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

[Breadman]

Somewhere in the lands of Wrath

The train slowed down as it neared the next station. Colette could feel the machine begin it's halt as the car slowly stopped moving. As soon as the door opened she climbed down to the platform, suitcase in hand and a chest full of uncertainty. The past few days have been...emotional. The meeting with Jacob gave her a sliver of hope, but the one with Edward made her question if there was even anything worth if she succeeded and broke her curse. If the man she loved had become a monster as his former friend described him, would they even meet again? But what if Jacob was right? What if the fire in him was lit to redeem himself before it was too late? Or maybe he was also wrong? She shook her head from her thoughts about that subject. As of right now, it was irrelevant. If she was to remain in this half-wraith half-hollow form for eternity it wouldn't matter one bit. She needed to focus on her survival in the Abyss.

Her appearance over the years had changed, giving her some leverage over other hollows, giving way to her as if she was one of their betters. She despised that. Why was she better than them? Because she was locked here due to a desire for revenge instead of sin? In the end of the day she was just another soul trapped here. The demons didn't seem to care for her status either. There was no doubt in her mind they'd make a move for the kill if they thought there would be some fun in it. Especially the wrath demons. So why was she going to meet one of the worst ones she's met? The one who gave her the curse that grips her hand and twists it. She didn't know. All she knew is that after her conversation with Jacob she felt a pull to his lair. The comment about needing more grapes of wrath was just an excuse to go. As potent of an alchemical ingredient they were, they were not worth a visit to that place.

The platform led her to a small town nearby. The idea that there is civilization in the Abyss was a novelty that wore off long ago, but it was still interesting to see how even here people still found things to do that resembled their past lives. What made her stop however was the sight of a building, more specifically, what was in front of it. A horse. Or the closest thing the Abyss had to one. It had the nasty habit of taking familiar animals and twisting them into uncanny parodies. It was owned of course and on the saddle she noticed a familiar symbol. The mark of Lozon's blessing. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of it. Could it be? Colette decided investigating was worth it with zero hesitation. If anyone could explain the pull, it was going to be one of his servants.

​

The building itself looked like an inn one would find on the surface. A difference being the batwing doors at the entrance. Atracan design probably. The sign if front spelled out 'Always open' in a crude scribble. Made sense. They were right next to a train platform that was seeing more and more use as the war effort against the undead continued. The music could be heard from inside as the piano played. With a bit of care Colette pushed the doors and entered the 'fine' establishment. Inside, wrath demons of various size and looks had lined up the chairs and seats at the bar, drinking their boredom away or psyching themselves up for what was to come. A few were crowded around one of the tables. Probably gambling and likely who she thought of was sitting there.

Slowly she crept up towards the gambler's table to get a better look. A few horned and bulky demons were counting their money and giving each other dangerous looks as a man in a fancy suit and hat was cutting the card deck. Observing the hands being drawn from the deck and the subsequent plays had her attention as well as that of the other onlookers. One by one, the wrath demons folded and lost their money. Some bashed and raged as they left the table. Expected, but she could do without the need to duck under a flying table chair. Eventually, it was down to the last two. The man and the wrath demon standing opposite of him. By his attire, this demon looked like he was a rank above the rest. The pauldrons had a few more spikes and the mace hanging at his waist was covered in runes. Their game was long and drawn out. It came down to the bone as they both traded victories. The tension was already high enough as the demon cut the deck and gave out the round of hands. Then suddenly:

"Aight stop!" The man called out "What is that you have there?" He pointed towards the demon's arm. The creature looked perplexed. "Show me your sleeve."

"No." The demon replied almost sounding indignant "I wont."

"You cheating sunbitch! You think I didn't notice that card you have there?" his voice became more agitated and more familiar tone of anger to Colette

"You're calling me a cheater?"

"Did you go deaf? Yes you horned fucker, I'm calling you and your stupid family tree a bunch of no good cheating losers." Colette raised an eyebrow from that comment. Why bring his family into it? "Your pop was too busy fucking random succibi to raise you with any dignity and your mom was too busy getting railed like the cheap whore she was to knock some sense into you, so you followed the tradition of being a lying and cheating sack of shit." That was the last straw. The demon grabbed his mace and with a furious cry tried to crush the man's skull. As soon as it had the mace raised a shot rang out making him drop the weapon as he gripped his hand from the pain. The gambler was holding a gun, his eyes ablaze and the cards in his hand turning to ash. Colette was right with her hunch, this was no ordinary sinner. This was one of Lozon's servants. This was a wraith.

The other demons were ready to spring into action, but the wraith was quicker on the draw. Two more shots rang out and they dropped their weapons. The others looked over their shoulders, hoping for a potential fight to break out. The gambler stood up from his seat, but kept the gun pointed towards his opponent, his burning eyes staring a hole through him.

"Sergeant Kerr here is a no good cheating son of a bitch!" The wraith proclaimed "And a piss poor fighter if I managed to disarm him in a second. Now I don't know about you deadbeats, but it sounds like the company is in need of some cleanup if he gets to call the shots among you." The wrath demons started to give each other confused looks. Some however were already brandishing weapons others seemed to nod in agreement with the stranger that just managed to take down their superior.

"The fuck are you doing?" The sergeant asked "How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot, Kerr." The wraith tilted his head slightly towards the demon "I know that you cheated a certain greed demon out of his share with the same trick you tried to pull on me just now." Kerr tried to shake his head and blurt out something about the gambler lying but couldn't get anything out as the barrel of the gun was pointed towards his head "Show me your damn sleeve or I swear I'll ventilate that head of yours!" Hesitant, the demon complied and pulled back his sleeve to reveal an extra pair of cards under it.

"Do you want the money, is that it?"

"Oh no. I don't have use for it." The wraith glanced around the bar "He just wanted me to humiliate you in front of your men. Seeing your ready to shit yourself is pay enough." While never tearing his eyes away from his target, the wraith started to walk towards the exit, gun still pointed towards Kerr "I would stay and chat, but duty calls to somewhere more important. But I do wonder what you boys will be doing now with your impotent leader." He walked out the doors. Colette looked around and noticed the demons looking at each other with their weapons drawn. She had enough sense to get out of there before someone decided they want a promotion.

As soon as she was out the door she could hear the sound of blades clashing, furniture being crushed from under someone's weight and audible screams followed by death rattles. She hurried after the gambler, who was already saddling up to leave.

"Monsieur...monsieur." She tried to get his attention "Monsieur Constantine!" He stopped what he was doing and turned towards her. The fire from his eyes was gone, but the shadows still lingered to give him an unsettling look to his face

"Now...how do you know my name, ma'am?" His voice was rather...soft "Because I don't recall saying it in the past several weeks."

"We all know the names of the active wraiths, monsieur Constantine." Colette replied as calmly as she could "After all, we are bound to your wills as much as we are to father Lozon."

"Ah, I see now." Constantine relaxed himself and let his guard down "You're one of his shades." He slightly lifted his head up to give her a better look at his face or what was left of it. Colette's glasses hid her eyes, but his visage was still disturbing. Half the face was gone, burned away or the flesh had melted together. His lower jaw was just bare bone. The parts that were still intact were covered in scars. Yet, something about it all seemed...friendly. "Well, had I known you were nearby, I still wouldn't have called for yer help. No offense, but you shades tend to get in the way more than you actually help."

"I'm afraid I need yours, monsieur." It looked like she got his attention "I've been feeling a pull towards Lozon's dwelling. Like there's a call to me."

"Yep, I hear it too." He gave a short reply. Almost disappointingly short. "I was on my way there when I saw who was in town. Decided to knock off some business here before I see what the old man wants." He paused for a second to consider what that could be "Seeing as I'm a gambling man, I'll say it has something to do with the undead army making fools of nearly every wrath demon down here." He took a quick look at her "Say, how about you and me go there together? Since you're looking to help me, I could use the company. This jackass is a poor conversation partner" The wraith pointed to his horse "That suitcase looks heavy anyway."

"Oh! I don't see how you can fit it on the horse."

"Leave it to me." He turned around to face his horse and started murmuring something a few seconds later the creature was engulfed in flame. Despite the inferno, it didn't seem to mind it. Colette on the other hand had to cover her eyes from the sudden flash. When her sight refocused, she couldn't believe it. The beast was there, but there was another one just the same right next to it and behind them was a stage coach. "Neat trick, huh?" The wraith boasted "Working for the old man is draining, but the travel perks are pretty nice." He motioned for her to climb on "Come on now. Let's see what the old boy has in store."

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

July 3rd, 1875.
Caraborough's Ridge, Island of Caraborough.
Warder's Stronghold.
​

The cacophony of rusted cages being rattled and shaken echo throughout the concrete halls of the Warder's holding area. Even if they're placed deep within the stronghold, someone in the outer perimeter could still hear the yells and screams for mercy coming from somewhere within whenever the Warders went to tame their captives. While the Warders did not mind as they cared very little for the lives of their 'wyfies', they often had to replace them by abducting whatever street trash there was below since so many ends up dead from all the abuse and torture. So, the rusted cages were always full, as was the night with the sounds of those unfortunate suffering in misery. They just went on and on and on…

And no matter how much their newest, youngest recruit tried getting used to it; he couldn’t. He’d try covering his ears with his hands whenever he came to and from the main gate, but he was given a special job today that would unfortunately see both hands carrying rags and polish. So he walked with his head low, trying not to look at the cages as he made his way towards his workplace; the armory.

‘Keep calm, keep aware, and keep safe. Remember what mama told you...’ he told himself.

Eventually, he reached the armory, and the door was shut behind him after he entered. His tiny hands went straight to work scrubbing and cleaning the rusted helmets and pieces of armor scattered around the cold, dimly lit room he had been locked inside of. They told him he had to clean, they told him all of it must shine or else he’d be beaten or worse. So he scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed as his hands became increasingly raw in fear of what they might do to him should he fall behind. He’d know what they’d do, after all. He’d know from all the sickening examples they made of others that fell out of favor with them; examples of which they were very, very eager to show not only him but everyone else too. So he scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed with an old sponge and quickly fading bar of soap until-

-BOOM-​

The almost painful jolt of shock caused him to drop everything he had in his hands. That sounded like an explosion! Were they being attacked? He scrambled upward piles of helmets to look outside the only window the armory had. From his perspective, he could see the main gate had burst. The metal doors were smashed wide open, almost torn off their hinges, and a horde of heavily armored guards were swarming around them. In the center of the commotion were two Warders that were being supported by those around them. Both of them were bloodied, though one wasn’t moving. He was clearly dead, and was being carried away by his distraught comrades while the surviving one had bandages and canteens of water brought to him. Whatever happened, the boy’s certain he’ll probably not be involved in it. So, he goes back to cleaning armor. Though again he was interrupted, this time by the armory’s own door being kicked open with two men storming inside. Dressed in black and blue, and with white sacks over their heads with weird drawings of numbers scrawled on them, they kicked the door open hard enough that all the helmets the boy neatly stacked on the racks are shaken off. Again, he was startled enough that he dropped the rags he was holding; he rushed to pick it back up again before they noticed.

“[Where’s it, where the fuck is it!?]” said one, his figure darting madly across the room as he frantically searched for something amidst the piles of recently cleaned armor.

The boy paid no mind to him. ‘Make busy, and they won’t see you...’

“Blerrie ‘ell, mate. Jus’ take this’n!” said another, handing him a random bag he took off a shelf.

“[Fuck off!]” said the enraged one, slapping away the bag his comrade was carrying. “Tha’s nottit!” Then he stood still for a moment, turning to face the boy. The boy shivered; he could feel his psychotic leer slithering down his neck. Then he felt the ground shake as he stormed towards him.

‘Don’t look at them in the eyes, don’t look at them in the eyes...’

The man’s shadow draped over him like a dark cloud, getting darker and darker the closer he got until…

“Ag! Foun’it!” he proudly exclaimed, lifting a different bag from a pile of equipment next to the boy. He turned it inside out, spilling its contents until he found what he was searching for: more bandages for his wounded comrade.

“WARDERS!” screamed a third voice coming down the hall, and shortly after a far more professional looking man stepped in. He adjusted the fancy looking scarf around his neck as he walked inside. “Assez de ce non-sens! Get into formation!”

The other man put a helmet on and smashed heads together with his comrade. “Yeah, yeah, YEAH! LET’S GO!!” and they ran outside just as quickly as they arrived. There was silence for a moment until the boy heard a loud stomp directed towards him. He snapped to look forward and his gaze met a pair of angry red eyes staring at him, followed by a fierce slap to the back of his head.

“Didn’t you hear me!? GET IN FORMATION!!” he screamed, snapping his finger and pointing outside. The boy didn’t even wait a second before hastily dropping his cleaning tools and rushing out the door to get in line with the others out in the main courtyard. After finding a spot among them, he stood there impatiently and anxious, waiting for something to happen. Some of the Warders were bickering among each other, though others were butting helmets and shoving themselves into one another; trying to get amped for whatever’s coming next.

“Ei, did jou ‘ear?” said one to another next to him. “Two-Eye-See’s fokken piss’d.”

“En jy moet wees. We all should be.” replied his comrade. “Jou jus’ wait an’ ‘ear wha’ happened. A purge's in order.”

“Bought this new power from the Eels. Gonna see if I got my money’s worth...” muttered another, showing off a brand-new shotgun he had recently purchased from the island’s resident smuggling gang.

The bickering and bantering grew louder and louder with a few of the warders even breaking formation to form little groups to banter together with. Some were sharing smokes, some were showing off their weapons, some were making boasts about whatever horrible deeds they planned on carrying out later.

“Ten ‘eads! Ten of der lit’l fokken ‘eads! ” one bragged as he waved his machete around. "An' ten new wyfies too!"

Another nearby wasn’t convinced. He rolled up his sleeves with the intention of 'testing' his fellow Warder. “Geen! U kry niks, but ten a’ these! Catch!” He threw himself right at him intent on getting the fight started right then and there, almost knocking him over as he was sent stumbling onto the others gathered around him.

“Jou naai!” And then the fists started flying as a fight broke out. The formation turned into a mosh pit of people beating each other up. The boy had to abandon his post and stand off to the side or else he’d be crushed underneath the falling body of one of the more muscular warders next to him. It seemed like whatever battle they were all psyched up for was taking place right here and right now in the midst of this undisciplined, disgraceful armed mob of thieves, murderers and rapists, when suddenly-

-BANG-​

“STAND UP STRAIGHT, AND LOOK AT ME RIGHT NOW!!!” yelled a voice.

Everyone turned to see who it was that just fired a shot and froze in shock at the sight of who did it. Time itself seemingly slowed down as he approached them like a starving animal; with every step he took sounding off like a loud crash. He dressed a little differently than the rest of the Warders. Instead of wearing a blue uniform shirt covered in dirt, markings, and bullets, he wore instead an opened leather coat exposing his chest and the flying Atracan eagle that had been tattooed on it. The reinforced prison guard helmet he wore covered his eyes, but his ice cold leer could still be felt looking them up and down. The Two-Eye-See, the 2nd-In-Command, one of the few people handpicked by the Warhead himself to actively lead the Warders was here. No one was laughing. No one was bickering. No one was fighting. It was dead quiet with all eyes on him. The boy trembled silently in fear. The very moment he drew in air to speak, they already were scrambling to their feet, getting back into formation as best and properly as they could.

“POLLSMOOR. FOKKEN. VILLAAAAAGE!!” he roars as he paces in between the formation. “Four of our brothers! FOUR! DEAD! KILLED! KILLED BY 'FRANSE' HANDS! One whole patrol we had ever sent there, and one whole patrol they've killed! And only one came back alive! The blood of our mates, our brothers flows in their muddy streets! But now, we'll grab them by the neck, pin them down, and DROWN THEM IN THAT MUD!”

Within the formation, some snarls and growls could be heard. The Two-Eye-See stops to catch his breath for a moment.

