>>547367

Starting this day like any other, you rise from your makeshift bed – a mess of blankets spread on the too small sofa – and stretch. Shambling, still far from awake, you amble through to the bathroom and stare at your reflection. Streaks of red are showing through your dyed hair – something you'll need to sort soon – and the familiar leather medallion hangs against your chest. Backwards in the mirror, you can make out the letters carved into it. The name you've chosen for yourself. Touching light fingers to the medallion, you wonder where its twin might be – aboard some dreary ship, or in some distant northern wasteland?

Letting the medallion fall back against your chest, you turn this way and that, looking in the mirror with mounting dissatisfaction. Still boyish and awkward, not that you'd really been expecting anything else. With one final frown, you return to the living room and click on the radio. As scratchy music - something tedious but inoffensive – fills the apartment, you set about cleaning your pistol. Cleaning each individual piece with care, you let the task stretch out aimlessly.

You're in no hurry, after all. Life – your life, at least – is on hold until Henryk gets back.

“This is an urgent weather warning,” a tinny voice cries out from the radio, killing the wearisome music dead in an instant, “A storm of unprecedented size is approaching the Free States. All citizens are urged to gather necessary supplies and remain indoors. The storm is predicted to arrive in Thar Dreyse tonight. Repeat, this is an urgent-”

A storm, you repeat aloud, unprecedented size. None of that sounds even remotely good.

-

Just as you're sliding the last piece of your pistol back into place, a heavy knock shakes the apartment door. Snapping on the safety catch, you slip the gun into the back of your trousers and go to answer it. Cracking the door ever so slightly open, you see Anders – Henryk's sullen landlord – glaring back at you.

“Who... Oh, you're the brat that's looking after Hanson's apartment,” he grunts, “Right?”

Not quite the word you'd choose, you begin to answer, but-

“Bloody typical. Here we are, facing the worst storm in a generation, and where is he? Off taking his holidays somewhere, I don't doubt, and leaving us with a girl,” Anders sniffs disapprovingly, looking at you like something he scraped off the bottom of his boot, “Suppose there's a lesson there, about putting too much trust in a Hunter...”

So much for today being a good day. Is he trying to make a point, you ask, or did he just need someone to complain to?

[2/3]

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>>547369

Anders stares at you for a moment, his dislike for you plain to see, before speaking up once more. “There's going to be a meeting this evening – a little community gathering – to discuss these storms we're due. I've got a set of rules, and I want to make sure everyone knows them well. You'll be coming, of course.”

This is one of these “You don't have a choice” moments – something you're well acquainted with. There was always something you had to do, growing up, that you didn't care for – some class to attend, some relative to visit, some awful medical test to endure. No, you're all too familiar with unwanted burdens, and this is no different. Nodding silently, you wait a moment more to see if the loathsome man has anything else to bother you with. For his part, he waits for a second more before stepping back, letting the door swing shut.

The sound of the lock snapping back into place is satisfying, very satisfying indeed.

-

The next knock that disturbs the peace is more reserved – an inquiry, rather than a demand. Without the earlier caution, you answer the door and come face to face with Alyssia Hemwick. Your neighbour, a witch of the north, and a rival for Henryk's affections – that last part is a little private joke, one you've never shared with anyone else. At least, you think it's a joke.

Anyway.

“Good morning Eliza. I suppose you heard about the storm, either over the radio or from our...” Alyssia pauses, “Our charming landlord. Well, either way, it's supposed to be getting pretty bad. It might last a few days as well – I wish they could be more specific, but I suppose you can't always judge these things.”

Unprecedented, you tell her, that's what you heard on the radio. They were even telling people to stock up on supplies – food, you guess, and whatever else might be useful.

“That's where I'm going now,” Alyssia nods to herself, as if a fine idea has just come to mind, “Would you like to come along? More hands would lighten the load, and you might need some extra supplies as well.”

She's trying to be your friend, a little bit too much for your liking.

>Okay, fine – I could use some shopping, I guess.
>Later. I'd rather go alone
>Are you worried? About this storm, I mean
>Hey, mind if I ask you something? (Write in)
>Other

>>547370
>>Okay, fine – I could use some shopping, I guess.
>Are you worried? About this storm, I mean
"Your uh doll thingy should still do its job right?"

>>547370
>Okay, fine – I could use some shopping, I guess.
>Are you worried? About this storm, I mean

>its a teenaged girl protagonist episode

Make sure we go by Liza so our last name can end in a.

Make out with a girl wearing an eyepatch.

Do and think cute things.

There, we're done lets move back to Henryk.

>>547381
Uhh... what?

>>547384
Early morning memeing to keep the blood pumping, friendo.

>>547370
>Okay, fine – I could use some shopping, I guess.

>>547370
>>Okay, fine – I could use some shopping, I guess.
>Are you worried? About this storm, I mean
Sweet, time for Lize's adventures!

>>547370
>>Hey, mind if I ask you something? (Write in)
Where in the North are you from / what stories of you heard from the section of the North Henryk went?

I don't know if Lize is already aware of these things. If she is nevermind.

Okay, you sigh, fine. You could use some shopping, you guess, and it might be better to do this sooner rather than later. If everyone else in the city gets the same idea...

“There could be shortages,” Alyssia agrees, “That's why I wanted to get an early start. Get a coat if you're leaving, mind – it's cold out.”

You could have guessed that, but you make do with a small smile and a nod. No sense in starting the day with an argument. While Alyssia waits, you pull out your old parka – naval issue, and big enough that you're drowning in it – and take some money from the battered tin Henryk keeps in his bedroom. You've always wondered about that money – there's enough there to make his austere lifestyle seem like a curiosity. It's not that you've a complete stranger to large sums of money, of course, but it's rare to find it like this, dumped in a flimsy metal box and forgotten about.

Shrugging to yourself, you pocket the clump of dirty notes – some old enough that they might fall apart at any minute – and head out with Alyssia. At least you won't have to worry about your budget.

-

Say, you ask as you're leaving the tenement block, is she worried? About this storm, you add, is she worried about what might happen?

“I wouldn't say I'm worried so much, but I have a healthy caution,” Alyssia picks her words carefully, “Where I grew up, we had a respect for the weather. Even without these storms, it can turn in a matter of moments and strike men dead. Those are just normal storms, without adding beasts into the mix. So, yes, I'd say I'm ready to take precautions.”

Precautions, you repeat as you think about her witchcraft, some of those... doll things? They're supposed to be protective, right?

“That's right,” Alyssia touches a finger to her lips, a silent reminder for you to watch your words, “That's what we'd always do, back home. String up some protective charms, dig in, and wait for things to blow over. I'm hoping that they'll serve to keep any beasts at bay here as well, but I won't pretend that they're flawless. Sometimes they work, and sometimes they don't.”

Oh, you say, why is that?

“I'm not sure. As I understand it, the charms scare the beasts away – like convincing them that there's a more dangerous beast lurking – but some beasts can overcome that fear. Maybe if they're hungry enough, or there's something even worse driving them on,” shrugging nervously, the witch tries to offer you a reassuring smile, “But I'm almost certain they'll work.”

Almost certain. Not quite the reassurance you were hoping for, but you'll take what you can get.

[1/3]

Ok what can we say to push her away from Henrik? Make her think he doesn't care about her as a person and just keeps her around so he can blackmail her into doing witchy shit for him?

>>547427
No

>>547427
What was the cover story we told Alyssia? I think we told her that were Henryks sister or something.

>>547418

From what you can tell, walking the streets, word of the storm has spread quickly and the mood in the city has darkened. It's not quite at the point where people are panic buying, but you suspect that it won't be long before things start to boil over. All it would take is the rumour of a food shortage, and every man, woman and child in the city would be trying to get their share. Better to buy what you can before then, you think, before the crowds descend.

Even without a panic, the shelves are starting to look a little barren. Following Alyssia's lead, you start to fill a wicker basket with tins of food. Tinned stews, tinned vegetables, tinned meat – all kinds of food, sealed within little metal cans. As she puts them in her basket, Alyssia regards the tins with mild displeasure.

“All these different meals, and they all taste the same,” she complains mildly, “I shouldn't gripe too much, I know, but I prefer fresh food by far. Well, dried and salted mostly, but it's still better than this stuff.”

That's what she ate back home, you ask, right? You've been wondering about that – anything she can tell you about the north, about the place Henryk's going?

“That far north, things start to get strange. I can't tell you where the stories end and reality takes over. Frankly, if the stories are true, neither could someone seeing it with their own eyes,” Alyssia shakes her head, “But it's bad. Most people in the north agree, it's forbidden ground. Sacred, some would say, or cursed. Were you worried about him?”

Yes, you think. Not really, you reply aloud, you were just curious. You don't know much about really living in the north, and you figured she might have a few interesting stories to share.

“Well, I don't know about stories, but life is pretty strange in the north – or rather, strange by your standards. We have a different way of looking at things there. For example...” humming softly to herself, Alyssia considers the issue, “Take these storms, for example. We have different names for them. This coming storm, we'd call it a Devil Night. Beasts get riled up, but even men can suffer during them. The mad – though, we'd consider them as being touched by the nameless gods – will often sense when a Devil Night is coming. Have you ever heard a man howling at the moon?”

Shuddering, your mind returns to your father – plagued by a madness born from his cursed bloodline. All too often, you've heard him roar and bellow, screaming mindlessly in his private quarters – what less polite men might call “his cell”.

“Are you okay, Eliza?” Alyssia asks, noticing your grimace, “You look...”

Fine, you murmur to her, you're fine.

[2/3]

>>547449

“Well, as I was saying,” not quite convinced, Alyssia continues with her story, “These nights, they get their name from an old folk tale. So the story goes, these storms are whipped up when spirits descend to go amongst men. Sometimes, they even steal men's skins and imitate them. Try to, at least – most of the stories agree that it's never a perfect imitation. These spirits, now cloaked in human flesh, are free to slake their hungers – like beasts, given human form.”

Spooky, you murmur, but those are just stories?

“I've never heard of anything like that happening in reality, and neither has anyone I've ever spoken with,” Alyssia assures her, “But up north... we like our stories. We don't put blind faith in them, but we don't completely discount them either. It's not that much different to what we're doing now – we take precautions, just in case the worst should happen. Store food, in case of a shortage, and hang charms in case of... other things. Anyway, speaking of food, I think we're sorted on that count.”

What's next then, you ask, home again?

“I'd like to pick up a few extra candles, just in case we lose power,” the witch frowns lightly, “If the storms really are bad, we can't count on having electricity. I know a market stall that sells good candles, and oil for lanterns. Clean burning stuff, no impurities. Coming?”

You hesitate, your mind rushing back to your father's plight. For the first time in a while, you feel the urge to return home – just for a little bit. Maybe speak with a few of the servants, see how things are there. The sudden desire cuts you like a blade, and without thinking you start to turn towards the noble district. Forcing yourself to stop dead in your tracks, you look back to Alyssia.

“Eliza? You're acting awfully strange today,” the witch asks, concern – genuine concern – in her eyes, “Are you sure you're okay?”

>Just a little worried about Henryk. Let's go
>I... have something I need to do. Alone
>Other

>>547474
>>I... have something I need to do. Alone
We stocked up decently, time for a side quest. Or maybe the main quest.

>>547474
>I... have something I need to do. Alone
"I'll be back before the storm."

>>547474
>>I... have something I need to do. Alone

>>547474
>>Just a little worried about Henryk. Let's go

>>547474
>I... have something I need to do. Alone

>>547474
>I... have something I need to do. Alone

You've got something you need to do, you tell her softly, something you have to do alone. You'll be back at the tenement long before the storm is set to hit, so she doesn't need to worry about you. Though... could she take your shopping back home for you?

“I don't mind, but...” Alyssia takes the basket from you, but the worry doesn't leave her eyes. For a lingering moment, it looks as though she's about to say something, you press the issue, but then she just nods. “Stay safe, won't you?” she urges, content to leave the matter there.

She understands secrets, Alyssia, and the value of privacy. That, at least, is something you share.

-

Alone once more, you walk quickly through the streets of Thar Dreyse, the first flakes of snow drifting down from a leaden sky. Your breath forms thick clouds ahead of you, while the fur-lined hood hangs low over your face. Burying your chin in your scarf, you become unrecognisable – little more than another hunched figure in the crowds. Some of the tension starts to leave your muscles, but it is soon replaced by another, less logical, anxiety. It is almost like you're leaving your personal fears behind, and taking on the stresses of the crowd itself.

This doesn't feel like the city you grew up in. Upon every street corner, you see propaganda posters urging the masses – those without a bloodline to give them purpose - to do their civic duty. Conscription, military training... there's some growing need for an army, and you fear the reasons behind it. The future doesn't look particularly bright, from where you're standing.

Then again, the future never did.

-

Faced with the formidable wall cutting the noble district off from the rest of Thar Dreyse, most of the people you pass in the streets would have little choice but to turn back, to admit defeat, but you're not so easily deterred. Not that you can just stroll through the gates, of course – Henryk could, with his League papers, but you don't have that luxury. Fortunately for you, there are other ways of slipping past the checkpoints. Over the course of your rebellious teenage years, you've become acquainted with most of them.

Now, with the frozen graveyard soil crunching underfoot, you're getting close to one. Why this particular route has gone unnoticed for so long, you couldn't say, but you're not about to complain. A low wall – brought low by time and decay – allows anyone with a passing standard of fitness to enter the noble district, and to get out again with just as few troubles. All you need to do is trespass in an old graveyard a little.

Maybe that's what keeps people away.

[1/2]

>>547508
I can't help but wonder what would happen if we failed a stealth roll while in the noble district. Henryk just gets home and realizes that Lize is gone and Alyssia has spent the whole time freaking out since Lize never came home.

>>547519
She's probably just reveal her identity and be escorted back home.

Then potentially break out again if she wanted.

>>547508

Slipping past familiar gravestones, you slip a hand out and touch the crumbling stone, drawing some faint and inexplicable comfort from the marker. Whoever is buried beneath it is dead, while you're alive – for now, at least, all is right with the world. A few more rows of gravestones pass you by, and then you're at the broken wall. Flexing your fingers to ease out the stiffness, you take the first handhold and begin your ascend. It's not hard to scale the old stone wall, and soon you're dropping down into the immaculately maintained streets of the noble district.

Now you just need to watch out for the patrols, the privately hired security. One time, you nearly got caught up in a minor squabble between hired troops belonging to two rival families, and just barely slipped away without catching a bullet – now that was an adventure.

Nothing so dramatic this time. Sticking to the narrow streets, you track down the Alkaev manor – your ancestral home – and circle around to the back. You always preferred the old servant's entrance, even when you weren't trying to hide from someone. Letting yourself in, you find yourself in the cool darkness of the family library – a sight so familiar that you have to pause a moment. For a few seconds it is as though you never left here, and everything you've been through had just been a fleeting daydream.

Shaking off the delusion, you press on through the library, stopping occasionally to slip out a book or two and tuck them into your deep pockets. A little extra reading material never hurts.

-

For information, there's really only one place you can turn to – the kitchens. Morag, the head cook there, is one of the few people who you spoke with before fleeing home, and you trust her implicitly. She's always been good to you, willing to listen and offer advice. Now, she stands as your one link with home. Slipping into the kitchens, you spot her sitting alone. The rest of the staff must have been sent home already.

Lucky for you.

“Good lord!” the old woman cries out when she sees you, “Who... Lizbeth? I barely recognised you, you've changed. You look... No, no matter. It's good to see you again, I thought you might have forgotten about me!”

Never, you assure her with a fond smile, you couldn't forget about her.

