Priscilla the Grey

The brief pause in the violence, although it was to 'welcome' their new foe, was enough for Priscilla to recover herself and become more... aware of her situation. Though she still didn't comprehend how she looked at that moment, she was quick this time to notice the stringlike appendages sprouting from her face, and assumed that they were just that. She didn't understand that it was her face that she was looking at. It didn't matter, anyhow. She had now silently acknowledged it as a weapon, that she was in control of, even if she was still adjusting to it.

Though she couldn't ignore the tingle of her lips as they reformed briefly, allowing her to speak more clearly as she viewed the Bloodfreak before them. In that window of time before the arrival of the other Lycanthropes, she spoke in a hushed tone to the Bloodfreak, as his gaze locked onto her.

"Great horror, I say to you..." she murmured, raising her mace as she eyed him. "The Church does not permit your kind..."

It was humorous for her to say that when she was now a Bloodlord. But Priscilla was experiencing a sense of disconnect, so she didn't even care. But she took notice when the Lycanthropes entered, and issued a declaration of attack—to which she readied, and gripped her mace tightly, as her flayed skin struck out to intercept the throats and wrists of the weaker-looking Lycanthropes. But her mind was on the quick, and her exposed eyes darted about the Cathedral, until locking onto a window towards the back of the building.

Though focused on the fight ahead, she made to back toward it slowly, so that it was at least an option for her and her allies to potentially take advantage of. Otherwise, she kept her sights on the Bloodfreak, preparing herself to move or defend according to whatever he chose to do.

The Mutts, as well. Lest they overwhelm her while she was distracted. But her main target was more important than them.

Robert didn't stop screaming the entire time. Even as the biggest of the wolves there took him to the ground and got him in position to execute him, Robert didn't stop screaming in defiance, feebly reaching his hands up to try to claw her eyes out. Seemed maybe he'd gotten some attention though—another vampire, like them?! No. Beyond them. Something outdoing all of them, so much higher on the foodchain. That anger he'd been feeling welled up yet again at this creature scrabbling down at his blood... what was he saying?! Was this really already what he'd descended to?

Robert blinked. He was holding a pew above his head already. Half of it, one of the ones that'd been broken in all the scuffling, raised over his head, ready to bring it down on the Bloodfreak in a fit of dissociative hunger. He frowned, shook his head. Huh? What? He took a breath—and got immediately nailed in a flying tackle. One of the lycans decided to try his luck on Robert! The pew went flying out of his hands and the snarling beast pinned him to the floor once again. A gray wolf, gnashing his teeth, raised a blade to bring it down to Robert's head...

Teeth! Of course! Robert was never truly unarmed now, was he? Shameful as it was. He lunged forward, hands out, mouth open as the werewolf tried to crush his skull. His fingers sank into fur and grabbed his enemy by the clavicles. The werewolf's eyes went wide. Robert's teeth cleaved into the monster's throat. He surged up, into a standing position and charged forward, grotesquely slurping at the werewolf's neck. Another lycan tried to stab around the beast and just got his buddy straight in the back. The werewolf threw him off after a few steps of pushing and they both hit the floor—one of them dead. The other guy pulled his blade out of his dead buddy's back and came after Robert now, to his horror. Blood drooled out of his open mouth, shaking his head in denial for what just happened. "I-I-uh, I just—" Robert got up, met this charging bastard just the same, and got inside the creature's guard so that it couldn't easily get the leverage necessary to stick Robert as he feasted on it with his brand new buck teeth. He screamed internally at how incredibly good this tasted, but this was survival: there was no time for him to worry as he feasted on the beast. And he would need a human shield if two serious beasts like Renard and the... abomination... would even think about him.

Katherine had the misfortune to have seen the Bloodfreak through the eyes of the dying Mutt. Feeling the Mutt dying through her powers was bad enough, but the monster getting so close to her and licking her- the Mutt's blood was worse.

Then the army of Lycanthropes entered the Cathedral, and Katherine's senses exploded.

She saw through the inhuman senses of dozens of lycans, felt their thundering hearts as they the Bloodfeak. She felt as each of them fell one by one, feeling like she herself was dying with each fallen Lycan.

It was just- it was too much, too soon. Katherine was having trouble juggling half a dozen viewpoints before. The dozens of people suddenly entering her range overwhelmed her senses and drove her to her knees.

Seeing a prone Bloodlord sitting out in the open. One of the Lycanthropes split away from the fighting and approached Katherine. It got in close, raising a massive axe up high to chop off the mute Bloodlord's head off-

"Stop. Please, just- just stop."

-and froze above Katherine's prone form. The Lycanthrope's arms and legs locked up, and even his heart seemed to constrict itself.

Katherine could feel the Lycanthrope paralyzed above her and figured out that she was the one doing it.

"Blood Hold, huh. Figures it'd be that of all things."

Another of the Lycanthropes saw what happened with his fellow. He turning its attention away from the Bloodfreak and pointed a crossbow at Katherine. Preparing to shoot her between the eyes.

Katherine reached out towards the crossbowman with her powers, feeling that she couldn't take complete control over him like with the one above her. However, she still had some slight control over the crossbowman, using her Blood Hold to cause his arms to violently twitch when he pulled the trigger and redirecting the shot towards his brethren instead.

"Right then, let's try it this way."

Katherine forced the Lycanthrope above her to drop his axe and gently pick her up.

"Let's see if you can't get me out of this pandemonium."

Edited by drearyArchon on Oct 17th 2022 at 11:02:41 PM

Lukas Riese

Lukas had prepared for reinforcements- but not this much. He could count twenty four new mutts, along with one commander. It seemed like overkill for only five people. Unless they were also after the... man from the ceiling. Lukas's only words to describe him were "bloodish freak". On the bright side, the blood freak didn't seem focused on killing him or his allies, so he didn't need to worry about it that much. Pure fear would keep his attention on it whether he wanted it or not, anyways.

Lukas was thinking this as he reloaded his crossbow. As he poked his head out of cover to shoot, he immediately spotted a mutt with a crossbow of his own, oblivious to his presence and not moving. Lukas took the shot as soon as he could. The bolt went into the mutt's windpipe, killing him without much noise. Lukas ducked back into cover and started reloading.

