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

[EdwardDewey98]

Preface
​

It is the year 1678. The sun hasn't come up in several weeks, and now a blue moon has risen over the continent. The city of Castow struggles to maintain the peace as Vampyrs and Werwulfs prey on the innocent. Ghastly figures can be seen in the darkest corners of the city. Humans attack the innocent regardless as to if they are creatures of the night or not, and there's talk of impossible horrors down below. The Church of All Saints answered the King's plea for help, and a few people have heard their call for volunteers. Willing to help in their fight against the unseen horrors lurking in each and every dark corner of Castow.


Rules

1. Please, be nice.
2. No power or metagaming. You have a lot of freedom and slack, but ultimately rolls determine if things happen.
3. Out of Character (OOC) chat should be in double parentheses, ((so it will look like this when you post OOC)).
4. If you go inactive or drop, your character(s) will be under my control and most likely retired.
5. This is primarily a PvE game, but PvP can still potentially happen if its agreed upon by both parties and run by me.

As GM, I control various NPCs in the story, but some may be controlled by players. All events will be under my direction. Feel free to throw ideas at your fellow players. I want you guys to have fun!

Important Links

• Link to the Endless Night Wiki! It is still a work in progress, but most of the lore and character pages are there!
• Link to our personal Discord! Highly recommended that you join this if you join the rp or are otherwise interested in this rp. All OOC discussion and news on the rp occurs here!
• Link to the Recruitment Thread! Keep an eye on it!


Players

• Octavia Lascar by Infab
• Valko Văduva by K0mori
• Fulstan Schroder by Humble1
• Raili Ilves by Radley
• Hannalore Szabastya by Emperor Sagan
• Asher Azarnejad by joshuadim
• Cecilia Santelli by FloweryMuffin
• Yanitsa Zhivkova by Breadman

 

[EdwardDewey98]

• The King's Castle •

The sound of gentle voices could be heard through the darkened hallways, which were decorated with fine carpets, the stoic statues of knights, and banners displaying the royal colors of old dynasties. The voices became agitated for a moment, the once calm discussion descending into righteous anger until they were asked to stop. And thus, the voices were replaced by the ticking of an ancient clock.

"Your highness..." said the Prince-Pishop of Castow, in an attempt to break that uncomfortable silence. "...I promise you that I'll not fail in my duties. The tending of the sick and the afflicted is my main priority. The Church will always be at your side to tackle this crisis." And yet, despite his reassurance, the Prince-Bishop was met with more uncomfortable silence. For the King was concentrated with something else. While his eyes were locked on the silver goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with a dark red wine, his mind could only hear the damnable ticking of the clock.

"...With all due respect, Prince-Bishop..." Another voice broke the silence, this time it was the Count of Arlois, the marshal of the realm. "...Tending to the sick can only do so much. I insist.... your highness, while the church means well, we should be marching down the streets and checking every house. Getting rid of this scourge." "Would you like us to act like the Catanachs?" interrupted the Prince-Bishop, anger in his voice. But before the count could continue with his suggestions, he stopped at the sight of the soft hand of the Queen. Whom had been a silent observer as the Council debated. "Gentlemen, please... Ever since this curse appeared, our people have been suffering greatly. If we were to march down the streets and break into their homes, they'll lose what respect they have for the crown. It is our duty to protect our subjects and ensure their safety..."

There was a common understanding between the Council and the Queen. Her words were kind and gentle, but bore truth to them. The middle class and the freemen were growing restless, and only the Catanachs remained loyal. In their own way, of course, as they were only really loyal to the King himself. Silence engulfed the room, as everyone looked to the King. Awaiting the renowned wisdom he often had, but they were only to be met with silence and the brooding expression on his face. All he did was look down upon the cup of dark wine, and all he heard was that damn clock.

Enough was enough. He broke the silence, hurling his goblet of wine at the clock with a maddened expression on his face. "SHUT UP!" he shouted, breathing heavily like the beasts that prowl in the dark alleys of his Kingdom. He looked at the wine-stained clock, which continued ticking, almost making a mockery of him. "Husband... my love, please calm down." said the Queen while pulling her husband's sleeve. Breaking him from that perturbed trance. "...You need rest. Let the church handle this for now." The King looked down upon his wife. He looked lost. Confused. He looked to his council. "I... don't know what..." The clock rang its bell. It was now nine in the morning, yet it made no difference as the moon kept watching over Castow.

• Plaza of Ol' Catan •

The clocktower in the main plaza shook with each ring of its bells. And down below, the people of Castow walked the streets. Continuing their lives under the tyranny of the Moon. In front of the tower was a man, surrounded by a small group of Catanachs, the poor and working class native population of Valion. The man was shabbly dressed, but sporting a fine hat of fairly modern design. His face was red as he shouted at the top of his lungs to the Catanachs standing around him, much to the annoyance of the Freemen and foreigners walking around them. "It is our duty to serve the true King of the Catan! This curse of the moon was brought upon us by heretics and foreigners! Just look at 'em! Walking around all dandy, safe in their homes while our people suffer the blight they brought upon us!" The small but zealous gathering nodded and clapped in agreement before he continued to spit his vitriol. "The King wants peace. We will respect that peace with the foreigners for now, for the King knows what he is doing... But our duty is to hunt down those cursed beasts and the damnable fiends of the night that keep killing us! Remember, brothers and sisters! Remember what the king shouted that day when WE crowned him! Kentoc'h mervel eget bezañ saotret!" The small crowd of Catanachs shouted with him. The foreigners and people of the middle class looked upon them with either fear or disdain as they walked past. While another man watched from a distance, shaking his head in dissaproval.


• Church of St. Charlot •

The once pristine oak pews were now the resting place for wounded. The faithful, praying on their knees at marble statues of the Saints and the decorated stained-windows depicting ancient pantheons. By the podium at the back of the church was an altar dedicated to St. Charlot, the patron of this church. Behind the podium was a tired and stressed man, who delivered a sermon to the faithful who were still concious. His voice overpowering the pleas of help from the wounded and sick. "I want to remind everyone of martyr Pretreus, and his verse... 16:13: Be on your guard; Stand firm in the faith; Be courageous; Be strong. Those who maintain their faith in this adversity, will be blessed by the saints, who-" The priest suddenly stopped, his eyes squinting at a figure standing by the entrance of the Church. It was a woman. A noble woman, in fact, wearing various Goetic signs and queer charms. Her presence alone was enough to scare the nuns standing guard by the entrance. "...I must attend to something, children. Please wait and be strong, for the Saints watch over us."

The woman smiled as she saw the priest making his way to her, and she greeted him with a curtsy which was responded by an annoyed look. "How dare you! Coming here wearing those symbols. This is the house of the Gods and Saints!" The woman looked at the priest with an amused expression, a smile forming on her dark lips. "...Father Castelluccio, please... I've just come here to help, just like I did before. I imagine the church still has need of my libraries and artifacts." The priest looked back to his flock, before looking back at the noble. He then told her to follow him into his office, motioning gently with his hand as he moved.

It was a messy place, full of books scattered across the furniture and the floor. It was painful to see for the noble woman as she stopped by the door. "What do you want, Lady Madennig..." asked Castellucio, before sitting down, looking at the woman with caution on his eyes.

The woman, Lady Madennig Jézéquel, the Marquess of Veran, looked at the desk for a bit, noticing a few documents scattered about. "A little bird told me... that you've considered allowing vampyrs into this little project of yours." The face of the priest went pale for a moment. "...W-What do you want, wicca?" he asked with a trembling voice. "Oh please, calm down, father! You make it look like I'm about to sacrifice you! I've come here to make sure you use all the resources I've kindly donated to the church to face this adversity." Lady Madennig walked around the room, eyeing the various religious books and decorations. "...Last time I've visited, you were against my suggestion to contact Fulstan Schroder... I wonder what the Prince-Bishop might think of the Deacon for... granting forgiveness to a pair of Vampyrs and not a Wer scholar." Castellucio looked down for a moment. "The last thing I want is charlatans. Especially those who think they are occultists."

