Fantasy Hunter's Moon: The Sin & Sentence [IC] [CLOSED]

[K0mori]

Hearing Venextos' appraisal of her jewelry, Anya gave each item a moment of personal consideration. She took the necklace and wore it again. "So it is very old, then. Good piece for remembering journey." She then admired the gold bracelet once more. "I don't like fire," she said, "and magic is not my job. I will sell, or maybe trade, if one with magic can tempt me," she explained, referring not just to Venextos, but any of the party's casters.

She didn't mention the dagger. Some instinct told her not to ask questions about it.

She soon joined Inari in laughter. War in the western world seemed to rely heavily on trickery, rather than brute force. It almost seemed more like a game...

 

[Damian0358]

Takato, still unaware of what time it was within this plane of reality, swiftly finished his thousand time chant, having chosen to do the Eight Spiritual Mantras this go around, to cleanse one's mind, one's verbal action, one's physical appearance, settle the surrounding earth deities, cleanse 'Heaven and Earth', that is, one's surroundings, gather positive energy and allow it to enter one's body, offer incenses, and speak of miracles and secrets; each being repeated a hundred and twenty-five times. Takato sighed through his nose, before reaching for his bag and grabbing his canteen of water, opening the cap using magic.

As he drunk the water, he reflected on the stories told so far - if there was one thing for sure, Riberta was what Inari should be; one was unenthused, the other was cackling. Meanwhile, it appeared Anya had grabbed jewelry from the fight. Good for her. After drinking, he quickly closed the cap and returned the canteen back into his bag, before stretching while sitting.

 

[Breadman]

A man his size posed a bit of difficulty when it came to setting down for the night. But Henderson thought that it wasn't that much of an issue. He didn't have many personal items on this trip, not that there were many to be had given he was locked up for so long underground. Only thing he carried around were a few personal items on hand and supplies. Food, water and...tobacco? He hadn't noticed it before, but someone had taken the liberty of putting that there. Well if there ever was a time, now would be it.

After eating some of the rationed food he had for himself, he reached in the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a smocking pipe. A bit larger than your average one, but it was adequate for him. He sat down on a crate near the others. The thing creaked under his weight but would hold him. While he smoked, he listened to the stories being told. Ribertta was savage, but restrained while Inari was more focused on chaos and her own idea of fun.

Though it made him think. What stories would he have to tell? Last decade was practically uneventful for him. Locked up and with no interaction besides the odd screams here and there. The visits by order members to study and try to put him down were events, but not something you could just recite to pass the time. Especially in this company. He could maybe think about something different. A period from before he was locked up. A different time. A different life he had, with a different him. One he detested. He grimaced at the though of it as he exhaled the smoke. Those were probably the only worthwhile stories he could share.

 

[Infab]

Riberta forced a smile. "Sounds like you had fun." she said, glancing to the ground. "I could tell you how I became a hybrid...but I'll save that one for later." How do you cut down a werewolf that moves as fast as a vampire? Who doesn't need sleep, can survive on just blood, and can rip an army to shreds alone? That's how it was sold to her. More power for a warlord to lust after. To wield against her enemies in an eternal war. The cost proved to be far more than she was willing to give, however.

She then glanced over towards Takato, looking to his missing arm. "...So how'd you lose your arm, Oni? Battle?" she asked.

---

“I-I just didn’t think I would r-remember that. I just... thought I could put it all behind me when I entered your world... I shouldn’t have come back...”

Vincent sighed. "...We can run from our pasts, but we can never escape them. It's best to deal with the skeletons in your closet...Only then can you move on."

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

"...We can run from our pasts, but we can never escape them. It's best to deal with the skeletons in your closet...Only then can you move on."

Loque shakes her head, not assured by what Vincent is saying. “...Not when they've been waiting years for me to come back, and not with these fucking people. Hudson wants to kill me, and Inari thinks this is all just a fun little game." She takes a long draw from her cigarette, turning away momentarily to blow the smoke elsewhere. "...I find that deeply insulting. This place, Vincent... it's just as much of a hell for us as it is for your people."

 

[Damian0358]

And there it was. Takato briefly glanced at his lack of an arm, before looking at Riberta.

"'Battle' would be accurate, though the reason for it may be saddening for some. A pleasant period it wasn't, when it occurred," Takato commented in a serious but saddened tone, "Though it isn't often that the story is shared."

 

[Breadman]

"What good would it be to keep it locked up then?" Henderson asked "We're in the Abyss with a high possibility of never coming back and you came very close to parting ways not too long ago. It would seem like a waste."

 

[Damian0358]

Takato exhaled from his nose, not having anticipated that response from Henderson, smoking from the side.

"Suppose that is true, though truly it is fortunate that no other struck me down while incapacitated," Takato responded before seeming to mull over what he was going to say next, "Some background context may be appropriate first."

"It was some three hundred years ago; alone was I on Butoo Mountain, where my residence was. In the dark of the night, peace resided, but it was soon apparent that alone I was not. An assassin, for every hundred years of a hermit's existence, the greatest misfortune falls upon them, for even daring to prolong their lives further, and if ready they are not, struck down they would be and sent to the Abyss itself. Ready was I for this misfortune, but the assassin, seeing their failure, decided that my misfortune would not be my death, but my residence. My home for up to five hundred years, where my master took me in, set aflame and burnt down. Lacking the resources, buried were those goods worth protecting, and departed did I."

"For the next century, roamed and wandered did I across the lands of Upper Redonia, from the westward mountains to the eastward border near the Kowareta lands. Adapting my routine from a cloistered environment to one that was always on the move, helping those in need, and battling those yokai believing themselves capable of beating me, as to yokai, the flesh of hermits are a delicacy; though unaware they are that an oni was I, as in turn, yokai believe the flesh of oni to be poisonous, corrosive, toxic, as many a yokai were born from the mischief of the demons. Things were... good, I suppose," a soft smile briefly appeared on Takato's face before shifting to a serious expression.