“Last time I saw you... oh, I taught you that cake recipe,” Morag taps you on the head with a meaty finger, “Have you managed to make it without burning it yet?”

Once, you answer, but you sorta had help...

“Typical. You never had a mind for cooking,” she sniffs, “But I figure you're not here for that. What can this old servant do for you?”

>How are mother and father doing?
>Are my parents still... searching for me?
>Have I changed that much?
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>547539
>Have I changed that much?
>How are mother and father doing?
>Are my parents still... searching for me?
"Do you think I should send them a letter, just saying that I'm alright?"

>>547539
>>How are mother and father doing?
>>Are my parents still... searching for me?

>>547546
A letter does sound like a good idea. Maybe we can just write one up quickly right now and leave it with Morag so there's no chance of being traced back to anywhere.

>>547539
>>547546
This

>>547539
>How are mother and father doing?
>Are my parents still... searching for me?
>Have I changed that much?

Turning away from the old cook, you look at your distorted reflection in a hanging pan. Your hair is shorter, of course, and darkened down compared with its natural shade, but nothing seems too unusual. Have you really changed that much?

“You've toughed up. Your eyes are harder now, I think,” Morag reaches across and gently turns you back towards her, studying your face. Wrinkles gather at the corner of her eyes as she squints. “It's not how you look,” she decides after a moment, “It's how you carry yourself. You're not that much older, but you're a young woman now, not a girl.”

She sounds... sad, as if this is nothing to be proud of, as if you've lost more than you've gained. This time, it's her turn to look away from you, falling silent. Mother and father, you ask quietly, how are they doing? Are they... well?

“Lady Morgana's health worsens by the day,” Morag speaks bluntly, but not unkindly. She knows when to soften the truth and when you serve it plainly, and this time is the latter. You're not naïve enough to believe a comforting lie, no matter how much you might want to be. “She is in a great deal of pain, much of the time, but she refuses medication. Within the next year, I fear she'll be unable to leave her bed.”

Just like her mother before her, you whisper. And father, you ask in a deliberately firm voice, has he been lucid at all?

“He has his moments, but his memory is unreliable. He asks after you, every time he surfaces,” Morag's voice has a faint note of accusation in it, but that slight rebuke carries a deathly weight, “But it has been many days since Sir Barroch was well enough to speak. Lately, the doctor has been applying sedatives, for his own safety – there is the chance that your father will hurt himself, such are his... outbursts.”

Their curse is one that can only get worse – once the rot has set in, the deterioration has begun, it only gets worse. You've known for a while now, but the information still cuts you like a knife. With a sense of acute physical pain, you lower yourself down onto a stool and catch your breath. Are they still searching, you ask, searching for you?

“I believe the reward is still on offer, but nobody has come close to claiming it,” again, Morag's tone strays into the reproachful, “You covered your tracks well, Lizbeth. I'll tell you this much, though – your mother hasn't given up hope. Every morning, she has the servants strip and clean your bedroom, just in case.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you draw in a slow, shuddering breath. Guilt gnaws at your stomach, and it feels like a long time before you can form words again – before you trust yourself to speak with an unwavering voice.

[1/2]

>>547585

Does she think you should leave a letter, you ask Morag, just something to tell your parents that you're okay? It might not offer them much comfort, but at least they'd know that you were alive somewhere.

“I think it's a fine idea,” Morag nods, a trace of warmth softening her voice, “And I think they'd take more comfort from it than you think. I can fetch some paper, if you want – you can write it here and now. You should write it here and now. That way, you won't lose your nerve when it comes to sending it.”

You laugh a little at that, amused at how well the old cook knows you. There have been several times when you sat down with a paper and pen, ready to write out a letter for your parents, only to burn the results before they could be sent. She's right – this way, you'll have no chance to quit at the last minute. At your request, Morag brings all the necessary supplies, and you get down to writing.

-

You've never been much of a writer, and so you settle on conveying the facts. You're safe, the letter states, safe and well. You have a home – you're not living on the streets or anything – and you have friends looking out for you. Whether you'll ever be able to return home or not is not something you can say just yet, but you know that time is growing shorter and shorter. You wish your parents well, even if that is a futile hope, and you apologise for your cowardice – your inability to tell them this face to face.

Blinking away a faint veil of tears, you scrawl your name – Lizbeth Akilina Alkaev – at the bottom of the note and hand it to Morag, giving it to her before you can do anything rash. Read it, you ask her, is it missing anything?

“It's... good enough,” Morag sighs, “It's honest, and it comes from the heart. I think they'll understand that. Your mother will, at least – what your father understands these days is... hard to know. Either way, I'll see this gets to them. I won't mention how I got it, of course. I just found it in the library one day, how does that sound?”

Good, you tell her, good enough. Asking your old friend to lie like this always stings a little, but needs must. A few white lies won't hurt anyone, will they?

“You should know, Lizbeth, I don't blame you,” Morag says suddenly, “I think... watching your parents suffering like this, I don't think anyone would blame you for leaving. It's a lot for a girl... for a young woman to take. It took a lot of courage to make the choice you did, even if it doesn't feel that way now.”

Courage, you repeat in a hollow voice, sure.

[2/3]

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>>547632

A wall of silence descends between the two of you, and that's a good enough cue for you to leave. You've learned everything you came here to learn, and lingering around for longer will only make things worse for you. Standing, you pull the hood up over your head once more and prepare to leave. Before you go, though, Morag calls your name. Turning, you see her holding out a brown paper package, one that smells faintly of baking.

“If I'd know you were coming, I would have prepared some cakes,” the old cook assure you, “But a loaf of good bread will have to do.”

A loaf of good bread, you promise her, is more than you could have hoped for. Then, sliding the loaf into your pack, you leave your family home behind you. Maybe for the last time, maybe not – the future, and your place within it, remains unclear.

-

Walking back through the streets of Thar Dreyse, a strange – but entirely understandable – melancholy settles over your mind. Perhaps it's not surprising, then, that you find yourself roaming past the Medicine. Henryk's favourite bar, you think to yourself. A hastily written sign on the door reads “Closing Early”. It might be closing early, but it's still open for now – as you watch, the door swings open and a single drunk stumbles out into the cold air. Before the door has closed again, you find yourself slipping inside and making your way to the bar itself.

“You ain't drinking,” Iosefka says, glancing up from the glass she was cleaning, “Just so we're clear.”

Crystal clear, you tell her as you sit on one of the high stools. Leaning on the notched bar, you watch as she takes a stool of her own and sits opposite you. She studies you for a moment, and then she speaks.

“Now I know you're not Henryk's sister,” she begins quietly, “I won't ask who you really are – the way I see it, if someone has a secret, it's usually for a good reason – but I will ask you one thing. What's on your mind?”

Huh, you frown at the remark, what kind of question is that?

“This is a bar. People come here, they slump over like you're doing now, and they ramble about their problems,” Iosefka shrugs, “So go ahead – ramble. You look like you could use the chance to talk.”

>Sorry, but I'm not here to ramble. Not about my problems, at least
>It's family stuff. It's hard to explain
>How did you know I wasn't Henryk's sister?
>I did have something to say... (Write in)
>Other

>>547650
>How did you know I wasn't Henryk's sister?
>It's family stuff. It's hard to explain

>>547650
>>It's family stuff. It's hard to explain
>How did you know I wasn't Henryk's sister?
Let chat her up, just need to make sure we're careful and don't let anything too important slip by.

>>547650
>How did you know I wasn't Henryk's sister?
Not like the red hair is starting to peak out or anything.
>It's family stuff. It's hard to explain

How did she know you weren't Henryk's sister, you ask with a note of resignation in your voice, was it the hair? It was the hair, wasn't it?

“Nope, not the hair,” Iosefka smiles slightly, “Though, that was a hint. No, it's a bit of a story – and not one that young ears might agree with. You sure you've got the stomach for this?”

It's just a story, you reply, you can take it.

“Well then, let me think...” leaning back on her stool, Iosefka takes a small glass and fills it with some strong smelling spirit. Even pouring it is enough to make your eyes water. “This goes way, way back to the first time Henryk and I ever met. It was up in Port Steyr – I was a doctor there, and he was, hmm, I think he was still in his training at that point. Anyway, he got in a spot of bother with the local wildlife – occupational hazard. Anyway, it was the middle of the night when they dragged him into my ward and told me “deal with this mess”. Those Ministry folk weren't very friendly back in those days.”

Wait, you ask, he was hurt?

“Hurt? I'd say so,” Iosefka takes a small sip of her drink, “He was just barely holding his guts in. I tell you, I've seen a lot of those wounds, and people don't often recover from them. He'd been given anaesthesia, but it hadn't taken effect yet – he was writhing and howling, I needed to get the Ministry guards to hold him down while I operated. It was tough going, but he pulled through. After the worst of it was over, he talked a little.”

She pauses here, but you urge her to continue. Imagining her story has left your stomach lurching painfully, but you want to hear it all. You want to hear the end of it. Sensing your eagerness, savouring it, Iosefka smiles again and takes a slow sip.

“He was in a lot of pain, even with the drugs, and I wager he didn't know what he was saying. He said... “Just let me die,” he said, “I've got no-one else, I've got nothing to live for.” Over and over, until he finally passed out for good,” her smile fades, “So you see, if he had a cute little sister like you, I dare say he would have mentioned it. That's why I was so sure that you weren't related.”

You sit in silence for a moment before realising that your jaw had been hanging slack. As you hurriedly close it, Iosefka leans back and laughs a little.

“Or maybe it was the hair that gave it away,” she chuckles, “Who knows? Now, enough about me – the bartender isn't the one who's supposed to talk. It's about time you shared a few of your own woes. It's only fair, after all.”

Right, fair. Problem is, you tell her reluctantly, you're not sure where to start.

“The beginning, I believe, is traditional,” shrugging, the bartender waits for you to begin.

[1/2]

>>547693
have to step out for a bit will catch up later glad to see this is back
>super hype about lize pov been wondering about her/wanting more insight on her
>lofeska is the shit

>>547693

It's family stuff, you begin, and that always makes things more complicated. Even starting at the beginning, you're not quite sure how to explain things. Your parents, you eventually tell her, they're... ill. Badly ill, in fact, and you're worried that you might share their illness. You're almost certain that you do.

“Oh, I see,” nodding wisely, Iosefka taps a finger against her chin, “It's syphilis, isn't it? It doesn't mess around, syphilis. Doctors call it the “southern disease”, you know, but I hear they call it the “northern disease” down in the colonies. Funny how these things work, isn't it?”

What, you cry out, it's not syphilis! When you realise how loudly you just said that, though, you shrink back and wait for the other bar patrons to look away. It's not syphilis, you repeat in a slightly more discreet tone, it's really not. At the end of the day, though, the results are the same – a lingering doom ahead of you, without much hope of a cure.

“Let me show you something,” Iosefka stands up, moving a little closer to you and turning so her back faces you. Reaching up, she pushes aside her long, white hair, slender fingers searching for something. “Here, feel just here,” she orders, “Don't worry, I don't bite.”

Frowning faintly, you reach across and touch her scalp until you feel a scar. It's an old wound, long since healed. Okay, you ask, so what is it?

“I was a doctor, I went through the College. Graduated it and everything. A smart girl like you, you can figure out what that means,” letting her hair fall back into place, Iosefka turns back to you, “Right?”

The Scholars you've seen have all suffered in their old age, you murmur, their minds and memories all start to go. Does that mean...

“I'll go that way as well, sooner or later” the bartender nods, a weary smile touching her lips, “I already have my moments – forgetting if I've ordered a shipment of beer, or fumbling a name every so often. Little things, you know, but they're the early signs. So, you see, you're not the only one with a grim future ahead of you. What you've got to do is think about how you use the time you DO have. Me, I'm just enjoying life – running a bar like this, that's enough for me. You, on the other hand, you've got to decide what you want to do. Unless... you've already made up your mind?”

Just as Morag said – you made your choice, even if it was a difficult one. You didn't exactly plan on things unfolding this way, but you're happy with how they ended up. Iosefka has her bar, and you have your new name – both things for you to hold onto as the future looms closer.

“Listen to me!” the bartender laughs, “I'm the one who ended up rambling, after all!”

[2/3]

>>547733

With a clearer head, you leave the bar and return home to the tenement block. When you arrive, you're greeted by the unwelcome sight of Anders. The old man is busy screwing metal bars over the lower windows, tugging hard on each set once they're in place. “That'll do it,” he grunts as you reach the door, “Won't no beast pull them down. Safe as houses. Oh, you.”

You, you agree, you're back.

“Ministry man came, had a letter. No name on it, but the address said it was for Hanson's room,” there's a strange hesitation in Anders' voice, a tentative note that you've never heard before, “Left it in his box, I wager it was meant for you.”

What does he mean, you ask, what kind of letter was this?

“The kind they send...” he pauses, clearing his throat, “Kind they send to next of kin, see? Official notices. Bad tidings.”

The bottom drops out of your stomach, and your heart starts to pound in your chest. Perhaps your sudden dread shows on your face – all the colour draining away, say, or your eyes growing wide – for Anders looks away. He says nothing, focusing on his menial labour, until you're almost through the door.

“My condolences,” he grunts, just before the door closes behind you.

-

Your hands shake as you take the letter out of the mailbox and hold it, as if the feel of the paper could reveal its contents. Nothing on the envelop itself offers an explanation – all that you can see is a typed address, and the Ministry seal in the top corner. You stay holding the letter for a long moment, without moving or saying anything.

Maybe you should just put it back in the mailbox and pretend you didn't see it. You're good at ignoring bad news.

You've had practice, after all.

>Open it. You need to know
>Leave it. It's Henryk's mail, not yours
>Find Alyssia. If it's bad news, she deserves to know as well
>Other

>>547763
>>Open it. You need to know
What could possibly go wrong?

>>547763
>Open it. You need to know
She'd probably want to know if he is in fact dead or not.

>>547763
>Open it. You need to know

>>547763
>Open it. You need to know

>>547763
>Open it. You need to know
It's anthrax! Bad end achieved.

>>547795
Who's hosting the Post-Bad End Advice Corner? Iosefka?

>>547763
>>Open it. You need to know

No, whatever grim tidings this letter might contain, you have a responsibility to face them head on. As much as you'd like to stick the letter back in the mailbox and pretend you never saw it, you can't just ignore it. You'll open it, and you'll read it.

...Later. You want to get a locked door between you and the rest of the world before you open it. It's not much to boast about, but you're yet to have a breakdown in a tenement lobby – that's a record you'd like to maintain. So, with the letter still clasped in the trembling claw of your hand, you rush up the stairs. With your mind racing as it is you almost overshoot your target, running straight past the right floor, but then you manage to focus. Moving slower now, you let yourself in and throw the letter down onto the table. With a sigh, you sit and tear open the envelope.

The letter itself offers nothing in the way of comfort, nothing that might soften the blow it could contain. The Ministry, of course, cares little for the individual – it deals in the health of society, and a girl like you is just one single cell. Not even a complete finger, let alone a vital organ.

Anyway. You've procrastinated enough. Ignoring the indifference, the clinical tone, you start to read.

-

In accordance with the Laws of Quarantine, the letter begins, The following, Henryk Hanson, has been instructed to undergo isolation in the settlement of Port Steyr, for a period of three days. Upon the successful completion of this period of isolation, the following will be released without due sanction.

There's more, legal nonsense and officious rambling, but you couldn't care less about it. It's not a notice of death, and that's enough for you. Letting the letter slip through your numb fingers, you flop back in the chair and let out a long, slow sigh. It's been a long day – a long morning, really – and you need to take a nap. Rising from the chair, you throw your coat onto the couch and take the pistol from your holster. Setting it carefully aside, you amble through to the bedroom and collapse down onto Henryk's bed.

