>>944390

“Henryk...” Artemis croons, drawing out the sound of your name to grotesque lengths, “I've been waiting. Did you miss me?” Her hands slip up from your shoulders, one brushing against your throat while the fingers of her other hand lightly scrape your cheek. Holding yourself as still as possible, your eyes flick back to Yvette. Not only has she stopped crying, but she looked up as well – she stares at you, her eyes wide with horror.

There's an audience, you murmur, and you'd rather discuss this in private – just the two of you. A silence follows your whisper, Artemis stopping her playful motions and weighing your words carefully. At least, you hope she's weighing them carefully – it's damn near impossible to guess what she might be thinking. Even if you could look her in the eye, you'd struggle to know her thoughts.

A giggle escapes her, as jagged as a handful of needles, and Artemis circles around so that she can, at long last, face you eye to eye. With her hands clasped coquettishly behind her back, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other like an excited child. “Just the two of us?” she repeats, eyes wide.

Were her eyes always like that, you wonder, slitted like those of a cat? Just the two of you, you tell her, you've got a lot to catch up with after all. You could go for a walk together, take in the scenery. It definitely makes a change from things down south, you add with a miraculously straight face, it's... nice.

Artemis looks out across the wasteland, watching as the tangled mass of snakes drags itself across the ice, a bloody smear left behind it. “It IS nice,” she agrees, “Not perfect, but it's certainly getting better – and it's much better now that you're here!” Humming softly to herself, the self-proclaimed goddess starts to amble away, walking through the smear of blood as if it wasn't there. As you follow that fading trail of bloody footprints, she speaks up once more. “The south,” she asks you, “How was it?”

An interesting place, you tell her after a moment's thought, educational – one of the people you spoke with had a lot of very interesting things to say. That's part of why you wanted to have a long talk with her, you've got plenty of questions.

“I expect you do,” Artemis tilts her head to the side, “But you know... I might be able to answer them. If I can, you might not like what I have to say.”

That's basically what you were expecting, you admit, but you'd rather know as much as you can. If it's good news, fine. If it's bad news, at least you can prepare for it. Either way, you'd rather know.

[2/3]

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

72 KB JPG

>>944391
Artemis giggles again, but this time her laughter has a strained, forced feel to it. “Can I ask you to do something first, though? Just one little thing for me?” reaching out, Artemis grabs your hand, “Can you visit my temple again?”

Her temple, you ask, why?

“No reason,” she fidgets, “Well, maybe a little bit of a reason. It'll give me a little time to think, to think really hard so I can give you some proper answers. It's hard sometimes, thinking – remembering. I know that I know more than I've been able to tell you, but every time I try to put them into words, I just... it all just flies away from me.” Her words trail off into silence, and the only sound is the slow click of claws upon the ice as the bloated parasite scuttles past. Lashing out with a sudden cry of rage, Artemis kicks the parasite away into the distance. “I hate this!” she yells, “I hate it! I hate being trapped here, I hate being useless, I hate all of it! I hate-”

You can visit her temple, you assure her quickly, it's no trouble – you were thinking about visiting it again anyway. It's not very out of your way, you add, not much of a detour at all.

“You'll do that for me? You'll really do that?” Artemis' eyes grow wide, and then her hands form into determined fists, “Okay! You tell me what you want to know, and I'll do everything I can to get an answer. I'll do my best!”

From melancholy to furious to excited, all in the space of a few moments – the change is so swift that you have to focus, to gather your thoughts before asking the first of your questions.

>It's the ninth beast next. Can you tell me what to expect?
>I met a woman, Cique, who dreamed of a white bird. That was you, wasn't it?
>The Giants believed that they could release impurities through dismemberment. Does that sound familiar to you?
>I did have a question to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>944393
>>The Giants believed that they could release impurities through dismemberment. Does that sound familiar to you?
>>It's the ninth beast next. Can you tell me what to expect?
Artemis a cute and scary.

>>944393
>I met a woman, Cique, who dreamed of a white bird. That was you, wasn't it?
>The Giants believed that they could release impurities through dismemberment. They'd sometimes take pieces of the impure giant into themselves. Does that sound familiar to you?
>Are you the Nameless God's 'Wild Child' Artemis?

>>944393
>I met a woman, Cique, who dreamed of a white bird. That was you, wasn't it?
>The Giants believed that they could release impurities through dismemberment. They'd sometimes take pieces of the impure giant into themselves. Does that sound familiar to you?
>Are you the Nameless God's 'Wild Child' Artemis?
>It's the ninth beast next. Can you tell me what to expect?

It's the ninth beast next, you begin, can she tell you what to expect? What sort of thing is it, this next beast?

“Oh, that's something I can definitely tell you about!” clapping her hands together with joy, Artemis clears her throat and begins:

“The Glorious Beast! A great leader of men, before whom all shall – must - bow down and give worship!” Artemis thrusts her hands up into the sky, pouring as much theatrical energy into her words as possible before breaking down into a contemptuous laugh, “Or that's how it thinks about itself, that great fat slug. Disgusting thing really, disgusting.” She shakes her head, shrugging lightly. “Actually, I don't know all that much about it. It's always been partial to men, gathering a flock around it.”

Always, you ask, even from its very earliest days?

“Oh yes. Even as a Knight, it played prophet to a mob of slaves – it set itself up as a divine thing, and they were desperate enough to believe it!” she rolls her eyes, “Why would it do such a thing? Maybe just to toy with them, to see what depravities it could encourage among those who worshipped it. I'm afraid I can't tell you where to start looking, though. Find a leader of men, one with a wicked, corrupt heart.”

That's a pretty long list, you remark, you've met maybe half a dozen corrupt men in the past few weeks. Can she narrow it down at all?

“Well, it's already in the north,” Artemis pouts, perhaps irked by your lack of enthusiasm, “I know that much. It's hard to explain. It's like I can smell it on the wind. If it was down in the south, I wouldn't be able to smell it. Hard to reach down that far, after all.”

Hard, but perhaps not impossible. You met a woman down in the south, named Cique. She dreamed of a white bird, and she was eager to help you. That bird was her, you ask Artemis, wasn't it?

“It was, yes! Ah, I'm so glad – I wasn't sure if that had worked. There's something different about her. Special, very special,” nodding to herself, Artemis taps a finger against her cheek, “I tried so hard to reach out that far, to reach anyone, but she was the only mind I could touch. Even though I wasn't sure if she could really hear me, really understand me, I asked her to help you. And do you know what?”

What, you ask cautiously, what should you know?

“You didn't even shoot her in the back!” with wide, amazed eyes, Artemis pats you on the arm, “I'm very impressed!”

She's still mad about that, then.

“Oh, not really,” she waves away the entire issue, “I saw the funny side of it a long time ago. It was no great loss, and you probably saved yourself some trouble in the long run. I mean, you SAW what was inside her, didn't you?”

You think of that tiny skeleton, horned and inhuman, and you nod.

[1/2]

>>944416
>“You didn't even shoot her in the back!” with wide, amazed eyes, Artemis pats you on the arm, “I'm very impressed!”

Alright that made me laugh out loud.

>>944416

You learned something about the Giants as well, you continue, something of their rituals. They seemed to believe that they could release their impurities through a kind of dismemberment, you explain, rebuilding their immortal bodies afterwards.

“Oh, did they?” Artemis tilts her head to the side, giving you a quizzical expression, “Wow!”

It's hard to know if she's being deliberately obtuse or not, so you press the issue a little further. They would cut up an ailing giant into several pieces, you add, does any of that seem familiar to her?

“Should it?” she replies, “Or... oh, I see!” Nodding suddenly, an excited light flashes into her catlike eyes. “You're saying that you want to cut up a Giant! Well, I think you might just get your chance, you know...”

They would cut up an impure Giant, you patiently persist, and sometimes they might take some of that impurity into themselves. Like a man eating meat, you add after an awkward pause. When Artemis just continues to frown at you, apparently oblivious, you shake your head and sigh. It's something to think about, you tell her, and she can give you an answer later. If she's not figured it out by the time you've reached her temple, you'll explain it properly.

“Oh, so it's like a riddle. Ah, you thought I'd get bored waiting here, so you made up a riddle for me! Henryk, you're wonderful!” Artemis claps again, only to stop her celebrations and force a more serious expression, “Ah, well, was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

There was one other thing you learned about, one old story. It was a tale about the nameless gods, and their creation – the wild child. Giving Artemis a short, simple account of what you've heard, you watch her reaction. Curiosity, but no real recognition. You'll be blunt about this, you ask once your story is over, is she that wild child?

“That sounds likely, doesn't it?” the goddess murmurs, “It certainly fits with a lot of things.”

She doesn't know for certain?

“Henryk,” she scolds you softly, “Can you remember when YOU were born?”

You're not claiming to be a divine being, you think, but she might have a point there. If the stories are correct, she was simply dropped into the world with no guidance or explanations. Nobody to teach her civilisation or restraint, nothing to separate her from the beasts.

That explains a lot, honestly.

-

Artemis promises, very strenuously, to think on what you've asked her before turning to stare off into the emptiness. Shrugging, you start to walk back to where you woke up, even knowing that it's a meaningless gesture. As you're walking, Yvette calls out to you, yelling your name in the tone of an accusation. She can yell all she likes, you're already starting to feel this place growing distant.

Except... what if you fought that feeling? Could you hold onto this dream for a while longer?

>Allow yourself to wake
>Cling onto the dream

>>944440
>>Cling onto the dream
Just to see what happens.

>>944440
>>Cling onto the dream
Only to speak with the Tyrant, the guy's cool.

>>944440
>>Cling onto the dream

File: White Tyrant.png (375 KB, 570x570)

375 KB PNG

Call it an experiment, a way of testing how much control over this place you really have. Call it whatever you like, it doesn't make any difference. What matters is what you do, focusing all your effort on the simple task of fighting that pull. It's like fighting to stay awake, forcing back a wave of total exhaustion. It works, it actually works, and you feel the sensation retreat back. Still, like tiredness, it never leaves you completely – it haunts you as you take a few experimental steps forwards, threatening to claim you as soon as your guard drops.

So, you have that much power. Interesting. You couldn't really say what that implies about this place, but that's fine. Explanations are nice, but not always necessary. Rather than dwell on the how or why, you focus on maintaining your grip on this place and keep walking.

“You faded,” Isten tells you, his voice flat and vaguely amused, “Just for a moment. I could see right through you.”

Interesting, you reply. To fill the silence that falls between you, you nod across to Yvette – now glaring hatefully at you from a distance. She looks mad, you offer.

“She's having trouble accepting things,” Isten shrugs, “She'll calm down. What choice does she have? We accept death easily in the north – she's just a spoilt child throwing a tantrum, she'll wear herself out eventually.” He watches her from afar for a moment longer, scrutinising her like a farmer inspecting livestock. “So she's my opposite half,” he mutters eventually.

Right, you agree, his soul sibling. He stood his ground and fought, she turned her back and fled. Still, you point out with a faint smile, she lived longer.

“She was alive for longer,” the former tyrant corrects you, “She did not live. A life spend looking fearfully over her shoulder is no life at all. She wasted the chance she was given, and so she deserved to die.”

“Don't ignore me, you dog!” Yvette yells, “You low-born piece of shit! I know you can hear me, don't turn your back on me!”

Definitely mad, you mutter.

“Strange thing, when she appeared here,” Isten says gruffly, “She faded in, like as you did, but only as a skeleton. The rest came later, like watching something decaying in reverse. Strange thing to see. Not the strangest thing I've ever seen – the north has many sights, things that a southerner like you will never witness.”

Don't be so sure, you warn him, you've seen... You pause as Yvette yells another barrage of curses before continuing. You've seen some pretty strange things in your time.

“I suppose you have,” Isten studies Yvette for a moment more, “Are you going to talk to her?”

>No way. I'm leaving this place
>I owe her that much, at least
>I wanted to ask you something, actually... (Write in)
>Other

>>944469
>>Other
>To Yvette
"If you want to talk walk your ass over here instead instead of bellowing like a whale!"

>I wanted to ask you something, actually... (Write in)
"Have you given any more thought to why you, or the soul you inherited specifically, divided Artemis way back then?"

>>944469
>I owe her that much, at least

>>944469
>>I owe her that much, at least

>>944421
me too

>>944469
>Other "Get over here if you've got something to say!"
>I wanted to ask you something, actually... (Write in)
have YOU heard anything like the Wild Child, or the purification of Giants?

If she wants to talk, you tell him, she can walk her ass over here instead of bellowing like a whale. You say this loudly, loud enough that your words must surely reach Yvette. They certainly reach Artemis off in the distance, because you can see her shoulders shuddering with silent laughter. Yvette silently fumes, still shooting you a bitter look. Think she'll swallow her pride and come over, you ask Isten, or is that expecting too much from her?

“If she has anything worthwhile to say, she'd say it to your face,” nodding sagely, the old tyrant sits down on the ice, “But what if she does come over?”

Then you'll hear her out, you admit, you owe her that much at least. You killed her back in the real world, that's enough to buy her a few moments of your time. While you're waiting to see what she'll do, you sit opposite Isten. You had a question for him, actually. Has he thought at all about why he, or... or the soul he inherited, might have wanted to kill Artemis? To divide her up into so many pieces?

“I've thought about a lot of things. There's nothing to do here BUT think,” Isten sighs slowly, “And yes, that's something I've considered. The longer I've spent here, the more I'm starting to remember. I have memories that are not my own, memories that surely belong to this ancestor of mine. I remember the desperate urge to prove myself, so that all would know my superiority. More than anything else, it was her I wanted to prove myself too.” He nods to Yvette as he says this last part. “I needed to be better than her, and I needed her to know it. I suspect the opposite was true for her. I wonder, though...”

What, you ask, what does he wonder?

“That drive to prove myself, to become the greatest.. it was something I felt for all of MY life as well,” his voice drops lower, “Were my motives ever really my own?”

That's a question that only he can answer, you reply quietly, you can't know his own mind.

“No, you can't,” Isten shakes his head, “But I can tell you this – I did not wish to divide her, to split her apart and consume her. That was never my intention. I wished only to be victorious.”

So he knows nothing about the Giants, you guess, and their purification?

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “Except... there was a Giant. We spoke once. It came to me, my ancestor, and it told me about the greatest beast of all. The greatest glory could be mine, if I could destroy it.”

The greatest beast of all, you murmur, the wild child.

“Not a name I ever heard,” Isten shrugs, “Well well... looks like I was wrong. I never thought she'd dare come over.”

Following his gaze, you watch as Yvette walks slowly – and reluctantly – over to you.

[1/2]

File: Yvette Saive.jpg (427 KB, 700x900)

427 KB JPG

>>944514

Without waiting for an invitation, Yvette sits down with you and Isten, looking between you. A mixture of anger, resignation and grief is painted across her face, and she seems unwilling to be the first to speak. A strange contrast, you muse, with her earlier yelling – or, to put it bluntly, she's not so tough now that you could reach across and slap her. Go on then, you sigh, what does she want with you?

“You're a bastard,” she hisses, “You brought me here, you left me with... with HER.” Yvette points at Artemis, her finger quivering with suppressed rage. “She's dangerous, insane,” the fallen noblewoman lowers her voice to a fierce whisper, “She's going to kill me, I just know it. Sooner or later, one day, she'll kill me.”

Pointing out that she's already dead seems needlessly cruel, so you decide against mentioning it. Answering her with a shrug instead, you wait for Yvette to make a point.

“Look at this,” she continues, pulling up her blouse to reveal a flat, toned navel. It would be a nice sight, save for the numerous wounds – bloodless, the flesh faintly grey and sickly – that run up and down her torso. You start to count them, but you stop after passing twenty. “And you broke one of my ribs, jumping on me like that,” Yvette sulks, “And my neck – what did you do to my neck? I can barely move my head!”

She doesn't remember that part?

“No, and I'm damn glad about that!” she snaps, before pausing, “What happened?”

You stabbed her in the back of the neck, you tell her with a blunt shrug, it was the only way she'd stay dead.

“Oh,” she falls silent, slowly rubbing the back of her neck, “That explains it.”

>If you've finished complaining, I'm leaving
>You really don't remember anything? You were saying some pretty strange things
>Can I ask you something, while you're here? (Write in)
>Other

>>944559
>You really don't remember anything? You were saying some pretty strange things
"If I had to guess your ancestor took over. I hear Dragons can do that."

>Can I ask you something, while you're here? (Write in)
"What caused you to run at the battle at Port Tyrant. Did you somehow sense my motive even back then?"

>>944559
>You really don't remember anything? You were saying some pretty strange things
>Have you been....running away from the soul that you inherited? I suppose there are worse ways to establish your identity.

>>944559
>>You really don't remember anything? You were saying some pretty strange things

>>944570
Yeah, I'm with you in asking what made her flee.

>>944559
>>You really don't remember anything? You were saying some pretty strange things

>Why'd you run?

She really doesn't remember anything, you ask, nothing at all? She was saying a lot of strange things, like a name pulled right out of the history books. When Yvette just looks at you in mute confusion, you continue. You've heard that the Dragon's Blood can do that, you suggest, giving nobles like her flashes of the past. Maybe one of her ancestors really took over, jerking her body about like a puppet.

“I remember...” Yvette closes her eyes, brow furrowing with the effort of concentration, “I remember watching a duel. There was a man, he seemed so small and frail, but then he killed... he murdered my king, right there in front of me. When that happened, all I wanted to do was run. Run as fast as I could, as far as I could. Then something hit me, and I woke up here. That was you, wasn't it? Stabbing me in the neck.”

Guilty as charged, you admit.

“I've always known it would end that way,” she murmurs, “I've spent my whole life running from something, from one thing or another.”

Like at Port Tyrant, you suggest, she ran then as well. Why did she do that, you ask, did she know that you were coming after her even then? Had she known all along?

“Why did I run?” the noblewoman muses, “He shouldn't have done that, you know. A slave should not give orders to their master. It was just... one indignity too far. When Loch, that presumptuous bastard, told me to shell my own home – my rightful inheritance, my right as a Saive! - I lost control for a moment. When I was awake again, there was blood everywhere, and I knew what I had to do.”

