Breath of the Sun
Godfrey
He tried to keep a hold on the captain, drive the knife in further, up until the headbutt. Spitting curses, his hand slipping off the knife handle, Godfrey was forced back against the wall.
While Priscilla drew the captain's attention, Godfrey almost tripped over the broken stool. He caught himself, and then got an idea.
Picking up the wooden stool by its last good leg, he let the blood flow into his arm as much as possible. He knew he'd be weary after this fight, but if he could take this bastard out it would be worth it.
At the first sign of an opening, Godfrey lunged and swung the stool like a bludgeon, with enough force to shatter it into splinters from the impact.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
Holy shit, it worked! Robert clenched his fist, digging his nails into his good hand to not break down crying in jubilation that he'd gotten away with such a lie. He cringed at Lukas blowing it for him, but in this situation, no, he had little empathy here. These were soldiers, not desperate lycans. Every takedown was like pulling teeth. The Bloodlords were not apex predators here.
The soldiers had to split up though! They knew how to prioritize! This, he could work with. Robert scrambled back on his knees, holding up his hands in placation to the one with the mancatcher. "I warn you again. Open wounds near Bloodlords are dangerous. Do you think you can kill all of us before your captain goes dry?" He pointed inside the house, briefly, then held his hands up. He focused once again, turning the captain's minor injuries into sheeting fonts of blood. He blinked at the man, scanning him, just to sound maximally credible. He spoke fast, trying to get out everything he had to say as fast as possible. "The human body holds approximately 5 liters of blood, sir. For reference, sir, most beer growlers come in one or two liters. Your captain has a hole in his body only slightly smaller than the spout of such a vessel, sir. Tell me, how quickly can you pour out a growler of beer? Faster than you can kill me and all of them? He just needs to travel two blocks. Get him out of here. Nobody wants a decorated commander's blood on their hands." He whipped his head around to scowl at Lukas. "RIGHT? Nobody here wants that."
Divine Basement Dweller
Katherine
Katherine wiped a bit of the blood running down her head. She could feel her Blood Art weakening as her lifeblood dripped from her wounds. Her Blood Hold grows slippery, and the input she gains from others' senses becomes fuzzier. Her Blood Arts may not use blood as fuel, but that doesn't mean she could afford to lose much more than any other Bloodlord.
She scoffed when the Sparrows cursed at 'Richard's' death, "Come now. You say that as if you wouldn't shoot us like dogs, given the chance."
Katherine watches as the two Sparrows closes in on her and Lukas. Neither seemed to like their chances of fighting them alone, careful to avoid being picked off. It wouldn't be difficult to do so. All Katherine needs to do is throw off their footing- trivial with her Blood Hold -and then she and Lukas could take them down. However...
"Lukas," Katherine reached out to her fellow Bloodlord telepathically, careful to exclude everyone else from their chat. "I can trip up the spearman and the shield-bearer, but I need to let go of the Singer. Once I throw the two off balance, we must take at least one of them down before the Singer recovers. Do you understand?"
Everyone's just doing the best that they can.
Head of Ghostly, Ghastly, and Ghouly Science
Lukas Riese
Lukas was aware of the Sparrow's rapidly dwindling numbers, which is why he made sure that Richard couldn't get any more help. What did concern him was that they could get help. He wasn't too familiar with the Bloodlord hunters of Rousson, but he now knew they weren't limited to the men ahead of him. What form his adversaries' reinforcements could take was unknown for now. Regardless, Lukas did not want to find out, keeping his eyes steady for any other Sparrows leaving to get support.
While Lukas's focus was resilient, having another voice forced into his head could break it. It took a moment for him to realize that Katherine was contacting him. He nodded to her plan. It was quite fortunate, as he had been pondering how he could get past the shield of the axe wielder. Katherine's puppeterring could certainly make an opening.
With a plan set, Lukas reformed his focus from the interruption, first scanning the battlefield again and then focusing on his target, the shield bearer. He doubted either of the two soldiers in front of him could prepare for the once singer's attack. He pointed his crossbow at the shield, preparing to fell the holder swiftly. If he missed, he wouldn't be able to fire again, as the Sparrow's Singer would certainly recover faster than he could reload. Lukas would just have to make sure to hit something vital with his one bolt.
I assure you, this post was vital to the advancement of spooky science
Divine Basement Dweller
Katherine
Katherine felt Lukas give his agreement and put her focus on the two Sparrows before her. She could see Lukas focusing on the shield-bearer though his own eyes, so she decides to go after the spear-man.
"On my signal, I'll have the shield-man cast his shield aside and have the spear-man drop his weapon."
Everyone's just doing the best that they can.
roaming, lurking, arguing
The Cat's Claw Butchery
The captain stared with wide eyes as Priscilla rose up to her feet again, like a corpse possessed. While blood was dripping from underneath her right armpit, it did so in much less volume that was normal for a wound of this nature. She soon was once again ready, with mace in hand, looking disturbingly calm about all this.
If he was unnerved about all this, the captain got over it remarkably quickly. His expression turned hard and his eyes now darted back and forth between Priscilla and Godfrey, while he moved back to ensure he could see both of them coming. Blade and dagger in hand, his kept a low posture, ready to defend.