It smells of him, you notice, a faint but unmistakable scent.

Sleep claims you.

-

Waking from a dream you can't quite remember – there was violence, and an aching sense of loss, just like always – you hear a knock at the door. Rubbing your eyes, you stumble through and answer it. Alyssia, of course – who else would it be?

“We've got an appointment to keep,” she reminds you, “Downstairs, remember?”

Anders, you grunt, his little meeting. Wonderful.

[1/2]

>>547829

It's strange, you think, to see so many of the tenement's occupants gathered in once place. Typically, you don't see them much – you stay inside when they're about, just to make sure nobody recognises your face. A precaution, one that borders on paranoia, but it quickly became habit. It was no hardship, in either case – you were never one to enjoy mingling with the crowd.

The herd, as your mother would have called them. She was always a firm believer in the archaic. Nobility, she claimed, had a duty to guide the blind populace, just as a shepherd protects and guides his flock. Without an enlightened mind steering the way, there would be anarchy. You always hated that elitism, but now – looking at the dull eyes and blank faces around you – you wonder if she might have had a point.

Every man, woman and child you see is looking for the same thing – someone to lead them, to tell them what to do in the coming days. Anders has set himself as that leader, and he's enjoying every minute of it.

The lobby has been filled with uncomfortable chairs, row upon row of them, and most are already filled. Taking a seat for yourself, you watch as Anders checks his watch. Waiting a few seconds more, just to be sure, he clears his throat and begins.

“We've all seen storms before,” he announces, “Small ones, larger ones, it doesn't matter. You've all heard the stories, as well, about what stalks the streets during them. Normally, we'd have a professional here what can deal with things, but this time we don't have that luxury. That means I'm in charge here, and I'm making the rules.”

A few people murmur, mostly in agreement, and Anders seems to swell with arrogant pride. Alyssia glances across to you, a grim look starting to form on her face.

“First of all, you'll be safest if you all remain indoors. That means in your apartments, not just in the building itself. Next, the front door is going to be locked – and it won't be unlocked until the storm has passed. Once the weather darkens, nobody is getting in,” Anders pauses again, casting a beady eye across the crowd. You see nodding heads and wide, fascinated eyes.

“Next, food. We don't rightly know how long this will last for, and not everyone might have enough supplies to last out. Others of you might have more than you need,” a faint snarl touches his lips, “As a matter of public good, some of you might need to share.”

“He saw me,” Alyssia whispers to you, “When I was coming back with our supplies. Do you think...”

Frowning, you wave a hand to silence her. There's a bad feeling forming in your gut, and you want to see just how bad this all gets.

[2/3]

>>547879

“Last of all, we know that circumstances might change – we don't rightly know what we're dealing with,” Anders takes a long moment to survey the crowd, a sly smile touching his lips for a very brief moment, “I won't make any cast iron rule now, in case they need changing later. What I will say is this – as long as we're on our own, I'm the sole authority here. I put in a request with the Ministry for another Hunter, but they've got none to share. All I want is for everyone here to stay safe, and I'll do everything I can to manage that.”

“I don't like this,” Alyssia whispers to you, “I don't like this at all.”

“I'll let you talk it out amongst yourselves for a moment,” the landlord – the petty tyrant – says, “Then I'll take any questions you have. Don't rightly want anyone getting confused about anything.”

Having given this proclamation, your esteemed leader retreats to a chair and slumps down, taking a discreet swig from a metal flask. All around you, voices erupt into countless different conversations.

-

“You know, we have men like him in the north,” Alyssia murmurs to you, her voice nearly lost beneath the waves of conversation, “They take charge at the first opportunity, and they only ever have their own interests in mind. I know how paranoid this is going to sound, Eliza, but I want you to be careful. I think he could be dangerous, if pushed to it.”

Maybe, you mutter back, you're not sure.

“I'm not sure either,” she replies, “It could be that this will all be over in a single evening, maybe two, and we won't have anything to worry about. If not, though...”

“Alright, alright,” croaking slightly, struggling to raise his voice, Anders rises to his feet once more, “Any questions? I want us all to be reading from the same page, now!”

>Remain silent
>Ask a question... (Write in)
>Other

>>547920
>Remain silent

>>547920
>Remain silent

>>547920
>>Remain silent
Speaking up would probably be like painting a target on our back. We can let him screw everyone else over all he wants as long as we keep to ourselves. Hopefully.

>>547920
>Remain silent
I can't think of anything to say or ask that wouldn't draw more attention to us. I'm sure the others will have a few queries of their own though.

>>547920
>Remain silent

>>547920
>Remain silent

Chewing your lower lip softly, you glance about the lobby at the placid, pleased faces surrounding you. Just as your mother's most bitter theories claim, the people have leapt at the chance to pass the burden of thought and action onto someone else's shoulders. Anders had enough confidence to look like he knew what he was talking about, and that had been enough to win the support of the people.

You meet Alyssia's eyes, and she shakes her head slightly – a tiny movement, barely enough to be noticed. “Hold your tongue,” that shake seems to say, “Don't draw attention to yourself.”

You're only too happy to comply. Some of the others around you are less discriminating, all shouting their questions at once. Smiling faintly, and then grimacing – you couldn't say which expression is the genuine one – Anders holds his hands up in a plea for silence. As the crowd settles, he waves a hand towards the owner of the loudest voice.

“How long will the storms last?” a fat woman – at least she won't have to worry about starvation – asks.

“We don't know. Not even the Ministry knows yet,” Anders frowns a little, “I suggest you listen to your radios for any updates. Next question?”

“Do we have any weapons?” a querulous young man asks, “If so, do you have any plans to distribute them?”

“I think it would be better to stay unarmed for now,” the landlord suggests, urging caution, “As long as the doors remain sealed, you shouldn't need to worry about needing weapons. With all luck, that won't change. If the worst should happen, though...” he pauses, spreading his hands, “I suspect that our good – and regretfully absent – Hunter has a number of weapons that we could use. He would want us to keep ourselves safe, after all.”

That son of a bitch just crossed a line.

-

The last questions are just menial nonsense – one sullen man actually had the nerve to complain about the rent – that nevertheless leave you irritated and uneasy. What it boils down to is simple – Anders has total control of the situation, with the license to make up new rules as he sees fit. As soon as the “meeting” is over, the landlord retreats to his room. Even above the general bustle of noise, you hear a heavy lock clicking into place a moment later. Piecemeal, the crowd returns to their rooms.

“Well, that went well,” Alyssia remarks, casting a bitter glance around the empty lobby, “About as well as can be expected, at least.”

Yeah, you mutter, and it was still a disaster.

>I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Dig in, and wait for things to blow over, right?
>Let's run – just pack some things and get out of here
>Other

>>548005
>>I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Dig in, and wait for things to blow over, right?
>Rig up some "Monster defenses" for when someone decides to try and take liberties.

>>548005
>>I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Dig in, and wait for things to blow over, right?

>>548005
>>I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Dig in, and wait for things to blow over, right?
Where would we even go? Though the idea of avoiding the inevitable shenanigans that will go down does sound pleasant.

>>548010
Issue with that is what prevents the 'defenses' from going off on accident to someone just walking in?

>>548005
>I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Dig in, and wait for things to blow over, right?
Worst comes to pass, we're the ones with the weapons (or at least the most weapons) and Alyssia might be able to whip something more proactive than her dolls up.

>>548005
Search the place for weapons, and if there are hide them in Alyssia's.
Only have Lize's own weapon if the fucker's come around to ask for them.
Hide the money as well.

>>548005
>I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Dig in, and wait for things to blow over, right?

>>548005
Lets tell the bastard that hanson is still alive and on his way back

>>548005
Take the food, weapons and money and camp at Alyssia's together. Safety in numbers.

Tell Anders Henryk is alive and will return soon.

You don't like this, not one bit, but you don't have much of a choice. What was it that Alyssia said earlier, you ask with a cynical smile, dig in and wait for things to blow over?

“That's right,” Alyssia nods, “It doesn't matter if you're dealing with tyrants or storms, the best thing to do is lie low and keep out of trouble. Normally, someone else comes along and settles any problem that needs solving. This time, though...”

This time, you finish, that might end up being your job.

“I hope not,” she smiles faintly, lingering stress dancing behind her eyes, “I'd rather not see this situation devolving into violence. After all, whatever would Henryk think if he came home to a battlefield?”

I think he'd be fine with it, you shrug, if it meant keeping Anders out of his stuff. Speaking of that, actually, you'd like to move a few things over to her room for safekeeping. Just a precaution, mind, but you're not in the mood to take chances.

“Are you sure about this?” Alyssia's voice is quiet, cautious, “I can understand where you're coming from, but Anders might take it as a challenge – a slight against his “authority”. He'd have his eye out for you.”

Let him, you reply coldly, if it comes to a fight you'll be the one with the weapons – and her support, if she's willing. There's safety in numbers, after all.

Alyssia considers the matter for a moment, closing her eyes and grimacing faintly. She thinks for what seems like a very long time, and then she nods firmly. Opening her eyes, she gives you a very serious look – like she's regarding you as an equal, rather than a child that needs taken care of. “Let's get to work,” she suggests, “There's plenty to do.”

-

There's something furtive about the way you move through the tenement block – through your own home – and that caution only deepens once you start moving your gathered supplies to Alyssia's apartment. You're always looking over your shoulder, listening for any footsteps. Vaguely disgusted at yourself, you realise that you've been considering everyone else as a possible spy, a potential enemy. Worse still, you might not be wrong about that.

These are not normal times.

First you move the food over, with Alyssia shifting bundles of cans through to her apartment. While she does that, you rummage through Henryk's apartment for any weapons he left behind. You knew where most of them were already – the first time you were left alone, you gave the apartment a very thorough search for anything interesting – but a second look still manages to surprise you.

Maybe keeping a knife taped to the back of the toilet cistern is a “thing” among Hunters.

[1/2]

>>548082

Partway through your search, you come across the cash tin. After a moment of deliberation, you gather the contents together and bury them, deep, in your coat pocket. Better to keep it close, you think, rather than risk it getting “lost” in suspicious circumstances. Once again, you feel a flash of bitterness crossing your mind, a faint anger that things have come to this. Before you can fall too deeply into a dark mood, your eye falls on the Ministry letter.

Perhaps Anders might appreciate knowing that Henryk is alive and well – and that he'll be coming back soon. He might feel safer that way... and he'll be on his best behaviour.

Folding the letter back into its envelope and putting it in your pocket, you head through to Alyssia's apartment, locking the door tightly behind you.

-

“Sorry about the clutter,” Alyssia apologises, gesturing vaguely around you as she brings a teapot over. Once the hard work was over, she insisted on making tea for you both, speaking at great length on the therapeutic benefits of a good brew. You accepted the offer to keep her happy as much as anything else, but now you realise how thirsty you are. “It's bad, even by my standards,” the witch adds as she pours, “But I think we're all set. Things are as good as they're going to get.”

Not exactly a rousing endorsement, you think, but circumstances are far from idea. As Alyssia says, this is as good as things are going to get. There's just one thing, you begin as you stir a little honey into your tea, one question you had. Those petty tyrants she mentioned, you ask, what usually happened to them?

“Ah, well...” forcing a laugh, Alyssia tries to avoid the question. When you wait for her answer, she is forced to give one. “Usually,” she explains, “They were deposed. Killed, to be specific.”

That's what you thought.

[2/3]

>>548105

With the letter in your pocket, and your pistol tucked into the back of your trousers – hidden by a long, loose shirt – you walk downstairs to the sound of shrieking wind. The storm is starting, its first few cries announcing its arrival. Taking your time going downstairs, you rehearse your words over and over again. Whenever your mind wanders, the feeling of the pistol digging into your back draws you back to the present.

The lobby, when you arrive, is empty – that is, empty save for Anders himself. He stands at one of the barred windows, gazing out at the whirling snow. The chairs are all cleaned away, and the lobby feels very big without them.

“At times like these, people sometimes say that it's every man for themselves,” Anders begins, without turning around to look at you, “But they're wrong. We're a group, all of us, and we need to stick together. We live, or we die, on the strength of our group.”

Saying nothing, you take your place at another window. Flanking the door like this, you could be a pair of weary sentries, guarding an important gate.

“But it's every group for itself,” the landlord continues, “We're on our own now, and the people out there... they can't help us. There's nobody out there we can rely upon. Everything we need is in here, within these four walls.”

That's where he's wrong, you reply quietly, there's someone out there – and he's coming back.

“I've seen those letters before,” Anders tells you, “They don't have a black border, but they might as well. Best give up on that Hunter of yours, girl, and start thinking practical. We're here, and we've got a proper mess on our hands. Dreaming won't do anyone any good.”

Wrong again, you retort as you take the letter out. With a slow and careful tone, you read out the relevant passage. Henryk's coming back, you add, and he's going to take care of everything here. That's what Anders wants, you ask innocently, for everyone to stay safe and sound... right?

Anders is silent for a long time, his face expressionless as he watches the vile weather outside. “Worst storms I've ever seen,” he says quietly, still without ever looking around at you, “I wager even a seasoned Hunter might have trouble in it. Might not make it this far – might not even try.”

Frowning, you turn to return upstairs. You've said what you came here to say – it's up to Anders to decide what to do with that information. As you're taking the first step up the stairs, though, he finally turns to you.

“Best you stop dreaming, girl,” he tells you gravely, “This is the real world now.”

>I think I'll pause things here for today. I'll pick things up tomorrow, and I'll stick around for a while in case anyone has any comments or questions.
>Thanks to everyone who posted today!

>>548135
Thanks for running!

>>548135
Sounds like we're in for a bad time. I wonder if Anders will actually somehow pull through and become a really reliable, if a bit a unpleasant, guy. Thanks for running Moloch.

This image of Henryk sporting the Zergface grin keeps poping in my mind.
Everyone around him is freaked the fuck out by the display but he has no idea he's doing the face.
They know that the second he starts howling he'll fuck them up something fierce and they're all stuck in this mexican stand-off

>>548135
Oh, Anders. Anders, you dumb bastard.

If he steps up, I say we show him some of the Dragon Blood. Pull him aside to talk things down, after all it would look rather bad if he has to fight a small teen girl no matter how it goes.

And then we gut punch him, tell him that if he wants to play at lords and ladies you've got the actual blood of one.

And that while he might think to try and hold that over you, or go sniffing around, he should remember that the Ministry tends to remove contagion with fire - physical or moral.

Make it clear that he just stepped in way, way over his head and that no matter what he thinks he might get out of it, he's someone easier to bury than to buy.

His own natural fear and greed should do the rest. After all, a man like that imagines his masters to be just like him but moreso. Calls his fear prudence and his greed necessity, and can't think of those above him being less prudent about necessities.

Or we could spend the time coming up to tell people he's saying that with Henrik gone you'll have to sleep with him to stay. Maybe find a family with a daughter. Complain that it ain't right for him to stand above and take special privilege when we're all in this together.

>>548696
nigga what

>>548135
Could we have roomed up with Iosefka with we had chosen to leave? That seems like a damn good idea in hindsight.

>>548718
Well. We're still a noble. A kid, but still a noble. We could go full in on breaking Anders by revealing that and threatening him with not just a vengeful noble family, but politics in the general sense.