"However, that all changed some two hundred years ago - a village was being beset by a heinous yokai, demanding ransom or flesh from the humans, and those able to use the mystic barrage art were bested. Passing through I was when the scene unfolded, and challenged the threat. Fierce he was, but nothing that couldn't be bested; but, in his final moments, concentrated did he his aura into one final blast headed my direction. While normally such a blast would be dealt with easily, before I could grab a hold of it, it shrunk, intensifying itself before showering me in intense energy. More intense than the flames from earlier, but not as strong, if that makes sense. That energy soon forced itself within me, and unraveled me - its intensity resulted in the resprouting of my horns, and the diminishing of the incantation used to pale my skin."

After saying that, Takato diminished that very magic to show his actual skin color was much redder, and in turn, his eye and hair color was slightly lighter.

"To the people of that village, it mattered not whether an oni I was this entire time, or if I had been turned into one somehow - what mattered was that there was an oni, and the shock and horror came. Some shrieked in terror, asking for help, others nervously yelled at me to leave them be, knowing what I appeared to be capable of. One even tried to strike me down. Fled from the village, hiding and shaving my horns once more, and returning my complexion to its usual look," Takato said, returning his skin, eye and hair color to how it had previously looked, "but soon, word spread - the story of an oni who appeared to be the disciple of a hermit, mutating into the story of an oni going around as a false hermit, before all remembered my master, and how none had seen him in the last four or so centuries. Though none knew the truth of his passing, all assumed he had died, and thus attached it to the story. The 'False Hermit', the oni who had slayed the Great Hermit of Butoo Mountain, one of the eldest still known to be."

"For the next century, attempts made to return to how things were failed. Descriptions of my appearance soon made their way, and despite my pleas, none listened, for I was an oni, descendant of the demon colonists that were brought during the Age of Darkness. Paranoia slowly seeped through the lands, from the people worrying the 'False Hermit' may visit them, to me, having to live in worry when I wished nothing but to help. Some more sedulous oni even took advantage of the paranoia for their own benefit. Things were manifesting into a crisis, an 'incident'. That was when it happened, one hundred years ago."

"The sun was setting for the Land of the Setting Sun, and, as I had grown accustomed to, paced did I across an old and forgotten path to a new place to rest for the night. But as I paced, in the distance, a man approached, holding two things in his hands. As I usually would, sensing his aura was what I did, to identify them... but their aura was nonexistent. It was as though their aura was one with nature itself, one with the Dou. As they approached, I identified their clothes - holy garb, worn near the center, where the former Imperial capital laid, and where Shouki Shrine stood. Soon enough, their aura manifested, me realizing they were able to hide it more efficiently than I, but as it became clearer, the more I was shocked. More powerful, more intense, more holy than I had ever felt before, or even since," Takato said, looking to everyone in the room.

"Their aura was ever growing, ever pressuring. A wandering thought considered one possibility, but I tried to dismiss it, believing it to be untrue, but soon, I identified what the man was carrying - in his left, an unlit torch, for the night approached, but in his right, a sword of iron, but not just any. That blade was one any oni in the land would know, its history radiating from it. It was the legendary iron blade that had cut down Ibaraki, the Great Demoness, the head servant of Taranoch's retainer within the lands of the former Heavenly Empire. It was the Umagiri. The wandering thought was proven right; the man facing me was none other than the head of Shouki Shrine, the Doushi, the Kannushi, the High Priest, or as the men who take the position like to call themselves, the Geki, the shrine mayhen. As the modesty of that chosen title implied, they wore the attire those very shrine mayhens did, but their strength was grander than any other, especially being descendant of the man who cut down Ibaraki."

"The geki was a... temperamental man. He too cared not for my pleas, but not due to being an oni, he cared not for that. He cared that other oni were taking advantage of this 'incident'. So, I was given two options, either a battle of mixed arts, martial and mystic barrage, or he would cut me down instantly. Sensing an opportunity to prove I was not a threat as the people claimed, the former was chosen. Entirely on the defensive I remained, attempting everything I knew from my master, to prove I was his disciple, to prove I wished none harm. But the geki used all their strength from the start - the battle was fiercer than anything I had faced before, barely grazing his abilities and his attacks, even striking down the 'dark mist' hermit art I was taught. The torch was lit, and the battle went into the night. Hopeful was I that I could tire him into submission, but one misstep caught me off guard, and I slipped, giving the geki the opportunity he needed."

"His blade struck true," Takato paused as he reached for the silver item protecting the end of his right arm. He grabbed it, shifting it in place, as he attempted to get it off. Those who could sense it could feel him use the slightest of magic on his right arm to ease the removal of the silver item. Removed, he showed that between the silver item and the arm was some cushioning, as to avoid contact between the two, because metal rubbing on skin would be irritating for anyone.

"The shock of having my arm cut was... a feeling I hadn't yet felt then. I fell to the ground, in pain, attempting to stabilize myself using my abilities, but finding it too great. To calm myself, to steady myself, I recited the first mantra that came to mind, the mantra my master taught me, the one we would always do. Eye closed, teeth nearly clenched, I could only recite the mantra, as I accepted whatever next was going to come my way. And soon, I felt a burning sensation at my arm... flames. My mantra was interrupted, as the geki held the torch to my arm," Takato said, as he pointed his arm to the others. Though the signs of it were fainted, one could slowly and carefully figure out how his arm was closed - it had been cauterized on a mass scale.

"Nearly passed out from the additional shock, but steadied myself did I, as I looked up at the geki, his eyes mournful. As he approached my cut off arm to do the same, he said but one thing... 'Finish your mantra, heir to Butoo Style.' And so I did," Takato said, as he slowly but surely returned the silver item back where it was at the end of his arm.