Less frightening, but more concerning than the blood freak was the fact that Lukas's exits were rapidly being destroyed. He had not accounted for the terrible structural integrity of this church. It was likely that the beams he had planned to use to escape the balcony would be gone soon- several of them were already gone. And he couldn't stay on the balcony forever. Even with the chair blockade, there was only a slim chance they would kill all the mutts before they reached him. If he wanted to get off, he had to do it now.

Lukas finished loading the bolt.

Lukas peered over the balcony to form a route. He didn't want to get shot on the beams, so he would take the shortest and most shaded route to ground floor. He noticed the priest intentionally making her way to one of the back windows. She was likely planning to use that to flee. It wasn't her best choice- really, the front left window would be easier to get to- but it was Lukas's best choice- all of them needed to go somewhere, and someone was already at a place. He would head there once he got down. Lukas breathed in, and quickly jumped onto the beam. He moved as quick as he could while not falling off. It took a few seconds to reach the pillar, where he descended onto the furniture, and then to the ground.

Lukas was not entirely unseen. While the shade and the commotion let him slip under the noses of most, one mutt, grey haired and armed with a sword, had noticed him. As soon as Lukas dropped down, the mutt charged him with a deep roar and a vast recklessness, seeing a lack of any melee weaponry on Lukas. Lukas, doing his absolute best to quell the shaking of his hands, lifted his crossbow and fired at the mutt's stomach.

A splatter of blood and a bolt in the chest proved that Lukas's best was enough. The mutt stopped, momentum causing him to fall. Sparing no time, Lukas took the sword and stabbed him with it, just as the mutt began to scream in pain. Lukas moved on to duck behind the pews, making his way to the back window. As he did so, he, thought about reloading, and the pool of blood under the mutt began to stir.

A small sliver of it snaked its way to Lukas. It jumped up to his crossbow and slotted itself inside the loading tray. There, it solidified, gaining one sharp point on the front end, taking the form of a crossbow bolt.

Godfrey

For a brief moment he bowed his head in a silent prayer for the slain lycanthropes. Monstrous or no, he hoped they found peace in the beyond.

He pulled his cleaver from the shattered corpse, turning at the appearance of the bloodfreak and raising it again. His muscles still bulged, as he prepared to step in. Only for more lycanthropes to appear.

On instinct, Godfrey licked the blood from his cleaver, letting the taste linger on his tongue, before he charged. Leaving the bloodfreak for Priscilla to do with as she saw fit, he instead bellowed a wordless challenge to the mutts, hoping they'd focus on him.

Those that did approach would meet his blades, slashing about at lightning speed. Those that tried to retreat would find that his arms weren't the only thing he could enhance - he steps cracked the floor as he leapt from mutt to mutt, intending to butcher the lot.

Cathedral des Invalides

Initially, there was nothing but chaos. Lycans jumped over debris, broke through pews and howled like madmen, each trying to be the first into the fray. Like pumped up alley-bandits they charged with the kind of abandon one fell for, when trying to be faster than the fear of consequences chasing them.

Unsurprisingly, it lead to slaughter. Priscilla's skin-ribbons grasped and choked whoever got close to her, while Godfrey's blow knocked his first opponent straight onto the ground, before he buried his cleaver in the guy behind him. Even Robert managed to kill one, before sinking his teeth into another, his panic making him just as dangerous as the others.

Renard watched this and briefly pressed his fingers against his eyes. "Light give me strength...", he mumbled under his breath. Then he marched forward, shoving his way through his underlings, now hesistant to engage the savage butcher Godfrey. The red-skinned Bloodlord rushed forward, cleaver striking for his next victim. Renard grit his teeth and seemed to meet his blindingly fast rush at first...only to step aside at the last second, reach out with his right hand and catch Godfrey, before slamming him headfirst into the floor.

"I deal with him!", he barked at the others, while holding his Messer against Godfreys throat. "Shoot the Sister! Use your numbers and don't engage one by one. They can't match us!"

His orders had an immediate effect, as they dispelled the initial shock among the Mutts. Three raised their crossbows, firing at Priscilla and one bolt finding its target in her thigh. Blood pooled from the wound. One Mutt took this chance and jumped at her, axe raised for a blow.

His head fell off mid-jump.

Bloodied thread drew a crimson arc through the cold air, as it cut throgh sinew and bone. The Bloodfreak swung his strange weapon in a wide arc, before pulling it back in with a single motion. Holding the blade above his mouth, he let the blood trickle down on his lips, before licking them clean with an obscene noise.

Then his eyes fell upon the Mutts. Stepping in front of Priscilla, he bared his fangs and faced the Lycans, rage and hunger burning in his hollowed eyes. A few of the Mutts whimpered, but even more of them growled back at the mad Bloodlord. Gripping the weapons, they run towards him and Priscilla, ready to drown them in bodies if need be.

The threaded blade swung lazily left and right, like a pendulum. The Bloodfreak's shoulders slumped and his limbs grew slack. Then, just as the Mutts closed in, he tensed up and struck.

Blood splattered in all directions. Most of it towards Priscilla, staining her clothes with scarlet drops.

The Bloodfreak weaved and dodged, flowing through the blows like water. Unnatural grace and reflexes seemingly making the Mutts seem to move like in slow-motion, compared to him. His thread slicing open flesh. His finger flicking the knife through throats, eyes and open mouths. His clawed feet digging into hide and skin, ripping both open and spilling out guts. Overly brave roars turned to pained screams, as he slaughtered his way through the pack.

Renard saw all this unfold and roared in frustration and rage. Instead of wasting another second on Godfrey, he leapt up and slammed into the Bloodfreak. The sudden rush smacked the mad beast out of its bloodied dance and Renard grabbed him by the throat and tackled him against a pillar.

The Bloodfreak hissed and buried his fangs into the wolves shoulder. Renard grunted in pain and returned the favour by slamming his clawed fist into his enemies belly. The punch blew all the air out of the freaks lung and caused him to nearly puke. Renard then drew his Messer across his chest, drawing a nasty gash over the Bloodfreaks torso.

The freak panicked and dove down. Slithering between Renards legs, he slid across the stone floor. Now, with some distance created, he turned about. Swinging his threaded blade again, he flicked his wrist. Renard however saw it coming and parried the knife away with his messer. Then he barreled towards the Bloodfreak again.