Run, you state bluntly. It's not a question – it doesn't need to be a question, not when you both know the answer. What you do ask her, however, is something a little different. What else has she been running away from, you ask quietly, from herself? From the soul she inherited?

“Maybe that's it, what I thought I was doing,” she admits, “Although I never knew it until I woke up here, and I learned what I... what I really was. Like I said, I felt like I was running from something all my life. I just didn't realise what “running” was what IT made me do. When I thought I was running way, I just doing what was written into me. A sick joke, isn't it?”

You look between them, Isten and Yvette. Two people, both of noble blood and bestial spirit. Both of them thrust down a path that was not of their own creation. How could they have known? Even if someone had told them, would they have believed it? Doubtful – in life, they were both too proud to admit that they were not in command of their own destiny. It's a bleak thought to linger on, and it almost comes as a relief when you feel yourself slipping again.

This time, you let it happen. You'll be back here soon enough.

[1/2]

>>944627

“Looks like you're finally awake,” Camilla remarks, her voice reaching you even before you've fully opened your eyes, “Were you dreaming? You were tossing and turning, murmuring to yourself.”

Was she awake, you ask, was she watching you sleep?

“You woke me up,” she shrugs, “It only seemed fair. It wasn't like I was watching you for hours, anyway. I just wondered how long you were going to sleep for. It's already morning, and you missed breakfast. Closer to lunch at this point – I'm surprised hunger didn't wake you.” As you rise up out of bed, she laughs softly. “Shaking off hibernation, are you? Well, I'm going up on deck to take a stroll. The air's getting pretty cold, maybe it'll help wake you up. You're welcome to join me, if you like.”

You'll have to put some warm clothes on first, you tell her, you're definitely in northern waters now. As you straighten up some more, the sheets slide away from you and Camilla smirks.

“I'd settle for any clothes at all,” she quips. Grumbling, you wave an indifferent hand at her and start looking for your bags. As you do, your gaze falls upon an unfamiliar case.

Of course, you realise, Hartmann's totem. After thrusting it into your hands, he had vanished off. Other than that single furtive look, you've not glanced at it since. Maybe just a little peek now...

“Still half asleep, I suppose,” Camilla taps you on the shoulder, “You were staring off into space. Hurry up if you're coming along, will you?”

>Right, I'm coming. Just let me get dressed
>I'll catch you up, I've got something I wanted to do first
>Other

>>944655
>>I'll catch you up, I've got something I wanted to do first

>>944655
>>Right, I'm coming. Just let me get dressed

>>944655
>Right, I'm coming. Just let me get dressed
Best not to touch it until we're in the presence of a specialist.
Or we might get shenanigans with unpercievable girls or something

>>944655
>>Right, I'm coming. Just let me get dressed
Maybe we should wait til we meet up with Alyssia. This is a southern totem which hypothetically calls spirits. Spirits that apparently want stuff in return. Might be better to test with it in a controlled environment.

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

133 KB JPG

This is probably something you should leave to the experts, you decide, or at least until you've got a more controlled environment. You don't know all that much about southern spirit rituals, or... or whatever they are. Alyssia might not know much about them either, but she certainly knows more than you do. Either way, this isn't something you're about to mess with on a luxury ship, in the middle of the ocean – no more than you might play about with a loaded pistol on a busy train.

That's just common sense. You're coming, you tell Camilla, you just need a moment to get dressed.

“That's fine,” she tells you with a sly look in her eyes, “Take your time.”

-

She was right about one thing, the cold air certainly snaps you awake in a hurry. In the space of a single night, the Midas seems to have left the last traces of warmth behind it, plunging fearlessly into the frigid north. And this is the mild part, you remind yourself, the far north is even worse than this. You never thought it would be possible, but you actually got used to the weather in the colonies.

Just in time to leave, of course. It'll be a long and miserable few weeks before you've adjusted to the cold weather again. Moving about helps, at least, and so you grimly soldier on with Camilla as you walk a circuit of the Midas' deck. At least one glance at Camilla's face is enough to offer some small consolation – she's suffering about as much as you are.

“I wonder how Vollan is doing,” Camilla asks suddenly, as she leans against the ship's railings. You stand at the prow of the ship, and that ludicrous figurehead is just barely visible beneath you.

She's better at remembering Rast's new name better than you are, it seems. He'll be fine, you tell her, so long as he's smart enough to keep his nose clean. He's got his girl back now, that gives him a pretty good reason to behave himself. Even as you say that, though, you wonder. The last time you saw the two of them together, Rast and Isabella, they had seemed happy enough. He smiled and waved, as you might have expected him to, but Rast's eyes had been perfectly cold.

“I think that's just the kind of man he is,” Camilla says after you voice your doubts, “I've seen another side of him. A side that was severely beaten and drugged, mind you, but it was still him I saw. When he thought that his daughter was in danger, that was real. Ministry work, it... it demands that kind of coldness, sometimes. After a while, it gets hard to put it aside and live a real life.”

There's a certain bitter experience in her voice, as if she knows all too well about such things.

>I suppose you'd know better than I would
>You liked him, didn't you? Rast – Vollan, I mean
>Do you think the Ministry has a file on Rast? About what he's done?
>Other

>>944705
>Do you think the Ministry has a file on Rast? About what he's done?

>>944705
"Specially the kind of Ministry work he was tasked to do. Containing an infection on that scale...I couldn't imagine. Just one person was almost too much for me."

>Do you think the Ministry has a file on Rast? About what he's done?
>You liked him, didn't you? Rast – Vollan, I mean

>>944705
>You liked him, didn't you? Rast – Vollan, I mean
>Do you think the Ministry has a file on Rast? About what he's done?

>>944705
>>Do you think the Ministry has a file on Rast? About what he's done?

Back in New Odyss, Bergmann mentioned something about Rast being in their files already – hidden, buried deeply away. Does that mean he's likely to have a file back up north, you ask, something about what he's done?

“It's possible. Likely, even, if he's still wanted on any criminal charges,” Camilla slips a cigarette between her lips, leaving it unlit, “You've seen the archives we have back in Port Steyr, we rarely throw anything away. So, if I had to guess, I'd say he's probably got a file somewhere - all the details, all the facts. You're curious, aren't you?”

You are, you admit, it's been sitting at the back of your mind ever since. Reading it wouldn't change anything now, but it might help you understand the man a little better. Understand what motivated him, what drove him forwards. You've been thinking about that sort of thing a lot lately, you add, why people do the sorts of things they do.

“I wonder why,” there is a dry scratching sound as Camilla lights a match, “Is it because of your... problem?”

She liked him, you ask in response, didn't she? Rast – or Vollan, whatever he wants to call himself now.

Camilla takes her attempt at changing the subject in stride, all too happy to play along. “I wouldn't say that I liked him. I saw a lot of myself in him,” she admits, “There's a very fine line between necessary sacrifices and needless brutality, but you don't always know where that line is drawn until afterwards. I won't know for certain, not without seeing this file – if it exists – but I think Rast just strayed across that line. Maybe it was just the once. Maybe that's all it takes.”

There was an old tradition among Hunters, you tell her, a bit of folk knowledge. It said that once an animal – even regular animals, not beasts or monsters - had tasted human blood, it was ruined for good. It had to be killed, before it caused any more damage. That's Rast, you finish, a dog that tasted human blood.

“I think you might be right,” Camilla takes the cigarette from her lips and exhales heavily, “But he didn't get rabid. He got cold, doing that kind of work.”

Still, you say after a while, you can't blame him for getting hardened to it – especially not with the kind of work he had to do. If it was anything like Isla Calvara... you can't imagine it. You've killed someone before, to stop a contagion from spreading, and that one person was bad enough. The thought of doing more than that, maybe a whole community, is too much for you, too much to think about.

“Someone's got to do it,” shaking her head, Camilla lets another stream of smoke cloud the air around her, “Doesn't make it any easier, especially not when you hear people whispering behind your back.”

That's a feeling you know all too well.

[1/2]

>>944737

“Damn it,” Camilla laughs after a while, breaking the silence that had descended over you, “Now I'm curious as well. Ugh...”

Curious, you ask, about that file?

“Yeah. I want to know,” she shakes her head, “I vouched for him, I want to know what kind of man I defended. Knowing my luck, he'll probably have done something ridiculous, like... I don't even know.”

Like eating a baby, you suggest.

“Sure, we'll go with that,” amazingly, Camilla manages to keep a straight face, “Rast ate a baby, that's what he did. I'm going to dig out that file and learn that he was a cannibal... or worse.”

Cannibals aren't so bad, you argue, not according to Hartmann at least. He'd probably say they were people with “alternative dietary preferences” or something similar.

“Alternative dietary...” that's the final straw for her, and Camilla throws back her head to laugh aloud. She laughs hard enough that a few of the other passengers on deck turn to stare, but pays no attention to their quizzical looks. There's a lot of tension in that laugh, escaping out into the world around her. “Thank you, Henryk,” she says eventually, when she's got her breath back, “I needed that.”

That's okay, you reply, but it really wasn't that funny.

-

It's easy to know when you're getting close to the Free States. For one thing, there are a few large islands to serve as landmarks. You don't know the names of all of them, or even if they have names, but you recognise a few. There's Haveer in the distance – flat, and cloaked in that same awful herbal smoke that covered it last time you were there. Closer is Tolnir, studded with rugged hills and tiny villages. The weather is terrible as well, a driving rain that splatters against the window as you look out.

“It's almost always raining around these parts,” Camilla mentions vaguely, joining you to peer out the cabin window, “I don't really know why. A Scholar might be able to answer that, but there's no guarantee that I'd be able to understand them.”

Or maybe it's just rain, you point out, and it doesn't need some fancy College explanation. It rains – that's just part of life.

“I suppose that's one way of looking at it,” she sighs, “Either way, we're set to reach Odyss tomorrow. That's something – I'm just about ready to feel some dry land under my feet. On the other hand, I've got a stack of work to look forwards to. There's a lot of organisation to handle – getting the Majestic fixed up and returned, bringing the Scholars back, arranging a cell for Ellis...”

Sounds rough, you agree, isn't there anyone else who can handle it?

“Maybe, but I'd rather do it myself. Anyone else who could do it wouldn't know what they were dealing with, not like I do,” with another sigh, she sits heavily on the bed, “I guess my holiday is officially over.”

>Just got to pause quickly and get something to eat. Sorry for the hold up

>>944784
Hell of a holiday.

>>944784
take as long as you need

>>944784

Odyss – and you have to remind yourself that this is “old” Odyss – comes as quite a shock after your time in the south. Everything here is different, often in subtle ways. The bars you walk pass ring with different songs and different accents, while the various stalls offer food with entirely different aromas. At one point, a distant group of heavyset sailors erupt into violence, and you take note of the knives they draw – straighter than the curved claws used in the south, and wielded in a completely different way.

You were gone for a matter of weeks, but it feels like longer now. This land feels unfamiliar in so many different ways. Just being able to understand the hum of background conversations is bad enough, pulling your attention in a dozen directions at once.

“I'm going to check in with the Ministry,” Camilla tells you, once you've found a quiet spot to talk, “Like I said, I've got plenty of work to keep me busy. Listen, Henryk, I'm glad that I was able to help, but I... I could use some time. Alone. I've got a lot of things that I need to think about, and not all of them are official business.”

Well, you can guess what she's thinking about – your “health problems”, and your future together. Now that she's had some time to thunk about it, the doubts must be cropping up.

“Hey, don't look like that,” she forces a smile, easily guessing your thoughts, “This doesn't change anything. We're professionals, remember? Well, it's time for me to act like one - that means doing paperwork. If you want to go ahead, catch a train back to the capital, I won't stop you. I'll write to you when I'm done here, we can arrange something then. Maybe we get together for a meal, something like that.”

Something like that, you agree, it'll be nice.

“Well, duty calls,” sighing, Camilla starts to head off before calling back over her shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Henryk. We won't be much of a team if you go getting yourself killed.”

And then she's away, heading to the Ministry offices. You could follow her, you know the way easily enough, but...

>Take the first train back to the capital. It's time to head home
>Take the next train to Canid. You can get to Artemis' temple from there
>Follow Camilla. She shouldn't be alone right now
>Other

>>944809
>Take the next train to Canid. You can get to Artemis' temple from there

If there is one thing I know about Camilla is that she is strong enough to take care of herself

We are down here anyways like Art said, might as well go. Don't fancy having to give blood again though.

>>944809
>Take the next train to Canid. You can get to Artemis' temple from there
Best to give Camilla some alone time so she can recover. And going to the temple to find whatever Artemis wanted to say sounds good.

>>944809
>>Take the next train to Canid. You can get to Artemis' temple from there

>>944809
>Take the next train to Canid. You can get to Artemis' temple from there

>>944809
>>Take the next train to Canid. You can get to Artemis' temple from there

But if you've learned one thing from all the time you've spent with Camilla, it's that she's a strong woman. A quiet, unforced kind of strength, but that's exactly the kind that she needs. She'll spend a few hours filling out forms or ticking boxes, smoke a few dozen cigarettes, and that'll be the end of it. Not quite your way of dealing with things – you'd kill something, get blind drunk and brood for a few hours – but that's fine. You've all got your own ways of dealing with things.

Besides, you could do with a bit of time alone as well. It's easier to go to Artemis' temple alone, less awkward questions that way. It'll do you good, getting out into the wilderness for a while, give you a chance to get used to the northern forests again. You won't miss all the swamps and jungles, that's for sure, or the fat, oily flies that seemed to thrive in them. The train to Canid, then, and onto Artyom. A nice forest stroll, and you'll be at the coast – ready to buy passage over to the temple.

You're not looking forwards to paying the toll, though.

-

Something strange happens when you're at the station, passing your papers across to the uniformed clerk. He flips the leather wallet open and skims the contents, just like always, but then he stops. Frowning, he goes back and rereads the document carefully, his eyes flicking between the photograph and your face.

Come on, you want to tell him, it's not that bad of a picture!

“Henryk Hanson?” he asks.

That's right, you say slowly, is there a problem?

“No problem, no,” shaking his head, he slides your papers back across the desk, “The train leaves in fifteen minutes. Enjoy your journey.”

What was that all about?

-

One thing you forgot about the backwater lines like these, you think bitterly, is how badly they shake and rattle. The main lines, running from Odyss to the capital and then onto Port Daud, are kept well maintained, but the lesser lines are often an exercise in endurance. Seasickness, you muse as the train lurches along, is nothing compared with this. For the sake of something to do, something to occupy your mind, you take out your papers and look them over, studying them for any abnormality or out of place detail.

Could the clerk have mistaken them for a forgery? A few years back, you vaguely recall a man being executed for forging Ministry documents, but that response – immediate and merciless punishment – went a long way to deterring further attempts. Maybe it was your name that he recognised, although you can't think how. Could you have been mentioned in some official statement, perhaps news from Port Tyrant?

Curious, you murmur as the train rattle onward, very curious.

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

>>944836
Dun dun duuunnn!

>>944836
>Maybe it was your name that he recognised, although you can't think how. Could you have been mentioned in some official statement, perhaps news from Port Tyrant?

Well we weren't exactly subtle in our killing of the big bad White Tyrant. Just the opposite really. Maybe the news already reached here.

At least I hope so, random people recognizing us isn't always good.

Thanks for running Moloch.

>>944836
thnaks

Probably someone who's part of the conspiracy caught word of what happened down south and put a bounty on our head.

>>945042
Unlikely, I'd say.
They only found people they could force to do what they needed, and who were somewhat competent at it.
This guy however, would ever not be incentived enough to do what they want him to, or he's only supposed to give notice if he sees Henryk, in which case he fucked up by warning us.

I mean, it's possible that you're right, obviously.
I just think that it's not exactly the conspiracy's handwriting, imo.

>>945062
Not saying it was something subtle, the conspiracy is deeply rooted in the league, they could just make Henryk a wanted man, meaning they would have told train stations to look out for him and report if they find him.

>>944836
Could also be that Henryk's face has been changing from all the blood modification. The papers haven't been renewed in quite some time, right?

>>945062
>>945143
>>945500
We could have been outted as the guy who solo'd the White Tyrant too.

Wouldn't be surprised if it's something mundane, like a tan.

>>947904
Now that'd be funny. If something has changed in our face we can easily find out when we get home and talk to Lize or just find a random mirror somewhere. My bet is on word spreading that we took part in something big up north.

It seems that you've picked an exciting time to visit Artyom.

Canid was peaceful enough, with nothing special to note. Pleasantly quiet, in fact – quite a rare pleasure after your recent life. Your journey back north on the Midas had been relaxing, true, but it was never quite peaceful enough. When you're trapped on a ship with a busy crew and other passengers, there's always going to be some distractions – to say nothing of the more pleasant diversions that Camilla's company offered.

The point is, it's nice to find a quiet corner of the land. It gives you a chance to think, to observe. When you get off the train, you linger for a while to see if anyone starts to look for you, perhaps to follow you once you start off on your way. When nobody seems to pay you the slightest bit of attention, you leave the station and go for a long walk through the town. Still nothing, still no sign of anything suspicious. When the streets are this empty, with the low morning mist still clinging to them, you'd definitely notice anyone if they were following you.

Of course, anyone with their wits about them would know that, and they would change their approach accordingly. At least you can rule out one thing – you're not being shadowed by any idiots.

-

If there was nothing to see in Canid, there is almost too much to see in Artyom, too much to pay attention to at once. A festival atmosphere has descended upon the town, with music blaring out and carousing locals filling the streets. Crowds – a mixed blessing. Helpful if you need to shake a tail, but they'll also make it harder to notice one. Soon, however, the thought of being followed is pushed right to the back of your mind.

In the distance, rising above the background roar of music and loud voices, you can hear chanting. It's coming from ahead, from the marketplace, but the mess of buildings around you makes it hard to pick out the words that they are chanting. With a feeling of growing unease churning deep within you, you press on through the narrow streets and out into the wide expanse of the marketplace.

