Fantasy The Endless Night - A Gothic Dark-Fantasy Roleplay [IC] [CLOSED]

Asher listened as the Deacon spoke and the meeting began as he stayed standing near Beauchamp with his arms crossed in front of him. He stayed rather silent as he observed the various people that had been brought along for this strange venture, some people being rather normal but the inclusion of not just one but two vampyrs made Asher rather wary of Valko and Yanitsa's presence. He had killed plenty of Vampyrs back in Khoshkam that had dared prey on the innocent and weak, and perhaps these ones were no different? Only time would tell if he would need to put the creatures down, but in the meantime he kept those suspicions in the back of his mind as Castelluccio spoke of reward, prompting Asher to speak up.

"I do not require gold or silver. I ask that whatever you would have paid me to be given as alms to those in need." Asher spoke with a rather modest tone, "Although I do ask that should people seek it that I am allowed to guide them to my faith."

"For what little it's worth, you have whatever this old scholar can give. I've no problem staying out of the way of your hunters, as I'm sure I'll be little use to you once blades are drawn. But I'm willing to chase the culprits down the pathways of prophecy."

Click to expand...

Castelluccio looked at the scholar. He couldn't hide the disdain he had for the man, for his theological ideas were heretical in the eyes of the Deacon. But he couldn't deny that the sincerity in Fulstan's words was convincing. Perhaps the man understood the danger of this curse, or he was well aware of the dangers it brought to Castow. Whatever his reasoning might be, the Deacon gave the old scholar a genuine smile. "I... appreciate your services then, Fulstan. You'll be given access to the Church archives and library, should you ever need them."

"Dearest, holy Father... if it is within your purview... I must beg of you... grant me the writ of sister superior so that I may open an asylum-convent."

Click to expand...

At the very moment that Hannalore walked into the room, Castelluccio took immediate interest for the nun. He quickly noticed her habit was the one commonly worn between Volkmar and Merktaz, insipired by the Orthodox Unisian habit worn by the nuns of Lykos and the Murssian region. While her request was honorable, the Deacon felt strangely unnerved by the way the nun spoke. Chibuike looked at Hannalore as well, analyzing her mannerisms. She knew something was wrong with the Nun, just like there was something wrong with the Gitovan. "That's a rather selfless and honest request. I can put a good word with the castle stewart, who might approve the clearing of a building that... suits your needs... I want to thank you for being here, sister."

"...The rumors of a solution to the vampyr hunger being developed here in Castow. I came here because I want to find it or at the very least dispel the rumor."

Click to expand...

The eastern Vampyr, she had the look of a temptress. Castelluccio couldn't help but to feel nervous about her. But he knew that if she was here, desperate to seek the help of the church that so zealously hunted her kind, that she must have good intentions. "...Very well, madame. I'll have the documents approved, and your... establishment will be protected by the Church and the Crown. We... will not interfere." Chibuike looked at Castelluccio before turning her attention and anger at the Vampyr, shaking her head as she talked about her 'shop'. In her opinion, the last thing Castow needed was another monster protected by the Church. "As for the rumors you speak of..." he said, looking at both the vampyrs in the group. "They are true, for Castow is home to an academy dedicated to research the properties of blood. But their activities are a secret." He leaned a bit closer, making sure both of them understood the message. "...And a closely guarded secret." He did not want to speak of the topic any further, so he turned his attention to the Gitovan.

"I just want my memories back, so I can leave this place and go home to my family. There's nothing else I would ask of the church."

Click to expand...

Castelluccio looked at her a bit confused. Was she looking for help in exchange of her services, only for her to leave soon after? He wasn't sure how to respond but eventually he turned his attention to Izold, giving the young priest a nod. "Ah, yes... As a member of the brotherhood of light..." said the priest while lifting both of his hands, a slight shine of light appearing in both his palms. "I can treat your condition... I'm assuming its amnesia, yes?" The young priest gave Octavia a smile, showing real interest for her condition.

"You have nothing I want that you haven't already offered, except maybe a woman who isn't a prostitute. All joking aside... the blood, sir. I haven't fed today."

Click to expand...

Tremeur laughed aloud at Valko's dry joke. "Hey, if he won't ask for a girl, can I get a lass?" The Catanach then crossed his arms, shrugging as he looked around the room. "Or a lad, I ain't picky." This prompted Chibuike to break her serious face for a moment, giggling to herself while Castelluccio showed clear disgust at Tremeur. As did Sister Beauchamp. "Satisfy your sodomite needs in a brothel, hunter." said Castelluccio, while turning his attention back to Valko. He extended his arm and offered the blood vial to the Vampyr. Just being near to that liquid was enough for the vampyr to notice this wasn't typical blood. There was a strange aura around it, one that only a Vampyr would be able to feel. The smell that leaked through the edges of the vial and through the cork was sweet and strong, a smell similar to the blood of the purest maiden or gentleman. Castelluccio looked away, unable to watch the Sanguine Sanctus be defiled by the lips of a werhob.