"The geki helped me up, and using his aura, shrouded me and took me to Shouki Shrine, where he beset me with questions - what inspired this 'False Hermit' incident, what was I doing by myself rather than on the mountain, what had happened to my master, and so forth. He trusted me now, and could tell no falsehoods from my voice or aura, apologizing for what he had done, having just gotten tired of the oni taking advantage of the paranoia. He recorded my existence in his familial journal, recording me as a friend to the shrine, and we spoke up to the break of dawn. It was then when he offered me his opinion - peacefully I could not live until the 'False Hermit' was forgotten from wider memory, and that could only be done by his death. People knew how I looked, and thus, I could not remain. As such, he offered to help me head eastward, to the Grand Port Towns of the Kairaku League, and head to the lands dominated by those who followed the Five Immortals, or as you say, the Divine Five. He, in turn, would show to the people my cut off arm as proof of the demise of the 'False Hermit', and peace would return."

"The thought was too hard to bare, abandoning the land I cared for so dearly, but the geki reassured me that the Dou would return me to it one day, and that Shouki Shrine would wait until then. I embraced him as my fellow Douean, realizing there was no other choice. Before departing, he recommended to me that I procure a weapon of silver, and something akin to an armlet made of silver to cover the end of my arm, before adding to that the idea of using the 'dark mist' with some bandages to construct an artificial arm. Adding to the 'dark mist' my mystic barrage projectiles," Takato said as he pointed at the miniscule pieces of horn next to him, "departed eastward to the coast did I with my new arm, and I left for Adonia, ready to face whatever was to come my way, especially those vampires with their space splitting stingy eye fluid beams, their ability to turn people to ice with their own blood, sticking their fingers into their victims to take blood, and strength comparable to that of an oni," Takato revealed, showing that Redonian myths on vampires made them appear more dangerous than they are. "And thus, I have been here for the last century or so, doing my best to help where I can."

By the end of the story, Takato's tone had gotten sadder and sadder, so he tried to lighten the mood:

"Have yet to face a vampire that sounded comparable to what was said back home though. Only nightwalkers with a martial art where they struck with their heads. Though apparently nightwalkers are vampires? A vampire sounded like they should be 'blood-sucking oni'. Otherwise I've defeated several vampires so far..." if there was one thing apparent, it was that Takato did appreciate a good fight at least.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Inari listened closely to Takato's story, fairly interested in learning more about the people she was traveling with, including a potential enemy. Never trust the sorcerous fools, and monks were often hypocrites to the highest degree. Many expected betrayal from the lower rungs of society, but Inari knew better. Those who considered themselves above others would do anything to preserve that. Takato seemed a curious sort. She couldn't quite fathom his story of retreating away from humanity when he should have confronted them entirely, be it violently to clear his name even. Hiding was too weak-willed. Then again, she knew how easy it was to play with hysteria and how it could get out of hand. Perhaps he had no proper choice. Still, there was a lot to criticize. Not that she wanted to rile folks up while they were settling in for the night.

"Hmmm... is sad you keep horns cut," she said, placing her hands on her head and extending her fingers to replicate horns. "Better left to grow big and scary. Though maybe yours not so big," she added with a slight giggle.

 

[Damian0358]

Takato pondered for a moment after hearing Inari's response, as though he genuinely tried to remember how large his horns were last time they were fully grown. Soon, he raised his hand to about one more head above his own.

"My horns were about this high, if my memory doesn't fail me, last time they had grown. If they were to grow suddenly, they'd likely be so high," he raised his hand to about a head and a half above his own, "likely would still point towards the heavens, hopefully."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

"Hmph, so maybe not so small horns," she shrugged as Takato estimated how large his would grow out. "I say grow horns. To cut off is silly."

She liked horns, for the most part. They were exciting to look at and could be used to stab people. It wasn't so easy to shapeshift into a form that was increasingly less human, but when she was at the height of her magical power, she had played with some forms with horns - some slender, like obsidian obelisks, and others stout and curved like one would see on a goat or mountain ram. Masquerading as a human was most necessary, unfortunately. She knew some in the clans who remained in their secluded homes and communities, those who didn't remain naturally kitsune, took on curious non-human forms.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Jakob looked at Wesley after the group had disposed of the Priest of the Damned and nodded in agreement. The cathedrals floor was covered in demon blood and viscera. A gory business indeed. After the battle, the group had decided to camp in the city for the night, no protests from Jakob, he could use some time to rest his feet.

As everyone settled down and spent time talking to each other, Jakob spent his time cleaning his shotgun near a quiet Wesley and taking a few shots of a whiskey he originally brought as a poor mans disinfectant. While hearing small bits of everyones conversation, he wondered where Hudson was. Jakob was still worried about him after that repulsive brigand tossed a head at him. He looked around the area to see where he could be, but after a few seconds he stood up and looked around the building.

He found him shortly after, away from the others behind a few crates. "Nice box fort you've got there." He said jokingly, before the man had a chance to tell Jakob to fuck off, Jakob offered Hudson his bottle of whiskey. "Wanna talk, bud?"

 

[Dmaster]

Hudson had been staring off into space, the muffled conversations and stories taking place several paces away from him. Jakob's presence did little to disrupt his sulking ritual, and he did nothing to change his seating position or even look at him at first. His wrists hung down from his knees while he stared off at the wall, wordlessly as he contemplated to himself. As always his weapons were still on his person, and he only seemed to be relaxing through the barest definition of the word, his posture limp and low.

Upon the alcohol being offered to him he extended his hand and surprisingly took it gently. The hunter's previous attitude would have meant that he should have expected a snatch, yet that was not the case currently. Perhaps Hudson was simply all out of fight for the day. "... I'll drink, but don't expect much talking." he said, slowly lifting up his beak-like helmet as it tilted up just enough to reveal his mouth. At a brisk pace he touched the whiskey to his lips and took a swig, sighing after he swallowed it.