Priscilla made the first move. She recited a prayer and threw one of her blood-vials at her enemy. The smell was intense, pungent, like that of rotten meat. It had the desired effect of briefly making him flinch, as his nose seized up over the sudden stench. She closed the distance and swung her mace.
When he reacted, raising his dagger to block, she pulled back and slammed her bladed heel onto his boot. She was rewarded with the sensation of bone cracking underneath her feet...and with a dagger slamming into her ribcage.
"Not so easy, curseblood!", snarled the mercenary captain, as he powered through the pain, turning his block into a strike in one smooth motion, using the feint as an opening. His blade hit her right under the ribs, knocking the wind out of her.
Thanks to her sturdy vestments, it didn't penetrate too deeply. Turning what would be another deadly injury for most people, into a merely painful, bleeding stab wound.
The captain cursed through his teeth, trying to push against her, once again using her bad leg to repeat what he did before and tackle her to the ground. But this time Godfrey was faster, barreling into him and smashing a chair over the man. The captain saw him only at the last second and rushed down, so the wooden chair crashed against his back, rather than his head.
Splinters flew everywhere, as Godfrey prodigious strength broke the wood like it was nothing. The captain went down in a heap, screaming in pain.
He swiped at Godfrey with his sword, trying to cut at his ankles, but missed. Crawling away from the two Bloodlords, he cursed and spat. "Damn you! Damn the bloody...merde, its hurts. That broke something!", he ranted, as he reached the wall and used it to prop himself up.
Sweat stained his face, but he was still not out, although how much was at this point just stubbornness was hard to tell. Nevertheless, he held his two blades out, glaring at the both of them. "But...I fought your kind before. I know, you can't keep this up...not as long as me..."
He was not wrong. Godfrey felt it first. The wound in his chest had not stopped bleeding and his blood-infused power was starting to wane. The more time they wasted on this man, the worse it was going to get. And they could see that the mercenary was fully aware of that fact, as he managed to get a painful smile on his lips.
"That's right...your kind thinks you are so much better than us. But you haven't gotten our will to live. Our faith in the Light. Our bloody strength to keep going against the odds and refusing to surre—"
A wall of fur and muscle hit him from the side and rammed him into the corner. The captain spat blood, unable to even scream, before a clawed hand grabbed his head and swung him, like a puppet with its string cut, against the wooden counter and over it, where he crumpled onto the floor and stopped moving.
Raoul panted hard, his face etched with a mixture of shock at what he just done and clear fear. Cradling in his right arm, was Chop whose only reaction to all this chaos was a brief meow at Godfrey. The other cats were holding onto Raouls back, hissing in stress and swiping at him to give up their little friend, but the Lycan seemed to barely notice it. Instead, he turned to Priscilla and Godfrey. "T-There, I helped you! Can we GO now, please!?"
As Robert kept on talking, the mercenary in charge outside, finally had enough. Waving his shield, he gestured at the one holding the mancatcher. "Shut him up, already!" The man nodded and wacked the scholar with the side of his polearm hard enough to whip his head around. Then, he placed a boot on his back, forcing him onto the cold, snow-stained ground and placed his neck within the spiked crescent.
Any sudden movement now would cause these spikes to dig into Roberts neck, tearing it open and letting him bleed out within heartbeats. It was perfect to apprehend criminals and still well-suited to keeping even a Bloodlord like him down.
"Alright, now if you don't want your friend to get hurt, you drop your weapons and—" The mercenary was about to continue, when suddenly his fingers convulsed and his shield dropped out of his hand. "What in the Light...?"
He had no time to ponder, as just a heartbeat later Lucas pulled the trigger and buried a bolt in the poor bastards neck, punching through his feathered brace. The man's words went down in a wet gurgle, as he clutched at the projectile that had killed him. His companion next to him cried out, but his own spear suddenly slipped through his grip.
Katherine lunged foward. The mercenary saw her. He re-gripped his spear, forcing his numb, twitching fingers to obey him in spite of himself, and whirled around to face her. Her blade cut into his cheek, shattering the teeth behind it and penetrating his skull. At the same time, Katherine could feel cold steel slip between her ribs, as he ran her through.
The Arbalest shot at Lukas. The bolt slammed into the young mans side, throwing him off balance. But it was badly aimed, painful but ultimately not severe enough to fell a Bloodlord like him. The mercenary panicked, trying to reload his large crossbow, even as he saw that his shot had failed. His fingers slipped, this time all on their own, costing him precious seconds.
The man holding Robert called out and raised his mancatcher on instinct. He realized too late, what he had done, as he stared down on the man he had just accidentally released again.
Then they heard a lob of spit hit the cold ground and the clearing off a sore throat. The Singer, now free from Katherines hold, had recovered and she put Katherine, Lukas and Robert in her sights. Opening her mouth, she took a deep breath...
...and sang.
The cadence was rough, the sound imperfect. Her voice cracking through age and stress, as she hit the first notes. And yet, it was like someone was burying hot knifes into their heads. Scalding and cold at the same time. Needles penetrating their ears, ripping apart their minds and filling the space with PAIN.
