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>>2985472
The elation swiftly becomes confusion as you enter the building and immediately crowd around the bar area. The lights are on; the door is open, but even after a few minute’s cajoling, no one appears to serve any drinks.

“Maybe they’re out back somewhere?” one helpful soul pipes up.

“They’d’ve ‘eard us by now, sure as sure,” Chalkie ponders, his own good mood fading with the prospect of not finding himself a pint of brew.

“Think maybe it’s Jerry?”

The idle musing brings all conversation to a tense halt. You feel a sour knot in your gut at the idea; it would be just like the filthy Germans to attack an innocent village that’s not even strictly a part of the war that rages on. But then… surely if this was a trap or ambush of some kind, the best time to have sprung it would have been back when you were all waltzing happy as Larry through the open road.

You furrow your brow in puzzlement. Something’s not quite right, here.

>Stay put in the bar with the others while Chalkie checks things out.
>Take Chalkie and a few others and check out the rest of the village.
>Leave Chalkie here and take a few others to check out the village.

>>2985485
>>Leave Chalkie here and take a few others to check out the village.

>>Leave Chalkie here and take a few others to check out the village.

>>2985485
>>Leave Chalkie here and take a few others to check out the village.

Righto. Let's call the vote here, I'll get started on the next post.

>>2985485
You frown, something smacks here and it’s not Chalkie’s heinous stink of sweat and oil.

“Oi, Chalkie, you want to ‘old down the fort ‘ere while I take a few an’ scope the place out?”

Chalkie frowns, his instincts as the older brother no doubt telling him some nonsense about how he should be the one going out instead of you. You’d tell him to stay put in any case: he’s near-sighted and the dark won’t do him any favours. Surprisingly, though, he nods. You return the gesture and suck in a deep lungful of air in order to bellow over the din of spooked sailors.

“Oi!” That gets everyone’s attention, sure as sure. Three dozen faces turn to regard you with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“I think we can all agree, lads,” you begin, “that somethin’ ain’t quite right ‘ere. I want five odd blokes t’follow me out so’s we can check the rest of this village. Maybe they ‘ad a scare and ran off somewhere.”

“But what scared them?” asks a lad, barely eighteen years old.

“I s’pose we’ll have to find out,” you murmur. No one looks happy at the sound of that suggestion, and you can’t blame them. You don’t really want to traipse back out into the rain and the mud to go hunting for Irish folk.

“What about we just go back to the Dove?” another man suggests. A general murmur of assent greets the idea.

“We may need to, aye,” you say, “But if this ‘as anything t’do with Jerry, then it’s our duty as members’o the Merchant Navy to let the proper folk know about it. If we’re lucky, we’ll be gettin’ a couple of them Destroyers dropping by to give us a hand on the last leg ‘ome once this storm clears up.”

You pause, thinking, “Though I s’pose we could send a few of you lot back to let the Captain and the rest know what’s goin’ on.”

You pick out ten in total, five to go with you, the rest to row back out to the Dove and warn the rest of the crew. With no one expecting trouble this close to home in neutral Ireland, none of you possess anything more lethal than a short-bladed pen knife. In spite of this, the eleven of you still trek out back to the little harbour that greeted you so warmly in the downpour…

...and find the boats are all gone.

(Cont.)

>>2986126
“The boats are gone!” one of the boys, Eddie, helpfully points out.

“Thanks for the brilliant shout there, Eddie,” one of the other lads spits, “Now shut the fuck up unless you got something useful to add, you daft bastid.”

“Ropes are cut, Arnie,” another guy, Danny, informs you, squatting down to where the boats had all been moored, “As in, someone did this. Deliberate-like.”

“Fan-bleedin’-tastic,” you grouch. Already you’re starting to get pissed off. All you came ashore for was a sodding beer. Now you’re being stalked by Lord only knows what.

“D-do we go back to the pub?” Eddie wonders, his eyes flitting about in their sockets, wide and fearful and searching for even the slightest hint of movement.

“After we find out what the hell’s goin’ on here,” you say, injecting a little more steel into your voice, having to raise the volume to make yourself heard over the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.

You scan the area, and even through the dark, you notice a few areas you could check out immediately; some homes deeper into the village, a few with their own lights on and--if the pub is anything to go by--most likely empty as well. Then there’s a small church further down a long, winding road by the coastline. You can’t tell for certain in the poor light, but you think the large, wooden doors are open. Finally is a gaggle of boathouses that don’t seem to have been touched. You’re not convinced you’ll find any real clues there, but maybe there’ll be an extra boat you can use…

>Go into the village and search the houses for anything that might tell you about what’s going on here.
>Check the Church. If there’s one place these Irish folk may have gone in the event of… whatever happened here, it’s probably there.
>Search the boathouses. Maybe you’ll find a boat you can send some of the others back to the Dove in.

>>2986130
>Check the Church. If there’s one place these Irish folk may have gone in the event of… whatever happened here, it’s probably there.

>>2986130
>>Check the Church. If there’s one place these Irish folk may have gone in the event of… whatever happened here, it’s probably there.

>>2986130
>>Check the Church. If there’s one place these Irish folk may have gone in the event of… whatever happened here, it’s probably there.

Time to requisition some Christian Relics?

>>2986130
>>Check the Church. If there’s one place these Irish folk may have gone in the event of… whatever happened here, it’s probably there.

>>2986130
>Check the Church. If there’s one place these Irish folk may have gone in the event of… whatever happened here, it’s probably there.
I sure hope we'll get our hands on a cross made of cold iron.

Well, I've been told to cover a shift tomorrow. Ordinarily I'd tell them no, but I kind of need the money at the moment, so I'll crank out the next update now and the one after will have to come either when I wake up or whenever I get back from work tomorrow evening.

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>>2986130
You don’t know an awful lot about Ireland, except the people have probably the weirdest accents you’ve ever heard and that they threw a fit over some Post Office or something a while back. Another thing you know is that they take their brand of Christianity a lot more seriously. Catholics all of them, or so you’ve heard, meaning that if there’s one place the village folk will have run to in the event of something bad happening, it’s probably their church.

“We’ll go ‘ave a look in that old church,” you point.

“Sod that!” Eddie cries, “Let’s check them boat houses, maybe we can find a way out of this place.”

You cuff him over the head with one of your thick hands. Eddie yelps, but you aren’t finished with him, yet. You knew he was a craven little shit, but if he keeps running his mouth and there is someone or something watching you all, then he’s going to get you and everyone else into trouble. Part of you wishes you’d taken someone else instead, but the bastard had the only knife and he wouldn’t have parted with it.

“Listen t’me, Eddie,” you say through ground teeth, “We’re stickin’ together. We don’t know who’s out there and I ain’t about t’let ‘em start pickin’ away at us. So until we find some proper gear to fend ‘em off with, or some extra bodies, you keep close, you understand me?”

Eddie nods. You grunt, knowing his being intimidated by your hulking profile will keep him in line, at least for the time being. Waving the rest of the group to follow on, you make for the church.