"Anything's better than fucking wine."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"I imagine you drink plenty of that stuff around the miss, huh?" said Jakob while sitting on a crate next to Hudson. "I like wine but I'd get tired of it too if I was in your place. Ever had what Mariettes place used to make? That's good stuff... Help yourself to the whiskey by the way." Jakob looked as Hudson continued drinking. "If you don't want to talk about it, it is okay but... what happened back there? The whole head thing with that western bitch, you seemed pretty out of it. I thought it was memories and traumas of the war, but you said it wasn't that at all." Jakob let out a slight chuckle while looking at their surroundings. "Boy, I don't know what front you fought in, but if the trenches wasn't Hell for you then you must have gone through some bad shit."

 

[Dmaster]

The swigs Hudson took from the bottle were rather short and managed, the hunter dolling out the drink like it was a few quick shots. After he had his fill of four doses he clacked the bottle in front of Jakob, pulling his helmet down again slowly as he spoke. "'No finer drink the world over.' she says. Imported stuff has the habit of tasting off for good measure so I suppose my options are limited." he mused.

Once the question of his episode came up, he sat in silence for a few moments, still enough that it may have appeared he had fallen asleep. "See a buddy's throat between some monster's teeth once, seen it a thousand times, right?" Hudson muttered flatly after some time. "I've fought everything from werewolves to demons in my time. Scary, sure but I guess some ways down the line I stopped caring about what might happen to me."

The war was long and terrible, and the only lasting impact that it had on him was the realization that death could come at any moment. To make it out mostly unscathed was often seen as a blessing, and to many it would grant them a new lease on life, new value and enthusiasm to still be breathing. Yet for Hudson, he had seen far too many wasted lives to feel that way. His outlook on life and death had changed forever, now completely numb to it all.

"I don't do well with gunshots going off so close by. Not cause of the war but from... something else." he added, not going into much more detail. "... Why did you join the Atracan army?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Jakob listened closely as Hudson explained his episode. It was clear the man didn't want to speak of the event that led to his strong reaction to gunfire. He then asked why Jakob joined the war, perhaps in an attempt to change the subject. The question didn't exactly surprise Jakob but at the same time, he didn't know how to respond.

"To be honest, back then I guess it was just... good ol' patriotism, you know the stories, when the knights fail they send the southern cavalry to fix things, some of us down south still hold those beliefs, that us 'free people' can save the Kingdom." He looked away for a moment. "...also, things were different back then, failed to become a lawyer, I was a rather... conservative father with my boy, being quite honest." He looked at Hudson with a big smile on his face. "...I was a stupid idiot back then. The war... it was horrible but... it did help in a way, taught me some useful stuff I'll never forget. Things that helped me to become a better man." After a rather awkward silence, Jakob reached down the bottle and took a swig of whiskey before turning his attention back to Hudson. "Why did you join? Or were you conscripted?"

 

[Dmaster]

Hudson nodded his head slowly along with Jakob's explanation, not showing any outward signs of critique. At the very least it seemed noble, and that earned a nod of understanding from the hunter.

"Same as you, in a way." he started with a weak chuckle. "My village was small, resolute. Yet we'd still see patrols of soldiers come in and make a stop now and then. Just about the most exciting thing a bored farmboy like me had ever seen."

"As I grew up I kept thinking about those soldiers when they rolled in. How out there they made names for ourselves and did what no one else wanted to, risking it all for honor and country. Me? I was practically going to live and die on that farm, I think..." the hunter states, somewhat wistfully.

"I wanted to be a hero, not some nobody only known in his tiny village. Go somewhere new, do things I was proud of." Hudson says, yet soon shakes his head. "Out there I found everything but what I was looking for..."

He had started to look off to the side, contemplating how much he should tell before he changed the subject yet again. "Maybe that's why I fell for Cam... She puts herself into everything, wanted to be known as a hero and works hard to make it a reality. Create a legacy, a name people will call when there's no one else to turn to." Hudson scoffs, a small smile beneath his helmet. "Got no choice but to respect someone with the same ambitions, especially when they haven't gotten close to failing as hard as I have."

 

[K0mori]

"I tell a story next," Anya announced, now that she had been hooked by the others who spoke before her. "I was once a nice young lady, with many reason for to be happy. So much for that, ha ha...! So I am young, looking forward to marrying good young man from Sylgy-Ytar, my home village, that I have known forever, when I come down with terrible illness. So terrible was this flu that I am in bed, seeing visions, speaking to my Babushka who has been dead for years, and I do not know anymore what is real and what is not.

"...So night comes, and I am in fever dream. I hear voices in our cabin, and scraping noise. I am convinced: it is death, come for me, scythe scraping against the floorboards. But I am not going quietly. I take up heavy thing... eh, how do you say it? It was a... a pot for bathroom, from under my bed. Not empty at time... mother had been taking care of... well, not important. I stand by my door, hear footsteps get closer. I am ready, and throw open door, jump out and swing hard! Dark shadow is struck in the head and yells, falls back onto ass as I close on him. Another swing and I hit head again, and man cries out, starts to run, covered in filth.

"Turns out, man was home-intruder, was trying to take valuables and food for road. Still had half a chain attached to leg, which used to have iron ball on it, and fake gun he whittled from wood with dull knife. Next morning, neighbors find him dead just outside village." Anya crossed her arms with a humored smile. "Man was mauled by bear. Still smelled like shit, too. When I got better, my father gave me a good knife and taught me how to stab, and the whole village called me the killer bride."

Anya was beaming as she finished her story. Clearly, it was more innocent than the other stories and wasn't meant to impress. It was merely a funny tale from a life which was once normal, and telling it took her mind off of more disturbing tales which followed. Soon, however, her smile faded. "I did not have to defend myself again until the wolves came," she explained. "My husband took good care of us, but there was nothing he could do when they... came for us..." she shook her head.

