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

Reader mode
Inari hurried along with the others. Abandoning the loot - and another fight - made their battle feel a little worthless. Sure, killing this woman was for the better, but where the hell was the pay? And why skip out on additional fun? She ran with the liberated pillow under one arm and her sawed off in her other hand to fend off any stray demons as they escaped the battle encompassing the palace. A few of the servants hiding and running caught her eye, and more than a few times she considered snatching one of them to bring along. Unfortunately, the others were in too far of a hurry for her to make a grab at one and bring them along. She had to make do with a pillow and horn. Not the best loot she had received, but there had been times when there was nothing.

She clambered into the truck and stared longingly out the back. She knew very well what happened to those left behind to an invading army, if their friendly fighters here were going to press the attack rather than peel off once they were away.

"What waste," she sighed, setting the pillow on her lap. "We could have take much more."
 
Wesley threw a smoke bomb once everyone made their way towards the Truck, hoping to throw off any guards that were firing at them, He then hopped on the front of the front seat of the truck where Kassidy was. but the job is not over yet, He had a shuriken ready as he looked out of the window to see if anything was still following them.
 
When Thelyra finally fell Seriphine held her breath as if waiting for her to get back up. Realizing that she had been finished a sigh escaped the warlord as she relaxed a bit. For a moment Seriphine simply stood on the spot, contemplating. Her kin had lost so much because of Thelyra and the others. Could it ever be repaired? She didn't know. But the Elves had surely been given a second chance with coming back from the dead. They'll need all the guidance they can get.
As it was soon time to leave Seriphine kneeled down next to Thelyra and yanked off her other horn and recovered her knife. Another trophy, another memory. When the party turned to leave Seriphine lingered at the door for a moment just to watch the bodies inside be engulfed by cleansing fire. A fitting end.

On their way out Gwen stopped at the mural. For once they would probably share a similar feeling- pain. She helped Kassidy get her fellow queen moving, sparing the mural a final quick glance herself.

Finally back at the truck Seriphine hopped in the back and looked at the others with her neutral expression.
 
Some were reeling from the battle, others were taking trophies from the kill. Henderson had other plans. It took a tug or two, but he managed to yank one of the grand corpse's legs loose. 'One for the road.' Hanging the piece of meat over his shoulder, he used his other hand to pick up his coat and followed after the others.

"Welcome back." He said to Gwen as he passed her by. The battle outside didn't bother him much. Was expecting things to be a lot wore for them, but if the simpleton degenerates were put to the slaughter, who was he to argue? A bit of a waste of meat, but one can live with that. He climbed in the back of the truck and took a bite from his prize "Hmm. A bit salty."
 
Once the vehicle was cranked, and everyone was loaded up, Kassidy floored it. The tires squealed for a moment, due to the sudden acceleration. Down the street they went, darting through the city once more. Heading northwest. "We're headin' over into Sagath's area. Envy, ya know?" sounded off Kassidy, glancing back to the others as she drove. Vincent nodded. "Probably better than here, honestly." he said, before looking to the others.


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END OF CHAPTER ONE
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Post-Chapter 1 Intermission
  • Index
    • Nocturne Islands
    Capital St. Gwyndolin, formerly Nocturne Bay
    Fall, 1880

    He had gotten used to the noises. No matter the time of day - which this far north, under cover of a near perpetual foggy, overcast sky that yielded precious little sunlight - there was always construction. It was the unenviable yet necessary task of raising a nation from cold loamy fields, mossy stone, and harsh rocky outcroppings. Three years ago the city had been little more than thin clapboard houses nestled together for warmth and protection against a somber bay of black water. There hadn't even been a dock at first, and the first few ships had to row parties of exhausted, terrified refugees to shore to camp out under canvas tents. A feat that would have been impossible in most places in the world given the simple presence of sunlight. These islands here were truly a place of salvation in more ways than one. From his balcony at the Lunar Cathedral, he could see most of the bay-side portion of the growing city, along with the nearly finished Saville Square Clocktower. Gone away was the clapboard, replaced now by muted grey stone and brick buildings of three or four floors in height. Large canvas sheets - or even boards - closed over the tops of many streets so that the nighttime denizens faced a minimum of sunlight. While the days were dim and the worst lethal aspect of the sun a rare occurrence here, most days could still yield a fair burn to any vampires caught out beneath the protective blanket of misty clouds. Additional artificial cover was an absolute necessity, and in some places streets were entirely inside of buildings.

    Nearly thirty thousand people called this place their home now. Predominantly vampires, werewolves, and other supernaturals fleeing Velin's pogroms on the continent. Around a third were human. Sympathizers and allies, mostly, though a few extraordinarily brave pioneers, always seeking another frontier to push. Even some dark skinned elves had appeared in number, ancient natives to this place returning by magical means. A smaller, unsavory portion had also attached themselves to Nocturne - pirates, smugglers, and outlaws - but these elements were under strict watch. The Night Choir Militia, and the more official policing actions by the nuns of the Order of the Rapturous Heart, maintained exceptional law and order. An eternal vigil was required to ensure agents of the enemy church and of Velin were not among them, and for the bad apples among their own kind to be put under heel. While everyday was a hopeful one, there was still the fear that Velin's forces would find them and launch their invasion. Their first line of defense were privateers and pirates under the guise of an official navy, but they were small in number, leaving the real prospect of defense to the people themselves. Alongside tools and goods, rifles and ammunition were pressed daily. Raising a nation was a task that required enormous capital, willpower, and effort, with thousands working together in tandem. With the need for an army and navy, the expenditure was incredible. Food, for example, had been a problem since day one - only half the population being vampires saved them all from starving, given their simple diet. Cattle, sheep predominantly, were bled to feed the vampires, along with humans who offered blood in exchange for other benefits. A custom taken from the proudest vampire settlement in Escaria, or whatever was left of it these days.

    A shape moved about in the chamber behind him. It was his home now, and a fine one at that. The Lunar Cathedral had been under perpetual construction since Nocturne was founded. It dominated the center of the city and was something between a place of worship, seat of government, and fortress. Even his most optimistic foreman and architects were uncertain when it would be finished. Not that anyone complained. It provided work to many and was easily the pride of the entire fledgling nation.

    He finally looked back into the gloom of the large chamber. Bookshelves dominated much of the walls, and a stout, ornately carved desk that weighed far too much took up a spot in the distant corner. His private office space, though he had an official one elsewhere in the building. Regardless, both were stacked with an immense amount of stationary - letters, missives, and documents. Most days he wrote more letters than he felt like he could count. Even with his delegates and an entire host of allies, he was recognized by all as the ruler of Nocturne.

    "You're up early," Abbess Charlene Duvaulle said, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him from behind. "Feeling anxious again?"

    Archbishop Aleister Germain smiled softly. "I often do, these days. There is so much work to be done. I dare not say things have been going well enough... but I suppose they have been. Here, at least. Over the sea on the continent...." His voice trailed off and Abbess Duvaulle hugged him a little tighter. They had grown closer over these past three years. She had been with him since the very beginning of it all, being one of the first to receive his letters after the incident at the Saville Estate when he returned from Grimtham. "We're doing all we can," she said soothingly, head resting on his shoulder. "You have done so much... given so much. You're the savior of these people, Aleister. Without you we'd all be scattered and lost, or dead. You brought us all together to survive this. Everyone here supports you. Don't doubt yourself, dear, and especially don't ever think you are alone...."

    A third shape moved in the chamber behind them, another set of red eyes appearing from the wide canopied bed, nearly swallowed up in a bundle of silk blankets and pillows, curtained in by the velvet draperies hanging from the canopy. Like the abbess, they were dressed only in the growing moonlight as night rose up. "Hard to feel alone in a bed as full as this," they laughed. Aleister laughed too, but Duvaulle gave a tiny glare back. "Oh, shush Carlio. You'll spoil the moment." Carlio Silvatori remained on the bed, watching them with a little grin. It had been two years ago since Aleister turned the energetic, fiery young man from Stiusil into a vampire. Carlio had adored Aleister as a human, and his reverence had only grown since then.

    "You two are always so kind to keep my spirits up," Aleister said. "I'm sorry to have roused you both a little earlier than usual with my pensive mood."

    "Oh, don't be like that," Duvaulle grinned. "Today's supposed to be a day of celebration, anyways."

    "That's today?" Carlio said, barely moving from his spot on the bed. "I had nearly forgotten! I wonder if we'll see the blast from here," he laughed.

    Aleister allowed himself another thin smile. His often delighted smirk was a thing of the past, as the corners of his lips no longer curved naturally up in mirth, but downwards into a resting frown. The shade beneath his eyes had gotten a little better, but remained all the same. His hair had grown lighter and he allowed it to grow out past his shoulders. That day three years ago had stolen far more than his family from him.

    "We may not see it with our eyes, but we'll feel it in our hearts. And more importantly... they'll feel it with every fiber of their being."

    --

    Port of Devontown, Atraca

    It was a little before midnight when the Sea Herald, an unassuming cargo freighter, sighted the coastline and sparkling lights of Devontown. The port was a bustling seaside town built around a natural bay in northwest Atraca, nearly at the very tip of the furthermost corner of the country. Right on several major shipping lanes, access to the great open ocean for fishing, bountiful shallows for clamming and crabbing, a full rail network, and a massive protected bay, it was no wonder that Devontown had prospered since its inception. At any given moment there were dozens of large vessels moored in the peaceful waters, either for rest or for mercantile practice, and even the Atracan Royal Navy maintained a station here, in which military ships were often docked at their own private section of the bay. An old brick fort guarded the outer approach, but these days it was mostly empty. The armory had been moved down towards the bay at a guarded post by the naval lodging.