It was good that Cecilia was there to express her will to help and her wish to not harm anyone. He was the only one that knew of this young girls true nature, and his heart was warmed by her sincere words. "I thank you, madame. We could use more people like yourself and Sister Hannalore in these trying times." His face finally formed up a smile, one that was quickly taken away by the foreign pilgrim as he asked to spread his faith among the faithless of Castow. Sister Beauchamp looked down, shaking her head as the Deacon turned his attention to Asher. "I... appreciate your noble intentions, sir. But you'll find that there are no faithless in Castow, for the Church has been serving them for years... And I would appreciate if you kept your... Koshkani faith to yourself."

"Now..." The deacon fixed his habit and looked at the group. "With most of your demands met...it's time to finish this accordingly. I'll need you to sign your names, and once you've done so, I'll grant you an official missive. This grants you protection and allows you to enter crime scenes." Just as he finished speaking, a man walked into the room, wearing habits similar to those of Izold. "Ah, just in time." The priest laid the documents, a quill, and ink pot next to the Deacon, who began to write his own signature on them before offering it to the group. "...Once this is official, you'll be given a silver weapon. Should you want one. You'll also be allowed to use the dormitories of the Oathkeepers as your own if you have no place to stay." Chibuike looked at Tremeur as he stood up, taking up the pen and writing down his name on the paper. "Well, anything to help the city." said the Catanach while offering the pen to the nearest person. "...Guess we are all together in this one, eh lads and gals?"

Fulstan hefted his tired body from the bench and took a pen.

"I can't imagine a weapon that I could wield without hurting myself. I'll take a simple knife if you have one."

He glanced around the room and coughed. "If there is anyone who is ... unfamiliar with writing, I can sign for them from an X. I am considered a scribe by the shopkeepers' guild, so it will be all nice and legal."

With precise, neat strokes, he signs his name. Well, he signs A name. What relation is bears to his birth name is open to debate.

Yanitsa felt frustration as she was stonewalled on her search. But it was only a setback. Knowing where exactly the research was done would narrow it down and cut back on the hard work and funds she would have to funnel. It would only be a matter of time.

"I can handle myself without a weapon, but I wont say no to one." She got up from her seat and walked over to sign her name, but stopped for a second to admire the name before her's. The old man clearly has put years into his craft. The effort for even the tiniest detail was evident. As prettied up as her own signature was, it barely held a candle to his. 'How many old tomes have you poured over old man? What secrets do you know?' She wondered before giving the the pen to whoever was next.

"Ah, yes... As a member of the Brotherhood of Light..." said the priest while lifting both of his hands, a slight shine of light appearing in both his palms. "I can treat your condition... I'm assuming its amnesia, yes?"

Click to expand...

Octavia eyed the priest, her eyes shifting between his smiling face and his shimmering palms. "...Perhaps some other time, priest." she soon responded. There was a sense of unease about her, and her expression and how she looked upon the others spoke volumes of it.

After listening to the others, and casting a glance to both the newly revealed male vampyr and the hunter that had been eyeballing her almost the entire time, she stood and moved over to take the pen from the female vampyr. She signed her name to the paper, before quietly handing the pen off to the next in line. Her signature was rather regal, unlike the fancy script-like signature of the older bearded man and the more tradesman-esque style of the female vampyr. Octavia had been taught at an early age to write properly, and it showed in every stroke and loop.

She then contemplated a weapon, since the Deacon was offering to supply them with one. She scratched her head, before gently rubbing where she had been struck and knocked unconscious before. "...I would like...a silver rapier, if you happen to have one...Swept-hilt pattern." she said, pausing just for a moment. A rapier had come to mind, and she strangely felt that she was familiar with its use. Swift, precise...a weapon of dexterity and fashion. It was time to test that feeling.

She took the pen from the Gitovan, nodding her thanks. Staring down at the paper and the neat and ornate signatures written down on it, she scratched down what qualified as her signature in unsteady, poorly practiced motions. Once done slandering the paper, she passed the pen along. Cecilia never really bothered to learn to how to write anything beside her own name, since she rarely had any use for this one skill. Perhaps she should have asked the older man to sign for her instead seeing that he offered to, but she couldn't say he struck her as trustworthy.