“Now, I know some of you got mates and family in Pollsmoor…” The boy lowered his head, trying not to think about them right now. “But unfortunately, I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU HAVE MATES THERE! As of now, NOBODY IS YOUR FRIEND AT POLLSMOOR! NOW GET YOUR GUNS AND GET YOUR GEAR!” shouts Two-Eye-See, finally dismissing his men. “POLLSMOOR DIES TONIGHT!!”

All of them started cheering loudly. They were pumped. They were ready to unleash an entire menagerie of disturbing horrors to the poor unsuspecting village of Pollsmoor. As for the boy, he could only shake in his boots. They wanted to bring him and other new "recruits" along for this, claiming it was some rite of passage for them; a way to prove their manhood in battle, even if it’s against defenseless, innocent ex-colonists just trying to survive and protect themselves on an island where they’re woefully outnumbered by hardened criminals and other monsters. Two-Eye-See might've overseen his training on how to use a rifle, but he never ever wanted to use it. He's never killed before and hoped he'd just be ignored as he cleaned equipment all day, but they've even picked out a rifle for him to use for this. They make it clear they expect every single bullet to be fired, or he'll be declared a coward; and a coward is something you don't want to be known as in the Ridge. But, is it worse than being known as a murderer? To him, it isn't. But the Ridge isn't like the rest of the island, or even the rest of the world. It has it's own set of laws and rules created by thugs and criminals, and how unfortunate he is to be pressed into service of the one group of men whose job it is to enforce these laws. The fear of having to pull the trigger on someone stays in his mind. The nightmarish visions that kept surfacing in his head ensures he barely gets any of his work done. Only the harsh shouting from Warder lieutenants telling him its time to go snap him out of it just enough for him to look as if he's ready.

Pollsmoor will die tonight, and it will die screaming. But he prays to the gods it wont be by his trembling hands.

 

[joshuadim]

THE ABYSSAL WARFRONT



​

The front had shifted considerably recently as the forces of the undead continued to push forward further into the Land of Wrath. Without mercy nor reprieve, the armies of the Abyss were forced back further and further into their own territory in what seemed to be a never-ending string of failures, defeats, and setbacks even as elementals and powerful weaponry was brought to the front lines. Although with losses on both sides measuring heavily, to the Lich King it mattered not: for his army could always be replenished with the corpses of fallen enemies. As Ethraeil surveyed yet another battlefield littered with the aftermath of such a battle, with hundreds of new soldiers being raised every moment by his own subordinates, he could not help but feel uncomfortable in yet another moment of victory. As Selethar approached from behind, Ethraeil spared a glance to his trusted lieutenant momentarily before returning his attention back to the aftermath.

"Has there been any word from our ally?" he asked in a rather cold tone.

"None, sire. It seems as though-"

"As if he has abandoned us?" Ethraeil cut in, his tone shifting to anger as he suspected the absolute worst.

"...I do not know. But our scouts did find Azathor's encampment, or what remained of it, abandoned. It seems as though they all left in quite a hurry."

The Lich King returned his gaze to Selethar once more as he digested the news. A roar was heard overhead as Auriel flew from above to scout the neighboring areas for stragglers and pockets of surviving demons. Before he could speak once more, Malric arrived rather quickly onto the scene and gave a bow. "My lord, a messenger has arrived at our encampment seeking an audience with you." the bodyguard spoke with a hand resting on the hilt of his blade. He sidestepped swiftly to reveal a demon clad in armor, bearing an all too familiar marking that Ethraeil was used to in dealing with.

"Hmph. So he finally shows himself again. What is his message?" he demanded rather curtly, only to be met with the demon shaking her head.

"It will not be me speaking." she simply said before shifting her tongue: "iwlmc he al, izhwaik"

Rather quickly, a spectral form of Azathor formed nearby and faced Ethraeil. "I apologize for the precautions, I can't afford to take risks being out in the open right now." he simply stated as he looked to his own messenger and nodded to her. "I'm glad to see you have made it Tazja."

"Why are you hiding in this time of victory? We need to press the advantage-"

"I don't know if you know, but my current situation makes it impossible to do so. We are being hunted. Several of our outposts have been destroyed in other regions of the Abyss and many of my people in said regions have been either murdered or chased out. You may have gained ground in the Land of Wrath, but we are losing ground elsewhere."

"And what is doing this to you?" Ethraeil asked with a tone of suspicion.

Azathor was quiet for a moment before speaking once more: "Sazak... and my brother Astraal. After Ergran was murdered by the very people I helped," he spoke, a noticeable fury in his voice at the mention of his departed sibling, "They began to take matters into their own hands. And now I reap the consequences of an action I never intended to have happen."

Ethraeil did not care much for another of Sazak's children being slain, for it made his job in the end easier, but said nothing further on the subject as to not further anger one of his only allies in the Abyss. "And what of our war?" Ethraeil then asked.

"Tazja will remain with you to help in such matters we were engaged in earlier, along with a few more men to arrive soon hopefully. But that's all I can give at the moment for my hands are tied at the moment. For the time being, this is where we part ways." Azathor spoke, before his image dissipated back into the air and left Ethraeil standing with those nearby.


The message was abundantly clear to him: He would have to fight this war alone from now on.

 

[Infab]

Elsewhere...

The Court of the Archangels
The Golden City
The Heavenly Plane


"Raziel, I understand your concerns regarding the mortals and...everything else going on in the Mortal Realm at the moment, but we simply cannot interfere." stated the tall angel, his silky white robes gently moving as he slicked his blonde locks back over the top of his head. Bathor was a staunch supporter of angels minding their own business, ignoring whatever was going on in the Mortal Realm unless it threatened Heaven itself. "Velin and the other gods will sort this out. We should continue to tend to our own, unless our services are requested."

"You said the same thing just before the elves and orcs were obliterated, Bathor. The humans would have been next had I not stepped in when I did." responded the more muscular archangel hovering at the end of the table, three books floating next to him. "It is why most of the mortals think we're just sitting up here, either ignoring them or judging them for everything they do." His golden, glowing eyes moved to look upon Bathor, as he flipped a page in one of the open books. Bathor's eyes narrowed. "We are. If you recall, that's one of our duties."

Raziel rolled his eyes, before motioning forward with a finger. The three books moved forth, gently setting down on the table before him. He himself then lowered down till his feet met the floor. "I genuinely do wonder how Cassiel was the only one of your little band of brothers that knows what compassion is and has a sense of decency." he muttered, before glancing about the room. The grand room that they stood inside was wasn't used very often, and hadn't been since the Age of Darkness. When it WAS used, it was often by Raziel. He would spend quiet moments inside, usually reading books and devising new types of holy magic...or gazing into people's everyday lives in the Mortal Realm.

Bathor frowned. "I know what compassion is, Raziel. I do care about what happens to the mortals. But we cannot coddle them like children." he responded. Raziel cut him a look. "But we can guide them when needed. And they certainly need it, with the likes of Sazak and the other Icons moving about, and time fluctuating as it is."

As they spoke, another angel stepped quietly into the grand gold and silver room. Another of Bathor's brothers, named Karael. He wore a robe similar to Bathor, but his hair was far longer, straight with long bangs hanging down. Framing his face. Bathor and Raziel glanced back towards him. "Karael...what do you need?" asked Raziel, running a hand through his wild hair. "Velin and Undite have begun gathering diplomats for their summit. It should be rather interesting watch. Little brother will be with them." said the angel, his voice bearing a more feminine tone compared to both Bathor and Raziel.

Raziel nodded, glancing to Bathor. Whom was shaking his head. "I don't see this summit going well, with how the mortals seem to behave in regards to supernaturals." Raziel raised an eyebrow. "You forget. One of the key reasons they behaved in such a way is because of Velin. Now that she had turned over a new leaf...maybe things can change?" he responded. He then looked back to Karael. "Gather the other archangels here. I wish for us to view this summit together."

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

July 4th, 1875.
'Die Bos', Island of Caraborough.
Several kilometers away from the colony of Pollsmoor.

​

The boy continued staring out the back of the ammunition wagon the closer they were getting to the colony of Pollsmoor. He wanted to look out of the front but swore not to again after having seen just what it was that had been pulling the wagon. He couldn't recognize them at first due to how caked they were in dirt but the noises they made gave them away as humans. People that were unlucky enough to draw the attention of the Warders and survive. The smears of dirt, the leather bindings on their hands and feet, and the sacks over their heads served as their only protection against the elements. The tall grass of the field they were all marching through cut them as they were forced to march on through it. Encompassing the wagons and guarding them carefully were the armed-to-the-teeth warders themselves, striding through the field like drugged out titans. Some covered themselves in makeshift armor pieces, some opted to wear nothing at all save for a pair of boots, ammo pouches, and excessive body paint. All of them strode forward on the tiny colony that slowly began rising over the horizon. They looked onward with murder in their eyes, glowing brightly through the red veins surrounding their shrunken irises. Somewhere in the front was the Two-Eye-See, somewhere hidden in front of the lieutenants almost beside him and equally armed Warders riding along wagons full of guns and ammunition. His harsh, shrill voice filled the air in rhythm as he chanted some sort of cadence to his men to keep them marching. The boy didn't know what he was chanting, but every word was met with a shouting response from the warders.

"HAUMI Ē!" he shouted from the front of the mob.

"HUI Ē!" they shouted back.

"TĀIKI Ē!" they all shouted in unison.

"HAUMI Ē! HUI Ē! TĀIKI Ē!!"

Some of the warders were beating their chests, their ammo boxes, their magazines. He lightly tapped his rifle’s magazine just to make it look like he’s involved. Though suddenly, he felt a tap himself on his shoulder. That one man with the fancy scarf, Langa he was called, was holding something out towards him. It was a small pouch full of some white colored powder; almost like sugar. "Jeune, take this..." he mimicked putting it up to his nose. “More protection. Makes you strong, comme moi!" He fell back into formation with the others up ahead as the boy took it from his hands. Soon, Pollsmoor was within clear view, and clearer were the silhouettes of a few of its villagers tending the fields in its outskirts. The sight of them made the warders increase their pace as they started storming towards them.

The Two-Eye-See changed his chant; the warders becoming more aggressive as he did. "MEN MOVING!"

"MEN DROPPING!" came the reply.

"MEN MOVING!"

"MEN DROPPING!"

The sounds of magazines being loaded and bolts being slammed shut punctuated each step, each growl, and each shout. The boy saw that some of the other warders around him were taking out fistfuls of the white powder and rubbing their faces in it. He decided to do the same; downing the entire pouch.

“HUNGRY LIONS!!” shouted one random warder in the back, crazed and carrying some sort of tube in his arms with a mortar round hanging out. All of them let out a bloodcurdling cry in unison as loudly as their breath allowed them to. Their frightening screams for blood roared loudly around them and was carried all the way to the little village thanks to the canyon walls. The boy had covered in ears in terror.

“WARDERS!!!” screamed the Two-Eye-See, pointing a finger at the terrified villagers, now noticing the enraged militia frothing at the mouth closing in on them. The boy felt the powder starting to kick in.

“KILL THEM ALL!!!”​

The first shots were fired as they all charged in unison, pouncing viciously against the helpless villagers; truly like starved lions. Everything was turning vivid. All the colors, all the greens, blues, browns, and especially all the reds began blending together to create this new mixture of colors that were completely alien to the boy. Shapes began melting and forming into other shapes. The silhouettes of his comrades next to him splashed across the horizon with every flash from every gunshot becoming just as blinding as the sun. His ears were painfully ringing; every noise from all the gunshots, all the screaming, all the explosions became an agonizing sensation that poked itself out from his eardrums. He collapsed onto the grass, holding his head to make sure his brain doesn't pop out of his skull, but felt someone or something pick him right back up and push him forward. He stumbled towards the visual mess of lines that he hopes is the colony, and doesn't stop tumbling forwards as the bullets crack past his seemingly shrinking figure. There was blood and ashes in his mouth, but he couldn't taste it. Shrieking masses fall at his feet, seemingly sinking into the ground as they are beset upon what he thinks might be his fellow Warders. Jagged lines left behind by bullets sailing past his head made patterns in the air making it hard to see, causing him to finally fall into a hole somewhere within the colony. The rush of air blowing past him as he fell made him feel like he was falling for an eternity until he finally hits the floor hard. He must've hit his head or something as everything slowly fades. Either that, or all five of his senses have become so overwhelmed by whatever he was given that they've burned out. He doesn't want to get up, he doesn't want to fight, and he doesn't want to kill. He wants to stay there, wherever he is. Hopefully, just maybe, he'll be forgotten there. Hopefully...

-A few hours later-
​

"...Hey! HEY! What the fuck are you doing?!" A firm kick to the ribs woke the boy up. Everything ached as he tried getting back up on his feet, and away from the pile of vomit he made earlier. Everything was still blurry, but as the boy rubbed his eyes, things started becoming a bit clearer. It looks like he had fallen into some basement of a house that just wasn't there anymore, and it appears Langa had found him. Langa's red eyes glowed angrily as his shadow covered the boy. "It's time to go! Now get up!" He reached over for the boy's rifle nearby, picking it off the dirt, but suddenly froze completely.

"C'est quoi-..." The rifle's barrel was cold. Shocked at this, he pulls out the magazine loaded into it to check. Every single bullet was still inside. This wasn't good. Slowly, he turned around to look at the boy, this time looking even angrier and his eyes glowing brighter. "...What the fuck is this!?" The conclusion finally reached him: the boy didn't shoot, nor did he fight. He had spent the entire purge of Pollsmoor in this dirt pit waiting for it to all boil over. The boy is a coward. This was supposed to be his trial by fire, a test of his manhood for him to join the regular ranks, and he had not just failed but absolutely embarrassed the Warhead for having 'recruited' him. There's no other option for Langa to take but to bring him to the Two-Eye-See for punishment. Furiously, he stormed on over to him and wrapped his dirty hands around the boy's neck; almost strangling him with how hard he's holding him. "COME HERE!! I'm taking you to Tommy..."

He drags him out of the pit, still choking him. The boy got a look at what happened to the colony. Streaks and sprays of blood lined almost every building, accompanied by bullet holes and scorch marks here and there... on the buildings that were still standing at least. Nearly everything else had been flattened into rubble. Warders could be seen rummaging throughout the ruins for things to steal while others were demolishing other houses and buildings into dust. In the distance however, past the rubble, several wagons carrying the corpses of colonists could be seen parked around a fire. He couldn't get a better look though, as Langa kept his grip too tight for him to move his head. Finally the both of them reached a clearing where several cleaner, better uniformed soldiers were standing around Two-Eye-See and reporting various things to him such as ammunition count, the status of their men, etc. They all turned to see Langa approach them, some looking confused.

"Tommy!" Langa calls out. "We have a problem! Come and see!" The boy's rifle is passed over to Two-Eye-See's hands whom inspects it himself. "Ce petit salaud is a fucking coward!"

Two-Eye-See's composure doesn't change. "Aw, 'sit true?" A long blade is pulled out of his coat. "An' I tought he had such potential..." Langa holds the panicking boy steady as he raises his knife, ready to execute him for his cowardice. It comes down hard, cutting the air in half as it reaches the boy's face, and it would've finally cut him had it not been caught by the Warhead's massive hand as it suddenly appeared. Langa steps back in surprise, letting go of the boy as Two-Eye-See freezes; the both of them being overtaken by his powerful aura. The boy falls to the ground, holding his head while Langa awkwardly stands at attention. The Warhead looks at Two-Eye-See, then at the boy before letting go of the knife.

"AND WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH THIS ONE?" he asked.

"This boy didn't shoot nothing!" Langa replied. "He's a coward!"

The Warhead gets low and looks the boy right in his watery eyes; his own golden eyes shone lightly beneath his helmet. "IS THIS TRUE, BOY? IS THERE REALLY A COWARD IN MY ARMY?" There is a clear hint of disgust in his words.

"Look! Look and see..." Langa showed off the rifle magazine full of bullets. "Every bullet is still here. Not a single shot had been fired!"