Or we could build relations with the other people there. We ARE a 14 year old girl, and as a noble exceptionally educated for stuff like this. Go around, undermine Anders, saying that he's not the law the ministry is. He's talking treason, stealing weapons from a hunter. Weapons most people don't even know how to use. It's not like the ministry is just going to be gone after the storm ends.

Anyways, if he talks down to us we deflect to the Authority of the Ministry. If he yells at us we act like he's a bully and a tyrant. Keeps our secret for now, but draws attention from more people.

Or I guess we could princess up and hide in Henryks room with a gun pointed at the door. Probably have to move out after, people don't take kindly to that kind of thing. Also draws attention.

>>548718
If we do intimidate him, we can point put that we're the missing noble girl. But we're not actually missing, and have actually been back home just this day. Show him the cakes and shit, and books.

And then refuse to tell him anymore, and that if he wants to walk up to the Ministry and make a fuss until he gets the attention of . . . Someone, then that's his choice.

Heck we can even then swing back around and tell the other people that you and Anders have agreed that you, as the only person trained in using Henryks weapons, are going to be responsible for them.

Pretty sure none of that crap will be necessary and we can just stay holed up until Henryk comes back. Either in Alyssia's room if we want to look suspicious or stay in our cleaned out room and have Alyssia share the food if he comes asking so that he doesn't feel like seeing her place.

File: LIBERATION MOON ROTHSCHILD.png (94 KB, 250x300)

94 KB PNG

>>547367
Is a man not entitled to the dakis he has purchased?
'No!' says the National Socialist, "It is degenerate".
'No!' says the landwhale, "It is misogynistic".
'No!' says the kike, "It cuts into my whoring profits".
Smuggle dakimakura everyday
Smuggle 'em, smuggle 'em everyday

>>548776
undermining MIGHT work, but Lize has really been slacking on those social skills. Alyssia is personable, but not good at dealing with her image to strangers. She's too vulnerable to counter rumors.

>>548776
but I don't think any of this is wise.

Despite everything, despite the weather howling outside and the tension boiling away within the back of your mind, this manages to be quite the cosy scene.

Alyssia hums softly to herself as she weaves dried grass into a vaguely human shape, her quiet voice just barely rising above the murmur of the radio. The radio itself is tuned to a drama, a ridiculous but amusing tale about an undercover Ministry agent and a band of luckless thugs, and you occasionally chuckle aloud at the awful script. As you listen to the unfolding farce, your hands go through the motions of disassembling your pistol. You've done this so many times now that you barely need to look down. Were the lights to fail, you could probably assemble the gun without lighting a candle.

But it's not the lights that fail – it's the radio. Just as Little is growing out a cliché threat to Agent Daniels, the broadcast cuts to static, hissing insistently away. Both you and Alyssia look up at the exact same moment, looking at the radio as if stern glares will get it working again. When the static draws out longer and longer, you have to face reality – you'll never get to hear Daniels' comeback.

“Oh,” Alyssia says quietly, “I was enjoying that.”

Light's still on, you add as you nod to the electric light burning away above you, so the power must still be working. Maybe the signal has gone down? Considering the weather, you're surprised you were able to get a signal in the first place.

“Maybe,” frowning, Alyssia looks at the radio, “I don't really understand how these things work. You mean there aren't tiny little people talking inside?”

What, you splutter, does she really...?

“I'm kidding, I'm not that much of a savage,” the northerner laughs softly to herself, “The look on your face though... But, I meant what I said – I don't really know anything about radios or signals. It's just not something I've ever had the chance to learn much about. I don't know, though, maybe if I...” With a look of intense concentration on her face, Alyssia reaches across to the radio and turns a dial back and forth. It makes no difference, of course – everything is down, giving the same haze of static.

“So much for that,” Alyssia sighs, “Oh well, I suppose-” Her words are cut off sharply, and she holds up a hand to silence you. For a moment, you don't know what you're supposed to be listening to, but then you hear it. Carried on the wind, you hear the staccato sound of gunfire rattling out from some distant corner of the city. Maybe five or six rifles, all firing at once, and trailing off as the moment goes on. When the last of them has fallen silent, Alyssia glances to your pistol. “Have you ever used that?” she asks.

No, you reply, not yet. Somehow, though, you don't think that's going to last.

[1/2]

>>549333

The last of your fresh food serves as breakfast – cold meat on the hearty loaf that Morag gave you. It's a nostalgic taste, the sort of thing you grew up with, and that's almost enough to lift your mood back to something approaching good cheer. The loss of the radio hit you harder than you'd been expecting. The dramas, you could deal with losing, but the radio itself... it feels like your last link with the outside world has been severed. From now on, your world has shrunk down to this dreary tenement block.

In the space of one night, the entire atmosphere seems to have changed, growing still and uneasy. At the mouth of the stairwell, where no-one could possibly miss it, a handwritten poster reminds everyone of the temporary rules. Scowling at is as you pass, fighting back the urge to tear it down out of childish spite, you start down the stairs. You want to see what the situation is, and the lobby – a kind of unofficial meeting place – is the best place to start. Even before you've reached the lobby, though, you can hear the sound of raised voices – bleating voices, your mother would say.

You listen for a moment more before continuing down the stairs, almost running straight into someone else, some other eavesdropper. The man from last night, you realise, the one who had been asking about weapons. Now apart from the rest of the group, he looks more awake and aware, with an ironic smile touching his thin lips.

“Quite a mess, wouldn't you say?” he asks as he notices you, “Honestly, all this fuss over a few radios! I'm Thomas Mercer, third floor.”

Eliza Hanson, you reply cautiously, seventh floor.

“Hmm, can't say I envy you all those stairs,” Thomas thinks on the matter for a moment, “But I suppose they'd make for good exercise.” Lapsing back into silence, you have the chance to study him. Sharply dressed – as though he was being interviewed for a new job, rather than chatting in a stairwell – he has something of an officious look to him, one that his thin spectacles only exaggerate.

Is that what all this is about, you ask, people complaining about the radios?

“Among other things,” Thomas tilts his head to the side, considering the knot of unsettled people below, “I think reality is starting to set in. Almost everyone is running short of something or another – canned food, batteries, even bullets or medical supplies. I wonder if Anders has a handy plan for dealing with this. Actually, that reminds me – do you mind if I ask a question?”

Go ahead, you shrug, but you might not answer it.

“Understandable,” he concedes the point with a nod, “Our new leader... what's your opinion on him?”

>I think he means well
>He doesn't have a clue
>I don't trust him, not even slightly
>Sorry, but I'd rather not say
>Other

>>549334
>I think he THINKS he means well
>But as soon as he realizes just how little control he actually has, it'll all come tumbling down.

>>549343
This

>>549334
>>Other
"I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid out of desperation."

>>549334
>>Sorry, but I'd rather not say
Guy seems kind of sneaky, might be a potential ally though but I don't know if I want to trust him.

>>549343
>>549349
Supporting these

>>549334
This! >>549343

You consider the question for a moment, and then you consider the man asking it. Thomas seems to be studying you in turn, as if his entire question had been a test. You're weighing each other up like a pair of duellists, and neither one of you wants to make the first move. Still – someone has to break this stalemate, and you'd prefer if it was him. Once he's shown his cards, you might be happier to answer.

“Hmm,” taking note of your silence, Thomas smiles faintly to himself, “Either you're thinking very carefully about this, or you don't have an answer to give. Both possibilities are interesting. Well, in the interests of establishing mutual trust, how about I go first? Simply put, I have my doubts. As a common landlord, Anders had his failings. As the ruler of his own little kingdom? Mark me down as worried. Maybe not desperately worried – lord knows, I'll take his rules with a smile if they keep us all safe – but concerned. So... what about you, Eliza Hanson from the seventh floor?”

Sighing, you look down at the uncertain masses, and the man who chose to lead them. They seem a little happier now that Anders is speaking to them, even if his words – those of them that you can hear, anyway – are empty platitudes. The way you see it, you begin slowly, he thinks that he means well. He probably has noble intentions, even if the reasons behind them are less honourable.

“Doing good for bad reasons, you mean?” Thomas offers, “Keeping us all safe for the sake of his own ego?”

Maybe, you agree, but it won't last. Once he realises how little control he really has, all these polite rules of his are going to come tumbling down. When that happens, you just hope he doesn't do anything desperate, anything stupid. That's when things could get really bad.

“Hence why I was wondering about weapons. It's not beasts I'm worried about, not really,” the cynical man rubs a hand across his chin, “I won't ask if you've got anything to share. Were our positions reversed, I wouldn't want to say either. All I'll say is, clever men and women never reveal their full hand. Keep a few tricks up your sleeve, girl, and you'll out of anything with a smile on your face.”

This is starting to take on a worryingly conspiratorial tone, you think to yourself, as if you should be planning this in a darkened basement or something. It's not a conversation you're willing to have in such a public place. Forcing a neutral smile onto your face – the kind of pleasantly harmless expression you'd wear for relatives – you thank Thomas for his time and take a step back. Turning away, you descend the last flight of stairs and enter the lobby.

You feel his eyes on your back the whole time.

[1/2]

>>549421


As you arrive, Anders is preparing to make another one of his declarations, and you have to wonder how bad this one is going to be. Weaving your way into the crowd, you let yourself fade into the background.

“I've heard what you have to say,” Anders begins, “And it seems we all have issues with supplies. Some folks have more than they need, some have less. Now what I'm proposing is simple, and I think you'll all find it agreeable. We'll come together as a community, and we'll swap what we need. Tomorrow, at noon, anyone who wants to barter can bring their goods down here. It'll be fair trading, I'll be on hand to make sure of that – no price gouging or tough dealing.”

A murmur of agreement runs through the crowd, and you almost find yourself nodding along with it. Under more favourable circumstances, you might even like the idea – it has a quaint charm to it, everyone coming together to swap things – but this isn't the time for such things. Anders, who spoke to you last night about being practical, must be aware of this. He'll have his own motives for this, you don't doubt, and they're likely nothing good. Worming your way out of the crowd, you start back to your apartment.

As you do, you catch Thomas' eye again. Smiling that ironic smile, he offers a faint shrug. Looking away, you march up the stairs to your apartment.

-

Alyssia, when you return, is hard at work taking a full list of what you have squirrelled away. Food, medical supplies and other miscellaneous goods are all stacked up in their own neat little piles, while she scribbles away in a notepad.

“I'd say we have enough food to last the two of us for... just less than a fortnight,” she tells you, “More, if we ration everything out carefully – but I'd rather not resort to that. I don't think we'll need to, either. I've never heard of a storm lasting more than single week. How are things looking down below?”

The cracks are beginning to show, you admit, a little faster than you were expecting. Everyone is short of something, and Anders is proposing a little swap meet to try and smooth things out. At least, that's what he says – you're not entirely convinced.

“I don't know, it might be... not the worst idea in the world,” Alyssia regards the stack of supplies again, “We could probably trade a few cans of food, maybe some other things, without suffering too much. It would show good community spirit, at least. What do you think?”

>I'd rather hold onto everything we can, just in case
>I think you're right – we don't want to look like hoarders
>Other

>>549508
>I think you're right – we don't want to look like hoarders
Just a little. Just enough to contribute so the spotlight doesn't get turned on us.

>>549508
>>Other
We send Alyssia to trade stuff since she was the one that came home with the bags while we stay and watch over everything else.

>>549508
> trade some shit
He saw her come in with both if your supplies, no reason to give him an excuse to be an asshole

>>549523
Yeah, both of us together

>>549508
seconding >>549523

>>549523
This could work, supporting

>>549523
Thirding

>>549532
>Yeah, both of us together
Just to be clear, I mean to send Alyssia down with a few cans and stay up in our room making sure no one tries anything funny. We won't be together.

She's got a point, you admit, Anders saw her coming back with two loads of groceries after all. Keeping that all to yourselves might make you look like hoarders, and that kind of reputation can cause problems. The last thing you want is for the rest of the building to turn against you in some kind of witch hunt. No offence, you add after you consider the wording.

“None taken,” Alyssia replies smoothly, “So long as everything is a fair trade, I don't mind letting go of a few small things. Might even be able to get some nice stuff in return. We don't have any particular shortages, so much, but I'll see what's on offer. Do you want to join me?”

You'd rather stay up here and keep an eye on things, you tell her. She should go down and mingle with the others, just to keep up appearances, but you want to keep an eye on things here. Maybe it's paranoid, but the thought of leaving your apartments unguarded – even if they are locked – doesn't really seem like a good idea. It would be easy work for someone to sneak in and help themselves to a few items while everyone else is busy with the swap meet down below.

“You're right, but...” her face darkening, Alyssia's voice lowers slightly, “I hate the fact that it's come to this. We shouldn't have to be thinking like this, we should be coming together as a community! Stealing from your own... that's low.”

It's just a precaution, you remind her, you might not need to worry about it. On the other hand, it might save some trouble.

“I know, I know,” the northerner sighs, “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I suppose I'll... I'll see what we can spare. It might be a token effort, but I hope it'll do some good.”

And watch out for Anders, you warn her, you still think he might be up to something.

-

With that matter settled, you feel the urge for some time alone – some time to relax, and focus on other matters. Letting yourself back into Henryk's apartment, you run your fingers along the bookshelves in search of anything that catches your eye. An old manual draws your eye, a guide to knife fighting. Slipping it down from the shelf, you flop back onto the sofa and start to read it. Compared with the stiff and formal training you were raised with, the book preaches a brutal kind of fighting. Noble duels are judged on precise footwork and skilful blows. These fights aren't judged at all – they end when one fighter is dead, the length of a hunting knife buried in their stomach or their throat slit open.

Shivering a little at the thought, you clear a space and start to imitate some of the moves, cutting and thrusting at the thin air. Just one more skill you hope never to need.

[1/2]

>>549588

You pass an hour like this, fighting off imagined enemies with an equally imagined knife, before you repeat the process with a real knife. It feels different with a weapon in your hand, and not just with the weight slowing your movements. What was originally a simple motion of the hand changes to a low stab, one meant to gut a man and end his life. Once that idea has wormed its way into your mind, you can't think of it in any other way, and the training soon loses its lustre. Sliding the book back onto the shelf, you wipe away a thin sweat and consider your next move.

It's strange, you'd never normally be at a loose end like this. Normally, once you ran out of things to do, you could just take a walk around the city. Obviously, that's not an option now. Maybe you'll take a nap, and pass a few hours that way.

-

Tired out from your impromptu training, you pass more than a few hours sleeping. When you wake up, it's night – just a few hours shy of midnight – and the skies outside are dark. With the leaden clouds overhead, it was dull, but this is a different kind of darkness. Looking out the window, you can just barely see the opposite tenement, and even then just as a blocky shape. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you look down into the streets below, and there you see something that snaps you to full wakefulness.

There's a light down there, a faint flicker that weaves slowly through the hostile streets. A lantern, if that golden light is any indication. Someone is out there, maybe lost, maybe looking for shelter. Grabbing your gun – and, with faint reluctance, the hunting knife – you start to hurry downstairs.

At this hour, the lobby is naturally deserted. Even Anders is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Swallowing nervously, you start to hurry across the lobby before the noise of your footsteps stops you. Walking this time, your pace careful and measured, you cross to one of the windows and peer out. Looking from the dark lobby to the darker streets outside, all you can see is whirling snow. Could you have imagined that lonesome flame, you wonder, or has its owner vanished in the short time you were away?

No, it's there – casting a fragile circle of light against the gloom. From closer down like this, you can see the figure holding the lantern – a man, or maybe a woman, draped in a thick coat. They're not alone either, with a small number of equally dressed people sticking close. They pass through the streets, checking each building in turn as they pass. Soon, they will reach your door.