The road to the church is narrow and ill-kept. The whistle of the wind and the rush of the rain drowns out any sound beyond a handful of metres. A grim part of you wonders if you’d even hear a German machinegun being cocked or racked or whatever it needs to before belching its lethal payload and scything your entire party down like fresh wheat on harvest day. The ground is only slightly less treacherous; twice you almost trip over into the mud. One of your friends--a tall, ginger bloke by the name of Jack--actually does, effing and blinding as he picks himself up, nursing a bloody nose. You offer him an old, frequently-used handkerchief which he takes and applies without fuss. Needs must.

As you thought, the door to the old, stone church is open, and you feel your heart sink even as you reach to open it. Anyone inside wouldn’t have just--

(Cont.)

>>2986447
The stench hits you like a physical wall, and you retreat a step, gagging at the awfulness of it. You hear others retch and choke as it wafts out of the interior to touch their own senses.

“Fuck a duck…” Jack groans, “What the hell is that?”

“Smells like…” another man hitches, and then promptly loses his last meal on the cold stone floor. The act prompts another sailor to dump the contents of his own stomach just outside the church. You manfully keep yourself from doing the same, but the temptation is all too strong. It’s worse than raw sewage; this is a thick, ungodly reek that sours the very air. Pushing on is the exact opposite of what you want to do, but you have to, because, like it or not--and you feel very certain you’re not going to like what you find one bit--you think the answer to the mystery of the vanished villagers lies deeper into the dimly-lit church.

You hate to be proven correct.

“Mother Mary and all the Saints…” Jack breathes in horror. They are the only words anyone utters as you behold the terrible scene within.

A handful of candles, the wax almost melted, provide just enough light to give you the information you need. That in itself is a small mercy--to see this in all of its grisly glory in broad daylight… you shiver in revulsion.

It seems as though the villagers did indeed make for the church. Or at least, the copious amounts of blood and viscera would indicate as such. Shredded chunks of meat and what looks like gnawed bone lie splattered and scattered around smashed church pews. The altar has been desecrated wholly--what looks like a pile of pulped eyeballs sits in a collection bowl on the scarred surface. Symbols are tarnished or shattered; there is gore everywhere.

“What devils would do such a thing…” an older crewman whimpers, clutching at a silver cross pendant tightly.

“I don’t think this was Jerry…” you murmur. Not unless Jerry had suddenly developed a new and radically disgusting shift in combat doctrine.

A muffled scream from behind you draws everyone’s attention back to the entrance. You notice that Eddie is missing--the fucking idiot must have stayed outside. Whirling around, the need for action overtaking the horror, you power back towards the doorway, catching a glimpse of what looks like two figures dragging a terrified Eddie into the bushes beyond a little cemetery.

>1d100

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>2986450

I'm guessing there's no Holy Water left.

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>2986450

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>2986450

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>>2986450
Rage courses through you. A shitbag Eddie might be, but he’s still fellow crew, and you’ll be damned if you just allow the man to be slaughtered on your watch.

With a bellow, you charge, snatching at a loose piece of what looks like a very old headstone to use as a makeshift bludgeon. You also start channelling your own unique brand of magic, and immediately start to feel your eyes start to sting with the strain of peering a handful of seconds into the future along with what’s in front of you.

You see yourself trip over a fallen headstone and hop over it at precisely the right moment to avoid doing so moments later. The wind whips a tree branch to scourge your brow and the warning you receive of this allows you to duck it without issue. You’re close enough to hear Eddie’s muted panic, now and the two figures will turn in your direction to pounce any moment…

Now.

The first launches himself at you like a wild animal, hissing like a pissed off cat. You’ve already stepped out of the way and bring the fist with the concrete crashing down onto the back of its skull. A sick, meaty crack, and he, it, whatever, falls and lies still with the back of its skull caved in.

The other one tosses Eddie at a tree and turns to flee. It won’t get far. You’ve already seen how it catches its foot on an old and gnarled tree root, sending it crashing to the muddy earth. You sever your link with the arcane and leap over Eddie’s prone, whimpering form, descending on the now fallen person with great fury.

It turns around to face you, still prone. A flash of lighting illuminates him just long enough for you to see teeth. Lots of them, and enough of the rest of it to know exactly what you’re up against.

A lesser vampire lies before you; thin, scrawny, beady red eyes fixed on you and wide with hatred and hunger and the realisation of its very imminent death. Its maw contains so many long, needle-thin teeth that it’s unable to properly close, permanently displaying a toothy grin. It hisses again and lunges.

You bring both arms down on it in a decisive hammerblow that puts it face down in the dirt where it belongs. A flash of what you saw at the church enters your mind and before you’re even aware, you’re stomping and stomping until bone gives way and the crunching becomes a much more distinctive squelching.

(Cont.)

>>2987850
You stand over the carcass of the creature, breathing heavily, arms still raised and ready to kill and maim, but nothing more approaches you.

Well, if you weren’t sure what happened to the poor sods who lived here before, you definitely know now.

Disgusting, craven creatures, were Lesser Vampires. Weaker and slighter of build than the average adult man, they usually attacked in mobs or gangs to make up for the physical differences and relying on their exceptional night vision and terrifying visage to stun their intended victims long enough for the feasting to begin. Despite the name, however, they were hardly more than ghouls--devouring their prey wholesale. Most lived in the seediest underbellies of any city, whisking away the destitute and others who’s vanishing would not be missed.

But last you knew, this village--Glandore, if you recall--was miles and miles away from the nearest city. What were these things doing all the way out here in the Irish sticks? Some migrated, of course, and devoured any luckless lone travellers they encountered, but a whole village? Even the hungriest of them wouldn’t be so reckless.

“A-Arnie? A-are you out there?” you hear Eddie call out, fear lifting his pitch.

“Yeah,” you answer back, after a moment’s pause, still standing over the assuredly dead vampire, “I’m still ‘ere, Eddie.”

“Oh, thank the Lord!” you hear rustling and Eddie’s frantic breath as he approaches, “I-I thought I was done for when those two grabbed me! B-but you came runnin’! You bleedin’ saved me, Arnie! Oh thank you, thank you. When we get back I--”

“We ain’t done, Eddie,” you say, grunting as you turn back to him.

“What?” his confusion, and growing apprehension, is plain to hear.

“We gotta get back to the others. This ain’t over, not by a long shot.”

“But you caught the--”

“You seriously bleedin’ think that two scraggly gits could’ve done all that,” you point back to the church, “to an ‘ole bloody village of people?”

You don’t need to see him to know the horrific realisation is dawning on your fellow crewman.

“Oh…” he says, faintly.

“Yeah, oh,” you grunt, “C’mon, let’s head on back.”

(Cont.)

>>2987853
“D-don’t yer fink we should arm ourselves, first?” Eddie asks. You bark a sharp, sardnoic note of laughter.

“With what? We got your soddin’ dinky little knife and that’s it fer armaments as I can see.”

“No, f-from the church!”

“Yer wot?”

“M-maybe some folk left somethin’ inside? Or there’s always, I dunno, other stuff, like them goblets or the candlesticks…”

You grimace. You’re no holy man, but robbing a place of the faith like that, even in light of the circumstances, sits ill with you. On the other hand, maybe the lout has something. There are almost certainly a lot more of the creatures roaming about and they definitely know that you’re here if it was them who cut loose your boats from the little harbour, and maybe a few bits and bobs to fight the rest of them off with might prove useful, if time-consuming to search for.