    For the past ten minutes using a narrow gauge lantern, the freighter signaled a spot up the coast near a cliffside rise with the simple message Queen. Shortly, a return light flashed across the ocean - Hearts. The handshake had been completed. On a lonely dirt turnpike with cottages dotting the rolling hills, two men hurried away from the cliff with a surveyor's lantern and boarded a large coach carriage. They snapped the reigns and urged the four warhorse stallions forwards towards the city. Back out to sea, the Sea Herald eased its way into the harbor. As expected, the nightwatch of the Port Authority signaled them to take any open berth and await inspection in the morning. The freighter drifted towards the nearest open spot by the military pier, in which several screwships were stationed. Their crews were more than likely on board and tucked in for the night. Just off the dock where the freighter came to a stop at was a large cannery and several other industrial mills. Further up the bay there were shops and the city proper, all crowded around the bay like a horseshoe. The slope of the hills sent each street that stretched away from the coast higher and higher in elevation. This was the lowest point in the area where the land met the coast with beaches, not cliffs, which dominated either side of the city in both directions.

    The Sea Herald waited for forty-six minutes before a carriage came bounding to a stop outside the pier. The driver and his passenger were both dressed in black overcoats and stovepipe tophats, the latter armed with a coachgun resting beside him. From the freighter, several sailors in grey smocks hurried down the gangway.

    "Captain, that's all of us," the bosun said in a low voice. They had been on a skeleton crew and it wasn't easy to lose someone. Only one person remained behind - a vampire named Louis Bernot. He was deep within the cargo hold of the vessel nurturing the slow burn fire they had set to ensure that it would properly take, and once it did, that it wouldn't go out. The entirety of the hold was stocked with crates of ammonium nitrate and picric acid, gathered from over a year of piracy on the high seas. Worthwhile cargo to be sold, but they weren't here for the marketplace. "How long do you think we have? They said we'd have an hour to get away...."

    "I don't know and I'm not waiting around to find out. Load up! We're getting the hell out of here. We can appreciate our handiwork from a safe distance." The half dozen men stuffed themselves into the carriage, with two clambering onto the backboard and holding on tightly. The gangway had been kicked into the water so that anyone passing by would think the crew were sleeping on board, and that if they, for whatever reason tried to get their attention, it could be assumed their nightwatchman had fallen asleep. "Let's move it!"

    Back through the city they went, the carriage galloping away through darkened industrial streets. It was a clear night and they'd be able to watch the bay from the cliffs. Every minute nervously ate away at the captain's mind, his eyes locked to his pocketwatch. Really, there was no idea how long this could taken. Fifteen minutes? Two hours? These sort of things had always happened as accidents before. Every once in a while a fertilizer mill would go up with a big boom. Just a few years ago a train loaded with blasting jelly had baked in the sunlight for too long. When it finally went off, it left a crater large enough to fit an entire estate mansion in.

    Finally, they reached the bleak cliffs overlooking the city, and the men gathered around to stretch their legs. A few lanterns were lit and three sauntered off to the nearby turnpike inn to rouse the keeper there for some food.

    "Its been fifty-two minutes... it should be soon now that the thing will go off," the captain explained. "Are we far enough away?" Someone asked. The captain shrugged. "I sure hope so. We didn't pack that bitch with munitions. It can't be any worse than a munitions store going up." There was silence for a moment before someone pointed out, "Those can get pretty bad, though."

    Thirteen minutes later, the Sea Herald, docked alongside other freighters and several warships in the quiet nighttime bay, detonated with the power of nearly 2.5 kilotons of TNT. Night turned into day for a second as the entirety of the vessel and everything around it was utterly obliterated, vaporized as if they had never existed in the first place.

    The crew of the freighter, a safe enough distance away from the city on the cliffs, were knocked squarely off their feet and into the dirt. None could hear anything except the ringing left in their ears from the earth shattering roar. Atop the carriage, the pressure wave was intense enough to have knocked the driver off the frontboard, and he fell cursing into the mud while the horses went wild and launched themselves forwards, pulling a now empty carriage along into the dark. Something heavy landed in the dirt near them as debris fell from the sky, prompting all to scatter up the road and past the turnpike in a frenzy.

    It seemed they had misjudged the power of their makeshift bomb. Not that it mattered. Ears ringing or not, with or without a carriage, they'd run all the way to the village of Chillwell if they had to. A schooner was waiting for them there and they'd be gone by morning.
     
  • Index
    • The Grand Cathedral
    Eternis, Atrica

    "...Do you understand what you need to do, Josefina? What you need to do to begin your path to atonement?" said Undite softly, gently holding Velin's hand in her own. She had been sitting there in Velin's makeshift room, which had been demolished before she arrived. Simply talking with her old friend. Velin was quiet, and had been quiet most of the time save for the few times she spoke a sentence or two. Velin appeared to be...broken. She had become a monster, like those she used to slay. She almost killed innocent men, women, and children in the name of bloody purges. A purge her loyal followers were executing across the continent, and who's victims' blood was on her hands just as it stained theirs.

    Velin didn't look up, but Undite felt her fingers gently squeeze her hand. "...What about...my followers? All those men and women...zealots that bind themselves to my teachings...Those that firmly believe in this...madness?" said Velin, her voice faint and rough. She had cried a few times during all of this, and her voice showed it. Undite tilted her head, looking down to Velin's hand and gently rubbing it with her other free hand. "...You must teach them to follow the proper path. The path of righteousness. Goodness and all that it encompasses. It will take time, yes...but they will come to understand. I firmly believe it."

    Velin grew quiet again, as her fingers relaxed. "...Alright..." she said, before slowly starting to stand from where she had been sitting. "...I'll end the purges." Undite smiled warmly. "...Thank you, old friend." she replied, standing herself and helping Velin to her feet.

    As Velin straightened up, there was a knock at the door. Undite moved over and unlocked it, opening it to reveal a guard. "Ma'am, a ship exploded in the port of Devontown, and leveled a third of the port. The King and his military advisors believe it to be a terrorist attack. Military forces are being mobilized." Undite's visible face shifted to an expression of utter shock, as she glanced back to Velin. Velin, however...didn't react as most had come to expect her to. "...It seems you have more work to do, Dominique..." she said, calmly. Undite studied her for a few moments, before nodding.

    Velin then looked to the guard. "...I want you to send out a telegraph...to every church on this continent. I'm ordering that the purges cease immediately...If I hear of any man or woman continuing against my wishes...I'll kill them myself."

    ---
    ​
    A few hours later...
    The port of Cardend, Atraca

    A cloaked figure walked alongside the docks, passing by groups of soldiers which were beginning their patrols. Thanks to the incident in Devontown, every port in Atraca was now on high alert. Ships were preparing to disembark to patrol Atraca's coasts, while soldiers moved about the ports and cities. On the lookout for anything suspicious. Undite, being Undite, wasn't bothered. She wasn't even stopped, breezing through checkpoints without issue.

    She moved down one of the piers, towards a small fishing boat. There were two men aboard, and she could tell from a mile off that both were vampires. As she stepped up to the side of the boat, she gave a quick look around to make sure no soldiers were nearby. She then removed her hood and looked down at the men as they moved about. Seemingly preparing to shove off. "Gentlemen." she said, her voice soft. Both of the men stopped, looking up to her with their red eyes. They were utterly shocked at the sight, instantly recognizing her as Undite. She smiled warmly. "...Might I request a voyage to the land known as Nocturne? I'll pay handsomely, I assure you." she asked, moving her cloak partially to reveal a coin purse on her hip.
     
    The Abyssal Warfront
    ​
    The sounds of absolute chaos enveloped the battlefield as both the forces of Wrath and the Dead clashed together. It was one of many such battles that had occurred through these long, arduous years of conflict, yet Ethraeil stood firm as he cut a demon in half with a single stroke of his blade. All around him, the soldiers of his army continued their onslaught against the force they had engaged. The advantage of the undead was that they never tire, and that they have no fear. And although they were outnumbered by the demons, he was confident that if Azathor followed through with his plan it would quickly change the tide of the battle. He took a quick glance in the distance and saw the enemy commander, Dorzath, standing on a cliffside as she observed the chaos from a distance. Coward. Ethraeil thought to himself as he focused his attention on another demon, picking the charging fool up by the throat and crushing their neck in an instant.

    The Lich King's lieutenants, Baldathar and Velkor, reinforced the battle earlier on and were slaughtering away with the former ripping demons to pieces with his bare hands while the latter struck away with his unholy mace and cast his dark magics upon them. Yet for all the carnage they had committed, the demons continued to flow nonstop like a torrent of a river. If his gamble failed, then they would be overrun soon enough. Yet it was not fear that gripped Ethraeil's mind, it was unbridled rage. And so with a deafening roar of hate he violently waved a hand in front of him and ripped the souls out of nearly 6 demons that had been charging towards him. He continued the fight by moving on to the next group of demons, cutting down a few of them. But his slaughter was stopped for a brief moment by the voice of Velkor: "Sire! What if the demon doesn't follow through this time?!" the subservient lich yelled out as he smashed a demon's head in with a violent blow. "The situation is growing precarious!"