The hymn was not complete. It couldn't be under the circumstances. It was the reason why they were all not already writhing on the ground. But even so, every note was torture. Katherine could see the Singer raise her bident, stepping towards her. Ready to kill her here and there.
Then she stopped. Breathed. A break in the melody.
And a pair of old eyes lighting up with fear, over the mistake she had just done.
Edited by TheNohen on May 13th 2023 at 4:29:09 PM
AKA Nixer
Priscilla the Grey
"We may. Thank you," Priscilla said after catching her breath, nodding to Raoul and walking over to the unmoving Captain in order to poke his body with her boot. Then she proceeded to slam her mace thrice into his skull until it was nothing more than mulch, only stopping once she was satisfied he was indeed dead. After this, she stood up, wiping the blood and brain off of her mace and then bowing to the lycan and Godfrey equally.
"Let's reconvene, and then decide where to go. We need to find permanent shelter and care for our wounds," she stated, readjusting her armour and straightening her back as she pulled up her hood and lowered a black veil over her face. She didn't elaborate on why, simply moving on to exit the building. "We shall bear witness to-"
A few sour notes from the Singer hit her ears as she passed through the doorway, and she grit her teeth slightly at the grating noise of it. She kept her footing, however, moreso due to her own weight, though she felt her injured leg giving way a little. Thankfully, the Singer abruptly stopped for breath, and Priscilla managed a slight smile as she stowed her mace away.
She had no need of it now. The Singer and her remainding allies were already dead.
"Reposez en paix. Requiescat in pace," she proclaimed as she clasped her hands together again prayerfully, letting the phrase be among the last things their enemies would hear before her execution at the hands of those around them. She would allow this gesture, as it had been a challenging fight, and she respected their efforts.
Edited by Enirboreh on May 13th 2023 at 4:00:50 PM
bork
Divine Basement Dweller
Katherine
Katherine didn't know what hurt the most: the spear through her chest, the harmony of the Singer's song clashing with her Curse, or seeing that same Singer fuck up at her job so thoroughly.
A grim part of Katherine thought if she were the Sparrow's Singer, all the Cursebloods here would've died already. Then she remembered that she probably couldn't have become their Singer if the claw marks on her vocal cords were anything to go by.
"How unfortunate," Katherine didn't know if she was referring to herself or to the Sparrows, but it made little difference. Katherine twisted the knife she stuck into the spearman's skull. Just to make sure.
Katherine knew better than to pull out the spear from her ribs, which risked causing more blood loss than she was already suffering, and instead reached out with her Blood Hold towards the Singer.
A little change in footing here and some badly positioned arms there and the Singer fell and cracked her skull on the side of the road.
Everyone's just doing the best that they can.
Breath of the Sun
Godfrey
Indeed, the bloodloss was getting to him. Which only served to make the captain's stubbornness more annoying.
"But for the blood and song, there's no difference between us. We're still people, monsieur." Godfrey spat back, raising his fists even as the strength oozed out of him. "The only ones we've killed so far are those who attacked us first. And yet you didn't even try to reason with-"
Tragically, Godfrey's bold and dramatic speech was cut short by a mass of fur killing the captain.
He frowned at Raoul, but nodded. "Fine. Just unhand my little one."
Godfrey made it two steps towards his beloved cats when the song started. Unlike Priscilla, he stumbled, and collapsed onto the counter. Gritting his teeth hard enough that he worried they'd crack, he shakily tried to press his hands to his ears without falling down.
When the song blissfully stopped, he shambled his way around the counter, weary from pain and bloodloss. Right, we need blood now. Well. When in Rousson, as the old saying goes...
Dropping to the floor next to the now headless corpse, Godfrey hoisted it, lowered his maw to the still bleeding neck-stump, and drank. Delectable warmth filled him, and after a few moments he rose, feeling a bit better.
"C'mere, Chop." He extricated the black cat from Raoul's grasp, at which point he noticed the parchment still tied to Chop's collar. As the cat meowed happily and took up perch on his shoulder, Godfrey read his own handwriting off the note he didn't remember leaving for himself. "I'm not sure we should trust it, but given we have nowhere else to go... hmph. We'll see what the others think."
After quickly gathering all the knives he could stuff in his bloodstained apron, Godfrey followed Priscilla out, with Chop still on his shoulder and the rest of the cats on his heels.
He bowed his head, solemn at the sight of so much needless death, before taking a breath and holding up the note to make an announcement. "This note is mine, though I don't recall ever writing it. Unless one of you has a better safehouse for us, I'd suggest we get moving to the Crooked Street in Jesâule."
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
Robert's heart sank as he realized these people truly were killers. All around him, even. He knew, even over the clamor of battle, what all that noise in the butcher's shop was. It wasn't going well for their leader. And here, now, was a soldier lashing out at him for it! Fat lot of good the moral high ground did as the spikes of the mancatcher forced him into the street.