The Warhead rose back up, taking Two-Eye-See's knife from him, lightly tapping it on his faceplate as he thinks to himself on what he ought to do here. "TOMMY, BRING ME A PRISONER. WE ARE GOING TO FIX THIS MISTAKE... WE ARE GOING TO FIX THIS MISTAKE..."

​

Two-Eye-See let out an amused grunt as he looked over to another wagon nearby, this one full of colonists that had been tied up. They started screaming through their gags as he leapt on board; dragging down a woman with him. He threw her down on her knees with a foot on her lags and her arms held behind her back. "Ready!"

The Warhead yanks the boy off the ground and onto his feet, and looked at him straight in his eyes. "NOW BOY, THIS IS A LESSON YOU MUST BE TAUGHT." He forced the blade into his tiny hands; the boy had difficulty holding it so he wrap his hands around his. "GO ON, BOY. I WILL HELP YOU."

The woman writhed and thrashed in a futile attempt to wrestling free of Two-Eye-See's hold, though the cloth wrap over her mouth comes undone. "D-Don't do it! Don't listen to him!" Two-Eye-See quickly tightened it back on. The Warhead started pushing the boy towards her, knife in hand. "DO YOU SEE? SHE IS ONE OF THEM. THEY ARE THE ONES, BOY. THEY ARE THE ONES WHO KILLED OUR BROTHERS."

The boy tried breaking free, but the Warhead wouldn't let him. He tried turning to look away, but saw the woman's terrified face reflected off the metal plating on the Warhead's gloves. He could only close his eyes. The cloth wrap loosened its way off one more time.

"DON'T! DON'T-"

-SHUNK-​

Blood was dripping down the boy's fingers from the knife's blade embedded deeply within the woman's chest. She screamed as the Warhead pulled the boy's hands back and forth, stabbing her repeatedly.

-SHUNKSHUNKSHUNKSHUNKSHUNKSHUNKSHUNK-​

"Yes! That's it! That's the way!" Langa cheered on. Meanwhile, Two-Eye-See could hardly contain his excitement. "Again, AGAIN!"

The boy blocked out every scream, every cheer, every force as he locked himself away and simply let his hands do the work. The knife went in again, and again, and again, and again for gods knows how long. The screaming stopped, maybe a second ago, maybe an hour, but the knife still kept stabbing. The woman must clearly dead by this point, and the boy opened his eyes just to see. She was, how could she not with how many times Warhead made him stab her? Yet, alarmingly, the Warhead's hands weren't around his anymore; they might not have been for a while now. The horror of what he had just done bubbles sickly in his stomach, filling him with an urgent need to puke. The thud from the woman's lifeless body as Two-Eye-See throws it to the ground crawls its way through the ground, up his body, and into his head, knocking him over. But he didn't hit the floor; the Warhead caught him and took the knife from his hands.

"ANEI RĀ, TŪMATAUENGA! DIE NOMMER IS VOL!!!" he roared, raising the bloodied knife into the sky. Every warder around, including those that showed up earlier to see what was going on, pulled out their own knife and raised it in the air along with their leader. They all began chanting something while pointing their knives at the boy; some sort of victory chant they always did when someone 'proved their manhood' and joined their official ranks. To them, he was finally a true warder, but the boy didn't care. The Warhead's job of twisting him was finally done. He was a murderer now, a killer. By their hands, they ripped him apart and built him again in their image in just one day. They sank their hooks into him, and dragged him down into the pit they're all burning in. The Warhead finally got what he wanted out of him, and the boy could only stand there shaking with nothing but an empty mind, too shocked to even think properly.

The Warhead patted him on his helmet, whispering something to him. "I SAVED YOUR LIFE, I SAVED YOUR LIFE, AND I SAVED YOUR LIFE!" He turned to his men gathered around him. "WARDERS! IT IS FINISHED! NO DIE, NO REST! WE MOVE!" That was their signal to start packing up. There's nothing left in these ruins for them. Boxes of ammunition were closed, wheels started rolling out, and men started marching. The boy sulked over to the ammo wagon he rode in on, and sat numb in silence. He wasn't looking at anything, he wasn't talking to anyone, he simply sat in his corner feeling completely empty. Langa scooted up to him and nudged him, but he remained unresponsive even as he talked to him.

"Killer, that's what you are now." he said with a grin. "...You might just become one of us after all."

He just might, if this continues. He just might become the best of them...

 

[Infab]

Two days before the summit...

Castle Dorchester
Braumwich
The Kingdom of Atraca


"Why shouldn't I just have that vile sack of supernatural shit killed on sight?"

"Because the objective here is to bring peace. Not start a war between Atraca and the Nocturne islands."

"Those islands aren't even theirs. They were under Atracan claim long before his lot arrived." replied King Alexander Newmont, frowning hard at the goddess standing before him. "And besides, there's already a war going on. One you started. The rest of us are dealing with the consequences of your actions." Velin frowned as well, folding her arms as she glared down at the King. "This is no war. This was a series of purges." she stated, "Purges that I have already ended."

Alexander grunted. "Nocturne seems to think its a war, and have singled Atraca out as their foe. They blew up one of Atraca's ports with a freighter. They are attacking Atracan vessels that near those islands. And if they continue to push me, I will send a fleet to cleanse that island." He turned about, walking around the table next to them. Upon the table were maps and documents, held in place by small weights. A pin had been placed on one map, stuck into the location of Red Gorge. Velin turned to face the King as he walked about. "If you send a fleet, I'll sink it myself. And I'll make sure the continent knows you sent those men and women to their deaths when a peaceful outcome could be achieved."

Alexander cut Velin an angry look, which Velin returned. Suddenly, Undite spoke up. "King Newmont...We're trying to bring an end to all of this. The killings, the violence, the mistreatment, everything. We can bring about an age of true peace between humanity and the supernatural." she said, her voice calm and serene. Alexander glanced to Undite, before sighing. "...I understand that. But Aleister has committed crimes against Atraca and its people. Will he answer for any of it? Anything at all? We did nothing to him. It was you and the Church." Velin glanced to the table for a moment, before looking back to the king. "...That's something that will need to be sorted out after peace has been achieved."

Alexander grunted again, shaking his head rapidly. Nothing would be done. He'd be a martyr if they did anything to him. And it was doubtful that Nocturne would let anything happen to him in the first place. "...Why Red Gorge? Of all the places you could have chosen...There were other locations that were actually prepared for a massive gathering of people, you know." he finally said, looking back to Velin as he rested his hands on the table. Velin tilted her head, glancing to Undite, before answering. "Aleister will not venture far into what he deems 'enemy territory'...and besides, the people of Red Gorge have proven to be allies to the supernatural."

Alexander smirked. "Are you sure this isn't just your own backhanded way of getting back at them for driving you off?" Velin grunted this time, refusing to answer. Undite spoke instead. "It would be the perfect location. Everyone, rich and poor, young and old, supernatural or human...all will be able to see it." Alexander nodded slowly, looking down at the map. "...How will the various leaders be getting to the summit?" he asked next. Velin spoke up again. "If they are not already en route to Red Gorge now, like the Tsar of Tsavania, I can simply show up and bring them to Red Gorge using a portal."

"And what about protection? I can provide military presence at the location, but I'm sure others will bring their own." he stated, waving a hand towards the pinned flag on Red Gorge. "Same thing. They can come in their own way, or I can bring them there. We should try and limit the number of soldiers, however...it might drive off Aleister, and his men and women." Alexander frowned, before nodding. "Right..." he muttered, before pausing for a minute. He then spoke up, looking back up to Velin. "...And what about your followers?"

Velin looked at him for a moment, before gazing down at the map. "...I have already sent out orders for my personal Order to disband...Inquisitors will be there simply to show that the Church and Inquisition are cooperating with this summit. If any ne'er-do-wells show up...I will deal with them myself."

 

[Damian0358]

Elsewhere, in the Land of Dead Kings
Beyond Oni Village
Wasteland




Having crawled away after what seemed like hours of fighting, rested a skulking and bemused shadow. Embarrassed, bewildered, frustrated, those were all things it felt at that moment, but for the first time in millennia, it felt tired. The attire it had created for itself, tattered. Its one horn, broken. Bruised and battered. Its form giving way...

Gaá Xiaòzhou knew not what to think after having been forced to do battle with Abahai. On one hand, he was impressed she had kept techniques she knew to herself, out of the possibility that had the hermit learned them, they might make their way to him. If he had known she wielded anti-shadow techniques, he would've taken action against her far quickly, or have left her be. On the other hand, being unable to retreat made the entire affair strangely tiresome. The crowd that had built up didn't help matter, as they cheered the oni who had decided she wanted a sparring partner this particular day.

After purposefully not killing him to prevent him from easily healing, and allowing her qi to linger to slow it down significantly, he was forced to crawl away pathetically. It was insulting, even if she remarked that she would've acted differently were he not a shadow and had he not harassed her endlessly. But now, his head rested against stone, looking at the village from a distance, forced into lonesomehood. As he rested, he couldn't help but delve into his own mind, as the hermit seemed likely to do. Soon, he would be so deep in thought that he would hardly notice two figures passing by him, and one of them seemingly scoffing at the notion of approaching him.

As a shadow, he was supposed to take on more and more of his target's self, and often, this meant that there wouldn't be much place for what he was before. But he still remembered, for it was that which led him to choose the hermit. Though not apparent by looks, he was among the older shadows within the party... he couldn't recall under whom it was, but in those times, it was far calmer, more organized and... better, he felt.

Adventurers who had managed to venture into the Abyss would be beset by shadows, whom would not try to kill them in order to take their bodies, at least not exclusively as today. Most were content acting as walls of the mind and soul, challenging those of the outside realms, to see whether they were worthy to continue on their path, and if they were, they would aid them by giving their self up to them. As ages passed however, the Abyss grew... more violent, more chaotic. He wasn't sure what caused the change, but the one who confirmed it was Taranoch, for sure. He was reminded how he regretted not challenging an adventurer before, but he was too slow. Now, he increasingly found himself frustrated and at odds with how shadows changed... shifting with the Abyss, as their minds grew more and more centered on causing chaos in the other realms, for which they needed a vessel to depart with. With the worsening of the Abyss, more sought to depart it, often for that reason alone. And in that same vein, increasingly, those who entered the Abyss were more craven, despicable, battle-hungry and vile... he longed for those days when those who entered were hardly sinners.

But he was forced to conform, and his mind shifted too. Though he tried to stick to the virtues he remembered in his youth, he found his thoughts shifting with the times as well, and it made him grow at odds with shadows further. Did it make sense for them to fight their target? Would it not make sense to cooperate, and slay them together? They could overpower them, after all, especially if they were divided. But seemingly none agreed. He found himself a pariah within the only place he called home, and it helped not that none else liked their kind. His mind corrupted and isolated him further and further, as he clung to a twisted image of the past, unsure what it is within him that had exactly changed, but knowing something did.

But then, he arrived. One who matched not only what he longed for, but one who seemingly was of legend. In his youth, they spoke of those who venture within the Abyss who lacked sin, or at least, enough sin that would deem them worthy to pass the gates. If one such being managed to pass the gates, and absorb the shadow, they could become a threat to the entire Abyss... one who could upend the status quo. Whether such a legend is true, he didn't know. But as he learned more of the one who arrived, the more he seemed worthy of such a claim. His aura, it resembled one he felt long ago in his youth. His mind, ever endless in thought yet striving for the opposite. His skill and strength, without limit, surely. And he was an oni too... easy passage through the gates. For the first time in forever, he had someone to claim. And he rushed to take his chance.

His thoughts are but temporarily broken, as he noted a different feeling to before... one of victory, rather of failure... Visenya had done it.

Visenya... she seemed to be one of those few receptive to what he spoke of, but she spoke little, and disappeared elsewhere soon after. Just based on the impression he had gotten of her, he felt he could've gotten along with her well had she not just... went her own way. But he respected it, and had let her be. And it seemed whatever she did, had led her to victory. If nothing else, he could be happy for her in this moment.

His happiness for her reminded him of his happiness to have claimed the hermit. How he had finally gotten to that adventurer he always wanted. But soon, the hermit's own questions merged with his own, and while it made him ever stronger, it made him realize his own position, and resentful of his peers. Even the form he was given by his fellow shadows seemed unbefitting for the trials he felt would only be proper to put the hermit through, so he made his own, based on the hermit's ignorance, seemingly perpetuating an image of northern Oni that he had learned from the humans and never sought to correct, one of one-horned shamans and beasts.

But he realized one crucial thing - he could not defeat the hermit in 1v1 as he was. He needed to use his own knowledge, or at least, that which he still had left, to further his own position. Travel where he could to build himself up. He also needed to, in turn, weaken the hermit's potential routes. Encourage his peers to slay him, which failed. Deal with Abahai and his family, which failed. Cause further doubt within him, which he wasn't sure if he had managed, even after the successful dream infiltration. Even then, he wondered now whether it hindered the hermit or aided him, making him recognize what to do... still,h e needed to do anything he could to weaken the hermit mentally, to allow for swift victory. His success then, hinged on the success of his colleagues and the failure of the inquiry.

And yet, while he intended to cause chaos in the hermit's mind, it was his own that would fall into mayhem. His peers fell one by one, not the hermit's. The hermit would reach Abahai and his family. And as he ventured within the land, he could feel a growing determination within the hermit, while he felt himself going mad. He wasn't even sure when was the last he saw the remaining shadows...

Was he the last now? Would this be his fate? Would he be destined to face against that hermit alone? Had the virtues of his past held him back from striking on time? Could he even beat him at this point?

The only thing he had over him was firepower, and he wasn't even sure if he could keep that advantage up. His plans were crumbling right in front of his blank eyes. He would never achieve his final goal, to use the hermit's seemingly-endless strength to upend shadow society and reform it to how it once was, before departing to fight the strongest there are. He wouldn't even be able to achieve a proper shadow's end, as his own elders had achieved. In the face of defeat, he realized just how far things had crumbled.

Deep in his mind, he could hardly notice someone approaching him...

 

[Breadman]

Lands of Wrath

"A perfume seller?" Constantine asked with an incredulous tone "Now one thing I've learned while traveling through the Abyss is that half it's people don't like to smell good one bit and the other prefer to huff their own supply." he chuckled

"Ah, but you forget those that don't have access to their own supply, monsieur." Colette glanced at the wraith through her glasses and went back to observing the countryside. Or what would pass for it. Even in the darkest and most blasted spots of the Abyss, she tried to find a certain natural beauty to it as hard as it was at times. The forest that they approached stood out among the valley. The lone road leading straight to its edge that forms a maw ready to consume those that pass through. But like many things, as soon as you notice the details, the beauty goes away. Of course as they got closer she would make out what fruit the trees carried on their branches. Instead of fruit, corpses hung by ropes around their neck. The local equivalent of crows pecked at what little meat on the husks they could find. "Expecting guests?" She asked the her companion.

"Looks like it." His voice was cautious "I'm seeing hollows and some demons on those branches." The coach continued to move down the path through the forest. The twists and turns seemed to lead them deeper into its heart quicker and quicker. Like it was alive and looking to lure its prey into a trap. But it didn't phase them. They've been down these corridors before over the years. Constantine more than Colette due to his nature as a wraith. Eventually they would reach the end of the journey.

In front of them the forest cleared up to reveal a large metal gate with walls of stone adorned with spikes on every second stone. With a rusty creaking they opened on their own to let them in and shut themselves as soon as the duo passed. Looking around, they could see just what they expected. Rows of graves of different origin. A few hills with crypts on top of them. Hollows and shades hard at work tending to the plots. A nearby river was flowing freely, delivering a fresh supply of water for their various needs. There was also a certain intensity in the air. A combination of fear, anger and desperation. They had arrived in Lozon's lair, his cemetery and their 'home'.

As soon as they stopped and dismounted, they could hear a loud voice bellowing from their left.