    "He hasn't failed us yet, Velkor. Keep pressing the attack!" Ethraeil roared as he slashed at another demon, severing its arm with a clean cut. The demon cried out in agony as it fell over in shock and began to bleed out. Ethraeil took another glance at the cliffside, the demon commander still standing there and watching with an aura of smugness. This served only to enrage the Lich King further as he took his anger out on another demon, this time punching a hole through its chest and ripping its heart out. Where is he? Ethraeil thought to himself. Has he abandoned us in our hour of need?

    This thought was then refuted with a loud, and audible screech, to which Ethraeil took notice of. Behind Dozath had come a few of Azathor's men, and they began stabbing at her before managing to strike a killing blow with a dagger to her neck. She clutched at the wound and desperately sought to save herself, but failed to do so as she stumbled back and off the cliff, straight into the hordes of undead below her. With their commander now dead, it was now only a matter of breaking the enemy's lines through the sheer terror of such a loss. With a roar, Ethraeil made his way over to where Dorzath's body now lay and promptly beheaded her before presenting her head to the scores of demons that were still fighting.

    Upon seeing the head of the one they had followed into battle, the demons quickly began to break ranks in a panic. Most began to trample over one another in an effort to run away, yet were too slow and were caught by undead soldiers and quickly slaughtered. Those at the back were more fortunate, as they had less to get through in order to flee properly but all in all a good portion of this army had been butchered and destroyed while the rest were most likely fated to die at Azgon's hands for cowardice. Another victory pulled out from the jaws of defeat, and Ethraeil quickly got to work adding more to his Army of the Dead. As he raised his hands in the air, a silence creeped into the air as the area seemed to still entirely. Before long, the bodies of the slain demons began to twitch before rising up unnaturally and with gruesome visages accompanying them.


    Later...
    Ethraeil's Base

    Upon Ethraeil's return to his base of operations, deep within hidden territory, he spared no time in deliberating his next plan of action as he always did. He could never afford to rest, as he was always teetering on the brink. Any mistake done now would cost him everything. As Selethar joined Ethraeil in his war tent, he bowed graciously as one might do for meeting a mortal ruler. "My lord, I am pleased to hear of your success once again. And I bring more good news as well: Auriel's raid upon several supply caravans has gone well, thus hindering the operations of the enemy."

    Ethraeil spared a glance to his most trusted for a moment before nodding: "Good. We can finally start making some progress on our flanks now." Ethraeil spoke as he looked upon the map of Azgon's territory. Many small figures dotted it, representing troop locations as well as strategic points of interest and other places of note. Selethar nodded agreeably before speaking again: "I also bring word that Azathor is coming to speak with you."

    Ethraeil turned to his lieutenant for a moment before tilting his head in confusion: "Why? Doesn't he have other matters to attend to?"

    "I don't know my lord, he did say it was urgent however." Selethar spoke, just before the entrance to the tent flapped open once again to reveal Azathor standing there. Ethraeil motioned Selethar to leave as so the two could have their privacy in their discussion. As the tent was left alone for them, Ethraeil made his way over to the map table to lean with his hand onto it and stared at Azathor with annoyance. "Your men were late. We were nearly overrun." Ethraeil spoke with anger laced in his voice, which only prompted a chuckle from Azathor as he made himself comfortable in a nearby chair.

    "My apologies, we were a bit delayed-"

    "By what?" Ethraeil interrupted the demon as he clutched a hand into a fist, causing ice to form onto the table underneath it.

    "...we came across members of the Beaumont group. They have... parted ways it seems." Azathor remarked with a bit of unease. This news however, did not help Ethraeils mood as he let out an audible 'bah' and shook his head. "Don't speak to me of those hounds of that bitch."

    "An old friend of yours is among them. I believe you know of Jakob?"

    Upon hearing that name, Ethraeil quickly shot his gaze at Azathor and stared at him for a good moment before speaking up once again: "Jakob... is here?" he spoke softly before moving his gaze to the ground. "Where are they going?" he then asked.

    "Their ringleader, some hardass that goes by the name of Hudson, plans to walk straight into my father's territory. As if that would ever work."

    Ethraeil quickly walked over to Azathor with an anger to his stride: "It's SUICIDE! THEY'RE GOING TO THEIR DEATHS! JAKOB IS GOING TO HIS DEATH!" Ethraeil yelled out, clutching at his armored helm in shock. Azathor remained quiet and in his seat as he watched Ethraeil nearly explode in anger and frustration, and shook his head.

    "I sent them onto another task, and hopefully they will listen to reason and don't go through with the stupidity that the fool came up with. Only time will tell what happens from here on out."
     
    Giguere Estate
    Frontièr D'Aurore, Escaria
    Two days after Velin's mandate...

    A dreadful quiet had taken hold over the lavish halls of Camille's home, its matriarch left to her own devices in a reading room. Somewhat circular in construction, the room features plush seats that surrounded a fireplace with a roaring ball of flame dancing within its cage. Bookshelves stocked with various pieces of literature and educational texts dotted the walls, their sizes consistent in some spots yet also varied in others. She sat on a sofa in her nightwear, the twins having been put to bed by her personally after she had sent her service workers home for the night. It was getting late, the last hours before midnight burning away like the logs her source of warmth used as fuel, yet she was not concerned. The latest issue of her town's gazette was held firmly in one hand while her free one lingered near an end table with a hot cup of tea on an elegant porcelain saucer.

    As she scoured its headlines and following paragraphs, she sneered slightly to herself over the news. Any time that Velin and the gods were brought up was a bit of agitation for her, as anything less than hearing about how they've achieved something themselves did nothing to appease the woman. If the mission in the Abyss was that important of a mission, why not go into it yourself and see it through? She had no idea who her husband was working with and to what end, only that he would be venturing into it and there was no convincing him otherwise. A wistful sigh was all that escaped her as Camille hung on the thought of what Hudson was doing in those moments, continuing to read on about the works of their ill-tempered overlord. Or rather... lack of work. Calling off the purges, just like that? The author speculated that this may have been the work of Undite, who was seen around the Grand Cathedral shortly before the announcement Velin sent out. That detail earned her yet another sneer. If the benevolent goddess was aiming to undo any damages it was too little, too late. All of the gods were picking the worst possible times to become active, as if their period of doing nothing as the world burned beneath the pyre of their mistakes could be corrected now.

    Despite being a hunter, Camille felt that the purges were completely unnecessary and the result was a foregone conclusion as soon as the effort began. To start such an immense hunt with an ever-expansive scope is to push back the enemy into hiding, disrupting the lives of innocent civilians as those forces soon stop dedicating themselves to killing but rather searching for their targets. Such a reaction was increasingly apparent with Aleister breaking off to create his own hidden authority, which was more than likely the culprit of the awful attack that fell upon Atraca. She gripped tighter and tighter upon the newspaper's pages, just to stop reading midway and rise to her feet. Was it her fault that people were suffering now through her inaction? Should she have killed Aleister before he could ever become such a warped tyrant to perform these horrendous acts? The Marquess could not say, and she tossed the paper to the side before finishing off the rest of her tea. Those twenty solitary minutes she dedicated to reading the news were now spent, and it was time to train.

    Bared feet carried her through the grand foyer, a looming display of an ancient claymore crossing with a silver rapier hung just below the wooden rails of the staircase. Just between both ascending stairways was a set of doors that carried her below the ground floor and into her sparring chambers. The floors and walls were made of cold stone, gas lamps burning silently as they greeted Camille with their soft light. Various weights and training dummies that had suffered differing levels of damage surrounded her as she entered the immense basement. Storage was further beyond these rooms, making for quite a trip for the chefs should they be looking for the bulk of their ingredients. Near the entrance a saber hung in its sheath which she slowly removed the weapon from, walking toward one of those padded torsos on stumps with malicious intent. The elegant blade of the weapon gleamed softly in the lamplight, rotating slowly as she tested its heft on her route to the dummy. From between its 'eyes' she tore out a dagger, not quite the silver quills she used in a different time but now a proper blade with a true grip. Though even now its point and edge were tipped with silver, granting the adept huntress the edge in any fight with a vampire or werebeast that may be a threat to her or her people. The Marquess took a few steps back before taking on a new combat stance, legs spread as she had abandoned the proper fencing style she once bested foes with. From these days forward she would have to harness her killing intent more than ever, no longer going for precision strikes but with sweeping slashes aimed at beheading and sundering her foes. Yet with the moves that soon flowed from the huntress it was clear that the very thing she was aiming to obtain with her new technique was what she had lost, her strikes no less calculated than before.

    With grit teeth and burning focus, Camille would train for hours into the night. All she needed was time. Once everything was in order, she would find a way to set the tumultuous world right again.
     
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    Nocturne​
    A pair of worn and muddied boots made their way down the docks and up towards the dim city ahead. It had been a long and costly journey, travelling from northern Nivarden down to the coast and from there to yet another harbor. Rumors of Nocturne, the hidden refuge for monsters as some referred to it, were many but actual facts remained few and closely guarded.

    It had taken no longer than a week to find the right captain. A man who knew a man. The traveler had been passed between three ships alongside a small group of refugees but now they were finally hear.

    Galina took a long breath and exhaled. The salty air was somewhat unfamiliar to her though she didn't exactly mind it.

    Upon entering the city premises she was impressed by the covered streets. She had seen similar architecture before in remote cities built into the sides or pits of mines with sloped aerial covers from snow. She was also impressed by the nigh-overwhelming amount of auras she sensed. Hopefully they won't mind a banshee.

    One aura stood out however. One she was previously familiar with. Galina smirked.