Almost as soon as you've entered the marketplace, before you've even had the chance to look around, a man lurches into you. His face is ruddy, reddened with drink, but his expression is one of lurid joy. As you pull back from him, he grabs your hand and shakes it vigorously. With his other hand, he gives you a friendly slap on the arm – right on your League emblem, your wolf's head. “Praise be!” he bellows, before lurching away into the churning crowd.

That's it, you realise, that's what they're chanting.

“Praise be,” the people chant, “Praise be to the Hunters!”

[1/3]

>>947937

Well, this is certainly new.

Even here in Artyom, where the Hunters are held in a comparatively high regard, you've never seen celebrations like this. Some new festival, you wonder, something to boost public morale? The only idea that comes to mind is the role Wolves played in the battle for Port Tyrant, but this all seems so... excessive for just the five of you. Getting answers out of the surging crowd is a fool's errand – better to find a lone reveller and hope that they're sober enough to answer you. Until you find a likely candidate, you'll watch and see what you can learn.

And there is a lot to see. A great pyre is being built at the far end of the marketplace, with revellers throwing wood upon it as they pass by. The longer you watch, the more you realise that the crowd is moving with purpose, with some semblance of organisation. Like a vast parade, the procession marches endless circuits of the marketplace, all at the directions of... of a man on a horse. He's riding a real horse, and brandishing a real sword.

The sight of that rider is so unexpected, so unusual, that it takes you a moment longer to notice the men following close behind him – or rather, what they carry. Strung up on a great wooden cross, held aloft like a pennant, you see the corpse of a great beast. It's one hell of a sight, maybe even the biggest wolf – although that comparison is fleeting at best - you've ever seen, and death has not diminished its ferocious appearance. It's hard to get a proper look at it – if only those men would stop waving the thing about! - but you'd guess at it being twice the size of a man, with claws like sabres and a crown of splintered antlers. Not the typical beast, in other words.

“They're gonna burn it at nightfall,” a voice calls out to you, shortly before a hand falls on your shoulder, “I wish they'd just get on with it, all this messing about is pissing me off.”

Ilse, you say as you turn to face the redhead, it looks like you've come at an interesting time.

“Interesting, sure. I'm just about-” a fresh round of cheers, with no particular cause, cuts Ilse off, “Fucking hell, Hanson. C'mon, I know a quiet spot. Follow me, I'll try and explain this whole mess.”

That's not going to be a particularly easy job, you think ruefully as you follow her back out of the marketplace and into a side street. Last time you saw Ilse, it had been on Port Tyrant. You never did get the chance to say your goodbyes after the battle. As you think about this, Ilse stops outside a small bar – the sign above the door read “The Broken Window”. Hand on, you say, is this...

“I guess I own a bar now,” Ilse shrugs, “Bet you didn't see that one coming, huh? C'mon in, we can have a drink.”

[2/3]

File: Ilse.jpg (115 KB, 595x761)

115 KB JPG

>>947938

“I was gonna ask what you've been up to lately, but looking at that tan of yours, I can make a guess. You've down south, right? I've heard stories about that place, good and bad. While ago, I had a guy come in here talking all about them. He said that all cheap beer and easy women. Or... or was it easy beer and cheap women? One of the two, I guess,” Ilse waves a hand at a set of chairs, gesturing for you to sit, “That about right?”

Both sound pretty accurate, you tell her.

“Huh, sounds like my kind of place,” Ilse smirks, before calling over to the bar, “Hey Hon, bring some beers over, would you?”

Hon?

“Honey. It's her name. I guess her parents kept bees or something, I don't know. I've never asked. She's a good worker, and she's damn popular with the customers,” Ilse pauses as the barmaid brings over two glasses of beer, her considering bust swaying as she goes.

Well, you remark as she's leaving, you can see why she's so popular.

“Eyes front, you old dog,” chuckling, Ilse toys with her glass, “I bought the place with the extra pay we got from Tyrant. It was cheap, kind of a friend of a friend sort of thing. I'm still in the hunting game, officially at least, but I don't know how long that's gonna last. Might be, I'll retire early and settle down. Take it easy for a bit, you know? Make the most of life while I'm still young and good looking.” She scratches the mess of scars on her face as she says this, giving you a wry smile.

Not a chance that everyone gets, you tell her, she's lucky.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” nodding slowly, Ilse glances across to the bar. Hanging above it is a framed photograph, an old picture of Stukov. Following your gaze, Ilse nods at the picture. “I figured it was a fitting tribute,” she explains, “You think he'd like it?”

Yeah, you agree, he'd like it. He'd probably complain about the photograph or insist on a nicer picture frame, but he'd like it.

“Ungrateful bastard,” Ilse snorts, “Anyway, that mess out there. Short version is, we had a beast about here. Now we don't. That about sums it up, I think.”

>Listen, I'm just passing through – I'm not going to get dragged into anything, am I?
>Who was that guy on the horse out there?
>That was some beast they had strung up out there
>Have you heard from the others? Hyde and Krebs?
>I wanted to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>947939
>>Who was that guy on the horse out there?
>>That was some beast they had strung up out there
Essentially, what's happening around here? Whats the occasion?

>>Have you heard from the others? Hyde and Krebs?

>>947939
>>Who was that guy on the horse out there?
>>That was some beast they had strung up out there
>>Have you heard from the others? Hyde and Krebs?

>>947939
>>Have you heard from the others? Hyde and Krebs?
>Who was that guy on the horse out there?
Took me a minute to remember who Ilse was, didn't expect her to show up.

>>947939
>>Who was that guy on the horse out there?
>>That was some beast they had strung up out there
>>Listen, I'm just passing through – I'm not going to get dragged into anything, am I?

So who was that guy out there, you ask her, the guy on the horse?

“Huh, I thought you might have noticed him,” Ilse laughs, “Hard to miss, isn't he? He is the latest – and apparently greatest – member of our little fraternity. A Hunter, I mean, and one to watch in the years to come. His name is... shit. Hon, what was his name?”

“Uriah,” the barmaid answers, “Uriah Bellerose.”

“That's him. Cocky little shit,” snorting derisively, Ilse shakes her head, “You should hear the rumours about him – people are saying that he's got some rich father, maybe even a nobleman. Certainly explains a lot, like where the little shit got a horse and a sword from – not to mention his attitude. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't really like the guy.”

You noticed, you reply, has she even met him?

“For like five minutes, yeah,” pausing to take a drink, Ilse gives you a sour expression, “He came in here and told me that he was going to be handling things from now on. Said he was going to... Wait, shit, I'm getting ahead of myself. I forgot that you've not been around, you wouldn't have heard. Uh, right, let me think...” Leaning back in her seat, Ilse thinks hard to herself. Occasionally, she whispers something to herself, or counts back the days on her fingers.

You'd just like to know what's been going on around here, you tell her mildly, what's the occasion?

“I'm getting there, hold up a minute. Okay, so it started about a fortnight ago. Twelve days? Something like that. Basically, this beast was breaking into houses in the night and butchering everyone inside. One house a night, one entire family. As you might have guessed, folks around here were getting pretty unhappy with the situation. I was looking into it, trying to track the beast back to its lair, but then this new guy showed up. Uriah,” her expression changes from sour to bitter, “So this kid, this new guy, comes in here and tells me that I'm done – that I had my chance, and he's taking over. He needs three days and three nights, that's all. After that, he'll either bring the beast in or he'll slink away in shame.”

Already, you're starting to share her dislike. This Uriah sounds like the type who hunts for their own personal glory – and the parade outside only confirms that. The crowd might be praising the Hunters, but it's all about him. Taking a drink of your own, you nod for Ilse to continue.

“Well, he said he wanted three days and three nights. I was happy to give him that much,” she grunts in irritation, “I figured he'd get his stupid ass eaten, save us all some grief. No such luck. First night came, and he rode off into the woods. Nothing. Second night, the same. Third night came, and I was just waiting for him to come back empty handed. Hey, what can I say? I wanted to gloat.”

[1/2]

>>947960
>he rode off into the woods
A witch hunter? That's cheating!

>>947960
Hmm. It's hard to imagine some pup swooping in and managing to do what a vet like Ilse couldn't do in just a few days, specially with the kind of arrogance he is displaying.

Either the kid is a prodigy or there is something else going on here.

>>947937
>to say nothing of the more pleasant diversions that Camilla's company offered.

I always imagine that sharing a bed with Camilla lets Henryk sleep easier.

>>947960

But he didn't come back empty handed, you point out, did he?

“There I was, break of dawn, when he comes riding out of the forest. I'm just about to put on my smug face, but then I saw what he was dragging behind him. That bloody monster they're waving about out there,” Ilse's lips twist in a snarl, “Then he was the one who got to look all smug. That was... yesterday morning, I figure. He got to have anything he wanted as a reward, and he chose to have a festival – something that everyone could enjoy, something to “banish the fear that had settled upon this community”. That's what he said, the little shit.”

Still, you sigh, you can't entirely blame him for celebrating. That beast they're carrying about is certainly something – you've not seen anything that impressive in a long time.

“Locals started calling it Old Grey. Don't know if you'll ever get the chance to see it up close, but it's got this streak of grey fur, right down the muzzle. Some witnesses saw it, or so they claim. Saw it and ran screaming, probably,” Ilse's voice lowers slightly, and she leans forwards, “Weird thing is, it's new – totally new, like it sprung out of the ground. That's part of the reason they kept the body around, to try and study it. Hell if I know what they learned, though – not like we've got a laboratory just sitting around here. Closest one we've got is probably... shit, Tolnir I guess. College has a little place in the hills. Whatever.”

Whatever, you repeat, you're not supposed to be here on official business anyway. You were just meant to be passing through – you're not likely to get dragged into anything, are you?

“I don't know man, you seem like the kind of guy who gets dragged into a lot of things,” Ilse chuckles, “Nah, party's pretty much over by now. Unless you want to stick around until the end of the festivities and meet this Uriah guy yourself, I don't think anyone would stop you strolling on out of town. Hell, with everything that's going on I doubt anyone would notice you leaving.”

Well that's something. You'll admit to a certain curiosity about this Uriah, but you've also got other things to do with your time. Sticking around a while longer? You'll have to think about that one. As you're finishing the last dregs of your beer, a question occurs to you. Heard from the others lately, you ask Ilse, heard from Hyde and Krebs?

As soon as the question has left your lips, and her face darkens, you know that the news is not good.

“I mean, Hyde's fine,” Ilse tells you eventually, “That's something. He writes occasionally, when he's got news, or... you know, something to write about. That's how I heard about Krebs – those two were always close, right?”

[2/3]

>>947971
Are we going to have the next Beast Showdown at the temple? Against Uriah?

>>947971

So what happened, you press, what happened to Krebs? Did he...

“I don't know, man. All I know is what Hyde wrote to me, and I'm not sure if I believe that. Way Hyde puts it, Krebs went out peaceful – just went to sleep one night and didn't wake up. That sound like Krebs to you?” Ilse's face twists in a sudden snarl, bitterness flooding her voice, “I mean, shit! Port fucking Tyrant couldn't kill him, and then he just dies in his sleep? C'mon, Hyde's gotta be covering something up, sweeping up one last mess. He wants to do that, fine, but feeding me some excuse is just bullshit, total bullshit.”

A strained, heavy silence falls across you both. From the bar, you can see Honey staring at the pair of you with wide, frightened eyes. You're not really sure what to say, what you could say. Before you can make the mistake of saying anything, Ilse sweeps her hands through the air.

“Fuck, forget it. Sorry for ranting, this whole... festival thing is getting on my nerves,” shaking her head, Ilse pushes aside her empty glass and stabs her finger down onto the table, “I mean, does Hyde really think he's protecting my delicate little feelings? As I don't damn well know what to expect? I... I'm doing it again, ain't I?”

Well, you reply, yes.

“Shit,” she curses, “Damn it. I'm going to find Uriah and give him a piece of my mind. I can't blame everything on him, I know that, but I'm gonna give it a damn good try. You wanna come with me, see the boy wonder for yourself?”

>Sure, why not? I'm curious now
>No way, I'm not interested in hearing him gloat
>You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in
>Other

>>947982
>You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in

>>947982
>You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in.

Have our hand on the birthing blade when we talk. I bet it'll get hot, and that "Old Grey" was Krebs'.

>>947982
>You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in

"I'll go have a talk with him, get his measure."

>>947982
>>Sure, why not? I'm curious now
"Take it easy though. Arrogant shit he may be, he didn't have anything to do with Krebs."

>>947982
>You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in
he's playing the crowd, and unless Ilse wants to do the same it'll be better to do it somewhere not near the pub.

>>947982
>>You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in
Hyde doesn't seem like the lying type Krebs probably did go out just like that.

>>947986
That's a scary thought though, him having the ritual that our other buddy had and messing with it so the beast part goes free. Definitely makes sense though.

>>947982

> You should stay here. You'll end up starting a fight, the mood you're in

Of course we'll go with her when she decides to ignore our advice, but there's no sense in encouraging trouble.

>>947986

>Have our hand on the birthing blade when we talk.

Agreed.

Hell, you're curious now. Sure, you sigh, you'll go and see him for yourself.

“Nice, nice,” Ilse nods to herself, “Hey, you want to know what he needs? What he really needs? He needs someone to kick the shit out of him, teach him that Hunting isn't some game. You know what I'm talking about, right?”

Wincing faintly, you remember the feeling of claws ripping through your gut. A pain bad enough that you wanted to die... but it certainly taught you a few lessons about taking beasts seriously. Almost without thinking, you find yourself nodding along with Ilse's enthusiastic suggestion. No wait, you tell her hastily as she starts to rise, she should stay here. With the mood she's in, and all this talk of beatings, she'll just end up starting a fight. A fight in front of a very large crowd, a crowd who very much like this new Hunter.

“Oh man,” Ilse grimaces, “You're being sensible again. Hell, I guess you're right – no point in getting thrown in some filthy dungeon just because I threw a few punches. Damn glad I ran into you now, who knows what I might have ended up doing?”

Is she to be fine here, you ask, not going to sneak out and cause any trouble?

“I'm gonna drink until I pass out, worry about everything else tomorrow,” she decides, nodding to herself, “You take care of yourself, Hanson. Oh, and one last thing...”

What?

“That tan looks ridiculous,” she cackles.

-

You feel strangely self-conscious as you head back out into the streets. Still, the good thing about these riotous crowds is that nobody really pays you any attention. Letting yourself get swept away with the flowing parade, you steadily force your way closer to the dead beast. You want to see this thing up close, before the bonfire is lit and the corpse is reduced to ashes. If the crowd takes any offence at your attempts, they give no sign of it. Quite the opposite, in fact – as you press forwards, someone practically forces a tankard of ale into one of your hands.

Passing the tankard on to the next man you see – you're not willing to risk drinking it – you touch a hand to the birthing blade. It's cold, just the regular chill that a metal blade should have. There's something strangely disappointing about that. Just as you're getting close to the corpse, and the men bearing it aloft, a great fanfare of horns rips through the air. At their song, the background roar of conversation and revelry is cut. In the jarring silence that follows, a strident voice pieces the gathering gloom.

“The feast is now commencing,” the herald declares, “All men and women of the Free States are invited to take their place. All are welcome, all will be served!”

And the parade that had been so unified dissolves into a murmuring, aimless thing, a thing that meanders slowly towards the town hall.

[1/2]

>>947992
Or it's simply what happens when your blood goes too far and you're lucky enough to have not died.

File: Oh gosh.png (91 KB, 645x428)

91 KB PNG

>>948006
>“That tan looks ridiculous,” she cackles.
I knew it.

File: Uriah Bellerose.jpg (284 KB, 540x800)

284 KB JPG

>>948006

It takes a while for the marketplace to empty, for the crowds to clear out and claim the free food they were promised. As they move away, the burdened men carry their cross up to the pyre and set it in place. With a great chorus of grunts and complaints, they prop it upright with spare wood before cautiously stepping back. They linger for a while, ready to catch it if it should droop or start to fall, but their caution is unneeded. When the cross stays upright, they gladly join the rest of the crowd in leaving.

Barring a few stragglers, or a few people unwilling to attend this feast, the marketplace is empty. With nobody around to stop you, you climb the pyre and start to examine the beast.

True enough, its muzzle is streaked with greying fur as the nickname suggested. From there, you study the rest of the beast in turn. The teeth are too long, digging into its own flesh in places, and the claws have a thick coating of grime. The antlers appear to have burst through the flesh - you count five of them growing from various parts of the skull, and a fleshy nub that might have become a sixth in time. Finally, you find the wound that killed the beast – a wound in its chest, right over the heart.

As you start to descend the pyre, you see a young man watching you with curious, eager eyes.

-

“Magnificent, isn't it?” the young man remarks, “A rare find.”

When you reach the ground and approach him, you get a better look at him. His face is almost womanly, and the care with which he is dressed only emphases that. His belt buckle – glinting silver, and not just from careful polishing – is engraved with a Wolf's head. He must be the Hunter, you guess, Bellerose.

“Uriah Bellerose, at your service,” the young man bows, and when he raises his head again he is smirking, “It seems we share the same blood, you and I. Little wonder, then, that you took note of that beast – I dare say that it's the grandest sight you'll see in a long time.”

You're not so sure about that, you reply with a cool smile, you've seen some pretty interesting things lately. It's big, but his trophy is just a big old wolf.

“Well then,” Uriah spreads his hands wide, indicating the empty marketplace, “I'd love to see what you've got to show for yourself. You do have something to back up those words... do you not?”

You don't make a habit of dragging dead bodies around with you, you shoot back, probably because you don't have anything to prove.

A silence falls over the pair of you, and then Uriah laughs aloud. “Oh very good!” he claps his gloved hands together, “Very good indeed. Shall we start again, you and I? As I have said, my name is Uriah Bellerose. You are...?”

Henryk Hanson, you tell him simply.

He doesn't seem to recognise you.

>Shouldn't you be off enjoying your feast?
>I'd like to hear about your hunt
>A word of advice – you need to take this more seriously.
>I want to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>948022
>>Shouldn't you be off enjoying your feast?
>>I'd like to hear about your hunt

I want to hear this tale. Then we can go into the forest and confirm it via tracking if need be.