"About time someone else came back." Constantine didn't have time to react before the large bear like figure picked him up and squeezed him in a bone crunching hug. "HAHA, welcome home tovarish!"

"Good to see you too Boris." Constantine painfully exclaimed as he was put down. He looked at the massive figure next to him as he checked if his bones were still in their place. The man towered over him. Broad enough shoulders to hold up a mountain, jaw square enough to be an anvil and hair all over the body that would give the forest a run for it's money with how quick you could lose yourself in it. But that's what being a werebear in life gave you. "Can you please not crack my spine next time?" He managed to get something out as the air was filling his lungs again. "I need that for work."

"Bwaha, sure! Boris will be more gentle with you." The big man exclaimed and slapped the gambler by the shoulder nearly knocking him down on the ground. The interaction got Colette to giggle a bit "Oh." He just now noticed her "I see you brought yourself a friend. No horns, so she can't be a succubus." The giant placed a thumb on his chin and observed her head to toe "No horns, tail or anything. Skin has turned. Oh...your hand. One of our own I see."

"Yep. A shade. Met her while doing a job in some no-name shithole."Constantine started to fill his colleague in "Says she heard the call like us and I gave her a ride."

"You could let her speak you know. It's rude to talk for someone like that." Constantine looked at him confused, but the giant wasn't interested in him right now Instead, he turned to Colette "Your name?"

"Colette, monsieur. And you must be one of the Bear twins."

"Haha, she knows her wraiths this one!" The simple statement seemed to have greatly amused the big man "Yes. Boris is one twin. Anastasia is the other."

"We shades have an obligation to know all of you active wraiths, monsieur."

"True. Shades help us in combat, wraiths help you with revenge. Like Lozon says." He looked to Constantine again "You going to do that after?"

"Oh, my killer is still alive I'm afraid. And I didn't help with his task in time." Colette answered on the gambler's behalf. Boris didn't seem to mind that however. He just shook his head after letting out a tsk "Can I ask? Is your sister around? You two seemed like a team from what is talked about you."

"Oh we had a fight. Mauled each other. Went separate ways to cool off." The Tsavarian answered flatly "She went to Lust, I went to Vainglory. She'll be back soon."

"How are things in Vainglory, Boris?" Constantine chimed in "Rumors are all over the place."

"Not good." Whatever trace of a smile was on his face gave way to a more serious look. He crossed his massive arms before speaking further "Sazak is pissed. Someone killed one of his children, don't know which one, but he's been hitting rebels all over Abyss."

"Probably one of the brats he liked then." Constantine rested his hands on his hips. Colette on the other hand remembered what Edward had shared with her. Was that their doing? Or was it Jacob's group? Did they invoke the fury from an Icon? "That or he's trying to keep up appearances. Can't have someone kill one of your own and not do anything about it now can you?" Boris nodded in agreement "Doesn't matter. Sounds like there was some work in it for you. Why not stick around for it?"

"Not interested in wiping out rebellion. Not when everything is fucked. Not when things need to change. Also, fuck Sazak" The answer was clear enough. But it still stunned them both. Wraiths were drawn to revenge like moths to a flame. It was their nature to feed off it. Be they the ones delivering it to those who wronged them or doing it on someone else's behalf. Assisting Sazak with his own doings, be he genuine in his fury or not, would have fed and sustained any of their number for years to come. And for Boris to just refuse to even entertain the idea was just madness to Constantine.

"You are a man of integrity...but also incredibly stupid." The gambler spat out.

"Maybe...maybe." The giant looked down on him "But at least I don't bend easy for some scraps."

"What's that supposed to mean? You have something to say to me, shithouse?" The gambler's hands moved really close to the holstered pistols.

"I have plenty, horsefucker!" The hairs on Boris' body stood up. He was ready to break this one in half.

"Both of you, stop it!" Colette called out to them "Remember that you're in Lozon's cemetery for the god's sake! You're both going to end up stripped and hollowed."

"Very correct!" A new voice called out behind her. They all instantly froze and turned to face the demon that gave them their gifts. "I'm glad to see that one shade among how many still remembers her duty to tend to the wraiths health." Lozon looked to both Boris and Constantine "Which includes separating them before they start fighting each other and do something monumentally stupid."

"Eh, sorry pop." Constantine was the first to say anything. "Guess we got too heated for a second."

"Yes. Apologies."

"You were about to start a fight over petty insults. Getting heated doesn't cover it." Lozon chastised them "I'll send word for you soon enough. But there is business I have to attend to. Until then, cool yourselves off."After chasing them off, he turned his gaze to Colette "As for you, I'll require your services, so come with me." He glanced down for a second before adding "Do bring your case with you. The last shade was incompetent enough to break equipment that is not easily replaceable."

"The perfumes, father?"

"No, girl." He was rather amused by the notion "You're an alchemist are you not?" She nodded "Well, come with me so you can set everything up and start working. I hope you have blood with you, otherwise we're going to have to find some volunteers."

Colette followed after the demon. She had no clue what he could be talking about. Blood in alchemy wasn't something new, but it was very delicate and specific. They entered one of the tombs and went down to the central chamber. There she saw a sarcophagus of unknown architecture to her. It wasn't from the Abyss. It was from the mortal realms, same as any of the graves here. It had to be. But this one was of a different make that she had never seen before. What was this demon planning?

 

[Infab]

"Poor, miserable hermit...Or should I say hermit knockoff? We're all knockoffs, honestly." said a voice, coming from the figure approaching Shadow Takato. As the being neared, he climbed out of his mind just enough to detect exactly who's aura was near. It was similar to that of the leader of the group that had been sent into the Abyss. Vincent. As Shadow Takato glanced up, he took in the form of the man's shadow counterpart. Dressed much like those in the upper class of Atracan society, but wearing a top hat and what appeared to be a sack over his head. Eye holes had been cut in it for him to see, but his eyes weren't visible. Not yet at least.

"You seem to be moping at a rather inopportune time, hermit. What brought you so low?" he asked, pausing just in front of the shadow Oni. "...Wait, don't answer. I know what it is. That strange Oni woman in the village...You got your ass kicked, didn't you?"

 

[K0mori]

Red Gorge, Atraca, October 1880

It was a cloudless day in the normally peaceful, dust-swept mining town in the rural south of Atraca that had somehow become the epicenter of all of Adonian politics. Ever since the announcement of the grand summit, the city had been inundated with foreigners of all trades and standings: politicians, reporters, church officials, hunters, and so on. Local inns and hotels were filled to capacity, and even homeowners were beginning to take advantage of their guest rooms by allowing travelers to stay, for a fee. Despite efforts in the press to warn of the overcrowding, large numbers of uninvited parties were still making the journey, and, out of desperation, regular passenger train service to the city was cut off several days before the convention. That, however, failed to stop the mass numbers of carriages and chartered wagons arriving from other Atracan cities which were still accepting trains from out of the country.

While Red Gorge was by no means a one horse town, the wood and brick facades of what could generously be described as its "downtown" paled in comparison to the elegant cities of the north, or the gorgeously-decorated avenues of numerous southern Escarian cities only a short journey away. Needless to say, the event was rapidly becoming a circus, complete with large tents erected on any open plot of land. City officials were unable to even calculate how much food, water, and sanitation would be needed for influx, resulting in numerous impromptu "businesses" springing up practically overnight to deal with the overflow. The only thing preventing the city from falling into complete disaster was the knowledge that, within days, the event would be over, and as quickly as the chaos settled upon this remote township, it would lift even more rapidly once the action was over.

Having arrived well ahead of time, Fallensteller family, Albrecht, Josephine, and little Sabine were comfortably housed at the Stewart Bros. Hotel, which overlooked a long and zigzagging roadway through the city which was practically filled to the brim with the unwashed masses, and the well-to-do Daristeinians spent most of the day nervously watching them. On every corner there were men and women shouting from atop soapboxes or handing out pamphlets declaring their sharply contrasting opinions in a buffet of different languages. Overworked deputies on horseback and inquisitors on foot struggled to maintain order and prevent the occasional street brawl from turning into a riot. Despite their safe perch on the third floor of the hotel, Albrecht regretted bringing his wife and daughter along for the sake of witnessing history. It simply wasn't safe for them to go outside. Despite this, the man couldn't simply abandon the trip; he was due to meet the leader of the Alchemical Union of Kolnstadt, Ernst Fowler.

Fowler was in town separate from the mission of the President of Alchemist's Union of Daristein, Catarina Klostermann, as the AUK Fowler represented was in the midst of a strike and could not be represented by the national union. All of this was far above 11 year-old Sabine's head. She was more fascinated by the utterly dazzling variety of creatures which occupied Red Gorge, unlike the sleepy, gated communities back home which carefully protected their human homogeneity, and quietly, she made plans to sneak out of the hotel and explore the crowded city by night.

Worst of all the city's visitors were the zealots of Velin's recently-disbanded Order, who quite obviously resented the mixed signals their god was giving them. Had their actions during the prior few years been justified, or was it all some sort of sick, twisted mistake? Some were so certain of the contrary that they had even formed new organizations on their own so that they could continue the hunting and killing extra-judiciously, and were treating this summit as an opportunity to proclaim their lack of shame for their actions, or even to persuade Velin to call for another round of purges. Among them: leading a small band of vicious thugs he had met and recruited on his travels through Tsavania, was Francis Adams.

Somewhere else in town, a woman with golden eyes was waiting for him.

Across town, at the home of warehouse owner and vampire Ralph E. Tipton, who specialized in importing and exporting liquor, Juste, the Steward of La Cygne, sat at the edge of a guest bed and rubbed his eyes while recounting the woes of the exiled Chalmette Florissante nobles currently hiding in the mountains. While Ralph took notes, Juste explained their dwindling fortunes, increasing desperation, and continued commitment to coexistence with humans. They also laid out multiple lists, prepared by the nobles themselves, of all the instances of goodwill they could recall in their long and illustrious lives to the Kingdom of Escaria, so that they could compile them into a single speech. Juste would be their voice at the summit, and he would deliver his address with pride despite the toll the entire journey was having on his aged body.

"Maybe one of these days," Juste rasped, "I'll let myself be turned and see how it fixes me up."

In the corner of the room, Ralph looked up from his notes in surprise. "Really?" he asked, intrigued.

Juste gave him a sad but serene smile. "If this speech doesn't go well... Well, I had always intended to be buried at the estate, but with Travere in charge, turning it into a swill factory, I think I can wait a bit longer to die. It's just a thought... Don't read too far into it."

 

[Damian0358]

Gaá Xiaòzhou's weary look turned into a scowl as their figurative leader approached. One who had seen how he looked before adopting his current form, the only one who referred to him not as shaman, but what he truly was, or well, was supposed to be.

"...if it isn't the Ripper," the shadow remarked, "come out of hiding, while the rest of us bickered and failed," he blew air out of his nose as he tried to look into his compatriot's eyeholes with his own pupil-less eyes.

Xiaòzhou pulled himself up slightly more against the stone he was lying again, before deciding to dignify the question he was asked.

"And yes, my ass was handed to me. What does it matter to you?"

"Oh, it matters to me far more than you could imagine, hermit," Shadow Vincent responded, "and 'hiding', as you say, has been far more productive to me than anything the rest of you have done."

Xiaòzhou scoffed at the notion: "For all we knew, you've been nothing but a literal shadow, the most absent of all of us."

"Believe me, I've been... putting in needed work, and I haven't been the only one. Visenya was doing work down in Envy, and I'm sure you've felt her victory as I did."

Xiaòzhou maintained his scowl, but had to admit he wasn't sure what she was doing during her absence. If she was truly doing work that would eventually lead her to her victory...

"Though, unlike her, I preferred to... watch more. See how they act, study their interactions with one another, and find out what it is they were really doing. Being a 'shadow' had payed off, and I've come to a conclusion."

"...that being?" Xiaòzhou's scowl weakened.

"If we are to fight the group now, we'll be done for. That much must be obvious to you, given your rhetoric," Shadow Vincent teased, "however, if we were to fight them with an Icon's help, we are sure to win."

Xiaòzhou squinted: "...I don't disagree, but had the rest of you listened to me-"

"Now's not the time for your complaints, hermit. In this moment, the millennia you've spent here will be all for naught if we don't cease this opportunity."

"...fair," Xiaòzhou admitted. He considered his next words carefully, before deciding to ask the obvious.

"...do you even know an Icon of interest?"

"Trust me, I've done more than just watch and study this inquiry," Shadow Vincent stated, "Whilst the rest of you squabbled, even you, elder of a bygone time, I've been preparing my final, decisive move. You yourself had the potential to do as I did, and I've seen you get close to it, but it seems age has corrupted your mind," he harshly remarked.

"...perhaps so," Xiaòzhou had to also admit, though hearing these words hurt much more than having them echo within his mind, "Much has changed, even the unwritten rules that bind us, after all."

"In this one moment, I will acknowledge what you've said. That hermit is a threat. The others should've slain him when they could've. But now, in this very moment, only you can challenge him. And the Icon I have in mind can assist you in this regard quite well."

Xiaòzhou briefly turned his gaze away from Shadow Vincent, as he considered what he had said. If he truly was the only one left, then it meant only one thing. He put aside his doubts for one second...

"...so, that moment seems to have come..."

Shadow Vincent approached Xiaòzhou, and held out his hand.

"...time races us, hermit. Shall we?"

Xiaòzhou looked at his hand for a moment, before reaching out and grabbing it.

"...we shall."

Shadow Vincent pulled the battered shadow off the floor and stone, and helped him up. As much as he knew the hermit liked to chat, they needed to jet.

"...let's get that magic off of you and get you ready."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

En route to Red Gorge
Somewhere At Sea
Nocturne Delegation

The mid-ocean Flats was something of a misnomer, at least to most outside the intimate realm of oceanographic cartography. There was nothing flat about the ever-moving ocean surface, churning with deep currents below and stirred by wind from above, causing small waves to reach up like arms for a mere second before collapsing under their own weight in a frothy whitecap. No, the name emerged from the ocean floor itself, the region home to a remarkably flat bottom that was devoid of major ridges, canyons, and rocky accumulation. Or so, that is what Hector Trivyetski divulged at any moment he could. The vampiric scientist was a mess of trivia and passion for a science that few had even spared a thought towards, though Aleister remained receptive when other more pressing subjects weren't at hand. It wouldn't be long before they reached the mainland, but out here in the lonely open ocean, it was easy to forget that there was a world around you. An unknown ahead, and a home behind. Sometimes a little mindless discussion on the emerging profession of using electronically generated noises to map the ocean floor was what they needed.

Aleister looked out over the small flotilla from the observation deck of the old, diminutive passenger liner Gold Star. Flotilla was a more polite term - the reality was nothing more than an ensemble of a few ships. A passenger ship, a bulky freighter, and two modest cruisers that were officially ships of the fledgling Nocturne Navy. Their technical numbers could be boosted by the fact that eleven torpedo boats were fit into the cargo hauler barely keeping up with the rest of the vessels. What they lacked in sheer armor and firepower could be made up for in the practical efficiency of nimble attack ships armed with ship-killing torpedoes. Aleister wondered if the age of large ships was coming to an end, for what use was a battleship when it could be overcome by a front of torpedoes launched by a dozen little boats that couldn't be hit with large cannons? Of course, if said battleships knew that half the swift attack boats approaching them were, in fact, armed with painted lumber and not actual submersible missiles....

"Archbishop, we'll be in sight of the coast shortly after sundown." A sailor appeared from around the door to the little private room, emerging from a thin wedge of artificial light. The observation room was almost pitch black, the windows shrouded in so many layers of curtains and blinds that only a dark blue haze was visible on the other side, with the shapes of the ships around them nothing more than amorphous grey blobs. Beside the door, a shape stirred, red eyes peering out from behind well-kept, silky locks of ebon hair. They were in the midst of filing their absurdly sharp nails down. Dominique, his trusted bodyguard and confidant. "Thank you. Please inform the others breakfast will be served at the usual time tonight, all are welcome to join as usual," Aleister said. The door closed, casting him and Dominique back into darkness. "That one is always so tense and curt," Dominique observed. "He could use a massage, I think." Aleister rolled his eyes, but was interrupted by a yawn. He was still in his sleeping attire, little more than red satin pants and a robe. "The navy requires a certain degree of intensity, Dominique. They can't all be relaxed all the time. Especially not in these waters."