>All right. Let’s scour the church for anything we might be able to use in a fight, quick as.
>No, we should meet up with the others first. They may already be fighting for their lives as we speak.

>>2987855
>No, we should meet up with the others first. They may already be fighting for their lives as we speak.

>>2987855
>No, we should meet up with the others first. They may already be fighting for their lives as we speak.
The longer we stay spread out, the worse our chances of survival get.

>>2987855
>All right. Let’s scour the church for anything we might be able to use in a fight, quick as.

The Lord will be cool with his things being used to slay the wicked.

>>2987855
>>No, we should meet up with the others first. They may already be fighting for their lives as we speak.

>>2987855
>>No, we should meet up with the others first. They may already be fighting for their lives as we speak.

Apologies for the long delay, almost finished with the next post.

>>2987855
You shake your head.

“No, even if there was anythin’ inside, I doubt them things would’ve just left anything that could be used lyin’ about.”

“Things? What?” Eddie blinks, thoroughly confused, “What do you mean ‘things’? Who were those blokes that tried t’grab me?”

“I’ll explain on the way back t’the pub,” you tell him, already lifting the scraggly git up onto his feet before rushing back to the church, “We need to grab the others an’ get out of here, now!”

Eddie wastes no time hurrying after you, not willing to stick around to find out if any more of the ghouls are lurking about waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

You find the others crowded outside the church, looking very unsure and even more uneasy; understandable, considering the circumstances. All everyone here wanted to do was grab a pint in somewhere nice and normal before landing back in grey and bombed-out Blighty. A little reminder of what life was like before the Blitz.

Now it seemed the nightmare had reached even this quaint little hole on the edge of Ireland, though it was a wholly more terrible thing than anything Jerry could have conceived.

“Hey, Arnie,” Jack greets, sounding queasy. The acrid reek of vomit is strong, and you scrunch your face in distaste, “Where’d you and Eddie go? We thought we ‘eard somethin’ funny.”

“We gotta get back to that pub and meet up with the others,” you say, and the seriousness in your voice gives Jack pause.

“Why? What’s goin’ on? Is it anything to do with what…” he glances back to the now closed Church door.

“Yeah, it is,” you growl, “I know what’s doin’ this, and we need to link back up with the rests sharpish.”

“What? You do? What is--hey, Arnie! Hold up!”

You’ve already turned on your heel and started racing down the road back to the village, heart hammering in your chest as you think of your brother and all the others crammed like sardines in that little pub, potentially dozens of long-toothed freaks licking their chops and advancing on the building with a singular purpose in mind. Multiple, rapid footsteps behind you at least inform you that the others are following.

Then you hear a noise, something you’d been hoping you wouldn’t hear.

A scream.

(Cont.)

>>2992517
Concern for your blood gives you an extra burst in speed, and though you were never a sprinter, you find yourself much outpacing the rest of your cohort. The rain is coming down even heavier now and a fell wind plucks at your coat. You ignore the chill, pushing ever onwards in the dark towards the closing light of the village.

The pub is surrounded.

You can’t tell how many of them there are with the poor light and pounding rain hampering your vision, but there are enough that they’ve got the entire building and all its entrances and exits covered. All of the windows are smashed and you can see some of the creatures attempting to clamber in through them, gashing open their hands and faces in their lust for flesh and blood. You can hear muted shouting and yelling from within, Chalkie’s distinctive bellowing among the many raised voices.

>That’s your brother in there! Charge!
>Check about; the mob of vampires don’t seem to have noticed you, yet. Maybe there's something they've missed that will get everyone still breathing out of this.

>>2992553
>Check about; the mob of vampires don’t seem to have noticed you, yet. Maybe there's something they've missed that will get everyone still breathing out of this.
Yeah let's not charge into a mob that huge unarmed.

>>2992553
>Check about; the mob of vampires don’t seem to have noticed you, yet. Maybe there's something they've missed that will get everyone still breathing out of this.

>>2992553
>Check about; the mob of vampires don’t seem to have noticed you, yet. Maybe there's something they've missed that will get everyone still breathing out of this.

>>2992553
>Check about; the mob of vampires don’t seem to have noticed you, yet. Maybe there's something they've missed that will get everyone still breathing out of this.
I'm thinking fire
Fire's a good one

>>2992553
>>Check about; the mob of vampires don’t seem to have noticed you, yet. Maybe there's something they've missed that will get everyone still breathing out of this.

Another fairly decisive choice, it seems. Writing.

>>2992553
Your hands ball into fists at the sight of the pub so assaulted, and you’d like nothing more than to crack some skulls and make sure your brother’s okay. The more sensible part of you knows, however, that a frontal assault--even with the element of surprise--would only get you so far before you and those alongside you got surrounded and dragged down to be devoured by a wave of jagged teeth and hateful crimson eyes.

So you search, brain now on overdrive as you search desperately for something--anything--that might help you turn the tide in your favour. Weapons, some form of equipment, you’d take a bleeding spoon if it might help you just that little bit.

You notice that some of the hissing fuckers are clambering up the side of the pub and tearing at the thatched roof. You snort in derision, though part of you wonders if they may make some kind of an opening with enough of them scritch-scratching away.

A semi-detached house sits next to the pub, not connected, but close enough that maybe you could hop onto the roof and make an entrance of your own. Part of you, however, wonders how many of your buddies would feel confident enough to make that jump, though it might assuredly reunite all of you with the rest of the crew.

Further up the road, set next to a larger house is a horse-drawn cart, of all things. The animal that pulled it along is almost certainly as dead as the rest of the village, but maybe you could cause some mayhem with the cart itself, though it would almost certainly draw the ire of any of those vampires you missed.

Finally are the boathouses. Escape is out of the question, not without Chalkie, but there will almost certainly be some tools in there that you and the others can make use of. You’ll just have to hope the time it takes to break in won’t cost more blood than you can save.

Another, more frantic scream reverberates from within the pub, accompanied by more desperate yelling. Whatever the plan is, you need to enact it now.

>Onto the roof--secure the high ground and give them two targets.
>Push that cart into the crowd and crush some of the damned things.
>Break into the boathouses and grab something you can use to crush some ghoul bones.

>>2993887
>>Onto the roof--secure the high ground and give them two targets.

I hope we have a few good insults to hurl at them to gather their attention.

>>2993893
>I hope we have a few good insults to hurl at them to gather their attention.
We're British, we always have a good bant in reserves.

>>2993887
>Push that cart into the crowd and crush some of the damned things.
If too many of them survive, we can just keep luring them around the town while the others break in to the boathouse

>>2993887

>Push that cart into the crowd and crush some of the damned things.

While we lead them on a wild goose chase, send the rest of our boys to the boathouse to grab some equipment.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Hmm, another tie. 1d2 roll-off.

1 - Rooftop rescue
2 - Cart-based carnage

>>2993887
“That cart!” you say, speaking as loud as you dare with that mob so close. You don’t think you’re close enough to be heard even if you spoke at normal volume, but why take the risk.

“What the hell is that lot’s problem?” Jack spits, “It sounds like they’re bleedin’ tearin’ folks apart in there!”

“They are,” you say, grim-faced, “But we can stop them from killing any more.”