Lady Madennig let out a loud laugh before looking back at the priest. "Oh, my good friend, I assure you that Sir Schroder is nothing but trustworthy... Do not believe the lies of Prince-Bishop of Lindenberg and his zealous kind... You are an open minded man of the faith after all! Allowing... vampyrs, and I imagine werwulfs as well." A mocking grin appeared on the noble's face as she looked down upon the priest. Castellucio looked down, sighing bitterly before nodding. "Good..." she said, while placing a bag of silver on the desk before the priest. "...To fund the volunteers... Oh, I heard something else as well... There's an Arkhanite around as well, right? I hope you smart enough to... get rid of their ilk as soon as possible, Castellucio."

The priest did not say anything else, as the noble woman left his office. He simply looked down, clearing the sweet from his brow.

• The Docks •

The docks were home to salty mariners, whores, and drunkards. So, to see a Nun walk these darkened paths was an oddity. The nun held various posters in her hand, which she then placed on the walls. Hoping that they'd gather the volunteers the church so desperately needs. Not far from the docks, on a little island, was the Lighthouse. A shinning beacon of fire and oil that was visible for miles. The nun walked across the piers, looking at the turbulent ocean and the light mist floating above it. The massive moon watching over her. Just as she was about to turn around and leave this part of the town, she noticed something in the distance. It was a ship, but none like she has ever ever seen before. An Eastern Ship.

 

[joshuadim]

His journey had taken him to many corners of the world in search of answers, yet what he sought eluded him as if it were a mysterious treasure sought after by an explorer of ruins. But he never relented even with the setbacks he had encountered, for he had been chosen for this task and he would not fail the Scion, nor his God, in his task. Having scoured the East for answers, he now turned West to the lands of Erosia upon a merchant's vessel that had kindly offered aid as it was manned by those of the faithful. As many of the crew gathered around the lone Hashishdiyan, he delivered unto them a prayer as a priest would to their temple.

"Ashem vohû vahishtem astî,
ushtâ astî, ushtâ ahmâi
hyat ashâi vahishtâi ashem." Asher would recite to the members of the crew in Ashkani as they sat on their knees in prayer.
God's order is the best of all good, and is also happiness. Happy is the man who behaves righteously for the sake of supreme order.

"Khshnaothrâ Ahurahe Mazdâo."
May the One True God be pleased.

"Hôrmezd i hvadâe,
ezh hamâ gunâh patit pashêmãnôm.
Izh haravistîn dushmat duzhûxt duzhvaresht men
pa gêthî minît vaem guft vaem kard
vaem jast vaem bun bût estet ."
O Great God, you are the only one. I desist from sin, whether spoken or not, and from all bad thoughts that have originated from me, spoken or not,
or which have originated in me.

"Khshnaothrâ Ahurahe Mazdâo."
May the One True God be pleased.

"Hôrmezd i hvadâe,
karavin uzh paez vaem paztor."
O Great God, deliver unto us salvation and peace.

"Jilal bikh i hvadâe, Yazjweh!"
Glory be unto to God, Yazjweh!

With their morning prayers finished, the sailors got back to work as they prepared to dock unto the oncoming city in the distance. Asher observed from the railings as he stared from behind his mask, intent on entering and learning of what he could find. He was entirely a stranger to these western lands, having never stepped foot on the continent itself as his duties always required him to work within Koshkam proper. Had he been any other man, this would have been exciting, yet such things were... beneath what was expected of him. The spectacle of arriving in new lands could not distract him from his quest to find answers, for his God depended on him for this task.

As the vessel arrived on a pier and docked, Asher would meet quickly with the captain to give farewells. ["Stay safe, brother. And stay vigilant. For the light of Yazjweh shall shine kindly upon you and protect you."] he said in their native tongue, giving the man a pat on the shoulder who would bow with respect in return. ["It was an honor to have you as my guest, samaritan. May fortune favor you on your journey."]

["And you as well, friend."] Asher replied before departing towards the city. The scene itself was rather downtrodden and bleak as it seemed as though the city had suffered much during these times. The disappearance of the sun having impacted all without remorse as to what consequences it would bring, such a terrible omen needed to be reversed. His footsteps caused the wood the creak as he moved forward with a rather brisk pace towards the harbor proper and before long he was standing on brick and stone of the city itself. Now the question that appeared in Asher's mind was where to go from here? His search needed to start somewhere, and as he pondered where to start he noticed a woman of the cloth, albeit of a different faith, watching him with intent eyes. Perhaps she had been watching him ever since he had arrived? He didn't know, but perhaps it didn't matter as he didn't think much of it. He began to walk again, this time along the main street leading away from the harbor and further into the city as he sought to find the city's ruler for an audience.

 

[Humble1]

Fulstan Schroder carefully latched and bolted the door of his shop. Things being as they were, he wanted to take extra precaution against vandalism. There were no windows to break along the front and no ornamentation to steal. Only a small sign bearing the sigil of Saquine, the constellation of the seer which functioned at the shingle of an astrologer. The superstitious Catanachs would likely not touch that.

He pocketed the heavy iron key and stepped away -- just in time to miss a bit of rotten produce that had been hurled from the shadows. Fulstan cursed under his breath as his overcoat was splatted with rancid pulp. Both he and the door would be reeking for a time. He turned slowly - not giving the attacker the satisfaction of seeing him alarmed - but saw no one else in the street. Likely already fled rather than face the curses of a practicing occultist.

Fulstan sighed heavily and began making his way home. Times like these, he wished he'd gotten a shop with living space above it. He could stay inside and spare his old bones this trip. But that would have made him like all the other shopkeepers, and his pride would not tolerate that.

Likely as not, his attacker had been just another Catanach lashing out at a foreigner. Here I am, a practitioner of the oldest heresy in a church that barely acknowledges the idea of orthodoxy, a dabbler in sciences that wer was not meant to know, a summoner of unclean spirits, and a wanted man across half of Eros. And why do these miserable peasants hate me? Because I speak with a Volkish accent. May the All spare me from these ironies.

As he trudged home, leaning on his cane more from habit than need, he muttered the Twelve Truths of Aristocles under his breath. A little silly, he'd always thought, since the twelfth was that "Wer have no surety of the truth," but it helped settle his mind.

It also ensured that other pedestrians gave him plenty of space. Even the rising middle class were not likely to recognize the old languages of Latos. They had no way to know that this old man muttering in strange syllables was just reciting a prohibition against eating beans.

Aristocles had possessed some strange prejudices.

After a long, dark trudge, Fulstan arrived at the squat dwelling that he called home. It was just large enough to house his books, which was all that really mattered. Of course, many of his books were now on loan to the Marquess of Veran, but Fulstan found his books always exceeded his storage capacity no matter what.

As Fulstan slipped in the back door - the only door that really opened - he almost stepped on a folded bit of paper with a distinctive seal. Well, think of the demoness and what should appear? He carefully unfolded the missive. Hmmmm ... she's been pleading my case to Father Castelluccio again, has she? Well, maybe her words will have some effect. If not, her money should.

Fulstan did not really need the blanket forgiveness that the Marquess hoped to gain him. The Church had no real incentive to persecute an old astrologer, no matter how dark his reputation in Volkmar. But it was a face-saving measure that would make it easier for him to work with the Church hierarchy. And he needed their resources if he was going to make any headway.

For once, all my education is worthless. No philosopher ever spoke of a time when the moon conquered the sun and the world was bathed in night. The heavens were supposed to be immutable. I need to see the works of the seer-saints and the holy martyrs if I'm going to make any sense of this.

The old man paused in his doorway, casting one last look at the gloating moon, before closing the door behind him. There would be little sleep in this strange constant night, and he had much reading to do.

 

[Radley]

In another corner of the plaza of Ol' Catan, there was a significantly larger gathering of people than the one that had flocked to the old man. On a raised stage, three drastically different individuals were present. The first being a rather obese alderman dressed in fine clothes, whom stood upon a podium amidst the torches that lined the stage. To the side of him was another man, this one pale, ragged and visibly distraught. Behind him stood a tall woman, her gaunt face plagued by a unsightly scar. The woman in question was abnormally tall, easily setting her apart from the inhabitants of Castow. Another foreigner. Even if the common folk would like nothing more than hurl insults at this nordic traveler, no one dared raise their voice. The woman in question was Raili Ilves, often known by the morbid nickname of Riley Grin, alluding to the fact that she never smiled. And if she did, it would have made her even more terrifying. Having arrived to the city some months before the endless night, her coming had been known before she even passed the gate. A foul Arkhanite from the north, having traveled western Eros for many years while hunting werhobs and the scum of wers alike, leaving a bloody trail of monsters and men in her wake.