    * * *
    ​
    Upon approaching the cathedral a pair of guards (or nuns, it was difficult to say) stopped Galina. She wasn't surprised. Dressed in worn boots, reinforced pants, a warm coat and a handwoven camouflage netting cloak resting atop of it all she looked like anything but royal.

    "What brings you here, traveler?" Asked one of the nuns.

    "Aleister," replied Galina.

    The nuns exchanged suspicious glances with one placing her hand on the hilt by her hip.

    "And just who might you be?"

    Galina smiled. "You may tell him that the Duchess of Kholda is seeking an audience with his highness."
     
    In the Abyss, deep in Azgon's territory...
    Abaddon


    "Make sure the chains are tight. Don't let her get lose. She's one of them pureblood vampires." said the demon, tugging on the chain which pulled Cassandra's arm tight against the wall. "Oh, she is? Those vampires that stay alive even after getting beheaded? Always wanted to have some fun with those." said the other demon, whom pulled tight on the opposite chain. Soon Cassandra was flat against the solid stone wall, chains wrapped around her arms and pulled through holes in the stone. There were several other chains wrapped around her torso, legs, and feet. All secured tight.

    The first demon spoke again. "Not this one. Azgon likes to pummel this one himself. Builds up so much...stress from the endless war against that damned lich and Sazak's pissant son." The pair cackled. "Well, I'll be back. I'll bring back some meat." said the demon, waving a large clawed hand at the second. He simply nodded in response. "Spice it up. You know what I mean.".

    Once the first demon was gone, the other demon wandered around the dark stone room for a few moments. The room was deep inside Azgon's fortress, built of strong stone and obsidian. Made to withstand a thousand armies, and sitting on the edge of a massive cold lake. The room they were in was mainly used as a torture room, but Azgon had ordered that this be Cassandra's permanent holding cell for when he wasn't beating the dog shit out of her.

    He soon found himself wandering back over to where Cassandra was. She was quiet, staring down at the floor. She had just been through a horrendous beat down earlier, having been ripped apart and put back together just so it could happen again. She still had blood coating her face and most of her body, which was almost naked save for a few pieces of undergarments that hadn't been destroyed. Her blonde hair was matted with blood and sweat, hanging down on both sides of her face.

    He stepped up to her, looking her over. "...Too bad you're Lord Azgon's favorite toy. I would loved to keep you around as a concubine. I heard vampires are fun in the sack."

    He twitched, however, when he heard Cassandra actually respond. "Let me loose, and I'll show you just how fun I am." she said, a grin creeping across her face. He frowned and stepped back. "Did I say you could fucking talk?" he spat, before slapping Cassandra across the side of the head as hard as he could. She groaned, and grinned again as her head turned back to face him. "When I get loose...and I will get loose...I'm going to come find you. And when I do, I'll skin you alive...maybe make your flesh into a nice cloak. I heard demon skin's pretty tough."

    The demon frowned more, sneering at her. "I'd like to see you fucking try." he spat. Her grin was at its widest now. "...Just wait, then." she said, her teeth gleaming in the faint light from above and her eyes shifting to a blood red.

    ---
    ​
    Near Brookerun, Atrica
    The Clarkson Farm


    Well, it had been an excellent harvest season. Despite all the things happening across the continent, especially there in Atraca. The Devontown explosion, the King putting his troops on standby, Velin's purges coming to an end...and yet more people, places, and things were returning from the past. The other day, the old farmer named Lewis Clarkson discovered a tower shield in his cornfield. Atracan markings had adorned it from time long past. He ended up turning it in to the local constables. He had no need for the thing.

    As he stood propped against his fence, wiping sweat from his brow with a piece of cloth, he suddenly heard a voice from nearby. It was a woman's voice, but sounded rather regal. And she spoke kinda funny at that. "I beg thy pardon, dear sir. Might thou inform me of which route leadith to Eternis? I seem to lost mine bearings, and thy land appearith quite strange to me." The old farmer glanced back to find himself gazing upon a woman in full plate armor and carrying a longsword gripped by the blade just past the crossguard. "...Huh? You're lookin' for directions?" he asked, puzzled.

    The woman had bright blue eyes, and long blonde hair that had been pulled tight into a braid which stretched down her back. A few scars adorned her face, and she bore what appeared to be the markings of the Vigilant Order on her armor and blade. "Indeed, dear sir. I seek the path to Eternis." she responded, with a nod. He scratched his head, before shrugging and pointing down the road. "Head that way for about a mile or two. You'll come to the town of Brookerun. They can point you in the right direction, or even offer you a ride."

    "Splendid. I bid thee a most wonderful day, sir." she said, bowing her head slightly, before walking off. Her armor clanked with each step, as she strolled proudly down the road towards the town of Brookerun. Leaving Farmer Clarkson even more confused. Maybe that tower shield was hers? Knights popping up out of the blue now...
     
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    Elsewhere, in the mortal coil
    Zhongjing (𠔈京), Upper Redonia
    Shouki Shrine


    Located to the north-west of what many would consider the de-facto capital of the divided dominion, Shouki Shrine has stood for nearly a millennium, protecting it from the kimon, the ominous taboo direction of north-west to south-east. It was in that direction that the demons arrived into Redonia, or so told in myth and legend. The shrine itself had become abandoned during the course of the Age of Darkness, an empty husk of itself, having lost all importance. However, near the end of the darkness, light once more shone through, as the shrine was rebuilt and repurposed by Boying, Gan Zhongyi, the wielder of the legendary iron blade Umagiri, the Demonslayer, alongside his followers.

    Following its end, Boying's descendants continued to act as the shrine heads, and despite continued refurbishment, never once chose to call it a temple. With Boying's acts spreading, and the Doueans having become the dominant believers in face of demonic colonisation, all coalesced around the shrine. And with it, Zhongjing, having lost its grandeur after a Celestial Emperor moved the capital elsewhere, was born anew. Though the many, many lords, chiefs and so forth continue to maintain their own sovereignty, they are united under the systems of belief and philosophy of the Dou, and see the head of Shouki Shrine as the head authority, maintaining peace within the region with their almighty force. And yet, they remain modest, and refer to themselves as a mere shrine maiden/mayhen, or a miko/geki.

    Within the shrine at that moment, sat the current shrine master, the high priest, the doushi, the 'miko' Shi Jing (師 晶), successor to Shi Chang (師 長), her 'distant' uncle. She combed through the records of shrine masters past, the familial journal writings passed on, containing information lost to many today, including those Boying kept secret. Previously only having looked at those specifically, now she checked them as to keep to date what few outdated lists she found lying around the shrine complex. Among these lists was that containing all known siennyin (仙人/仚人/僊人, hermits) within Upper Redonia, and such info was important - the hermit masters maintained much old knowledge of use and need of preserving. It helped not that in the past centuries, a decline of hermits could be noted, if not in actual numbers than at least in actual sightings.

    She sighed, as she looked through the writings of her predecessor's predecessor, Shi Guang (師 光). Within there she found mention of two details - the Great Hermit of Butoo Mountain, Shan Douzhou, laid dead more than half a millennium ago; and in his place, succeeded him one whose name was pronounced in the Lower Redonian fashion, Ka Takato (賈 孝人, か たかと), though around the center that would be Jiǎ Xiàorén, and in his native north-west Gaá Xiaòzhou. To think, a Douean oni, a hermit master, successor to Butoo Style. In previous writings, Douzhou was given praise and esteem for his mere seniority, with some even saying he had been a Douean since the belief and philosophy was in its primordial, when he was young and brought up into it by his father. For someone such as him to now be gone, much was lost. And similarly could be said to Takato's exile, as proposed by Guang and executed by the two. It had been nearly a hundred years since then too, the centennial misfortune soon to befall the hermit for even daring to prolong his life further, though what misfortune that may be was unknown, being in a land without such traditions.

    She wondered what he was up to, as she wrote down these facts. Aside from that, she found not much on hermits in the last two hundred years or so. She worried, considering how they had only learned of Douzhou's death long after his passing, otherwise being speculated by the populace following Takato's reveal as an oni and his subsequent societal ostricization. Sure, there were likely those villages that knew, but such information had yet to reach outside the north-west. She may have to take more action in finding out where those hermits were now, a thought she bemoaned as tiresome. All this was tiresome, really, but it had to be done.

    She gathered up the records, and filled them down once more, placing them where they once were. She soon returned to the main chambers of the shrine, finding herself passing by the many that had come to be taught by her. Around her, she saw those lighting light white candles, to protect against the darkness. It was the autumn, after all. Walking out, she saw the vast open space owned by the shrine, where they trained and trained in the arts. The shrine, surrounded by its own small wall, with its north-west bit protecting the shrine itself, was the envy of shrines across the region. But she let that thought not come to her, she had more important things to do.

    As she leapt into the air, and flew off into the clouds, all those training paused to watch her ascend and depart. Despite how some had been at the shrine for years, they had not gotten used to the immense power the shrine master exhibited. It was as though Boying's descendantry grew more and more powerful as the centuries passed, not merely from just skill and practice, but by virtue of his relation to them.
     