“This is fucked,” one man groans, “We just came here for a drink and a few hours away from it all. What are we doing fightin’ for our lives?”

“How’d you even know they’re murderin’ folk? Maybe they’re just angry we invited ourselves in,” one man murmurs.

“Oh, grow up, shithead,” another snaps, “You saw the inside of that church. The villagefolk are dead or hidin’ and those fuckers did it, sure as.”

“He’s right!” Eddie pipes up, “They tried t’take me, too! Heard ‘em both slaverin’ over me like I was a prize goose they was about to cook, but Arnie saved me from ‘em!”

You didn’t believe you’d ever think to yourself that Eddie was worth much, but in that moment, you’re glad you pulled him out of the frying pan back at the church, so to speak.

“Enough talkin’,” you growl, “our mates are bleedin’ in that pub and it’s on us to thin the ‘erd. We can roll that cart into the thickest of them.”

“And then what? They’ll be on us, next.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you admit, “but they’ll be split between us and the boys in the pub. We can link up and push for an exit.”

“To where?” another moan comes, but you’re already moving, forcing the rest to catch up or mill about waiting for the hissing vampires to notice them.

To your surprise, it’s Eddie who makes it first after you, already slapping the wheel blocks away. Others arrive seconds later, hesitation falling away. Probably because they finally feel like they’re doing something instead of milling around like awkward kids on their first pub crawl.

“We’re good to go!” Eddie hisses, manoeuvring himself out of the way of the cart and firmly behind the rest of you. There goes what respect you felt for the man, but oh well.

The cart is just large enough for five of you to push comfortably while the others do so from behind. It’s a lot heavier than it looks, and positioning it so that it will do the most damage takes some doing. Once again, the heavy rainfall masks the noise you’re making; they’d have certainly noticed you by now in the dry.

“On three, lads,” you tell them, and receive a chorus of affirmatives, some more resolved than others. Beggars can’t be choosers, though Lord knows you wish you could.

(Cont.)

>>2994842
“For King and Country, then,” you mutter. A few of the others actually chuckle.

Then you push off and charge the cart down at the mob. You are fortunate that the pub is downhill from where the cart sat, otherwise this would have been a fool’s errand at best, though you wish you had more distance to pick up more speed. Still, you seem to have enough, and the first inkling any of the sharp-toothed freaks has that you’re coming is when you’re practically right on top of them, which is when all of you bellow a fierce war cry and give one last push.

It’s like watching dominoes fall, if dominoes also screamed as large, uncaring wheels crunched bones and solid, dependable timber carried by momentum alone smashed teeth. What looks like a good couple dozen are felled, and a fair few of those lie still and unmoving. The rest mewl and whine pathetically over their injuries. You’re already racing forward, fists clenched tightly and teeth set as a fell mood overtakes you. The advantage provided by your quick thinking is momentary at best; already those vampires on the roof are clambering back down, while those merely pushed aside by those mown down are picking themselves back up and fixing your gaggle with hungry glares.

>Reunite with Chalkie and the others in the pub and break through now--you’ll only have the one shot to make a dash for freedom.
>Reunite with Chalkie and hole up in the pub--more bodies means a more solid defence and you’ve no idea if there are more of the things still lurking in the rest of the village that might encircle you in the open.

>>2994844
>Reunite with Chalkie and the others in the pub and break through now--you’ll only have the one shot to make a dash for freedom.

>>2994844
>>Reunite with Chalkie and the others in the pub and break through now--you’ll only have the one shot to make a dash for freedom.

>>2994844
>>Reunite with Chalkie and the others in the pub and break through now--you’ll only have the one shot to make a dash for freedom.

>>2994844
>Reunite with Chalkie and hole up in the pub--more bodies means a more solid defence and you’ve no idea if there are more of the things still lurking in the rest of the village that might encircle you in the open.

Righty ho. Vote called and writing.

>>2994844
The first of the freaks rushes you with outstretched hands, jaws open wide to take a wicked chunk from your neck. You double him over with a body blow and a wide backhand spins the thing around. A boot applied squarely to his back sends it careening forwards and it topples, down for the moment. You carry on, fending a few more of the creatures off before reaching the front door when a shriek draws your attention back to your fellows.

One of the other lads--a short, stocky bloke by the name of Frankie--is on his knees, forced down by the weight of two of the vampires, both of whom have their teeth sunk in deep; one in his shoulder, the other on his neck. Both abominable beings twist and rip their jaws free and a spray of blood jets from what can only be fatal wounds. Almost immediately, the things bite again, and Frankie’s screaming fades as shock and blood loss take an immediate toll and he falls, where his already stilling body is set upon by three more of the things.

As much as you want to break the bones of all of those miserable fucking monsters, you have another objective, and killing them won’t bring Frankie back.

“Chalkie!” you roar, bursting in through the front door.

You are greeted by a scene of carnage akin to that of the church.

A handful of lesser vampires are driven back by sailors wielding barstools or cutlery or even beer glasses. Bodies litter the floor and you have to fight to keep from slipping on blood. Most of them are those of the creatures, but a fury kindles deep within you as you register a handful from the Dove, ravaged and bloody, as well.

Chalkie stands at the head of the remaining crew: just over a dozen when you left twice that number here to go gallivanting about and…

Not the time for blame. Later, maybe. Not now.

The closest vampire turns at the sound of your voice, and a part of you relishes the way its eyes widen in surprise before you club it to the ground with a two-handed hammerblow and stomp on its head some. The others rush in and in short order you’ve incapacitated or dispatched the remaining creatures.

“Arnie,” Chalkie greets you, “These are--”

“Yeah, they are,” you nod, “ain’t got no time to act shocked. We raised a ruckus outside but we ain’t got long before they regroup. We need to get out of here. Now.”

“I’d drink to that,” says your brother, “If I ‘ad one, anyway.”

He turns back to face the other crew, many white with shock and terror, “We’re buggin’ out of this ‘ellhole. Back t’the Dove!”

Such is the state of collective shock--none of them having ever dealt with anything like this before in their lives--that they’re only too glad to have some kind of plan to follow, especially one that aims to put as much distance between you all and the long-fanged terrors lurking in the black.

(Cont.)

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>>2996550
“There’s some boathouses by the shoreline,” you say, as you all rush for the door. A hissing vampire greets you and is swiftly glassed by your brother, dropping and wailing with a dozen shards embedded in its ugly mug.

“Yeah, and? We already got boats, don’t we?”

“Not anymore. The fuckers cut ‘em loose.”

“Balls. So what makes you think they’d leave them houses untouched?”

“They didn’t look touched.”

“It’s fuckin’ dark, how would you know?”

You want to retort, but he raises an interesting point. If you get there and find the houses have, in fact, been ransacked, then you’ve got no way out; you certainly haven’t seen any cars or other carts about--not that you’re likely to find anything to pull the latter onwards even if there were.

The lesser vampires are already reconverging as you all leave the pub, rushing towards you with open, slavering jaws and that awful hissing they make. You don’t need to see it to know that some of the others shrink back at the sight. You glance at your brother, who nods and leads the way, lending his enormous size to the breakthrough effort.