"Aigh! Calm down calm down—" Robert was trying to plead now, desperate for anything to save him as the mancatcher's teeth threatened him so intimately. Then all the killers around him acted with so much more grace and competence than him: felling soldiers left and right, eliminating them with precision. That was the opening they needed. The poleman raised his weapon up. He was right to do so, on reflection, the others were greater threats. This didn't stop Robert. He contemplated his potential targets. The knees and ankles would most likely be armored. Something else, then. Robert rolled around onto his back, throwing his entire weight into a punch, aimed square into an uppercut directly at the soldier's groin with a savage, squealing hiss.
He transformed the motion into a wobbly climb to his feet, passing by the soldier as he fell to the street himself. "Now calm yourself. Your leader is fallen, you—aaaaigh!"
The Singer finally found her resolve. That horrible noise, the song didn't hurt less even though he knew it was coming. He'd been jumped, shot, stabbed straight through the hand just recently, all of it paled in comparison. So now before he could even really relish his first real win, Robert was on the street next to the guard, clutching his ears and writhing almost exactly like him. The most he could do was take a hand out and just sort of weakly claw at the mancatcher to send it skittering away from the both of them.
Wasn't much better when the singing subsided. His one comfort was that guard would probably actually be puking from that punch, instead of Robert merely wanting to puke. Robert put one hand over his face and groaned weakly while he threw limp, aimless elbow jabs at the guard next to him. "Throw down... your weapon... we... we needn't fight further... your leader... hurk."
Head of Ghostly, Ghastly, and Ghouly Science
Lukas Riese
The blood bolt skewered it's way across the frigid air, past the shieldman's misplaced namesake, through the brace, and into the Sparrow's neck, where it would join the bloodstream of the man who would soon become a corpse. It was one of Lukas's finer shots- though with high credit having to go to Katherine- but he had grander priorities than admiration. Soon enough the Singer would be ready, and-
Lukas received the first spilling of his own blood since becoming a lord of it from a fellow arbalest, knocking him sideways.
"Kopfstein," Lukas exclaimed, though quietly. He had trained himself to be quieter in situations like these, for loudness could be lethal. And besides, the shot was not well aimed- only hitting relatively useless flesh in his side. It hurt for sure, but it could be endured.
He turned his gaze to the sound of his attacker, and found the crossbowman more panicked than he was, failing to reload. It was clear to Lukas that this one was not even close to his own skill. But he was also a Sparrow, and had help in the form of the recovering Singer. Lukas needed to be quicker than her, not this arbalest. So, he raised up his armament again and started to snake another blood bolt into the housing.
Despite this, Lukas was only halfway before the Singer began doing her job again. Instantly, Lukas's skin began to shift again. The song decided to enhance the pain in Lukas's side, making it seem like the bolt had lodged in deeper than it really had. The blood bolt he was forming into his crossbow lost shape thanks to the cruel notes, splashing messily against the crossbow. He tried reforming it, but it was clear he had lost control of the blood bolts. A manual reload didn't work either- he couldn't even take his hands off his crossbow. All Lukas could do was aim the thing- and even then not at all accurately.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the arbalest finish reloading. Lukas couldn't quite track who he was aiming at, but he needed to be stopped. But how could he do that even being able to fire a bolt?
He saw the man's hands shaking from fear, and wondered if he might just miss. It was possible, but Lukas wouldn't rest just letting fate decide. He could make it more possible. If the crossbowman was inaccurate because he was afraid, then making him more afraid would make him more inaccurate. And Lukas had a quite fearsome weapon in has hands- one his enemy didn't know wasn't loaded.
Lukas paused for a second, before swiftly turning the crossbow to the other arbalest. From the other side of the street, all the Sparrow could see was an immediate threat. Under pressure, he quickly fired before Lukas could.
Lukas heard the sound of metal hitting the street. The soldier had missed. Not soon after, he heard the sound of bone cracking against the floor, and the serene silence of a song stopped. Lukas regained his focus as his opposite lost all of it. As Lukas calmly reformed the bolt into his crossbow, he failed to even grasp his own bolt. Lukas aimed his now loaded weapon and fired at the head.
The crossbowman ducked his head again, but this time Lukas was ready. He snaked the bolt down mid flight just enough so that it avoided the helmet. The bolt skewered into the man's face, swiftly killing him.
Lukas started to breathe again. He looked around and saw that the battle was won. Blood on both sides filled the street. To Lukas, that was a good thing. The victorious arbalest settled down his crossbow and commanded all the blood to flow into his stash and restock his bolts.
I assure you, this post was vital to the advancement of spooky science
roaming, lurking, arguing
The Cat's Claw Butchery
Blood pooled in between the crevices of the cobblestones, slowly trickling down the street, before gradually beginning the freeze in the nights cold. White snow, black stone and red liquid provided an unnerving and strangely familiar sight to the Bloodlords.
Their enemies were dead, for the most part. Their unmoving bodies littered the street. Only the man next to Robert was still awake, having collapsed to his knees and gagging in pain as he clutched his crushed privates. The professor had punched harder than even he had expected and the Sparrows armaments had not included a crotch-cup, as it looked like.
"D-Damn y-you all...", whimpered the sole surviving mercenary, as he tried to crawl away. He didn't get, though, before Raoul quickly caught up to him and snapped his neck in between his claws.