Although she had arrived with a terrible reputation, the church and the crown had seen to putting her abhorrent talents to good use. A lone presbyter of the Order of the Path of Saint Arkhan was nothing to fear, rather to be utilized. In need of someone detestable to perform a equally detestable task, Raili had been assigned the role of executioner. With her penchant for gruesome and efficient murder, and her lack of sympathy to hinder her work, a killer for the crown could not have been filled by a more suitable individual.

Raili rested her longsword against her leather apron, while clutching a distinct rosary and tome in her hands. Swaying gently back and forth, by-stander could faintly hear her eerie chanting as she recited phrases from the Orders book.

"Hear ye! Hear ye!" the alderman shouted while holding a parchment in front of him, "On the order of his grand majesty, by the powers invested in him by the gods and the peoples of the realm, Morgan Clavicus shalt on this day face punishment for his transgressions against law and order. His offence is that of theft of food stocks in a time of dire circumstance."

The ragged man looked up to the alderman, a dirty face drenched in tears peaking out behind unkempt strands of hair. "My... my... family. Gods, oh saints..." he bawled between sniveling tears. The Alderman did not acknowledge the pleas of the condemned man, instead focused on the paper in front of him, "A tribunal of the common man, under the blessing of his majesty the king, has passed judgement upon thee for these transgression. The sentence for your crimes is death." There was a brief pause as the alderman folded the paper into his pocket and retained his composure, "The Gods and the saints shalt show mercy upon those who have repented."

Without casting so much as a glance at Clavicus, the Alderman signaled for Raili to proceed.

As the bells tolled over the plaza, Raili put her tome back into a pouch that was hanging from her belt, as well as tied the rosary into a loop. Grabbing the longsword into a loose grip she walked up next to the crying man. Using the edge of the sword, she tilted the mans head upwards so that his posture was straight. "Those who are pure of heart have not to fear the wrath of damnation" she spoke with voice devoid of emotion, "Saint Arkhan awaits at the alabaster gate of dawn. He will judge thee to pass the threshold of realms". As the man held back tears, clutching the cross of saints, Raili stepped back and swung the sword around her head. After two more revolutions she brought the blade down swiftly, separating Morgan Clavicus' head in one fell swoop. Before the head could roll off the stage, Raili grabbed its long hair and held it up to the crowd. There was a dead silence as the crowd awaited the Alderman. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts, he sprung to life as he realized the deed had been done. "Hear ye! Hear ye!" he continued in slight discomfort, "Let the head of Morgan Clavicus serve as a lesson of the long reaches of the arm of the law."

Raili walked up to the aldermans podium and put the head in a small basket, and then collected a pouch of silver from him. Wiping the sword clean on her leather apron, she descended from the stage and began walking down the streets, back to her lodgings in the pilgrims house next to the church. As the pale women with a instrument of death rested on her shoulder wandered down the moonlit cobbled streets, people gave her a wide berth.

 

[K0mori]

In a window overlooking the plaza, belonging to a wealthy gentleman who was currently out of the country, sat an entirely different man of considerably less reputable character. His head was resting on his palm, elbow planted on a small table, as he watched and listened through the open portal to the activity below, including both the vitriolic speech of the local native, and the execution nearby. As the sword separated the condemned man's head from his shoulders, Valko looked on, disinterested, aside from an idle flick of his tongue across his upper lip as he watched the bloody eruption from the stump of the poor man's neck.

The vampyr had found this place several days prior, although the strange curse which had befallen the town made him feel as if time had ceased moving completely. Entering Castow during the small hours of the morning, he had prowled along unseen, often by rooftop as he searched for his meals and for the hideout which would provide him refuge, until he chanced upon this hotel and its vacant suite overlooking the Plaza of Ol' Catan. He had lived in absolute silence since then, to avoid inviting any suspicion, and had only twice since his arrival, despite the lack of sun- once to find fresh blood, and again, to offer his services to the church. Perhaps they would allow him some amnesty if he used his abilities to help restore that hateful thing. It made no difference to him whether there was sun or not, as he would be met with death either way if he were spotted by commoners.

Perhaps they would grant him amnesty even if the curse couldn't be lifted. Perhaps he could sabotage those efforts without being detected.

He had many things to think about as he sat and observed the plaza.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Screams were not uncommon in this neighborhood, Hannalore noted, after nearly a week of hearing the howling cries of the frustrated, the afraid, and the afflicted, or otherwise victims of one crime or another. This place didn't even have a name, to her knowledge. The street outside the filthy and perilously thin glass window on the third floor to Lady Treuyer's apartments had no name. No official one, at least, for she had heard people name the avenue down below a myriad of not so colorful words. Bottle Street was perhaps the nicest, but it was only named that for the occasional glass refuse found littering the gutters that were descended upon by vagabonds and children hoping to salvage the glass for coin or reuse. Likewise, Lady Treuyer's apartments were run down and ramshackle. The wooden floors were weathered with age, holed by damage from rot when the roof leaked. Nearly every chimney flue seemed to have been unswept in years - if possibly forever - and only a kindling of a fire could be permitted in the fireplace lest the entire room, and then the floor, become choked in ash and smoke.

Hannalore Szabastya lingered by the window for a moment, peering down into the perpetually darkened street at the shambling figures below. More layfolk and poor coming to and from their homes, stuck in limbo without knowing what time it was anymore. Not everyone could afford a clock, and the church bells seemed unusually subdued on this side of Castow. From behind her, a pitiful whine rose up from the figure confined to the cot in the one room apartment. "Just a little longer, sir," Hannalore said sweetly without turning around. "You mustn't look away from the eyes."

"I can't breathe," the man complained, a frantic lilt taking over his voice. "I-I can't... its like a weight...!"

Finally, Hannalore turned and took the few steps towards the bed, her hood covering most of her face and eyes, though they permitted easy view downwards, as was the most important direction for her to look. A thin smile crept along her pale, soft face. "Then that means it is working."

Sitting up Mister Rezlo's chest was a doll, porcelain in the face, with a pleasant coronet veil and simple black habit, not unlike a nun, and not unlike the clothes she occasionally wore herself. The blank eyes were also staring down at Rezlo, just as Hannalore stared down at him from beside the cot. The little thing couldn't have weighed more than a pound, stuffed with cotton and made of cloth, with painted eyes, but to Mister Rezlo it may as well have been an anvil. His face was wrinkled with age, but drenched in sweat, his flesh tinged red and his brow trembling. "... its killing me!" He tried to move, struggling, and his arm managed to poke out from the thin bed sheet. Hannalore placed her hand on his shoulder and he found that there was surprising strength in her grasp.

"Please, Mister Rezlo. If you wish for the nightmares to go away, then you must give in." With her other hand, she gently gave the doll a pat on the back. "This is for your own good, sir. Your body is being purified. The terror is being expunged," she explained, calm, as Rezlo's mouth opened and closed without a sound. He wasn't breathing any longer, the strain too much, and he was beginning to asphyxiate. She counted off the seconds, watching him patiently, his flushed face turning pale, his limbs trembling, before he began to go still. Almost as an afterthought, she picked up the doll from his chest as if it weighed nothing at all, and he sucked in a heaving, gasping breath, his eyes going wide.

"There, there. It is all over now. You will find the nightmares which haunt your sleep to have been expelled. You will sleep soundly from now on. The hallucinations should be gone."

Rezlo's head tilted towards the corner of the room as he continued to shake. "B-but... I... I can still see it!"

There, in the corner, sat on the only chair he owned, was another doll. This one was blank with a stitched mouth and stitched eyes. Hannalore had placed it there and feigned ignorance of its existence. She frowned. "Oh? How dreadful... I think we will have to continue, then."

More screams rocked Lady Treuyer's apartments, and those passing by on Bottle Street below did not once stop to look up.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

• The Docks •

It was otherworldly for the Nun to watch that ship slowly approach the shores of Castow, not only for her but to the mariners and sailors in the docks as well. What group of mad men would sail on these dark days? Even if the sea currents were now calm, the light mist floating above water, the moon shinning bright on the ocean, there was something unnatural about the sea.