>1d100

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>2996569
I sensed that you were posting so I came QM

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>2996569

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>2996569

>>2996569
The vampires scatter before you and your even burlier brother like you were two bulldogs charging through a set of fine china. You fling their thin, hissing forms aside, clearing a path for the rest of your fellows, utilising your precog in short bursts so as not to strain your eyes. Chalkie, meanwhile, is using the much more basic, but no less effective body reinforcement magic, allowing him to hit a lot harder--and Chalkie could already hit very hard, indeed.

But you can’t be everywhere at once.

Two more of your fellows are dragged to the ground, screaming and weeping as teeth bite and dig and rend and rip and tear, their cries cut mercifully short by distinctively unmerciful beings. You aren’t sure how many you’ve lost already, but damned if you’ll lose any more.

So deep in thought are you that you almost miss the ghostly outline of a snatching claw, a useful heads up provided by the power of magic, and you duck the clumsy attack effortlessly before thundering the heel of your boot into its ribcage, feeling bones creak beneath the force of your own strike. The thing flies back like God himself reached down and yanked on its collar, falling in a heap.

“Keep goin’!” Chalkie bellows. Another cry of pain signals another fallen mariner. Chalkie physically picks one of the vampires up and tosses it like a sack of potatoes at a trio. All of them crash to the ground, grunting and hissing and groaning.

“There’s more of ‘em!” one man cries, Eddie.

The boathouses are almost in reach, but you realise even as you close in that the time it’s going to take to break in will cost you--someone is going to have to rally the lads and hold the mob back while the others grab what you need. Adding to all that is the hideous rainfall and now howling wind that buffets you all the while. It's starting to feel like everything's working against you...

>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.
>Chalkie holds the line; you work on the locks.

>>2997442
>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.

>>2997442
>>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.

>>2997442
>>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.

>>2997442
>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.

I mean, this is certainly better than handling SS Werewolf Women.

>>2997960
I'm a bit concerned that Arnold would actually try to hit on one if that really happened.

>>2997442
>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.

>>2997442
>Hold the line; Chalkie breaks into the boathouses.

Neato. Calling the vote and writing.

>>2997442
“Chalkie, get into them houses,” you tell your brother. There’s four of them all lined up, and surely one of them is going to have something you can make use of.

“What are you goin’ to be doing?”

“Makin’ sure no toothy gobshite takes a bite out of your fat arse in the meanwhile.”

“I ain’t fat,” he says, sounding a little offended, “Jus’ big-boned.”

He pauses again, “You don’t think anyone’d mind if the locks end up busted?”

You give him a look.

“Right, right. Gettin’ t’work now. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Good, cause they’re right on our arses.”

You stomp to the head of the surviving crewmen. Just fifteen of you left from a shore party of over twice that.

“Right lads!” you bellow, “We got a shot, but Chalkie’s gotta ‘ave time to get at the goods, so we make a stand here!”

“This is bollocks!” Eddie cries, now clearly on his last legs, “Why can’t we just keep runnin’?”

“You want to try, then be my guest. But our new friends don’t seem the type t’tire out easy. Face it, gents: Only way we’re makin’ it out of this is by stoppin’ these toothy fuckers here and now.”

“Fuck it,” Jack mutters blithely, “‘oped I’d go out swingin’ against Jerry an’ his kind, but I guess I can settle for this.”

You don’t get to tell him the way you’d preferred to have gone out--blind drunk and in bed with a comely lass--before the toothed shits are upon you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Eddie shriek, flinching with his knife extended out before him like an idol or effigy he hopes might ward off the oncoming evil. The point somehow embeds itself in the throat of the closest vampire, which falls, gurgling. He has a brief moment of surprise and elation before he’s summarily tackled to the ground by two more.

You have not the luxury of helping him, not least because the man is almost assuredly dead. Two drooling horrors approach you at a dead sprint, and you lower yourself into a hunched, defensive stance. No fighter are you, but you and your brothers spent an awful lot of your youths fighting, oftentimes as much with each other as with the other kids in your neighbourhood. That all comes to the fore now.

(Cont.)

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>>2998579
The closest to you lunges with its jaws wide open to take a bite out of your shoulder. You catch it by the throat and dash its skull into that of the next contestant, staggering the latter and dazing the beast in your grasp. You beat it twice in its ugly face with a fist and them slam it onto the ground, raising a boot and stomping on its scrawny neck. Some might remark on your almost casual murder of a sentient lifeform. Some haven’t watched friends devoured in moments by said lifeforms, and for what it may be worth, it seems the rest of the crew feels the same way.

The vampire’s lacking physical strength is telling, and the adrenaline coursing through you all has sufficiently drowned out any horror you may have felt at the physical appearance of the lanky bastards, nor do they possess the element of surprise. For all that, however, the elements work against you, as the heavy rainfall, along with the intense fighting you’ve had to do, is starting to tire you out.

One vampire lands on your back, and you buck and swing your body around wildly in an effort to shake it loose. It claws at you to keep itself steady and one rakes across your face, drawing three blazing lines of agony over the left side of your head, including your eye. Roaring in a hellish blend of pain, fury and not a little fear, you reach up, take hold of the thing’s own head, and pull. Something in its body gives, and you hear a grinding crunch that sends a shiver down your spine. The vampire goes limp and you haul it off and throw the carcass at another lunging monster.

Dazed from the sudden wound, you stumble back, feeling half-blinded as blood runs down your face in a stream of red. Opening your other eye, you see Jack--Big Jack, Ginger Jack, who had your back for so long and so faithfully--go down, a jaw clamped around his throat.

And then red is all you see.

>1d100+10

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>2998581

Rolled 66 (1d100)

I got a bad feeling about this

Rolled 60 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>2998581

Rolled 81 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>2998581

>>2998581

Your memory of this particular point in your life is all a red blur. You remember the crunching of bone, the splatter of blood, and the tearing of flesh. You remember a stinging sensation, dull at first but growing gradually more pronounced in your abused hands as they continued to reach out and pummel or tear. You think you screamed yourself hoarse, or at least, that’s what you remember feeling like when conscious thought returned to you.

What you know for certain, though, is that when you reasserted control, there was nothing around you but carnage. Scattered, bent limbs. Broken skulls and shattered faces. Long, sharp and frequently bloody teeth everywhere. Crimson vitae spreads out beneath you like a growing red stain, washing away in the rainfall.

You are exhausted. So tired that a part of you wonders why you haven’t just keeled over. Pain is a constant; the worst of it in your hands, which hang limply at your side, swollen and bruised. Even trying to twitch a finger sends lightning coursing through your arms, so you let them hang instead. Your vision is blurred in your left eye; you think you remember taking a nasty scratch on that side of your face. Maybe that has something to do with it.

The rain soaks you through to your skin. You feel nothing of warmth or cold; only the constant, throbbing pain. There was something… something important, you think. You draw a blank as to what it is. Too much hurt. Too much silence that keeps your mind on the hurt.

A smashed-open door to a boathouse sits in the corner of your vision. A large, bloody handprint runs along the open doorframe. The sight of it makes the hurt worse, but you can’t turn away from it. Too tired.

Then you hear footsteps. Soft, cautious, close. Heavier than the fanged nightmares, but that makes no sense to you--there’s nothing here except them. More things to kill, then, you decide. But what would be the point? It will end and all you’ll be left with is the hurt, again.

