Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Lupaix

"Of course." She met Jeanne's glance and then turned her gaze to the street. "Understood." She waited for Vernon to take his leave before admitting her underlying insecurity. "Detective, I'm not very familiar with the procedures that your faction uses. What's the next proper topic of discussion before we can make further headway on this case?"
 
"Well," began Jeanne, running her hand down her face. "We need to start connecting cases. I have a feeling that wasn't the first- or the last- we'll see of these crimes, Miss Castiglione. We're going to get reports of any recent murders and disappearances within the area and see if we can find a pattern."
 
"Understood." She took a moment to think of a useful thought, then said, "You say you have a feeling that this crime has a pattern you don't see finding completion soon. From what you've seen so far, what threads are you picking up?" She looked to Jeanne with a thinking expression, sensing that she agreed, there was some theme here that gave the situation a sense of motivation. There were threads and it was important to do now the endurance work of sifting out what threads were available. Luna looked at her lap, at the crystal and its simplistic(though immensely complex to the inexperienced) crystalline structure. Already, a structure was laid out and the crystal had weight. This was enough to work with to get somewhere.
 
Jeanne's eyes also reflected her deep thought, hooded by her narrowed lids. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel again. "Anything blamed on werewolves outside of their territories. Violent, bloody murders like the one we just spoke of. Anything that seems outside of normal pack activity. We're going to be doing a lot of calls tonight, and after I find Gael we'll drive back to the office and look. Vargeras files won't reveal as much, though. Every crime here looks like a werewolf crime." She pulled her fingers through her bangs, knots breaking and ripping with the force.

"There was a massacre not too long ago. Werewolf war. It was awful, but... I can't imagine it was part of this. I hope it wasn't a part of this."
 
Luna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I have a theory." Melodramatically, she stared at the road ahead fiercely, working herself into a state of active focus.
"The crime scenes follow the typicality of werewolves in their attacks. Most specifically, they're violent and bloody, disturbing. And atop this, there's too many to not be purposeful." She brought her fingers to her lips, closing her eyes again. She brought the photos she saw earlier back into her mind, placing her opposing hand on the crystal in her lap. She sighed painfully at the image, then viewed them in distinct shades of black and white. "And they're all marked in the method of them."
She thought, 'I want to see deeper.' Something wasn't right. The hearts weren't lining up here. Mentally, she grabbed hold of the images and zoomed in, focusing on the edges of the cuts. Physically, she furrowed her brow harder and harder until she saw what was pulling at her. She let go of the crystal and her breath caught in her chest.

"Jeanne. Jeanne. It's werewolves. Undeniably." She stared ahead at the road, visibly shaking, her chest heaving with the sudden intensity of her new understanding.
 
Jeanne glanced at Luna. "What do you mean?" she asked with a furrowed brow. "What makes you so sure?"

The Bloodhound had a lot of doubts here. As skilled as she was with tracking down werewolves, she couldn't imagine them trying this kind of crime. If Luna had somehow found a loophole, she needed to know.
 
She placed a hand to her chest and opened her eyes, laughing spitefully at her now old self.
"It's a simple deduction. The motives within the crimes only match the motif of crying out one's name. Like one would howl at the moon." She gazed wistfully out the car window, noticing an old man in a fashionably shaggy trench coat standing on the sidewalk. Her gaze lingered a moment and then she shook her head.
"Specifically, the violent method of attacking my light-following siblings, targeting those seeking a way of true unification without mercy, which," she began with an odd scrunch of her nose, "isn't exactly something to snuff at. That takes real solid dedication." She giggled then stopped herself.
"This brutality, however, only manifests in the departing aggression in one way. The mark of Caer." She held a hand to inform Jeanne that she was not finished with her thought, but that she needed a human moment to compose the next gesture. Because this couplet in the frame wasn't set until it connected to the frame.

She lowered her hand, likely too fast than would have made it necessary, and continued. "This strikes me because it's so open. It's not any organized werewolf faction, certainly not. But there is some individual or force of aggressors acting in one specific name, with one specific target. I know I've only restated the obvious, but I supposed it was helpful to know that there's potentially unorthodox allies which may prove useful in our investigation. If we cared to follow such a line of investigation." She rested her eyes at the conclusion of her statement, taking care to breathe slow and pleasantly.
 
Jeanne's fingers tapped more rapidly upon the steering wheel. She went through the possibilities in her head, making various facial expressions as she thought them over. "I suppose a gang could have influence over someone who could induce madness in a child. It's a long stretch to be using the sign of Caer, though. I wouldn't even think the Nightshades would take that chance. People would sooner blame their own mothers than admit that the Caer are back."

