept for the loss of their beloved countess as they took shelter in La Cygne. Safe from the wrath of mankind. Jakob closed his eyes, tearing up a bit as he looked down.



A year and a half later...

Jakob raised his head, clearing away his tears as he stared at her grave. Cecil Phillomon, a mother and wife, but most importantly the strongest person he had ever met in his life. It had been six months since her death, an event that continued to haunt Jakob and his daughter. He was never the same after it happened, but he continued to move forward. He had to. He placed his cowboy hat back on, but continued to stare at Cecil's grave. Right next to her's was Abraham's.

"Its been a while since I've seen you, Mr. Phillomon." Jakob slowly turned to the side to see an elderly man. The man was the local gravedigger, and one of the few remaining Achenukka people still remaining in Redgorge. He was dressed modestly, but he had several charms and other sorts of decorations in his hair and on his hat. "...yeah, been working a lot." Jakob said, as he gave the old man a smile. "I was starting to get happy for you." said the old man, as he sat down under a tree nearby. Jakob looked at him confused. "...because I thought you had let them go, Mr. Phillomon...your wife and son, they'll never rest easy knowing how much you miss them." Jakob remained quiet as the man spoke. "I guess...it's hard thought. I...I just..." The old man gave Jakob a smile. "Nachuka-okke. Do not worry...they are at peace, Mr. Phillomon. Adona watches over them." "I would like Adona to fuck off a bit." The old man chuckled at Jakob. "...I am afraid that he, just like Ukkota...the first one chosen, is not really able to choose what to do...You might as well accept it, Mr. Phillomon...Let your loved ones rest." Jakob looked at the old man for a moment, then gave him a nod before walking out of the cemetery.

The old man waved, and shouted to Jakob as he walked away. "Remember, Jakob, your wife and son will never rest easy knowing how much pain you have in your heart!" Jakob stepped into the modern streets of Redgorge, hearing the whistle of the factory in the distance and several overworked men walking out of their stations. As he placed a foot on the street, he heard a little bell go off and he quickly moved backwards. A strange vehicle drove past him, with a mark on the side related to the Atracan Royal Postal Service. Jakob was at a loss as he looked at the new brick houses and factories. More of these buildings were being built, replacing the old southern wooden houses that had existed since the dawn of Redgorge.

He could see a gothic church being built over the old chapel, and this among many other things made Jakob feel like he was an old man in a new, chaotic world. Speaking of chaotic, he walked past a dwarven-majority neighborhood, hard workers and miners the lot of them. In fact, they had brought new business to Redgorge, as they had seemingly found gold in the swamps to the east. And they seemed to have a natural talent to find iron and other minerals down in the mines. Redgorge was fast changing, and he should know that by now. He was part of that change.

He stood in front of his new workplace, and looked it over with a mix of pride and slight nostalgia. "PHILLOMON DETECTIVE AND HUNTING AGENCY" the sign read. Jakob couldn't just sit down and do nothing after retiring as a constable. He always wanted to mix his favorite things together. Helping others and the law. And after Mariette's proper burial, he had received a hefty inheritance. While to a woman like her, this fortune was small. To Jakob it was enough to start a new business, try to get the best doctors to Cecil and to put Lucy through the best schooling money could buy. And he still had a lot of money left over, but he refused to spend it brazenly. It didn't feel right to him, to abuse the kindness of his vampiric friend.

He walked inside the office, hanging his coat on a rack just inside the door. He noticed his newest employee was scratching his head confused while trying to understand what a typewriter was. Volog, a young male goblin, had recently decided to try his luck as a constable in Redgorge. He was, of course, denied such a position due to his height and physical aptitude. But he was magically trained, surprisingly. A skill which Jakob thought was incredibly useful. So, he decided to hire the young goblin, despite the fact that he seemed disconnected from modern human inventions. One would think he was one of the types that was brought back from ages long gone, but the truth was that Volog was from Daristein. He was born to a pair of traveling goblin merchants there. He was just...a bit dim.

"You okay there, little guy?" asked Jakob, while looking over the young goblin. Volog looked up at Jakob, slightly nervous. "U-Uhm...hi! Boss sir...I just...haz trouble with typing machine, yez!" Jakob giggled a bit, while looking down at the goblin fiddling with the machine. "...This is supposed to be Jessie's work. Did she force you to do this?" Volog looked down, ashamed. "She did...not forze me, yez. She asked kindly and...I wanted to help but...I know nothing typing machine. I can just uze pen and paper?" "No, no...Relax there, little buddy. Not many jobs yet, so there's no real need to finish all these reports yet...I'll teach you later how to use the machine." Jakob patted the goblin on the head, then headed towards his desk. He sat down, and sighed heavily.

He looked at the picture of his family on his desk for a moment, before gently moving it away as he starts to get painful memories. He was going to write about a recent case involving the constables, whom were unable to solve it. The death of a miner, down in the mines, seemingly at the hands of a vampire. They accused another local miner of vampirism, but Jakob and Jessica were able to prove the man wasn't killed by a vampire. Instead, he had been killed by a Chupacabra, which they quickly disposed of and dragged its remains back to the constabulary. The teeth matched the wound on the victim's neck, and it was known that Chupacabra took shelter in abandoned mines and caves in the area.

But then Jakob looked at the letter he had received a few weeks ago. The first letter he had ever got from one of his old friends in the Inquiry. Aleister. The young vampire he had come to appreciate heavily during their travels was now the victim of the hateful logic produced by Velin. Jakob knew of the violence vampires and other creatures of the night were suffering. Indeed, it was genocide, but he wouldn't leave Redgorge. He was born here, and he would most likely die here...to watch over his daughter and to keep the memory of his family alive. But Aleister's letter did raise many questions for the detective. He was now aware of Valeria's fate...and the probability that Sazak was behind Cecil's death. Just thinking about it made Jakob feel powerless. He then looked inside the drawer next to him. Inside were several finished and unfinished letters addressed to everyone in the Inquiry, as well as a few people he needed to hear from: Theodore, Galina, Camille, Wesley, Rosanna, Father Bartley...and Valeria's adoptive father, Father Weston.

He had to get to the bottom of this. Most importantly, know if he could save Valeria and stop Sazak once and for all.

 

[Dmaster]

Several months later Jakob would receive a letter back, likely far after the rest sent by the inquiry. Regardless of what the message contained or inquired beyond the death of his wife, Camille's letter sent in reply read the following, penned in refined script:

Jakob,

My condolences.​

Camille​