>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)
>Fight to live...
>Too tired...

>>3000928
>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)

>>3000928
>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)

>>3000928
>Too tired...

>>3000928
>>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)

>>3000928
>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)
Let's not kill our brother yeh?

>>3000928
>>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)

>>3000928
>Thinking hurts... (1d100 TN 70+)

Sorry, meant to put this up when I made the post, but I clearly forgot. We'll carry on with this thread, as we're not quite at the point I'd like to get to before closing time. I also won't be able to update until tomorrow morning as I suddenly had a couple of awkward shifts dropped on me. Roll me a 1d100 in advance as it seems that's what we've gone for and I'll work on the update as soon as I'm up and awake.

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>3003475
Rolls for the Dice Gods!

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>3003475
Just one 1d100?

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>3003475
In case we need three

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>>3003480
>>3003502
>>3003504
Awww shiiiit.

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>>3003583
Well... It sure is tragic at least.

>>3000928
The footsteps should mean something to you. Something in your head tells you this insistently, but it falls on deaf ears. The hurt is too great, and noise drowns out your thoughts like there’s a swarm of droning bees buzz-buzzing around in your skull.

The first figure approaches, close enough for you now to make out its profile. It’s not lanky enough to be one of the fanged monsters that murdered your...

What was it.

Something important. Your teeth hurt--you’re only dimly aware that you’re grinding them.

“Good evening,” a voice cuts through the noise. You tense up. The biters don’t talk.

“Are you all right?” it asks again. The source of it comes from the figure before you, who waves a hand. A part of you feels like screaming at him--for it is a he. The rest just wants to lie down forever. Through it all, you can’t help but feel like you are still forgetting something important, something vital.

The figure muffles a word and suddenly there’s light. With dull eyes, you register that it’s a youthful man with curiously grey hair, and a sword attached to his hip. A scar splits his right eyebrow at an angle, and even despite the hellish weather he’s remarkably well-dressed. You let him approach, too exhausted and confused to allow for anything else.

“Good God,” the man murmurs, distinctively posh, “You are in a terrible state, aren’t you?”

Once more, you say nothing.

“I see,” he says, giving you a strange look, “Did you do all this, then?”

You don’t make any kind of a response. He gives you a few moments before turning and motioning with an arm. Several other people close in. All of them are armed, but none have their weapons trained on you. A tiny part of you notices that some of them eye you up with not a little trepidation. Maybe it’s your size. Only the silver-haired man with the sword remains where he is, his movements slow and measured.

(Cont.)

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>>3006272
“Messed up, this is,” one of the sword-man’s group mutters. He sounds American, “just pieces everywhere.”

“How many of these things were we tracking, again?” another one asks, this one foreign. You can’t place the accent.

“A good sixty at last count.”

“Jesus. And this guy killed all of them?”

You turn your head as it registers that they may be referring to you. The two chatterboxes flinch and take a wary step away as they inspect the pile of gore you stand on.

“What’s your name?” Posh man asks, drawing your attention again. You try to work your mouth, but nothing comes. When no response comes, he sighs, “Well, I suppose it was rude of me to ask without introducing myself, first. Nathaniel Arkwright is my name. These men are my colleagues; we were tracking an unusually large migration of Lesser Vampires,” he glances around, expression unreadable, “Evidently, though, we were too late to make an impact. I can only imagine what must have happened here.”

“Carnage, it seems,” another foreigner muses. Nathaniel shoots the individual in question a look before turning back to you.

“Are you alone? Is there anyone else with you?”

>Yes...
>No…
>Something you’re still forgetting… (1d100 TN 60)

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>3006276
>Something you’re still forgetting… (1d100 TN 60)

>>3006276
>Something you’re still forgetting… (1d100 TN 60)
Should I just roll now for wait for a third vote for this?

>>3006351
I've been thinking on it and, actually, it'd probably save a lot of time if, from this point on, you all just roll along with the vote if you pick an option with a dice roll attached to it.

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>3006386
Righty-o, here's my roll for >>3006351

>>3006276
>Something you’re still forgetting… (1d100 TN 60)

>>3006386
Rolling when we're still voting might lead to rolls affecting what option people pick. I don't mind it though, just wanted to point out the obvious.

Rolled 5 (1d100)

And my roll

>>3006276
>Something you’re still forgetting…

>>3006276
It comes to you in an instant; so quickly that you feel like the world’s biggest idiot for having forgotten for even a moment. With clarity comes more pain--in fact, you’d say it’s gone from a dull throb to outright excruciating--but you’re back to your senses. Your name; the events of the last… however long it’s been.

“Chalkie!”

The others, including the posh bloke--Nathaniel--flinch at your sudden shout. Two almost bring firearms to bear on you, stopping only as they see that you aren’t descending upon them to rip their limbs off.

“Pardon?” Nathan says, bemused.

You don’t answer, whirling around instead on the open boathouse. The door bears obvious signs of having been abused by your brother; though you are secretly surprised it hasn’t snapped in half--your other brothers had a little bet going on to see if he could manage a hat trick after the last two times he’d had to--

You shake your head. Not the bloody time.

The bloodied, broken carcass of a lesser vampire lies face-down in the doorframe. You kick it aside, heart hitching in your chest as you listen out for any indication at all that your brother yet lives and find none.

Until a long, wheezing cough draws your attention to a small mound of corpses not unlike the one you found yourself stood upon mere moments beforehand. Hurriedly, you start to dig with aching hands through the muck and gore, before reaching through and pulling out a hefty weight that can only belong to--

“Chalkie!” you cry, relieved beyond measure that he appears to be breathing. He groans as you haul him up, which becomes a sharp cry as he stands up. Glancing down, you feel awash with horror as you realise that his right leg ends in a jagged stump, appearing quite literally gnawed off. His right hand is a similarly bloody ruin, and while you’re no doctor, you’re certain that he’ll never be able to use it ever again. He is possessed of a ghostly pallor, and you feel immensely lucky that you snapped back to your senses when you did--who knows how much longer he might have lasted, bleeding as he is.

(Cont.)

>>3010917
“Fucking hell,” you murmur, “You’re a right bloody state, bruv.”

“Still more ‘andsome than you are,” he says, weak and bloody, but still unmistakably Chalkie.

“Sod off, you prick,” you choke, hauling him outside, where the others observe cautiously, eyes widening with surprise and horror as they behold the condition of your hulking brother.

“Put a healer on him, now!” Nathaniel commands, and a pale-skinned man steps forward. You surrender Chalkie to him, concern for his well-being far outweighing any suspicion you have towards these strangers, though you linger closeby as he gets to work. It’s the first time you’ve seen healing magic at work: an earthly green glow surrounds the mage’s hands as he places them on the bleeding stump and you watch in wonderment as it closes up before your very eyes. He performs the same task on the mangled hand before setting to work on the various gashes and lacerations that decorate Chalkie's body like he’d smashed through a glass factory.

You fall back on your arse, relieved beyond measure that your brother will live.

“Friend of yours?” Nathaniel asks, crouching next to you.

“Me brother.”

“I see,” he looks your sibling over, “nasty wounds he’s got.”