As they sat at a red light, the detective gazed at the crossing pedestrians. "Unorthodox allies," she grumbled. "This isn't going to be an easy case, Catiglione."
 
Luna nodded, balancing Jeanne's rhythms with a peace honed after years of working with stubborn older clerics. She focused her gaze on the traffic light as she turned the case on its head mentally. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't actually thinking anymore. Was something bothering her?

"Complex issues are my area of expertise, detective. And personally.." she took a moment to decide on a particular experience to draw upon for the next statement, "This had better be difficult. If my fellows were slaughtered for some simple reason, I'm unsure of how loving I will be once our culprit(s) are captured. I know all things have their place in the world, but.. there's something about my brutal humanity that these crimes are evoking in me." She grit her teeth at the close of her statement, pursing her lips as she resolved to find herself on the other side of this, at the conclusion of a trail that had begun the moment she had received the orders of her assignment.
 
"I'm not sure capturing these culprits will be our real goal," said Jeanne darkly. "Anything this dangerous will likely attack us before we get to subdue them. I wouldn't be surprised if the chief issued an order to attack on sight. First, we need to figure out what we're looking for."

Another turn. They were getting close to Mervilleux now. "Just remember, Castiglione, the church is currently hiding clues from us, but you and I are working together. We have one goal and they are not separate. The people of Lutetia- whether they be from the church, werewolves, or necromancers- we're here to protect all of them."
 
Luna smirked and thought back to the man she'd seen on the sidewalk earlier. The city's atmosphere, especially as they entered Merveilleux, reminded her of her own complexities and who she was as passenger. Her hand tucked the crystal away into her purse and moved an imaginary out-of-place strand back into its place behind her ear. "I became a Cleric precisely for that reason, Ms. Bonheur. I'll have to disclose something now before we go further." She cleared her throat and smiled. "I've been served with an Order of Inhibition by my peers. It's why I have to use a device like my crystal in order to work, my spiritual rhythms make it too difficult to organically recall information." Her face started to get hot, so she laughed and sighed.

"So yeah, I'm here for the people and the light which protects them, if nothing else."
 
Saint Lemeux and the Red Cliff​

Master Dantion Kelve came to Tussant Orphanage on Gernari’s Eve, walking into the firelit hallway bundled in his cloak. He brushed the snow from his shoulders and soaked in the warmth of the building.

“Papa!” a young girl of five in her pajamas rushed to the old master, “papa Kelve!” She threw her arms around his legs.

“Rosa,” he smiled, picking her up and hugging her close, “you’ve gotten so big! And look at those earrings! Are they new?”

“I got them last month,” she beamed, “do you like them?”

“Of course. They’re very pretty.”

An older boy peeked his head from around a corner. “Hey, it’s Master Kelve!” He turned back. “Guys, Kelve’s here! He’s here for the Genarium!”


It wasn’t long before the old paladin was ushered into one of the orphanage’s sitting rooms, positively swarmed by young orphans. He sat in a rocker by a fireplace while they clamored over the rug and tugged at his hands. Master Kelve at Tussant Orphanage could only mean one thing: there was going to be a story.

“What will you tell us this time, Master Kelve?”

“Will you tell us about Lady Valentine?” one of the girls perked, eyes alight.

“No no, tell us about Saint Bernard and the dragon! Tell us that one!”

“...the battle of Carnia, when Absolon-”

“-or when Sir Kurtrin took Vindicator and-”

“I am going to tell you a story,” Kurtrin only raised his voice a notch, but hardened it, steeling his tone as only years of instructing rampugnocious proselytes could teach him. The clamoring voices stilled, the blur of children freezing instantly.

The old master smiled. “I am going to tell you one of the adventures of Saint Lemeux.”

A gasp of excitement. The first paladin. Saint Lemeux’s errant adventures across Lutetia were among the oldest Evequist fables.

“Is it the one where he kills the vampire in the tundra?” A brown-eyed boy tugged at Kelve’s pant sleeve.

“No, it was the mountains where he killed the vampire-”

“He doesn’t kill anyone in this story,” Kelve interjected before they started again. The children quieted, confused. No killing? Was there any story of an Evequist saint that didn’t involve killing? “No killing,” Kelve continued. “This story takes place towards the end of his errantry, but a few months before Dawn’s Breaking … on a cold, Genarium night, just like this one.”

A young girl blinked. “It happened on the Genarium?”