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    Nocturne Islands
    St. Gwyndolin
    Fall, 1880

    Aleister found that the quiet disturbed him greatly. He wasn't sure when this condition was set upon him, nor the reason why, but it was apparent nonetheless. Perhaps the constant sounds of the growing city had made him feel safe and comforted, and when he was in places of solitude without the noise of progress, it weakened his spirit. It was not too terrible of a condition, for even in the so-called quiet spots of Nocturne - the main cathedral hall, for example - were never truly quiet. There was always foot traffic. No matter how lightly one stepped, the marble and granite floors ensured there was always an echo, as if the mighty cathedral itself made sure to announce the presence of all who strode its halls. Choir's were also all over the place, within and outside the church. Solemn hymns and quiet tunes to lift or soothe the hearts of those nearby. During the day, when most city denizens were asleep, one could often hear the soft choir voices on the wind rising up from courtyards and shaded streets. Songs to ease the minds of the weary, lost, and intrepid during the odd hours.

    His office on the second floor of the Lunar Cathedral was fairly insulated from these noises. There was a single grand window behind his desk, which he often looked out of, but there was no balcony here as his apartment had, which was many floors above nearer the levels of the belltowers than the first floor. Dark wood paneled walls was married with clean, inoffensive cut black stone. There was an abundance of such on the island given its ancient volcanic history, as nearly every beach was shrouded in black sands and rock. This was perhaps the most quiet place in the cathedral, to him at least, and for that he had brought in a large grandfather clock that lingered near the door like a stalwart guardian. The tick and tock sounded off with a heavy bass tune, like a soldier marching slowly in step. It kept him... calm. He often forgot the noise, but when his ears suddenly sought out the sounds of the world, they could immediately find the reassuring clicking of the clock.

    It did not take long for the news to reach Nocturne that Velin, for some reason, had called off the purges rather abruptly. One could be forgiven for believing celebrations to be in order, but for the most part, they were not. Velin was a liar and demon of the most terrible caliber. Even if the purges truly stopped, the world was no longer safe for their kind, and there were plenty of zealots still left on the continent to happily carry out their murderous work. A sigh of relief had been earned, but not a victory. Not yet. Debates still went on nearly a week later as to the reason behind her decision. It had come very soon after the bombing of Devontown, which many suggested that Nocturne did, in fact, score a victory. They had demonstrated their power to strike powerfully and had paralyzed much of the Atraca. Newspapers brought to the islands showed that not all thought it was Nocturne, but enough did. Unlike their first major attack years ago at the theater massacre, where they had taken responsibility, no word was given about the Devontown attack.

    Aleister looked down over the newspaper on his desk and read it through, wondering what more he could find.

    ---

    Galina was watched closely by the nuns as they lead her to the cathedral proper. The pair, dressed in the familiar black habits with sharply angled coifs, had rifles slung over their shoulders and brown bandolier belts wrapped around their waists. It was apparent that these women were part of the local militia, as further towards the church they went, the more heavily armed and armored guards could be found. Several dozen wide steps led up to the towering front door of the Lunar Cathedral, leading to a raised dais that could allow one to easily address a crowd in the square below. Every other step stood a sentry dressed in a mixture of religious and combat attire, often with an archaic aesthetic. Most were armed with melee weapons - maces and halberds especially - though pistols were seen holstered on belts, and rifleman in more traditional utilitarian black fatigues lingered in the shadows. The religious knights, however, were certainly not for show. These were vampires and werewolves who could use their immense speed and power to handle any continental force armed with guns. What use was a platoon of Atracan infantry against a vampire with a mace, who could move faster than many could track? Indeed, it seemed some of the architectural design was made tight to further benefit the supernaturals in close quarters fighting. At the top of the steps stood what had to have been a more elite guard, silent guardian's in elaborate armored dress with maces that looked like they could pierce a battleships deck armor. These figures were masked and watched the small flow of people in and out of the cathedral with a calm, but vigilant, watch.

    The interior of the cathedral was as grand as anything back on the continent - even grander than some of the more prominent ones. While construction was ongoing in many places, the main bulk of the cathedral was in place. A simple glance was sufficient to tell that this place was as sturdy as a fortress. Some of the brickwork and design indicated that, perhaps, it was one. Galina was confronted with the humongous main prayer hall just past the main entrance, a chamber so large that the ceiling could house probably any building on the continent beneath its height. Hundreds of pews filled an intricately mural designed floor, where hundreds more people sat scattered about in prayer, contemplation, or rest. The nuns did not give Galina long to look, however, as she was brought along near a side passage to bypass the main chamber. This led her through the more administrative sections of the cathedral, and past one of many courtyards in which a group of people were training in. These were predominantly human, Galina could sense, and they were dressed in black jackets and trousers, with similar black forage caps. They looked more like a proper continental military force than the religious warriors guarding the entrance to the place.

    Through the cathedral they went, passing more and more curious scenes. The entire facility was almost like a city unto itself. Classrooms filled with people, offices where clerks toiled to administrative tasks, a banquet hall given over to feeding the needy and poor, and more hallways that led off to unknown locations.

    Finally, they reached a stairway that led them to the second floor, where there were several more guards. All vampires. All dressed in militant religious attire. Galina was brought down a short, central hall, to a set of ornate wooden doors. Sitting just outside the front was a coy looking vampire, well dressed in a crimson jacket and white cravat, twirling their hair as they watched Galina with a little smile. The nuns spoke to the man, who stood from his chair and stepped through the double doors. A minute later he returned, holding the door open.

    "Go on in, sweetheart," the vampire smiled, his effeminate voice teasing. As she passed by him, she got a sense that he was more than a mere doorman. He wore no gloves and his claws seemed permanently extended, and he smelled of blood. His lithe body seemed like it was always coiled tight with barely contained energy, ready to be sprung loose at any second. He watched her not like a servant, but like a predator, allowing prey to pass by him with a smirking promise of passage. Was he telling the truth or lying? Difficult to say.

    As she stepped into the room, he slunk in behind her and disappeared into the shadows in the back of the room. The door closed with a quiet huff.

    Just ahead of her sat a serious looking vampire behind a stout wooden desk, his rich blonde hair grown long down past his shoulders. His face was expressionless, eyes sharp yet simultaneously in a well-disguised state of melancholic pain. It was a subtle emotion hidden in the thin crinkles at the corners of his eyes. This man was a far cry from the fluffy haired, smiling, forever amused vampire that had traveled Grimtham Isle all those years ago.

    "Hello, Galina," Aleister said. No smile. No joke. Not even an expression of recognition. Silently, he gestured at a cushioned chair in front of the desk.
     
    Nocturne​
    The combined militaristic and religious nature of St. Gwyndolin was nothing short of impressive. As the nuns guided her Galina remained silent as she observed and memorized every sight of the impromptu tour.

    One thing that fascinated her greatly were the guards and their respective types. Auras alone hinted of their ferocity and power, not to mention strength and endurance. Add their equipment to it and you had a standing army that would put most militaries to shame.

    Galina was reminded of the werewolf infantry deployed by her own kind but quickly refocused herself after her mind wandered off to less somber memories.

    When they reached the final hall Galina could practically taste Aleister's aura. She stared at the teasing vampire at the door with a neutral expression. Should he try anything he'd quickly learn that he got more than he bargained for.

    These thoughts were soon left behind as they entered the office. It was him. Aleister. Galina frowned slightly for she could sense that something was gone. That spark he once had was nothing more but a fading ember.

    "Aleister," she said. Upon his gesture Galina raised her hand. "I fear the dirt on my attire would leave too great a mark on your furniture."

    She clasped her hands together. "I will stand. For now."

    That said Galina took a step forward. Light fell on her face, revealing the purple and cyan cracks enveloping her neck and left side of her face. At the same time her entire being flashed briefly, revealing her other, spectral, self.

    At the same time both Aleister and his loyal underling would sense something. Something vague. It was as if a fourth person was in the room with them and the corner of their eyes they'd see brief movements.

    "Don't worry about her," said Galina. "She is just curious."

    "This place was not easy to find. I have travelled for a long time. I'm glad the rumors I heard were right."

    Galina smiled faintly. "It is good to see you. I fear I have lost track on time due to my...situation."
     
    Aleister remained unfazed as Galina's spectral assistant decoupled from her and took to examining the room. He gestured discretely with one hand, signalling the other vampire in the room to remain where he was and not to worry. Aleister gave a simple nod in acknowledgement, a weak smile crossing his lips, though one that was merely an expression of understanding and not any happiness or mirth.

    "Indeed. We have some of your kind here as well, though rarer in number. Many have gone further north to some of the other settlements. To Cold Harbor, or Commorgah, though the latter is predominantly those curious dark-skinned elves. It seems they once had a colony here many, many years ago. Ancient times," he explained. "Nocturne is a closely guarded secret, and I am sure you understand why. We've already had some infiltrations that we've taken care of, but they happen from time to time."

    Aleister was quiet for a moment as he observed Galina. "Yes. It is nice to see you again. I've not had contact with the others at all these past few years now." His speech was soft, yet somewhat stiff. "And what might your... situation be? I take it you are not here simply for refuge?"
     
    Nocturne Isles
    Not too long after Galina's arrival

    A cloaked woman stepped off the small fishing boat onto the pier, turning back to the pair of vampiric fishermen onboard. It had been quite a winding voyage, but a needed one. After all, the Atracan navy was now sailing about. Determined to root out and and all hostilities to their nation and its people. Their voyage took them to various points around the coast, even venturing up to the northern tip of Grimtham Isle.

    She paid the fishermen handsomely, as she had promised, before turning about and looking up the pier. A nation of the supernatural...it was a good thing Velin had never discovered this place. It would have been turned to ash by her hand alone. She removed her hood, revealing her head. Her veil still covered her eyes, though that was primarily so people could recognize her. And soon, she began to walk. Up the pier and into the city. Forcing any and all that saw her to pause and look on in wonder. Undite was here! In Nocturne!
     