He was... cautiously optimistic of the summit. There was much that could be accomplished, from the little things to the great big things, such as not only the official recognition of supernatural rights, but also the formal recognition of Nocturne as its own independent state. Of course, optimism got very few people anywhere these days, at least when looking towards the continent. On board the Gold Star was a host of experts - charismatic talkers, lawyers, representatives, drafters - all good people, supernatural and human, who were here to help oil the gears of state diplomacy to forge a future that could be rendered functional. There were also subtle instruments onboard. Quiet watchers, those who changed identities as easily as people changed clothes, capable of hearing and seeing all sorts of seemingly private things. And then there were the blunt tools, a cadre of soldiers who only awaited the needed order. Aleister was not certain how much use they would be in the face of the gathered Adonian nations and the present deities, but it sure felt good to have them nearby. All the other rulers would undoubtedly bring their best troops along, he figured. Perhaps the first step to being a recognized government was simply the theatrical side of things - dress the part, play the part, and walk the walk.

For the most part, it was a lot of theater, at least for Nocturne. They had a lot to show. Aleister knew he would be the first to admit that the simple act of showing was a tantalizing thing. The nuns on board would want to display their legitimacy as a noble policing institute. The clergy would want to demonstrate their faith in their new church, fairly identical to the old, but since the sudden schism enough had changed in their eyes to ensure they were distinctly different. The statesmen would talk themselves silly with the prospect of legal work which they lived and breathed, the sailors and uniformed soldiers of the mortal martial forces would want all to know they were a proud fighting force despite their size, the merchants would.... They were the odd ones out. With strict instruction to keep things subtle, almost casual, they were to spread their attention wide and hunt for prospective buyers and sellers to expand Nocturne's sorely temporary economy. You couldn't survive on selling fish and piracy forever. Most of all they needed machines. Machines to create more machines. Tools. What good was an artillery gun if you had no shells? A uniform if you had no buttons?

"Will the Night Choir be making an appearance?" Dominique asked, teasingly. Aleister tried to ignore his tone. "I think it would be to the benefit of us all if the Choir avoided any performances for the foreseen future," he said. "Besides, I don't think plays are in season right now."

"A captive audience never stopped us before."

"I don't think locking the doors would work this time. And I rather have the audience more concerned if their tears of delight and laughter would smudge their makeup than wondering if they were going to be fitted with an impromptu violin string necklace. We also don't have enough violins."

"Have you seen our string section recently?" Dominique asked. He plucked at the little coil of wire fastened around his wrist.

The sailor returned, peeking around the door. "The breakfast table is set, gentlemen. I do believe everyone will be in attendance tonight."

In truth, Aleister was glad to be away from that conversation. Only time would tell what sort of lesson should be learned from it, and whether violin string bracelets was a trend to be looked upon favorably or not. Oh, how things had changed.

Aleister turned, a fresh smile on his face. "I rather look forward to the new Saltbone blend. I don't believe I've tasted whale blood. And combined with cinnamon...." Spices had emerged recently as the nearest thing to food the vampires could consume, or rather, taste outside of blood. A dash of it on a teaspoon, a sprinkling on the tongue - just enough to avoid the real pains of illness when it came to consuming mortal foodstuffs, so long as you were careful. There were even experiments on jams and jellies, though last Aleister had tried that, he had ended up doubled over in bed for nearly a week from a single taste.

"Come now, Dominique," Aleister said, offering his arm to the man before they set off. "Lets enjoy one more breakfast among friends before we step forth into the den of vipers that await."

 

[Dmaster]

Eastern Escaria, Giguere Estate
October 1880

Despite the instability that afflicted both the world over and even her own home, Camille had managed to find a routine through it all. Though the state of time itself did her no favors, at worst it had her answering the door to confused elves of ages past wondering what had happened to their homeland and at best she had her groundskeeper turn said elves away. It was hard for the huntress to place the significance of her estate tucked in the hills of the countryside had to do with ancient elven kingdoms, but the parts of castles materializing across the landscape told her all she needed to know. With so much on Camille's mind already, she could only hope that one of those ancient structures wouldn't suddenly appear over her home just to swiftly topple over.

Still in her nightgown, the Marquess checked the letters and paper left on her desk that had been brought up during breakfast. Given the transition to a much more reclusive lifestyle these were practically her only connection to the outside world. Her deft fingers flipped through the papers as sunlight poured in from the window several paces before her, framing the view of her courtyard and the path leading beyond the black gates that caged her. Part of her could not help but think of her husband, for as morose as he tended to be his presence was at the very least noticeable while he was here. When he was gone he at least made time to send letters her way to both give a glimpse into his thoughts and inform her that he was still alive. Not so on these mornings since his excursion to the Abyss.

Camille sighed inwardly before her attention turned to a letter bearing an Atracan seal, prompting her to open it with a curious tilt of her head. She had heard of the summit and its approach, though was quite surprised to receive an invitation as a speaker there. The idea was both humorous as it was slightly harrowing, not only for the fact that her public speaking skills were an afterthought yet also for the company that was sure to be there: a mad goddess and vampiric terrorist. Her mind raced in tandem with the beats of her quickening heart. Surely she would go there armed, for the 'forces' of Nocturne preferred rather underhanded methods of attack. Would she even prepare a speech to give? No, she would speak her mind and would not restrain it to parchment.

Entertaining as the possible chance to do good on her promise to Aleister was, Camille had to be a bit more cautious. In the days before Grimtham she would have been all too happy to strike at him after casing Red Gorge, and yet things were now different. Standing up from her desk, she stepped out of her office and began to travel downstairs.

The further down the grand staircase she got the louder the sounds of toddlers at play became, the Marquess calmly stepping into her entertainment room where she stood in the doorway to see her twin children chasing each other around as best their stubby legs could manage. It prompted her to smile slightly, momentarily forgetting the troubles on her mind as she looked to them quietly. A little over a full year old now, they had mastered walking and were working on running, and Camille was happy that Hudson at least got to witness their first steps before he left.

"Marie, do stop hounding your brother with malicious intent." she spoke up with a chuckle, knowing full well that they had little idea what she was saying. Though someone else in the room did.

"They're only playing, Madame Giguere." replied her servant Eloise, dressed in a maid's outfit that complimented her greying hair. Well into her fifties, she was integral in assisting the inexperienced mother with her watchful eye and gentle touch. Soft spoken and polite, the twins took to her presence well. Of the handful of servants in the noble's employ, she had the privilege of living in the estate where others did not.

"Oui, of course they are. But I cannot help but imagine the reasons one may chase the other." Camille says, stepping further into the room before sitting on her knees on the rug, Marie and Casseus starting to take this opportunity to run circles around their mother. They made all sorts of pleasant babbles and loud screeches as they got too near one another, getting Camille to chuckle with a slight wince.

"Well rest assured they are well behaved... If that was in any doubt."

"Such pleasant little joys, it makes me elated to hear that."

"... Madame Giguere." Eloise spoke from above the huntress, having been near the controlled chaos of the toddlers playing their simple game of chase. "Do you have trouble trusting me with your children? Forgive me if it is so bold to ask but - of all the women in the Giguere family I've worked under you check in on us quite a great deal... If there are more important things you would rather be doing, you are more than free to busy yourself with that."

"Beyond checking letters and stabbing wooden mannequins there are few things I busy myself with, Eloise. It is not out of lack of trust, I assure you." Camille laughs, adjusting her bangs as she continues to follow her children with her gaze.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Pardon me, madame. This is truly a most unusual situation I find myself in. With so little staff and such a spacious manor I am a bit out of my element."

"I understand. When I was a child I was lucky to see my mother for mere hours at a time. So wrapped up in trade routes and profits, my family tended to neglect what was important. I only have need for a chef, groundskeeper, and you Eloise. There is no reaaon to have Marie and Casseus' childhoods swept up in a dozen uncaring faces and sets of hands..." Camille explains, trailing off before looking to her helper finally. "I will be departing this evening, however."

"... The summit, Madame Giguere." Eloise answers with just the slightest hesitation.

"Indeed. I have been asked to speak there on behalf of independent hunters. Would be foolish of me to refuse, non?"

"With the dangers of going I am inclined to disagree, madame."

Camille nods her head in agreement. "Oui that is on my mind, yes. But I still must go. Others depend on me, and if I can make waves with only my voice, if only for a day it would have been worth the safety and justice the uncertain danger places itself in front of."

Without another word she opens her arms, her stumbling twins understanding that she was prompting them to embrace her. Slightly tripping over themselves, Camille catches the both of them and tightly hugs them into her body. She shuts her eyes with a warm yet slightly weary smile.

"Mes cadeaux chéri... There is nothing in this world I will not face for your sake. Nothing I will not do..."

 

[Infab]

One day before the Summit...

Red Gorge Terminus
Red Gorge
The Kingdom of Atraca


The train whistle sounded off in the early morning, hissing loudly as the locomotive rolled to a stop at the train terminal. Onboard, delegates from the central nations of Adonia. Daristein, the massive republic that rivaled Tsavania, Atraca, and Escaria in power, had arrived alongside the nations of Trechtstaat and Schwyz. And along for the ride, several members of the Alchemist's Union. Including its president. Soldiers from each nation disembarked first, spreading out and forming their own formations as several onlookers gathered to see whom was emerging from the train. And soon, the delegates themselves began to emerge.

Chancellor Oliver Weitzmann emerged first, adjusting his tie as he stepped out onto the terminal with a few advisors in tow. Following after him was Chancellor Maxime Hämmerli of Schwyz. The man looked about, offering a wave to some onlookers as he smiled. From another car, another set of people emerged. All wearing top hats. The one at the front's top hat was a golden color, placed just so on the top of his head as he stepped out and rested his cane on the floor of the terminal. Duke Steven Van Den Bossche, ruler of Trechtstaat. His advisors stepped out, alongside the other members wearing top hats. Among them, a blonde woman dressed rather elegantly with her own top hat cocked slightly to the side. The president of the Alchemist's Union, Catarina Klostermann.

Among the onlookers was a man dressed in a top hat himself. He eyed the woman, his face inching into a smile. So, she actually decided to come? I was told she'd be sending someone in her place. Perhaps she wanted to be part of this momentous occasion. He glanced to his side, and noticed the shorter woman next to him looking up to him. "...What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You seem to be looking at Miss Klostermann rather intensely, Master Heilmeier." she said, raising her own eyebrow. "...Are you planning something?"

Christoph chuckled, turning about and making his way through the crowd away from the station. "No, Lockhart. I'm simply surprised she showed up. You know how busy the Union keeps its president." he stated, as Blair followed behind him. "Yes...Are we staying to observe the Summit?" she soon asked. He glanced back briefly before continuing on. "Yes, we'll be staying for a while. After the Summit, we'll be off to southwestern Eshax."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Red Gorge
Nocturne Delegation
Morning of the Day before the Summit

They came from off the main highway just before sunrise, emerging from a dusty but well-traveled dirt road away from the bustle of the rail station and crossroads which intersected the main streets. The Nocturne delegation consisted of nearly a dozen luxuriant carriages, each a stout cabin of black wood, the windows smokey and obscured by crimson curtains that added some color to the otherwise somber vehicles, as well as providing an additional layer of protection from even the smallest rays of stray light. On either side of the carriage running boards were three individuals wearing rather archaic outfits. Their faces were concealed by dull steel masks, their bodies shrouded by embroidered robes over half-plate armor. At their belts hung not swords, but maces, and one-handed hammers. Some even clutched sword-staves. There was no doubt who these guardians were - vampires, and perhaps other supernaturals, capable of utilizing their powers to the highest degree of violence.

At the front and rear of the procession were two small columns of soldiers, dressed in dark trousers and shirtsleeves, soft caps perched upon their heads and their jackets wound tightly across their bodies. On their lapels were red tear-drop badges. These were the human soldiers of the new nation, each marching in disciplined fashion, but not to full parade ground precision. Proud, comfortable - practicality had been driven into their heads since the formation of the standing army, for not much could be spared in Nocturne when so much was needed, especially time. There was also the matter that some of the troops were previous old world deserters, having fled their former military for one reason or another. The human arm of the military was, to some, auxiliaries. Others hoped that in time they could grow into their own, a force to be reckoned with like any other Adonian state.

The delegation had their destination well prepared, already secured and purchased by those that had arrived much earlier in the week. The Night Choir had emerged almost as a secret service, of sorts, not quite paramilitary, not quite police. They were agents and intelligencers, individuals with talent beyond following orders. Initiative was key. Having emerged from the guerilla tactics during the purges to fight back and bring refugees off the continent, the Night Choir was more than just the vampire fraternity they once were years ago.

The Fairweather Estate was a small brick hotel of moderate, refined status near the outskirts of Red Gorge. Catering mostly to those just out of reach of definable affluence, but far from the clapboard bunkroom hostels of the lower classes, the Fairweather Estate was perfect for their needs. The entire establishment had been rented out. Once the streets had been cleared - politely - the guests stepped their way into the quaint interior of floral rugs and gothic chandeliers. Aleister, along with his close associates, took the main stateroom. Clerks set up typewriters next door in a makeshift office connected to the stateroom, forming a little nexus of secretaries, dignitaries, and officials. A little embassy. Outside, the soldiers set up camp in an old freight yard, well maintained for garden parties, but purposefully devoid of furniture and flowers this season to make space and ensure nothing was trampled.

It was to be their home for the next few days, for however long the summit would last. The weather could... use some improvement.

 

[Dmaster]

Red Gorge Terminus
Noon, Day before the Summit

The arrangements Camille had to make to travel from eastern Escaria all the way down to Red Gorge were not easy to make, though they were hardly impossible for a woman of her resources. A carriage ride out from her estate and toward the winding railways had made it take several long hours of waiting for transportation to arrive as well as during transit itself. Despite her knack for hunting vampires the huntress really did hate traveling, always anxious of where she was going or what the state of things would be when she returned home. The further she got from Escaria the more she realized how long it had been since she had properly left town for an excursion such as this, her pulse quickening slowly the closer she reached her destination.

Crowded venues and terminals did not make matters any better for her, as conglomerates of people from all walks of life seemed to be making their way to her destination with her. As she expected she had to pay quite the premium to be able to get a ticket in the first place, but it was an expense worthy of the grossly inflated price. When she was not shuffling through crowds as quietly and quickly that she could manage, she was seated in a train booth to herself as she watched the world swiftly roll around her. In time her journey culminated to the most crowded stop yet, the destination itself.

Out of the first class train car stepped Camille, outfitted in a mixture of leather and armor plating that hugged her form. The most striking features of the mixture of armor and clothing had been the various depictions of ravens on her person. From a rather angular helmet she wore that mimicked the bird of corvid's judgmental gaze to the bird's visage extending from one of her knees, she even wore a thin cape that appeared to be made of black feathers that matched the plume of her head protection. Various pouches and a belt of throwing knives were fixed about her waist, and two scabbards of varied lengths were on that same belt and positioned directly behind her back. Despite her rather intimidating dress she carried with her a rather large satchel slung over her shoulder, squinting in the scalding sunlight Red Gorge had arranged to greet her.

Like her travel route she had already set up a place to stay at for the delegation: a hotel that had one of the few remaining rooms available for such a high profile visitor like herself. Once more she found herself squeezing through crowds to get to the streets proper, yet here in Red Gorge the flow of people hardly seemed to end! Perhaps that just had to do with the time of day, for Camille only hoped that it would thin out eventually. As she moved to get to her hotel on the other side of town she took stock of her surroundings, lips twisting ever so slightly with barely noticeable twitches as she sized up potential opposition. The Nocturne delegation had arrived, if those dark and brooding vehicles she could see outside of some buildings were any indication. Her breathing grew unsteady, instinct warning her of danger or perhaps opportunity. Yet now was not the time for haste, it was the time to wait and see what may come next.