Kelve nodded. “Only they didn’t call it that back then. They hadn’t made it a holiday yet. To Saint Lemeux, it was just a year away from the day Selene Evequec had appeared and changed his life. The day humanity was given hope.”

His voice settled into the warm croon of a storyteller’s. The children sat transfixed, ripe imaginations already fixing the story in their mind’s eye.

The old master smiled. “And this is, above all, a story of hope.”
 
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---​

Saint Lemeux had been travelling in the snow storm all day now. His horse had died last week when he’d fought the mimic, and though he was very sad, he pressed on to try and find some warmth for the night. He had no food, no water, not even a cloak. Just the armor on his shoulders and the sword on his hip. He may have perished that very night, but he prayed to Elue and the Light led him to a small village on a hill, their chimneys plumed with smoke. He came to the largest one, gave the family his name and begged for a place by their fire and some food. They agreed.

Before long, the entire village had gathered in that home to get a look at him. Strangers were very rare in those days - for a human to travel the wilderness alone was a death sentence. As Lemeux looked up from his stew at the villagers, he noticed how incredibly ill they all looked. Each was pale, gaunt and bone-thin, from the grayest elder to the youngest child. Moreover, each sported a curious scar on their left hand just below their wrist.

“What work does this town do, and who is its master?” he asked them.

“We chop lumber and trade it with our neighbors,” one of them said, “we have no master - at least, not one of Tenebre's.”

This was a strange thing - for in the days of the Great Darkness, every human settlement was lorded over by a paranomal master: a monster who used the inhabits of the town like cattle. Only Selene’s remnant and a few outliers remained free.

“How is it that you have kept yourselves from the grip of Tenebre?” he asked them, “and how can you chop lumber, when none among you look fit enough to grasp an axe?”

“We are protected by a strange spirit,” an old woman answered, “who lives in a deep crack within a cliffside not far from here. It wards away Tenebre’s hordes - in exchange, once a month, every able-bodied man, woman and child offers themselves to it.”

Lemeux stopped eating. “And what is this offering?”

One of the children stepped forward. “We plunge our left hand into the crack. It takes hold of our arm and bites us, or at least, that’s what it feels like, and doesn’t let us go till it’s had its fill. It’s the worst sort of pain, and we get very sick afterwards. Just when it feels like we’re getting better, we go back and do it again.”

An elder spoke up. “Tis’ a hard life to be sure, lord, but surely it is better than slavery.”

“Any ‘lord’ who trades livelihood for safety is a slaver in his own right,” Lemeux declared, “a lord shall serve his people, or not at all.” And he sat up from the fire, eyes aflame with indignation. “Take me to your master, and I shall render the Light’s justice.”

Then they grew afraid, and many thought not to tell him. “If he angers our lord, then we shall lose our protection.” And they resolved to cast him out into the storm to die.

But a young virgin, Mariah, rescued him from their plots and led him away from the mobs. She gave him a cloak, a staff and a cask of wine, and together they fled the village and walked among the trees.

“Do you truly serve the Light?” she asked him, “does the spirit of God reside within you?”

“I serve Selene,” he told her, “and if the spirit of God does not live in her, than it is nowhere on this earth.”

Then she led him through the forest, the stars and moon lighting their way in the snow, until at last they came to the cliffside where abode the master. The peak was enormous, stretching high into the billowing clouds, and a jagged crack split it down the middle where a strange red light glowed from within. Lemeux heard whispers from the rocks - dark and quiet in the wind’s howling. He knew it to be the voice of the Wyrm, and he made the sign of the Raven on his breastplate to ward away the evil.

“I will show you how we offer ourselves to our lord,” Mariah told him. She rolled her sleeve and passed her left hand into the crevice. She stiffened immediately, crying out and falling to her knees. Lemeux watched every vein in her body pulse and darken, as if being filled with tar. She drew back the moment it released her, falling into the snow and weeping softly. Where her scar had been was now an ugly, gaping wound.

“Had I known it would cause you such pain, I would not have wanted you to perform such a ritual,” Lemeux said. He knelt before her and helped her staunch the bleeding.

“I did it for you,” she told him, “that you might know what you must confront.” Then she spat in the snow. “May I be the last. Go, Ser Lemeux. Free us from the Dark.”

Then Lemeux removed the armor from his left arm, so that it was bare, and drew his sword with his right hand. He stepped before the cliffside and, without a moment’s hesitation, thrust his naked arm into the red. The pain seized him at once: something like a jaw clamping down on his wrist and piercing his flesh. Agony unlike anything he had ever known seized him, a pain which spread from his arm to his spine and then shot out to every nerve on his body. Lemeux was a paladin - he was used to pain - yet this torment was so deep, so horrible that even he cried out against the anguish, and his voice rang against the rocks.