Now, she knew that roaming the streets filled with angry and paranoid locals was not the brightest idea, but carrying a silver weapon, jnowing what effects it had, was equally as stupid. Not to mention the damage it could could do to her if she didn't handle the damned thing carefully. On the other hand, not carrying a silver weapon could raise suspicions. She certainly didn't want that. When she was done debating her choice, she sighed, closing her eyes.

"A dagger." As an afterthought, she added "I don't know how to use anything else."

Having slurped down the special blood greedily, Valko set the empty bottle down on the table and followed Cecilia in signing the contract. His signature was practiced and yet unremarkable. He made no request for special weapons and had no intention of carrying silver on his person.

A good word with the castle steward was, for the moment, the best thing she had to getting that writ. Not a guarantee, but infinitely closer than she had been a mere minute before, and a soft giddiness had invaded her limbs. She managed to focus it down to one hand, which grasped at her leg beneath the table, while she took up the offered pen and scrawled her name on the document. Smooth, direct, and without error or flourish. There had been much writing to do at the convent. Anything too complicated took up time and cramped the hand, yet no one would approve of peasant chicken scratch. Nuns of distant convents always seemed to have such neutral writing habits.

"I shall require no weapon as offered. I am as armed as I shall ever be," she said, leaving it abruptly at that without further explanation.

"As I said, should they come to me I shall offer them guidance in these trying times." Asher responded, both respectfully and in slight spite of the Deacon's demands to keep his faith to himself. The man was in no position however to either demand or enforce such things upon a believer of the One True God especially as it seemed the Deacon was desperate to get as much help as possible. He would simple write his own name in the native script of Khoshkan as اشر before setting the pen down and returning to where he previously stood. "My own weapons shall suffice." he said simply when asked if he was in need if protection.

Castelluccio watched as everyone signed their name, and while Cecilia was writing down hers, he gave a silver key to the priest that had walked in. Instructing him to open the door to the Oathkeeper's armory. Once everyone had finished signing up their names, Castelluccio looked down at the document, studying everyones signature. Surprised by some of them, such as Octavia's and Cecilia's, and unnamused at Valko's. To finish this order of ordain, he placed the document into a letter, and sealed it with wax. "It is done... You are officially ordained by the Church of All Saints." he said, while placing the sealed letter down on the desk. The priest soon returned, carrying with him the silver daggers and weapons requested by the Ordained. "Let this be the start of something that brings change to Castow. To help ease the pain this curse has brought down upon us... Now, I imagine you want to know each other a bit be-" At that moment, a nun rushed into the room. "F-father! They... t-they...!" she managed to let out before another figure walked in. A figure clad in dark leather and iron. A Constable.

Castelluccio looked at the man with concern, fearing what the worst. The constable looked at everyone in the room, noticing Valko and Yanitsa but not saying anything. "Sir... we've found another one, floating by the southern entrance to the aqueducts... Same traits as before: well-off, young, drained of all blood." said the man, with a somber voice. "Good Gods..." said the priest, covering his mouth in shock. Chibuike and Tremeur looked at each other, confused, before looking at Castelluccio with several questions in their mind. Without anything else to say, the constable gave the Deacon a respectful nod and walked away. The Nun, who seemed very upset, soon followed after. Castelluccio remained quiet for a few minutes, looking down at the sealed letter on the table before looking at every single one of the Ordained.

"What... an inopportune time. I... had hoped we'd have enough time for you to introduce each other here, but... I suppose you'll have to do that on the streets. For this is extremely important. The information that constable just brought us is... one of the reasons why I have so desperately tried to get a group of volunteers." Sister Beauchamp looked down, as she knew well what this was all about. Without saying a word, she gave Asher a parting nod and a faint smile before walking away, unable to listening to another word.

Castelluccio sighed, picking up the sealed envelope and looking at it. "A week after this... curse appeared, they found the body of a young boy floating on the waters of the northern aqueducts... The next week, another was found in the same place... A week ago it was a young girl, and all had the same things in common... They were not Catanach, they were part of well-off families, and were all drained of blood. All families were unrelated, according to the constables." The man looked pale just speaking about it. "...Just thinking of it makes my throat twist and my heart ache... I... beg of you to head to the southern entrance to the aqueducts as soon as possible. I am sure the Hunter will know the way there." he said, while looking at Tremeur. Who nodded in response. "Of course. I'll guide them, sir."

Chibuike looked down for a moment, before getting off her seat and giving Castelluccio a serious look. "...I hope you know what in Goetia you are doing, Castelluccio." She then looked down at Tremeur, and began to speak in the Catanach language with surprisingly fluidity. "Cadwch lygad barcud ar yr Hobs, ond hefyd ar y Gitovan a'r lleian." Tremeur seemed a bit confused by this but soon agreed. "Wrth gwrs, chi yw'r bos..." he said with a faint smile while eyeing the others.