>>948022
>>Shouldn't you be off enjoying your feast?
>>I'd like to hear about your hunt

>Other
>A clean sword thrust to the heart. Have you been taught by a noble? I've seen the real deal, not the little sport they pretend it is.

>>948022
>>Shouldn't you be off enjoying your feast?

>>948022
>Shouldn't you be off enjoying your feast?
>I'd like to hear about your hunt

kinder sounds like this beast was man made soemhow couse even if its a beast all its things should grow to help it not dig into its own fleash.
something is fisshy here

and it might not be to old if it was going to ggrow more horns

>>948031
Can't wait to find out that someone out there is trying to create a monster army.

"No, what are you doing! I created you!"

>>948022
>>I'd like to hear about your hunt
Dude looks like a lady.

>>948031
I had a similar thought as well before that one guy mentioned Krebs. Using witchery and rituals to make a beast doesn't sound like too much of a stretch.

>>948022
>Where did it come from, do you think? Its growth looks uncontrolled, as if it was forced to grow into a beast.

>>948031
Witchcraft can control beasts, we know that much.

If this is foul play/fraud I can see this dude controlling the beast from the woods, having it kill townsfolk, and then swoop in as the hero.

Just a theory though.

>>948039
>>948034
>>948032
i mean peopel have done things like this befor and i wouldnt put it past peopel ether
but if he did that would mean he has some powers and shit or is it a girl its a trap

Looking away from the young man, you turn your gaze back to the corpse. Shouldn't he be off enjoying the celebrations, you ask as the young pup lingers around, enjoying his feast?

“There's time enough for that,” Uriah begins to circle the pyre, examining his slain prey from all different angles, “But I heard talk of another Hunter here. I wondered who it was – my first guess would have been that awful woman. I suppose swallowing her jealousy was just too much for her to handle. Oh well – I won't shed any tears for her absence. Regardless, I wanted to see who was out here. That's the only reason I should need, wouldn't you say?”

Ilse was right, you realise, he really IS a little shit. Before you can ask him you next question, you have to swallow a wave of irritation – Ilse might not be your best friend in the word, but hearing him talk like that is galling. You'd like to hear about his hunt, you tell him eventually, about how he brought Old Grey here down. It's sure to be a fine tale, you add, and one that you're eager to hear.

“Oh, well,” he pauses, his pace slowing somewhat, “It's only natural that you'd be interested in it. Professional curiosity and all that.” Almost as if he was buying himself a little extra time, Uriah casually finishes his circuit of the pyre before returning to your side. “I didn't want to use a rifle,” he begins, “If I'm being honest, I find them rather distasteful. All that noise and smoke – it's unsightly. Even a pistol is a little much for me, although I carry one of those. It's only sensible, after all.” Brushing aside his long coat, Uriah reveals the butt of a pistol before letting his coat flap back into place.

Noise and smoke aside, you argue, a rifle is damn near essential for a Hunter.

“It's a crutch,” Uriah shakes his head, “You're just limiting yourself, using that sort of thing. Look at this – good steel is all you need.” He draws his sword as he says this, holding it out for you to examine – no, for you to admire, or so he expects. As much as you're starting to dislike him, however, you have to admit that it's an excellent sword. Perfectly balanced, and light in his hands. Still, the greatest sword in the land is still just a sword.

Very nice, you tell him, but he's getting distracted – you asked him about the hunt itself, not his weapon of choice.
“Oh, I see. You have no appreciation for the finer points,” Uriah nods ruefully, “That is so often the case among our kind. A terrible crime, if you ask me. Very well then, I'll get straight to the meat of the issue, shall I?”

Please do, you tell him politely.

[1/2]

Koa 2.0.
Shame that Henryk is closer to Ira "I'll bite your face" Furyo than the "Dead Inside" we've played.

>>948070
Ira was never dead inside, He was just the eye of the storm, calm around the chaos. He was still the same person, just more in control.

>>948063

“Unlike some people, I have enough patience to give a task the time it deserves,” Uriah begins, “And so I decided to spread my hunt across three nights. My original theory was that the beast – Old Grey, as you call it – only emerged during the night. I did my research before starting, I know that nobody was able to track the beast back to its lair. I had no intention of wasting my time or energy with attempts of my own. No, I took a different approach. It all started when I rode into the woods for the first time.”

Risky, you point out, taking a horse into the forests around here. The trees can be pretty dense, and the ground underfoot isn't always safe or stable.

“I wasn't riding it, I was using it as bait,” Uriah's lips twist in a cold smile, “It was never in any danger, but I knew the beast wouldn't be able to resist the prospect of an easy meal. Of course, the first night was never going to be THE night. I believe that this beast is... was... smarter than a common animal. When I spent the night out there, I knew that it was watching me – studying me, just as we might study it in turn. The second night was the same, but the third night... it attacked. We fought, the beast and I. I won't pretend that it was easy, but I managed to get an opening, and then-”

A single strike through the heart, you finish, you've seen that sort of thing before – has he been trained by a nobleman? They're the only ones who use swords these days as well.

“An awful shame,” Uriah shakes his head again, “It's the only way to do things, you know – a single decisive strike. That's how we should really hunt, not this messy way that so many of us have. But, to answer your question... yes, I was trained by a master swordsman, at no small expense I should add. I am glad that you could recognise my skills though, but I must confess to a certain curiosity. Where, if I may ask, have you seen this kind of fighting before?”

Here and there, you reply cautiously, but the things you've seen are the real deal – not duelling or playing at fighting.

“Then you've clearly never seen a duel,” the young man snaps, anger flaring in his voice, “Or you would not be so quick to dismiss them. Men die, sir, and they die in awful ways. Does that sound like playing to you?”

Maybe it does, you retort, it's just playing with high stakes.

“I had thought that you were better than the rest,” Uriah sneers, “But it seems that I was wrong. Good day to you, sir.”

Wait a moment, you tell him, you wanted his opinion on something. Where, you ask, does he think it came from? These growths don't look natural – like it was twisted into some new shape... forced to become a beast.

“It came to kill me,” Uriah replies in a flat voice, “Regrettably, I did not manage to get a home address.”

[2/3]

>>948098
>“Regrettably, I did not manage to get a home address.”
Snarky. If this were some random quest, this is where I would roll to seduce.

>>948098

As Uriah slinks away, clearly sulking, you consider his story. Spectacularly vague in parts, especially when it came to important details. All the Hunters you've ever spoken with are eager to gloat about their fights, going through every single cut and thrust in blood-soaked detail. Uriah seemed to be the exact opposite, as if the entire fight had barely been worth mentioning. Aside from the pride he took in that single perfect strike, he skipped past the battle entirely. Either it far less dignified than he wanted you to think, or his imagination just wasn't up to scratch - both are likely possibilities.

Feigning an easy, casual air, you glance about the marketplace. Even the stragglers have dispersed now, leaving you alone here. Before anyone can come and play witness, you climb up the pyre again and draw your knife. Picking a spot that's reasonably well-hidden, you saw off a strip of the tough, leather flesh and wrap it in a rag. Breaking League regulations there, you think as you climb down, keeping a contamination risk like that.

Still – better to have some small piece of evidence. Come nightfall, this entire corpse is going to go up in flames.

-

With the strip of flesh leaving a vaguely unpleasant weight in your pocket, you settle down to do some serious thinking. There's definitely something else going on here, but you're not exactly sure what it could be. Uriah is suspicious as hell, but he could just be out for his own glory. The beast itself, Old Grey, is definitely a strange specimen, but it's also definitely dead. Whatever else is going on here, the problem has been solved. The beast is dead.

So there's nothing else to do here... right? Just catch a coach to the coastline – assume you can find a carriage driver who is still sober – and take Yadhos' boat across to the temple. Simple, easy, that's all you need to do.

>No point in hanging around. Find a carriage willing to take you to the coast
>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night
>Maybe you can catch the end of this feast...
>Other

>>948139
>>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night
Forgot to touch the birthing blade.

>>948139
>>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night

>>948139
>>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night

>>948144
>Passing the tankard on to the next man you see – you're not willing to risk drinking it – you touch a hand to the birthing blade. It's cold, just the regular chill that a metal blade should have. There's something strangely disappointing about that.

>>948139
>>No point in hanging around. Find a carriage willing to take you to the coast

Let someone else deal with the world changing side quests for once, get out before we get involved by mistake

>>948139
>>No point in hanging around. Find a carriage willing to take you to the coast

>>948139
>>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night
was there a scholarly establishment near here? this smells like Snakes

>>948139
>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night

The carriage coaches are probably feasting now

>>948148
That was for the beast, not the little shit.

>>948139
>>>No point in hanging around. Find a carriage willing to take you to the coast

>>948159
Would still have been slightly warm since he was nearby.

>>948139
>>It'll be easier to get a carriage in the morning. Maybe Ilse can give you a room for the night
Whoo side quests.

>>948148
>>948144

>I figure this is something important enough to clarify, because I did mean to mention the birthing blade both times. If there had been a great beast anywhere nearby, Uriah included, when we touched it, it would have grown warm.
>So, to specify, neither Uriah nor Old Grey were one of our beasts. Sorry for the omission

>>948159
It's proximity. He was right next to the beast.

We felt Yvette just by being in her mansion. He isn't a great beast.

It seemed like the whole damn town was out here earlier, you think bitterly, all carousing the night away. You'll be lucky if you can find a single carriage driver in this place who is still conscious, let alone sober enough to be in charge of a vehicle. No, there's nothing else for it – you'll have to find a room for the night and try your luck in morning. Maybe Ilse can rent you a room for the night, since she's the proud owner of a bar these days.

Besides, you can get together and complain about Uriah together – that'll be fun.

-

When you rap your knuckles on the door of the Broken Window, it's not Ilse that answers you. The door opens to reveal a heft bosom, with the rest of the woman following a second later. It's Honey, giving you an apologetic look.

“I'm sorry, but we're closed for tonight,” she begins, “We're not-”

“That Henryk?” Ilse yells from within, “Hell, let him in. The more the merrier, I say!”

Honey gives you a pained smile, but opens the door a fraction wider so that you can enter. Stepping past her, you see Ilse sprawled out across a long bench, a half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the closest table. No glasses – she must be drinking straight from the bottle. Ilse always was a classy one, after all. “C'mon man, take a seat!” Ilse waves you over, almost falling over from the strain of it, “Ah, I know that look – you've met him, ain't you? You've met the boy wonder himself!”

Is it really that obvious?

“Well, it's either that or you've got one hell of a stomach ache,” Ilse snorts, “You got that “I'm pissed off” kinda look about you. More than normal, least. Whatever, sit yourself down so we can have a proper talk.”

You were just here for a room, you try to tell her, a room for the night.

“Oh, shit, yeah. We do that, don't we?” frowning, Ilse struggles upright, “You know, it's hard to get used to these things. Like, I can rent out a room to someone now. Normally, if someone wanted to sleep in my house, I'd tell them to piss off. Weird, damn weird. I tell you what, Hanson, owning property does strange things to your mind. You start thinking about all kinds of dumb shit, like... like curtains. What normal person thinks about curtains?”

Maybe you're better off walking...

“Nah, I get you – you wanted a room. There's a bunch upstairs, you got your pick of the lot,” she waves an indifferent hand at a staircase, “And since I'm such a nice girl, I ain't even gonna charge you for it. Us Hunters, we gotta stick together, right? Well, maybe not all of us. If the little lord came begging for a room, I'd throw him out on his ass. Bah, not like he'll ever come knocking, mind. He'd probably just buy the house next door instead.”

Ilse always was a talkative one, you consider, especially when she was drinking.

[1/2]

>>948204

As you're heading for the stairs, Ilse calls out your name. Turning back, you meet her bleary eyes and gesture for her to say her piece.

“Before, did I tell you about those rumours? That little Uriah had a Dragon for a daddy?” Ilse picks up the bottle of wine before reconsidering it and putting it back down, “You believe that?”

Impossible to know for certain, you reply, but it's certainly possible. He certainly acts like he has some claim to nobility, but... would he really be a Hunter if he was a member of the nobility? Surely he would be exempt from League duties, like the rest of his kind.

“Nah, see, only if he's officially known as a noble. Maybe he's a bastard, a shameful little secret. Daddy was a Dragon, but his mom was a lonely she-wolf. That kinda thing... he'd have no claim on any lands or titles. Hell of a mess it would land his old man in as well, if the word got out – mixing blood and all that. You know what the nobility are like, right?” she chuckles, her laugh slurring together, “I gotta wonder, though – what the hell is he, then? A Dragon? A Wolf? Some weird kinda... hybrid thing? I ain't no Scholar, I don't know how this blood shit works.”

Truth be told, you admit, you're no expert either. You know a guy who might be able to explain it, but he's not here.

“Ah, whatever. I wasn't really that bothered about getting an answer,” shrugging, Ilse gives you a wave, “S'all I had to ask. You sleep well, Henryk. Just no funny business, you hear me? I'm locking my door tonight just to be sure.”

>Got it, no funny business. See you in the morning
>I want to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>948226
>Harsh Ilse (jokingly)
>Got it, no funny business. See you in the morning

>>948226
>I want to ask you something... (Write in)
Talk to her about the beast. It seemed distinctly .... off. Long in the fang to the point of uselessness, grayed muzzle, antlers on it's head.


Also on an unrelated note how old was Krebs? he wasn't nearly 60 was he?

>>948226
>>Got it, no funny business. See you in the morning

>>948226
>I want to ask you something... (Write in)
What became the official word after our little victory in the north? Were any of us mentioned by name, am I going to have to act famous from now on?

>>948226
>>I want to ask you something... (Write in)
>Was there a 'scholarly' establisment near here?

>>948236
Support

You're about to start up the stairs when a thought strikes you – not a particularly welcome thought, either. You saw that beast earlier, you tell Ilse, Old Grey. A pretty nasty sight, all in all. The fangs were too long, the antlers were weird, and the grey fur...

“Yeah, I mean, I did get a bit of a look. Fucking ugly,” Ilse creases her face in disgust, “Like... like it was all wrong, you know? Too wrong, I mean. Beasts are weird, really weird – like, sometimes you'll see a big wolf looking bastard with some horns, but that's within an acceptable level of weird. That thing, though... nah, I didn't like it one bit. If you want my professional opinion, I'd say it's better off as ash. Maybe that's why I was so pissed off with Uriah waving it about. Just burn the damn thing already, right?”

When she finally stops talking allowing a silence to descend over the room, you clear your throat delicately and move on. Unrelated note, you ask her, but how old was Krebs when he passed? He wasn't sixty yet, was he?

“Hey, how am I supposed to know that? It's not like I sent him any cards or anything,” she shrugs, almost aggressively, “He was old, fucking old. What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

But he was about that age, you press, wasn't he? It wasn't long before he-

“Hanson,” Ilse's voice turns low and hard, “You gonna make a point, or are you gonna step back?”

It's a possibility you both need to consider, you warn her, that's all you're saying.

“Yeah, sure, I know that,” sneering lightly, Ilse pushes back her hair with one hand, “I better start checking for horns when I wake up, right? I mean, you do the same thing... right? Cause from where I'm sitting, you're looking kinda beastly yourself.”

This time, the silence that falls across you both is a hostile one. Normally, you'd just turn and walk out now – the best thing to do once Ilse has started to nurse a grudge – but this time is different. This could be important. So, preparing yourself for the worst, you approach her and take a seat at her table. Port Tyrant, you announce, that was a hell of a mess wasn't it? Has there been any official announcement about it, you ask before she can reply, any names been mentioned?

“Huh?” Ilse slurs, “The hell are you talking about now?”

Just wondering if you're famous yet, you explain with deliberate indifference, if you'll need to worry about being recognised in the street.

“Man, and I thought Uriah was cocky,” shaking her head, Ilse laughs bluntly, “No, no names mentioned, and we're definitely not famous. If anyone recognises you, it'll be because of the wanted posters.”

What, you snap, what wanted posters?

“I'm kidding,” Ilse shoots you a confused look, “Unless... something you ain't telling me, Hanson?”

[1/2]

Really don't think it's Krebs guys. The witchcraft splitting of the beast and human looked way different from the thing Uriah killed.

Also Hyde said he passed away peacefully which sounds like bullshit but also means whatever happened happened way up near the capital, not down here in the farthest part of the Free States.

>>948285
To me this smell of Snakes/Scholars

>>948278

No, you reply quickly, it's nothing. You're tired, and your sense of humour isn't working properly. Maybe it was talking with Uriah, you explain with a forced smile, that must have exhausted your patience for bad jokes. So there's definitely been nothing in the papers, no names or photographs?

“Not a damn thing. I mean, there was a report – heroic victory, grave sacrifice, stability and prosperity for years to come... the usual junk,” tilting her head to the side, Ilse narrows her eyes, “No specific names. Not even old man Loch or... or her, the haughty bitch. I guess they wanted to keep it that way. Never took you for the “fame and fortune” type, Hanson – didn't think you'd care about seeing your name in the papers.”

You were just curious, you assure her, that's all. Anyway, that wasn't all you were wondering about – earlier, she mentioned something about a College facility. On Tolnir, wasn't it?

“I guess? Not sure if you'd really call it a facility, anything that fancy. It's like... old, barely used these days,” Ilse frowns, “Far as I know, they just keep a tiny bit of it open, in case anyone needs to do... College stuff. Oh yeah, and it gives them a place to shove snakes who fuck up. You blow up something expensive, they shove you down there to get rained on for the rest of your career. Sucks for them, right?”

Right, you yawn, and now it's about time you got some sleep.

“Remember what I told you,” Ilse warns you, “Locked doors. I'm putting a chair up against the door and all.”

Harsh, you tell her, very harsh.

“Ain't nothing personal, Hanson,” the redhead shrugs, “You're just not my type.”

-

Ilse is still asleep when you rise in the morning. For all her promises, all her talk of locked doors and chairs, she ended up falling asleep on the same bench she was drinking on. At least someone had the decency to drag a blanket over her at some point. As you're leaving, Honey gives you a long-suffering smile, urging you to come back soon.