With the ruined cathedral being painted more and more with blood and the hiss of the Bloodfreak and the roar of Renard echoing in its broken halls, the fights grew ever more frantic. In all this chaos, nobody really noticed it when the likes of Lukas, Robert and Katherine began to slowly edge their way towards a broken window in the back. By some coincidence, they all arrived at the shattered, impromptu escape to freedom at the same time.

A truly strange sight. A man with a bloodstained crossbow, a scholar still holding on to a yelping, whimpering Mutt with his mouth and a lady carried by a Lycanthrope, who moved in sudden, clumsy motions and glared at her with murder in his eyes.

"T-They are trying to escape!", yelled one Mutt, trying to reload his crossbow, after Katherine had just managed to make him miss. "Guys! The Leeches are trying to run!"

The shouts began to attract the attention of the remaining Lycans who, now that their leader was engaging the Bloodfreak, decided to focus their efforts back onto Bloodlords. About seven of them rushed towards Lukas, Robert and Katherine, with two particulary eager ones even barreling towards them on all fours, with their blades between their jaws.

Outside, silver bells chimed unheard in the brisk air. Elegant boots set down onto snow-covered stone, the step sure despite the slippery surface of the ruined roof. Bemused eyes watched the carnage below, with a finger tapping whistfully against the smooth surface of an eversmiling mask.

Monsters bled.

And the Murderer waited...

Edited by TheNohen on Oct 26th 2022 at 9:52:46 PM

Priscilla the Grey

The grey woman hissed as she felt the bolt impact her thigh, and it settled deep into her flesh as she found her strength in that leg fading quickly. She staggered, but gripped her mace tightly and drove it upwards into the chin of one of the charging Mutts that had only been glanced by the Bloodfreak's sudden attack; the force behind her strike likely being enough to shatter its lower jaw from the impact. So it seemed that the Bloodfreak was an ally, after all. Or at least, considered the Lycans more worthy targets than herself and her associates. Pushing off from the Mutt she had hit with her mace, she began to stagger towards the window that her fellows were escaping through before nonchalantly wrenching the bolt from her thigh—her vision briefly turned white, before she shook off the pain and forced herself to run despite her injury. To her surprise, it was working, however she hadn't noticed that the reason the wound was becoming less noticeable was that the flesh had started to ribbon from the affected area.

It was a subconscious desire to rid herself of the pain, which was fine at the moment since she was running on pure adrenaline. But the flesh tearing away from her thigh behind her armour also meant that she would be bleeding without any feedback, and at any point, she could suddenly faint from weakness. Priscilla didn't care about that at the moment, as even with a hole in her leg she charged toward the seven Lycans that were moving to attack her fellows. Pushing off of her good leg, she leapt upwards and raised her mace above her head; ready to strike it down onto the skull of one of the Lycans from behind. Her skinless face was fearsome, and the ribbons of flesh exuding from it were weaving about like branches in the wind, ready to tear into the surrounding Lycans as soon as she landed.

There was no shame in fleeing, but she'd be damned if she didn't slay the ones who dared to attack those who were retreating.

Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 26th 2022 at 9:12:59 AM

Katherine

Katherine clicked her tongue, then blinked when she realized that that was the first sound to come out of her throat since she woke up to this nightmare.

"Well, at least my tongue still works. That's one good thing to happen to me today. Now, if I could get out of here, I'd call this day a win."

Controlling flesh took quite a bit of her focus, which was both a blessing and a curse. It helped distract her from her powers projecting the deaths of the people around her into her mind. But, it limited how much she could control at a time. While she's commanding the Mutt to move, she can't control much of anything else.

"Well, Mutt, it seems you're more trouble than you're worth," The Mutt didn't have time to process Katherine's thoughts before she plunged her knives straight through its throat and into its brain, killing it instantly. "Let's see if some of your pals make better rides."

Katherine turns her focus upon the Mutts barreling down on her. Muscles locked up, and limbs twitched wildly, causing the group to trip on their feet and drop their weapons.

The Mutt closest to the group had their whole body lock up as Katherine approached them. "You're pretty fast, aren't you? Would anyone mind me keeping this one for now? I'd rather not have to walk any further, and he'll make for good practice."

Godfrey

The lycanthropes hesitated, clearly afraid of him. If even that many were uncertain of their chances, it boded well for the survival of the newly minted bloodlords.

Then the leader of the pack dodged his swipe and smashed him into the floor. Godfrey's vision went black a moment, and when it returned it was filled with splotches. He struggled underfoot a moment, blinking away the dizziness and trying to focus on the sword at his throat.

Godfrey worked up the strength to thrust his knife up - but Renard had already moved, engaging the bloodfreak. With a grunt, Godfrey leapt to his feet, weapons still in hand. He thankfully had reflexively gripped them tighter when his head had been smashed.

Wiping a bit of trickling blood from his temple, he silently made towards the window. While the lycanthropes charged towards his companions, Godfrey came up on them from behind. He stumbled a little, and could feel his strength beginning to wane, but he was certain he had enough to clear out the rest of the mutts.

"Do not turn your backs on me, mongrels!" He bellowed, to draw their attention, while at the same time he brought his cleaver down on the nearest one.

Robert felt the life leave this werewolf in an instant later, intuitively... how strange. The Bloodlords were built for murder, was this one of their powers? It only made sense.

All his thoughts were interrupted by the newest pack of charging lycans though. One charged him with a hatchet held high, slobbering and clearly seeing him as easy prey. Robert shrieked with his mouth still full of fur and heaved forwards. His teeth popped out of the beast's shoulder and the corpse fell forwards, tripping the lycan, whose bulk betrayed him and sent him sprawling. Robert took a few more awkward steps after him, reared up, and screamed again as he stomped on the beast's hand. He felt something give, like he was on a bag full of pottery... whatever happened, the lycan shrieked like a dog and let go of that hatchet. Robert snatched it up, held it over his head, eyes wide and wild... and then the lycan surged up with the arm Robert stomped on, sending him flying across the church and skidding across the floor. "Where do we run to?! I saw a crossbow bolt come from the ceiling, can we leave that way?" Robert swung for the fences on the lycan coming at him and caught it straight in the chest. His hand slipped and the lycan fell with the axe still in there... there was no way it was dead, Robert again Just Knew Somehow, but he wasn't going to finish the job. There had to be a window or a structural fault they could smash their way out of right? An exit that talented murderers like their pursuers wouldn't be standing outside of with weapons raised? Robert scanned the walls and ceiling, desperately looking for an unconventional escape route.