    Galina nodded. "I'm sure there. I wouldn't know for I have been traveling alone for a long, long time."
    In response to Aleister's question Galina shook her head. "Refuge? No. I'm here because I am lost."

    "Sazak- cursed be his name- made sure that I lost everything following Grimtham. I have no title, no house, no family. The people I once served have tried to kill me repeatedly. They followed me to the coldest corners of Nivarden. I fear that I will be forever hunted regardless of what Velin says or does."

    Galina sighed. "I have tried to find the others but because of my isolation such a task has proven...difficult."

    She gestured outwards with her hands, briefly flashing the arsenal of weapons underneath her cloak. "If you would accept me I would stay here until I can return home or somewhere else."

    As Galina spoke none other than the Queen of Whispers appeared next to Aleister. Her face slowly creeped up next to his, hollow eyes studying.

    "Aleeeisssterrr..."
     
    As the truck peels away from Naraka, and no one taking up Loque's offer of a smoke, she stuffs the carton back into her coat. After the fight with Thelyra and having been knocked out, she feels exhausted and leans back in her spot as she tries taking a short nap.

    ---------------------------------------------------
    Tehom, The Abyss
    Centuries ago...
    ​
    The disgusting noises of cooked meat being torn away from bone violated Loque’s ears as she stared wordlessly at Thorgran eat his meals in the dining hall. Watching him eat, watching him shove piles of food into his fat mouth and watching it turn into pulsed mush with his sharp and dirty teeth, watching the grease and the juices drip down his lips, it disgusted her greatly, almost making her want to puke after seeing the half-eaten slop slide out of his mouth and onto his napkin. Though as soon as her eyes turned away, the guard behind her grabbed her head and turned it to face him again. Sometimes he’d stop eating, only to burp or catch his breath from how fast he was scarfing it all down, but that didn’t make it any less nauseating. At least, he was done with the starter dishes and was now moving onto the main course. Even more fortunate was that this time, he requested something that wasn’t dragged in kicking and screaming into the kitchen. This time he requested her family’s signature dish: honey glazed pork chops with creamed pepper sauce. The one dish Loque knew he always enjoyed no matter what, and actually took his time eating. Down it went deep inside his filthy maw just as quickly as it was brought out. Yet after eating it... he remained still for a moment. It’s not unusual for him to do that, as most of the time when a dish was rather good, he held still just to take in all the flavors and such. He was holding still longer than usual, long enough for a scowl to form on his face. Something was wrong, and Loque coiled back in fear. The low noises of grease sloshing out of his mouth were replaced with a rumbling of which grew louder, and louder, and louder until finally, he vomited.

    It went all over the plates, all over the table, all over the fancy carpets on the floor. He screamed in anger from now being unable to finish his most favored of all dishes, and in pain from being suddenly afflicted with a bad case of indigestion. Once he found the strength to do so, he snapped his fingers at Loque to signal his guards to seize her.

    “You little WRETCH! You’ve RUINED MY DINNER!” he growled under his breath. “HOW DARE YOU SERVE ME THIS TRITE!”

    “L-Lord Thorgarn!” she stammered out as she fell to her knees. “I- I- I swear I didn’t! I didn’t mean to offend you! I c-c-c-cooked it ju-just the w-way you liked it!”

    Her pleas didn’t matter to him, he was too enraged and hungry to care. His greasy, slug-like body turned in its creaking seat to face her. “You had ONE. FUCKING. JOB. AND YOU. COULDN’T. FUCKING. DO IT!” He slammed his fists repeatedly on the table, clearly enraged. “DO IT AGAIN! And this time, make sure she’s well done.” Again he snapped his fingers, and the guards dragged Loque kicking and screaming back into the kitchen...

    “No... NO! Lord Thorgran, please! D-Don’t do this!”

    ...And again, her pleas weren’t listened to as his guards stripped her clean, doused her in spices and condiments, and forced her into an oven. The higher they heated the oven, the louder her screams became until it didn’t matter anymore.

    --[An hour later]--​

    The meal was finally prepared and presented before Thorgran. A nice, crispy, gluttony demon served black and bleu with garnish and herbs.

    “M-mercy...” it muttered as it reached out towards him. It didn't stop him from enjoying himself, as he took bite after bite after bite. Chunk by chunk, even as it appeared wishing for the ability to scream. Parts of the meal found themselves in his stomach, while other parts of the dish were gone. Its head was to come next as his greasy jaws opened up to take a piece, when suddenly-

    “Lord Thorgran!” A guard hastily entered and quickly took a knee before his master. Thorgran turned to give him an angry look for interrupting him. “Forgive my intrusion my lord, but Lord Taranoch approaches. Lady Mazgith follows him.”

    Silence lingered in the air as a look of shock formed on Thorgran’s face, though quickly turning to one of anger as he noticed his guards simply awaiting orders on what to do instead of taking action immediately. “Well don’t just stand there you idiots! Get presentable!” And they quickly scramble off to look ready for Taranoch. Thorgran himself wiped his mouth clean and adjusted his clothes until he thought they looked neat enough, only to adjust them some more as he got up to leave for his quarters to dress himself in cleaner clothing. Now Loque was left on the table all alone; mercy coming in the form of a very, very timely visit from the Demon King himself. Her body ached all over from being cooked and eaten, but this is her only opportunity of escaping. She had to leave, now, while she still had the chance. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, she crawled off the platter, and onto the floor. She crawled further away, sliding on the stone floor with her skin crackling with every pull across the ground. Every slide, every pull, every push was nothing but agonizing; sending waves of pain from head to toe as she dragged her badly burned body from the dining room to the kitchen. Yet she continued since she knew if she delayed for just one second, Thorgran would come back, scoop her off the floor and back into his disgusting maw. But the pain, as immense as it was, didn't stop her from making an escape using the only way out of his palace she knew wasn’t being guarded: the trash chute. It led to a pit outside the palace where scraps or excess food he didn’t want to eat would be dumped and taken to an incinerator nearby to be burned. And just past the scrap pit is a dense forest she used to stroll around and picnic in during the very rare times she was allowed to go on break. That’s where she’ll go, and from there that’s where she’ll keep going until she’s far away from him.

    The pungent, nauseating smells of cut fruit, stale bread, and rotting meat hit her in the face like a fist. The various scents intensified gradually the further down the chute she slid until she finally emerged on the other side. Landing onto that pile of scraps inside the pit with a soft thud, she slowly swam through the stacks of refused food, ignoring the discarded human bones that were dumped here earlier and the moldy slices of vegetables that he didn’t enjoy eating. When she finally cleared it, she immediately tried standing up and bolting towards the forest, though all she could do was a slow, painful gait from all the injuries she’s sustained. It’ll just have to do until she can recover, if she could at this point anyway.

    Hours seemingly pass until she finally managed to lose herself in the trees, disappearing in them and hopefully losing anyone that might've been following her. She was now enveloped in near darkness as the overgrowth was thick enough that it blocked out the sun, hiding her from any sort of light. Finding a rock to lay on, she takes a deep breath and starts picking out whatever food scraps her ravaged body managed to pick up on the way here. The adrenaline wasn’t pumping in her body anymore, making whatever parts of her body that weren't burned seriously hurt. As she continued to painfully remove the scraps, she noticed an aura lurking around the trees. She nervously looked around, seeing something shimmer as it moved around the shadows. She wasn’t alone.

    A feminine voice came from the shadows. “My, my… What in the world would one of Thorgran’s minions be doing out here in a place like this? Fleeing from him, perhaps?”

    Loque tried standing back up to get ready to run again, but found her body was starting to grow numb. Her legs wouldn't move, and her vision was starting to fade as well; she was losing consciousness from sheer exhaustion it seemed. The only thing she could see was a blurry silhouette emerge from the shadows. It spoke again as it got closer and closer to her.

    “I don’t blame you, my dear. I would most definitely run from him too.”

    The blurry silhouette moved away from her face. It turned to look at someone else outside of her vision.

    “Karlel! Bring this one! I think she deserves better than Thorgran…”

    And then it went black as she finally lost consciousness.
     
    "Ah," Aleister said simply. "It seems that all of us who were part of that inquiry suffered afterwards because of it. Sazak. The only creature I can imagine to match Velin in wickedness. This world will be better without both of them." He paused for a moment, eyes downwards in thought before returning right back to her. "I cannot guarantee you will not be hunted here; however, I can guarantee that any fools who would try it will have to deal with the Rapturous Heart, the Militia, and everyone else. I'm sure you saw some of our forces on your way here. We maintain... good order on Nocturne. Of course, I dare say that you are likely more than a match for your pursuers, though help is here if you need it."

    The specter that appeared beside him gave him another, longer pause, a slight crease of the lips into an elongated frown. "A curious one, indeed," he murmured, looking away and doing his best to ignore them. He reached for some parchment and a pen and began to write quickly on it. "I can give you a small apartment in the city, only a block away from here. We're going through money like you wouldn't believe, but we can manage a small enough stipend to cover your food and firewood costs, though personally I can recommend better ways of staying warm. We've a number of fine parlors. Regardless," he said, signing the paper with a flourish and handing it over, "you are more than welcome here."