Tremeur then got off his seat as well, streching his arms before looking down at the others. "Well lads and gals... Welcome to Castow. Things move quickly these dark days. Guess we'll have to introduce each other on the road." He then looked at Castelluccio while closing his coat. "Anything else we gotta know, father?" Castelluccio shaked his head. "As you can imagine, nobody writes down documents... You'll have to take my word about the previous cases, but I am sure the constables will be able to inform you more. If you know your way around them." He then looked at Izold, who was getting off his seat as well. "I do want to add, that Izold will be assigned to assist you in religious matters as well as provinding miracles." Izold, who seemed quite content with this, gave everyone a warm smile before walking away. Tremeur didn't seem to mind this. "Alright, no problem from me. Gotta say, this is a one goetic way to start a day... Anyways, lets get a move on." He gave the others a smile before walking to the front door. He stopped midway to look over his shoulder. "...And if it wasn't clear already, I'm Tremeur, of Gaulle... Nice to meet you."

Meanwhile...

Inside a carriage, there were two figures looking outside at the darkened streets of Castow. Even after the masses had gathered, and lit the torches and lamps dotting the city, there was a vile obscurity in the alleys and impoverished streets in the city. Both figures knew that there were hundreds of eyes looking back at them, mouths thirsting for blood, hidden by the amorphous veil of darkness. Like a shoggoth of legend. "The curse has certainly affected Castow." said one of the figures, a woman with a beautiful voice. The other figure in the carriage remained quiet, staring down at the Catanach vagrants who looked at the carriage and insulted them as they passed. After a few seconds, the figure finally spoke up, his voice was also soft and melodious, but clearly masculine. "I pity them." he said while still looking outside. "To some they are just the detritus of Wer... All their lives forced to a life of serfdom. And later when they are given freedoms, they are expected to be model citizens for a world that had simply forgotten them for ages." he said as a rotten tomato hit the glass window in front of him.

The woman remained quiet, sharing a similar sentiment with her companion. "What will be their place in that new world?" The young man's glowing eyes looked the woman but he never turned to face her. "...Like the Helwer, they'll continue the cycle." The woman looked down, her face still hidden in the shadows of the carriage. "I will not lie, my dearest friend, I fear the judgment of the Gods." she said while gently rubbing her pale fingers. The young man still didn't turn to face her, but his glowing eyes were looking down at her hands as she nerveously rubbed them. "...Fear not, my friend, for what we are doing is the right thing. It's what has been done for hundreds of years."

"And what will happen with us then?" she asked, while raising her stare to look at her friend. The young man seems unable to answer, his eyes drifting away to a book resting next to to him. "...I wish I knew, my friend... For as much as I want the world to continue beyond the age of wer, I'd be lying if I said that my own selfish needs wouldn't blind me in the centuries ahead." The young man remained quiet for a few minutes, before looking back outside. "...Only time will tell."

• The Church Ward •

Right outside the Church of St. Charlot, Tremeur watched the streets while waiting for everyone to come out. He knew that even walking on the streets was a danger, as there was always something happening in Castow. He feared what they might enounter out there while traversing the streets. He looked up at the moon, shinning bright on the sky. "Hm... heh, what sort of sick joke you've got for us, eh cruel mistress." he said, a big grin on his face. Just as he finished speaking, he was joined by the others. "Alright folks, follow me... Hope this don't become a recurring thing. I am not comfortable guiding people." he said while smiling. "...So, I don't know all your names besides the handsome lad over there, the pretty Gitovan lass and the sister. Might be a good time to talk things out a bit." He looked around at the street. "...Besides, it's good to keep the mind entertained while walking these streets."

Yanitsa's mind instantly started to spin a yard when she heard that a body was found. But as soon as the details of the murder were revealed she knew there was nothing to worry about. She wondered if the Thieves guild vampyr gentlemen she met earlier had disposed of the corpse in their care. Probably have it cut up as they spoke. What was it? Pigs will eat anything? She barely noticed the nun talking, but it was enough to pull her back to the conversation. It honestly sounded like a serial killer to her. Maybe it was related or maybe it was a lucky coincidence? They would find out either way. It's not like they had a choice in the matter. This Tremeur was a rather charming hunter. Or that's the image he presented at least. The merchant had a hard time trusting hunters being genuine in their intent towards her kind, but for now she would play along.