Lukas Riese

As Lukas neared the window, he remembered he hadn't reloaded his crossbow. This was odd. He certainly felt like he had reloaded; in fact, Lukas felt he could give the exact dimensions of the bolt. And Lukas didn't forget to reload often. But according to his memory, he hadn't loaded a metal bolt into the loading tray.

It was only until Lukas tried loading another bolt in did he realize his crossbow had already been loaded. Looking down in complete confusion, Lukas saw an oily crimson bolt already in his crossbow, of the same color that was splattered all along the church floor. It slightly shifted under his gaze, before snapping back, as if the bolt was as unsure of its shape as Lukas was of it.

"What is this?", he asked himself. But the bolt seemed to answer him instead. In his mind, Lukas was made suddenly aware of all properties of the bolt- its mass, its dimensions, the exact angles of its shape- knowing more of it than he knew of his own limbs.

Having all the answers only made Lukas ask more questions. He asked what the bolt was made of, and he knew it was made of blood. He asked how sharp it was, and he knew it was far more piercing than his other bolts. He asked how it got into his crossbow, and he knew he had shaped it in.

Lukas took a step back in his thought. What was he even thinking? This bolt had invaded a section of his mind that never existed beforehand, and was giving him information he had no reason to have or to trust. But strangely, Lukas didn't need a reason to believe what his new sense was telling him. He simply knew this information like he knew what he saw, and he trusted it as much. Denying it felt pointless.

Though Lukas still had questions. He had shaped the blood into the bolt and into the crossbow, but through what means he had no clue. Did his sense mean he had done it with his hands, or with his mind? As he pondered, Lukas thought about moving the bolt. The blood slithered out, turning back into an amorphous fluid, before settling into shape outside the loading tray. Lukas, his question answered plainly, then thought to load the bolt back in. He did know a bit on how his bolts function, and he knew his ichor craft had the right shape and mass to be firable. The blood flowed back in, solidifying into the same form it had been- though this time, firm and unmoving in its shape.

Lukas got the chance to test sooner than he would have liked. While he had been busy staring at his crossbow, a mutt with thin golden fur had clambered towards him. Not bothering to stand, he attacked Lukas with the sword he carried in his jaws, swinging at his ankles. With his subconscious half focused on the blood bolt, Lukas was slow to step back, and the sword drew a small cut on Lukas's right leg.

Seeing his stance had not worked, the mutt stood up and grabbed his sword from his jaws. An alert Lukas pointed his crossbow, now loaded with the blood of the mutt's comrade, at the mutt's heart. The mutt prepared to swing, and Lukas pulled the trigger. As he fired, Lukas knew he had shot early. The bolt would land a little to the right of the heart, hitting insignificant tissue instead.

But, too fast for any of the spectators to see, the bolt's arc shifted slightly. It curved a small bit to the left and hit the mutt's heart, freezing his swing. Lukas was briefly surprised at the mutt's reaction, but his new sense informed him of what he had done. It made sense- he moved the bolt into the crossbow, so he could also move it after firing.

With the bolt having nearly gone through the mutt's entire body, there was more than enough blood spewing forth to form Lukas's next bolt. The blood swiftly bolted to his crossbow, loading a bolt far faster than he could have ever done with metal and wood. He then thought to form several more bolts of blood. He wasn't always guaranteed to refill, and he would need a lot of ammunition for...

Lukas looked up to the crowd and found his chances still slim. The mutts still outnumbered them, far too numerous even with his crimson bolts. But that's what the shattered window was for- he had prepared to run away. He doubted the mutts had any more outside- their leader was already inside, and they would have had plenty of time to flank them when they neared the window. Every second they spent in the church was more time they weren't getting away from the threat. Preparing to run, Lukas decided to be the first one out of the church.

Cathedral des Invalides

The fight against the charging Mutts was brutal, but quick. With Katherine making them stumble and then Priscilla and Godfrey assaulting them from behind, the group quickly broke. Those that didn't retreat, were quickly struck down by the sister and the butcher.

Unfortunately, the Bloodlords had no time to ensure their adversaries stayed down or finish off any wounded, as arrows and sling-stones began raining down on them. The other Lycans had decided that it was safer just trying to shoot them and were now starting to concentrate their projectiles on the group.

Getting out of the cathedral was now pretty much the only safe option and none of them decided to stay around and fight it out against the still growing number of enemies.

Cold air gripped their throats, as they stumbled out of the broken window into the open. Lukas was the first one out, followed closely by Robert and Katherine. The latter pupeteering the twitching and increasingly terrified Mutt, she had gained control over. The brown-coloured Lycanthrope resembled a thick-furred mountain hound, with his long hair even obscuring his eyes. Underneath that fur were bulging, corded muscles that spasmed everytime Katherine made him move against his will.

Outside, snow now began to fall in ever greater intensity, with thick snowflakes descending from the dark sky and the white, cold ground illuminated by the everpresent moon. It was almost serene, if not for the ruins around them and the sound of brutal combat inside the cathedral.

Priscilla and Godfrey arrival was heralded by the shattering of glass, as they both crashed through the broken, stained window. They were largely unharmed, having managed to block the blows that had nearly caught them flatfooted, as everyone had made their escape.

Stalking after them, making long, flowing steps out of the window and naked feet touching the snow-covered ground, was the Bloodfreak.

He was bleeding from multiple cuts on his chest and at one point his jaw had been dislocated. Saliva dripped from his open mouth and his eyes were glaring with maddening hunger. Sticking out of his back was Renard's Messer.

Reaching around, the Blodfreak gripped the handle of the blade with his bloodsoaked hands and slowly pulled it out. The red liquid pooled from the sword and began flowing into his wounds, creating an intricate lattice-work that closed the cuts shut.

With the Messer in one hand and his thread-knife in the other, the Bloodfreak slowly began to step towards the group, his hunger now solely focused on them as his newest prey. He hissed at them, his savage teeth gleaming in the moonlight and his body tensing for the savage lunge.

CRACK!

His head was caved in by a heavy, wing-shaped club, that impacted straight down on his skull from above. At the same time, two boots crashed into his back, slammed him into the frozen ground and broke his spine, killing him instantly.