Maybe the reason why this ship was unharmed by these haunted waters was because they were travelling with a man of faith. The faith of the sun is as ancient as the Unnisian faith, perhaps even older. The nun watched him descend from the Eastern ship with curiosity. What could that man want in this cursed city? Clearly he was not a merchant like the men he sailed with. Was he a pilgrim looking for his Sun? Or perhaps a missionary, trying to give those of fickle faith something to believe in, in hopes to see the sun again? Whatever was the case, the nun wanted to approach him, for he might be what she was looking for.

As he walked through the shanty town formed around the docks, the nun eventually caught up with the stranger. "Excuse me... sir..." asked the nun with a gentle tone in her voice. She took a moment to look at him. He was a strange sight indeed, covered in clothes fit more for a desert than a city as big as Castow. And his mask frightened her a bit, but she managed to give the man a friendly smile. "Might I have a moment of your time?" she asked, while giving him a little bow. "I am Sister Laurine Beauchamp, nun of the Sisterhood of Fire, I am looking for kind souls that are willing to help us during these troubled times. No matter their faith or place they hail from." She looked up to the sky behind them, where the moon continued to watch over them. "...This... curse, we are trying to find answers for. I imagine a man of your faith might be looking for answers too, right?"

• The Church Ward •

There were hundreds of rumors about the 'Nordling' woman that had taken the duty of an executioner, all of them referring to her brutality and cold nature. Most avoided her like she was a victim of leprosy, others mocked her. From a distance, of course. "Freak!" shouted a Catanach woman from the safety of her balcony. "Go back to yer mountains where ya belong, ya tall soulless Ghūl!" She continued shouting as the Arkhanite continued walking down the street, towards the church.

But as she neared her destination, she noticed the carriage stationed outside and the coat of arms of infamous occultist noble of House Jézéquel. Raili had arrived just as the noble was leaving the building, but Lady Jézéquel managed to notice Raili approach the church. The wicca looked over her, from her head to her feet, letting out a bit of a giggle before stepping into her carriage. Soon, it drove off, away from the church.

Raili watched it for a while before feeling someone poke her arm. It was the head priest of the church and the Deacon of Castow, a weak man called Castelluccio. "...I've seen you've performed your duties, Raili." he said with a cautious tone in his voice. As if not wanting to offend the northern woman. "I must say you've arrived just in time... I was about to guide you to your new resting place... We'll be using the pilgrims quarters as a makeshift hospital. And besides... we have need of your services elsewhere." Castelluccio motioned her gently to follow him.

• District of Ol' Catan •

As the crowds dispersed in the plaza, and life tried to continue with a resemblance of normality, Valko continued to watch down the streets from the safety of his hideout. But soon he noticed someone walking down the streets, a small person of strange, rather angelic features wearing a blue garb, typically found among the members of the Brotherhood of Light. This person was putting up posters on the trees and the main bulletin board of the plaza, but they also seem to be looking around. As if trying to find someone. Was this person sent there to look for Valko? Had the church accepted his terms of amnesty?

As they were about to put another poster on the wall of a local clothing home, the figure stopped to look at a strange sight. There was a group of foreign armed men. They had no badge, no coat of arms, no sigil that could show their allegiance. Yet they were clearly not from here, since they were speaking languages typical of the east. The strangest thing might be that they were all speaking different dialects, from Gitovan to Alvan and even Ruthanian and Murssian. And they were driving a carriage with an intricate design, it was beautiful to look at. One the men shouted something before the carriage drove away from the plaza, and away from Valko and the unknown priest.

In another area of the district of Ol' Catan, Fulstan enjoyed the tranquility of his fairly modest house, which looked more like a library rather than a house. While reading, he could hear someone knocking on his door, and he cautiously opened it, revealing Lady Jézéquel. "Fulstan Schroder... I assumed that you'd be here." she said, with a devilish grin on her face. "My good friend, I have good news for you! Castelluccio has allowed you to participate in his little project. I hope you are ready, for undoubtedly your services will be heavily called upon by the Church."

She then stepped aside, revealing a tall and heavily armored man holding a huge tome. "...And as payment for being my eyes and ears in this operation, I want to offer you this rare tome... It is known as the Codex of Zeta. Legend tells of its creation at the hands of a monk who sinned grievously." she added, with a wide smile on her face. The infamous book weighed a lot, and each of its six hundred and twenty pages were almost three feet long. The book survived theft from Merkatz, and being thrown from a window to save it from a fire. Truly there was something Goetic about it. "...But remember, my good friend, I'm not asking of you to do anything to slow the church's progress. All I want is to know what they are doing. After all, this curse affects all of us."

Meanwhile...

The hunter had a meeting to attend to, as the Church was planning to form a group dedicated to investigate the supernatural activities across town. He decided to take a shortcut through the dark alleys around Ol' Catan. He knew these alleys like the palm of his hand, and these parts of town rarely saw people coming through other than petty criminals or rats. But as he walked through these long alleys, he could hear it. The sounds of a wounded beast, coming right behind him.

He turned around, revealing his silver sword, but the wounded beast jumped over him. "Bloody hell!" he shouted, as the beast turned around. It was a Werwulf, and it had several bolts stuck in his side. "Move!" shouted a voice behind the hunter, which he listened to as he moved to the side to watch another silver-tipped bolt hit the beasts chest. The hunter looked behind to see a woman holding a crossbow and two other hunters. "Gods be damned Tremeur, what are you doing taking these paths?!" shouted the woman, before putting her crossbow down and drawing out her strange, foreign mace. The Catanach hunter gave her smile before rushing the werwulf with his sword to put an end to it.

But even wounded a werwulf can put an extraordinary fight. The four hunters began to hack and slash at the beast, rarely hitting as it evaded their attacks with inhuman reflexes. "This lad's got some moves on him!" exclaimed Tremeur, while watching the beast as it defensively prowled around them. "Lass. She's a shoemakers wife. Turned a few hours ago." said the leader of the Hunters. Then the beast charged at them again, grabbing one of the hunters and tossing him against a building. They were sent crashing through the wall, but using that as an opportunity, Tremeur crouched pierced his blade through the werwulf's abdomen. Causing it to howl in agonizing pain.

After pulling his blade back out, the wounded creature fell on its chest, trying to crawl away as its steaming wounds bleed profusely. Chibuike, the leader of the hunters, pulled a silver dagger from her cloak and cut the beast's neck. "...Rest is peace." she murmured as the beast finally died. The huntress sighed as she looked back at her hunters. "...You shouldn't be here, Tremeur, but I'm glad you were here." she said with a faint grin on her face. "...How's Maurice?" she asked, as the other hunter checked through the debris for their companion "Alive, but... he can't walk." he said with a mournful tone. "C-Can't... feel anything f-from the waist down." shouted the wounded hunter. Chibuike looked away for a moment, before approaching the wounded hunter. "...He'll take you to the doctor, hopefully he'll know how to fix you." she said, trying to give the hunter some hope before being carried away.

Tremeur looked on with arms crossed, leaning against a wall. Once the other two hunters were gone, he looked at Chibuike. "...Ain't fair, y'know? Sending me to watch over the church while ye be hunting beasts." he said with grin on his face, to which Chibuike responded with a scowl "...Whos' the leader here? Besides, this got in the way before I could join you." she said while cleaning her dagger. Tremeur continued smiling. "...Right, why are we doing this again? It's not like the church trusts us." Chibuike grinned a bit before sheathing her dagger. "...They have to...and it's our duty as hunters...And if we gotta push our selves into trouble, we will. It is our oath." She looked back at Tremeur with a faint smile. "...Ready to move on?" Tremeur smiled. "After you, ma'am... Hopefully the others pick this one up."

 

[FloweryMuffin]

The first time Cecilia laid eyes upon the city of Castow, she had wanted to turn on her heel and run as fast as she was physically capable of, her curse be damned.

Because Castow was big, so big. It could snugly fit the poor villages of Solas within its walls with room to spare. Then there was the moon, casting an ominous light over the roofs of shops and buildings, never to reach the ground and the people, who had been shrouded in darkness for weeks, as the sun hadn’t come up again. As it were now, the only thing that awaited the young woman beyond the walls was undoubtedly fear and sights she couldn’t possibly imagine, much less predict. Didn’t these people kill werhobs as well, without blinking, without hesitation? She was scared, because for a second, the price for the cure she sought seemed far too great and beyond her capabilities. She peered up at the imposing gates, unmoving.

If she never entered, she would pass up what little chance she had of curing her lycanthropy and returning to her life as a lone wanderer. That wouldn't do.