[2/3]

>>549663
I'm sure they're all nice Ministry people that have just come to make sure doors are locked and doing patrols. Nothing bad could possibly happen.

>>549663

Even when you're expecting it, prepared for its sudden noise, the sound of a fist hammering on the door causes you to flinch back, as if you had been struck a physical blow. That sound causes you to cast a frantic eye about the lobby, expecting to see Anders rushing to investigate. When no-one comes, you slowly turn your eyes back to the window. Those frail figures prowl around the windows, peering in as they do so. When the leader, their lantern lowered, notices you, they take hold of the iron bars and look in as best they can.

When the second knock comes, it's far lighter – more discrete, almost. The first knock had been to alert the whole building, but this one was meant for your ears only. Slowly, moving as though your feet were mired in tar, you approach the window. As you draw closer, the leader pulls their scarf down to reveal their face – hard, bearded and desperate. Haunted, almost, but you couldn't say by what.

“Hey, you in there!” he calls, his voice just reaching you, “Let us in, please! I have women in my party, and we're running low on bullets. We won't last much longer out here, please open the door!”

Who... who are they, you ask, why are they here?

“My name is Hyde, I'm a Hunter,” the man tells you, fumbling in his bulky coat for a leather wallet. Letting it fall open, he presses his League papers up against the window so you can read them. They look... genuine.

“Our shelter was attacked, and our defences failed. I managed to get a few people out, but we need new shelter,” his eyes widen, some unheard noise causing him to flinch, and then he knocks on the glass again, “Please!”

You don't know what to do. His papers look genuine, and they've made no move to force their way in – yet – but still... Anders was very clear about not letting anyone else in. Though... he wanted a Hunter here, didn't he?

Don't forget, a cold and cynical part of your mind whispers, let this man in and he'll owe you. He'd have the authority to take command... and he'd owe you his life. You can USE this.

>Unlock the door, let them in
>Leave the door locked. No-one gets in
>Find Anders and explain the situation to him. Let him decide this
>Other

>Leave the door locked

>>549702
Dis gun b gud.

>Unlock the door, let them in.

>>549702
>Grill him on the beast. What guarantee does he have that the beast can't bust into this particular building? What defences did they have that failed?
>Don't let them in unless we feel that the Hunter is actually up for Round 2.

>>549702
>Leave the door locked. No-one gets in
We just don't have the food to do this. Also it's an unknown element. We can handle Anders.

>>549702
>>549718
this

>>549718
The smart option

>>549702
> don't let him an in
You ain't suppose to let anyone in. This guy isn't so special.

>>549702
>Unlock the door, let them in
I think it's a bit too early for Lize to leave people to die.
Run them by Alyssia though, in case hungry spirits learned to falsify League papers.

>>549702
>Find Anders and explain the situation to him. Let him decide this

>>549702
>>Unlock the door, let them in
Always listen to the voices in your head am I right? What could possibly go wrong?

>>549790
But she's also smart enough to know this could potentially make a bad situation even worse.

>>549702
Leave the door locked. No-one gets in

If we let them in Anders WILL make us feed them

>>549813
or atleast try to, he feels like that kind of an ass

>>549813
If we let them in, Anders won't be in charge anymore. Or they could just be beasts and rip everyone else up. Not us though 'cause we were nice and opened the door.

>>549823
Honestly I think Lize can handle Anders and hell, potentially take leadership from him if he does something stupid. Better the enemy you know.

This """Hunter""" is too unknown and Lize shouldnt just assume he'll be on her side.

>>549857
>potentially take leadership from him
I thought the same but who would actually listen to a random little girl? Besides, the voices in our head can't possibly be wrong, it's definitely a good idea to place 100% trust in them.

>>549872
When the little girl starts talking sense/keeping her cool while Anders is losing it. People like it when someone takes charge.

Also dropping that we are Henryk's sister might help our cred.

>I'm sorry for this delay, my mind's gone completely blank. I'm going to need to pause a little, maybe an hour at most, to try and get my thoughts in order.
>I sincerely apologise for this inconvenience

>>549932
That's fine man. Rest up.

>>549718
this

I apologise again for the delay, and for the next post. Since there was good support for asking questions and getting a little more information, I thought it best to provide answers before making a choice. I know it's not an ideal solution, but I felt it was the best approach to take. Thank you for your patience.

This beast, you ask in a shaking voice, what was it like? If it was able to break through their defences, what's to say that it can't break into this building as well?

“Gods, girl, can't we discuss this inside?” the Hunter curses, slumping forwards until his head almost hits the iron bars on the window, “It was like a great bear – you know what a bear is like, don't you? - only mad with bloodlust. Hungry, so damn hungry, we only got away when it stopped to feed on the dead. For all I know, it might still be out there – it might have our scent!” Again, he turns away from you and looks out into the night. Whatever he sees there – or doesn't see – calms him a little, and he turns back to you.

“We came from the slums,” he tells you hurriedly, “The buildings there are old, decaying – not like these towers. A fortress like this, we'd stand a chance.”

Groaning, you turn away from the window and try to think. You're already looking at food shortages, even without several extra mouths to feed, and these people are an unknown element. His papers might be genuine, but you don't have any guarantee that they belong to him. Leaving them outside, though, and you'd be signing their death warrant. Let them in, and if they mean trouble, and you could be spelling death for everyone else.

You wish Henryk was here. You wish anyone else could be here, to take this unwanted decision out of your hands. You're not cut out for holding life and death in your hands, no matter what you thought or how tough you tried to act. What if it comes back for them, you call out, what if that beast really does track them back here?

“Then we'll bloody well be ready for it!” Hyde cries back, slamming the flat of his hand against the iron bars covering the window, “But we can't fight out here, we can barely stand! What do you want, money? We were barely able to grab a few cans of food each! I've got a rifle, a good one – once this storm is over, it's yours, if you just let us in!”

>Let them in
>Turn them away

>>550355
>>Let them in

>>550355
>>Let them in
He seems like a nice guy, offering his rifle. Tell him we don't need his rifle, wouldn't want him to think badly of us.

>>550355
>>Let them in

>>550355
>Let them in
I'm going to regret this. But I don't think Lize would leave people to die.

>>550355
>Let them in

>>550355
Ask him something a Hunter would know.

>>550355
>>Let them in

>>550355
>Let them in

File: Hyde.jpg (29 KB, 385x600)

29 KB JPG

Hissing out a hard breath, you clench your fists. What do they call retired Hunters, you ask him, can he tell you that?

“Old Wolves, just like Old Wolf Kolyat!” he responds immediately, “I'll answer any questions you have, if it convinces you!”

He's right about the Old Wolf thing, but that's something that might well be common knowledge. Searching your memory, you try to think of everything Henryk ever told you about his training, about his time as a Hunter. His graduation, you ask quickly, there was a final test – what was it?

“How do you know about that? Ah, hell... we drink poison blood, and we're set loose in the forest. Those who can find their way home pass, those who never return...” there's a faint note of triumph in his voice as he rattles off the details, “Well, they never bloody return, do they? I'd call that a failure – good enough for you?”

As good as either of you are going to get, you realise. Drawing your pistol and clicking off the safety, you approach the door and – with one last moment of hesitation – you draw back the locks. Almost as soon as the door is unbarred, it burst open and three figures stumble through. One falls, crying out faintly as another two follow behind. Hyde pushes back his hood and spreads his hands wide, slowly taking the rifle from around his shoulder and lowering it to the ground. His every movement is carefully composed and calculated, a sharp contrast to the frantic motions his charges show.

“I don't blame you for being cautious,” he says slowly, “And I thank you for opening up. You're the first person around here who's been kind enough to take a chance on us. If there's work to be done, we'll do more than our fair share – it's only right and proper, after all. Pardon me for saying, though, but... are you really in charge of this building? You seem a little-”

A little young?

“Well, yes,” Hyde laughs, “It's not the strangest thing I'll have seen, but it's up there.”

No, you tell him, you're not the one charge here. The landlord should be, but he seems to be... asleep or something. He must be a heavy sleeper, if the noise they made coming in hasn't brought him running. Things might get a little tense between them, but you don't expect it to be a problem – Anders, the landlord, had been complaining about needing a Hunter around.

“Aye, the Ministry was fair buried under requests,” Hyde nods, “But there's always too few good men to go around. I had a whole block of slum housing under my care, and it...” he winces, looking away from you, “Even with a dozen Hunters, that's too much ground to cover. Not that the Ministry cares about that, mind, but... ah, no. You don't need to hear this.”

[1/2]

>>550566
See, I knew he'd be a nice guy. Now he can throw his experience around and put Anders in his place.

>>550566

Frowning a dark frown, Hyde nudges his rifle towards you with his foot. He looks like a man signing away the use of his legs, or otherwise taking some grave curse upon himself. As he is disarming himself, his flock of wayward souls gather themselves, shaking snow from their limbs and uncovering their faces. One and all, they share the same haunted look – more prey than Hunter, you think to yourself. Three men, Hyde included, and two women. One of the men, though, might not make it – his coat is darkened with blood, and his eyes barely stay open for more than a few seconds.

One less mouth to feed, you think with a bitter weight of guilt. Keep the rifle, you say aloud, he might very well need it later. Just the offer was enough for you.

“This is Pater,” Hyde gestures to the first man, a heavyset man with the figure of an ageing boxer, before nodding to the wounded, perhaps dying, man, “And this is Dan. He caught a bad injury on the way out. It was meant for me, but...”

“I ain't worth a damn thing,” Dan mutters, “I figured we needed an Hunter far more than a bloody accountant. Never thought I'd live to tell the tale, either.” Just saying that seems to take most of his strength, and he wilts against Pater. One of the women joins the pair of men, quick to take her share of the weight.

“That's Hilde,” the Hunter continues, gesturing to the sturdy woman, before nodding to the other, frailer looking one, “And that's Katrina. Now that we're all introduced, what's your name?”

Eliza Hanson, you tell him – without even thinking about which name to give. At the mention of your second name, a faint shade passes across Hyde's face. That's right, you tell him, you're Henryk's little sister. He... doesn't mention you much.

“I know Henryk,” Hyde nods, “We're not close, but he seems like a good man. His sister... that explains why you know so much about us. Anyway, it's a small world, and-”

“Stop right there, the lot of you!” a reedy voice breaks the peaceful mood, and you all turn to face Anders. He's unshaven, his eyes are red, and he carries an ancient looking shotgun in his hands. Even from here, you can smell the faint reek of whiskey.

That, at least, would explain why he was sleeping so soundly.

“Who are you, who let you in?” the landlord continues, “If you're beasts, I won't hesitate to blow you away!”

>You're not in charge any more, Anders. Stand down
>Anders, please – he's a Hunter, he came to help
>This is Hyde, I can vouch for him personally
>Other

>>550730
>>This is Hyde, I can vouch for him personally
What the hell do you tell a drunk man with a gun so he doesn't shoot you?

>>550730
>Other

"Anders, the Ministry sent a Hunter."

>>550730
>Anders, please – he's a Hunter, he came to help
"You complained that we had no Hunter to protect us. Now we do."

>Other
"So let's put the gun down and let's see if we have something to patch Dan here up yeah?"

>>550730
>>Anders, please – he's a Hunter, he came to help
>you DID say this place needed a hunter didn't you?

>>550730
>Anders, please – he's a Hunter, he came to help
>This is Hyde, I can vouch for him personally. I know about him through Henryk

>>550761
supporting this

Anders please, you begin in the most peaceful tone you can muster, he's a Hunter. The Ministry sent a Hunter to help after all – he said that the building needed a Hunter, right? Well, now he's got one. So... how about he puts the gun down, and you can all talk about it.

“A Hunter, are you? How about some papers?” Anders sways in place for a moment before his eyes sharpen, suspicion outweighing the alcohol in his system, “I'm not putting this gun down until I see something official!”

Hyde doesn't take his eyes – careful, cautious eyes – from Anders as he hands you his papers. You glance them as you cross the lobby and hand them over to the landlord. Damien Hyde, you notice, nice name. There's a photo as well, but it's so small, faded and poor quality that it barely looks human. Anders snatches the papers off you and tries to read them, his eyes wavering across the tiny script. They settle on the official League seal, and that's good enough for him.

“So you're a Hunter, so what? Why should I trust you?” despite his harsh tone, Anders lowers the shotgun a fraction, “Folks here, I've known them for years. You lot, I've known for a few... a few minutes.”

This is Hyde, you tell him patiently, Damien Hyde. You can vouch for him personally – Henryk introduced the two of you a while ago. Small world, isn't it?

“Huh,” Anders glares at you, before lowering his gun the rest of the way and allowing his vile look to pass over the rest of the group. “And them?” he asks, “Are they all Hunters and all?”

“I ran across a spot of trouble on the way here,” Hyde explains slowly, “These people needed my help, and I wasn't prepared to abandon them. It was either leaving them to die, leaving you without a Hunter, or taking them with me. I chose the latter.”

That's right, you add, so let's see about patching Dan here up. He's in a bit of a bad way, as Anders can probably see.

“Uh, yeah. Thought I smelled something bad. Don't rightly think we have a proper doctor here, but that Hemwick bitch knows a few tricks. Should turn her in for practising without a license, but...” he mumbles something vague and indistinct, something that you can't catch, “Anyway, do what you want, just don't make a mess. We'll discuss this properly in the morning – you can stay until then.”

And then, almost dropping his gun in the process, he turns and shambles back into his private quarters.

-

“You've got a quick mind, and a quicker tongue,” Hyde tells you quietly as you lead his group upstairs, “I don't think I could have made up that much on short notice. Seemed to fool your landlord, at least.”

The whiskey fooled him, you reply, you'll see how well words fare in the morning.

[1/2]

>>550994

It takes a long time to get Dan all the way up to the seventh floor, and you need to take frequent breaks. Although he takes it stoically, the pain often gets too much for him and causes him to pass out. When that happens, Pater and Hilde take up the load and carry their wounded friend further up. Hyde walks by your side, looming like an old tree and doing his best to look calm. Whenever his mask slips, though, you see a sick worry flashing across his face.

He only managed to bring four people out, you think, and now he's losing one of them. You'd be worried too, in his position.

Pounding a fist against Alyssia's door until she opens it, you waste no time at all in getting to the point. Got an injured man here, you tell her, is there anything she can do for him?

“Eliza, what...” she blinks a few times, and that's all it takes for the sleep to leave her, “Lay him out flat – yes, right there in the corridor, I don't have enough room in my place. How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Hyde says grimly, “Stomach wound. Lacerations.”

That gives Alyssia pause. Open fear spreads across her face, and she takes a small step backwards. With a single shuddering breath, though, she scrapes together her resolve and approaches Dan. Kneeling, she peels back the layers of bloodied cloth and grunts in disgust, covering her mouth and nose. The smell is awful – worse than just blood, as if there's some terrible filth festering within the wounds.

“No, oh no...” Alyssia murmurs to herself, “I can't... this is too much...”

Staring down at the man's insides, you recall Iosefka's words. Not many people survive wounds like these, she said, and you can well understand why.

Rising to her feet, Alyssia looks between you and Hyde. “I need to talk,” she tells you both bluntly, “To... to warn you. Simply put, this man is dying. I could try to help him, but it would be... prolonging the inevitable, and his suffering.”

“There's nothing you can do?” Hyde asks, “You can't even ease his pain?”

“I could make things... easier for him,” Alyssia looks down, unable to look either of you in the eye, “You understand me, don't you? I can ease his passing. It would be a far quieter end that anything else he has ahead of him.”

“I understand,” Hyde nods, “Perhaps it's for the best, then...”