The figure that had landed on the frenzied Bloodlord slowly and dramatically rose up. They reached out for the club embedded in the monsters skull and wrenched it out. Twirling in their hands, blood and gore sprayed around, with some staining the white, smiling fools mask that covered their face and the colourful jesters hat, with its silver bells.

The Murderer turned towards the group...and made a playful bow, as if he was asking for their applause.

He was small, compared to them. His limbs thin, his looks almost fragile. In fact, he could be mistaken for a young girl, if not for the cut of his clothes, which were very much those of a colourful court-jester, like in one of those old-time fables. It made him look ridiculous.

And yet, everyone present got a cold shudder down their spine, as if their minds realized instinctively, that before them...stood Death.

"A-Assassin..."

A hand clasped onto the mouth of the Mutt, who had spoken. He had peeked out of the broken window, staring at the corpse of the Bloodfreak, the group out in the yard and the Murderer himself. Behind him, the other Lycanthropes, who had been ready to storm out and chase after the Leeches, all had ground to a halt. In their eyes was terror. Cold, naked fear towards this little human, who didn't even reach up to their shoulders.

Pushing through the crowd, holding his bleeding side and with a scratched up snout, stumbled Renard. They wolf stared at the scene before him, his eyes flickering between the Murderer, the Bloodlords and his own pack. One could see that his mind was working, moving, calculating.

Finally, he dared to speak.

"Are we...part of the contract?", he asked aloud, his word cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

The Murderer stared at him. Then he looked down at the crumpled, broken corpse of the Bloodfreak and then back at the Lycanthropes, each and every one of them following his gaze with visible trepidation.

The killer shook his head gently, the bells on his head ringing slightly.

A collective sigh of relief went through the pack. Renard then nodded towards the group. "And what about them?"

The Murderer looked back at the Bloodlords, the wide smile of his otherwise featureless, white mask seemingly eternally amused about this situation. He turned his back to them and towards Renard....and nodded.

Renard stared at him, looked at the bloody, winged club, at the dead bodies and down at himself. Gritting his fangs in anger, he scoffed. "In that case...we will stand down. For now.", he decided. Turning about on his heels, he stumbled back into the building. "Not worth the effort. We just wanted the cathedral anyway..."

After some initial hesitation, the other Mutts slowly began to follow him. A few looked worried over the shoulder, one of them looking like they wanted to say something about their comrade still in Katherine's clutches. But a subtle headshake from Renard stopped them and they all began to disappear into the shadows.

The Murderer turned around to the group, gripping his club and staring at them. He slowly tilted his head towards them, like a silent acknowledgment. Blood dripped from his weapon, staining the snow. An unspoken threat.

...

And then he turned up an open palm to them and gently gestured to their left, towards the empty street leading away from the cathedral. Away from the Lycanthropes. Away from him. The message was clear.

They were allowed to leave...

Priscilla the Grey

They were safe. Somehow. They'd been saved by the presence of... someone with an unsettling presence. The way the others were acting implied this person was well-known and feared. But Priscilla found herself confused at first until she looked at them properly and began piecing things together.

Ah. This was making more sense now. She'd heard a few whispered descriptions of someone like this. Though a lot of the time, her sisters in the church were forbidden from gossip, so the only times she'd heard such things were while she was out on patrol. Sometimes after she'd saved some poor fellows from certain deaths. Whispers. In the dark, it was sometimes hard to see her maiden's garments. Assassin, they'd whisper now and again. Assassin.

They were wrong, of course, since she was a conservator. But this person, in front of them? This was an Assassin. So, with this understanding in mind, she bowed to the Murderer primly and gave them a thankful nod. Her skin had by this point knitted back into place, and though she did note the strange numbness of her flesh against the cool air, she didn't pay it too much mind at this moment.

"'Blessed may thee be in thy ways . . . for thy good deeds the Light bears witness.' Thank you for your mercy, kind Assassin," she said, before turning to her allies and motioning towards where the Murderer had directed them to go. "Come. Let us flee, and congregate elsewhere. There are hiding places, should we be quick. We will stick together."

She began to briskly walk down the street and away from the cathedral, slipping into the shadows as was her old habit as she held her mace at the ready by her side. She wiped it clean from blood using a white patch of cloth that was stitched on her arm, as was the common practice for conservator maidens after going through such an extended battle outside of their normal patrol. It was to mark her as having fought extensively, and not purely in a defensive manner. She would need to pray over the bloodstained garment so as to seek forgiveness for her wrongdoing, once she had the opportunity to do so safely.

She hoped that nobody they passed would notice her slight hobble. That wound in her leg was causing her to stumble, but she intended to power through it until they got to somewhere sheltered where they could treat it. She did not light any lamps. They were likely fugitives now.

"'Look! Ye maidens, protect your kin from harm . . . so ye may not be condemned for your negligence . . .'"

Edited by Enirboreh on Nov 28th 2022 at 4:02:49 PM

They'd made it out! Oh, sweet freezing putrid Rousson air! Robert knew he had to taste it again. He never once, that whole time... genuinely thought he was going to die in there. That was the only thing that kept him moving and ruining those beasts inside.

So when their fellow hemophage emerged from the church, ready for round two, Robert picked the other option on fight or flight. He ground his teeth, stuck his fists up. This was his stand, no further after—oh. One of Rousson's many professional killers solved the shit out of that problem, huh. He'd had his fair share dealing with them in his youth; more than one had been sent to try to get his inheritance. None of them were this good, but this was a hat trick here, the third in his life that'd let him go.

As they were let go though, Robert looked down longingly at Renard's big knife... they needed every advantage they could get, right? But he also couldn't push his luck. He'd make an enemy if he took it! He reached a hand out, trying to contact a rat for help carrying it... only for the adrenaline to wear off. He yelped in pain and took the loss, fleeing into the side street.

"For those of you who did not introduce yourselves in the cathedral, my name is Professor Robert Ward. I am a biologist of rodentia at Kejl university." He drew himself up despite the pain and assembled a weak, shaky facade of civilization once more. "I have cracked ribs and a pierced palm. And any number of head injuries." He said. He held his hand out to the rest of them. "Name, occupation, and current injuries isn't much of an icebreaker, but I suggest we get it laid out while we find further shelter, does that sound correct?"