"What is wrong with you!?", he snapped at Robert in a brief moment of anger. "Do you want them to hunt us? What if he had called for help or, worse, found a Crusader?"
The Mutt then seemed to realize what tone he used and quickly flinched away. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't want to yell. M-My temper got the better of me.", he quickly apologized, as his fear of the Bloodlords swiftly pushed away any other concern.
The moment of quiet, allowing them to regain their breaths, did not last long.
"O-Over there! They were fighting over there! I heard it!"
"Get the torches lit! Someone call the crusaders!"
"Sisters, follow me!"
"Murder! Murder in the night!"
A multitude of voices echoed through the narrow streets. Albeit late, the noise of the battle had finally drawn in the attention of the neighbouring residents. Already, one could see the glow of torches and candles creep up the alleyways and corners, long before the onlookers that carried them.
By the time they arrived however, the Bloodlords were long gone...
The group was now back in the Jesâule Ward, only worse for wear, but at least now with Godfrey's cats in tow. Thankfully they were not followed and the noise of panicked people yelling for crusaders or looking for any Cursebloods slowly receded into faint echoes behind them.
There was no doubt now that any neighbouring Ward would be on high alert now. Patrols would fan out and every man, woman or child would keep their eyes peeled on the dark shadows. Their fight at the butchery will have the neighbourhoods spooked for quite some time. Meaning, that Jesâule was now the only place for the next month or more, where the Bloodlords could stay relatively safe.
Most of them had gotten wounded in the fight against the Red Sparrows. While none of it truly life-threatening or crippling, they had lost blood and, with the exception of Godfrey, not been afforded the chance to replenish. Hunger and weariness was starting weigh on them, with the pain of their currently barely treated wounds accompanying it.
But finally, they had some luck.
It took them a while, but they finally found the Crooked Street mentioned on the note. It was, true to its name, little more than a twisting corridor that wound itself in a semi-circle around several ruins. Here and there were gaping holes in the cobblestones, revealing the dark recesses of the catacombs and abanoned cisterns.
At the end of the street was a large, dilapidated mansion. Likely once the home of a noble house or a rich merchant, it had managed to weather the destruction of the Ward better than most buildings here, largely thanks to its surrounding walls and frontyard.
Whatever garden had once stood here had long turned to ash. Only the remnant of soot-stained statues, their features carved away by wind and rain, still stood as silent onlookers. The mansion itself had been burned black by the fire, making it look ever more ominous. The roof was largely intact, having only caved in on the western side.
It was not the most inviting place, but it gave shelter. And it was hidden away from prying eyes and panicked people.
Edited by TheNohen on May 31st 2023 at 4:34:34 PM
AKA Nixer
Priscilla the Grey
Priscilla made sure to lead the charge, along with anyone else who was willing to, as she was a large target to hide behind and wasn't as weakened as some of the others were from their battle. She was used to navigating these grimy, dark streets, so she kept a lantern raised and carefully looked about for any signs of activity around them. Soon enough, though, they had their destination in sight, and she stopped momentarily as she took it all in.
"...This'll do. Shall we go in?" she asked, glancing back at the others briefly. "We should get out of this weather and warm up, at least. Search the building, too, in case anyone else had the same idea. I'd offer some of the blood on me to drink, but..."
She grimaced at the thought.
"It's been experimented on, and is months old. Mayhaps not. Let's go."
Her lantern rattled lightly as she began walking again, moving towards the main doors. Given the mansion's good condition, she tested said doors before trying to push through.
"We should first look for medicine... or bindings, or anything of that sort..." she half-murmured to herself. "Light be with us..."
Edited by Enirboreh on May 31st 2023 at 6:25:49 PM
bork
Robert didn't have a chance to talk with Raoul more as they fled. This part he was good at; the trick to running away in Rousson was to keep your ankles loose and roll with any misplaced cobblestones. Fighting a stumble too much would turn into a sprain or worse, a roll. It was all about a controlled shamble. Thing was, between nicks, bleeding, and adrenaline leaving his body, Robert's body very suddenly gave him the bill as they arrived at the manor. He wheezed, took a few more steps, and had to lean against the mansion's outer wall. He pointed at Raoul, mumbling indistinctly, then finally spoke after a second.
"Y—you did good back there sir. I just wanted to thank you. Don't let me go easy on our enemies again." He grunted, pushed forward, and shambled onto the mansion's grounds. His eyes scrabbled around and found a lone rat, seizing control of it. A quick investigation sprinting laps in the grass proved him right: there was no local burrow out in the yard or anything letting them into the foundation. "We don't have many rats here. Which means few people. This place is long deserted." He lurched forward, right alongside Priscilla, too tired for much caution. "Why would it be burned down though? And that—that assassin, who hired them to kill our assailant back at the church? I'll start writing these down." Robert was already putting together an idea for a study in his head, a room where he could put down all his questions and mysteries into a big wall to visually assemble the connections between the mysteries of Rousson. They'd get destroyed eventually if they didn't solve some of these mysteries.
Divine Basement Dweller
Katherine
Katherine looked around the dilapidated mansion with disdain, but decided against speak- err, thinking such out loud. She had gotten quite used to the luxuries that the city had to offer, even after she clawed her way out of her mother's grasp she was good enough at what she did to live comfortably.