"I suppose I can start." Yanitsa spoke a few seconds after the hunter. The awkward silence would be maddening "My name is Yanitsa Stanimirova Zhivkova." After a quick look around to see if anyone would react, she smiled "But please, call me by the first name, Yani or Yana. The long version is a habit I have for business. You're likely going to hear it if you drop by the shop at some point." A second passed before she decided what else she could share, then she looked briefly to Octavia "I recognized the Gitovan accent earlier, but I didn't want to raise any attention to it. I'm from the border myself. Had to flee to Vulgaris once my nature was altered, but I made do. Last I hear in regards to news is that the king is still paranoid over his own kind usurping him." Her tone switched to annoyance and disgust as she began to talk about him "Maloumnik." she spat out "When Hell finally swallows him, the world would be far better for everyone."

"But enough about me and mine. Who else wants to share?"

Fulstan surreptitiously took a sip from a flask. An old concoction, used by monks who have to stay up all hours intoning the saintly chants. It would wake up his mind and sharpen his senses, even as it turned his stomach inside out. He'd regret this indulgence later, but for now he needed to be alert.

He cleared his throat of the bitter taste, which had the unintended effect of making him the next speaker. As all eyes turned him, he sputtered a bit but rallied.

"I - er - that's - *cough* - My name is Fulstan Schroder. I'm an immigrant from Volkmar where I ... shall we say ... made myself unpopular with several of the nobility. I'm an astrologer, and not everyone likes what the stars have to say about them. I run a shop now, selling both horoscopes and specific readings if anyone is interested."

He was prattling. He hated himself when he prattled.

"I am not a young man, so I don't believe I'll be much help if things get physical. But I am a scholar. There are ways of gathering information that ... certain people we've spoken to recently would frown on. I know these ways very well. I will do everything I can to hold this city together."

Which was only the truth. He was getting too old to keep running. Castow might be his last chance. He would fight for it.

As soon as Octavia got her hands on the silver rapier brought to her, she drew it from its sheath and looked it over. Light, polished...elegant in its make. She twirled it around a little, waving it too and fro, before checking how straight the blade was and the sharpness of its tip with her bare fingers. Once she was satisfied, she slipped it back into its sheath before attaching it to her belt. Then came the news of the newest murder, as well as the stories of the recent ones. Tragedies, all of them. Hopefully the killers would be brought to light.

Once outside, they began to discuss themselves as they followed after Tremeur. The female vampyr introduced herself first. So Yani really was a tradeswoman, and was originally from the border with Octavia's homeland. Interesting. The older man with the beard, Fulstan, was an astrologist and scholar. Certainly fit the bill. "My name is Octavia Lascar, of House Lascar in Gitova. Eldest daughter of Grigore Lascar, master sculptor and Yeoman of the Crown." said Octavia, glancing to the others. "And yes...my king is still rather paranoid about other supernatural entities usurping the throne. All are hunted and slain without mercy."

Cecilia closed her eyes, upon hearing the news about the murders. The entire time her mind kept drifting to the angry locals that were gathered in the plaza earlier. Could they somehow be related to the cases, since both the locals and whoever was behind the killings didn't seem to take kindly to foreigners? They would find out the truth eventually. She felt sorry for the depad, they were undeserving of such a cruel death.

She was brought back from her thoughts when the hunter, Tremeur, spoke. What an unnerving man. It greatly disturbed her, the cheerful demeanor he had now, as if killing that werwulf on the sidewalk earlier was nothing but a distant memory. In the given situation, avoiding him was going to be difficult, but she still attempted to keep some sort of distance.

Out on the streets, she listened to each introduction, glancing toward the current speaker every once in a while. Seeing that her own introduction was overdue, she spoke in the low tone she usually had, her constant nervousness slipping through,

"I'm Cecilia Santelli, a traveler you could say.. left home, Solas, some years ago to find work to do. There was never a real destination in mind, so I went further...and I arrived here. I chose to help the Church, to ease my own fears in a way.. not just.. stand and wonder when the sun returns." The last part wasn't necessarily a lie, rather it was the closest she could get to the actual truth.

Tremeur looked over his shoulder, chuckling a bit as they introduced themselves. "So many accents, and none of 'em Catanach." He looked up at the moon, shaking his head while chuckling some more. "Still, glad you folks trying to help us out." He found himself oddly charmed by Yani. Perhaps she was using her vampyric powers? Or maybe because she was attractive. Nevertheless, she seemed to be decent enough despite the sketchy nature of her business.

Fulstan was an interesting sight for Tremeur. He had heard about a foreign astrologer from his fellow Catanachs. "Heh, so you are the 'warlock' every single one of my compatriots talks about, huh?" He gave the old astrologer a friendly smile and a nod. "Glad you are trying to help, old fella. I'm sure we will get along just fine." He then turned his attention to the fair Gitovan woman who had amnesia, but was lucky enough to remember where she was from. And she was part of a minor household. "Ah, guess I should start being a bit more polite around ya, m'lady." Izold looked over his shoulder as well, looking over at Octavia. "I hope I can be of help later. I am sure waking up in Castow must be quite a shock." Tremeur laughed at this. "If I was in her place, I'd sucker punch the nearest horse owner and run out of here like bat out of Goetia."