 

[Breadman]

"Some call them nightstalkers, others bloodsuckers. There is an infinite number of things we call them." He glanced towards Inari before looking back at him "Keep those cut short. If you have long horns anyone with enough reach can grab and pull them." After exhaling another cloud of smoke, Annya started her own tale. Simple, but she had a certain enthusiasm when retelling it. He liked that. But the end of she seemed to be less so. He wondered for a moment what could that be exactly. Given her condition. "Happen to know something about wolves." He said while glancing at Ribertta for a second.
---
Years ago

"What was that?" he asked as he heard the growl

"Quiet." The other man shushed him. "Can you hear that?" It was quiet after that. The air was still and both men stared into the darkness. The lantern's light illuminating up to a point. The growling got louder and louder as they heard it come closer and closer from the dark. The light then illuminated it's snout as it started growling again, with its sharp teeth on full display. The werewolf stood up and howled to signal its pack that dinner was found. "RUN!" The shorter man yelled as he fired off a shot from his revolver while the opening was still there and they both started running back from where they came. Behind them they could hear the rest of the lycantropes running and barking as the were starting to gain ground on them.

"Is this your bloody plan?" He shouted while running "Getting eaten by a pack of wolves?"

"Just keep at it till you see the white tree and turn left." His companion was sure of himself. He wondered how he was able to keep up despite his shorter stature. Adrenaline? He made the mistake of looking back for a second and saw them getting closer. Panic took hold as he tried to run faster. His companion on the other hand...lid a fuse? What is that madman doing? He just chucked a bomb over his shoulder like it was rotten apple. The explosion soon followed as several of the werewolves let out a yelp.

The chase continued through the trees. In the distance though the dark he could see it. Just like he said. A white tree. He turned left. The beasts weren't far behind now. He was now on the path, making the running easier. But that was a small consolation since he as still being hunted. But there was hope. In the distance he could see lights illuminating something. As he got closer he could make out something. Were those soldiers?

"Get down!" A woman could be heard shouting. He didn't know why but he just obliged and fell on his stomach and covered his head. What followed was the sound of gunfire and more yelps as the werewolves were mowed down. It was quiet till he heard her again "Get up...what was your name again?"

"Uhh...Edward my lady." he stammered as he got up and dusted himself off. Was this the plan? To be bait?

"Right. Scholar Edward. That was your name." He felt like she could see right through him. "Come. Inquisitor Boivin is probably waiting if his part of the plan worked." He wasn't sure what was going on anymore. All he knew was that he was meant to meet with the inquisitor to help him with a project and next thing he knew, he was dragged into some insane plan being chased by werewolves. He obliged only out of courtesy to his savior and his morbid curiosity.

They traveled down the path for a few minutes before he could hear it from a distance. Werewolves were still growling and barking. He wanted to run, but the group pressed forward and for some unholy reason he followed. As they got closer, the beasts got louder and so did his desire to turn around, but something keep pushing him to continue. Eventually he saw the other lanterns. Was there another trap similar to the one he was bait for? More men were visible wearing the same uniform as the ones who gunned down the werewolves before. Looks like the same happened here as corpses were strewn around, but hanging from several trees were what appeared to be chains hanging from them. Inside the chains he could see the lycantropes trash around, trying to break free. Who sets a trap to capture a live werewolf?

"Ah, mademoiselle Lynch. The plan worked!" The inquisitor was practically beaming with joy. Edward in turn was staring at him with amazement. "I am happy to say that none of your men were seriously harmed in this undertaking. A few suffered some close calls with the wolves, but after some rest and treatment will be fine." He turned his head towards Edward and back to Lynch "I trust monsieur Henderson here did his part well?"

"Yes, Inquisitor Boivin." She replied with a dry tone "His performance was...adequate. Like you said." She looked towards Edward again same as before and she walked past Boivin "I'll make sure these beasts are secured properly. I'm sure you two have business to discuss before we continue our work."

"Yes, that would be great." Edward said before letting out a tired sigh. He looked at Boiving before saying anything. He wasn't happy "What the bollocks are you doing, Theodore? Aren't I owed an explanation before you drag me into some insanity? Adona's balls man, I could have been killed!"

"I'm sorry." Theodore replied. The sudden apology stunned Edward for a few seconds. He couldn't remember the last time Theodore apologized for anything. What's worse, he sounded like he meant it "It was the only way to get your attention to this project unfortunately. I doubt you would have gone along with it even if I told you about the plan in full or someone else had replaced you. Believe me, there were others who volunteered for this, but none could do what you do."

"You're right I wouldn't." Edward gave a cold reply. "This plan could have gone wrong in so many ways and by some miracle we got off with someone getting hurt but not too bad. And for what, capturing a few fleabag werewolves?"

"Those fleabags are a key to something greater, Edward." Theodore crossed his arms and began to explain "You haven't noticed because you're in your books far more than any of us and have no field experience, but those are an entirely new strain."

"What?"

"Yes. These are more...lets say intelligent. When I set off the bomb earlier that a majority of the pack went after me and only a few followed you. They recognized me as the greater threat so they chased after me. If you don't believe me, I have field reports. Their normal aggression is 'controlled' somehow. They can recognize symbols and have been ambushing locals while avoiding anything resembling military large enough to put up a fight. Some are claiming that they are using tools in their feral forms, but so far I've seen no evidence of that."

"We are to eradicate them, then?"

"That's what the Order would want." he was silent before continuing in a hushed tone "Me and Lynch disagree. We have a theory. Those werewolves have a stronger connection with their human side. That allows them to tap into higher cognitive functions...What if we isolate that connection?"

"What are you saying Theodore?"

"I'm saying that we might have the cure for lycantropy."
---

"You can ask me why I agreed to continue that mad quest and I still can't tell you why. Maybe it was the idea of finding a cure for something or maybe I was just stupid." He shrugged "We chased those mutts all over the forests till summer." Henderson exhaled another cloud of smoke "No tool since that was the worst fear. Imagine an army of werewolves that retained their intelligence while in that form." He looked around the camp "We did learn one thing from those hunts. Doesn't matter how smart they are. A cornered animal is a dangerous thing to be around."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Inari was pleased to see that some people in the group weren't as dreary as she thought, and she laughed along with Anya's story and listened curiously to Henderson's. Takato may have told an interesting tale but he was still a terrible person, but the others... weren't bad. She didn't know very much about these eastern vampires and werewolves, though they seemed to be interesting creatures. Lots of werewolf tales, especially, and they had several in the group. At least the night was turning out as it properly should.