“She'd never say this to you,” the barmaid admits, “But the boss needs all the customers she can get. She has a habit of, well... scaring them away.”

Somehow, you're not particularly surprised by that.

-

Your luck is good, and the second carriage driver you ask is willing to take you to the eastern coast. When you mention the little, ill-rumoured settlement on the shore, he nods grimly and adds a little extra onto your fee. Accepting this offer with a faint frown, you climb aboard and the carriage starts to rattle away. Just before you leave, you look back at the marketplace. The remains of the pyre are being cleared away, and the first market stalls are being set up for the morning trade.

Life in Artyom goes on, just like it always had and just like it always will.

[2/3]

>>948356

The carriage keeps an admirable pace through the old, twisted woods, rattling across the uneven ground in a way that makes the old trains seem smooth and comfortable. Even so, you make remarkably good time, with only one brief pause – stopping so that the driver can vomit profusely into the bushes. As he does so, you scan the woods around you for any lurking beasts. You never see anything, but you imagine a great many things – intelligent eyes watching you from the treeline.

When the carriage starts moving again, you feel a wordless relief.

-

Yadhos' settlement is as chaotic and insanely built as you remember it, and perhaps a little more so. It almost looks like his sprawling home has expanded, as if someone had built their own shacks nearby only for the hovels to be swept up and absorbed. As you're examining the ramshackle building, the carriage turns a tight circle and retreats back where it came from. You'll be walking back, it seems.

The man himself, as filthy and dishevelled as the last time you saw him, is waiting for you a few paces away, watching you with indifferent eyes. Shrugging to yourself, you amble over and greet him.

“Been a time,” he says easily.

A long time, you agree.

“Heading across the waters?” Yadhos asks, nodding towards the nearby boat.

If he's willing to take you, yes.

“Aye,” nodding slowly, Yadhos wanders over to the boat, “Just help me push her out, we can be off. Get you across in no time.”

>Alright, let's get a move on
>Same toll as last time, I presume?
>Has anything changed up on the island since last time?
>There was a nasty beast causing trouble over in Artyom a while ago. You ever see it?
>Other

>>948389
>Same toll as last time, I presume?
>Has anything changed up on the island since last time?
>There was a nasty beast causing trouble over in Artyom a while ago. You ever see it?

>>948389
>>There was a nasty beast causing trouble over in Artyom a while ago. You ever see it?
>>Has anything changed up on the island since last time?
Maybe if we don't mention the fee, he'll forget to charge it.

>>948389
>>Has anything changed up on the island since last time?
>There was a nasty beast causing trouble over in Artyom a while ago. You ever see it?

Then
>Alright, let's get a move on
>Same toll as last time, I presume?

>>948389
>There was a nasty beast causing trouble over in Artyom a while ago. You ever see it?
>Has anything changed up on the island since last time?

Has anything changed up there, you ask, up on the island?

“Well,” Yadhos scratches his chin for a moment, pausing to think, “More birds around. Woods around it are fair noisy and all, louder than normal. Never seen anything out there, but that don't chance a thing. Don't need to see to know what's in them woods. All kind of nastiness out there, though they never did harm me. Safe as you like, long as you don't cause trouble. Aye, that's how I like it – don't bother me none, I'll pay you back in kind.”

Nastiness, you repeat, like beasts?

“Aye, might be,” he nods, “Probably, aye.”

There was a nasty beast causing trouble over in Artyom a while ago, you mention, did he ever see anything like it? Kind of like a huge wolf, you describe, but crowned with antlers. He'd know it if he saw it. It's dead now, but maybe he saw something in the previous weeks?

“Never seen it,” Yadhos grunts, “Felt something, mind. I were out gathering firewood, out in them woods there, and I felt eyes on me. Thought maybe there was someone else picking through the bushes, only I knew better than to call out. Figured... something like that might be a mistake. Can't say how, but you learn to trust your gut out here.” Pausing again, he looks up at the sky for a while. “Aye, now you mention it, never did feel that same feeling since then,” looking back down from the sky, Yadhos meets your gaze, “You said they killed it?”

Sure seems that way, you tell him.

“Probably for the best,” he decides, “Now, you going to lend an old man a hand with this?”

Alright, you announce as you help him push the rickety boat out onto the water, it's about time you got a move on. You want to get this done quickly.

-

Yadhos has been rowing away in silence for quite some time before a thought strikes you. He hasn't stopped, hasn't let any of his blood out into the water or asked you to do the same. His toll, and he seemed almost fanatically insistent about it last time, remains unpaid. Well, if he's not going to mention it, you're not going to either – maybe if you don't remind him, he won't ever remember it. Still, it's odd that he would forget it. So much so that you're left wondering about it. Linked, in some way, with the changes on the island?

Curiosity gnaws away at you as he rows on, until you finally blurt out the question. What happened to the toll, you ask, doesn't it need to be paid?

“No point to it now,” he shakes his head slowly, “Nothing down there, you see?”

Frowning, you cautiously lean over the side of the boat and look out into the water. All the while, you half expect the old man to push you over – as if his sacrifice has simply escalated to a human life. When he doesn't make a single motion towards you, you relax slightly and take a longer look down.

Just open ocean, so deep that you could never hope to see the bottom.

[1/2]

>>948464
>More birds around.
Oh no we're gonna get real fucked up this time.

>>948464

Nothing down there, you repeat as you settle back down into the boat, is that right?

“Aye,” Yadhos nods, “Nothing down there now. No point making offerings to nothing, is there?”

He rows on in silence for a while before you speak up. So what changed, you ask, did something come up from the bottom? Or was there something down there all along, only to die recently?

“Big storm came blowing through, fair while back. Like nothing I ever seen before. Must have been a solid week it was howling away, even got a bit of snow. Rare for these parts – most like, we get rain instead,” the old man glances around at you, tilting his head to the side, “I figure you city folks would know about it. Hit harder up by the capital, I wager, always does. Way I figure it, city folk need reminding every now and then. Got to keep them humble.”

That must have been the storm that passed over while you were away in the north, you figure, while you were searching the Old University. So there was a storm, you press, and that changed things?

“Woke something up, best I can figure,” Yadhos shrugs, although it's hard to tell with the rowing, “It woke up, went somewhere else. Now, there's nothing down there. Simple really.”

Simple, you repeat, of course.

-

The conversation falters after that, only picking up once you reach the island itself. “Aye, there we are,” Yadhos grunts, “I figure you'll recall the way. Don't mind if I wait with the boat, aye? Like I said, you learn to listen to your gut around these parts, and mine is telling me to stay put. Don't reckon you'll have any worries, mind.”

No worries at all, you agree, just a lot of birds. Violent, enraged birds probably, but you'll cross that bridge once you get to it. Leaving Yadhos to stretch out his aching muscles, you set off into the thick forest. He was right about one thing – you DO remember the way. If you were given a map you doubt that you could mark out the right path, but once you start walking you trust yourself to find the right direction.

True enough, the trees soon give way to the temple itself. Peering through the entrance, you hear the whisper of feathers rustling together and see birds, countless white birds, clustered around the inside of the temple. Most of them are sitting up in the highest branches of the ancient tree itself, shifting to glare down at you as you walk slowly inside. The tree looks... different, the bark peeling back to reveal bilious, fleshy wood within. It looks sickly, bloated and cancerous, but some nameless instinct drives you to place your hand upon it.

It's warm, and just touching the fleshy wood is enough to send a warning ripple run through the birds above. Hastily, you draw your hand away and the birds settle back down again.

[2/3]

>>948536
>The tree looks... different, the bark peeling back to reveal bilious, fleshy wood within. It looks sickly, bloated and cancerous
thats the giant that egged on the knights isn't it

I remember in one of the first threads there was an old whale mentioned as a legend, it had a name I can't remember. First time we visited the temple one of the beast descriptions reminded me of it. Maybe that's what got released?

>>948547
yer was thinking somethign like that as well
kill it with fire!
but the birds would kill us.

hmm i wounder where that thing that was here has now gone.
bet we goning to have to dea with it at somepoint

>>948567
>Sailors, by definition, are a superstitious sort – they have all kinds of stories about ghost ships, cruel spirits and even Ghruul, the great, undying whale.

>>948584
That's the one, I actually went looking for it and couldn't find it.

>>948547
Guys. A birthing blade was embedded in it. A beast comes out of nowhere. The tree is all swollen.

Maybe the tree is pregnant with abominations long grown strange trapped and unable to be born.

I say we try stabbing a swelling with the birthing blade. Maybe collect some sap and bark, see what a certain mad diety? Wanted us to do here.

>>948547
Didn't Artemis say somewhere that this tree was not a giant when we asked?

>>948616
yer but we do that its birds all up in here

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

204 KB JPG

>>948536

Alright Artemis, you murmur, you're here – now what?

While you wait for an answer to come, you walk a slow circuit around the temple wall, examining each of the images in turn. As you pass by the first eight, you count them off in your mind, holding their memory in your thoughts for a moment before passing onto the next. Before long, you feel an uncommon tiredness creeping up on you. Under any normal circumstances, you might mistake it for simple fatigue – after all, you did hike through a forest to get here – but this is different.

Fine, you say aloud, you'll play along this time. As the sound of your voice causes the birds above to stir once again, you sit beneath the great tree and lean back. Just sit for a while, you think, and rest. That's what you'll do, just sit for a while and-

-

Rest.

Closing your eyes for a second, only to open your eyes in Nihilo – it's strange how quickly that became second nature, something that you didn't even have to think about. Looking slowly around, you take in the familiar sights. Off in the distance, you notice Isten and Yvette sitting a short space apart and laugh. Through some mighty effort, they've managed to gouge a small line in the black ice beneath them – a line that divides his half of the world from hers.

Getting up and walking away from each other, you consider, would be too simple.

Darkness suddenly descends as a pair of cool, delicate hands press down on your face, cutting you off from the world around you. It's a gentle pressure, with almost no weight behind it. With a weary smile, you wait for Artemis to get on with it. It's another one of her games, of course – what else could it be?

“Guess who!” Artemis whispers, her breath rushing against your ear, “Ah, you probably guessed already.”

It was tough, you reply, but you had a few ideas. Now then, how about...

“No no, shh,” hushing you, Artemis keeps her hands over your eyes, “Don't talk now. Just listen. I've been thinking, Henryk, thinking about a lot of things. You know, right now... we're very close, you and I. So very, very close...” As she whispers this, she shifts and brushes against your back. You can feel the thin robes she wears, and her body beneath them – no heat, but the same light pressure of her hands.

She's close, you murmur back, you can feel her now. Is she-

“Shh, shh. I told you not to speak,” a faint irritation slips into her voice, “I don't mean HERE. I mean... well, you can think about that. You gave me that little riddle, after all, it's only fair if I give you one in return. Now then... shall we begin?”

Slowly, barely moving your head, you nod.

>Okay, I'm going to have to pause here, I'm starting to lag. Next thread will be on Monday
>Thanks to everyone who stuck around today!

>>948631
>The best place to find one, you think, would be their garden. Unless... When you were at her temple, you tell Artemis, you saw an unusual tree. Was that a Giant once?

>“That tree was... it is...” a faint look of distress flashes across Artemis' face, a certain blankness touching her eyes. Her mind, you sense, has brushed up against a total void. “It... will be?” she offers, “That tree is special, of that I have no doubt, but it was never a giant. That, Henryk, I can promise you.”

>>948643
Things are about to get interesting.

Thanks for running.

>>948643
>managed to gouge a small line in the black ice beneath them
That made for a hearty laugh.

>I don't mean HERE
Oh gosh scary. I hope that Artemis waifu anon doesn't mind being a treefucker.

Thanks for running Moloch.

>>948635
we smoke them out first

>>948643
thanks
and the polt thickens

File: 763.png (106 KB, 340x763)

106 KB PNG

>>948643
Thanks for running Loch.

>>948677
>and the polt thickens
>Polt

In this blind world, every one of your other senses seems to have sharpened, straining to swallow up as much information as they can to compensate for your lost sight. The feel of the ice beneath you, of Artemis' body – just barely warmer than the ice – against your own, of her hands on your face. The sound of her breathing, a soft and fluttery thing, and the faint blood smell that accompanies each breath. These things are your world now, at least until she takes her hands away from your eyes.

You could pull them away yourself, push her back or otherwise fight free, but... but you'll play along for now. If you were stuck here for all eternity – again, if “eternity” is even a valid concept in this place – with just Isten and Yvette for company, you'd probably take every chance you get to have a little fun.

“I've been thinking very carefully, just like I said I would,” Artemis purrs, “About what you told me – those dreary old Giants, their little rituals. You were right, you know – some of it really did sound familiar. It gave something to focus on, and what do you know? It helped – helped me delve even deeper down into what I knew I should be able to remember. Let me tell you... no, no that's not any fun for either of us. Hmm... let me think. I want you to think of the dirt. Dry, thirsty soil – crumbling, like sand.”

It's easy to imagine, so much so that you could be standing there – a barren field, stretching off into the infinite distance. The wind picks up, and dust swirls around your feet. Reaching down, you scoop a handful of the soil and let it trickle through your fingers. Just as Artemis described it, it's as fine as sand.

“Now then, are you with me so far? Good, that's good...” there is a slight whisper of cloth as Artemis shifts, “Now. There's a person there. It doesn't who it is, it could be anyone. Who are you thinking of, I wonder... a friend? An enemy? Well, as I said, it doesn't matter.”

The dust swirls around you, thicker this time, and then parts to reveal a pale, still form. Lying upon the barren earth, her face serene and yet utterly lifeless, you see Camilla stretched out before you. Perfect down to every last detail, every faded scar and mark upon her body, her likeness is flawless – so much so that you can't stop yourself from stepping closer to her. As you do, you notice a weight in your hands. You look down, and you see that you hold a long and gleaming knife.

“That's right!” Artemis whispers, a growing excitement in her voice, “The knife! Ah... you know what you have to do with it now, don't you?”

You know exactly what you have to do with it. You don't want to do it, every instinct in your body is crying out for you not to do it.

But you do it anyway.

[1/2]

>>955759

She's like a doll, you think when it's all over, like a broken doll. Your thoughts have a jagged, delirious edge to them, and your heart hammers within your chest. Every fibre of your body trembles, caught in the throes of a manic energy that is not your own. Camilla's body – the perfect copy, flawless down to every scar and every mark – has been cut apart, as if some butcher of insane and yet unparalleled skill had been unleashed upon it. Her arms and legs have been neatly separated from her torso, halved at the knees and elbows, while her head rests a mere half-inch from the stub of her neck.

If there was one mercy in this nightmare, it is that the blade parted flesh with miraculous sharpness. There was struggling to saw through bone or ligament, no hacking away at tendons or any of that. The flesh parted like water before your blade – and, like water, it spilled forth onto the thirsty soil. That same blood has almost completely coated you, staining your arms red to the elbow at the very least. You want desperately to look away, but...

“But you can't,” Artemis urges, her voice breathless and insistent, “You can't look away yet, this is the most important part. You can see the blood, can't you?”

You can see it all too well, turning the barren soil dark as it soaks down into the ground. With each passing second, the bloodstain both spreads and fades until nothing more of it can be seen – the parched soil has swallowed every drop, claiming the blood for itself. With nothing to stain or befoul it, Camilla's skin is a perfect, bloodless white.

Her eyes flick open. So do yours, flying open as you lash out to bat away Artemis' hands. Your hands find nothing but empty air, and you tumble forwards onto hard stone.

-

The birds are restless now, murmuring to each other as they shift in the branches above you. A fresh litter of feathers has fallen, and you have to brush some of them off your coat as you rise to your feet. The temple, once again. Last time, you fought to stay IN Nihilo for a while longer – this time, though, you ended up ripping yourself free of it. Were you always capable of such things, or is this a new ability flourishing within you?

Either way, it's not a question you can bring yourself to focus on now. What was that, you wonder aloud, what the hell was that? Almost fearing what you might see, you look down and study your hands, examining them for even the smallest bloodstain. Nothing – but the memories engraved upon your mind are bad enough.

Sighing, you start to consider your next move. Sitting around brooding won't get you anywhere – better to be productive, to keep moving forwards.

>Head back to Odyss and meet up with Camilla
>Return to Artyom to investigate Old Gray some more
>Try and return to Nihilo
>Other

>>955760
>Try and return to Nihilo
Alright bitch. Time for some answers.

>>955760
>>Try and return to Nihilo
what the FUCK was up with the Knights if that's how they saw the act of eating Artemis?

>>955760
>>Return to Artyom to investigate Old Gray some more
No reason not to investigate especially if we can knock that new guy down a few pegs.
At least it wasn't Lize! Pretty scary though that Artemis could show us all that.

>>955760
>>Return to Artyom to investigate Old Gray some more
It might make sense to give that experience a bit of time to settle.

>>955760
>Try and return to Nihilo
If she can somehow control us I want to know now rather than later. Uriah can wait.

>>955760
>>Try and return to Nihilo

Turning, you press the your flattened palms up against the tree and think hard, as if the faint and sickly warmth of the wood could offer you some answers. None come, but something else does make itself known – the vague sense of being watched, of someone reaching out to try and catch your attention. So, Artemis still has something to say. You're not sure if you want to hear it – maybe it's too early to look her in the eye once gain – but the urge to get your answers proves too strong.

Sitting back down, you lean against the tree and close your eyes. It's hard to relax like this, when your mind feels like an open wound, but slowly you feel your thoughts unravelling as some force tugs you down into a darkness beyond sleep.

-

The very moment you wake up in Nihilo, you tense up and cast a paranoid eye about for Artemis. For what seems like the first time, this place feels like hostile territory – perhaps it always was, and you're only now seeing through unclouded eyes.

There – Artemis waits a few paces away, her head tilted as she gives you a careful, cautious look. There's a trace of confusion in her eyes, as if your reaction was in some way unreasonable and she's still trying to figure out why. More than ever, you're reminded of the gulf between the two of you – however she might appear, Artemis is no human being, and she certainly doesn't think like one.