 

[Breadman]

Back in the Abyss, the Lands of Wrath

"It's funny." Colette said while fiddling with the ingredients for the elixir she was making. "I made the excuse that I needed to come and get some grapes when I first heard your call." She carefully added the juice from the fruit to a separate cup before switching her attention to the vials of blood. "I didn't think I'd actually be making berserker wine just an hour after coming here." One part wrath grape juice, one part blood in equal measure. Heat up and drink. The name always struck her as odd. It was a mixture that would give the person who consumed it a shot of adrenaline, but also cloud the mind with rage. Not really the same as getting drunk. But perhaps it was the taste of the concoction that gave it it's name. She was told it resembled like weathered wine. Not much to do but trust the hearsay.

"I didn't believe it would be necessary." Lozon answered. The demon was sitting next to her. His dark eyes following her hands as she mixed the brew. "I was hoping she would be awake by now."

"She?"

"The one in that sarcophagus." He tilted his head slightly towards the object "Her name was Tiloc. In life she was high priestess of her people. A direct link between them and their 'gods'."

"Can you tell me more? If you're bringing another one in, I might as well get a head start." The wine was nearly done, but still needed some time to prepare and he looked like he had something else to share.

"If you so wish." The demon nodded "She became a wraith when her sister struck her down so she could consolidate her power. Publicly sacrificed her to the dark powers they served as the people who loved her watched with glee as her blood drained from her body. Tiloc cursed her sister and their people with her last dying breath. All the anger, fury and hatred poured into those words and the entire island became enveloped in red mist." As he talked, Colette had finished the the first bottle of wine. Listening still, she moved over to where there was an opening on the lid. Ever so slightly she poured the contents inside and stepped back. The was still some time until the concoction would work and the old demon had mentioned something interesting.

"Hold on." Colette realized what exactly Lozon was talking about "You mean the Jaguar island?" A landmass off the coast of Escaria. Many explorers over the years had sailed to those cursed shores in hopes of penetrating it's mysteries and coming home with whatever they could find. None had returned. She remembered the days of her childhood as her parents would threaten her with a trip there if she misbehaved. How the boys would boast that they would be the ones to go there and come back with riches and glory. Silly childhood things she never thought would be relevant to anything in her adult life, much less the afterlife.

"The same. As I understand, it had become something of a cautionary tale in the mortal realm for the dangers of playing with demonic powers."

"It's a story from the Dark ages." She added. "The people from the island were proud and warlike, indulged in human sacrifice and blood magic. At least that's what the church said about them."

"Half-right. At best they were slaves to their upper cast who were directly dealing with demons. The 'love' I mentioned was not unconditional. Their final flirtation with power was their downfall. But those are details she would know. In the centuries that followed she was a strong and hard to control wraith until her rage subsided. Eventually she calmed down enough to be put to rest here. It was because of her, that I later started imposing my will when souls showed wraith potential."

"Why wake her then?" She could barely mask her excitement. The differences between the wraiths and the shades was that wraiths were great sinners in their life and had a great potential for violence, unlike their shade counterparts who exist to wait for their abusers to come down in the Abyss. But both of them would be bound to his will. The fact that there were those who were not beholden to him, meant that they could fight back and maybe force a change.

"As much as I prefer the secluded life, I'm still beholden to the Icon of wrath's will. The recent sabotage efforts from the rebels pushed the army on the defensive. They stopped replicating weapons that mortals created and are pulling the old relics like us to the front." Lozon crossed his arms, while observing the stone slab in front of him. Colette raised an eyebrow at the comment. Relics? The wraiths were old sure, but still capable fighters. "In a few days I leave for the front to fight the undead." He continued "I'm taking whoever we can raise from their slumber." The lid moved as the sound of stone grinding on stone filled the tomb. A slim figure emerged and looked at them both. Tiloc didn't look happy to be roused from her rest. "Looks like your wine did it's job." He turned his head to face her. "Good work. Now make more."

"No." The wraith called out as she got out of the sarcophagus "If it all tastes like the one she just poured for me, you might as well kill the others instead." She hissed. "We are in the Abyss to suffer it's punishment. Not the ones afflicted by each other, wouldn't you agree little bird?" A toothed grin formed on Tiloc's mouth.

"Your slumber has not dulled your tongue I see." Lozon was annoyed with his servant. Not even a minute after waking and already she was on his nerves.

"That and my ears." She shifted her eyes to him. "While I am faltered that you consider me important enough for your show of force, you know we are no match for an army of the undead. Maybe if we had that crusader with us. Royland was it? The dead were his specialty I remember."

"Barely awake and you're already questioning me?"

"Lozon, I was your first." She snapped at him "I know you better than any of these children could hope to. You're so desperate for validation and relevancy again that you're willing to throw everything you have to appease someone who forgot you existed. By the Abyss' nether regions man, Azgon didn't know who you were even at the height of your power back when elves and dwarfs were part of the mortal realm." Her words cut deep. It was obvious as his hands had balled into fists. "Don't mind me, pretty bird." The former priestess turned her attention again to Colette "I may seem cruel with my words, but it's the only way I can get through his thick skull."

"I...I have never heard anyone talk to him like that." She admitted involuntary. Tiloc rolled her eyes.

"I see." Her attention turned back to Lozon. The pools of blackness that were his eyes now teemed with sparks of anger. Her audacity had awakened something in him. "Leave us. We have much to discuss." Colette didn't waste time. She grabbed what she could and ran out of the crypt. She caught the faint shouting from behind her, but didn't want to even try and figure out what those two would be 'discussing'. She just wanted to put space between them and her.

"Whoa there." Constantine greeted her outside after noticing in how much of a hurry she was. "Whats going on in there?"

"I...I..." She was at a loss to what exactly tell him. "I have no idea." He gave her a concerned look. But there was nothing either of them could do.

Hours passed as the wraiths and shades went on with their work tending to the graveyard. Occasionally glancing towards the crypt. Eventually the Lozon and Tiloc would emerge, both worse for wear. Their fight had escalated beyond rational measure. Tiloc was slightly bruised, her clothes torn in places, much like Lozon's own robe. Tho he had suffered a gash to the side of his head and his left horn was now cracked. Even a tooth was missing.

"Children." He began "Initially I had planned to march to the front with you to aid the war against the undead, but after much deliberations with your elder wraith, I have come to several conclusions for us. Firstly, I will leave for the front, but will not force your to come with me. You are not soldiers by design, but tormentors of the wicket. Even if I did force you to, I wouldn't have time to raise a formidable strength. A majority of you are still scattered in the Abyss, while a good number walk the mortal realms. Secondly, should you decide to, I won't stop you from joining the rebellion, but I will not aid you in finding it. And if our paths cross as enemies, I will cut you down. Lastly, I am cutting the link tethering you to my will. Meaning that for the first time in centuries you will be completely free of me."

"The winds of change are blowing through the Abyss, but you must decide for yourselves what role you'll play in it."

 

[Doomevil]

Senya widened her eyes as a claymore was coming straight at her. She shifted out of the way as the blade engraved the dirt deeply, She only had a few seconds to spare to blast a flame slice towards the opponent’s direction. The tall man was wearing silver armor and a green necklace around his collar, his face shielded by a grey helmet. The enemy dispelled the flames and deflected it back. He immediately charged shoulder front, and swung his sword to the right side, with Senya leaning backward and pressed the assault, shield and sword in hand. She blocked his claymore against her shield and extended her arm to nick the side of his shoulder.

Senya sighed tiredly, placing her sword back into her scabbard and turned away, taking off her helmet. “Close call, I suppose,” Senya muttered and stared at the sunset from the cliff. Her sparring partner took off his helmet and rested it by his side, revealing an aged veteran with grey hair. His eyes turned to the sunset also and sighed peacefully after that training.

“You’re getting better. But don’t be afraid to use your fire magic as a counter-attack. If it discourages the enemy to fall back, take the chance. You don’t want to end up in a place where you’re cornered,” He explained as he glanced at the young Warden. For years she’s been training to be just like her brother Ryden, who had fallen in battle fighting a criminal named Kimura. Senya sat down on the grass, legs crossed, eyes looking down at the shores. The male warden did the same, planting his claymore into the ground and went quiet for a moment. He stared at her face which felt conflicted and worried about something. Maybe this was a good time as ever to talk to the young warden.

“So, I heard from the other wardens you plan on heading to Adonia. Any reason why?” The Warden brought up, giving a friendly smile. It seemed like the rumors were true after speaking to the wardens like Wendy and Haegel that Senya got into a dispute with the City Watch. He didn’t know for sure why, and he didn’t want to intrude. He trusted her enough it wasn’t anything major, but he was still curious. Senya sighed, ripping a pile of dirt with her hand and letting it fall.

“I think I need some time to think about where to head from here. Traveling is a good way to keep myself busy and to learn more about the world. I’m confused about the path I’m taking.”

“If it has to do with the work we’ve been doing around the kingdom, then don’t worry so much. It never gets easy. You should take some time to rest. When you’re ready, another job will be waiting. You may work alone, but you belong to us.” He leaned, elbows on his lap as Senya talked about her concern for the future.

“I know, but, sometimes I wonder if we are doing good. If we make mistakes, they will always see us as weak and flawed. When the Dark Age happened, the Red Wardens always tried to hire themselves as mercenaries and take names at their own judgment. That’s what gave us the infamous reputation back then. Look at us now, some people still think of us that way. Are we doing too much, or are we doing too little? How do I know when everything is going to be okay when we’re gone?” Senya raised her voice, deep in thought as she wondered if the Red Wardens were biding their time. Too many new recruits and not enough experienced men and women to teach them all. But it was better than to live in a Dark Age, they both admitted. Yet, he shook his head and turned.

“You think the Founder figured that out when he realized he was leading a pack of vampires, werewolves and mutants? The truth is, I don’t have an answer to that. No one knows what’s out there, I still don’t. Not even the last Grandmaster. I’m sure we’ve all been through rough times and still are now. I never wanted to be what I am today, but I chose this.” The Warden tapped on his chestplate, recalling the time the leadership went into a crisis and caused several of the Wardens to go rogue.

“I guess, I just don’t want to lose everything I have because of my own jealousy,” Senya muttered under her low breath, clenching her hands and lowered her chin.

“A wolf howls to no one but the pack that keeps him or her alive. I know you enough that you’re a Red Warden, not a sheep. Do you not know your house words, Senya? From the Flames, the Finest Steel. You are tempered for greatness, strong and hard to bend. You are great, not because you’re a warden, you are great because you are what you choose to do. You will prove them right, and when you do, they will never know, because that is what needs to be done.” Hugh explained, reminding her that it's not an easy job, never was. But someone needed to do it. Senya slowly nodded and opened up a weak smile.

“Perhaps... I think Atraca might be a good start then,” Senya said, chin up and bit her bottom lip. “I can’t forgive myself for being this way. But, I think I can get better at it.” She started to realize.

“Come the moon, we shall see.”

Senya gave a lighthearted chuckle, seeing the large Warden.

“Thank you, Hugh.”

…

“Hugh, wake up. We’re near the place. Gods, talk about a change of scenery.” One of the wardens spoke across the carriage, peeking through the windows with his eyes squinting. Hugh snorted, pinching his nose with his eyes closed and shook his head, blinking twice. The sunray caused him to shield his eyes until they adapted.

“We’re already here?” He asked, leaning over. Another warden peeked from the opposite window, sporting a red braid and narrowed her eyes.

“Looks like it, Atracan horses, the cowboy boots and everything. Even the water smells different. Red Gorge they call it.” She tilted her head, seeing several of the citizens dress up in suits and fancy hats, the men sporting thick mustaches, paperboys shouting the local news. At Valencia, Hugh saw the civilians in tunics and long hair, a lot of exotic markets selling horses and tigers in cages. Before he could recall living in the isle, the male warden called his name.

“Why are we here again bossman? Some vampire on the corner of an island standing trial?” He asked with a little bit of sarcasm, earning a glare from Hugh. Hugh shook his head, looking at both of them.

“This relates to the hunting grounds against the supernatural throughout the continent. Seeing as we’re mutants, I suppose that means we should at least give the summit a visit. This is a good opportunity to get in touch with the continent, these are interesting times.”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t dwell into the politics of the continents? We don't work well when you put us with regular humans.” Auron leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“That was before people started to go crazy and join a Mad God’s crusade. We’re involved now, whether you like it or not. We are responsible for protecting the world from chaos, not sit around while others do something about it. Let me handle the talking when spoken. It’s going to be a long day.” Hugh leaned back and made every minute before the summit count. They planned to head for a hostel for a few days until heading back to Florentina. Which reminded him King Leoncio Santana was supposed to arrive, he probably did by now. A lot of people are supposed to come here.

“You think we might find Senya here? Didn’t she say she was heading to Atraca?” Wendy brought up Senya, who they haven’t seen in days. No one really knows where she was. Hugh narrowed his eyes, nodding.

“Possibly, but she could be anywhere from north to south. But I’m not worried, she’ll be fine on her own. Though, we could use her for this. Right now we have to focus on this meeting.”

“If we do meet Velin, it’s going to be interesting seeing some lightning thrown around. I wish we had more wardens to spare,” Auron mentioned, prompting Hugh to grumble. Though it would have been nice to see more backup to show more representation. But duty calls elsewhere.

“Let the other wardens take care of their own business. There are enough contracts to juggle already. Grandmaster Russ, forgive me, but who is Velin?” Wendy asked. Hugh sighed harshly at the name, taking out a flask and uncapped it, taking a drink. Once he finished taking his medicine, Hugh scratched the side of his neck.

“Velin’s one of the Divine Five around Adonia. People around Adonia worship the Divine Five as gods. A few back in Valencia call her Velin the Vile. If you ask Auron, he’ll tell you more. To put it short, I’m not fond of her.” Hugh narrowed his eyes and huffed through his nose. They eventually got out of the carriage and paid the coachman. Hugh scanned his surroundings and sniffed the air, walking inside a store as Wendy and Auron were confused. Eventually, Hugh came back with a bag of fresh bread and oranges. He tore up a few pieces and offered it to them.

“Might as well enjoy the food here,” Hugh smiled.

 

[Breadman]

Red Gorge school of natural philosophy
Late morning

"...and after that we carry the result over to..." Theodore turned his head to see if the class was paying attention. Predictably, it was not. The children were more preoccupied looking through the windows than to pay attention to their teacher. It has been like this ever since the delegations started to arrive in the city. The school was positioned in such a way that allowed them to observe those curious and interesting new newcomers. This morning was practically impossible to get them to pay any sort of attention. Nocturne's representatives had sparked their imagination with tales of vampires come to swoop in and steal them in the night. Followed with arguments if they really are bad as some people say and young James revealing his father had been filling his head with some rather strong anti-vampire sentiment. Theodore would have to have a word with the man sometime soon. "You're not going to miss any of them if you just spend the next ten minutes learning something you know."

"But what if more of them do show up?"

"I doubt you will miss any of them considering the holes you're staring through the glass." He sighed and wondered why keep up with it. Their attention for the day was shot to pieces. In the moment of desperation an idea came to him. "Children, pack your bags and meet me outside in ten minutes. We're going on a field trip."

"Where are we going, Mr. Boivin?"

"You've been looking at them all morning as they arrived." Their faces lid up as they realized where they were going "Make sure to have everything with you. Don't worry about lunches. I'll have that covered."
---
It took them little time to assemble in front of the school. Soon enough the former inquisitor had a small troop of children in their school uniforms following him. To make sure none would lead themselves astray, Theodore enlisted the help of a few of the local goblins. The kids didn't seem to mind them. Rather fond of them even. After a few minutes organizing them in pairs, they set off. Their first stop was the church.