"Ahh... who make music? Or maybe wrestle? Is good night for fun."

 

[Damian0358]

Takato gave Henderson a thumbs up after his advice, already being aware of that fact, though believing it would be good to repeat it. He nodded as Anya told her tale, continuing on from his attempted lightening of mood, though he seemed saddened following that implication at the end, and soon Henderson followed it up with his tale. Considering his own encounters with werebeasts on behalf of the church, he found the story quite curious. He quietly ignored Inari's comment as he looked towards his miniscule projectiles, seeing the 'dark mist' remnants attached to them. He wondered how compatible the hermit arts are with the Abyss, specifically Abyssal mist... maybe there will be mist in the morning. Hopefully he won't be without a right arm for too much longer.

 

[Viper Actual]

While the others shared stories around the campfire Seriphine did seemingly nothing but stare into the rising embers rising above the fires. She wasn't even looking at anyone in a strange manner. It was as if she was somewhere else. It was true. Somewhat. She had heard all the stories, not that it had changed much beyond giving her more perspectives and more information, though in a way the day's battle had managed to make her slightly more accepting and tolerant of the others.

They were still not her peers. Not yet at least though she didn't view them entirely lowborn scum.

Once the stories died down Seriphine hesitated at first but eventually straightened herself up and cleared her throat. "I have a story," she said with a low tone. While still looking into the fire the Elven warlord began to speak softly...

"Many many years ago there existed a small Elven village by the name of Haztathia. A relatively small and peaceful village it wasn't remarkable or special in any kind of way. Situated near the neutral territories it was visited by merchants from the Realms of Men every once in a while. In the village there lived a family. The parents were treesingers, Elves whom had mastered the art of woodwork. They also had a daughter."

Seriphine paused.

"One day the village was not visited but raided. A band of barbaric bandits were starving after being driven away from the Realms of Men. Thinking that they had found a perfect target they attacked the village. Resistance was non-existent. Elves are not- were not- experienced in the art of warfare. Many were butchered, raped or put into slavery. The treesingers begged for their lives but were ultimately killed as well, joining the others in a large mass grave.

What about the daughter? She survived. For a couple of years she lived with a chain around her neck and watched as the brutes that had killed most of the people she had ever known continued to slaughter people left and right. Eventually some of the Elven clans managed to summon smaller hosts of warriors like during the times of the Great Migration. Once the bandits encountered resistance they took losses. Many slaves escaped or tried to escape.

The daughter went one step further and poisoned the man that had killed her family before departing into the night." Seriphine closed her eyes briefly before slowly opening them once more.

"Eventually the daughter grew up. She became an officer in the military and her new clan, Ironwind, had managed to unite the clans for one purpose: Revenge. What the Men had not managed to deal with on their own they had either tossed aside or sent away to die. Except that criminals don't die unless they have their hearts cut out and heads put on a spike. Hundreds of Elves died because of mistakes made by Men.

To correct this a plan was laid out. A plan to claim the Neutral Territories. Seize ground and remove the waste separating the realms from another in the hope that Men would learn their lesson.

When my host entered the fray the drums of war echoed throughout all of our hearts and minds. We started off simple by hunting bandits like a wolf stalks a lamb. It was easy. At some point however it stopped being easy when Men took up arms against us. There was no logic or reason behind it but soon enough the bandits had perished and the Neutral Territories turned into contested areas where armies clashed for dominance."

Another pause. This time Seriphine sighed and took a deep breath. "I will never deny my crimes. I will never deny accusations. The truth has many sides and my eyes can see but only one of them. I believed in what we did, even the brutal and gruesome parts of it, but now it all feels so pointless. Our legacy- my legacy- seemed to have withered away either way..."

 

[Infab]

"...I find that deeply insulting. This place, Vincent... it's just as much of a hell for us as it is for your people."

Vincent nodded. "Trust me, I've studied enough to know." he responded. He was quiet for a moment, before glancing towards the window which overlooked the main warehouse floor. "We all have issues...in one form or another. I guess that's why we're all here together. I'll watch your back, Loque. Don't worry. Hudson won't harm you while I'm here." he finally said. "As for Inari...I think she'll calm down and work with us once things set in. She's in the Abyss, and there's a very real chance she could die here and never see her children again."

He soon moved back towards the door. "Sleep well. I'm going to check on the others, then chat with Tariun about some things." he said, before departing quietly out the door. Leaving Loque alone in the office. Soon, Vincent was back down on the ground floor of the warehouse, moving back over to where the others had gathered. They seemed to have been telling stories among themselves, as Vincent came just as Seriphine finished hers.

Riberta glanced over, then spoke. "Got a story, oh great leader?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she put emphasis on the last three words. He gave her a look, before sighing. "Yeah, I guess...its not a good one." he responded as he paused near them. Riberta smirked. "Most of ours involve war and death." she stated. Vincent cut her a look. "...Alright."

---

Years ago, in Charleston, Atraca...

"He was last seen in there, sir." said the elder priest, motioning towards the dark back rooms in the rear of the large wooden church. The inquisitor nodded, looking back to the others that had gathered behind him. One of them, a younger Vincent. The inquisitor eventually pointed to Vincent, and motioned for him to follow. "I'll need your help. Sometimes demon banishments require more than one person." said the blonde man, his eyes hidden by his wide brimmed inquisitor hat. Vincent hesitated, but soon nodded and step forward. It wasn't long before the pair ventured into the darkness, searching for the lone individual that had eluded them.

From what Vincent had pieced together, the man they were after was a young priest whom had been possessed by a demon of some sort. He had also apparently raped three of the locals, taking their souls in the process. Horrific acts, of course, made even worse as it was a man of the cloth that the demon had possessed. The church didn't take kindly to that at all.