Then, the jaws released - but Lemeux did not withdraw his hand. Against every instinct, every primal directive which commanded he move away from the pain, Lemeux pushed forward, shoving his hand even deeper into the dark until he had grabbed hold of whatever had afflicted him. The agony, if it was possible, increased. Something like fire spewed through his veins, his muscles, rocking his body with tremors and forcing him to his knees. His brain melted under the impossible hurt, every fiber of his being instructing him to let go, till he could think of nothing but the agony and how to end it. Still he fought - pulling, prying - till, with a savage roar, he ripped the thing from the mountainside.

It was not a monster, or a man, but a small, ruby-hard stone, glowing with foul, red magic. At once Lemeux threw it into the snow, hefted his sword, and smote it. It shattered against the steel with a cry, its power extinguished. The curse was lifted.


When Lemeux returned to the villagers in the morning, he was so ill that Mariah had to help him stand. He faced the terrified mobs, sword in hand, and tossed the remains of the crystal before their feet.

“Here is the master who tormented you,” he told them, “though you did not wish it, I have freed you from its grasp. Now are you free.”

The elder stepped forward, raging. “Free to die!” he spat, “free to be slaves to Tenebre, as all the others! You have doomed us, paladin!”

“No. Only you may do that.” He lifted his blade. The elder shrunk, believing that he meant to kill him, but when he opened his eyes, he saw the pommel of Lemeux’s sword quivering in the snow near his hand.

“Grasp it,” Lemeux commanded.

The old man reached forward, his frail fingers gripping the leather grip hesitantly. At once, his digits tightened, a strange and new strength returning to his feeble bones. He lifted the blade from the ground and held it before his eyes. The steel glittered in the sun.

“Here is what I have given you,” Lemeux told them, “what you have had all along, but I revealed: choice. You may stay here and hide in your homes till a new master comes along and shows you a new brand of slavery, or…” He stood straight, defying the aching in his bones, and looked at them one by one.

“...you may pick yourselves up, follow me, and fight.”

---​
 
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“Then they went to Selene and fought the hordes, right?” one of the boys stood up, slashing at an imaginary foe, “I bet they killed a hundred demons-”

“You can’t kill a demon with a sword, idiot,” another retorted.

“There aren’t even any demons-”

“Alright, alright,” Kelve chuckled, quieting them, “I’m glad you liked the story.”

Rosa tugged at his sleeve. “Papa… why didn’t Lemeux do something special to destroy the red rock thing?”

Kelve leaned forward. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“I mean… he just put his hand in. He didn’t try and outsmart it or look for a weakness or anything. He usually does something clever.”

“Yeah, like when he fought the invisible alghoul in the ruined factory,” a boy piped, “he scattered ash on the floor so he could track the monster’s footprints!”

“Or when he fought the giant bird that breathes fire by storing gas in its belly!” another quipped, “and he lit an arrow on fire and shot its stomach and the whole thing just-”

“Alright there, quiet now,” Kelve chuckled, “you’re all correct. Lemeux usually is clever. That’s because humans have to be clever if they want to defeat monsters which are bigger and stronger than they are - and most of them are. Lemeux’s brains, his wits, were his greatest weapon, not his sword. I’m pleased you all realize this.”

He looked down at Rosa. “But something you need to realize is this: sometimes, being clever doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes there’s no hidden passageway. No secret weakness or ingenious trap which wins the day. Sometimes the only way out is through - and in that case, we humans must rely on our greatest strength: courage.”

The children shifted, eyes widening, hearts fluttering. Kelve’s words breathed fire into their souls; there were paladins among them.

“It was courage which gave Lemeux the strength to grasp the stone,” Kelve explained, “courage which told him that, even though his suffering was great, his duty mattered more. Lemeux didn’t know what the stone would do to him if he tried to take it. Maybe it would take his arm off. Maybe it would kill him altogether. Still, he fought. Not because he was exceptionally strong or tough or immune to pain, but because he was brave. Because he knew that justice is worth any sacrifice, any loss, any torment.”

He led the words ferment in their minds … and then cracked a smile.

“Now. Let’s make some hot chocolate.”
 