He wagered that they might have visited the place many times before, but never have they met those currently there. The activity around the streets had increased exponentially due to the new arrivals. But it was no great a challenge. People still gave way to the herd of children walking down the streets. It helped that Theodore had a certain respect formed due to his time as a teacher here. At least in this neighborhood. Soon enough they made their first stop at St. Meril's church. Motioning to follow him, they entered the yard where instead of the typical peace and quiet they could see different members of the delegation walk and talk among themselves. Exchanging information for tomorrow's events and generally resting.

"Theodore!" A voice among those present cried out. It was inquisitor Sara "What are you doing here? Our meeting is for tonight."

"Oh, I'm here on other business." He motioned to the crowd behind him "I'm taking them on a field trip today. Figured with all the delegations, they could learn something about the world from the people who live in it."

"Ever the teacher." She smiled at the idea "Got to say. It's rather interesting seeing you among a crowd and being the tallest person in it."

"Very funny." He was annoyed as the kids giggled behind him. "Anyone here that isn't occupied? Rather not bore them with scripture."

"Hmm. There might be one person. I think the kids are going to love him." She turned around and motioned to follow her. They passed by more members of the church preparing for tomorrow. Some reading holy text, some praying, others were meditating. Nothing much has changed about these types. Then he heard a familiar sound. That of swords clanking together. The group stopped near the training ring for the church guard. Three men had encircled a fourth. He was tall and the armor he was wearing looked old, but still impressive. One of his opponents tried to strike him, but was met with a parry and a kick to the knee. The second saw an opening and lunged only for the armored figure to dodge and receive a hit with the hilt of the sword to the stomach. The third one, he didn't even bother with tactics. He just charged with a battle cry, only to get tripped and end up face first into the ground.

"That's enough for today." The figure said as he put his sword back in it's scabbard. "You're improving, but still have much to learn. Go visit the healer and then come back."

"Royland." Sara called out to him. The knight turned to face her. "We got guests."

"I see. Come to learn of the church and our fair lady, little ones?"

"Something like that." Theodore answered for the class. He folded his hands behind his back and began to speak. "Class. This is ser Royland the third. One of the church's oldest enforcers and one of the last few remaining that can be called a knight and back up his title."

"Haha, you flatter this old spirit with your words, Theodore." He dropped down to one knee to better level with children "I may have talents that make me a formidable warrior, but remember young ones. Before the lady and her kin, we are all equal." Theodore's mask hid his eyeroll.

"Are you really a knight?" One of the children asked "Mother said you all went away."

"Most of us. Some like me refuse to lay down."

"Do you have any knight stories?" Another one asked.

"Many. I would recite to you tales of valor, honor and danger, but I'm afraid my time right now is limited little ones." He looked over his shoulder as a new trio of trainees was entering the ring. "I have to make sure the guard are prepared for anything." He stood up. "Do come to the church after service if you wish to hear those old stories. I promise they are as many as there are scriptures the priest could read." Always a way for these types to hook them into their religion. Theodore kicked himself for that. Hopefully this wouldn't lead to some little zealots down the line. "But before you go, I can show you a trick. As long as your teacher says it's alright of course.'

"As long as you don't do anything to frighten or leave any mental scars, ser." Theodore answered with a dry tone.

"Nothing of the sort, I give you my word." He stepped back and unsheathed his sword. Holding it in one hand he began to recite a chant as runes etched in the metal began to glow. He ran two fingers along the blade and a trail of flame followed them. The weapon was lid ablaze. He twirled it around to show that the flames would not go out easy. The children were practically enchanted by the display letting out collective 'wooo' sound as they followed the flaming blade's dance. With one final swing he put the flame out. The knight bowed as the children clapped and cheered for the show. Theodore slowly clapped himself. He meant well enough, but that was pure showmanship. He'd seen what he could really do with that sword. "I'll return to my work now, but I do hope I see you at tomorrow's service."

"That's up to their parents." Sara answered for them. "Thank you, Royland." She turned back to the class "So as far as exiting members of the delegation, that was it really. Other than me, but as an inquisitor I can't share the more interesting parts. Not yet at least."

"They seem to have enjoyed themselves well enough for now." The alchemist looked around his students. They faces did indeed show they quite liked it. "We'll take a short break for lunch and move on to the next stop. Likely hit up the different delegations from Daristein, Schwyz, Trechtstaat if we can reach them and cap it off with the Alchemist union."

"Planning to try and hit up Nocturne's delegates?"

"I'm not sure. I'll try to get someone for a talk or a show like ser knight just did. But they don't seem the type to indulge in it."

"I think you should try. I can come with you if you want. I do have something I want to pass over to them anyway." Her turned rather serious when she mentioned that.

"The relic you brought with you? " Theodore knew exactly what she meant. The box she brought with her to Red Gorge. The one that was abused by the necromancers among the archivists. The head of Lady Lynch. "You think it would be in better hands with them?"

"They would know how to give a proper burial at least."

"I suppose so." Theodore looked around before saying anything else. "Maybe it's best we don't talk in detail with the kids around?" Sara nodded and was quick to change her expression to a more cheerful one. "Come class. We have many more places to go to before the day is out."

The little herd left the church yard and walked into the town, following along to it's next stop.

 

[K0mori]

Hours before the arrival of Queen Marie-Claire Allemand of Escaria, a rather gorgeous ivory-colored steam engine thundered its way into Red Gorge, one of the very few arrivals permitted at the closed-off station. The bulk of the Escarian delegation was aboard, and, amidst a sea of reporters, photographers, and hecklers, the government ministers and their aides poured out of the the luxurious train cars in black traveling suits, occasionally broken up by the odd navy blue dress uniform with its flashes of white and red and gold ribbons; they were a sight to see. But even as the last few trickled out of the train and onto the platform, the crowd seemed to hold back, and it soon became obvious that they had come to see the new queen and were sorely disappointed.

Unaware that Marie-Claire was taking an alternative route into the city, some believed that she was still aboard one of those train cars until the President of the Escarian Council calmed them by waving his hat around in the air. In a very thick accent, he delivered the line he had memorized: "Her Elegance is to arrive in this locale as a graceful oiseau, lighter than the air itself, and as illustrious as autumn!" Giving a sly smile, he and the other ministers then cut a path out of the building and headed for the carriages gathered for them outside. The crowd, very confused, followed them out into the street and tried to ask them questions, but they were met with nothing but teases: "just wait and see what the Queen has in store," they said.

The ministers weren't so enamored with Marie-Claire that such flowery language came naturally. No, it was the stunt they were proud of, and the theatrics. While the other leaders would arrive by train or by carriage, the Escarians were prepared to upstage them. In a fallow field just outside of town, the carriages rolled to a stop, followed by a mass of curious people on foot. A team of men were already on sight, hammering stakes into the ground and tying ropes. It wasn't clear what they were up to until the onlookers finally spotted it: like a sliver of moon in the daylight sky, a white object was high in the air above them, slowly growing larger, until it finally began to take shape.

Far above, in a long and narrow wooden vessel tied under an oblong balloon, Marie-Claire surveyed the city of Red Gorge. While a team of eight men cranked a propeller which slowly pushed the airship through the sky, a small party of the Queen's favorites talked about the view, the summit, and of politics at large, sipped on soft drinks, and snacked on cheese. In truth, they had been in the air for less than an hour; the airship was pulled along on a special car behind the royal delegation's train before being deposited in the desert, inflated, and flown the short distance to its final destination. But for the new, young ruler of Escaria, appearances were everything. She wasn't just the Queen of a nation, she was the Queen of a new era, and this was the perfect opportunity to stake her claim.

The ship touched down in the middle of the field, and Marie-Claire descended the ramp to the tune of wild applause at the spectacle. She smiled and gave a gentle wave to her admirers, so comfortable she even appeared bored, before disappearing into the carriage carrying the President of the Council. Doubtlessly, photographs of the event would be seen around the continent.

Inside the carriage, however, Marie-Claire was anything but confident. Embodying the spirit of millions was easy when one could be silent, but she would soon need to speak in front of the most powerful figures in Adonia. The Atracan King was like a raging bull, who not only wanted his vengeance against the vampires of Nocturne, but wanted the full-throated support of the entire political world behind him. The Daristeinians were more reluctant to participate in this bloody affair, which made them more appealing to the conflict-averse young Queen, but then again, Velin terrified her and she was loathe to go against the goddess's wishes. The Tsavanians, meanwhile, would expect her support in their eternal troubles with werewolves, which of course posed far less trouble to her homeland.

Come to think of it, there was little reason for Escaria to support Velin's purges, which had badly disrupted the fabric of peaceful life, especially in the wine-producing south, aside from placating the anger of her neighbors, and while she had been repeatedly advised to tread carefully in such affairs, in order to avoid becoming a black sheep or even being labeled a radical, Marie-Claire was sorely tempted to strike out on her own. She knew that pledging support for Nocturne was a step too far, especially with that renegade, the so-called Archbishop leading them. But she knew she could add an exclamation point to her arrival with a single provocative gesture.

The Queen's carriage stopped in front of a certain hotel which was heavily guarded at all entrances, and whose windows were covered with dark drapes so that none could see inside. With her bodyguards close by, she stepped out of the vehicle and headed for the entrance.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

The front entrance of the Fairweather Estate was watched over by a number of the religious guardians, posted around like stalwart pillars, many with one hand upon their hips so that their cloaks were partially opened to reveal their weaponry. Maces hanging from hooks, and leather holsters for pistols. Others in more typical military uniform strode about more casually with rifles slung over shoulders, ambling around in pairs. It seemed that a number of guests were also on the front patio, or across the street, holding conversations at their leisure with cups of coffee and tea, though a few highly dressed-up individuals sulked around by their lonesome, like lost butlers, faces blank but eyes watching windows, rooftops, and other peculiar angles. It all seemed like a fairly typical gathering of worthies with their guardians keeping the peace.

The unannounced arrival of the Escarian Queen's carriage succeeded in deflating this image, somewhat. A general hush fell upon those gathered around the hotel. The steel-masked religious warriors observed in utter, unmoving silence as the Queen made her way to the entrance with her bodyguards. Those that initially seemed genial, such as the parties gathered around tables in large wicker chairs, had fallen silent not in awe nor distaste, but in professional curiosity. More than a few newspapers in the laps of men with tuxedos were flipped a single page over to reveal slim, gleaming handguns resting between the pages. This was a simple, ongoing play, each individual a small cog in the scheme to foster a casual atmosphere, while their true roles were decidedly more proactive than they initially let on. In the lobby, people were already moving about. Lesser dignitaries were shuffled away to the side yard, or other rooms, while a number of regular soldiers were just finishing forming up into a neat line, rifles in the position of salute, heads locked forwards, their plumed shakos waving in the slow breeze of modern electric fans spinning lazily on the ceiling.

"Your August Majesty," a dandy looking gentleman said with a stupendously low bow, approaching the party. His dress was likewise a mix of the modern and archaic, a prevailing style evident among the Nocturne officials - a formal black jacket and thin tie, though with trousers that ended in cream tights, with buckled shoes, and perched atop his head was a rolled powder wig. Even his face was powdered in a light blush. "At your leisure, I can direct you to the esteemed Archbishop, who will be most delighted to make your acquaintance."

---

It only took a few minutes for the stateroom's little drawing room - decorated in a simplistic, elegant faux-royalty style - to be cleared of unnecessary individuals. Drink trays and spare glasses were carried out by the occupants, and a few maidservants brushed down the couches and center rug. Then, a small procession of individuals took to one of the couches - Aleister, having shrugged on the scarlet robes of his office over his suit, Carlio Silvatori in his white priest vestments, Madam Elfriede clutching a tome with her saber at her hip, and a dark skinned elven woman, her long black hair parted around her ears, with a modest golden headdress resting easily on her head. In the corner, a mere shadow with a perpetually amused smirk, sat twirling his hair. Dominique.

"Well, send her in," Aleister said, nodding to a servant. His often pensive eyes, surrounded by charcoal, were bright and inquisitive as he looked towards the door.

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

July 5th, 1875.
'Die Bos', Island of Caraborough.
A few kilometers away from the Ridge. ​

The Warders have a very unique way of treating their dead; particularly those that have been targeted and murdered outside of gang conflict. Three of theirs died yesterday, and one was left gravely wounded after the colonists at Pollsmoor banded together to fight back against the Staafmans exploitative rule. The three that were dead had their bodies laid in individual wagons with makeshift caskets that contained whatever belongings they had such as their rifle and knife (as it was believed they would need both in the afterlife), and were covered in spent bullet casings. Interestingly however was that each body had their hands cuffed together. Though they’re clearly dead and couldn’t hurt anyone anymore, it was purely symbolic. They would later be broken when it’s time to finally bury them; as a way of showing they’ve finally been released from the Ridge. These three wagons, pulled by several battered captives taken during the purge of Pollsmoor, started moving down the road leading to the other side of the amphitheater-like formation that surrounded the former prison colony. Leading them was the fourth member of the patrol that got attacked. He was fully equipped with his armor and his guns just as he was a few days ago. He and the wagons carefully made their way down the rocky road with him at the front; scanning the fields of ‘die bos’ and keeping his fallen comrades safe as he guided them to the afterlife.

The wilderness beyond the Ridge, or ‘die bos’ as it was called, felt like it came out of a dream. No cell blocks, no factories, no shanty towns. It was nature at its finest; untouched by man. Jagged cliff faces and mountains covered in green and brown broke the horizon, bushes and trees growing freely stood proudly unafraid of being cut down, and by the gods the sunlight; you could actually see the sun and feel its warmth blow across your skin. However, there was one thing spoiling the beautiful imagery: a graveyard on a cliff top nearby filled with the headstones dedicated to fallen members of the numbers gangs, which naturally included the Warders. The Warhead, the Two-Eye-See, the Warthinker, several lieutenants, many low-ranking Warders, and even some Staafmans surrounded three empty pits where the caskets were laid into once they arrived. No one spoke, no one looked at one another, there was nothing but the noise of insects buzzing and the occasional gust of wind coming over the cliff top. The caskets were in place in the pits, but no one started filling them. Nobody moved. It was a motionless silence as they all stared at the caskets. Suddenly, Kregore began to slowly beat his chest with his fist.

-Thump, thump, thump…-​

Then Two-Eye-See followed.

-Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…-​

Then Langa the Warthinker, the lieutenants, those of the lower ranks, and even one of the Staafmans joined in.

-THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, -
​

The beating gets faster, louder, and more passionate until they all let out a war cry with some even taking on a battle stance. Kregore himself stomps both feet firmly into the ground and raises his head into the sky, roaring an incantation that was repeated by everyone around. They all began slamming their hands on their elbows, their knees, their thighs, their arms, their chests while crying out some incantation towards the sky. Each slam becoming harder, each chant becoming louder as they started screaming them full tilt; letting out all the pain they have from losing some of their own to their inferiors. And then it stopped. The chanting stopped, the gestures stopped, the thrashing stopped, the screaming stopped; it all returned to a quiet where perhaps even a pindrop landing on the grass below could be heard. Two-Eye-See was wiping sweat off his brow while Langa was adjusting his scarf. Meanwhile, Kregore's naturally scowling expression turned to one of sadness as the caskets were finally buried.

There was one other peculiar aspect the way they treat their dead. Until vengeance has been taken on those that murdered them, they have not earned the right to bury those slain. Pollsmoor killed three of them, but now they've paid dearly for it. All around those gathered were more graves that had been dug, and each of them had a nice layer of dirt on top. Many Warders had been laid to rest in this graveyard, but so many more have been killed just for them to find a spot here...