They moved quietly through the dark rooms, the inquisitor only pausing to inform Vincent of what he wanted him to do. Basic demon traps, really. As Vincent was from Eternis, he knew of the Inquisitorial methods of capturing demons. Blessed salt and divine sigils were popular. Sometimes incantations and spells were used, if the demon was a bit more powerful than run of the mill demons. This one seemes to be an incubus, so a mix would be needed. Lure the demon to the sigil, activate it, and recite the banishment incantations. The problem was getting it to come out.

Soon, they heard a noise. A candle stick had bee knocked over onto the floor, the flame being extinguished and plunging the room fuether into darkness. The inquisitor paused, squatting and marking the ground in several places, before moving on. Vincent remained in tow, looking about. Searching for the demon clad in human flesh. And soon, they found it. It lunged from the shadow of a door frame, tackling Vincent and knocking him to the ground. The inquisitor was quick to act, punting the demon off and into the room behind them. Vincent scrambled back to his feetas the demon moved to engage them once more.

A struggle commenced, the demon clawing at Vincent's face and neck. Trying to get a good grip in order to choke him. Soon, the inquisitor would call out, giving Vincent the order to shove the demon away. And so he did. The demon stumbled backwards, right into the center of the sigils that the inquisitor had marked on the floor with chalk. The inquisitor then shouted a cluster of words that Vincent didn't quite understand, and there was a bright flash. "Now, boy! The words I told you! I'll keep him bound!" said the Inquisitor, cutting him a look before returning his gaze to the demon priest.

Soon, both Vincent and the inquisitor were chanting. Vincent was reciting a basic banishment spell, while the inquisitor was repeating the same words he had spoken before. A holding spell, making sure the demon remained where it was till the banishment spell was complete. Apparently, the demon was quite powerful, as it was quickly damaging the sigils that were holding it simply by thrashing about. Vincent remained steadfast, however, almost shouting the banishment spell. And soon, the demon slowed its thrashing. The black and gold faded from the eyes of the young priest before them, and the man collapses to the floor where he stood. Both the inquisitor and Vincent eyed the body for a moment, taking note that the priest hadn't moved. "He may have stripped the soul from his body when he was cast out...a sad fate." said the inquisitor, shaking his head. Vincent carefully stepped over and nudged the body with his boot. Nothing. The priest wasn't breathing either. "...He's dead."

---

"The priest was about twenty years old. Goaded into a bet with a man whom he had rode with on the train, according to local accounts. Lost the bet, lost his body and soul." said Vincent. He paused for a moment, before speaking again. "That same incubus returned about six years later, possessed the inquisitor's neighbor, and raped his wife before killing her." Vincent glanced about to the others. "...told you it wasn't very good."

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

"Sleep well. I'm going to check on the others, then chat with Tariun about some things."

“Yeah...” is all she can say. She follows him outside the office door shortly after he leaves though just so she can look at what the others are doing as she sulks alone. They’re all there gathered around a fire and seemed to be reveling in each other’s companionship by telling stories to one another. They didn’t sound pleasant at all however much to her surprise, since she figured after what happened they’d be a little more upbeat since they scored a victory over Taranoch. That didn’t want her to try to cheer up everyone a bit with her stories though, since the only stories she had that were worth sharing were worse, and would probably anger Hudson enough to force him to make an attempt on her life again. Speaking of which, where is the mopey bastard anyway? He wasn’t around the others, so hopefully this meant he found a secluded spot with a ceiling high enough for him to hang himself with. Whatever the case, she heads back into the office, wondering if the others could’ve seen the grotesque looking thing staring back at them from the steps above.

There’s nothing else for her to do right now, so she dusts off one of the tables, undresses, and rests on it while using her jacket as a makeshift blanket. Going to bed like this, exhausted both mentally and physically, isn’t something new to her and reminded her of older times...

————————————————

[Centuries ago, in the Abyssal city of Tehom...]



Cauldrons full of broth bubbled as their steam bellowed out from their lids like miniature chimneys. The fires of the oven pits burned hot as the gridirons seared their square marks into the cuts of meat being grilled upon them. Frying pans simmered loudly as it fried the battered chunks of potato stuffed with cheeses and vegetables deep within the hot oil they were submerged in. Yet louder still was the clock tower's gong, interrupting the cacophony of cuisine with something far more obnoxious and giving Loque a massive headache. She'd been cooking for Thorgran for centuries now, and she still can't get used to it. Worst of all was the fact it just seemed like it was getting louder and louder each day. She would've covered her ears if it wasn't for one of the kitchen guards shouting angrily at her, demanding she focus on her work or else she's in for another beating.

It was the eighth time it rang today, signaling throughout all of Tehom that once again it’s feasting time for Lord Thorgran. People scrambled like frightened rats in the streets, quickly searching for anything they or perhaps even their neighbor might have to give Thorgran’s men as they combed through the city, looking for offerings to give him. Vegetables, crops, meats, cheeses, and even wines were brought out before them in piles as no one dared holding out on the Icon of Gluttony, lest they take the place of their mandatory offerings. For those unlucky that couldn’t give anything, or were unfortunate enough to have their offerings found unworthy, they themselves would be taken instead, masses of them hauled off to take the place of all the food they were commanded to have set aside for him. And all these things that were taken were all stacking up quickly in all the shelves of his kitchen, all for his personal chef to cook it; all of it. Loque stood there in painful awe, trying her best to muster up the will to work herself to the bone again. She'd just finished making appetizers for him, and now it's dinner time.

The night drags on painfully and slowly. Every slip up done by Loque's trembling, withered hands is immediately met with a strike from a guard's baton, which while intended to discipline her, it only made her performance worse the weaker she became. "WHAT IS THIS SHIT?!" they screamed at her as they flipped the plate over or tipped the pot, whichever it was she was working with at the time. "YOU THINK HE'S GONNA EAT THIS SLOP?!" they yelled. Sometimes, they'd taste test whatever she was making too. "TOO MUCH SPICE!" was a phrase she was familiar with, and even more familiar was the aftermath of them spitting their test out onto her face. "ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE HIM SICK?! DO IT AGAIN! NOW!" The insults, the harassment, the bruises always piled up faster than the food did. None of this stacked to the one thing Loque dreaded most whenever Thorgran was feeling a certain sort of peckish: whenever he wanted his food very fresh. Coincidentally, this was supposed to be tonight's special.