Izold looked over at Tremeur. The man seemed so unnaturally laid-back, despite the fact the city was engulfed by darkness. It was refreshing in a weird way, but also a bit concerning. A feeling he unknowingly shared with Cecilia, who was now introducing herself. Tremeur looked at the Solusian and gave her a smile. "The only Solusians I know are all from the republics... and they are all pretentious knobheads... Well, that ain't fair. Castelluccio ain't a knobhead... kinda." He shook his head, still thinking about what he said in the reunion. "Still, you seem like a nice lady, Miss Santelli. Glad you want to help Castow, even if my compatriots might be a bit... backwards to all of ya."

"You seem... to not share the same hatred your people have." said Izold, a bit nervously while looking at the dark street ahead of them. "I... mean no offense, sir." Tremeur's grin only grew wider. "If you guys had met me a few years ago, I'd be shanking the Easterling over there and taking his gold." He shrugged while looking up at the moon. "...After a certain event, I learned that none of that stuff makes sense. Why should I trouble myself hating anyone? Seems like a lot of work for little reward." He looked back at the group, smiling widely. "So... I just stopped caring." He then looked over at Asher, the only non-Erosian of the group, he was rather interested in this foreign man. "So... eastern man, what's your name again? Heard you folks really like the Sun." he said jokingly.

Heh, so you are the 'warlock' every single one of my compatriots talks about, huh?"

Click to expand...

With the brew bubbling in his stomach, Fulstan was feeling more his normal self.

"Warlock? Perish the thought. No, I'm afraid it's worse than that. I'm a philosopher. With warlocks, you simply burn them at the stake. Philosophers you burn and then spend the next century writing book against. I suspect that when I go down they will add some new lines to the catechism just to make sure no one gets any funny ideas from me."

Fulstan sighs. "It was such a fun game when I was younger."

"Glad you are trying to help, old fella. I'm sure we will get along just fine."

Click to expand...

"I assure you that I'm glad to be helping. This -" he gestures towards the over-full moon above - "- has thrown off my astrological charts completely. I have whole shelves of books that have become obsolete thanks to this. I'm not sure how much longer people will trust astrologers with this going on."

Hannalore walked quietly along among the others, her large case held before her in both hands as usual. This was indeed quite the colorful assembled crowd. Very little seemed to unite them all, aside from their mutual employment. Lost souls from all around the lands. She couldn't help but look over the old man, Fulstan, as he spoke with Tremeur. Now he was an interesting morsel set adrift. Philosophy. Astrology. Warlock? Interesting, indeed. Her hands tightened around the carry handle of her case and she watched their surroundings for a moment as they continued along, before glancing back among the others.

"And I am Hannalore Szabastya, sister of Vyprzneka Abbey, Merkatz, disciple of the wondrous Saint Lucifina," she said softly when there was a chance to interject. "Your spiritual and physical well being will be safe... in my hands."

As the unlikely party took their seat at the large table, Raili rested he longsword against it and took out her rosary. As Castelluccio addressed them, and her in particular, she grimaced slightly in between her prayers. The lecturing was as grave a heresy as any, but the deacons words and the words of the werhobs among them made her further enraged. As she reached the iron cross and uttered the final prayers, Valko blatantly confessed his hunger, wishing to partake in the holy blood. Raili gripped the cross forcefully, enough to for her lather gloves to creak as she gripped the pendant with fanatical anger. She finally looked up. "Deacon." She began with a voice draped in disgust. "Do not lecture me of saints and the undertakings of the ordained. Your frail church may have need of this filth, as per instructed by your misled and tainted saints. But I am not blind to these events currently unfolding."

Raili then took out her tome and put it on the table, eyeing Castelluccio with a intense glare. "The presence of the unclean among us and the moon that paints this land in its accursed glow is proof enough for me. We are all prisoners within the circle of stars. As a anointed knight of arkhan, I will aid you out of adherence to the sacred scriptures, not out of sympathy to the church and any who would be welcomed into it's twisted fold. I will slay whatever so we encounter, and leave any fruitless study of current events to the unenlightened. I am guide by the foretelling of the rings."

Puting the tome back into it's designated satchel that hang from her belt and looping the rosary into it, she gripped the handle of her longsword as she looked to the afflicted at the table. "Arkahn awaits me at the alabaster gate, and though the weave of fate makes strange patterns, know this... Although I may be destined to aid this calling, as sure as the dawning light arises triumphant, these events will not cease before the unclean are banished into the mud." She concluded, her one eye stopping to glare specifically at stopping to glare specifically at Valko as he emptied the contents of the vial.