“Yeah…” you agree, “but he’s breathin’, and ‘e’ll stay that way if I ‘ave anything t’say about it.”

He hums and stands up, you cock your head up at him.

“So, who’re you? What’re you doin’ out ‘ere in the Irish sticks on the arse of a mob of Lesser Vampires?”

He hesitates a moment, before shrugging, “As I said earlier: we were pursuing them. This particular group eradicated another coastal village scant days beforehand. We had thought we’d cut them off in order to stop them from doing the same thing to another village. We were wrong...” he shifts on the spot, “I’m sorry. If we’d been here earlier...”

It goes unsaid as Chalkie finally passes out, though not before requesting a bottle of whiskey. Nathaniel orders half of his gang to spread out, presumably to root out any ghouls that decided not to stick out the fight--or whatever it was that you lost yourself in.

“Is there anyone else you’ve found?” you ask. He shakes his head.

“Just you.”

Somehow, you’d expected as much, though it still saddens you. Not all of them you’d liked, but you’d all been crew, and their loss is…well, you aren’t sure you can place it. You’ve gone from wandering ashore in search of a decent brew to discovering the site of a massacre to fighting for your lives against a beastly foe to losing yourself entirely to finding your sibling half-dead and now most of you fellow crew onboard the Dove are…

You lean forwards and rest your head in the palm of one hand. Exhaustion sweeps over you like the evening tide and you just want to crawl into a hole and sleep all of this off.

>Maybe just a little nap.
>No. Have to stay awake. Need more info.

>>3010923
>No. Have to stay awake. Need more info.
We should make sure Nathaniel knows about our ship - who knows, some vamps might have made it onboard.

>>3010923
>No. Have to stay awake. Need more info.
Also seconding the vote to tell Nathaniel about the Dove

>>3010923
>No. Have to stay awake. Need more info.

>>3010923
>>No. Have to stay awake. Need more info.

>>3010923
>Maybe just a little nap.

>>3010923
You fight to keep yourself awake; it’s a battle that you’ll lose in time, but you have to find out more.

And, more importantly, you need to ask…

“My friends... we were all crew aboard a merchant liner: the Dove. Can you make sure they’re all right?”

“I can certainly send a man or two to go and look. I assume they’re anchored somewhere closeby?”

You nod, “Further out in the bay.”

“Deacon, Ledger,” he calls, “Find that ship. Make sure the gentlemen aboard are all right, hm?”

Two affirmatives, and the two men in question head out. You don’t know how they’ll check, but as long as they do and everyone’s okay then, well, you’ll take it.

“So,” he asks you, “what are merchantmen doing all the way out here, anyway?”

You shake your head, “I’m no merchant. Just one of the crew. Us and a bunch of the less essential crew were allowed some shore leave while we waited out the storm. A pint or two and then back.”

“Absolutely rotten luck,” he says with a pained look, “To seek escape from the poor weather only to face… well, you know.”

You can’t do anything except nod and catch your breath as the rain continues to pour. Lightning flares in the distance, followed by an all-too-brief period of silence before the rumble of thunder catches up. Chalkie lies on the road by your side, now no longer at risk of dying, though he still looks ghostly pale.

“Any chance we can get out of the rain?” you wonder. Nathaniel thinks for a moment before motioning to one of the others--this one a woman--who waves an arm, chants something in a language you’ll never understand even if you had ten years, and a translucent dome shimmers into being above you, shielding everyone beneath it from the hellish weather.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Nathaniel shrugs, and gives the weather witch a nod of gratitude.

Now that you’re no longer half-deafened by the wind and rain, you feel now would be a decent time to ask a few questions.

PICK THREE:
>Who are you?
>Where do you come from?
>Are you part of the Army or something?
>You’re all mages, obviously. Is someone gathering them up?
>Lesser Vampires don’t obliterate entire villages. Why did these ones?
>Heard a few accents I didn’t recognise. You’re with the Allies, right?
>Do you actually use that sword or is it just good decoration?

>>3012302
>Who are you?
>You’re all mages, obviously. Is someone gathering them up?
>Lesser Vampires don’t obliterate entire villages. Why did these ones?

>>3012302
>You’re all mages, obviously. Is someone gathering them up?
>Lesser Vampires don’t obliterate entire villages. Why did these ones?
>Heard a few accents I didn’t recognise. You’re with the Allies, right?

>>3012302
>You’re all mages, obviously. Is someone gathering them up?
>Lesser Vampires don’t obliterate entire villages. Why did these ones?
>Heard a few accents I didn’t recognise. You’re with the Allies, right?

>>3012302
>>Lesser Vampires don’t obliterate entire villages. Why did these ones?
>>Who are you?
>>Where do you come from?

Finally able to post. Getting started now so we'll call the vote here.

>>3012302
A few queries stick out in your mind, but the first is, perhaps the most obvious question.

“Fuckin’ vampires don’t go round slaughterin’ whole villages. Why did this lot?”

Nathaniel shakes his head, “I wish I could tell you. You are correct, though; they don’t. Or at least, they didn’t before now. It’s not just them, either.”

You can’t help but stare, blank-faced, up at the silver-haired man.

“It’s always far away from the hubbub of concentrated humanity, but these little pockets of civilisation in the wilderness are vanishing. Most are as you discovered for yourself: slaughtered to the very last man, woman and child. Others simply disappear. We have no idea why, but the signs are obvious for those who know what to look for.”

You can’t help the scoff. It all sounds so…

“You… you’re making it sound like all these monsters are organising or… or gearing up for a war of their own on humans.”

“Maybe they are,” Nathaniel shrugs, “We’ve not had much opportunity to ask, not for a lack of trying, though,” he mutters. He sounds… well, he sounds tired and irritated. You guess you would be too, in his shoes, leading a team all over the world and fighting monsters all day long.

Speaking of…

“So, yer all mages, yeah? I mean, you all know about vampires an’ other things, so…”

“Yes, Mister uh…?”

“Graves. Arnold Graves, but jus’ call me Arnie. Everyone else does.”

“Arnold, then.”

You give him a measured look, but say nothing as to his flagrant disregard for your suggestion. He merely nods before carrying on speaking as though he’d never paused.

“Yes, we are. A lot more of us back at headquarters and some of them can throw around incantations even I’ve never heard before. Fire, Ice, Earth, Wind, Water manipulators; hexes, curses… even a few healers and a couple of telepaths.”

You whistle, low and curious, at that very last one. Not just one, but two, or even more telepaths? The guy running this gaggle of misfits must have some serious pull to be able to snag that kind of power, sure as sure.

“So, who runs yer group, then?”

Nathaniel chuckles, “You won’t get his name from me that easily, Arnold.”

“Fair ‘nuff,” you say, shrugging, “He’s gatherin’ you up for,” you motion around you, ponderous with exhaustion, “this, right?”

He nods, “We’re the only ones who really can.”

You grunt. Chalkie might beg to differ on that. And your mum. Maybe dear old dad too, if he were still kicking.

“So who are you, then? Intelligence’re summint?”
(Cont.)

>>3015839
Nathaniel chuckles, light-hearted, and shakes his head again, “No, no. No, I… quite honestly, was no one of particular note. I certainly wasn’t attached to any branch of the Armed Forces, or Her Majesty’s Secret Service. I was as you were; just a man, trying to live out my life as quietly as possible.”