Ugh, this place smells even worse through everyone's noses rather than just her own. Especially through the Mutt's senses.
Hey Mutt,- Katherine forgot his name- Why are you still here? I thought I told you to run the first chance you got. Don't you have a pack or something to get back to?
Everyone's just doing the best that they can.
roaming, lurking, arguing
The Blackburned House
The frontgate was easily opened, the heavy doors breaking open after some brief, concerted effort. Inside, they were greeted with a large foyer, an entrance hall the likes of which one usually only saw in the richer parts of Rousson. Although more modest in size compared to some of the merchant-mansions, it nonetheless was imposing with its tall roof and looming stone-pillars, which were carved in old matthean style of twisting spirals moving up.
Two sets of stairs were embedded in the left and right-hand corners, barely visible if not for the empty candlelabra sticking out from the walls nearby, an easy sign for entrances. A cursory examination showed that the left staircase was blocked by rubble, while the rest one was largely intact, inviting them with its gaping darkness and noticable draft of cold air.
Doors were set on both sides, with one leading to a minor building of the complex, but neither of them in good shape. The right one had perhaps once been where the grand hall, the kitchen and the pantry had been, but now had been so thoroughly looted and trashed by thieves and the elements, it was a largely unusable ruin. The left building was completely empty, little more than a dark hallway, with rows upon rows of small rooms. No sign of life or presence. No furniture or anything resembling memories of what once had been there.
After this very brief exploration, the group gathered back in the entrance hall.
Raoul, still nearby, perked up when he heard Katherine's voice in his head. His eyes didn't meet hers, as he conciously looked away like a beaten puppy. "I-It's fine. I-I mean, I'm happy to be of service here! Was looking for a roof over my head anyway and...and..."
Finally, seeing her looking at him, he winced. "T-Truth is, I do not dare walk out here alone. Nevermind finding the boss...I-I mean, Renárd and the others. Jesâule is a maze at good days and...and...you haven't killed me yet, so perhaps...its safer with you?"
The mutt anxiously looked at them all. "I leave, if you say I should, of course! Not wanting to be a bother to you lords and ladies and all...."
Edited by TheNohen on Jun 13th 2023 at 11:36:46 AM
Breath of the Sun
Godfrey
A broken home. Better than nothing, he supposed. It was still strange. Why here? When and why had he written to himself of this place?
Chop nuzzled his ear, calming his nerves as they entered.
"We're all in this mess together now, monsieur." He gave Raoul a tired smile. "Long as you don't cause trouble, I doubt any of us care if you stay."
He made for what was once the dining hall and kitchen. Chop hopped off his shoulder to join the other cats, and the animals began to explore the place, rubbing against walls in that manner cats often did.
"I'll see if anything's left to be scavenged. Best to learn the ins and outs of the place if we're going to stay here."
As though they had a choice. The thought left him bitter. He at least had his little ones. What had the others left behind, in becoming Bloodlords?
Even if they'd been forced together by cruel fate, Godfrey silently promised himself that he'd do all he could for his newfound family.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
AKA Nixer
Priscilla the Grey
"Please, be at ease. You have earned our forgiveness, by virtue of your sincerity. If you wish to remain here, rather than risk returning to your group... then I give you my blessing, and I'll consider you a brother in arms," Priscilla said to Raoul in a kindly manner, gently placing a hand atop his shoulder. "In pace cum te ipso. Soyez en paix avec vous-même. Now, if you all don't mind me doing so, I wish to find a place to be alone for a short while. Please, come look for me if you need me. I'll be tending to myself an my prayers. Vous bénisse tous, Lux vobiscum."
With that, she separated from the group, searching for a room which was intact and private enough for her needs, but not too far off from the foyer itself. Once she found such a place, she'd kneel in the centre of the room and begin to take off her armour; which she was capable of doing by herself thanks to some specially designed connections that were a particular feature of Conservator armour. Latches in convenient places, that allowed her to remove each piece and leave her in just her habit.
Once the armour was set aside, and Priscilla was settled into place, she finally let herself break down into tears.
"O...! O lux superna! Quaeso... ne me deseras...!" she begged in prayer, prostrating herself to the ground as she murmured over and over beneath her breath. "Salvum me fac... me paenitet de maledictione quae me rapuit... permitte me manere famulum tuum... Iuro me in tuo servitio permanere. Gloria Lumini..."
With this, she sat up again, and began to pray fervently over her weapons and armour, intending to place her tumultuous feelings behind her from now on. She was alive, as were the others, and they were together. The thought gave her some peace of mind: even though they were not all believers, they were united in each other's sympathies.
bork
Head of Ghostly, Ghastly, and Ghouly Science
Lukas Riese
The first thing Lukas did when entering the mansion was note how to leave as quickly as possible. Doors, windows, and balconies all struck him as possible escape routes. As he went on, he scouted for high ground, hiding spots, and other tactical areas as well. Since the collapse of the mine, most of his time in buildings like this has been as personal defence. During those jobs, having knowledge of the terrain was critical. Plus, he had been ambushed twice now since his transformation, and he didn't trust that there wasn't another one coming up.The place brought to Lukas's memory thoughts of before the mine's collapse as well- when his family still had their fortune. It's dilapidation was actually quite reminding. His father was never fond of keeping places clean. While the mansion he was currently in was certainly more disheveled, a few of the rooms could pass as straight from the Riese's heir's childhood.