“Henryk,” she greets you, raising one solemn hand, “Are you still mad?”

Damn right you're still mad, you snap, what was she expecting you to-

“I warned you,” Artemis interrupts, “I told you that you might not like the answers. I told you – don't say I didn't!”

Well... she's right there, you realise, she warned you. At the time, you hadn't given her warning much thought – how bad could it have been? Her words take some of your anger away, but a smouldering coal still burns in the pit of your stomach, ready to flare back into life at any moment.

“So who did you see there?” she asks, her voice devoid of any guilt or shame, “Was it a friend? Someone special to you? There's no need to be shy, you can tell me!”

A friend, you tell her bluntly, leave it at that.

“I thought you liked games,” frowning, Artemis looks away from you, “I thought you'd like getting a riddle to solve.”

A game, that's what she called it – a riddle.

>That's it – from now on, no more games
>Why did you show me that? What was I supposed to learn from it?
>Humans, men like me – what are we to you?
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>955794
>>Other
"Fine let me take a guess."

"You were killed here in this temple, cut up by the birthing blade I wield."

"Your blood went into the ground and became the tree here while your body is what I see in front of me that got banished to Nihilo."


>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
"Artemis, when you get out of here what are you going to do? What do you *want* to do? It's been a long time since you walked the earth and times have changed."
>Humans, men like me – what are we to you?

>>955794
>>Why did you show me that? What was I supposed to learn from it?

>>955794
>Humans, men like me – what are we to you?

>>955794
>>955799
this is pretty good

>>955794
"I could have done without the visual aid. Contrary to what you might think people don't like watching their friends cut up, much less doing the act themselves."

>>955799
My guess as well.

Why did she show that to you, you ask her sharply, what did she hope to achieve by it? What were you supposed to learn, by doing those things? No matter what she might think, seeing it all unfold like that was... not helpful. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Explaining things is... hard,” Artemis screws up her face, “As you are, a complete being, you cannot understand that the way I can. What I know, I cannot describe. What I see, I cannot put into words. I spent so long trying, desperately thinking and... and the only answer I could find was to show you, and hope that you could figure it all out.” Her face smooths out as she relaxes, a sad smile take shape on her lips. “A riddle, Henryk,” the imprisoned goddess tells you, “Because I can't give you the answers.”

If this is her idea of a riddle, then you can at least give her an answer – your best guess at one, at least. Maybe she can confirm or deny it, pointing you towards a goal.

“I can try,” tilting her head again, Artemis waits for your answer. You take your time before giving it to her – what harm is there in waiting a few moments more, in this abyss?

She died here, you begin, right here in this very temple. This blade was used to carve her body apart, and her blood soaked into the soil. From that blood, a great tree grew – the same tree that you've seen in her temple – while her body was sent here... wherever “here” really is. How is it, you ask quietly, close enough for her?

“Close enough?” Artemis whispers to herself, “I wonder... It's a very literal answer, isn't it?”

You must have missed all your lessons in abstract thinking when you were growing up, you tell her with a hard laugh, now you're regretting it. Literal truth or not, how close were you? Wordlessly, Artemis holds up her hands, palms outstretched towards the sky. They waver like an unbalanced set of scales – a kind of “more or less” answer.

“Call it a working theory,” she suggests, “But you've made a good start. Better than anyone else, you know – you can be proud of that, at least.”

Of course, you think, the others. Those other failed Hunters who fell upon this same path – discarded tools, a cynical mind might say. Thinking of them, a question begins to take form in your mind, blossoming from a seed planted down in the southern colonies. Looking Artemis dead in the eye, you ask your question. What are humans to her, you ask, what are men like you in her eyes?

“Oh Henryk, you know I'm very fond of you,” she begins, but you cut her off with a gesture.

Not just you, you press, all men – are they just beasts, prey for her to hunt? Servants and playthings? What does she even want out of your world? It's been a very long time since she walked through your land – what would she do, if she had the chance to be free?

[1/2]

>>955824

“You know, Henryk, I've asked myself that more than once,” Artemis begins to pace, kicking her heels against the ground as she slowly circles you, “What would I do? Until I really thought about it, I thought that was obvious – I wanted to do everything, to live and do whatever I wanted. That's when it struck me... it's not really an answer, is it? “Whatever I want” isn't anything, if I can't say WHAT I want in the first place. Your world... it's very distant, very far away from me. The first thing I would do, I think, is...”

Is?

“Is figure out if there is a place in it for me,” returning to face you, Artemis gives a small shrug, “There has to be somewhere in your land that I could call home. Perhaps the far north – far enough away that I might never see another human face... including yours. Unless, of course, you came with me.”

Men can't go that far north, you remind her, you couldn't follow her that far.

“Not as you are now, but...” she murmurs, more to herself, “No, never mind. It's still too early. You asked me about men, what they are to me... nothing really. Not yet. What are beasts, to a child who has only ever seen them in a colouring book? What were the southern lands, before you had ever seen them with your own eyes? Men, humans – ask me later, after I've walked among them as they are now. I must admit, though... I'm dreadfully curious.”

The wild child was said to be a terrible thing, you mention, that slaughtered men and beasts both.

“Maybe so,” Artemis gestures around you, at Nihilo's endless reaches, “But I've had a long time to think about things. If this wild child and I are truly one and the same... look where all that slaughter got me. Seems like a pretty pointless thing now, don't you think?”

It's always strange, you muse, seeing her like this – the melancholy that opposes her usual mania. Two sides of the same coin. With a strangely serene smile, Artemis turns away from you and you feel some force pulling you back to reality. So that's it then – conversation over, as far as she's concerned.

>Allow yourself to wake
>Hold on a while longer – you still have business here... (speak with who/ask them what?)
>Other

>>955836
>>Other
"I don't know Artemis, this seems like a pretty simple solution. Just go travelling when you get out. Experience the world in ways you couldn't before. I do it all the time and I can easily go with you to help you with all the human civilization aspects. Give it some thought."

>Allow yourself to wake

>>955841
I like that, travelling the world with Artemis seeing if there's a place she really likes. I still think she'd end up settling with us unless we told her not to. Another daughteru for the pile maybe, a bigger one this time.

>>955836
>Not as you are now, but...
Can we become a god? Toss our name away and dance in the far north with Artemis for all eternity? Artemis End. I can't say it doesn't sound tempting.

>>955843
>>955841
Lize and Artemis road trip!

>>955836
>Allow yourself to wake

>>955836
>Other
Give her a quick hug and maybe squeeze her hand a bit

>>955852
I don't think Henryk ever gives hugs.

He receives them though, willing or not.

There's a simple solution here – simple, at least, by your logic. See the world, you tell Artemis as you feel that tug getting stronger, go places she never thought possible. See everything that there is to see. There's a big world out there, and you've not seen all of it either. You could travel together, in fact – she might want someone around to help her with some of the more... civilised parts. Wincing inwardly at how that sounded, you reach out and put a hand on her arm. It's not quite an embrace, but she seems to soften at the contact. Something to think about, you urge her, while she's waiting for you to finish the job.

“Ah, travelling with you...” Artemis lifts a hand to her mouth, covering a shy, maiden smile, “I'd like that, Henryk, I'd like that a lot. Goodbye, and stay safe!”

As she says her goodbyes, that pull grows intense – washing away the last of your resistance. Wait, you call out as the world around you starts to grow distant and faint, what did she mean? It's too early for what? Even your voice sounds distant, as if you had called out into a vast, empty space.

Her only answer is a soft smile, and soon your hand is touching only empty air.

-

This time, when you wake, the birds above are at ease, cooing softly to each other. Can birds sound satisfied, you wonder, pleased with their lot in life? If so, these birds certainly sound that way. Rising up from underneath the tree – for the second time today – you brush off a few feathers and start off the shore. As you're leaving, you stoop down to collect a few of the largest, cleanest looking feathers. They'll make a nice souvenir, at least – you never got the chance to pick many up last time you were here.

You left in something of a hurry, after all.

-

For whatever reason, Yadhos was in no mood to carry on a conversation as he brought you back across the waters, simply grunting whenever you try to talk to him. After a few abortive attempts, you give up and focus on the scenery. There's not much there, either – slate grey sky, slate grey water. Clouds gathering in the distance, threatening rain or snow. Without really thinking, you mention the approaching weather. Yadhos, of course, just grunts.

As before, there's no mention of a toll, and his knife stays in the sheath. Maybe that's why he's in such a bad mood. He maintains this same sullen silence until you reach the mainland, at which point he finally speaks. Even then, it's just to curse you out when you try and help him drag his boat ashore. Shrugging to yourself – let the old goat be miserable, if that's what he wants – you set off into the forest. Next stop, Artyom.

[1/2]

>Sorry this is running a little slow today, I'm pretty exhausted. I'll try and pick up the pace

>>955871

As you walk through the forest, you keep your eyes and ears open for anything unnatural – any beasts, or anything suggesting beasts. Your mind keeps returning to Old Grey, and the strangeness of it all. Even putting aside Uriah, and your dislike of the young man, you can't look past the vague sense of unfinished business. The beast itself might be dead, but you can't bring yourself to believe that the matter is over.

When you're finally drawing close to the outskirts of Artyom, you hear a strange sound – a haunting, musical rattle, dry and hollow. When the wind blows through the trees, that rattling sound echoes out again, guiding you to the source. High up in the trees, hanging from some of the branches, you see a familiar sight – crude icons spun from twigs and tried grass, with hollowed out bones dangling beneath. As you look up, the wind causes those hollow bones to rattle. Witchcraft is your first thought, but...

Only one way to be sure, and that's to take a closer look. Climbing up the tree, scuffing and cutting your hands on rough bark, you reach up and recover one of those icons, carrying it back down to the ground. It doesn't look like any witch totem you've ever seen before – it's beyond crude, sloppy and poorly made. If you had to guess, you'd say the bones are from a deer. Certainly not human – a small mercy. When you try and fold the icon up and keep it, however, it just comes unravelled and falls apart in your hands. Pretty poor standard of witches they have around here, you mutter as you head back to the beaten path.

-

Artyom has quietened down when you arrive, taking on the usual kind of sleepy air that you expect. No trace of the previous festivities remain, and you find yourself faintly glad of that fact.

Now then, you think, where first?

>Head back to Odyss. This is just a waste of your time
>Ask around town about Uriah and Old Grey
>See if Ilse has thought of anything new... or woken up
>Other

>>955909
>>Ask around town about Uriah and Old Grey
>>See if Ilse has thought of anything new... or woken up

Both options go hand in hand. Wonder if Uriah or someone else was trying their hand at witchcraft.

>>955909
>>Ask around town about Uriah and Old Grey
>>See if Ilse has thought of anything new... or woken up

>>955909
>>Ask around town about Uriah and Old Grey
>>See if Ilse has thought of anything new... or woken up

>>955909
>Head back to Odyss. This is just a waste of your time

I'm more interested in getting back to Lize and find out what kind of trouble she is in than get involved in a fight between a drunk with anger management issues and a skilled braggart.

>>955929
I agree but witchcraft seems to be afoot, might as well look into it before he starts taking out all our hunter friends. All two of them.

There's always knowledge out there to be found, for those willing to put in the effort. Often, that involves hard, dangerous work. At other times, it's a little more simple – a case of going to market and talking to people, immersing yourself in the local gossip. If you happen to see Ilse on your travels, fine, if not... well, it's no hardship to go to her bar. After all, you were told that she needed the business.

You've come to the market at a good time, with the crowds gathering for the evening. Looking at the busy marketplace, you touch the leather amulet that hangs from around your neck. Lize got it for you, and one for herself. A good memory to have, you think to yourself, certainly one of your better ones. Reminding yourself to send her a message at some point, just to tell her that you're back in the Free States, you delve into the crowds and listen in to the countless conversations you pass.

-

Over the course of buying some bread and cured ham, you learn several things. First of all – Uriah left once the festivities were concluded, literally riding off into the night. Of all the people you speak with, nobody has anything bad to say about the young man. Quite the opposite, in fact – he's especially popular among the young women of the town, but even the older, surlier men praise his name. Ilse, on the other hand, is far less popular, largely owing to her grudge against the young saviour.

When you drop vague hints of witchcraft into conversations – sightings of people out in the woods after dark, for example, or the handcrafted totems – people either change the subject or offer confused indifference. You expected as much, nobody who recognises the significance of your words are willing to admit as much. With the Ministry's policy on such matters, you can't blame them for steering the conversation away. When they do, you don't press the subject.

Overall, the mood is remarkably positive. In a way, that's not particularly helpful – with nobody complaining about anything, you don't have anywhere to start an investigation. More and more, you start to wonder if there really IS an investigation here. Maybe it really is a simple matter, just an uncommonly large beast and nothing more. Spending so much time chasing down cults and conspiracies... they've left you expecting great and terrible things, no matter where you turn.

It's long past time you went home, you decide as you touch that medallion again, you could do with hearing some of Lize's dumb conversation. With that thought in mind, you start towards the edge of town. Take a carriage to Canid, then the train to Odyss. Meet up Camilla, and then-

“Hey, watch it!” Ilse punches you on the arm, hard, “Daydreaming again, Hanson. Didn't even hear me, did you?”

[1/2]

>>955959

Sitting on a low wall, waiting for a carriage to arrive, you share your simple meal with Ilse and talk. Her mood has lightened slightly – perhaps because of Uriah's departure – and any hangover she might have had has passed.

“Yeah, I heard that he left,” she sighs when you mention the young Hunter, “I don't know, I don't even want to say “good riddance”. The more I think about things, the more I feel like I've been blowing this out of proportion. I mean, he's a little shit, sure, but show me a Hunter who doesn't have some massive personality defect. Uh, no offence.”

You're just curious what your massive defect is, you reply mildly.

“Huh, putting me on the spot here,” Ilse laughs, “I guess it's that moody silence you like so much. Kinda makes you seem like you should spend your life brooding in the darkest corner of the bar, if you know what I mean. Anyway, what I'm saying is, I shouldn't judge the little lord so harshly. We're never gonna be friends, but he sure as shit cleaned up that little mess. Can't fault him for that.”

She's being unusually understanding today, you mention, what happened? She get a bang on the head or something?

“Fuck you, man. I'm not always a massive bitch,” rolling her eyes, Ilse shakes her head slowly, “Shit, I just woke up and thought, what's the point in being angry? Uriah is out of town, there's nothing worth getting angry AT. Just gonna rage myself into an early grave if I'm not careful. You ever think about settling down, Hanson?”

Just lately, you reply, yeah. Not yet, though – you've still got some things to finish off first. Once those are done, well...

“Yeah, no point planning too far ahead. You might get eaten tomorrow,” nodding sagely, Ilse points to an approaching blot on the horizon, “Looks like that's your ride. You heading back to the capital?”

Eventually, you tell her, got a stop to make on the way though.

“Well, whatever. Give Hyde my regards if you see him,” standing, Ilse brushes crumbs from her clothes, “Last time he wrote, he said he was looking for a place there. A permanent place, he said. Look at us – we're all settling down, all at once. Must have been Port Tyrant. That kinda shit changes you. Whatever – see you around, Hanson.”

>See you, Ilse. Good luck with not getting angry
>Hold on, do you know anything about witchcraft around here? I found some icons out in the woods
>You ever visit an island not too far from here?
>Something I wanted to ask you... (Write in)
>Other

>>955978
>>See you, Ilse. Good luck with not getting angry
>>Hold on, do you know anything about witchcraft around here? I found some icons out in the woods

>>955978
>>Hold on, do you know anything about witchcraft around here? I found some icons out in the woods
"Whatever the case, keep an eye out. If strange shit happens again write to me. I've had some experience."

>See you, Ilse. Good luck with not getting angry

>>955978
>Hold on, do you know anything about witchcraft around here? I found some icons out in the woods

>You ever visit an island not too far from here?

"If you ever see or hear any substantiated claims about witchcraft, send a message my way. It might just be paranoia... but as you said, Port Tyrant changed us. You saw things there too didn't you?"

>>955978
>>Hold on, do you know anything about witchcraft around here? I found some icons out in the woods
>>You ever visit an island not too far from here?

Hold on, you tell her before she can leave, does she know anything about witchcraft around here? You found some icons out in the woods earlier – maybe they were nothing, some old remains, but you wanted to be sure.

“Witchcraft? Shit, that's not good. That... wait,” Ilse frowns, before her expression clear again, “Real shitty things, falling apart? That kind of thing, was that what you found?”

Exactly that, you tell her, has she seen the same things?

“Ugh, those idiots, I told them to take those down...” muttering to herself, Ilse shakes her head in despair, “It's okay Hanson, false alarm. The locals put those up, back when the Old Grey stuff was really bad. They're not even... real witchcraft, just makeshift attempts. You know what folks around here are like, they never quite shook off some of the old ways. Things got bad, and some people turned to folklore for an answer. When I found out, I told them the take the stupid things down before someone got the wrong idea. Last thing I needed was the Ministry rolling in and executing a few well-meaning idiots.”

At her explanation, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. Whatever else may or may not be going on around, at least you don't need to take a witch cult into account. Nodding, you thank Ilse for her answer. Whatever else happens, you remind her, she needs to keep an eye out. If she sees any real witchcraft, you'd like her to write to you – you've got some experience in these matters, after all. If this all makes you sound paranoid, you add with a slight smile, so be it. Port Tyrant changed things, just like she said – and she saw enough there to understand the dangers that witchcraft poses.

“Yeah, I know. If I find anything, I'll send word – I'll call it a “difficult matter”, so you know what's what,” her smile darkens, “Can't have the Ministry knowing what's really out there, after all – they might have to do something about it.”

Speaking of things that are out there, you add, has she ever been to an island around here? Just off the eastern coast, not that far out.

“Oh yeah, there's an island there,” Ilse frowns, as if trying to figure out your reasons for asking, “Never thought to go there, though, I figured if there was anything to see, I would have heard about it. Something there I should see?”

Not really, you reply, you were just wondering if she knew about it. Surprisingly few people do.

“Too much time down south,” Ilse snorts, “You've got islands on the brain.”