She had heard rumors about the church gathering volunteers in order to get rid of the endless moon and at the time, she had perked up at the opportunity. If they were desperate enough to accept the very creatures they hated in order to serve their purpose, surely they might not be opposed to the idea of ridding her of the damnable curse in return for whatever service they might require?

As long as she stayed herself, she should be able to manage, right?

She must have been staring at the imposing gates for far too long, as she had earned herself quite a few looks from locals and foreigners alike, which only served to further deter her from entering. Still, taking a deep breath and visibly shaken, she walked into the city and hid away from anymore prying gazes.

Three days spent without sleep as she struggled to find her away around the city, to get used to the unfamiliar setting, spent to no avail as she walked in an endless labyrinth of streets and alleys that she roamed blindly, alone. She had a vague idea of where the church she was searching for was - St. Charlot’s Church she learned- but she had yet to find her way.

Three days spent lurking through rundown alleys and districts later, her destination within her reach yet far away, she had two things about Castow, which did nothing to alleviate the anxiety bubbling inside of her.

One, they did not take kindly to foreigners roaming their streets. That was made very clear to her by the man holding an acid-fueled speech in the plaza-which she had stumbled upon purely on accident- the crowd that had formed around him readily approving his message. Cecilia winced at the man’s words, sticking closer to the side of a rundown shop, further away from them.

Two, the prolonged darkness had only made them more violent in their persecution of werhobs. Some time after witnessing that unsettling speech, she heard it, the howls of pain of a wounded beast. The more she listened, the faster her heart beat, as she was once again frozen in fear, in the dark. Since luck was rarely on her side, she got to witness firsthand the monster hunters of this region in action.

Three of them, armed with what were undoubtedly silver weapons- she shuddered at the thought- were circling around an already wounded werwulf, who was putting up a fierce battle as he dodged and evaded blow after blow, so fast she was barely able to follow its movements. It even managed to grab one of its attackers and throw them into the side of a building, gravely wounding him.

One of the other hunters managed to get him eventually, stabbing him in the gut and leaving a deep gash blood oozed out of. As the third hunter in the party brought their dagger down to deliver the finishing blow, Cecilia closed her eyes, no longer able to watch. No matter how many times she had witnessed such cruel acts in her life, her feelings had stayed the same as they were when she saw a life being taken for the first time: she was afraid.

That one day she herself might have to do the same, no matter how much she tried to avoid it, if she hadn’t already done it, that is.

That she could have been the one to lose her life that day, if she caved and went to sleep- it had been a long time since she rested properly- only to open them and find something disastrous had taken place, courtesy of her affliction. Or she might not wake up ever again.

Fortunately, in this case, her fear of the moon and what transpired while she was oblivious, far surpassed all her fear of death, as she fought to stay awake and aware of her own actions. She hated to admit that it was only a matter of time until the inevitable happened then she would end up just like the werwulf that had just been killed.

She was quick to vow to do anything in her power to avoid the monster hunters from then on.

Taking one last look at them, who were busy with their fallen comrade, and at the werwulf's body laying there forgotten on the sidewalk, she scrambled away before they took note of her presence.

She still had a church to find.

 

[Humble1]

Fulstan eyed the Codex with something akin to lust. But decades of frequenting the courts of Volkmar had beaten some manners into him.

"Marquess! What a wonderful surprise to see you at my door. Come in, please, sit and I'll fetch a beer - no, wait this isn't Volkmar - I'll brew some tea. Just have a seat ... er ... ehm ... well, maybe start by putting the Codex ... oh dear."

Every horizontal surface in the house was already covered with books. For the next five minutes, Fulstan was no longer the old man with the cane that he appeared to be, but was instead the bustling shopkeeper that he was afraid of becoming. He cleared off a table - ("Oh, this is where I left it") - and allowed the soldier to gently set the Codex down before returning to his duties elsewhere. He cleared off his best chair - ("I've been looking for this one!") - and held it decorously as Lady Jézéquel sat.

A few minutes later, the hearth fire had been poked back into life and an iron kettle was steeping, filling the small house with the smell of lavender and lemongrass. Fulstan himself sat on a bench, speaking to his guest in low tones.

"I can't imagine that Father Castelluccio agreed to this easily. I believe I owe you a great deal of thanks for your efforts at persuasion."

Lady Jézéquel's mouth quirked in an ironic smile, "Truth be told, he was most stubborn. I believe he'd rather face a room of Werhob than allow you into the sacred library."

Fulstan sighed. "Shorty after I arrived in Catrow, I made the mistake of discussing theology with him. These churchy types are always so suspicious of theology, even when it's technically their own. They don't like being reminded of all the philosophical underpinnings behind their rituals. On even days Castelluccio thinks I'm a heretic and on odd days he thinks I'm a sham."

Fulstan snorts. "He's right both days."

Lady Jézéquel extended a delicate hand. "Hush now. We both know you're the most qualified person in this city when it comes to old prophecies and philosophies. In fact, I don't believe there's anyone else within a hundred miles who I'd trust to read Old Knathian."

"It's not an easy language," Fulstan allowed. He rose and began to pour the tea into ceramic mugs. "A thousand years as the language of philosophers will do that." He dolloped a spoonful of honey into each cup and passed one to Lady Jézéquel.

For several moments, both enjoyed their tea. Fulstan favored the complex, subtle blends, and traded special services with the importer for stock that never made it onto the shelves. "Castelluccio will know that I'm passing information to you. He'll try to hide things from me. I'll ferret out what I can. He's not as clever as he thinks he is; no competition for an old schemer like me."

"I have complete faith in you," Lady Jézéquel replied, and Fulstan almost thought he believed her. "In both your scholarship and your deviousness." Her lips took on the ironic smile again. "Is it true that you bilked all six of the Ruthersten heirs out of their inheritance?"

The next quarter-hour passed in companionable tale-telling, until Lady Jézéquel had to excuse herself. The instant the door closed behind her, Fulstan was standing in front of the Codex. He plopped down on the nearest chair - mindless of the papers he crushed - and gently pried open the clasp. The introduction and commentary were in Latosian, but the core of the book was indeed in Old Knathain.

Fulstan grinned a tea-stained smile. Old Knathain was a language of infinite subtly. Each word has a dozen different meanings depending on the context. The only way to understand it was to immerse yourself in centuries of philosophical arguments. Any monk or priest who tried that would be looked at with suspicion, which might explain why the original author was supposed to be such a great sinner. Likely the Codex of Zeta had been read by dozens of monks who never truly understood it.

Fulstan read until there were no more candles left in his house.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

• St. Galahad's Hospital, The Church Ward •

She felt cold. As if she had been placed out in the piercing winds during a dark winter. The potent smell of chemicals made her feel dizzy as she slowly regained consciousness. A voice was heard, not speaking to her but to themselves... or rather a hypothetical audience. "Female. Late twenties, early thirties. Fine features. Stumbled from a common house. Appeared lost, according to witnesses. Collapsed a few meters away from the building." The voice, male, paused for but a moment. Then, they continued. "Bruising to the back of the head... hypothesis! internal sanguination in excessive amounts, caused by a blow directly to the head. A slow, and agonizing death." She felt an instrument of some sort poke her head, and she exhaled a faint sigh from the chilling touch of metal against her skin. "Hmm? Ah...an expelling of air. I thank you, fair maiden, for at least you did that through your mouth. Now... let's see..." She remained still, until she felt it. A piercing pain, shooting up from her wrist. Cold metal slicing into flesh, and forcing her to sit up in shock. The man that was watching her stumbled backwards a bit, raising his cane as if it were a club. From what she could tell in the light, he was dressed like a Chirurgeon. Foreign doctors.

"DIE, YOU UNDEAD FIEND!" he shouted, before pausing. "...Oh...wait. Breathing...coloration...Ahh! You're actually alive!" He lowered the cane a bit, pressing a hand to his chest. "Oh, how silly of me. Trusting the words of a witness without a doctorate. My most humble of apologies, fair lady! I was under the impression that you were dead!" He straightened up, before giving her a deep, theatrical bow. "Dr. Joseph Thrope, at your service! Now. I believe that I need to bandage your wrist. You're quite clearly bleeding!"