-Later that day-




​

Though the earlier hours of the day had been spent mourning, there was still some cause for joyous commemoration strangely enough. Several "recruits" passed their initiation during the great purging of Pollsmoor, including one very special recruit whom Kregore himself helped make his first kill. Now it was always a great moment when a promising youth 'prove their manhood' by taking another life and showing they're willing to murder in cold blood for the numbers gangs, but the boy whom Kregore helped become somewhat of a celebrity among the stronghold. Word of the Warhead assisting in his great first step spread quickly among the ranks as the Warhead's involvement meant to them it must've been particularly important. For this very special reason, he was permitted to leave the stronghold and celebrate in any manner he wished for the rest of the day; though under supervision of course. The boy had become completely catatonic over the events of the great purge, but that didn't matter too much to his new friends whom were intent on taking him to one of the cleaner beaches somewhere on the coast. Langa decided to tag along, though he requested they acquire some alcohol to bring with them, and obviously some for the boy too. He was a man now according to them, and so he may as well start drinking like one. A band of Warders together in high spirits, save for the boy, went down the road into the slums below.

The stronghold might've been dirty, but at least it was maintained with what they had available. Down here however, there's no such thing as maintenance at all. To their left as they came down the road were a pack of flea-covered dogs eating up a dead man's corpse, and on their right were a mob of men from one of the many gangs in the ridge beating bloody another man from another gang. He stretched out his arm and cried for help from the passing Warders, but all he got out of any of them was a disinterested grunt and a shrug. The deeper they traveled into the rotten core of the Ridge, the narrower the roads became on the packed streets. Every second they were bumping into dirt covered gangsters, squeezing up against rusted sheets and decaying wood, and brushing past cracked concrete splattered with mud and other stains. Not to mention the near darkness they were in as the slums grew taller and taller still. And the smell... Gods, it was getting worse. It got bad enough that some of the group broke out the gasmasks just to keep going. Finally, after an hour or so of crawling through all the trash and muck did they arrive at some sort of building. It was huge, but it looked very odd. The numerous pipes and scaffolding suggest it was once one of those refineries dotting the Ridge where the inmates would come and deliver their hauls from the mines, but an entire corner of it had been torn down and half of it replaced by some gaudy looking saloon with a sign above it's main door reading -JESSIE'S-. Naturally, the other half was replaced by a brothel. Drunken bystanders were shoved aside and down onto the filthy road as Langa ran ahead and gave the saloon a good look.

"Ah, here! This is where I wanted to go!" said Langa. The lieutenant accompanying them stopped the group with a raise of his fist. Another pulled out a small bag full of whatever money Kregore could've spared the group. There wasn't much money inside, but then again Kregore never had much himself; he'd instead send his earnings either to his superiors in the Staafmans or purchase more ammunition and weaponry for his men.

"Got 'nuff for a few roun's." he said. "An' maybe wit a few stekkies next door."

"Bien, bien! I'll go get what we need inside." He took the small bag and gestured to two others in the group to join him. "Moana, Piki, if you will..." The two followed him inside the saloon, leaving a few others and the boy waiting outside alone. Some started talking to each other while the lieutenant started to enjoy a smoke break. Though the boy kept staring forward with empty eyes, just as devoid of any signs of life as they were ever since the purge. Though suddenly, they twitched. His eyes snapped to the right, and he caught a glimpse of a hooded woman adjusting her coat as she stumbled out of the brothel and slowly taking a seat on the steps leading to the front door. The more he looked at her, the more he could hear something coming from her.

Was she... crying?

---​

Bars, saloons, and pubs; the only neutral grounds there are ever is in a wretched place like Caraborough. The only place where anyone of any color or ethnic background or creed could rub shoulders with those of another on a somewhat friendly circumstance. The only place where, depending on your status, would probably be your only experience of any sort of infrastructure on the crime-infested island. Thankfully, these establishments were something everyone took great lengths to polish and take care of since hard alcohol with mates was something everyone there enjoyed. So much so, that this one saloon in particular and the brothel next to it was bustling with activity. It usually was, as it’s quite popular with inmates and outcasts that came abroad from Southern Atraca since the style, the booze, and the music reminded them of home, but it seems the Warders aren't the only one celebrating something today. Inside, one of the lower-ranking gangs reserved a table in the back for themselves. Today, they celebrate a successful raid on another gang’s hideout. They all sat around one of the wooden tables in their bizarre yellow striped suit pants, black monkey jackets, and burgundy colored flat caps, sharing laughs and liquor as they bragged to one another of their vile accomplishments during the attack.

"And I had him like this!" said their leader, making motions with his hands as if he was strangling someone. "And I fuckin' crushed it! Crushed it so hard his eyes popped out!" They all cheered and laughed as they shook hands with him.

"Out of sight, man!" said one.

"Yeah, exactly like him!" he responded, once more sparking uproarious laughter from his mates. "And you know what the best part was?"

"What?" one piped up. "Yeah, what?!" piped another.

"I left a little note! I told them we took one of their boys alive! Can't wait to see what they think of that!" he roared. Again the table sounded off in cheers and laughter over their brutal murders and other deeds. They were so caught up in their gloating and boasting and cheering that they didn't notice nearly every other patron in the saloon slowly lower their heads and avert their eyes from the dhampir and Kainuto tribesmen approaching their table.

"But enough of this horseshit!" A large wine bottle comes out from under the table, and he cradles it in his hands. "Let's party!"

The party didn't start. A hard slam on the table from Langa's hand caught their unanimous attention. "Never once in my life did I think I'd see the Bombers score a victory." They looked cautiously at one another, wondering what to do or say now that a Warder is among them.

Their leader froze and stared back at the three, trying his best to appear unfazed by his sudden appearance. "...Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to see your bottle." replied Langa, leaning closer to get a better look at what specific label would've been served. "From the Loque vineyard in D'Aoste, I see... Good taste! I like it."

"Uh... thanks?" the leader replied. He wasn't sure what to say, though the three Warders continued to stand there staring at him. Though now, Langa was scowling heavily. Something was missing; the leader didn't get the hint.

Piki stepped up and spoke up for his friend. "Didn't you hear him? He said he liked it!"

"Yes..." Langa nodded. "I said I liked it. That means, you will offer it to me."

The Bombers, and several other patrons in the saloon all looked nervously to their leader. They were all hoping he'd comply with gang law just to defuse this situation, and gang law states that the hierarchy must be followed without question. Without saying a word, he very reluctantly extends the bottle towards the three. The bartender, who had been watching, gave a heavy sigh of relief as she went back to cleaning glasses.

"Why, thank you." said Langa, bowing slightly as he took it. "Your generous donation to the Numbers will be noted." The three turn around to walk out while waving and gesturing at the other patrons to continue their drinking. "Go on, go! Drink! Smile! Be happy that this wasn't a raid!" exclaimed Piki.

They were almost to the door when one of the Bombers stood up and kicked his seat behind him. "Hey! Pretty boy! Why not take this shit too, huh!?" A glass of whiskey sailed over ducked heads and full ashtrays. Langa turned around at the shouting just enough for the glass to hit him square in his chest, drenching his scarf in alcohol. He looked down in absolute shock. The fumes of booze punched him in his face, adding to this insult. His scarf, woven with the finest cloth and given to him by his mother as a gift, now ruined.

The wet cloth reflected the dingy lighting of the saloon. Langa's eyes burned red. "I. JUST. HAD. THIS. WASHED..."

Moana and Piki drew their guns. The Bombers pulled out their knives. Langa tore off his bandana, exposing his fangs. And everything went to hell as they started shooting at eachother.

---​

The boy kept looking at this woman cry to herself on the brothel steps. Something about her was drawing him in. He wasn't sure what it was, but she sure did remind him of his mother a little. Unknowingly, he sulked closer to her; close enough he could see her face a bit clearer underneath her hood. It was covered in scars and one of her eyes was missing, yet oddly enough she looked pretty... or at least might've been at one point. She noticed him staring at her, and her eye met his. "I-I..." she mumbled to him. He didn't respond, but she saw him raise a hand. She flinched slightly as she expected a hit, but all he did was simply hold her arm gently. She relaxed and wiped her face now that she isn't sensing any danger from the boy, but she looks at him, and signs of life start reappearing in him. His dull eyes start to water and his lips twitch. He could just fall into her arms and start crying right now. He opens his mouth a little, just to say something, but-

-CRAAASH-
​

The saloon windows shatter into pieces as bullets rip them apart. Broken glass, more bullets, and patrons come exploding out of the saloon as a gunfight erupts within. The lieutenant nearly catches a bullet right in his ear as it whips past him, taking out his cigarette instead. "SHIIIT!!" A yellow-colored flare is launched by one of the others, and soon enough, the stronghold at the top of the mountain lights up like a beacon; signaling that backup is on the way. "LET'S GO!!" he shouted as the others move in. The boy also readied his rifle almost instinctively and was about to blindly charge in with the others, but a tug on his shoulder from the woman stopped him from going anywhere.

"W-Wait! No!"

He started to panic, looking back and forth between the woman and the saloon doors. "No..." She pulled him a little closer and away from the shattered windows. "D-Do not go with them! You will die in there! Follow me!" Before the boy could even look back at the saloon, he was yanked away by his hand and dragged down the street; the woman had to make several beelines to avoid incoming Warder reinforcements.

​

Finally they stopped in a muddy alleyway once the gunshots and screaming were too far away to be heard. They were alone here, save for a few rats gnawing on some garbage in a tipped over can nearby. The woman knelt down and grabbed the boy by his shoulders. She looked at his face; he had been crying, so she gave him a tight hug. It made him cry harder, but she didn't let go. "I know what those men made you do. I know how you are hurting..." she whispers to him. "They really are awful people, and you do not belong with them. No child any where belongs with them..." She pulls out a cloth from her jacket and wipes away the boy's tears. "But I know a place. A place where they will not go. A place where you will be safe! J-just let me take you there...You will be safe, I promise... They will not hurt you there..." She might've been lying, but the boy didn't care. He just wanted to be away from the Warders, away from all the killing, so he gave his answer in the form of another hug.

"Th-thank you..." She hugged him back with a warm smile. "My name is Ratka. What is yours?"

The boy stayed silent. He shook his head as he had no name. The Warders didn't call him anything since to them he didn't earn one yet.

"You... do not have a name?" Ratka looked surprised for a moment. 'He doesn't even have a name...' Her face lit up as she thought of something suitable. "Hey... how does 'Sasha' sound?"

The face of 'Sasha' lit up with a smile of approval.

"Sasha it is then! Now, hold still. This is so that they won't see you." Ratka took off her nun's hood and adjusted it over 'Sasha'. Its cowl covered most of his body, especially the blue shirt he had on. She also takes off her jacket and drapes it over his shoulders. He looked like a dwarf with all this over-sized baggy clothing on him, but it concealed his figure well enough. "There! Now hold my hand and don't let go until we are there, ok?" 'Sasha' nodded. The both of them rose out of the dark alleyway and into the sunlight. 'Sasha' didn't look around much so as to not attract attention or accidentally lock eyes with any potential Warders nearby, but something was different about the filthy streets now. They were still dirty, caked in mud and blood, but he didn't mind. He didn't mind the screaming in the distance, or the gunfire, or the yelling. None of it took away the smile he had on his face. He skipped over a rotting pig's corpse as he walked with Ratka holding his hand, but it was alright.

Everything was going to be alright.

 

[Doomevil]

Hugh took a huge bite out of an orange as Wendy and Auron ate some snacks while the crowds began to form up ever since they got here. It was like everyone from each part of the world got invited. From the Nocturne’s majestic clan to Escaria’s shock and awe. Hugh and the two wardens walked around the area and talked to the locals, engaging in conversation like the culture and the Mad God threatening to burn down the entire town. Hugh rolled his eyes, blah, he was gonna hear about this for a while.

“Grandmaster, didn’t you mention the nearest Red Temple was in Atraca?” Wendy turned, chewing on a cut juicy orange while Hugh gathered his thoughts.

“The Atraca Temple, north of the border. We could always pay a visit to ol Baymont. But I think he’s a bit overworked as it is,” He touched his chin, the last time he ever saw the old geezer was 2 years.

Auron tapped his foot, “Overworked? He hasn’t taken up a weapon in decades. Wardens like him should know when to settle down before they waste it on paperwork and maintaining a castle.” But before he could open up his mouth again, Hugh turned and glared at him, eyes furrowed.

“A warden has a right to decide his or her life. Without Baymont, the Ashstone Temple wouldn’t be where it was today. He’s done more to serve the line of duty than all of us, and he has no plans to retire.” Hugh warned, causing Auron to step back and raise a hand.

“Chale, Hugh. I didn’t mean to insult Baymont’s hard work. But there’s more than just administrating and training rookies,” Auron explained. Wendy interrupted the two sided conversation and shared her opinion.

“Come on guys, let’s not start arguing before the actual summit. We got a lot of that coming up soon,” Wendy urged a chuckle, but both of them weren’t laughing. The young warden sucked air through her teeth and turned away, seeing a group of kids walking in town. Wendy smiled and left to engage in the locals. Once Hugh saw Wendy walk up to the group, he gave a low grunt and followed behind.

“Hey there, sir. We were wondering where the Summit is located and when they might start the meeting?” Wendy asked to the small adult leading the group.

 

[Dmaster]

Camille had managed to find her room and deposited her things in there, not quite content to just keep herself cooped up in her room after all the traveling she had done. While her place of rest was considerably more lavish than what the other visitors may have had to deal with, she only purchased it for comfort to rest where she would not be bothered. Even if the summit was tomorrow, she needed to take stock of the town and what may be shifting in the shadows.

Trekking through the busy streets she had decided to leave her helmet back in her room, shedding the slight anonymity such headgear offered. The heat was much too awful at this hour for her to bear wearing it when she may not need the protection. After all she hardly expected any enemies she faced to be brandishing anything that the helmet would protect against in the first place. Her meandering kept her rather close to the terminal, eyeing the Nocturne Delegation's housing directly behind her now and then as it would seem they positioned themselves at the edge of town. Troubling, to say the least.

As she re-approached the side of town the terminal sat she took note of a schoolhouse in the distance, eyes scanning through the crowds of people to see a rather short leader guiding the children through a bustling street. A field trip of sorts? But... who was the teacher?

The kids seemed to have been stopped by a man in armor asking them something, be it directions or details she had not really cared for. Just then, Queen Allemand of Escaria arrived and touched down in a rather head-turning aircraft, leaving the huntress momentarily stunned by such a brazen move. Just what was she trying to achieve with a show such as that? It would be best to be delicate in this powder keg of a town, especially with a terrorist group now staying in it! Yet Camille's eyes only became wider when she saw that the Queen and her entourage made their way into the Nocturne delegation.

Immediately she reached for one of her weapons, grasping the handle as her breathing hastened. This could only end in disaster. What was she doing?! The only thing preventing any violence was the fact that the deliberation at the summit loomed over them, but that did not mean those thoughtless vampires would spare her if she were to say something they did not like. The Queen of Escaria could be killed, or worse.

Still, Camille had to exercise some level of trust or restraint as her head swam with possibilities. Slowly she took her hand off of her weapon, now standing in the open as the crowd temporarily thinned around her.

 

[Breadman]

The day has been long and educational so far. After the church, the students met with members from Schwyz and the Daristein delegations, but didn't have luck with the one from Trechstaat. Too busy with their own internal affairs. Word around town was that the Escarian delegation had already made it, if the right people were there maybe he could arrange something given that a good part of the court has slept through his lectures in their university days. But maybe that wont get him a foot in the door. They were near where the Nocturne delegation was staying. While he didn't pick the path deliberately, it would still be a chance for something they can learn. Question was, would the children behave long enough?

Hey there, sir. We were wondering where the Summit is located and when they might start the meeting?

"Oh..." He was interrupted from his thoughts by a young woman in armor. He couldn't recognize which delegation she was part of. "Yes, it's being held in the courthouse tomorrow morning I believe. You can find it rather easily from here. Just down the road and to the left. Middle of downtown."

"Hey look, more knights!"

"Do these ones do fire tricks too?"

"Nah, Royland did it because he was part of the church. These look different."

"Students, settle down." Theodore slightly raised his voice to quiet down his class and turned back to Wendy "Apologies mademoiselle. They have been rather exited all day thanks to the people they've been meeting."