Maybe so, you admit. As the carriage draws to a halt, you look back and give her a smile. So long, you tell her, and good luck with those anger issues.

“Yeah, fuck you,” laughing, Ilse tries to shoot you a glare, “Shouldn't you be off brooding somewhere?”

[1/2]

File: Berdan Loch.jpg (182 KB, 800x1600)

182 KB JPG

>>956026

With a rare stroke of luck, you manage to make the next train back to Odyss. Less waiting this way, something that you're all too glad about. At no point do you notice anything out of the ordinary – no lingering stares, no signs that you might be being followed. That should come as a relief, but it only serves to open old wounds. Needless to say, you feel faintly apprehensive when the train pulls back into Odyss, as if there might be mob waiting to jump you.

No mob, fortunately, but the clerk does stop you as you pass him by. “I'm sorry, sir, but I have orders,” he swallows heavily, “You're to report to the Ministry office, here in Odyss. If you don't know the way, I'm under orders to-”

It's fine, you tell him, you know the way. That's all he was ordered to do, just send you on your way?

“That's right, yes,” nodding, he steps back and gestures towards the station exit. He's too polite – or nervous – to shoo you out and on your way, but the intention is clear.

-

At the Ministry outpost, you're immediately whisked away to a back room, before you can so much as present yourself to the front desk. By this point, you've started to get an idea of what's going on here and who will be waiting for you. As you're shown into the darkened room, you're somewhat pleased to see your guess proved correct. Sitting at a plain, uncluttered desk, looking... frailer than you remember, the old man lifts his head to greet you.

“Hunter, I'm glad to see that you returned safely. I hear that the south is quite a dangerous place these days,” Berdan Loch picks up a pen, balancing it in his fingers as he thinks, “The Red Eye Sickness... well, that could have been quite the disaster. Your associate has given me a brief account of the situation, as well as a... lengthy written report. The facts of the matter have been made apparent, but I'd be interested in hearing any comments you might have to make. Missing Scholars, illegal research and... a great many other crimes.”

At least you can account for one of those criminals, you tell Loch as you take out Yvette's bloodied pendant, and guarantee that she won't cause any more problems.

“Hmm,” Loch takes the pendant and examines it closely, “And so the Saive bloodline ends – as far as the official records know, at least. This... Ellis Ellington Saive is another matter. Just another common criminal, correct?”

Correct, you tell Loch with a cold smile, you've seen the family record yourself.

“Very well then,” Loch opens a desk drawer and puts the pendant inside, out of sight, “Is there anything else you'd like to confirm or clarify?”

>What will become of the Scholars themselves?
>There are higher members of this conspiracy. What will be done about them?
>Do you think the south will be a safer place because of this?
>I did have something... (Write in)
>Other

>>956066
>>There are higher members of this conspiracy. What will be done about them?
>What will become of the Scholars themselves?
Whaaaat the south is totally 100% safe already.

>>956066
>What will become of the Scholars themselves?
>>There are higher members of this conspiracy. What will be done about them?

File: Working class scum.jpg (39 KB, 680x516)

39 KB JPG

>>956066
>Correct, you tell Loch with a cold smile, you've seen the family record yourself.
I will always have this image of Henryk shittalking E.E.S
>There are higher members of this conspiracy. What will be done about them?

>>956066
>>What will become of the Scholars themselves?
>>There are higher members of this conspiracy. What will be done about them?
>>Other
Ask about that clerk that looked at our papers.
I hope it was just the tan.

>>956066
>There are higher members of this conspiracy. What will be done about them?
"I'm not a fan of conspiracies and I don't like the idea of being in the middle of one. I'm only a hunter, protecting common folk from monsters, not evil bureaucrats."

>Other
"I met Ilse and she laughed like I was crazy when I wondered if we were famous after Port Tyrant. Who actually knows about my involvement and to what extent? Should I be worried?"

There are higher members of the community, you tell Loch, what will be done about them? Camilla's report should have mentioned them, their names and loft positions – and the kind of immunity they likely have.

“I believe I should be discrete in this matter,” Loch picks his words with care, “As you have said, these are important men. Moving directly against them would likely be a terrible mistake – even I would be reluctant to take overt action. Make no mistake, however – they will not be allowed to continue their works unhindered. There are a great many ways that men can be bled, without them ever suffering a single wound. If, say, a man owes much of his wealth and influence to a munitions factory...”

Take away that factory, you finish, and he becomes nothing. Frowning, you study Loch's impassive face. He's not going to do anything dangerous, you ask, is he? No sabotage or orchestrated violence?

“Please, I'm working to uphold stability,” without even a thin smile, Loch holds your gaze, “But all men have their weaknesses. It's just a matter of exploiting that – in that regard, our little conspiracy were quite wise. Regardless, I now know who to watch and where to focus. I rather doubt that a new conspiracy will be able to rise up undetected. Now then...”

Wait a minute, you hold up a hand to keep him from continuing, you want to make one thing clear before saying anything else. You're not a fan of conspiracies, and you enjoy being in the middle of one even less. You're a Hunter, you kill beasts – you're not a spy or one of his agents. From now on, he gets someone else to do his dirty work.

“I understand. Regrettable – you're an excellent asset, and no denying it – but that is your choice. I have other men and women to rely on,” Loch nods solemnly, “Was there anything else you wished to ask?”

The Scholars, you ask, what will become of them?

“They'll arrive in the Free States shortly, on a Ministry ship. They will be considered victims of a vile plot, kidnapped and held under duress. Those who wish to return to their work will be allowed, encouraged even, to do so,” Loch shuffles a few papers, the dry whispering sound seeming to be very loud in this gloomy room, “But make no mistake, they will always be under observation, monitored for any hint of... ideological contamination. I'm aware that many of them were there willingly, even if it was only at first. They will never be allowed to step out of line again. Their knowledge is useful to us – their freedom is not.”

You think of Wehrlain, chafing under constant Ministry observation, and chuckle. He won't like that much, that's for sure. As for the others... Hartmann might even enjoy it, having someone around to talk to all day. You just hope he has the good sense to watch his tongue around a Ministry spy.

[1/2]

>>956125

A thought strike you as you prepare to bring the conversation to an end, some of Ilse's remarks coming back to you. You spoke with one of the other Hunters from Port Tyrant lately, you tell him, and she laughed when you mentioned being famous. Who knows about your involvement there, you ask, and how much do they know? What you're saying is... should you be worried?

“There was an official statement made and widely circulated, but no names were mentioned. That was a very specific decision, to avoid any recriminations against those involved. As far as the public knows, the operation was conducted with support from all branches of the League – that is as specific as it got, however...” Loch taps a finger against his chin, “Your involvement is included in the official Ministry report. It's not public knowledge, but these things have a habit of leaking out... especially when a journalist is willing to spend a little coin.”

Hell, you mutter to yourself. Loch laughs at your reaction – a hard, dry cough of a laugh.

“You need not worry. The information never found its way into the public eye, and I doubt it ever will – the news has moved on since then,” shaking his head slowly, Loch gives you an appraising look, “I dare say that you won't need to hide your face in public.”

He says that, you point out, but the clerk at the station here took very careful notice of you. That seemed suspicious, and if it wasn't because of your fame...

“Oh yes,” Loch's eyes glint with something approaching humour, “I wanted to know when you were sighted in the Free States again. How else do you think I got here so quickly? Once you showed your League papers, the clerk sent a priority message to the capital. I arrived as soon as I could, and here we are.”

You're not sure if you like the idea of being tracked like that, you tell Loch slowly, you rather dislike it in fact.

“I'm afraid that this is the future,” Loch's gaze doesn't waver, “Identification papers, and not just for League personnel. Movements tracked and recorded, records collected and compared...”

Sounds awful, you reply, you'd rather live out in the wild.

“Like the northern barbarians?” the old man asks quietly.

If need be, yes.

“Not a lot of future in that kind of life,” Loch looks back down to his papers, making some minute note on one page, “Farewell, Hunter. I don't expect we'll meet again.”

-

You're still brooding on Loch's words when Camilla approaches you, touching your arm to get your attention. “Hey,” she greets you, “I wasn't sure if I'd find you here. I thought you might have gone back to the capital already.”

Not yet, you tell her, you had a small errand to run first. Now, though...

>It's time to go home
>There's something you've to do first... (Write in)
>Other

>>956192
>>It's time to go home

>>956192
>It's time to go home

Time to go see how Lize has been doing

>>956192
>>It's time to go home

>>956192
>>It's time to go home

Now, you decide, it's about time you went home.

“I couldn't agree more,” Camilla smiles for a moment before her expression falters slightly, “I hope I'm not imposing, but would you be able to put me up for the night? I need to return to Port Steyr, but it's a long journey from here to Port Daud. I could sleep on the train or find a room for the night, but...”

It's no trouble, you assure her, you've got room to spare. Besides, you might find yourself up in Port Steyr before too long – she'll be able to return the favour then. You'll even be able to save a little money this way.

“Of course,” the smile returns, tugging at the corners of her mouth in that familiar way, “Shall we?”

-

Before the train arrives, you have time to wire a message ahead of you. It's a simple message, just telling Lize the rough time that you'll be arriving at. Knowing her, she'll be waiting for you at the station. Knowing her, she's been waiting at the station for the past few days. Either way, once the message has been sent, you board the train and settle into the worn leather seats. At least this is set to be a comfortable journey, smooth and quiet.

“I looked into that little matter,” Camilla tells you, as the train is rattling along, “That report we talked about. I found it, and gave it a good long read. It's... not an easy thing to read.”

Bad, you ask, how bad?

“What do you know about the Western Slums Massacre?” she asks softly, “Nothing? No, I'm not surprised – people don't talk about it very often, these days. I'll give you the simple version – a block of slum housing on the western outskirts of Thar Dreyse was the initial site of a disease, a particularly contagious and dangerous one. The Ministry was informed, and it sent men in to contain the infection. Standard protocols – quarantine the infected, those likely to be infected, and the safe individuals. It should have been simple, except for one thing – the slum residents were armed, and they didn't want to come quietly. Maybe they thought the Ministry was there to kill them all.”

She stops talking abruptly as a pair of passengers walk down the aisle, passing you by. When they are gone, Camilla speaks up once more.

“It turned into a siege. On the first day, the Ministry commander was shot and killed. Command fell to his second, a relatively inexperienced man. Now, he could have waited it out, but the longer the siege lasted, the more likely it was that the disease could have spread. Faced with that risk, and under orders to contain the infection at all costs, the acting commander purged the entire block,” swallowing bitterly, Camilla continues, “A number of his men refused to obey their orders, and he executed them along with the infected. The acting commanders was, of course...”

Rast.

“A young man named Isaac Rast,” she nods, “That's right.”

[1/2]

>>956242

So what happened, you ask once Camilla falls silent, was he punished for his actions?

“That's... difficult,” her lips twitch in a grimace, “Legally speaking, he was acting on Ministry authority to contain an infection. Through his drastic action, he prevented an epidemic from spreading into the capital city. Even when he was wounded in action – his eye, yes – he continued to follow his orders. Under any other circumstances, I believe that he would be considered an ideal example of Ministry service... except that the case got a lot of attention. A newsletter ran the story for weeks, crying murder and brutality. It was a mess, and the Ministry needed to do something to quieten it down. They needed a scapegoat.”

You know where this is going, you breathe. They arrested Rast, only for him to die in custody and-

“Oh no, it was far more simple than that,” Camilla laughs bitterly, “They just assigned him to the southern colonies, New Odyss office. They sent him down there, but he never arrived. Somewhere along the way, he went solo. That's where his trail ends, and it only picks up again when we find him. Some story, huh?”

Yeah, you mutter, one hell of a life story. It almost makes your life sound dull.

“So there you go, the sad story of Isaac Rast,” striking a match with a savage jerk of her arm, Camilla lights a cigarette, “And it all ended on Isla Saiva, when his body was positively identified by Ministry agents.”

>Do you regret knowing the truth?
>What do you think about him now?
>Did anything change because of it? Was the Ministry forced to change?
>Other

>>956281
It's pretty much what we thought. Shitty situation, under orders, drastic choice, and becoming a scapegoat.

>Did anything change because of it? Was the Ministry forced to change?

>>956281
>>Did anything change because of it? Was the Ministry forced to change?
He's earned that down time, hopefully he stays out of trouble from now on.

>>956281
>>Did anything change because of it? Was the Ministry forced to change?


Also assuming something hasn't happened and everybody back home is alright we should all have a night out at Iosefka's with everyone. Alyssia and Hyde too.

>>956313
Yup, a bar filler episode. Since we missed our chance at a beach episode already.

>>956281
>>Did anything change because of it? Was the Ministry forced to change?

>>956339
>Spoiler
Christ you're right, what the fuck

>>956281
>Other
So he was picked up by the conspirators for his truly exemplary service, was forced to commit the same atrocity for a second time and was almost sent to be judged by the same people who screwed up his life once already. He didn't deserve to be thrown into the life he was forced to lead.

Did anything change because of it, you ask, was the Ministry forced to adopt any new policies or anything of that sort?

“Oh yes, there was one major policy brought in, in the aftermath of the massacre,” Camilla's smile manages to turn even more bitter, “It dramatically increased the Ministry's ability to control the newspapers, forcing them to rewrite articles or even shutting down certain publications. That newsletter I mentioned? It quietly closed down not long after the massacre stopped being public news – you can be sure that they were leaned on, closed down because of... oh, I don't know.”

Subversive activities, you suggest, or inciting revolutionary activities. Something like that, at least.

“Yeah, those old stand-bys,” sighing, Camilla manages to summon up a faint smile, “That's the thing about the Ministry – there's a law for any occasion. If there isn't, they just make one.”

It's funny to think about it, you muse, Rast fell into this conspiracy because of his exemplary service – only to be used to commit the same atrocity that got him exiled down south in the first place. Because of that, he almost got sent back north to be judged for the same crime as the first time.

“Complicated enough for you?” she remarks.

He didn't deserve that kind of life, you decide, he was dealt one hell of a bad hand. At least you managed to salvage something for him – a nice life, and the chance to settle down with his daughter. You just hope he makes the most of this new chance.

“I think he will,” Camilla decides, “Because of his daughter. Strange, really – if he hadn't been sent down south in the first place, he never would have had her. There's a lesson in there somewhere, something about finding the good bits in the bad.”

You consider that, and the path that your life has taken since you nearly died in a sinking ship. If not for that moment...

“A man can go mad, thinking about that,” nodding slowly, Camilla raises the cigarette to her lips, “We've all been dealt our hands. All we can do is decide how we'll play them.”

-

When the train grinds to a halt in Thar Dreyse, you step out into the station and look around for any sign of Lize. It takes a while for the crowds to thin, men and women coming and going with that special kind of business only ever seen in train stations, but soon your view of the station is relatively clear. Still no sign of her. Normally, you'd have expected her to tackle you by now, but...

“Maybe she never got your message,” Camilla suggests, “If she was out when it arrived...”

Maybe, you mutter, but you're still not very happy about this. A foreboding feeling has taken hold of your gut, churning as you look about the quiet station.

[1/2]

>>956390
Yeah I had a feeling ever since

>Knowing her, she'll be waiting for you at the station. Knowing her, she's been waiting at the station for the past few days.

that line.

>>956390

“Or maybe she's sulking,” forcing a smile, Camilla nudges you with an elbow, “Because you were away for so long. Girls can be pretty sensitive at that age, you know? Is there anywhere else she could be?”

Iosefka's bar, you suggest, or visiting your neighbour. There are other places she could be, but...

“Well, we can look there first. Really, we're probably overreacting – maybe she got held up somewhere, for some reason. There's no need to get worried yet, that's what I'm trying to say,” a professional calm slips into her voice, but her eyes take on a hard, wary look, “We'll try the apartment, and if she's not there we can think about our next move. We shouldn't panic just yet – that won't help anyone.”

You're not panicking, you tell her stiffly, you just don't like it. Not one bit.

-

As you're leaving the station, you notice a figure lurking nearby. Wearing a heavy coat, with a scarf across their face and a woollen hat pulled down low, the figure is more than just shapeless – they are sexless, ageless and faceless as well. Even so, you feel a wave of relief wash over you at the sight of the skulking figure. If nothing else, you recognise that coat – an old parka, easily too big taken from a Ministry ship. As you approach the familiar figure, however, you frown to yourself.

Why would Lize be hiding out here, like a criminal evading capture? True, she's technically a missing person, but when was the last time you saw any hint that people were looking for her? No, even as you reach her, that bad feeling has returned. There's something not right here, even if it's far from as bad as you first thought.

“Been a while,” Lize says slowly, her voice muffled by the scarf, “I was wondering if... if...” Her shoulders start to shudder, and her breathing grows heavy. As Camilla races up to join you, it looks like Lize is about to burst into tears. Looking between the two of you, Lize loses what little control she had left, and burst into... laughter?

“That tan looks ridiculous!” she laughs, barely able to get the words out, “Ah, I just... I just... both of you, you're both as burned as my dinner!”

You start to scold her, but then you begin to laugh along with her. It feels good to laugh like this, without any kind of restraint or control. Just as Camilla let out all her tension and frustration with a long, loud laugh, so too do you.

Then Lize pulls her scarf down to gasp in a breath of fresh air, and your laughter dies. Faded, but still very visible, you see a bruise covering one corner of her mouth, the scar from a split lip drawing a cruel red line down from her mouth.

After that, you find it pretty hard to laugh.

[2/3]

>Sorry for the delay, had to do some rewrites

>>956491
>Someone Hurt Henryk's Pack daughter

>Wolf growling and baring of teeth in 3..2...1

>>956491

Oh we about to go kill a motherfucker then, good to know

>>956497
>>956508
In before she fell down the stairs

>>956491
Pretty mad here, let's hope the guy has a damn good reason. A DAMN good reason.

>>956491
somebody gonna get hurt really bad.