 

[Infab]

The woman attempted to crawl across the table, in the opposite direction of the good doctor. "[You stay the hell away from me!]" she shouted, in her native tongue. Gitovan. Then she remembered...she wasn't in Gitova anymore. She shook her head rapidly, as her feet touched the cold floor. "Stay away from me!" she managed to get out, before glancing down at her arm. It was very much bleeding, and quite excessively. But that forced her to look at the rest of her body. And she quickly noticed...she was naked.

"[WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?]" she exclaimed, looking rapidly around the room. Upon seeing that her clothes were nowhere to be found at the moment, she snatched down what appeared to be a white curtain. Which was being used to separate the small autopsy room from the rest of the area around them. She rapidly wrapped the curtain around her, making a makeshift robe, before pointing at the doctor. "Don't you come anywhere near me!" she said angrily, eyes appearing rather wild. More pain shot up from her wrist, which made her wince and grasp her arm. She searched once more, before finally just tearing off a part of her curtain robe and wrapping it tight around her wrist.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"Ah! Gitovan..." said Thorpe, while resting on his cane. He sounded quite fascinated by it. "...Interesting. I've never met a Gitovan. They rarely leave their homeland, after all!" Thorpe walked towards a nearby cabinet, pulling out an odd colored bottle of some kind. "Now, I see you are being quite hysterical... and understandably so! But could you please calm down?" He then placed the bottle on the ground before her. It appeared to be some sort of disinfectant. "...And since you don't want to use actual bandages, please apply this mixture to your makeshift ones. I should warn you, though! It will sting quite a lot!" he added, while looking at her. "...And look at the positive! With so much blood loss, you won't need the leeches!"

 

[Infab]

Leeches? A disgusted expression appeared on her face, before she looked back down to the bottle. She didn't dare touch it. Not yet. "I want my clothes." she said, still unnerved by everything. She was in a hospital from the looks of things, though the lack of nurses and other medical staff was certainly bothering her. And this man being dressed up as if he had been around those with infectious diseases and plagues wasn't exactly calming.

"Are you the only one here? And where are we? Are we still in Castow?" she asked.

 

[joshuadim]

As the nun spoke to Asher, he would turn to face her to which the details of his face, or rather his mask, were made more apparent to her. The ivory carved facewear was rather plain in its features apart from the well detailed eyes. nose. and so on. The eyes however were black slits that did not reveal what lay behind it, and were rather uncanny in their appearance as they did not match the rest of the style the mask had been carved into. "Yes, you are correct." he spoke with a thick accent to to Sister Beauchamp, "I have been sent by the Scion of Light, and by extension the Khadem Empire, to search for answers. Long have I traveled from East to West, yet answers have eluded me. I seek an audience with whomsoever rules this city as both diplomat and traveler, for in the end, no matter our differences, we seek the same goal."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Dr. Thorpe looked about his clinic, before pointing the Gitovan to a pile of clothing and jewelry. None of it actually belonged to her, and before she could ask for her actual clothes, the doctor had already turned around, Busying himself with vials of blood and chemicals. When she asked if he was alone, he didn't turn around to face her. "Hmm? Ah, no... While I am the only Chirurgeon in Castow, I've a few nurses under my wing." He turned around, theatrically extending his arms as if proudly presenting his work place.

"I run this place with upmost care and professionalism. I am a proud believer of medical science, and I must lead by example!" he said, before looking down at a jar full of leeches. "...Now, if you could be so kind miss to... trot along? I am a busy man, so many patients need of my attention." He raised his hand before she could step away from this clinic. "I almost forgot... you seem to be lost, yes? Because you ask me a silly question. I suggest you to head to the Church of St. Charlot. Father Castelluccio will help you... or at least try. If you don't find him on the church... try the building next to it. I believe he is trying something today... At any rate, the door is over there." And with that, the doctor lost any interest of speaking with the Gitovan. His full attention now concentrated on a jar full of red liquid.

She didn't know where she truly was, as she was still a stranger to Castow, but it didn't take her long to see the large church in the distance. The clinic was just a few squares from the impressive structure. While walking there, the Gitovan might have noticed the two armed people approaching the church as well. Both had sheathed silver weapons, and clearly they were Hunters. Ahead of her was another person, approaching the front door of the church.

Cecilia knocked on the door several times before a nun opened them. The poor woman looked tired and stressed, and behind her were several pews filled with wounded who were tended by nuns and priests. Just as Cecilia was about to ask the nun something, the two hunters she saw in the alley just a few blocks away approached her and the nun. Luckily for her, they were not actually interested in her.

The nun quickly recognized the hunters, and she sighed and looked at them with caution. "...Miss Chibuike, I imagine you are looking for the Deacon... He's just around the corner with a pilgrim, in what used to be the Oathkeeper's Quarters." Chibuike and Tremeur glanced to each other before giving the nun a respectful nod and walking away. The nun sighed before looking at Cecilia. "Are you two together...?" She asked, her eyes now looking at the Gitovan standing just a few steps behind Cecilia.

Raili stood just a few steps behind Castelluccio, having been lead to the building that once used to house a small detachment of Oathkeepers, the holy knight order of the Church. Before the curse of the Moon, the Oathkeepers that were stationed here departed to the East, as once more the Empire of Lykos needed help against their ancient Ahmedian enemy. The Holy War was an endless and pointless one, and many knew that the Oathkeepers would have been extremely helpful in their battle against the creatures that stalk the night. The building itself was as impressive as the church next to it; it had personal quarters, separated bedrooms, training facilities, and connecting the two buildings was the library. A perfect place for study and research.

Raili must have wondered why she had been brought here by Castelluccio, but the Deacon quickly answered that question. "As you know, Raili, enforcing the laws of the Kingdom have become harder for our lords and ladies and their troops. Regretfully, the Oathkeepers are not here to help us fight the horrors stalking the shadows, and the constabulary has been overwhelmed by amount of cases of supernatural crime... I have requested the authorization of the Prince-Bishop to create a group of Hunters and Investigators under the watch of the church." Castellucio walked into what used to be the training quarters of the Knights, and he caressed a fine marble column before looking back at Raili. Giving her a more decisive look. "I want you to be part of this group... As an Arkhanite, I imagine you are more than willing to rid this city of the monsters hiding from Wer." He looked at the clock, visible from the following room, before looking back at Raili. "Nine and forty... We are approaching ten. The faithful will gather those who have volunteered soon... Can I count on your help, Raili?"

• The Docks •

Sister Beauchamp listened attentively to every word of the foreign traveler, nodding and agreeing as he stated they were after the same goal. "You are right, sir. I am afraid I am but a lowly sister of the Sisterhood of Fire... so I cannot request an audience between you and the King. But maybe Father Castelluccio can help you? He's the Deacon of the Prince-Bishop, the next in the line of succession, as elected by the priests of the land. He's a good man, and I'm sure he'll be able to help you." The nun looked and sounded sincere. It was probably strange for Asher to be welcomed like this, but this presented many new opportunities for him to learn more of Castow and the Kingdom of Valion. Perhaps he'll learn what happened to the Sun? "I can guide you there, if you so desire, sir..." Before she could finish her statement, they could hear screams coming in the distance, among the many hovels and dirty streets of the Docks. "That's over at Bottle Street... Hmm... As you can see, we can use as much help as possible." she said, while looking up at Asher's eyes. Her own pleading him to follow her.

 

[Infab]

The Gitovan didn't spend much more time at the hospital, after changing into proper clothes, pouring the painful disinfectant on her wound, and re-wrapping it in proper bandages. The only jewelry she took was a silver ring, which she thought looked rather interesting. She paused before she left, breathing a soft "Thank you." to the doctor. As...eccentric...as he was, he respected her wishes. And didn't decide to crack her over the head with that cane of his when she sat up.

She wandered the streets, moving through the city towards the large church in the distance. For the time being, it was the only place she could turn to. Lost, in Castow, without the slightest idea of how she got there from her native Gitova. At least she remembered other things, like her name. Octavia Lascar. Her parents were artisans, her father a painter and her mother a sculptor. Both creating extravagant works for lords and ladies of Gitova, and even the Vampyr King himself on occasion. She pondered how they were, back in her homeland...if they were back in Gitova and not somewhere else. Were they cast out? Was she cast out?