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Hope said:
Luna smirked and thought back to the man she'd seen on the sidewalk earlier. The city's atmosphere, especially as they entered Merveilleux, reminded her of her own complexities and who she was as passenger. Her hand tucked the crystal away into her purse and moved an imaginary out-of-place strand back into its place behind her ear. "I became a Cleric precisely for that reason, Ms. Bonheur. I'll have to disclose something now before we go further." She cleared her throat and smiled. "I've been served with an Order of Inhibition by my peers. It's why I have to use a device like my crystal in order to work, my spiritual rhythms make it too difficult to organically recall information." Her face started to get hot, so she laughed and sighed.

"So yeah, I'm here for the people and the light which protects them, if nothing else."
Click to expand...

"Perfect," replied Jeanne. "Well, Castiglione, we're going to get along very well. Let's hope this is a very long partnership."
 
It hadn't taken Valentina long to grow restless and she once again set off on her own, deciding to check out the different happenings, hoping something better was happening at Valentine Park. The nine-year-old made sure to bring along NomNom, the white kitty close on her heels as they wandered through the streets, not really paying attention to where they were heading. The Park was a bust, which was fairly disappointing, but she also knew the more she was around people, the less control she would have and biting was never a good idea in crowds. A pink shirt and jeans were covered in a black hooded jacket, the front fastened to hide what she was, just in case someone was out looking for her. Glancing around, the child realized that somehow she had gotten lost and more importantly, was sick and tired of walking around. Huffing, she rubbed her forehead, shoving lavender locks out of her matching eyes before shifting her gaze down at her kitty.

"NomNom... I'm tired." Valentina frowned, glancing around cautiously before moving over towards the shadows. Almost as if on queue, her kitten morphed into its homunculi form, a ginormous strong and deadly white Siberian tiger, his size almost as large as a SUV. Unfortunately, thanks to her lack of complete knowledge and skill at the time of his creation, he looked absolutely disgusting; flesh almost all rotted off while salivating poison from constantly elongated fangs. Clambering up on top of him, sitting where there was still fur and flesh, albeit not much, she patted his head, motioning for him to keep going down the street.
 
"What a lovely kitten you have there, little one," a man's voice echoed from a short distance behind Valentina and the giant cat, musical in tone. The man in question had apparently stepped around the corner whilst Valentina was in the shadows of the alleyway, with NomNom transforming. He was fair-featured, albeit gaunt, and his face was decorated with black markings tattooed around his eyes and down his cheeks. His hair was dark and fell in glossy tresses to just shy of his shoulders, framing his face.

"Why are you out so late at night, without your sire? These streets aren't safe for our kind. The wolves are easily riled, and the church's toy soldiers vigilant."
 
Snapping her head towards the voice, Valentina was glad she has NomNom morph before the stranger appeared, because it would make it easier for the tiger to protect her if necessary. Sliding down off him, she ran her fingers against his head, rubbing what fur was there, lavender eyes shifting back towards the unknown figure. Something told her that being out alone wasn't a bright idea and just because she had safely wandered around without protection before didn't mean she should keep going off on her own. However, Val knew that was neither here nor there since she was out and about with just NomNom and it wasn't like she could change the past. How did he know what she was? It wasn't like she was doing anything that would give away that she was a vampire, especially since her kitty could be mistaken for a necromancer beast. Deciding her best bet would be to play innocent, she did just that, lavender eyes batting a little.

"Sire? What's that? I'm just heading back to my papa's house. I'm not supposed to be out with NomNom, but the kitty wanted exercise and I like playing with him."
 
The figure smiled back at her, but the expression was hollow and eerie, lacking anything in the way of warmth. "Don't play dumb with me, little one. I know what you are. I see more than most, and I've seen you." His eyes shimmered briefly with an ethereal light, before returning to their previous hazel tone. "But that's why I want to help you. We're alike, you and I. Hunted, in this city. Left idle, and neglected by those who promised us so much more."

He stepped closer, his posture nonthreatening, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his black overcoat. "Whereabouts is your sire? I can help you find them. You're lost, are you not?"
 
It took a lot of effort, but Valentina managed to keep her visage free of any emotion despite the panic that was settling in deep inside. How could he know for certain what she was? Where there individuals that had that power? Maybe she should have learned more about Lutetia from Sanina before exploring the place. Her body shifted a little, moving a little behind her kitty, before she forced herself to remain still, realizing that despite her face remaining blank, her actions would give away that she was scared. The change to his eyes was unsettling and just added to the tension she felt spreading through her shoulders down to her back. "Not hunted and not neglected." Her voice wavered just a little before the vampire swallowed, forcing herself to calm down.

"My sire is nearby, so you better just go away." Bluffing, Val hoped he would just go away.
 
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