    ---

    It did not take long for Undite's appearance to send a ripple through the streets she strode, catching all who looked upon her in a sense of pure awe. Word carried faster than light, it seemed, and even as the people before her fell to their knees in the streets or bowed their heads, or allowed tears to flow as they clutched their icons, more appeared from side streets to hurry in and see if it was true. Windows were flung open and cautious eyes peeked out from behind thick shutters before they became crowded with three, four, and five people all vying for a chance to see. Some of the smaller chapels and shrines, little more than one room establishments nestled between shops and townhomes, rang their petite bells in celebration of her visit.

    Soon enough, the militants appeared. There was more stunned silence as they met her from the front, gazing at her stoically and with uncertainly, until they approached and surrounded her. Their intentions were immediately clear. An honor guard. They helped formed a cordon around the goddess to keep people back and to protect her. Maces were hefted in preparation to fend off any of Velin's embedded agents within the city. None doubted that the Archdemon herself was salivating at the chance to murder her fellow goddess, and the soldiers of Nocturne were ready to defend her with their lives.

    --

    As Aleister had finished his missive for Galina and was still holding it over, the doors to the office burst open and a young man, out of breath, shouted. "She's here!" In an instant, the effeminate vampire hiding in the back appeared and had one hand wrapped around the front of their throat, the other angled against their back to sever their spine. "Easy, Dominique!" Aleister said with the first show of energy Galina had seen as he rose from his desk. The thin vampire retracted their hands so that only one remained, resting on the messenger's arm. "Who... who is here?"

    "Undite!"

    Slowly, Aleister sat back into his chair.

    "Oh."
     
    Red Gorge

    School of natural philosophy

    "Class, it's a simple equation." The teacher spoke in a calm tone as he pointed with the piece of chalk in his hand. The chalkboard behind him was filled with illustrations and formulas ranging from the most simple to the most complex he can muster in the small space he had. To someone looking in, it seemed like he was torturing those poor kids with daunting equations, but if they bothered to stay for the lessons, they would soon find him working with the children to break down and solve them with ease. "Look at your notes from yesterday. The ones you solved then are similar." He turned his head to one of them "You did write them down young Hubert, didn't you?" The boy looked around before sinking in his seat. Some of the others snickered, adding to the humiliation. "Now now you three." He raised his voice slightly. "After grading your chickenscratch homework, I wouldn't be laughing at him. Instead I'd be asking him to help you with writing and fixing your cursive."

    The class quieted down allowing for the former university professor to continue. Some of his colleagues would view this as a degrading. Turning their noses up at the very idea. For Theodore, this presented an opportunity. The lecture halls were mainly populated with noble offspring that paid to be there, but barely paid any attention. The children here were different. Energetic, curious and smart. They just needed someone to help them find what they were good at.

    Theodore had come to Red Gorge to help Jacob and his organization and eventually after teaching young Lucy a thing or two, he became a teacher. The world was becoming more and more hostile by the day and the need for someone to stand up for the right thing was growing at the same speed. The Church was not going to do that. Once it stood for peace, now it was commanded by a mad god with mood swings that change with the tide. Then there's what the other members of the Inquiry were doing. As much as he hoped that the inevitable clash between Camille and Aleister could be avoided, he wasn't fooling himself. He knew those two are on a collision course. The most he could do was send letters urging them to reconsider, but given how headstrong the lady was and how radicalized the priest, it was a symbolic effort at best.

    "Mr. Boivin" He heard someone call him outside the classroom. Theodore turned his head to notice it was one of the other teachers. There was someone else with her. Another woman. He recognized her instantly. It was the same inquisitor that had interviewed him before he came here. Brave girl. Locals would probably want to tar and feather her after Velin's visit if she didn't bother to be less obvious.

    "Class. Pack your things and go. We'll continue this tomorrow." The students did as they were told with little hesitation. He had warned them something like this was possible. Should be prepared after the last visit. She was carrying a wooden box with her. It bared the markings of the order and that of the Archivists. When they were gone the inquisitor entered and she was tailed by someone else. Theodore's face as always was hidden behind a mask, but his eyes were visible and the other man could see the surprise and suspicion. "Hello Ludwig. What brings the head archivist to our humble little town? Here to document it before Velin has another mood swing and wipes us out?"

    "Come now, Theodore. There is no need for that." Ludwig spoke as he adjusted his collar. "I came with Inquisitor Sara to settle a matter that's been perplexing us for years. One concerning you and the beast you let loose in the Abyss."

    "Henderson?" Theodore raised an eyebrow "You have my notes and my reports on him. What else do you need? A confession? Fine. I'm to blame for his condition." He crossed his arms "I've said this numerous times, I'm sure you remember. I spend countless nights working on ways to reverse the process or to put him out of his misery."

    "That's not it Theodore. We always had a method to eliminate him for good. You know that, so you can drop the act. You went to mount Silverpeak and six months later he comes back looking like that with a pureblood's head in his mouth."

    "Yes, I know that part. He bragged about it for a while." Theodore shrugged "Left her pieces all over the countryside. He said. Can't come back from that. Not after he...digested them. What's the point of this? You have my report."

    "That is where I come in." The inquisitor spoke "I spoke with the head archivist after our conversation about the vampire you traveled with during your last inquiry. He showed my your letters and reports. Necromancy, Boivin? Do you really posses that knowledge?"

    "I'm an archivist, mademoiselle. Your traveling companion here knows far more about it than me, if we're going to point fingers." Theodore's voice gave away the anger building up. The bastard really didn't care for confidentiality. Then again, Ludwig was always more interested in advancing his own goals above everything else. Well, if he was fine with sharing secrets, there was more. "I seem to recall a few cadavers being used as practice."

    "Let her finish damn it."

    "Gentlemen, please. No need for this. I crossed examined several of your past reports after reading what you handed over. You have a specific style when you're trying to hide something, sir. That's why I was attached with Mr.Ludwig here. To cut it short, what you handed over was incomplete and how Henderson became that way, is a mystery still."

    "You want to replicate it." Theodore cut a short reply.

    "Simply put, yes." Ludwig spoke next "We ignored you while we had Henderson locked up in the basement due to politics. You know enough to sink a lot of us and the risk wasn't worth it. Added benefit was that we could examine and eventually achieve our goal that way. But you had to give him the keys out of his cell, didn't you?" Now Ludwig was the one showing his anger "Do you know how many questions were raised, by just bringing up his existence? And he was a one of a kind weapon. We need that kind of knowledge, Theodore."

    "Hah, save it for someone else. You need it Ludwig, not the church." That struck a nerve as Ludwig's expression gave away to a snarl.

    "Regardless, there were only 3 people who knew what happened there and one of them is in the Abyss."

    "The other one is dead and the third wont tell you anything." Theodore shrugged again "Tough luck."

    "We have enough suspicion to bring you in, Mr. Boivin." Sara said "You don't have to make this difficult."

    "And as soon as you lay a hand on me, this town will tear you apart."

    "And if they do, the full wrath of the Inquisition will come down on their heads."

    "And then the only thing you would have achieved is more pointless death and destruction, Ludwig."

    "Seems like we're at a stalemate." Sara tried to get in-between the two of them "Head archivist, Mr. Boivin, perhaps we can arrange a deal? This doesn't have to end with you in chains."

    "You're welcome to try my dear, but I have business to attend to in town. I hope you've rented rooms somewhere to stay, because you're going to need some time to figure out this deal." Theodore grabbed something from his desk. "Or you can just leave. Tell the others that the method to produce that kind of monster is gone and forget about it yourselves. Good day."

    The former inquisitor left the two in the classroom. Ludwig regained his composure, while Sara rested her hand on the box.

    "I was about ready to open it, but it's perhaps for the best. He's already decided to resist and an attempt at a interrogation would get us unwanted attention."

    "We'll need to figure out another way to get what we want."
     
    As much as Gwen wished she were lucky enough to be Loque, snoozing the journey back to wherever they'd set up as base camp, the girl was positively shell-shocked. Eyes wide, knees drawn to her chest in her seat, and staring a hole in the fabric draped over their mechanical carriage. It was all a set-up. Someone had orchestrated the elven race to implode upon itself. Someone was pulling the strings of them all, like a puppet. And she had been so foolish enough as to let herself be fooled.

    For some reason, though, she couldn't get the face at the centre of the mural out of her head. She... recognized it, almost?

    ---------
    Several Centuries Ago; During La Fête de la Grâce du Soleil.
    Central Reubloé d'Lobreth, at the Vineyard Estate of Duchess Thelyra.    ​

    A crisp, warm midsummer's air washed over the princess as she languished over the stone banister which overlooked the vast fields of grapes, drenched in the golden evening sunlight. The party had been going on for many hours, the duchess of... tenuous relationship with Gwen having decided to spice things up a mite bit this year by holding a masked party. It was to make things more anonymous, and... 'exciting', in her own words. Gwenaelle for her part was hardly about to complain about it. It was quite refreshing, actually, having some time alone to herself. Whilst she oft loved the attention she was given, it did become rather tiring, being the daughter of the king, and to have everyone at every social gathering you attended swamp you because of your clout. At least this way, she was afforded some time to herself. Just her, and the silver goblet of locally sourced and vintaged wine. Only the best stuff for the festival. How Gwen adored this time of year. The countryside would blossom with colour and life, the birdsong would echo in the trees for miles around. Even the people seemed happier this time of year. The harvests would be about to come in, and the streets would be lined red, blue, and everything in between, as rose petals were tossed to the roads, and minstrels and bards played cheerful tunes on near every street corner and plaza, from the capital of Chamoroux, to even the smallest villages to signify it. Plus, it helped that this was the time of year that people would most often paint their houses.