Godfrey

At last, they'd made their escape. His weapons dripped with mutt-blood, but they'd survived. Godfrey breathed deep of the bitter, cold air, thankful to be out of that confined space.

The adrenaline was just beginning to wear off when the Murderer appeared and killed the bloodfreak. Godfrey nodded at the Assassin in thanks. No need to antagonize the fellow.

He followed Priscilla, noting her hobble, but not mentioning it. He'd seen her skill; he had no doubt she could power through such a thing easily.

"Godfrey Baudin." He said, at the doctor's prompting. "Butcher. Not many scratches on me, but the leader of the pack smashed my head into the ground. Still a bit woozy, but I'll hold."

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. "I don't know if my shop is safe, but I should still have meat in stock, if we need provisions. And knives, for those of you who'd like a weapon."

Priscilla the Grey

"Priscilla Delacroix. Conservator Maiden of The Holy Church of the Moonlit Cross. Every part of my face feels numb and I'm bleeding from the leg. I'll manage for the moment, but I will need help once it's convenient," Priscilla introduced herself, outlining her injuries rather frankly as she briefly turned her head towards the others and gave them a small nod and a kindly smile in hello. "Monsieur Baudin, I'm happy to direct us to your shop if you'd walk beside me and give me directions. If any of you are or know a doctor of medicine, that'd be useful. Though even if not, we can struggle through."

She fixed her gaze ahead again, her mace now coming to rest over her shoulder.

"We may have just met, but I deem you all my charges to protect. As is my duty as a Maiden... to act as a medium for the Light to work by, and bless you all in these difficult times."

She sighed a little, looking skyward towards the moon, and let her face shift into an expression of contemplation and doubt.

"...should the Light even view us the same, in this state. I... will pray for our sanctification in the days ahead. I will also pray for all of you if you wish me to... it would be my utmost pleasure to seek blessings for us as a group."

Edited by Enirboreh on Dec 2nd 2022 at 2:48:58 PM

Katherine de la Haine

Katherine gave the Murderer an acknowledging nod and went on her way, still using the Mutt as a ride. It's best not to test the Assassin's patience.

"It's been a while since I've seen an Assassin." Katherine was getting used to having her thoughts broadcast for all to hear. Enough to know when she was doing it, at the very least. "We're quite fortunate that he decided to spare us."

Katherine followed the others to a private space and, after allowing the others to get started, introduced herself using her new abilities.

"Katherine de la Haine. Singer. Hunter of the Cursed Blood. And I suppose a Lady of Blood now. Apologies for the mind-speak. It seems that some Lycan had dragged their filthy claws across my throat before we woke up. I'm not feeling up for playing charades or writing in the snow, so this is what you get."

The Mutt Katherine was sitting on stiffed at her words, and the former huntress grinned, "Ah, speaking of Mutts. This one seemed to have been left to our mercies by its comrades. My control would surely expire once I get around to my beauty sleep, so would someone like to kill him before that happens, or should I?"

Edited by drearyArchon on Dec 2nd 2022 at 9:38:31 PM

Lukas Riese

Upon witnessing the Assassin's performance, Lukas could not help but feel a outclassed. Lukas had had a slight plan to deal with the blood freak- it was a strong foe, but it clearly had weaknesses. The jester had no apparent weaknesses, and given that they could strike down the bloodfreak, he inferred he would have no chance to find their weakness in a brawl. Lukas's occupation put him up against plenty assassin's, but this one was clearly in a different league.

He could accept his outclassment due to the fact that this Assassin had given him an easy way out. The act not only made his weakness easier to swallow, but also completely baffled him. How could such an excellent killer not even do their job? They would not even qualify as an Assassin, Lukas thought, just a murderer. Unless they had lied about having a hit on them- which would be both unnecessary and unprofessional.

Lukas found trace disgust in this smiling firgue and their actions. Such a jestful and jolly outfit made it hard to not believe the murderer got a joy out of their sinful job. The fact they gave out spares seemed even more insulting than if they actually did their job right- at least then they would be consistent in who got mercy.

Though Lukas was not about to challenge the Assassin on sparing him- he'd be dead if he never accepted gifts from those with bad morals, and he'd certainly be dead if he changed that now. And while he was curious about the church, it was in Lycan hands now, and he knew his group would not entertain the thought of going back immediately. In a city he knew little about, and with someone willing to pay to have him dead, Lukas knew his only safety lay with the group, so he followed them on the path away from the holy building.

Lukas did not take significant action until after Katherine made her suggestion.

"Hold your fire," he said preemptively, using his first words since he had become a Bloodlord, "We can't kill him yet on the side of the road." Lukas did not think his teammates were that foolish, but the slight worry that they might be was enough to bring him to speech.

With his warning given, Lukas readjusted his cloak and kept walking as he had before, with no intention of speaking. A glance at one of his companions abruptly alerted him that he was expected to speak.

"Oh," he mumbled instinctively. He remembered that he had never properly introduced himself to any of them, assuming they knew him after fighting for so long in the church- though in retrospect, he should have remembered after literally being asked. "Sorry, I forget to introduce myself."

"My name is Lukas Riese. Have any of you been involved in the salt trade two decades ago you may have heard of my father's company." He continued. "For the purpose of the present, I serve as a hired bodyguard and arbalist. For the purpose of this party, I can lend these skills for free, seeing as we are all under mutual threat and that our collective chance of enduring this increases with me. If you could see my normal skin-"

He gestured to a translucent hand, which stained the snow behind it pink.

"- you would infer that I am not from this city, and I do not know it very well. This is true. And from the abnormal skin that has replaced it, you can infer that I have underwent the same Bloodlord transformation as all of you. That is also true."

Lukas thought a bit on his next words.

"I do not know anything about why this has occurred, or how to reverse it. I assume you don't either. I propose our next objective after finding immediate safety is to obtain this knowledge."

He could've gone on longer- Lukas had many questions that he was burying in favor of a stoicly professional tone and a simple introduction- but he felt he was prattling on long enough, and that he would have time later.

"I suggest we save further questions on ourselves and planning for later." He gestured to Godfrey. "For now, we should get to your shop, and from there to the nearest safe place."