They were always hauled in hogtied like an animal and thrown violently ontop of the cutting board, and strapped down so they wouldn't be able to escape. Sometimes they were crying, sometimes they were screaming, but never did Loque find it easy. Tonight wouldn't be any different as the guards brought in the 'meat' she'd be cooking. It was a human male of a rather young age and of a medium build. It'd been undressed completely and was spread out on the cutting board. It was looking around frantically with fear dripping from its eyes. It looked at Loque, and it seems it was attempting to speak to her using whatever words of the demonic language it hastily managed to pick up on it way here. Loque tried her best not to look back at it as the guard who brought him in was giving her instructions. "The ribs." he said as he pulled out a massive and painful looking pair of bone shears. The sight of the shears made the 'meat' grow even more terrified as now it started to thrash wildly in a futile attempt to free itself. Its efforts were rewarded by having its restraints tightened by the guards.

The process was beyond excruciating not just for the 'meat' who was now having its ribs removed, but for Loque as well as she tried as much as she could to not to listen to its agonizing wails which were bothering her. By now it was missing a few, and it gave up trying to cry out in the demonic language. He was pleading for his life, begging her to stop cutting and to free him. Loque was ignoring him as best as she could until she looked at his dirty, reddened, tear-stained face.

"NO MORE! P-PLEASE! PLEASE STOP!" he begged of her, staring into her eyes.

And for a moment, Loque stopped cutting. The overwhelming feelings of guilt and fear paralyzed her completely as the shears nearly fell from her hands. The shame ran coldly down every single one of her nerves when she realized just what she was doing to this person. She felt sick and disgusted with herself to the point that whatever beating she'd get from the guards was now something she believed she deserves.

"P-Please..." she stuttered out weakly.

The guard folded his arms and scowled at Loque, indicating clearly things would become more unpleasant if she started slacking. She had to get back to cutting again, still bothered by the screaming. By now his cries were deafening to her. She can't ignore the tears in her eyes anymore. She had to do something.

"Please! Just s-stop! JUST! STOP!! “ Now, she was the one begging to him. Anything to get him to stop his agonizing screams.

"HEY!" shouted the guard as he marched towards her. Now she's in trouble. "Quit playing with the fucking food, and GET BACK TO WORK! “ he barked at her. The guard also covered the man's mouth tightly with his hand while Loque went back to cutting. All that came from the man now was a gurgling noise as he bled on the cutting board more and more. Thorgran soon had his meal and ate it just as cheerfully and delighted as he usually did with his food. Loque looked on all bruised and bloody as he ate, absolutely detached from everything with the horror she had to experience once again. She felt like gutting him worse than she did with the victim. She felt like grabbing those same shears and rip out all the fat from his body and force feed it back to him for all the times he's made her do that. If only she had any energy left in her.

After washing the endless pile of dishes, she finally departed for home after another day at work. The emptiness she felt now shielded her from the aftermath of all the chaos that had happened outside as she was cooking. Those who had family taken to feed Thorgran either sat there defeated or were too busy scrambling around for whatever scraps were left behind to bribe Thorgran’s men with in exchange for whoever was taken. They knew who she was, and the fate that awaited them at her hands as they lay chained up beneath Thorgran's palace. Some insulted her for that as they called her a monster for what she's going to do to them, some begged her for help to free their loved ones, and some even offered themselves in their place, but she just couldn't bring herself to listen as she slowly walked on past them. Once inside her house, she goes straight to her bed, not even bothering relighting the old candles or watering the flowers next to the photo of her parents. After wrapping herself in her bedsheets she curls up as she tries to fall asleep, only to spring back up as she could've sworn as she closed her eyes she saw that man's twisted face look at her one last time.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Inari had only a mental shrug to offer when no one stepped up to sing, or play music, or even wrestle for entertainment. That was alright, for one of the elves had a story to tell. She could listen to stories all night, and back on campaign she often did, reveling in the parts of the past worth mentioning. She swung her feet back and forth again in idle excitement as the story got started. Gradually, that excitement began to die until it was gone entirely as the story went on. Her half-quirked smile melted from her face as she finally grew still, the shadows of the fire making her face look surprisingly drawn and haggard, her eyes darkened. For a moment she wondered if this was some strange trick of the Abyss. Perhaps this was some illusion, or maybe she had already fallen asleep and was in the middle of a strange dream. To hear a story that could have been coming from her own throat was more than just disconcerting.

A small village... raided by bandits.... Dogs barking. Strangers in the fields, the farmers running. A fire in the temple. She kept tripping, her amagatsu doll suddenly too heavy to carry, but she couldn't throw it away. The dogs barking again, gnarled rabid masses of black flesh and muscle, bloody incisors already filthy with flesh and meat. More strangers, yelling, with weapons and rope. They took the doll away.

The story was over before she knew it, as was Vincent's subsequent tale of a demonic banishment, though she remembered little from either story as she remained silent and contained entirely to herself. No happy comments. No more enthusiasm. She was upset with herself for allowing memories she had thoroughly murdered to return to her, now of all times, and so far from home. These thoughts were supposed to be buried under a thousand corpses, burned, and left in a salted field six feet under ground. How they were able to claw their way up again was a mystery to her.

She made an odd huff, something like a cough, as she spun around on her crate and laid down on top of it as she intended to disengage from the conversation as if she was going to sleep. Her eyes wouldn't close, however, as she stared into the darkness on the other side of the warehouse. In her arms she cradled her sword, Kioshi, protectively. There were no dogs here. And if there were, she'd kill them.