Exchanging a few looks at denizens of the city, she quickly noticed the state of things in the city. Paranoia, fear. And with the massive blue moon overhead, its no wonder. She had overheard some citizens talking about the night, which had gone on for weeks now. No sign of the sun anymore, as if a curse had been cast upon the land. A hell of a time to wake up with no recollection of really anything. As she walked, she noticed two armed individuals moving towards the church as well. Hunters, easy to recognize by their weaponry and how they carried themselves. She surprisingly knew what those were. Maybe some of her memories were slowly coming back to her, being unveiled over time? Or perhaps certain things around her were reminding her and forcing her to recall these things?

There was another woman walking ahead of them, apparently a foreigner like her. She pondered just what this woman had need of from the Church. Spiritual guidance? Medicinal assistance? Perhaps to offer her services? Maybe Octavia would find out. As she approached, she noticed that the woman and hunters had now encountered a nun at the church doors. The nun directed the hunters to the building next door, and as Octavia stepped up, the nun spoke to the other woman. While looking towards Octavia.

"Are you two together...?" she asked, her eyes now looking at the Gitovan standing just a few steps behind Cecilia.

"No, we're not." stated Octavia, as she stepped up. "I...erm...I'm looking for Father Castelluccio. I was directed to him by the Chirurgeon, Dr. Thorpe."

 

[FloweryMuffin]

After leaving the hunters behind in that alley and after some more time spent taking turns on the unknown streets almost at random, Cecilia had reached the church, finally. Reluctantly, she knocked on the door, only for a nun to open it moments later. She meant to ask the woman to confirm whether she reached the right destination.

Before she managed to actually ask the woman, two people she recognized as the hunters from earlier- she barely kept herself from flinching upon seeing them- but luckily they paid her no mind as the nun directed them towards a different part of the church, not missing the cautious look the nun had about her. Who wouldn’t be wary of such people, especially if they knew what their job entailed.

Sighing, the nun turned to speak with her,

“Are you two together…?” her question was directed to both her and the woman now standing behind her.

From the looks of it, she was definitely a foreigner, as she was, but she couldn’t exactly place where she hailed from.

"No, we're not." she said, moving to stand next to her. "I...erm...I'm looking for Father Castelluccio. I was directed to him by the Chirurgeon, Dr. Thorpe." She couldn't help but wonder where the woman was from, as her accent was unfamiliar as well to the Solusian.

Father Castelluccio… where did she know the name from? Her eyes lit up slightly at the realization that he was the man that was gathering volunteers to help him! Turns out she really did make it to her intended destination, too.

“We aren’t together,” Cecilia confirmed, “but I think we might be searching for the same man.”

 

[K0mori]

Valko watched and waited at his window until the priestly figure was at a bit of a distance. If he were seen, he didn't want it to be obvious which building he had emerged from, or that he had even come from a building at all. It would be best if no one could see him climb down, and so he moved silently through the suite to a second, smaller window positioned over the ally, typically used to dump waste. There, he slipped on a hooded cloak, and then scurried down the wall of the hotel to street level. Casually, he strode into the street as if he were just another stranger, before approaching one of the posted bills to have a closer look.

 

[joshuadim]

Asher gave the nun a courteous nod as she gave her suggestion to meet this Father Castelluccio and placed a hand on his chest. "If that is what is required, then Yazjweh wills it. I shall follow your lead then." he spoke as he then placed his hands behind his back in a comfortable manner.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Hannalore departed the Bottle Street apartments feeling calm and refreshed, almost euphoric in a subdued way. There was no shortage of needy patients in Castow and this place was like a ripe garden, simply awaiting the benevolent gardener's hand to plant and guide the tools of the trade; and, most importantly, harvest. While the city seemed infested with weeds and vines, Hannalore knew exactly where to look, for she had an eye for the precious fruits that were ready to be plucked.

In her hands was a large traveling case, a rectangular wood box frame bound in leather with a convenient carrying handle. It looked like something that should be resting atop a noble's carriage on the way to a country estate and not in the hands of a woman walking down the dark streets. By the way she carried it, it couldn't have been all that heavy, but its size bespoke of a significant carrying capacity and one would wonder why one was carrying an empty case around, if that were what it appeared. She strode with unassuming confidence and did not bother moving when people were in her way, as they moved when it was apparent the nun had no intention of slowing or swerving for other pedestrians.

On one of the nearest walls was a freshly put up poster. The climate had yet to damage the parchment. Some people were glancing it over, but she paid it no mind, until she noticed on the next street over there were some more, plastered sporadically around the plaza and on some trees.

Hannalore stopped and glanced around at the nearest one. There was a hooded figure there, alone, gazing up at the poster. What was this all about? Her curiosity piqued, Hannalore strode quietly over beside the hooded figure and looked over the poster as well.

 

[Radley]

Raili had remained quiet as she followed Castelluccio. Not that it was anything out of the ordinary, as she was not exactly the most talkative woman. She had her suspicions about why the deacon had summoned her. The meek man of the cloth could only want one thing. And frankly, it annoyed her greatly.

As Castelluccio finally explained himself, Raili eyed him with a blank look, but listened intently. As the deacon awaited his reply, the Arkhanite turned her sword to the stone floor and rested her hands on the pommel. Tilting her head back to appear even more taller than her counter-part, she gave him an icy look. "Do not speak to me what I am willing to do because of my creed, father. I'm not a rabid dog you can summon to do your bidding" she began, "My order has upheld an oath and served a mission that your church has neglected." Railis glare remained constant as she narrowed her one eye at the deacon. "I will find the beasts of the night and put them in the mud. But I will not do it for you, the church or that yielding man you call your king. My calling remains as a ordained duty. The circle of stars loom over us. Salvation comes from servitude to Arkhans cause. A cause you left untended to for far too long."

 

[Breadman]

A drunk stumbled through the streets, his breath stinking of ale and his pants of piss. Truly an example of what the citizens of Castow should aspire to be. Eventually he veered left into an alley, leaned his back on a wall and let gravity slowly pull him down. In the haze he could hear people walk down the street as they neared. He could barely make out the shapes as they entered his vision. One was a really big, the other was smaller and as he focused, he understood it was a really pretty lady. She said something to him, but he didn't understand a word. He was just so fixated with how nice she looked in the night. Soon enough the large shape grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up and carried him further down into the alley. This was clearly a really big and strong fellow.

The drunk's vision began to focus a bit as his body was struggling to gain control. The big one was still holding him by the shoulders, but now he could make the other one out a bit more. She was talking with two others. They looked rather pale and anxious. What devilry could was this exactly? He tried to struggle, but could only made the big one's grip tighten. Now the other tree were looking directly at him.

"Oh, this one's more aware than you said."

"Might get messy."

"Gospoda, please." She spoke with an accent, foreigner probably "No need to be alarmed. He's just sobering up."The woman walked closer and looked him over, not seeming very impressed "The smell we could do without, but we can't be choosers."

"Aye, I understand that madam." One of the others spoke "But I'd rather not risk discovery by the guards."

"Not to worry." She turned her attention to the one holding him "Misho, be a dear." There was a grunt from the big one and a hand wrapped itself around the drunk's mouth and squeezed with a massive grip "Shhh, my dear." She spoke with honeyed words "Fear enhances the taste, but add too much and you spoil it." She bared her teeth and the those fangs showed themselves like daggers in the night. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. She was already digging into his neck. The long night had claimed another victim.

Once finished with her meal, Yanitsa stepped back. The taste was different. She could taste the alcohol in his blood. Cheap ale was so disgusting, but they drank it anyway. Still, with someone like that, could she really be surprised that the taste was just slightly above safe to drink. She stepped back to allow the other two to have their share. Perhaps they weren't as picky as her and would enjoy themselves. Would be good for all of them. In the meantime, she was content with just standing back and watching them while she thought of her next move.

"Now..." One of the others turned to her "First I want to thank you for the free meal madam, he was quite good."

"He was, wasn't he?" She lied by instinct "Rich taste."

"Yes yes." The other spoke next "Sharing your meal with us, quite generous. I'll make sure word of your kindness reaches the rest of our kin in the city."

"See that they don't learn what I gave you." Yanitsa answered with a strict tone "I hope I don't need to remind you the consequences of our kind feasting from the living, even if it's from lowlifes like this."

"Oh but you worry yourself too much." The first one spoke again "Leave the body with us and we shall dispose of it." He smiled and his fangs poked out. She hadn't noticed before, but his left one was chipped. She would remember him as Chiptooth for now. "Pigs eat just about anything and if we are discovered, we won't say a word about you."