Godfrey's Butchery

The streets were quiet. Silence was something any Rouen feared pretty much from childhood. An absence of sounds, melodies or sing-songs meant there was no protection from the terrors of the Dark. It meant, one was alone. And being alone was a very dangerous thing to be in Rousson.

But there were no musicians in Jesâule Ward. And the few poor souls that lived here had also learned that it was safer to be quiet in this place, rather than attract unwanted attention. As such, the group was able to make its way through the abandoned streets without any issues. There were eyes on them, of course. Here and there a scraggy individual scattering into the shadows, whenever they came close.

But no one decided to bother them.

Godfrey's shop was not in Jesâule Ward. The butcher had the good sense to ply his trade in a region of the city, that actually had customers. Still, good locations were not cheap and, unless one submitted to the high fee's of the Butcher's Guild, getting produce delivered on time even more expensive.

As such, Godfrey's Butchery was located not far from the ruined Ward, in Sue Elise Street. It was part of that everchanging border between the rich Bachemelle Ward, with its merchant contors, and the Lafaré Ward, where a lot of craftserfs and workers lived. The Moonlit Church also had a nearby missionary, the Sister Annelise Convent.

This was as neutral ground as one could get in Rousson, by virtue of so many factions nearby that nobody fully laid claim to Sue Elise Street and especially not the Jesâule Ward.

Unfortunately, as they approached the large, cobblestone-laid street, the group could hear for the first time in a while soft melodies. Someone playing a flute, probably from a nearby window. Nothing all too strange in Rousson, as somebody was always playing music somewhere.

But for the new Bloodlord's an entirely new and deeply unpleasant sensation crawled up their spines. A feeling of discomfort and prickling all over their body, as if they were stuck in a way too warm, way too humid casket. Their lungs demanded breath, but barely one would come. The vague onset of panic, slowly crawling out of a corner of their mind like a fat spider.

It did not stop them from reaching the shop, but it was yet another sign of their changed, monstrous state...

Edited by TheNohen on Dec 8th 2022 at 5:14:52 PM

Godfrey

"A pleasure to make all your acquaintances. Despite the circumstances." Godfrey exhaled a cold breath. "And I thank you for your protection, fair lady. We're thankfully not far. We can kill the Mutt there, as well. Fitting enough place to butcher him, I suppose."

He guided them through Jesâule Ward, through to Sue Elise street. He ground his teeth and pressed his hands to his ears when the flute hit him, but powered through, marching his crew of misfortunates into the cozy little store. It was an unremarkable building, but for the Cat's Claw Butchery sign, written in simple script and punctuated by a stylized image of a claw mark.

The door was unlocked, and it was obvious why the moment they entered. Dried blood stained the counter and the walls. A broken stool lay shattered in the corner, and several broken jars littered the ground, along with the salted meats that had once been inside them. Some of the spilled meat had been picked at, and the culprits were still present.

Three cats mewled and ran up to Godfrey as he entered, sniffing him curiously before one nuzzled against them. Two tabbies, and a big bushy mix. He smiled and knelt to stroke them. "Hello, little ones. I'm glad you're alright."

He pet each in turn, before glancing back up at the shop and frowning. He was missing one - a little black cat with one blind eye.

"Chop?" He called out.

No response. He knew that little Chop would have come running to him before all the others. Chop was missing. His fist clenched as he rose, but he forced himself to focus. Now was not the time, not with what was happening.

"Most of the stuff out here is a bit spoiled," He said, thinking aloud. "But my stockroom was well-iced last I checked, so that should still be good."

Indeed, the stockroom behind the counter was quite cold, and therefore well preserved with hunks of meat still nearly frozen on their hooks. It also contained a rack of butcher's blades, still sharp.

"My living quarters are this way." Godfrey made towards a small staircase, leading to the second floor. It was small, only two rooms, and smelled strongly of cats. Which wasn't surprising, given the cats had followed him upstairs and plopped down on his bed while he opened his wardrobe.

The place looked much more intact than the shop below; Godfrey supposed they must have nabbed him from down there, though he couldn't recall. "I've got some spare clothes, if we need. Worst case, we can tear them up for bandages or cloth patches."

Edited by kagescorpionakki on Dec 8th 2022 at 3:39:36 PM

"A conservator! And a—well. A Riese. Mm." Robert mumbled in turn, mostly to himself as the introductions went around. He had slept in worse places than a butcher shop, but he really could do better soon. Especially as they passed through the more musical areas of the city. What a damn shame, it would make lunch in the music halls at Kejl much harder. Hmm, come to think of it, what day was it? How long had they been out? Was he missing classes? But Godfrey telling them about the meat, that would measure it right! Who cared about some cat? He had plenty of them already!

"By your reckoning, ah..." Robert gingerly moved to the back of the shop, looking for Godfrey's fridge, "would you be able to tell how long it's been since you've been back at the shop? I'm... rather desperate to know what day it is. Hopefully a day where the faculty offices at the University are open. I'll need to get a substitute for my classes while my wounds heal, after all. And then, well, perhaps the Kejl University dormitories will be hospitable to us. Erm, not that your butcher shop isn't, far from it actually, and not even the anatomists will have knives as nice as a professional butcher—mm." Robert shut up and grimaced when he realized he was panic-rambling. "Well, you know..."

Priscilla the Grey: Godfrey's Butchery

“A fine establishment,” Priscilla remarked as they crossed the threshold, and once they were all in the living quarters of the shop, she found a spot to sit down and collect herself. “Curse our states... I forgot the aspect of music. My worship will be painful now... a challenge to my faith, no doubt. I'll forge ahead, as ever...”

The flute player outside had caused the skin on her face to loosen, and she caught herself in the reflection of her armour for the first time. She saw the seams in her flesh, the congealed blood and the hint of muscle and sinew beneath. She understood why her face felt numb, and what had been slicing through her enemies besides her mace.

She looked up at the others, gave them a pained smile, and focused on returning her face to normal. The flesh twitched, and the seams properly closed, even if she couldn't wholly feel it. She supposed it was better that she didn't. A little rattled, but reassured that she looked back to normal, she drew in a breath and found her words again.

“I'd like some help in treating my leg wound, please. I don't trust my shaking hands at this moment for anything... delicate,” she requested to no-one in particular. “Thank you, Godfrey, for your hospitality... I like your cats, too. They're very sweet...”