When they were informed of the murder, Raili simply stood up and awaited for the party to move out. Frankly there was nothing she wanted to say to these people. Conversing with those who were not blessed by with the understanding of the foretelling of the rings and the scriptures of Arkhan was a waste of time. None could be made to understand. That was something only ones own inner essence could achieve.

---

As the party walked through the streets and conversed with each other, Raili simply followed along, gripping her rosary and listening to them talking. They instilled her nothing but disdain or pity. The unclean at their side because the church was too spineless to do what needed to be done, godless heathens chasing coin or serving false deities. Only the nun, Hannalore, remained within her graces, simply because of resolute devotion, even if it was misguided to serve a purpose that would simply prolong the suffering of this damnation, rather than rectify it.

A warlock, a noble and a nun. An interesting group of so far. Makes her chosen profession rather mundane so far, but those are the ones that draw the least attention to themselves. The other girl, Cecilia, seemed to share that mundane trait as well, but something seemed off in her story. Maybe it will come to light soon enough.

Your spiritual and physical well being will be safe... in my hands.

Click to expand...

"That would be appreciated." There was something about the way she said it that was unnerving, but Yanitsa couldn't let that get to her.

"If you guys had met me a few years ago, I'd be shanking the Easterling over there and taking his gold."

Click to expand...

"You'd find that there is no gold on me, or anything of value for that matter." Asher replied rather bluntly as he walked, "That is, if you managed to land a blow on me." he then added in jest before introducing himself: "I am Asher, Hashishdiyan of the Temple of Eternal Fire and servant of Yazjweh, peace be upon him and his prophet."

Tremeur laughed out loud, happy to see that their eastern companion had a sense of humor and was also cocky. He had a feeling both of them would get along just fine. While continuing walking down the street, he looked over his shoulder at the tall Northern woman who had said nothing after her little discussion with the Deacon. He didn't think much of her, and it was clear she was a dangerous woman who was not happy to be there, collaborating with Werhobs. She was a zealot, and a member of one of the most detestable cults out there. He had a feeling that she was going to be more trouble than she was worth.

After a few more minutes of walking, listening to Yanitsa talk with the others, he realized that the Priest had not said anything about himself - well, besides Valko. But it was clear the Vampyr was a man of few words. "So... what about you, priest?" asked Tremeur while looking at Izold, who seemed to be looking at his surroundings carefully. "I have little to say, for I am not an interesting person. I was raised by a wealthy family but... cloistered after they deemed me abnormal." he said coldly, his eyes never meeting Tremeur's. Tremeur quickly caught on what he meant by this. "Heard about the most... 'faithful' doing things like that. You seem fine to me." Izold actually smiled for while briefly looking at Tremeur, but that smile quickly faded away as he saw a small group of people approaching. Following Izold's gaze, he looked at the upcoming crowd. They were Catanachs, led by the man with a strange hat.

"Fuck..." muttered Tremeur, while looking at his fellow Catanachs. "Cododd yr ast honno ymladd ffyrnig." said one of the Catanachs, to which their leader let out a little chuckle, until he looked at the group ahead of them. Eyeing Valko and Yanitsa specifically. Tremeur started to look at his surroundings for an alley for them to escape, but there were none on this street. As the man with the bowler hat approached, Izold stood in front of the group with a stalwart look on his eyes. "Wel... wel... wel... beth sydd gyda ni yma?" he asked while eyeing the group. "Foreigners... monsters... and clergy... What an interesting combination." The look in this man's eyes was unnatural. There was something unnerving about him that could send shivers down anyone's spine, even those who had fought plenty of wer. But it was clear there was nothing supernatural about him. The werhobs on the group could smell his blood oozing from the wound on his head. It was Wer blood, and rather mundane at that.

Izold stood strong between him and the group. He knew this man and his group was looking for trouble. The man looked down at Izold, his grin actually softening a bit as he looked down at the young priest. "Might I ask why are these things travelling with a man of the cloth." Tremeur was ready to jump in, but Izold looked over his shoulder at him and the group, trying to reassure them that he had everything under control with his eyes. He looked back at the man, looking straight into his eyes. "They've been ordained by the Church and are helping us. They are under our protection." he said while awaiting a response from the mans grinning face. "Is that so...?" he asked before looking at Valko and Yanitsa. He slowly pulled something from a sack hanging off his belt. Tremeur was ready to strike the man down just in case it was a weapon of some kind, but it was nothing like that.