    The courtyard outside was relatively quiet. Even though there was still quite the bustle of people around the place, it had primarily given way to the servants, many of which cleaning up the dirty dishes and trash that the nobility had left at their feet, or getting ready to light up the lanterns around the courtyard, for the long, long evening to come. Many had filtered back into the extra-sized mansion at the end of the path, which had been decorated in the same blowing flower petals that the streets of her home town had been. Still, there were people of all shapes and sizes, in their lavish outfits. Males, females, the young, elderly, fit and fat. And, of course, many of which she was eyeing up. That was until, before one of them approached her. A woman with a white mask, and black tear down one eye, and a confident sway in her hips.

    "[Ah, Gwenaelle!]" She spoke in a slightly hush tone, as to not give the both of them away. "[How's my positively favorite little princess doing?]" Before she'd even had the time to react, that same aristocrat was rapidly close to Gwen's face, arms either side of her, and palms against the stone rest behind her, so as to entrap her. Thankfully, the voice, and that enthusiasm gave away the one who'd accosted her. "[Whu-- Miss Katharin, how could you possibly have figured me out at such a glance?]" Beneath her gryphon mask, Gwen was absolutely stunned that someone'd figured her out so quick.

    "[Tchu~. You're not exactly subtle, Gwen. You do like to make yourself known with these exorbitant outfits you wear. Or...]" A hand reached up to stroke through Gwen's hair. "[Perhaps it's these pretty locks you keep so well? Or, maybe you just have some sort of... je ne sais quois. Even I don't really know, myself. Aside from my excellent way with people, of course.]" Katharin's tone was playful, as she finished with a shrug. "[...You never answered my question, by the way.]" Beneath her own mask, Gwen could hardly keep down a smile, even with the light ribbing she was receiving. Even beneath the mask she was wearing, the princess could quite clearly tell that this elf was beautiful, possibly moreso than any other she had seen. Something in her eyes, too, it seemed almost hypnotic. "[Oh--! Well... you know. Enjoying this, ah, quite comparatively peaceful party.]"

    Before she'd even been able to get another word out, the other elf again interrupted. "[Ah! Of course, a beautiful girl like you is bound to get swarmed, right? Oh, and being the princess mustn't help matters at all. Though... speaking of that... I just haven't quite been able to track him down here. It just doesn't bode well for the rumours I've been hearing about his health...]"

    Beneath her mask, Gwen's face hardened. "[...What rumours...?]" The princess's tone became more guarded, telling Katharin all she needed to know. "[Oh, just a... few things. I'm sure it's nothing serious, but...]" A chortle escaped Katharin's mask, and she shook her head. "[I'm so sorry! I'm sure you don't want to hear about these silly rumours anyways, Gwen. It's festival season after all! A time to enjoy ourselves, and let the worries of the world just slip away, no?]" A hand brushed across Gwen's shoulder, and she pouted her lips. To no avail, as it was behind the mask, but it was just her natural response. "[Mm, I suppose. I also suppose that you've had quite the long journey here, ah, Kath?]"

    "[Of course, of course. As did you, coming all the way down from Chamoroux, didn't you? No one would mind if we just walked in and... borrowed a room for a while, don't you think?]" An barely visible arch of the brow signified her fellow aristocrat's intentions. "[...In there? I don't know. It always feels like I'm drowning on the air whenever I walk into Thelyra's homes. And the noises-- zut! Besides, I'd rather no one else walk in, you know?]"

    Katharin let a puff of amusement flare her nostrils, taking Gwen by the hand. "[There's always the vineyard, if you don't mind a bit of nip from the fresh air, sweetheart.]" Kath's voice became low, and husky, as she leaned in. "[And, I'd get to see that pretty face of yours.]" "[Oh, you devil!]" Gwen played along right back, squeezing the hand clasped around her own, and leaning in. "[...What're we waiting for?]"

    Gwenaelle would make sure to inquire further about what people'd been saying about her father. But... after she'd had her fun. Though, whether she'd remember to or not, 'Katherin' had every intention to tell her about them anyways. And so, so much more.

    ---------​
    The memories of that night had long since lingered inside of Gwen's mind. A foggy haze of pleasure and lust, as well as setting into motion many things which would propel her into a de facto queenship.

    That haze, however, was like fuel, the more Gwen thinking upon them, and that mural she had only briefly been able to gaze at on her escape from whatever hellish palace the group had been assaulting, the more sparks caught under it. Pleasure burned into suffering. Lust burned into anger. Passion burned into hatred.

    "...I'm going to fucking kill her..."
     
    Undite looked on, a bit surprised by the militants and guards that came to defend her. She smile and waved at those around her. There were humans here too, those friendly to the supernatural. All of this made memories of the old days seep into her mind. Travelling through Eternis when it was just a small town with an old stone fortress at its heart. She would always stop and speak to the children with Velin, as Adona looked on with a smile. Gyasis and Thiesis would eventually wander off to help out the locals with their farming or building projects. Half the reason Eternis grew so large was because of them.

    The world was a kinder, safer place back then...a far cry from these turbulent times.

    She continued up the street slowly, walking with the guards and waving to those she saw. Soon, she spoke to a guard that was close to her. "Please, escort me to Aleister." she said softly.
     
    Camille would receive Theodore's letter several days later. Of the members of the previous inquiry she was perhaps one of the easiest to find when asking the right people, given her namesake. In her study she picked it out from a pile of documents that had found their way onto it that morning, flipping it over to read the address and writer. The location Redgorge was a curious one, as she vaguely remembered her letters from Jakob being sent from that township. What was Theodore doing there now? "Tch..." she emitted with a twist of her mouth, sinking into her seat as she tore at the envelope with a letter opener. Down the halls from her study the faint sounds of children at play could be heard.

    The huntress' eyes squinted as she read over Theodore's plea to halt any of her plans to deal with Aleister, and it did not take long for her to fetch a piece of parchment and her quill to fashion a reply. He was right to assume that she had her intent to kill the mad vampire, so she chalked his knowledge of her desire to hunt him down to an accurate assumption. The professor was always good with his hunches and hypotheses, after all.

    Theodore,

    You are right to think that I have my plans to end Aleister, yet foolish to think I will end any measures of preparation and eventual execution of my hunt for him. I care not that Velin has ended her petty purges, for such an announcement fails to revive the innocents he has slain. His actions have earned him nothing beyond a swift death; and if I were him I would be thankful I allow him the kindness of facing me honorably rather than snuffing out his life without a thought, as he had done to his victims. Still, despite my need to slay him I cannot act for some time. Matters at home have left me indisposed for the time being.

    Do know this, however: the time will come where I will avenge those he has killed.
    Send Jakob my regards.
    ​
    Camille Giguere​

    Penned in a fine script and sealed with her own wax coat of arms that was notably different from the main branch of Gigeure's, the author of the letter was unmistakable. Shortly after its composure she sent it off to the man without giving the matter a passing thought.
     
    Undite was led into the cathedral without too much fanfare, the path spearheaded by a vanguard of holy guardians. The very same elite guard that impassively studied Galina, with their imposing mitre caps and white shawls, embroidered in sparkling gold flourishes and other religious iconography. There was a stark abundance of saint worship as many took on the patronage of various holy figures other than the main gods, though icons of Undite remained the most prevalent.

    The warriors ensured Undite had plenty of space to move about as a handful led her on deeper into the cathedral, through the very same path as Galina. One thing would likely stand out to her - the complete absence of Velin in any murals. Rather, that was not entirely true, as she was depicted only once on a masterful piece upon the floor in the main foyer. She stood as a small thing, beset on all sides by pilgrims, warriors, and the downtrodden. Beneath Velin was a mountain of corpses of innocents, and a thin line of murderous beasts dressed in the attire of he order slaughtering the few who survived. The goddess was depicted not in glory, but as a wicked, demonic entity. Her body was covered in crimson ichor, her armor battered from conflict, and the bottom portion of her helmet cracked open to reveal a horrific, arrogant sneer.

    No time was left to study it further as up the stairs they went and to the already open doors to Aleister's office. The religious militants lingered just outside as a small crowd had followed them up to the office, and they turned about to start herding people back and away. Dominique, Aleister's doorman and bodyguard, retained enough cognizance to bow and close the door behind Undite, leaving her in the office with with the two vampires and Galina.

    Aleister barely so much as twitched, his gaze hooded as he looked upon the one he worshiped most throughout his life. His facade as a serious and professional administrator was a far cry from his pilgrim days as a traveling priest. Undite could easily see through his harsh, blank expression to what truly was beneath it - hollow, broken eyes fed by the embers of a smouldering fire of hatred. Not directed at her, but inward, and undoubtedly towards the people this entire settlement had been raised to defend against. Velin and her followers. Where he had been brought to tears at their first meeting, he looked upon her with a drawn, haggard expression of exhaustion and indifference. Yet still, deep down within him remained a pinprick fury of unremitting righteousness, enshrouded by layers of callous apathy to protect what little remained of the old Aleister.

    Still, her sudden appearance - here of all places - rendered some expression. A sharp intake of breath and a pained twinge.

    There was nothing he could bring himself to say, until finally, without any formality, he spoke up in a hoarse voice. "What could you... possibly want? Come here to mock me, is that it?"
     
    "What could you... possibly want? Come here to mock me, is that it?"
    Click to expand...

    Undite gently shook her head, before lifting her veil. Finally revealing her bright red eyes for the first time in several centuries. "...No, my sweet child. I wanted to see you, and to talk." she replied softly. "But first, would you please come here?"
     
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