She smiled at the felines, and held out her hand as one went by. She remembered her gauntlet, however, and took it off to try and pet the cat without hurting it. Her hand was as pale as her face and as slight as could be; giving the illusion of someone frail in form.

This wasn't true. By how the rest of her armour fitted on her, she was by no means lacking in mass. Yes, she was a giant, but that wasn't the only factor behind her strength. Evidently, The Church of the Moonlit Cross had its own training regime.

Edited by Enirboreh on Dec 9th 2022 at 1:29:40 PM

Katherine de la Haine

"I can understand your frustration, miss Priscilla," Katherine said through her telepathically as she rummaged around Godfrey's home. She wasn't really looking for anything so much as she was curious about what the old man had in his house.

That said old man didn't give her permission to do that was entirely immaterial.

"I treasured my singing voice more than anything in the world. That I could never do so again without pain is... vexing," Katherine touched her throat, feeling the scars there with displeasure. She turned to face the Mutt under her control, glaring at him. "My memories are foggy, but considering the condition of my throat I can only assume that I became a Bloodlord in an attempt to regain my singing voice. It's the only thing that makes sense about... all of this."

Lukas Riese

It was when Lukas passed the musician when he took real notice of his translucent, red tinted skin. Under the influence of melody, his skin danced. His organs became more apparent as his skin became clearer and unfoggier; though a distinctive red tint still showed his position to all. The organs seemed to deform, but the change was in fact in his skin, reflecting, refracting, and scattering light in variable and changing ways as his skin broke and flowed around his body like an ocean. Lukas's heart seemed to shrink and grow, his brain seemed to stretch, and his blood vessels seemed to break apart under the waves. The dance of skin was a horrific sensation to Lukas, the beauty of it only pleasing his eyes, leaving his sense of touch to experience the pain of a tumultuous sea in burning detail.

Yet, when the music died down and his skin settled down, the fire burned out in Lukas's mind. The anguish was great, as was his experience in these matters, and both did not lend well to easy memory. Lukas could remember the idea of pain, but could not, or choose not, the scale of it- not until music occupied his time again. When Lukas entered the old butcher's shop, he thought nothing of how to escape the bloodlord curse, or how to alleviate it. With disturbing quickness, Lukas fully accepted that he was a bloodlord.

Having made peace with the fact, though without knowledge of the true terms, Lukas carried on as he had done for the past decade- singularly focused on survival. To that end, the butcher's shop seemed satisfactory. Lukas's attention was divided between the meat and the knives, though he spared some time for the cats and to look for any of his father's salt. While Lukas was not currently hungry, he had been many times before, and such experiences had tainted his view of food forever. He could not look at it without having the slight urge to eat it, if only to satiate past hunger. But he knew he was in no rush, and the meat wasn't cooked anyways.

After inspection, Lukas asked permission for one of the butcher's knives from its owner, the prior battle still burning in his mind. "I am not at all adept with them," he explained, "but the sight might scare away any threats into a range where my crossbow is best."

Across the shop, Lukas was perhaps eyeing a new target, one in the form of a mutt under the control of a mute musician. Regardless of what would be done, it needed to be dealt with soon, he knew.

The Cat's Claw Butchery

The Mutt's eyes were darting around in panic, as both Katherine and Lukas were glaring at him, with their intent all to obvious. Still under the influence of Katherine's Hold, he could do little but whine behind his lips. Any kind of bravado or bloodlust had left the Lycanthrope and with him now being entirely at the mercy of the group, he clearly was thinking of a hundred and one ways how to survive this nightmare.

"I-I'm sorry...p-please, don't kill me." The voice was surprisingly thin, as he pressed the words out from his mouth. The sound crawling through his gritted teeth, like scared little mice poking their quivering noses out of the hole. "I will do anything, ya want. J-Just please...h-have some mercy, would ya?"

A knock on the door below suddenly disrupted them all, harsh in the cold and quiet night. One of the cats growled angrily over the interruption, while the other two hastily jumped away from the stairs and hid behind Godfrey's legs.

The knock continued, until the door was pushed open and the sound of heavy iron-toed boots could be heard. "Monsieur Baudin? Are you home?"

The man at the storefront was perhaps not older than twenty seasons, with curly brown hair and a too early attempt at growing a beard. His name was Louis and he used to be one of Godfrey's regulars, since he had worked as an errant boy for Lady Marcí. Unfortunately, the old widow had passed away two years ago and since then Louis had joined the militia, drawing him away from the Sue Elise Street. But now he was back and he looked at the ravaged butchery with worry etched over his features.

"Looks abandoned...", said someone behind him, out on the streets. The man who spoke was perhaps twice as old as Louis. His face was weathered and scarred and he wore the colours of the Red Sparrow Company, which were the sellswords hired to patrol the Bachemelle Ward. They were known for being both brutal and very expensive. But ever since the mayor had send away the Cathedral Knights and then locked himself away, the merchants had to rely on other means to protect themselves and their choices had no always included the most savoury characters.

"Just give me a moment. Perhaps he is upstairs.", mumbled Louis. He did his best to hide it, but one could hear his voice trembling.

"Well, hurry up. Its getting colder and I have no desire wasting even more time than we have already. Bad enough that the sisters gave us an earful for going through their chambers, back there. And we still gotta go to the University and arrest that rat-scholar."

"I just...why would you even search for Bloodlords there? I get the Fouaciere's. Who know what those are up to, but a butcher!?" Louis looked over his shoulder, looking visibly sceptical. "Listen, I know Monsieur Baudin. There is no way someone like him could be ever be involved with Cursebloods or the like."

The man spat on the cold cobblestones. "Oh yeah? So you know your way around the fiends now? Bloody Light, help me with this idiot." A hand went down onto the axe resting on his hips, a warning that needed no words. "Get your business done, boy, before I beat some sense into you. Riveré said to apprehend at least one of the suspects and you don't want to get on the bad side of him now, don't you?"

Upon hearing the name of the notorious Candlemaker, Louis went pale. He quickly shook his head. "A-Apologies, I didn't know Monsieur Riveré ordered it-"

"Well, thats because you're just some low grunt, so what's yours to know? Now get, before me and the boys get really angry."

Louis quickly scampered behind the counter, head low and shoulders high. He poked his nose into the backroom and continued his search.

Edited by TheNohen on Jan 11th 2023 at 7:47:48 PM