>It's for the best, yes
>No, you can't just give up on him like this!
>Other

>>551147
>It's for the best, yes
Better to get it over with quickly and peacefully than to cling to false hope.

>>551147
>>It's for the best, yes

>>551147
>It's for the best, yes
I'm willing to take Alyssia's word in this. This isn't even a proper clinic.

>>551147
>>It's for the best, yes

>>551147
>>It's for the best, yes
If she says there isn't anything to be done, we should leave it there.

>>551147
Oh shit.
Literally shit.
Now I know he'll keel over from peritonite anyway, but does Lize know?
Eh.

>It's for the best, yes

The words feel like cold stone in your mouth, but you force yourself to speak. She's right, you murmur, it's for the best. There's no point in dragging this tortuous death out for any longer – let it be a peaceful end, and a quick one.

“We're all in agreement then?” Hyde looks between the group, even glancing back to his flock. They all nod – save for Katrina, who gives no response at all – and murmur their assent. Turning back to Alyssia, the Hunter rubs a hand across his bare scalp and nods.

“Okay, right,” Alyssia nods, “Eliza, can you help me with this? I need you to dig out a few things. Don't worry, it's all very simple. I just need an extra pair of hands.”

Alright, you reply in a shaky voice, you'll do your best. Following her back into the apartment, you watch as Alyssia starts to rummage in a cupboard. You hear glass bottles clinking together and clay jars rattling. You have no idea what she's looking for, or what she needs you to do, but all you can do is stand and wait for orders.

“Here,” the witch says as she returns, placing a mortar and pestle in front of you, a dozen or so dried leaves sitting in the bottom, “Grind that up into a fine powder – like sand, or... a fine powder, you're a smart girl, c'mon!” Alyssia's voice is bordering on panic, but she manages to keep herself from dipping into hysteria, “I just need to... need to measure a few things.”

So what is this, you ask as you attack the dried leaves, some traditional northern thing?

“I guess you could call it an old family recipe,” Alyssia yelps out a shrill, manic laugh, her voice backed by the chime of glasses rattling together, “Six leaves would put a strong man to sleep for a day. Twelve leaves... you don't wake up from it.”

So she knows how to make poison, you think as you pound away at the herbs, you're learning a lot of interesting things today.

“Okay, alright, I'm ready. Are you finished with those leaves?” Alyssia breezes through with a glass, some faintly steaming liquid in it. It smells like tea – strong and sweet. “The leaves are very bitter, it's easy for people to vomit them up,” the northerner explains, “The taste should mask it, and make it easier for him to take.”

What if he doesn't like tea, you ask, what them?

Alyssia just stares at you for a moment, as if that was the most foolish thing she'd ever heard.

[1/2]

>>551361
>as if that was the most foolish thing she'd ever heard.
Definitely up there I'm sure, can't be help though.

>>551361

The tea darkens when you mix in the powdered leaves, and the scent takes on a slight sourness that you instinctively recoil from. Even if Alyssia hadn't told you a single thing about this process, you'd know that it was a sinister deed you've helped her with. Maybe not evil, maybe not wrong, but far from pleasant. As you and Alyssia return to the dying man, you can't help but feel more like an executioner than a doctor.

“Eliza, can you hold his head up?” Alyssia asks quietly, “Otherwise, I fear he might choke.”

Sure, you mumble to yourself, and you wouldn't want him to suffocate or anything.

Ignoring your remark, Alyssia prepares to help Dan drink the poisoned tea, but then she hesitates and her face clouds. “Oh,” she says with a grimace, “His stomach. Um, I might need a little help with this. Could someone...?”

Hyde is the first to understand what she means, and the look of distaste that crosses his face is so absurd that you nearly laugh aloud. He nods firmly and pulls on a pair of leather gloves, reaching down into the gaping wound in Dan's side. As much as you'd like to block them out, the wet sounds that follow entrench themselves deeply in your memory, leaving their own little scars. As Hyde holds the man's stomach together, Alyssia helps him drink the poison tea, murmuring soft reassurances all the while.

For some reason, those soft whispers – soothing and almost motherly – are far worse than the meaty sounds that came from Dan's insides.

-

Once the last drop of tea has been drunk, it doesn't take long for Dan to slip into a deep sleep, and then into an even deeper – and more permanent – rest. By the end, you're all looking worse for wear. Alyssia's face is ghoulishly pale, Hyde is soaked with sweat, and the dead weight of Dan's limp head – still held in your grasp – is almost too much for you to take.

“It's done,” Alyssia whispers eventually, “Eliza, you can let him go now. Eliza, can you hear me?”

Nodding, you ease Dan's head down until it's flat on the floor and shuffle backwards, leaning against the wall and letting your eyes flutter shut.

Hell of a day, you mutter to yourself.

>I think I'll pause things here, and pick them up, I think, tomorrow. Either way, I'll stick around for a while in case of any questions or comments.
>I have to apologise for today, I was not working at my best. Thanks for the patience and understanding!

>>551490
It happens Moloch, hope you're okay.

>>551490
Not gonna lie, I chuckled at the part where they needed to hold Dan's stomach closed.

Great job as always Moloch.

>>551490
No problem Moloch, thanks for running.

Timeline wise is Henryk still in isolation by this time?

>>551490
yeah dude great writing youve had me hooked since thread #1 even if your not at your best or so you say, loving every moment of this quest

>>551490
Thanks for the run Moloch. Don't worry about the quality of your writing, you're one of the most consistently good QMs out there.

I sure hope someone's got a plan for the body, because the smell is only going to get worse the longer we're stuck inside.

>>551490
>you wouldn't want him to suffocate or anything.
Lize has got quite the mouth on her. She'll be a total badass after this storm passes.
Take care of yourself Moloch, ain't nothing wrong with taking the day off if you think it's a bad idea.

>>551542
Could always toss it out and hope a beast takes care of it. Not that anyone would be able to suggest that and even if they did, things could go horribly wrong.

Thanks for all the kind words, I'm glad that everyone is enjoying the quest so far. It means a lot to me!

>>551511

At this moment, Henryk would be on the boat back to the Free States, just at the start of the journey. The weather might delay him a little, mind.

>>551542

The body will be taken care of, I expect. There are strict rules and regulations for these things!

>>551583
What kind of rep does Henryk have with other Hunters?

>>551844

I think "unremarkable" might be the best word to describe it. He was known as a good worker, but not really enough to stand out. A large part of that was a desire not to stand out - he was never really one for self-promotion. Overall though, he's seen as a pretty reliable guy, nothing to complain about.

>>551900
Is Henryk more autistic than the average Hunter?

>>551943

Maybe a little bit, yes

>>551971
In your opinion how different would the University expedition gone if we we're Snake blooded?

>>551971
is all this emotional trauma doing things to Lize's blood?

>>552000

It would have been interesting, that's for sure. For one thing, the Wehrlain Engine would have been less of an issue - for us, anyway - and Wehrlain himself would have more openly friendly. That is to say, we would have been more discrete about his attempts to screw us over.

Otherwise, I'm not exactly certain how differently it could have played out. Less of a focus on beasts like the deformed child, I expect. I had a vague idea of what a Snake protagonist would have been like, but it's hard to know how he would have developed over the course of the story

>>552035

It's going to have an influence, certainly. It might not be enough to bring her blood to full maturity - yet - but it's certainly going to come into play

>>552069
If we started with Bull Blood how high ranking in the Ministry would be if at all? Camilla level? Lower? Higher?

>>552253

About the same sort of level as Camilla, yes, now that she's been demoted. Rather than hunting beasts, we'd mainly be sent out to deal with infections or possible diseases, as well as more human threats - criminals and such.

So, we'd have a certain degree of both authority and autonomy, but we'd still have someone issuing orders every now and again.

>>552069
oh, and for the record, I knew full well that it was dickish to question them before letting them in. still felt it was better than letting them in first THEN asking questions.

>>552315

No, I can well understand that. Looking back, I feel it would have been better to split the choice up into two sections - a chance to ask question before making the let in/turn away decision. Still, that's hindsight for you.

>>552315
Hey it changed my mind to letting them in so it was a good idea.

It made it so that she was still smart about it but also not leaving people to die.

“We'll need to burn the... the body.”

Those are the first words you hear Katrina say, her voice skittering like a pack of frightened rats. She seems to be on the verge of panic, but in a far less controlled way than Alyssia was. Alyssia had something to do, something to focus her mind on, while Katrina is little more than a bystander. All she's done so far is stare and whimper a little.

Well, not everyone can be useful.

“Ministry regulations are clear, a fresh cadaver cannot be allowed to fester and spread miasma,” she continues, utterly unaware of the filthy looks that Pater and Hilde are shooting her. Hilde in particular looks like she might slap the other woman into silence. The mood turns ugly, and it's only when Hyde speaks up in Katrina's defence that the tension starts to seep away.

“She's right,” he admits, “Keeping a dead body around like this is a health risk – even without taking the dangers into account, it's unpleasant. We're guests here already, the least we can do is take care of our own... mess.” His expression turns bitter here, as if discounting the fallen man in such casual terms sits poorly with him, but there's a resolve in that bitterness. It's the face of a man who knows what must be done, regardless of the cost.

“So what do we do?” Pater asks quietly, his voice more cultured than you were expecting.

“Eliza, get a clean sheet,” Alyssia tells you, “That's the first step. He needs a shroud.”

A clean sheet. You can do that.

-

“I feel like we should say something,” Alyssia says, once Dan's cold corpse has been tightly wrapped in the clean linen sheet, “Something respectful. Anything. You knew him better than we did, why don't you say something?” She looks between the new arrivals as she says this, her pleading eyes urging them to speak.

“He was an accountant,” Hilde offers, shrugging lightly, “I don't know what else I can say.”

“He lent me some money once,” Pater offers, “Though now I think about it, I don't think I ever paid him back...”

“He saved my life,” Hyde finishes, his voice a sombre rumble, “When I should have been the one protecting him. Whatever else happens, I won't forget that.” A bleak silence follows these words, none of your little group quite able to think of something else to say.

What could you add, you wonder, when you only knew the man for a few short moments?

“W-well, I think he'd be happy with that,” Alyssia tries very hard to put a brave face on, smiling in a rather unconvincing way, “I, ah, I think we can all be happy with that.”

“Happy” is just about the last word you'd use to describe yourself about now, but you decide against mentioning that little fact.

[1/3]

>>555777

Although none of you would dare to say it aloud, you know that you're all thinking the same thing. Now he's dead, it's far easier to bring Dan back downstairs. Hyde simply takes the bound corpse and throws it over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, carrying the burden with ease. Without ever really making a conscious decision to do so, you follow him back down to the lobby, along with the other members of his group.

A smile, bitter and ironic, touches your face when you realise what you're doing. No different to anyone else, you've passed the weight of responsibility off onto someone else and willingly taken the role of follower. Hyde seems competent enough, and that was all it took for him to take charge of the situation.

The difference is, you're actually willing to trust the Hunter with this authority.

-

“Buildings like these often have a furnace in them,” Hyde explains as he walks, “For burning trash, things like that. It's hardly a fitting send off, but we're not overburdened with options right now. You wouldn't know anything about a furnace, would you?”

No, you tell him reluctantly, Anders would be the one to know. It's his building, after all.

“I thought as much. Damn,” the Hunter frowns slightly, “I was hoping to avoid asking him. He's not exactly the helpful sort. Still, needs must, and I'm not so proud as to turn down any help he CAN offer.” Together, you take the next few flights of stairs in silence before Hyde stops and calls for a rest. Gently lowering the body down, he shakes the stiffness out of his shoulders. The others – Pater, Hilde and Katrina – go on ahead, leaving you two alone in the stairwell.

“It was the right thing to do, you know,” he says suddenly, his voice low and reassuring, “When I come across a wounded animal, one that has no hope of recovery, I put it out of its misery. It's no kindness to prolong a life like that.”

Dan wasn't an animal, you point out, he was a man.

“Man is an animal, whether he likes to admit it or not,” Hyde shakes his head, bending down to scoop up the body once more and continue the trek, “What I'm saying is, you needn't feel guilty about what happened. There isn't a man alive that would rightfully cast blame for what we did. I wager Henryk would say the same thing, if he was here.”

He's probably right, and you appreciate the fact that he's trying to make you feel better, but all you can really do is nod slightly. You're just not sure what else there is to say.

Hyde starts to say something, but then his words are cut off by a shrill scream, a shriek of desperate panic. Still with the body slung over his shoulders, he starts to run down the last few flights of stairs.

[2/3]

>>555781

“I saw it!” Katrina shrieks, waving a trembling hand towards one of the windows, “I saw it out there, I saw it!”

“She says she saw it,” Hilde tells you, an undeniable note of frustration in her voice, “Nobody else saw a thing – right, Pater?”

“Well, uh, I wasn't looking out the window,” perhaps wisely, Pater avoids any kind of solid commitment, looking between the pair of women and then back to Hyde, shrugging slightly. “I guess it's possible that she saw something, but I don't know if it was our beast or not. Might be there are other things creeping about, maybe she saw something else and just... assumed?”

“It's all because of that!” Katrina continues to rave, now flapping her hand at the shrouded corpse, “The beast must have followed him here. Once they've spilled a man's blood, they can track him anywhere in the land – I read it somewhere, they wouldn't print false information like that!”

“Let's all stay calm,” Hyde announces, as he slowly sets down the body and gets his rifle ready. With that same caution – he's a man that likes to take things at his own pace, it seems – he draws back the bolt and chambers a round. Holding the rifle in an easy grip, not an ounce of tension in him – or so it appears – he strolls over to the windows and looks out. You follow him, gazing out into the darkened streets.

How Katrina could see anything at all out there – anything save for snow – you'll never know.

“A fine mess we're in,” Hyde murmurs to you, his voice low enough that the others can't overhear.

>We'd better get that body burned as soon as possible
>You really think Katrina saw that beast of yours out there?
>Can beasts really follow a scent like that?
>Hey, I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>555785
>Can beasts really follow a scent like that?
>We'd better get that body burned as soon as possible

Just go get Anders and ask for where the furnace is. If he gives us grief ask if he really wants a rotting corpse in his building.

>>555785
>I'll ask about the furnace. I may have to frame it as "extra fuel", though.

>>555785
>>Can beasts really follow a scent like that?
>We'd better get that body burned as soon as possible

>>555790
supporting this

>>555785
>We'd better get that body burned as soon as possible
>Can beasts really follow a scent like that?
>Hey, I need to ask you something... What was that beast like? Specifically, could it climb? We only have bars on the lowest floor windows I think.

What Katrina said, you ask, is that true? Can beasts really follow a scent like that, just because they've tasted someone's blood?

“Katrina... shouldn't believe everything she reads,” Hyde grimaces a little, “There is truth to what she said, mind – even compared with normal animals, beasts are regarded as having highly attuned senses. It's possible that a beast could follow the scent of blood from one side of the city to the other. Specific blood, on the other hand... no, that's ridiculous. Beasts don't have enough of a mind for that kind of spite. There were a lot of bodies left behind when we fled, if that monster wanted blood, it wouldn't have had to chase us all this way.”

That's something of a relief, at least. Anyway, you decide, it would be best to get that body burned as soon as possible. You'd rather not leave it to stink up the place, and you reckon Anders would agree with you there. He might not like you using his furnace, but if the alternative is leaving the body to rot, he'll see sense. Maybe you can convince him it'll serve as some extra fuel.