Pushing back down these memories as he met up with the other back at the entrance hall, Lukas turned his attention to what wasn't here. The note had said that a "Housekeeper" would be waiting, but so far there was nobody of the sort. Perhaps they had got here early and they hadn't arrived. But they had got hung up with the Sparrows- if anything, they would be late. Or maybe the Housekeeper hadn't agreeded to the plans of whoever sent the message and thus didn't show up.
Still, there was one obvious possibility left for this mysterious character; they could be hiding up the right stairway. Nobody had explored there yet. It was strange for someone who was presuming waiting for them to be up there and not at the entrance, but it was the best possibility. And that right staircase needed to be scouted anyways.
"I'm headed upstairs to find our Housekeeper," Lukas declared whilst pointing to his objective, "if anyone wants to join in, feel free."
Lukas searched for a light source before heading off into the darkness.
I assure you, this post was vital to the advancement of spooky science
Divine Basement Dweller
Katherine
Hmph, it seems the others have accepted your presence here, at the very least. Katherine turned away from the Mutt. Her voice may be gone, but certainly not her flair for dramatics. Stay out of my sight. This place is already bad enough through my own senses, and yours is only making it worse.
I'll come with, Katherine communicated to Luke. She was getting a bit more used to speaking through thoughts rather than her mouth, now. Better than staying down here and feeling useless.
Everyone's just doing the best that they can.
"HEY!" Robert barked at Katherine, eyes a little wide. Blessed indoor safety, winding staircases and comfortable rooms and an innocuous roof over their heads, and she was already threatening it with disharmony?! Robert jabbed a finger at her. All night he'd been beaten, stabbed, and scared away. He was going to take a stand against the one person he thought probably wouldn't harm him, who'd maybe listen to someone older than her. "NO." He pointed to the lycanthrope. "Apologize to Raoul. He's in it just as deep as us. He deserves your respect as a—" A what, a fellow human? Robert visibly flushed and chattered his teeth. He stomped away, took a deep breath, head raised, and turned back around to Katherine. "Casual insults will do us no good and foster distrust with the first actual ally we've had. Go upstairs and stay there until you figure out how to act." His eyes flicked over to Lukas. And the rest of the bloodlords, who'd just seen his little tantrum. He swallowed. "And—and please let us know what you find. I'm going to send a rat through the rubble on the left there to scout ahead."
Edited by Taco on Jun 28th 2023 at 11:29:13 AM
roaming, lurking, arguing
The Blackburned House
Raouls face lit up like a Lunacy Candle and the big mutt resembled for a moment more an overgrown dog, than the fearsome lycanthrope he actually was, as he wagged his tail and grew an eager, relieved smile. "T-Thank you. You won't regret it, I swear. I can clean and help do repairs and...and.."
He stopped, when Katherine telepathically snapped at him in stark contrast to the others. "O...Oh. U-understood. Apologies, ma dame...", he mumbled, quickly shrinking back to the nervous wreck he had been before. "I...I just go over there to the corner, until you need me." With tails between his legs, he slinked into an lonely part of the foyer and planted his huge frame down.
For Robert, his new senses did actually find something. One of the rats living here, a rather meager one at that, scrambled down between the floorboards and broken furniture in the eastern wing. Dropping down a short distance, it then skittered across a wet, but clearly carefully laid out, stone-floor. After a few brief moments, Robert himself realized that it had found itself in what looked to be a sealed-off large cellar or a small dungeon, situated right under the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Lukas and Katherine were climbing up the stairs towards the second level of the mansion. It was a winding path, leaving not much room for either of them, and cluttered with debris. No light peeked through the walls, leaving them almost completely blind in certain stretches. Finally, though, they reached the end and with it a solid, wooden door.
Opening it wasn't too hard, the hinges surprisingly well-oiled.
Stepping into the room, the two were greeted with cold, fresh air and the sight of large open space, just under the roof. There were clear signs, this once had been hallway leading to several rooms, but the walls had been torn down and everything meticulously cleaned out to leave one large, empty hall. The hole in the ceiling let the light of the moon shine through, touching and traveling over the smooth, clean floor.
And sitting on a chair in the middle of that room, rolling a handful of dice on a small, wooden table, was a man.
He was wearing a large mantle, although the hood was down to reveal thin, bone-white hair clinging to an equally white skull like grasping fingers. His skin was pale, even by Rousson's standards, marking him out as an albino. He was of a portly statue, with a noticable belly visible even through his heavy attire. His eyes were of a deep red and a well-groomed, white beard covered the lower part of his jaw, making his demeanour sit in the uncanny middle between jolly and unnerving. His broad hands handled the dice delicately, scooping them up and rolling them in between his gloved fingers. Next to his chair sat a heavy pack, similar to those of the workers and carriers one could see in richer districts, who lugged around bundles of produce to storehouses and back.