The way he speaks makes you doubt that very much. He was clearly born into money. Probably a lot of it. Big house, maybe a nice, equally posh wife and kids. An aristocrat from the old era, you think, though at least this one seems to be willing to put himself on the frontline, so to speak.

“Right, right,” you murmur, “So, this crew of yours… I ‘eard a few accents I couldn’t place. Yer with the Allies, right?”

He makes a pained face, “Not quite.”

“Not quite?”

“The first thing you have to understand,” Nathaniel says, raising a hand, like he’s urging you to settle down, “is that this project of ours is rather costly. No one country can--or, indeed, should shoulder the financial burden on its own. Unfortunately, the current state of affairs in the world means that money is tight on… well, just about everywhere you go. With this in mind, my boss suggested a coalition: since it’s humanity as a whole that is potentially under threat, it only makes sense for the nations of the world to--”

You tune out the spiel. It’s kind of answering your question, but you weren’t asking for a lesson in international politics or economics or whatever it is and it’s bad enough that it sounds like Jerry’s involved. The mere thought they might be lurking in your home country under the guise of this… whatever it is, spying and stealing while pretending to be doing some proper good.

Well, if you weren’t a few shades from dropping dead via exhaustion, you’d be pretty bleeding hacked off.

“So,” Nathaniel ponders, folding his arms, having finished his speach, “what about yourself?”

“Yer wot?”

“You know a lot, lot more than the average man or woman would do, that much is obvious. You’re a mage, too, or you’re remarkably well-informed. I’d be more inclined to think the former.”

>Fine, you got me, I can see a few seconds into the future.
>Hello sweet, blissful unconsciousness. How I longed for thee.

>>3015845
>>Fine, you got me, I can see a few seconds into the future.

>>3015845
>>Fine, you got me, I can see a few seconds into the future.

At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if the Germans have a Paranormal Division led by a hard blonde Dominatrix that wants to lewd, play, and tear apart us like dolls (with lots of aftercare at the end)

>>3015845
>Fine, you got me, I can see a few seconds into the future.

>>3016007
Sounds like a Wolfenstein plot point
>You got me

>>3015845
>Fine, you got me, I can see a few seconds into the future.

>>3016007
Go back to Merc

>>3015845
>Hello sweet, blissful unconsciousness. How I longed for thee.
Not telling you

>>3015845
>Hello sweet, blissful unconsciousness. How I longed for thee.

Righto, vote called, writing.

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>>3015845
You mull on what you want to say for a few moments before shrugging. Not like it could possibly get you into more trouble than you’d already seen, right?

“Fine,” you shrug, “You got me. I’ve got some basic precog stuff I can use. Hurts me eyes if I use it long enough, though.”

“I see, and your sibling?”

You shake your head, “Strengthening. Uses it on ‘isself.”

Nathaniel hums, considering.

“Would you fancy another job?”

…

Now it’s your turn to consider. You think you know damn well what he’s going to offer: a place in this weird monster-hunter gang of his, and… hell, you’re not sure. Lurking about, offing beasties? It certainly sounds noble and heroic, but is that really you?

You reach out with an arm to prop yourself up on the road and flinch as it brushes against something fleshy. Turning around, you have to stop yourself recoiling as you realise you’d almost rested your hand on the head of one of your fellow crew.

It’s a guy called Eric; you recognise his flat, pasty white face, even bloodied and pale as it is with the onset of death. You can’t honestly say that you liked him much more than Eddie. In fact, the guy owed you a whole five pounds that you suppose he’s never going to be able to fork out. Even so, his dullard, green eyes, glazed and clouded as they are, have a spark of pleading in them.

A Lesser Vampire--this one a female-- lies on top of his corpse with its head bashed-in, arms wrapped around the dead man. Were it not for the small chunks of bloody flesh caught between its awful teeth, and the overbearing fact that the pair are considerably dead, they could almost be mistaken for a pair of lovers.

A feeling of furious revulsion wells up within you, and you give an aggressive shove to the dead carcass, knocking it off of your lost shipmate. It rolls over onto its back, where its long, pale tongue lolls out of its mouth. Curling your mouth in disgust, you feel strength well up within you, and before you’re even aware of it, you’re up and stomping on the fucking thing’s face. Crunch, crunch, crunch. There’s something eerily satisfying about the way its bones creak and break and slowly give way to your heel and with each time your boot goes down, the fury builds and builds.

(Cont.)

>>3018935
A hand grabs your shoulder, and you wheel around with a feral roar, completely blinded by the pounding in your ears, the heat that burns like the inside of a furnace, and the creeping knowledge that there are yet more things out there, drooling at the thought of sinking their dagger teeth into the unsuspecting; the unknowing; the defenceless.

No.

Not if you’ve got a damn thing to say about it.

“Calm down!”

The command is quiet but forceful, and it stops you in your tracks. You blink. The red tinge recedes, and you find yourself face to face with a stern-faced Nathaniel. He looks decidedly displeased, and you feel curiously sheepish all of a sudden.

“Sorry,” you murmur, dazed, “I uh...” you trail off, not sure how you’d even begin to go about explaining yourself.

“It’s all right,” he says, though you wonder if he means that. It’s “Your ship is in the right place, and we’ve confirmed that everyone on board is no worse for wear.”

A weight slides from your back at the knowledge.

“Great,” you breathe, “That’s… good.”

“Mm,” he hums, “I’m not certain they’re aware that anything has even happened. Not that it would be feasible for them to be with this awful weather, mind.”

“Yeah,” you grunt, staring down at the gory mess you’ve made. The vampire’s face is nigh-unrecognisable, but those teeth are still there and the sight makes you feel like a thousand bugs are crawling over your skin.

In that moment, your decision is made.

“Oi, Nathan,” you say.

“Nathaniel, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, Nathan. You and yours can take care’o me brother, yeah?”

He nods.

“An’ there’s more of these…” you point down at the smashed face of the fucking ghoul before your boot, “out there, yeah?”

He nods again, a little more hesitant this time, however.

“All right,” you nod, taking a breath and wiping your face with the palm of your hand, “I get to kill more of these fuckin’ things, and I’ll go wherever you want.”

You thought he’d look happier at the news. In the end, though, he nods.

“We’ll see to arrangements with the Dove,” you cock your head, unsure as to what he means by that, “They’ll get back home safely, Arnold. You have my word on that. Your brother will be fine, too. We’ll take him with us and see that he gets the best of medical care.”

“Good,” you say, glancing down at Chalkie, who groans in his sleep, his leg twitching. You crouch down and give his shoulder a soft squeeze so as not to wake him before picking yourself up to face Nathan once more.

“Well then, boss,” you say, “Lead the way.”

>And that's where we'll end it for this thread. New one up this evening, though I do have an early afternoon shift tomorrow, meaning I may well end up having to cut it short again. Once more, thanks to all who participated, and even to those who just stopped in to have a quick read. See you later!

>>3018938
Thanks for running!

>>3018938
Thanks for running

>>3018938
See you next time, boss.

>>3016007
>implying we won't run into the sexy nun commander of the rival organization with roots from the Knights Templar who has an aura of serenity, yet is a complete nutjob when in combat.