“Gods, but you've got a ghoulish mind,” Hyde laughs, before nodding, “He'll see sense, I'm sure of it. Do you want to-”

“What's all this shouting about?” Anders shouts, barging through the door and stomping across the lobby. He looks a little more sober now, although there's still an unevenness to his step that can't be purely blamed on tiredness. “I'm trying to sleep, and you people keep-” His rant is cut sharply off when he sees the white-cloaked body, and it's a long time before he can choke out his next words. “My... condolences,” he offers awkwardly, “He didn't make it then.”

“He did not,” Hyde confirms, “His wounds were bad, and we'd all prepared ourselves for the worst. Regardless, your sympathy is greatly appreciated.”

Yeah, you agree, it's warming your heart. Speaking of warming things, you're going to need to take care of the body somehow. Is there a furnace in the building, you ask, maybe in the basement?

“Oh. That thing,” Anders shudders, “Aye, there's a furnace down there. It's old, mind, and a temperamental beast. It'll do for burning a body, but you're on your own down there. I can lead you there, but I won't hang around. Not during a storm like this. The lights don't always work either, so you'll be wanting a flashlight.”

“I understand,” Hyde nods, apparently privy to some information that you don't have, “We can take care of things down below. Eliza, can you help me? Just to hold the light, while I'm carrying... while my arms are in use.”

Sure, you nod, you can carry a flashlight. No big deal, right?

[1/2]

>>555880

“Pater, I need a favour,” Hyde calls over to the heavyset man, holding out the rifle, “Keep an eye on things here, and don't let Katrina get too hysterical. Don't let Hilde knock her out either, no matter how tempting it might be. Just... keep everyone happy and under control. Can you do that?”

“Sure, I guess so,” nodding, Pater takes the rifle, “You don't need this? I mean...”

“Too long, too unwieldy,” the Hunter shakes his head, before stealing a brief glance across at you, “I mean, I won't need any weapons down there. We won't be long.”

You're starting to think that there's something they're not telling you. So you've been thinking, you tell Anders, about this beast of his. Can it climb? Only, the lower windows have bars on them, sure, but the upper levels are pretty much unguarded. If it can scale the walls, it might be able to break right through.

“It might be able to drag its fat ass up a steep hill, but a vertical wall? I don't think so,” shaking his head, Hyde retrieves Dan's body and heaves it over his shoulders. “I don't think we have anything to worry about on that count. Good thing too...” he pauses, lowering his voice, “We've got enough to deal with already.”

Again, that suspicion rises within you. Frowning, you follow Anders through his living quarters until he leads you to a metal door. A very... sturdy looking metal door, with a thick bolt keeping it closed. Metal squeals as the landlord opens it, and the air that rushes out through the ajar door is stale. You half expect a swarm of bats to come rushing out, but – fortunately for you – that spectacle remains in your imagination alone.

“Here you go,” smiling humourlessly, Anders hands you an electric flashlight, “Lead the way.”

Just what kind of mess have you got yourself tangled up in now?

-

Beyond the heavy metal door, your flashlight beam falls upon a short flight of stairs, one that doubles back on itself to lead further down below the tenement. The stairs glisten faintly with moisture, and you take each one with care. At the bottom, you're met with a junction – one path leads off to the left, one to the right.

“Take the right path,” Anders calls out from the rear, “Left goes... somewhere else. Sewage access, I think, I've never had to go down that way. Whenever there's a problem, I've sent for a professional to handle it. The furnace should be on the right.”

“So right we go,” Hyde mutters, “The sooner we're done here the better...”

Okay, you announce, it's about time that someone tells you what's going on here. What's with all this spooky talk?

Awkward silence answers your question.

[2/3]

>>555942
time to see if Lize can take on a Hunter

>>555942
Sooo, the furnace is freely accessible to sewers monsters. What an ingenious design.

So if Lize kills one of the 12 herself, does she get the powerup?

>>555989
You know it's never really clear whether Henryk needs to be the cause of death.

I imagine Art doesn't care who kills the beast as long as it's in Nihilo at the end of the day.

>>555989
I can only imagine Henryk's reaction if he came home and Lize dumped a trophy at his feet.
>Yeah, don't worry about that one. I took care of it

>>555942

“I don't know exactly what to tell you,” Hyde begins, “Because I don't know the exact truth myself. The capital is built on a warren of old tunnels – catacombs, and the like. Ancient tombs, you see? A great deal of them have been filled in or converted to suit other purposes, but others... remain as they were left, all those years ago. Some of these, over time, have become lairs of a sort. Beast dens. The Ministry has them cleared out whenever they find one, of course, but...”

But they don't get them all, you guess, right?

“It's not an exact science. Most of the time, it's not something normal people have to worry about,” the Hunter continues, “But the storms can rile up beasts. Drive them to the surface, even. You saw that heavy door back there, right? Well, it's there for a reason.”

Right, you mutter as you let the flashlight beam play around, you can see why they didn't mention this earlier. You've been living on top of a bloody beast den all this time?

“Here, don't go spreading that talk!” Anders corrects you sharply, only for Hyde to hush him, “We don't know for sure if there's anything down here. Never seen anything, and anything I've heard... well, might just be rats. Don't go putting fool ideas in her head, Hunter.”

They both fall silent again after that, unwilling to bicker for longer. You listen very carefully as you creep along, listening out for anything unusual. Some skittering noises, sure, but those could be rats just as Anders said. That faint hiss, on the other hand, could have been any number of things – it wasn't necessarily the breath of some lurking horror.

This place is getting to you.

-

It isn't long before you come across the furnace itself, a looming hulk of iron in the vague shape of a bell. You reach out to tap it with your knuckles, but Hyde shoots you a warning look, and you draw your hand back. Anders peers through the sooty glass window at the front, nodding in vague approval.

“Seems in order,” he tells you, in a very causal tone, “You'll be able to handle things from here, I don't doubt. I'll just be getting back now...” Those last words come over his shoulder as he's leaving, hastily making his way back down the darkened corridor. Before you can protest, the darkness has reached in to take him.

“Son of a bitch,” Hyde mutters, without any particular hostility, as he watches Anders go.

This isn't safe at all, you whisper to him. These beasts he mentioned – would they come up from the sewers?

“Lower than that, but they'd come up through the sewers, yes,” he nods, “There should be covers in place to keep them out, but if they've fallen into disrepair...”

They might already be here, you think aloud.

>Lets just burn the body and get this over with
>We should check, make sure the covers are intact
>Forget it, let's just leave the body here and get out of here
>Other

>>555994
>Lets just burn the body and get this over with
We should hurry. If there are beasts down here they are going to start smelling the corpse and blood any second now.

>>555994
>We should check, make sure the covers are intact
Better to be safe than sorry. Well, as sorry as a dead person can be.

>>555994
>We should check, make sure the covers are intact

No more deaths on our watch!

>>555994
>I'll watch the junction. If they're there.....you'll know.
>Just burn that body quickly

>>555994
>>We should check, make sure the covers are intact
Can we fix things up if they aren't intact? No point in checking them if we're just gonna go "welp they're broken alrigjt, let's go back."

>>556063

>Depending on how serious any potential damage might be, we may need to improvise a temporary solution.

>>555994
>> Burn the body, then check the covers.

As Hyde investigates the furnace and its controls – really, all he needs is the large button on the side – you draw your pistol. The sound of the safety clicking off seems very loud, and it causes Hyde to glance around. If he's surprised to see you with a gun in your hand, he doesn't show it.

When he mentioned covers, you whisper to him, was he just trying to put your mind at ease or was he being serious?

“I was telling the truth – any access to the sewers should normally be sealed away. I just don't know what kind of covers have been used here. I've seen wire mesh – cheap stuff – that beasts can tear right through. On the other hand I've seen buildings with good iron covers, and you won't find anything getting through those,” Hyde sets down the body and turns to face you, “Your landlord, you reckon he's the type to cheap out on this kind of thing?”

You're not sure if you want to answer that. Maybe you should go and check, you suggest, just to make sure.

“Not a bad idea,” Hyde admits, taking out a pistol of his own – a far larger beast than the one you hold close, “If there IS something down here – and I'm not saying there necessarily is – we'd do well to check. Even with that heavy door, it's a risk to let this fester.”

Hesitating for a moment more, following the light of your flashlight as it illuminates the long – at least, it seems long – corridor, you nod. Better check it out, you murmur, just to make sure. Burning the body can come later – it's not like he's going anywhere.

-

The further down the left fork of the corridor you go, the more convinced you are that you're not alone down here. It's not just the shuffling, skittering sounds that dance around the very edges of your mind, but a growing smell as well. A dank, wet smell, but one that is also shot through by a sharp animal odour. You're not an expert Hunter – or any kind of Hunter, really – but even you can recognise the scent of trouble.

Ahead, the corridor widens out into a small box of a room, bare save for a single feature – a hole in the floor, partially covered by a disc of old, discoloured iron. The dank, swampy smell is stronger here, stagnant air rising up from the hole, and you know that you've found what you were looking for. You point to it, holding the beam of your flashlight on it, and glance back at Hyde.

He nods once, firmly, and touches a finger to his lips. No talking now, that gesture tells you, stay quiet. With your lips pressed together into a hard line, you approach the hole and point the flashlight beam down into the tunnel.

Something moves far below, slithering through the filth, and you have to press a hand to your mouth to hold back a gasp of fear.

[1/2]

>>556085
>> Burn the body, then check the covers.

Maybe we should go back and get some Fricken weapons from Henryks apartment first?

Just a thought.

>>556194
Never mind seems we had them.

>>556194

As you recoil from that pit – from the smell, as much as the fleeting glance of that thing down there – Hyde steps close and grabs your shoulder with a firm hand. That's all you need to gather your wits and steady your nerves, just a reminder that you're not alone down here. In response to his questioning look, you nod and give him a shaky smile.

Taking his hand from your shoulder, Hyde sets aside his pistol and grips the metal cover, his face contorting into something like a snarl as he pushes it back into place. Metal grinds, the sound of it setting your nerves racing again, and something splashes through the water far below. Before the splashing sound can turn into anything more sinister – say, the clink of a claw gripping the rung of a ladder – Hyde pushes the cover the last inches and seals the sewer entrance. Gasping for breath, rubbing sweat from his brow, he flops down and sits atop the iron disc.

-

“I've heard people call them blindlings,” he explains later, as he's leading you back to the furnace, “Revolting things, almost canine in a way. Pale, sickly, as blind as the name suggests – it's sound that draws them, too much talking can be dangerous. As far as the Scholars can tell, they spend most of their time deep down, feeding on each other. It's only the bad storms that drive them up.”

It almost looked human, you tell him, it moved... sort of like a human.

“Best not to dwell on such things,” Hyde assures you, “Not if you can help it. Even I don't like to think too much about what lurks deep down, and I've never met another Hunter that would disagree. Let's just burn the body and get out of here.”

Right, you agree, but it's a good thing you checked. You don't much fancy waking up to find some pallid beast crawling around your apartment. Just the thought of it is enough to set a shudder creeping down your spine.

“That's why I try not to think about it,” the Hunter says. He tries to give you a wry smile, but the shadows cast by your flashlight leave it as something cruel, mocking and fearful.

Not good for the imagination in general, this place.

-

The furnace door squeals as it opens, and you cast an uneasy look back towards the sewer access. Even with the entrance sealed off, every noise causes you to tense up, as if there might yet be one of those loathsome, half-seen creatures lying in wait.

“At least we don't need to cut it up,” Hyde mutters with a dark smile as he lifts the wrapped body into the furnace, “I don't think I'm quite ready to sink to those depths... yet.” For some reason, you don't find that very amusing. Stepping back, you watch as Hyde pushes the ignition.

The furnace roars like a starving beast, Dan's corpse barely stilling its hunger.

[2/3]

>>556324
Also, just gonna toss it out there - why exactly was the cover partially removed?

We should probably track that down.

>>556324
>Not good for the imagination in general, this place.
Lize is getting all sorts of experience, she's gonna level up like crazy.

>>556346
Sabotage is a possibility but not one that seems likely unless someone managed to sneak in without Anders knowing. Could have been a suspicious "professional" that he called for when something happened though. Or just the beasts themselves somehow forcing it open.

>>556376
Would be prudent to block it up with something heavy.

>>556383
Is it bad that my first thought was tossing the corpse on top of it? Probably not a good idea though.

>Next post might be slightly delayed, a small errand has surfaced. Not too long, I hope.

>>556394
It was my first idea too.

>>556394
Yes? If anything that would just draw more beasts, or make them frenzied.

I doubt it's sabotage, more likely some sort of smuggling or illegal dumping.

>>556439

You do you man

We good.

>>556324

It takes a long time for Anders to answer Hyde's knock, the sound of the Hunter's fist against the metal door booming out through the tunnels. When it finally comes, it's a cautious, paranoid answer.

“Are you alone?” Anders asks, “I'm not opening this door if there's anything following you! I'm not letting any of those things up here, you'll have to-”

You're on your own, you shout, there's nothing to worry about. You sealed the sewer access, so it'll be a long time before anything comes up that way. Even as you say that, though, you have to wonder... how did the cover get moved aside in the first place? A question for another time, perhaps – when you can look Anders in the eye while you're asking it. Another long pause greets you, and then you hear the metal bolt being drawn back. The door swings open, just a crack, and you see Anders' nervous, bloodshot eye peering through.

“Alright,” he admits, opening the door wide enough for you to slip through, “You look safe enough. I guess it really was just rats down there. There, uh, there was no trouble with the furnace?”

No trouble at all, you assure him with a faint smile, not with the furnace. You checked out the sewer access while you were there, though. Good cover on it, thick iron, just the thing to keep any unwanted visitors out, only... the cover wasn't quite on straight. Someone must have left it ajar.

“Are you suggesting I had something to do with it?” Anders retorts, “I told you, I don't work down in those tunnels myself, I only ever hire workers to do the job for me. One of them must have carelessly left it open.”

Not very professional, you wonder, you'd expect better labour.

“Better labour, girl, comes with a price to match,” the landlord's voice is cold, “This is an old building, with a great many problems. I have to save money where I can, sometimes that means cutting corners, hiring workers that may be... ignorant to certain dangers.”

“Let me guess,” Hyde offers, “Southerners, men who had no idea what they were dealing with.”

“If they don't know the dangers,” Anders replies with a nasty smile, “They don't ask for danger money. In either case, the problem is solved now, is it not? This need go no further.”

>Just hire better men next time
>When these storms are over, I'm reporting this
>I don't think I believe you
>Other

>>556611
>Just hire better men next time
Whatever. I just want to get through this storm, not play Ministry Cop. Already too much tension without adding this shit onto it.

>>556611
>>Just hire better men next time

>>556611
>Just hire better men next time
Even if we are going to report or look further into it, no good can come of telling Anders that

>>556633
>>556611
Agreed

>>556611
>Other

"Just keep in mind that you're the one facing danger if the job isn't done properly."

>>556668
This

>>556668
This. Seems perfect for putting a little fear in him.

What a despicable piece of work your landlord is, you think to yourself, he's worth about as much as the filth on your boot heel. Still, you're not here to play Ministry agent, and forcing this issue will only antagonise him further.

Just hire better men next time, you tell him, for his own sake. What's the point in being so cautious about the outside dangers, if he'll let the ground beneath his feet shelter beasts?

“Better men, of course,” Anders makes a mocking show of acquiescence, one that almost covers up the flicker of fear that crosses his face at the mention of danger, “I'm certain you'll have no complaints when the increase in rent reflects the additional costs. I won't hear a word of dissent out of you, I'm sure.”

You think of the stacks of money that Henryk has been hiding away, now padding out one of your pockets. No complaints, you assure him with a cold smile, not a word of dissent.