"Aye, code and whatnot." The second one added.

"Interesting. I didn't know the thieve's guild covered vampyr slayings."

"This is not guild business, madam." Chiptooth spoke up "But you are our ally and as such you are not to be given up to guards, less you decide to betray us of course. But I don't believe you'd be foolish enough."

"Of course." Yanitsa gave a reassuring smile "Then you can report to your leaders that I'd be happy to work with them as long as I'm in the city. I already send you the catalog of goods available to you ahead of time, so if you need anything from me, look for my associate during the daylight" She gestured to Misho " Or me during the night. Just a fair warning however. He's a bit special. Please refer to the goods you want by their numbers when talking to him."

"Am good with numbers" Misho spoke, taking the other two by surprise

"Yeah, we can do that." Chiptooth seemed to be in agreement with the terms. The other one didn't add anything. He instead picked up the drunk's body to take away. "Right, we'll be off now. Once again, thank you for the meal madam." Chiptooth bowed and ran off after his colleague, leaving Yanitsa and Misho alone in the alley.

"Back to the shop, Misho." Yanitsa turned around to leave the alley as fast as she could. The stench was beginning to get to her. Now that her business with the Thieve's guild had been settled, she had all she needed in order to start her search. There have been rumors of someone working on a way to create a remedy for the vampyr's hunger. That's what brought her to Castow a month ago. She needed to get to the bottom of this. If there really is someone developing a remedy, then this could change everything for them. No need for vampyr's to hunt others for food, relationships between the cursed and non-cursed could be mended and if she was the one of the first to popularize it among her circles, she stood to make a fortune. And even if it was all just rumor, it gave her a chance to start something new somewhere fresh. An associate already left her a building in the more shady part of the city, as per her preference. Just the right place to get into contact with someone like the Thieve's guild.

But now with all the planning, fate had decided to make a mockery of it all. The blasted curse had send the locals into a fury. They were panicked and ready to strike at any moment. She knows how these things go. She's seen it before. She could only hope that there would be a way to guarantee her own safety when the time comes.

That's when something caught her eye. It was a poster hung on the wall. Someone from the church placed it there it seemed. Maybe this was a way for her to guarantee her safety. At least for the time being. They might as well tie her and burn her for all she knew. But at the same time, she had services and contacts that would prove useful to them. It was a gamble, but one worth taking.

"Misho." She spoke to her brute "Go to the shop on your own. I'll attend to some other business" The two parted ways. Him to the shop, her to the church.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Castelluccio looked at Raili with a bit of a stunned expression at first, then it became clear that he was not amused by her words. Almost out of character for the old timid priest, he fixed his attire and gave Raili an stern and commanding look. "I'll remind you that you came to Castow to perform your order's duties, and they still answer to the Church of All Saints." he pointed at her, in an almost accusatory manner. "I'll remind you, woman, that I am the Deacon of Castow. Next in the succession line to be the Prince-Bishop of Valion. I can excommunicate you, and then declare you an apostate. So do not give me a speech on how you think we've failed at our duties. It's not your place." After a few agitated breaths, the priest fixed his garb before speaking again. "...You don't want to follow your Arkhanite Oath, then so be it, but I know that you want Castow and cleanse it. Stay and help."

Just as the Kärkkian was about to respond, a pair of figures entered the building. "Who are you?" asked the father, while looking at Tremeur. But he quickly realized who they were the instant he noticed Chibuike. The priest let out a frustrated groan before looking at Chibuike "...Ah, the mistress of the hunt, of course... Does nobody know how to keep a secret in this town?" Chibuike smiled, shrugging as the priest looked down for a moment. "That's what one gets for speaking with your local chirugeon." "Damned be that Ælgish man." he muttered, before seeing another pair of figures walking into the training room. Chibuike and Tremeur turned around, seeing the two ladies that were waiting outside the church. Cecilia and Octavia, both sent in by the nun.

Castelluccio's face was now red with anger, and he was about to ask these women to head back to the church if they wanted his blessing. But he stopped when he noticed Cecilia. "You..." he muttered, before approaching the Solusian. Due to his years of training and mastery over rituals, he knew that she wasn't Wer anymore. He could feel it, the blood of the Beast flowing through her veins. "Can I help you...?" He asked cautiously.

• Castow •

"This is a message to both the faithful masses and the pariahs of Castow. The Church of All Saints is looking for volunteers to help during these difficult times. With the constabulary overwhelmed for the moment, our holy warriors far from the city, and the royal knights doing the best they can with what they have, Valion needs her people more than ever. For we are being besieged by the accursed.

The jobs that will be carried out are not for those faint of heart. Volunteers will be requested to investigate supernatural events, some of which might lead you to haunted locales, dealing with werhobs and seek justice in the darkest corners of Castow. Which will lead to death if not properly and carefully prepared. But rest assured that those who volunteer will be properly rewarded with resting quarters, coinage, and the blessing of the Church. This includes the Pariahs. Those who are pagans, heathens, goetic followers, and sinners. They will be granted amnesty.

Father Damocle Castelluccio, esteemed Deacon of the Church and next in line to the Holy Diocese, requests all well-intending men and women of Castow to head to the Quarters of the Oathkeepers, next to the Church of St. Charlot, in the Church Ward.

Might the Saints and Gods watch over you."

Valko finished reading the poster. It was amusing knowing the church was so desperate that they'd be willing to accept those they shunned for so long. He then noticed that there was a strange woman standing behind him. She looked like a nun, but there was something off about her. His attention shifted elsewhere soon enough, to the young priestly figure that was now standing next to him. "Excuse me, sir, but are you Valko by any chance?" asked the young man, with a surprisingly masculine but still soft voice. The priest looked at the nun behind Valko, giving her a respectful nod, "I don't think I've met you before, sister... Always good to see a follower of the Saints." he said, before turning his attention back to Valko. Whispering something to the disguised vampyr. "...The 'pariah' that has requested amnesty? The one that sent the letter to Father Castelluccio?" The young man was surprisingly direct, but still unaware of Valko's vampyric nature. His hood hid his werhob features rather well.

While they were discussing, the clock tower in the plaza finally hit ten in the morning.



Before the moon cast its curse on the land, this would have been a normal daily hour. But after the first week of this curse, the churches around Castow organized an event The faithful of Castow, be they foreign, freemen, or Catanach, began to emerge from the dark homes. Torches and lamps in hand, humming like a holy choir. But to those who listened, they could hear in their tones that people were tired. Throughout Castow, the masses would light up the lamp posts across the city, gather the dead of each night, and burn the bodies of beasts and dead vampyrs.

While walking through the city, Sister Beauchamp and Asher watched as a group of Catanach pulled a woman with the bite of a werwulf. They were lead by a man with an interesting hat,and they began to beat the woman till she was a bloody mess. All while laughing and mocking her, asking her why she couldn't turn into a fearful beast. When the woman laid dead on the ground, the man with the hat looked over at Asher, smiling widely. "Butcher's hook at that! An Easterling... Wanna join in the hunt, sand boy?" he asked, while his companions laughed, looting the woman's golden jewelry. Sister Beauchamp looked upon the man with disgust, before grabbing Asher and quickly pulling him away from the marching masses.

They were nearing the Church, just like Stanimirova who walked through the shadows. Avoiding the hateful eyes of Catanachs and the torches held by the church. For even if she were to be discovered by a compassionate soul, the Catanachs would quickly take the opportunity to destroy her. And even with her powers as a vampyr, she wouldn't be able to overpower a mass of angry men and women. She walked past the dark house of Fulstan, whom during his scholarly pursuits did not realize that his candles had died. The Codex truly was an immense source of Goetic knowledge, one to rival the books written by ancient sorcerer king Solimidas. But something startled him, pulling him back to the real world and away from those ancient texts. It was the light of the torches. The masses were marching outside, humming their holy choir. This helped him realize that it was ten in the morning, and Lady Jézéquel had requested him to be there in time. Hopefully those damned Catanachs would ignore him.

 

[K0mori]

"...I am."

Valko kept his head down so that the hood of his cloak would better hide his features. Another person had joined him in reading the poster, but he had avoided striking up any conversation or even acknowledging her. What good would it do him? If she had something to say, she could say it herself.

"If you have something to say to me, say it quickly. I don't have time to waste- not even for those of the cloth."