He looked up from his idle play and when he saw Lukas and Katherine, he smiled at them. They could see the fanged teeth, revealing the mans nature as Bloodlord better than his entire appearance could.
"Ah, you finally arrived. Very good, I was getting impatient." His voice was a deep, smooth bass, flowing like honey from his pale lips. He rose up from his chair and gave them a deep, polite bow. "I am Nicolas, the Caretaker. It is good to finally see the faces of those who hired me."
He gave a meaningful look around the hall. "I decided to already clear the place out a bit, if you forgive me. I sadly didn't have enough time to make everything look presentable, but...I suppose that won't matter too much for now." His look at their bloody, beaten state emphasized his last words.
Edited by TheNohen on Jun 30th 2023 at 6:59:01 PM
Divine Basement Dweller
Katherine
Katherine paused at the landing of the stairs for a moment.
"As pathetic as he may seem, it would do everyone here well to remember that Raoul was part of the Pack that tried to kill us mere hours ago; a Pack that was only stopped by the Murderer getting in their way," Katherine said, sending her thoughts to her fellows while intentionally excluding Raoul. It was one benefit to this whole mess, at least. "Even if he was forced to go along with the Pack leader, he certainly didn't follow us because he has much of a choice in the matter. I forced him to come along, do you think he holds no grudges after that?"
"In the most ideal circumstances, he would part with our party and we would never see each other again. In the worst case, he would backstab us the first chance he gets."
And with that, the former Singer followed Lukas deeper into the house.
"It's been having a long night," Katherine remarked to the Caretaker. "But its nice to meet someone who wouldn't immediately kill us on sight, at least."
Katherine figured it likely that the group had contracted the Caretaker during their missing memories. Well, that or the Caretaker was trying to trick them for some reason.
"Do you remember who this guy is?" Katherine mentally 'whispered' in Lukas' ear.
Edited by drearyArchon on Jun 30th 2023 at 9:35:49 PM
Everyone's just doing the best that they can.
Robert waved off Katherine with a snort. Students who were rebuked loved to get the last word in when they were shamed out of a classroom as if it meant they'd win the fight. It was a true mark of maturity that Robert didn't act on his impulse, stayed quiet, and didn't throw the child down the stairs like she deserved. He chattered his teeth and turned to assess the building, find a place to hole up in. The rat had found something useful, but getting there was another trial.
"Raoul, how about you see what you can do with the rubble blocking this passage here?" Robert walked closer to the blocked off left staircase. "A little rat told me it leads down to a dungeon in the basement, under the kitchen. If it threatens a collapse though, don't risk it. We might need professionals to get it open." He turned around to the empty ground floor wing, across from the kitchen. "I'm going to search these rooms, see if they're as empty as they appear. And find the ones that are actually livable."
Robert had a discerning eye for a home. He'd been fastidious about fixing any holes in the roof of his... his current home. He peeked into every room in turn, craning his arms up to feel along the ceilings for any hints of leaks or the slightest drafts. Honestly this would probably also be useful for making sure they wouldn't get scented from afar, too, but it was comfort he was after, not information security at this point.
Priscilla the Grey
She was on the ground, despite her assault. Priscilla stared up at the captain blankly as he held her down, his blade slipping past her armour and slicing at her underarm. She felt something give, and she pursed her lips; grateful as Godfrey took advantage of the captain's exposed back and effectively drew him away from her.
Priscilla took a moment—no more than three seconds—to feel out whether or not it was best to move. The fresh wound spilled out hot blood against her skin, which she could feel beneath her armour, but... it wasn't long until she felt the flow of blood slow and then almost entirely stop; barring a wet sensation which told her that it hadn't outright healed fully just yet. It was like her blood had clotted at a superhuman rate, and she took advantage of this. She knew this was no coincidence, and likely tied to her other strange ability. Perhaps this more understated power of rapid coagulation is what had kept her from bleeding out earlier, when her skin had been separated from her muscles.
"..."
Priscilla got up like an inhuman thing. No hands on the ground for support, just pure upper body strength and the movement of her legs. It was graceful, prim and proper, as a servant of the Light should be. She picked up her mace—in her other hand this time, as she didn't want a weakened swing—and looked towards the captain. He had knocked Godfrey around enough to get him off his back, and was now trying to keep distance. A wise move. She angled herself on the opposite side of the captain to Godfrey, so that he'd have to contend with two threats from either side at once.
"Sanguine... sanctum. Sang sacré. Sacro permitte cruore Luminis fluere omnes per nos. Laissez le sang sacré de la Lumière couler à travers nous tous," she said, before unhooking a vial of blood from its place on her belt.
She threw it. Low and underhanded, so that the captain couldn't block it as easily. It would crash either on him or on the ground, releasing a pungent scent of aged blood that would cling to the clothes and fill the air. She darted forward immediately afterwards, feinting a quick swing of her mace to strike the captain from the side, only to duck low and attack the captain's feet with her heeled boots. For yes, she had boots, and they were pronged at the tip. Quick to blunt, but still deadly to have crashing into the soft part of the top of your foot.
Edited by Enirboreh on May 6th 2023 at 7:44:35 PM
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