-

“You're going to leave it at that?” Hyde asks quietly, as you're taking a moment to rest, “Just a few words and that's it?”

Spitting threats about reporting him to the Ministry won't achieve anything, you reply, it'll only piss him off and make your life more difficult. If you are going to take this matter further, you're certainly not going to give him advance warning. He'll be going through life, confident in his own safety when one day... BANG! You slam your fist down into the flat of your palm for emphasis, just to make sure Hyde catches your meaning.

“I see,” he laughs, “Got a touch of a vindictive streak, have you?”

Maybe, you admit, but maybe you're just getting a little restless – all this time stuck indoors, it's only natural that you might start thinking about causing a little trouble, stirring things up a little. Anything to catch a break from this dreary weather.

“You might not have much longer you wait,” the Hunter suggests, “That storm doesn't look quite so bad tonight.”

You can't tell if he's just trying to make you feel better or not. Frankly, you don't really mind – you'll take what you can get.

-

It feels odd, going back to your apartments while Hyde and his group bed down in the lobby itself, but he insisted. He wanted to be there, in either case, just to keep watch for his beast. You get the feeling that he just doesn't want to ask Anders for the key to one of the empty apartments, but that's his business. He's happy sleeping on the floor, and you're too tired to press the issue. You've got your own rest to focus on. After everything that's happened lately, you feel like you could sleep for a week.

[1/2]

File: Ifox Alkaev.jpg (484 KB, 951x1268)

484 KB JPG

>>556780

In your dreams, you're no longer Eliza Hanson. Neither are you Lize, or Lizbeth, or any other name you've chosen for yourself. Yet, you know with absolute certainty who you are, and the circumstances that have brought you to this deep, dark place within yourself.

Your name is Ifox Ancono Alkaev, proud Knight and heir to the Dragon's Blood. With your sword, you have crushed beasts of all kind, and with your lash, you have driven men to their knees. Leadership comes easily to you, a mantle that you have earned by virtue of your auspicious birth, and you will not give it up – not to these slaves, these mongrels that pretend to be “civilised”.

Their little rebellion, their “League” will soon be nothing more than a footnote in history – if your noble race allows it to be remembered at all. It has all come to this, their champion against your king, and the winner will be the one to steer the land into its future.

King Leonhard, the hundred year king, stands against an unwashed barbarian with the crude name of Tsorig. Tsorig Knightslayer, he calls himself – an act of arrogance that will not go unpunished. A shame that his punishment will only be death, and not something more lingering, but no matter.

There will be other slaves to slake your wrath with. Generously, he brought a great many with him, this Tsorig – a retinue of cheering, howling swine that eagerly chant his name. They stand opposite you in the great palace hall, yelling insults at you and your fellow Knights. With the stoicism expected of you, you ignore the heckling and watch as your king takes up his great sword. Tsorig draws knives, a pair of crude, hooked things, and urges King Leonhard on.

Somewhere, a distant bell tolls, and the duel begins. As the two combatants start to circle one another, the slaves stamp their feet against the tiled floor, a harsh, rhythmic knock that sinks deep into your mind. This scene, you realise, will be seared into your memory for the rest of your life.

The knocking continues, and-

-

And you wake up, once again Eliza Hanson. No, wait, Lizbeth. Lizbeth Akilina Alkaev. That's right – it's so hard to keep track of these things. Shaking off the clinging grasp of sleep, you stumble over to the door and open it, finally silencing the knock that had dug its way into your dream.

“Oh, Eliza, did I wake you?” Alyssia gives you a funny look, “You seem... you looked a little unwell for a moment there.”

You're fine, you mumble, but you just woke up. You had a strange dream...

“Take heed, Eliza, dreams can tell us much,” her voice is deadly serious for a moment, “Anyway, I'm taking some things down to the swap meet. Will you be fine here?”

Fine, you repeat, you need to watch things here.

And think. You need some time to think.

[2/3]

>>556953
Huh. Well that seems like the past when the humans subjugated the Knights I think.

Is Lize the reincarnation of Ifox or something?

>>557023
Well, she certainly doesn't share their attitude if she is. Thought I suppose fully awakening her dragon blood might have an effect on that in the future. We can only wait and see.

>>557023
And even after the humans won the Dragon-blooded still came out on top of the society. Interesting.

>>557056
Maybe Ifox is a distant relative and blood can hold memories Assassin's Creed Animus style.

>>556953

You have to repeat that you're fine a few more times before Alyssia leaves you alone, and the silence that follows her exit is a blessing. Slumping down on the couch, you close one eye and stare up at the ceiling. All kinds of thoughts race through your mind, chasing one another like frolicking hounds, but one thought keeps rising to the surface.

Just what the hell was that dream?

It was... familiar, as if you've been dreaming the same thing for years, only this is the first time you've been able to remember it so clearly. The figures you saw – Tsorig Knightslayer and King Leonhard – are real, historical figures pulled right from your lessons. It's a story that any child could recite – Tsorig defeated Leonhard in a duel, and overthrew the Knights, to establish the League properly. The Knights that didn't flee into exile or choose death were forced to take human mates, so that their auspicious blood would be diluted.

You saw the memories of one such Knight. Ifox Alkaev... your ancestor?

Just what the hell is happening, you ask the empty room, is this how it all starts? Has the Dragon's Blood within you finally started to stir?

How long, then, until it wakes fully and devours you?

-

A cold sweat has started to form on your arms and forehead when you hear a faint noise – the tiny sound of someone testing the door. It's locked, of course, but your unseen visitor doesn't know that. They try the door again, and then silence descends. Trying a door without ever knocking... you might just have caught yourself a thief.

Glad for the distraction, you rise from the couch and unlock the door, opening it and leaning out. Just as Thomas Mercer – his glasses catching the light in a rather sinister way – is about to try Alyssia's door, you clear your throat.

“Ah!” he jolts back, eyes widening, “Ah, Eliza, I was... wondering if you were up here. You're missing the delightful meeting downstairs, and... and I thought you might want to see it. Quite a sight to behold!”

>There's nothing here for you to steal, Thomas
>Oh? What's it like downstairs?
>Thank you for reminding me, Thomas, but I'm fine here. May I have some peace and quiet now?
>Other

>>557080
>You should have known that Alyssia is downstairs. So why are you trying her door?
I'm on to you.

>>557080
>Oh? What's it like downstairs?
"Seems like you are missing it too while attempting to open people's doors while they are out."
>There's nothing here for you to steal, Thomas
"Why don't you come down there with me? I insist."

Going to keep this guy where we can see him

>>557080
>>Oh? What's it like downstairs?
I'm sure it's a real nice party, shame that it doesn't seem to be to your tastes friend.

>>557080
>Tsorig defeated Leonhard in a duel
Now that sucks, I was totally rooting for Leonhard.

>>557080
>Oh? What's it like downstairs?
>I imagine tensions are getting pretty high after all this time indoors. Why, I'd be on the lookout for people resorting to thievery, or worse, soon.

>>557080
>>Oh? What's it like downstairs?

>>557080
Supporting >>557121

Oh, you ask mildly, what's it like downstairs? It doesn't seem to be his kind of party, which must be a terrible shame. Why, he has to come up here looking for something else to do instead!

“Not my sort of scene at all,” he offers you a brilliant smile, one that only manages to make him look more guilty, “Have you ever seen pigs at a trough? I really shouldn't be too harsh about it, everyone has been dearly looking forwards to a distraction, but it's all just so... grubby. Everyone shouting their prices, and shoving to get the best deals. It's like the worst marketplace you can imagine, only ten times more desperate.”

And desperation can drive people to extreme behaviour, you tell him with a growing coldness, desperation and tension can do strange things to normally moral individuals. Why, you'd be on the lookout for thieves soon enough – thieves, or worse still.

“You have to understand-” he begins, but you cut him off with a curt gesture. Maybe it's the dream's lasting touch guiding you, but you feel like you could crush this man like an insect. No, you WANT to crush him, to see him broken and brought low before you.

He should have known that Alyssia was downstairs, you accuse, he should have seen her there – and yet here he is, trying her door to see if he could strike it lucky. How many other doors has he tried before hers, before yours?

“I'm just trying to explain-” giving it another brave attempt, Thomas gives another smile – this one faltering and increasingly uncertain. It'll take more than a smile to deter you, though.

There's nothing here for him to steal, you announce simply. Your voice is flat and hard, and he flinches as though you had slapped him across the face. Wielding the silence that follows like a torturer's tools, you draw out the man's suffering for a moment more before shrugging lightly. Casting aside the steel mantle of authority, you let a girlish lilt creep into your voice as you break the silence.

You were thinking about coming downstairs though, you tell him, so why doesn't he come with you? You simply insist – you won't take no for an answer.

“Then... then I have no choice but to accompany you,” Thomas almost manages to keep his voice level, “Only a brute would let a girl travel unaccompanied.”

Then lead the way, you tell him in that same pleasant tone, you won't even let him out of your sight for a moment. The implicit threat causes him to flinch back again, only a little, but then he nods and starts to head for the stairs. Waiting for his back to turn, you let out a shuddering breath and swallow hard.

Those were not your words, and that was not your voice that said them. You were just the vessel, like a radio picking up some nightmarish broadcast.

[1/2]

>>557121
>>557080
This pls.

>>557269
Let's hope she manages to keep this under control or Henryk is going to have play the responsible older brother and set her straight.

>>557269
>You were just the vessel, like a radio picking up some nightmarish broadcast.
lets hope Alkaev is not one of Those Knights

>>557291
Jesus. Every time I read to get caught up.

And some point I got used to quests that had 2-3 hours between posts.

>>557302
Moloch wouldn't do Drama that cheap.

The twins are actually her parents.

>>557310
That would be an interesting twist, it would also force Liz into her ordained position

>>557310
Now that sounds possible.

>>557297
I hope she can end up calling it up at will at some point. That total authority personality was awesome.

>>557269

Still pale and sick with unease, still trembling ever so slightly, you hurry to catch up with Thomas. Even if he is a thief, and quite possibly terrified of you, you don't want to be alone for a moment longer. Let him weave his elaborate excuses and stories, let him talk until the storm has blown itself out and faded, if it distracts you from what boils away within your veins.

“You know, I didn't actually steal anything,” he tells you quietly, “So, as a matter of technicalities, I'm not actually a thief...”

So he didn't try anyone else, you ask, he came straight to your door?

“Call it instinct. I saw what Alyssia had brought – you're friends, are you not? I saw you chatting after our very first “community meeting” - and I thought it looked rather meagre. So, I started to wonder what you were keeping back for yourself,” now that he's been caught, he seems quick enough to spill his secrets, perhaps hoping to make himself sound useful – more useful than he actually is.

Which, you must admit, wouldn't be hard.

-

Anders was busy while you were sleeping away, setting out rows of cheap folding tables for people to display their goods upon. A shame, then, that his efforts go largely unnoticed – the surging tide of people, the herd, down below pays no heed to anything other than their own desires. A great many voices shout, warring with one another as they make offer and counter offer. Amidst the sea of faces, you see Alyssia – looking down, dazed and confused, at the empty table before her.

“It took less than twenty minutes for the mob to take everything she had to offer. Well, I say “mob”, but things were still civil – relatively so – at that point,” Thomas explains, his normal tone of sly amusement creeping back, “I wonder if she made any good deals? I saw a can of beans traded for a gold necklace before I came to, ah, check on you.”

And where is Anders, you ask, wasn't he supposed to be keeping an eye on things? Making sure everything was still fair, and that nobody got gouged?

“Eliza, you must understand... “fair” very quickly becomes a relative term,” Thomas tells you, a faint note of sympathy in his voice, “If a man is prepared to trade his wife's jewels for a single meal, then such a trade becomes fair. Supply grows thin, and demand grows ferocious. Those with valuables to trade will take any bargain, and those without anything of worth... well, they must turn to other talents – quick fingers, say.”

Well, you think bitterly, you're not exactly without guilt there. You open your mouth to offer a cautious reply, and then the lights – in one single catastrophic moment – turn dark.

[2/3]

>>557411
>then the lights – in one single catastrophic moment – turn dark.
Fucking hell. We probably should have just stayed in our room.

>>557442
Well at least this way we can get Alyssia's back.

>>557442
>>557542
The lights are going to turn back on after a few minutes and someone will be dead. Then we'll have a good ol' fashioned murder mystery on our hands.

>>557411

The lights die and turn dark, and then the screams rise up. Like one single body without a mind to guide it, the crowd turns upon itself in a great disordered wave. Tables are flipped over, and what little goods are left there scatter wildly. Grasping hands and greedy eyes take over, as desperate men and women fall upon anything they can take for themselves. Panicked screams turn to cries of pain as an unseen woman – at least, you think it's a woman – falls beneath trampling feet.

It's chaos, pure and simple, there's no other word for it. You start to race down, to pull Alyssia from the morass, but then Thomas seizes your arm. Pulling you back, he points to one of the upper windows, his face wearing a look of dark outrage. Snatching back your arm, you start to demand an explanation, but then you see it.

Outside, cloaked in the billowing snow, you just dimly see the neighbouring tenement. Lights, dim but plain to see, burn in its windows.

Lights. They still have power.

“Stop this, right this instant! Stop, I say!” Hyde yells, his voice piercing the riotous noise and granting a brief moment of merciful respite, “Settle down and think clearly, just stop-”

Yet the moment passes far too quickly, and the Hunter's words are cut off sharply as a bottle – thrown by some unseen assailant – crashes against the back of his skull. Silenced in an instant, he pitches forwards and vanishes into the churning masses. Before the riot can boil back into its full and terrible power, a thunderous gunshot causes every man, woman and child to stop dead in their tracks. A dusting of plaster rains down from the ceiling, and then a new voice cries out.

“Get a hold of yourselves,” Anders – of course it would be Anders – snaps, “I'm disappointed in you – in all of you. Look at yourselves, turning on one another like beasts. Are you really no better than that?” He scowls hard, and then lights a lantern. In the soft, golden glow, you see the mob starting to separate, to split up into smaller, shameful groups and slink away. Watching them leave for a moment, Anders turns and lurches away into the seclusion of his private quarters. Searching the room, you meet Alyssia's eyes and find them veiled with frightened tears. In the distance, Pater and Hilde help Hyde to his feet, the Hunter alive but shuddering with pain.

The worst, for now at least, has passed.

>I think I'm going to pause things here for tonight. I'll pick this up again tomorrow, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any comments or questions
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

>>557570
>Lights. They still have power.
Now were in for a ride. Kinda glad that Anders does actually seems somewhat reliable when he needs to be. Thanks for running Moloch.

>>557570
is Nosferatu the next beast? i sure hope so

>>557570
Thanks for running Moloch.

Is what happened to Lize normal for Dragonbloods?

Mother never talked about ancestors influencing her?

>>557627
Thomas turned out to be less shut than expected as well.

Although Anders would be my number 1 suspect for cutting the power.

>>557570
Thanks for the run Moloch. I'm looking forward to getting to the bottom of this mess. Lize is gonna have quite the story for Henryk when he returns.

>>557632
We'd best keep an eye out for more signs of the hash-slinging slasher

>>557644

Those with the Dragon's Blood do sometimes relive memories of their ancestors. It's not uncommon, but not all experience them either. Most likely, these have been brought on by her recent activities.

Her mother didn't mention it, no. It's sometimes seen as a weakness, a sign of instability, and so many nobles hide any ancestral influences they suffer. Plus, Morgana isn't really big on the whole "talking about things" thing.

>>557695
Speaking of Morgana, did she get Lize's letter?

What was her reaction?