It was a head. The head of a vampyric woman, her eyes still glowing. Her silky blond hair now covered in patches of thick, dark red blood. The man raised the head to the vampyrs of the group. "See this?" he said, with a smile. "Let this be a reminder that this is our city... and you filthy beasts are being hunted down. No matter what the church says." The group behind him laughed, before the man violently tossed the bloody head at Valko's chest and then landed on his feet. Tremeur had had enough. He drew his sword, and aimed it at the man who then raised his hands while maintaining his grin. "Yn ôl i lawr nawr!" shouted Tremeur, to which the man let out a pleased chuckle. "Ah, glad to see we have a brother in this foul business." said the man while dusting his cloak. Tremeur clicked his tongue, angered by this man attitude. "We are not brothers. Now get the fuck out of here." The man eyed Tremeur for a moment, before pointing at him as his eyes opened wide and his smile widened. "I know you... You're the peasant boy from Gaulle! You were with us once!" Tremeur said nothing in response. "I am Morvanig... the Hatmaker. Heard of me?" he asked with a detached smile, as if ignoring the party behind Tremeur.

"I don't care." said Tremeur flatly. "Now get the fuck away." Morvanig simply smiled, leaning a bit closer until Tremeur's blade was right in front of his face. The Catanach peasant grabbed the blade, gently pushing it forward, piercing his flesh around the cheekbone. "Or what...? You think I'm afraid of a band of freaks?" Tremeur was actually taken aback by this, not only because of Morvanig's zealousness, but also the zealousness of the men and women behind him. They looked like they were ready for fight and die if necessary. But Izold quickly stood between the two men, pushing Tremeur away a few steps. "Sir... I'll ask you to move away. You might kill us, but remember that the King was still crowned by the Archbishop. And they can easily deem you a heretic. Do you want to be branded an aposate? Living your life hunted down like a beast?"

Morvanig let out a little chuckle, while looking down at Izold. "...Very well. Not because I fear your church. I don't believe in your nonsense, as I believe in the Gods of ol' Catan... I'll leave, just 'cuz I miss my missus." he looked over his shoulder. "Ain't that right lads? We must go back to our women. They're far more scarier than a bunch of freaks." The men and even the women in the group laughed, lowering their blades, axes and torches. Morvanig gave Tremeur a look of contempt before walking pass the group, pushing Asher so hard the Easterling almost lost his balance. He stopped by Valko, eyeing the head on the ground before looking at him. "I think she likes you." he said before spitting onto the ground next to him. Soon the Catanachs followed after him and crowd slowly vanished in the darkness the engulfed the streets of Castow. Leaving Izold standing there, motionless, while Tremeur's hand shook in anger.

Yanitsa while not shocked that there are bands walking around looking to murder anyone they could, was still a bit worried at the sight of the man and his ilk. She was by no means innocent, she feasted on someone just shortly ago, but was still not content to get speared in the gut with a pitchfork and have her head paraded around like that unlucky woman. Strangely, that part affected her the least. She reacted to the smell of the rotting flesh rather than the sight of it. Every time with this. They chop someones head and parade it around like a victory while half the time the person isn't even a werehob. She could only thank the Saints or Gods or whoever that she dodged that crowd earlier. Could have easily been her hair in that yokel's hand.

"Thank you for intervening when you did, otche." She told Izold before looking to the hunter "And to you as well, Tremeur." She glanced towards Valko, wondering how often he'd seen this sort of thing and if he was at the same point as her.

Even when the bastard Catanach hurled a decapitated head at him, Valko didn't react. As the gruesome thing fell to the ground near his feet, he simply stared through Morvanig as if the man didn't exist, and once the situation had resolved itself, calmly stepped over the woman's head and walked a few meters ahead, rubbing his forehead as he did and looking as if he were deep in thought. "That man is going to get himself killed," he said quietly.

"So we have a suspect for our murder now. How nice of them to just come up and introduce themselves," murmured Fulstan.

There had been something about the man's eyes. Drugs? Maybe. Rituals? There were certain old rites that could produce mania. Insanity? Doubtless, but what sort?

Gently, Fulstan reached down towards the severed head. Muttering a prayer in Laosian, the old tongue of the church, he carefully closed the glowing eyes.

"Peace, my lady, peace. That is all that can be offered now. Brother Izold, could I impose upon you? This unfortunate will need last rites and a burial, even if we cannot find the rest of her."

Octavia simply watched, eyes darting between the man with the strange hat and the rest of the group behind them. Once they had departed however, she exhaled a sigh of relief. "[Psychopaths, the lot of them.]" she muttered, in her native tongue. She then glanced over to Valko, before looking down at the head. "...Are they ever arrested for these mindless killings? Or do the constables simply let them run amok?" she asked, glancing back to Tremeur and the young priest Izold.