File: Lize - Cold Weather.jpg (67 KB, 498x757)

67 KB JPG

>>956491

“Look, it's not a big deal,” Lize insists as you're walking back to the tenement block, “I mean, yeah, it kind of is, but it's not really. It's a long, dumb story, and you've both been travelling for, like, forever. You don't want to hear it. Or, maybe you do, but I don't wanna tell it. Not right now, I mean. This is the first time I've seen you in a while, and I'm trying to stay in a good mood.” She pauses, halfway through taking a step, and glances between you and Camilla. “First time I've seen both of you in a while, I guess,” she adds, “That's cool, that's cool. Oh, uh, we're out of basically everything – someone needs to go shopping.”

You want to know who did that, you repeat for perhaps the hundredth time, it could be important. It's definitely important, in fact, because you're doing to wring their damn neck.

“Yeah, I mean, I ain't gonna lie here – that would be pretty great to see,” Lize admits, “Like, I would be full on cheering while you were doing it, but can it at least wait until after dinner? And by that, I mean until after someone has bought dinner, and not burned the hell out of it?”

“I'll go,” Camilla tells you, her voice low, “I can pick up a few sundries, just to tide us over. Then we can all sit down and talk this through properly. It'll give us all some time to cool off. How does that sound?”

Sounds good, you agree, but there's no worming out of it – you want to know the truth.

“And you're gonna get it, c'mon,” Lize flaps her hands at you, “Just like we're all gonna get something to eat.”

“Here, could you take my things?” Camilla hands a few bags to you and Lize, sharing the meagre weight between the two of you, “I'll be back soon, but... don't expect anything too complicated. I'm very much a practical cook.”

“And I'm very much a terrible one,” the younger girl grumbles, hefting her new burden. Once Camilla has turned and vanished off back down the stairwell, Lize looks you in the eye. “I feel kinda bad about giving her the slip,” she admits, “But, uh, I kinda wanted to run this one past you first. Sort of a long story, and... and you know what? Why don't I just start at the start, that's probably the best way to it.”

That's usually the case, you agree, start at the start. She can even finish at the end – you don't the traditional approach.

“Okay, right,” Lize clears her throat, “So it all started a few days ago, when I was bored out of my wits...”

>Alright, I'm going to pause here and continue tomorrow, with a short Lize episode.
>Thank for sticking around today, sorry about the delays today!

>>956581
>So it all started a few days ago

She means to say that she stayed out of trouble all the way right up to a few days ago? Our little girl has grown up, hasn't she?

>>956581
Thanks for running.

>>956581
Thanks for running Moloch, happy for more Lize. Even happier once we kick some ass.

>>956591
Not like there's all that much for her to do between staying holed up and visiting Alyssia and occasionally leaving for groceries. Unless it was that rat from her episode, Tom I think.

>>956581
>when I was bored out of my wits
ah yes, a great story starter

File: Iosefka.jpg (25 KB, 432x600)

25 KB JPG

Lize

“If you're really that bored, why not run a little errand for me?” Iosefka offers coyly, “It'll just take, oh maybe a full day, and it won't be any trouble at all. It won't cost you anything either, and you might even earn a little out of it.”

This all started, you think, because you needed to get out of the apartment for a bit. Get a spot of fresh air. For the past dozen or so days – they all started to blend together at one point – you've been as good as gold, staying inside as much as possible and sticking out of trouble. You're a sensible young adult, after all, and not some common troublemaker. Trouble just has a habit of... finding you, that's all. It's not your fault, it's not even slightly your fault!

Anyway. All that good behaviour got to be so boring that you started taking early walks, just roaming around the city streets as the sun started to peek up above the horizon. It's the best time for it, before the first crowds have started to form. The low windows are still hazy with the previous night's frost, and the first scents of baking bread have started to drift out from some of the shops. It's the sort of romantic, poetic sight that can only be ruined by other people – that's why you're always careful to be back inside by the time the rest of the city is waking up.

Most days, at least. Today, you were so lost in a daydream that you took a wrong turn. By the time you were heading in the right direction, the streets were starting to see new faces, new activity. When your path took you past the Medicine Melancholy, Iosefka was outside, lazily sweeping the front steps with a broom. As if glad for the excuse to stop her “work”, she planted the broom and leaned on it as you approached her.

“Good morning,” she had said, “You're up early. I like that – efficient. You can get a lot done in a day when you get up early.”

Yeah, your curt reply had gone, a lot of nothing. Bored out of your wits half the time, you had added.

When you saw the wicked smile light up Iosefka's face, you knew that those words had been a mistake.

-

“Really, you'd be doing Henryk a favour as well, so you can think of it as that way. I'm sure he'd appreciate it,” there's a calculated tone to Iosefka's voice, open and blatant, “This is a situation where we all stand to gain something from it. I get my errand done, you spend a day or so doing something uncommonly productive, and Henryk gets to know how reliable you are. Besides... do you really have anything better to do?”

Well, she's got a point there. You could always visit Alyssia next door, spend a few hours watching her giggle and fawn over her boyfriend.

Suddenly, running an errand sounds like just what you need.

[1/2]

>>958613

Fine, you sigh, what does she need you to do?

“It's really very simple, and you might even find yourself enjoying it!” Iosefka begins, “All I need you to do is-”

Hold up, you stop her, just wait one second. This isn't gonna be anything dangerous, you ask her, or anything illegal... right? You've been trying really hard not to do anything dangerous or illegal, and it's been working out okay so far. You're gonna be pretty pissed if you break that streak because you figured you'd do her a good turn or something like that.

“Don't worry, it's perfectly safe,” the former doctor assures you, “Not at all dangerous, I should think.”

Alright then, you reply before pausing for a long and suspicious moment. That's great and all, you point out, but that's only half of what you asked her.

“I wouldn't worry about it,” shrugging easily, Iosefka lifts her broom and makes a few half-hearted attempts at looking busy, “All you'd need to do is talk to a friend of mine and collect some documents for me. They said they'd lend them to me, but they don't want to send them away – isn't that inconvenient? That's why I need someone to run up to the College and fetch them for me. I had arranged to meet them this evening, but this way I can stay here and keep an eye on the bar.”

Go to the College and pick up some papers, you repeat, alright. Sure, alright, you can do that – who are you meeting?

“Klaes Gehring, one of the students there. She'll be easy enough to recognise – she looks like a mouse with thick spectacles. The plan was to meet her in the archives, at seven in the evening. Plenty time for you to get there,” nodding to herself, Iosefka adds a sudden thought, “Oh, but if something should go wrong, there's a young woman at the archives who should be able help you. Mirrah, I believe her name is, she's an assistant there.”

Mirrah, you repeat, you've met her before.

“Well that just makes everything that little bit easier, doesn't it?” smiling triumphantly, Iosefka gestures for you to wait, “I'll just get you some money – it'll cover your travel expenses, and there might be a little left over for you. Get yourself something nice with it, won't you? Either way, I don't want to keep you too long just in case you miss the early train, so if you need to ask me anything...”

>Nah, you're right. I'd better hurry
>Can you tell me a little more about Klaes?
>Don't you normally have a girl to do this kind of thing for you?
>What sort of papers are these?
>Yeah, I needed ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>958616
>>What sort of papers are these?
>Can you tell me a little more about Klaes?

>Nah, you're right. I'd better hurry

>>958616
>Can you tell me a little more about Klaes?
>>Don't you normally have a girl to do this kind of thing for you?
>>What sort of papers are these?

You won't pretend to know the train times off by heart, but you do know that the first northbound train will be leaving soon enough. Not immediately, mind – you've got ample time to get a few extra details out of Iosefka. When she returns with a little envelope, you ask a first question. So what kinda person is this Klaes, you ask, she likely to be any trouble for you?

“Oh no, I can't imagine she'd give you any problems. Quite a timid thing really,” Iosefka seems to consider something for a moment, debating with herself before continuing, “Really, she's just going to be delivering the papers. Just running an errand of her own, I suppose you could say. Dealing directly with some of the more senior Scholars is always inconvenient, so using students as message carriers is something of an old tradition. Isn't the College a wonderful thing?”

That's not really how you'd describe it...

“I'm sure you've got a few colourful words to use instead,” Iosefka laughs, “But a good girl like you shouldn't sully her mouth with filthy language. Certainly not when you see Klaes – you'd probably scare the poor dear off!”

So you'll be dealing with a timid student, probably one who's been “convinced” to play her own part in this little farce – and all so some papers can make their way down here. What are these papers anyway, you ask, anything interesting? If you read them, would you get in trouble?

“Trouble? I doubt it, although you might get bored to death,” shaking her head, the former doctor offers you a rueful smile, “They're research papers, studying all manner of things. I might not be much of a Scholar these days, but I like to stay up to date on the latest discoveries... even if some of those discoveries haven't quite been published yet. Oh dear, I hope I've not said anything too incriminating!”

You laugh a little at the pantomime expression of panic that flashes across Iosefka's face. That's cool, you assure her, you'll keep it quiet. Just one thing you're wondering about – doesn't she normally have a girl to this sort of thing for her, you ask, that quiet one who helps out with the bar?

“Mm, yes. My capable little assistant. Unfortunately, she's taken ill and can't leave her bed,” Iosefka smiles, but worry clouds her features, “Another reason why I'd rather not leave. It's not good to leave an ailing patient alone, even if they're not in any real danger. That's why I'm so glad to have your help – I won't forget this favour. Now go on, get a move on!”

Alright, you reply as you flap your hands at her, you're going!

“Oh, but you should wear a scarf. It's going to be cold out,” Iosefka looks you in the eye, “Pull it right up over your nose. You wouldn't want to catch a cold, would you?”

[1/2]

>>958634

It doesn't feel all that cold to you, but you heed Iosefka's advice anyway. When you arrive at the station, you're glad that you did. Just inside the entrance, the usual message board – a place for posting news, announcements or other community affairs – has a familiar face upon it. Your face, an old photograph printed on a missing person's poster. Seeing it there, seeing your own sullen features staring out at you, sends a chill running down your spine. How long has it been, you wonder, since you last saw one of those posters? Why now, of all times?

“Excuse me...” a voice from behind you causes you to jolt, your entire body tensing in anticipation of escape. Sinking back into your hood, you ignore the voice. Maybe if you ignore them, they'll go away. No such luck, unfortunately. “Excuse me, boy, I need some help?”

Boy? That causes you to turn, a sudden flare of anger replacing your caution. You're not a boy, you say a little too loudly, you're a girl!

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry,” the man, thin and vaguely lost looking, grimaces and even takes a step back, “I'm almost blind without my glasses, you see – I saw you and thought... Well, I apologise again. Perhaps we can start again? I'm trying to find the right train, but these timetables... this small print...”

Sighing inwardly, you take a step closer. Risks aside, the helpless, pleading look on his face is enough to convince you. Besides, your face is covered, your hair is different, and the picture of you is a very old one – barely anyone, you'd say, would recognise you as the same person. Alright, you ask the man, where does he need to go?

“Port Daud, and then onto Sophita and the College,” pride sneaks into his voice, “I'm going to visit my niece, she works at the archives there!”

Small world, you think to yourself. It's that one there, you tell him as you point to the waiting train, but it'll be leaving soon. He better hurry. Nodding his thanks, the man does indeed hurry away – moving with newfound confidence as he goes to board the train. How hard can it be, you wonder, to get the right train? There's only one train heading north, it's just a matter of knowing the right directions.

...Maybe you don't have any right to criticise him on that count.

-

You see the same man later, once the train has drawn into Port Daud. More or less as soon as he's left the train, he approaches a small group of people. Judging by the way they point, he's getting his next set of directions. All that worry for nothing, he's just a fellow traveller trying to find his way. The early train was close to deserted – little wonder that he asked you for directions, when you were one of the only people about.

No missing person posters here, you note as you're leaving. That puts you in a better mood as well.

[2/3]

>>958651
>..Maybe you don't have any right to criticise him on that count.
Kek

File: Mirrah & Kessler.jpg (399 KB, 1920x1080)

399 KB JPG

>>958651

A slow crossing across the waters from Port Daud to Sophita, and then an even slower bus journey to the College itself goes a long way to killing your good mood stone dead. The last you see of your hapless fellow traveller, he's browsing through a small and particularly dismal marketplace, perhaps looking for a gift to bring his niece. It's the thought that counts, you tell yourself, but maybe he should have thought to get something nicer. He's still aimlessly browsing, squinting at every damn thing in sight, when the bus arrives to whisk you away to the College.

It's been a while since you were last here, you consider as you enter the lofty entrance hall. Reluctantly, you lower your scarf and pull back your hood, hoping to blend in with the ambling crowds as best you can. Here, hiding your face would just make you look more suspicious. Still, you do your best to keep a low profile as you make your way to the archives.

-

Even taking the time to stop and get something to eat, you still arrive at the archives with more than an hour to wait. Far from being a problem, you're all too happy to spend a while with the almost limitless supply of books there are here. You could spend all year reading, you think to yourself, and you'd still only scratch the surface.

Ah, but you're here on business – something you have to remind yourself of. Looking around, you don't see anyone fitting Klaes' description. Plenty of reading tables to wait at, mind, and the usual pair are at the front desk. You won't struggle to pass the time here.

Maybe one book wouldn't hurt...

>Stay professional. Wait and watch for Klaes
>Find an interesting book to pass the time with
>Speak with Mirrah at the front desk
>Other

>>958673
>Speak with Mirrah at the front desk

Get a book recommendation from her. Something in the area we expect Klaes to be in so we don't look suspicious?

>>958674
>>958673
Or if we don't know which are she will be in somewhere we can keep watch.

Do we have our totally awesome sweet Alabama liquid metal snake Dagger yet?

>>958673
>>Find an interesting book to pass the time with

>>958674
>>958673
2nded

As much as you'd like to settle down to do some serious reading, you know that you can't risk getting distracted. If Klaes showed up while you were browsing the aisles, and you were nowhere to be seen, she might leave without waiting to see if you were really here. Not very convenient for you. Still, just sitting and glaring at the entrance wouldn't look very natural. What you need to do is blend in...

And so, you approach the front desk with a friendly wave. Mirrah looks up, a faint look of distress crossing her face as she tries to remember if she knows you or not. As you greet her, old Kessler looks away and returns to his papers... whatever he's doing with them. Looking at them, apparently.

“Hello there, good...” Mirrah pauses, checking a small clock on the desk before continuing, “Good evening. Can I help you with anything?”

You came to meet someone here, you tell her, but you're a little too early. You were hoping to find a book to pass the time with, something fairly light. You're not really sure where to start, though – there's a pretty large collection to choose from, after all. Maybe she could recommend something?

“Well, that's a fundamentally flawed request,” Mirrah corrects you, “I don't know what you like, so it's difficult for me to suggest anything to you. What kind of subjects would you be interested in?”

Folklore and history, you tell her with a shrug, that kind of thing. In truth, you just pick the first subjects that came to find – although you'd certainly rather read a bit of history than a drab book about science or that sort of thing.

“Ah, that's more specific!” Mirrah nods, “I know a few good books. Wait here, or... or somewhere around here, at least. I can bring one over when I've found it. I hope I can find them...” She mutters those last words to herself as she hurries away, leaving you waiting at the desk with Kessler. As she leaves, Kessler looks up and frowns slightly at her.

“She's always so busy,” he remarks, more to himself than anyone else. You begin to offer him an apologetic smile, but his attention has already wandered.

-

A short while later, Mirrah returns with a heavy book tucked under one arm. “Here you are,” she tells you, “It's a little big, I'm afraid, but it's a good one. Some very nice drawings, all original. You said you didn't want to get too deeply involved in anything, so I thought something with plenty of pictures to study would be ideal. Um, let me know if you need anything else – it's all part of my job, helping people find what they need.”

Temples and Ritual Sites of the Free States, you read as you take the book. That sounds ideal. With your new burden, you settle down at a desk with a clear view of the entrance. When Klaes arrives, you'll see her.

[1/2]

>>958694

Dividing your attention between the heavy book and the archive entrance, you slowly delve into the history of your homeland. Most of the entries depict fairly mundane things – stone circles being particularly prevalent – with annotations describing the site's current state. Most of the stories end the same way, with the stone circles being dismantled and scattered. All part of the League's great leap forwards, the book notes in a faintly insincere way, a move away from the barbarism of the past. Sad, you think as you turn the page. At the next entry, your eyes widen in surprise.

You've seen this temple before, you realise, when you visited it with Henryk. Temporarily forgetting your duties, you eagerly read the attached notes. As might be expected for a larger and more ornate temple, it has rather more of a story connected with it. First build by a northerner, of all things, a noted wanderer named Toval. On that island, he nearly lost his life – only for the intervention of some spirit to save him. To honour this spirit, he devoted the rest of his life to building a grand temple – its form dictated to him by the spirit itself.

Huh. Interesting. The annotations close by mentioning that the temple remains standing, although it is rarely visited.

-

Seven comes and goes, and eight is fast approaching when you realise that something might have gone wrong. Very wrong, perhaps even catastrophically wrong. Wrong enough to send a warning shudder running through you, your dragon stirring in its sleep. It's not waking up, not yet at least, but that's enough of a bad sign for you. When was the last time that it did that, you wonder, whispering to you like that? Back when the big storm was blowing through, and never again since then.

At eight, Mirrah comes over to join you, sitting opposite you at the reading table.

“I hope you don't mind me asking, but...” she pauses, picking her next words carefully, “Do you think that maybe...”

Maybe they're not coming, you ask her, is that what she was going to say?

“Well, ah, yes,” Mirrah offers you a sad smile, “Maybe they just forgot! You have to expect a certain degree of absent mindedness here, I'm afraid. I might be able to help you, though – were you supposed to be meeting a student here? There's a chance that I might know them. I mean, if you don't mind me prying. It could be, ah... personal business.”

>It's a private matter, I'm afraid
>No, I could use your help. Klaes Gehring, do you know her?
>Hey, I needed to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>958720
>>No, I could use your help. Klaes Gehring, do you know her?

>>958720
>No, I could use your help. Klaes Gehring, do you know her?
> It's a private matter, so I was hoping to not have to ask around too much.

>>958720
>>No, I could use your help. Klaes Gehring, do you know her?

No real leads otherwise

>>958720
>>No, I could use your help. Klaes Gehring, do you know her?