Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia

[Tiko]

as written by Tiko and Knosis

Desmond and Chloe eventually made their way out of the city limits, and off the main highway as they took to back roads that wound through the dense forests that Lutetia was well known for. They had picked up more food on their way out of the city, and the bags of fast food where strewn about the seat between them.

When your metabolism ran hot like theirs, you needed the food. Especially while healing. He expected Chloe would be eating on and off most of the day, and he didn't want to take her too far out of the city without food on hand for when she got hungry again.

"'tis about an 'our to get where we're 'eadin'," Desmond told her. "'ow are you feelin?"

He glanced over at her. No doubt being trucked off to the middle of nowhere with a stranger wasn't the best way she could imagine spending her day, but he wagered she would have straight up told him to go get bent if he had told her where he was taking her.

____

Chloe had been blankly staring out of the window, nibbling on some chips she had grabbed out of the bag. She had been oddly quiet the entire time since getting into the car with Desmond, and all the while she had thinking of several different things. She turned to look at him, blinking as she came back to the present.

"Better." She admitted. "Still a bit sore on the ribs, but I expect they will take a couple of days.." She seemed curious, but her question never rose about asking where they were going.

She was pretty sure if he wanted her dead, he would have done it already. "So forgive me if I'm being nosy, but you and your brother don't seem like you're from Lutetia either.." She murmured. "Where you two come from?"

She was just trying to stir up idol chat in order to keep her mind off things back in the city.

____

"Aye, we're from Iveria," Desmond answered. "You know this used to be part of Iveria? Before there was a Lutetia my people lived all across Issunar. There's still remnants of our 'history 'ere', if you know where to look."

"'ow about you?" he asked as he glanced over at her. "You don't seem to 'ave much of an accent to ya. I can't place it."

____

"Didn't know that. I'll keep that in mind.. I've not been in Lutetia very long, actually.." She murmured.

She chuckled softly. "I've tried working on getting rid of the accent, I guess it is good that it is gone..." She murmured. "Moved here and there when I was a kid. Moved to Lutetia from Wing City though. Was a detective there too, until.. Well.." She tapped the scar that marred her neck. "Had a case of a serial killer on the loose. I thought it was someone trying to frame werewolves, because some of the killings were too staged. So I got cocky. I found the guy, and I didn't expect him to be a werewolf.." She murmured. "People said I was lucky to be alive, yet I didn't feel so lucky after all that.."

"So I moved to Lutetia. Needed to start a new life." She sighed. "Way to start it, hm?" Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

____

"After me first shift when I was just a lad, I killed all of our chickens," Desmond told her. "Every single one of them. I was sure me dad would give me a tannin' for it," he said with a chuckle. "Well, I didn't get a tannin' but me dad 'ad me gather up all the eggs from the nests an' keep them under a lamp 'til they 'atched."

"He taught me and me brother what it means to be what we are. And 'is dad taught him, and so on. I think maybe I forgot that, 'til last night."

He glanced over at her again.

"You know you're gonna die if you keep on the way you are," he said with an arch of his brow. "An' I don't mean 'unters, or Baron, or anyone else. Your body can't keep takin' the abuse."

____

Her jaw clenched and she looked away. She knew he spoke the truth. "I know.." She murmured. "It has been getting worse lately.. It isn't like I haven't tried to stop it.." Her brows knitted together.

"I had no one in my life for seven years." She said quietly. "I was disowned and left to fend for myself once it was known I was a danger to my 'human friends'." She murmured. "And for the longest time, I didn't care if I got better.. But I guess I realized I was too much of a coward to just let myself fade away." She admitted.

"That's why I moved to Lutetia, in truth." She said. "I was hoping that maybe I could find the answer.. But all I'm finding is that I'm running out of time.."

____

"'ave you thought about not tryin' to stop it?" he asked.

Anticipating her likely abrupt objections, he hurried on.

"Hear me out on it, before you say anythin'," he added.

"Right now you're two parts of a whole. The wolf, an' the 'uman. The wolf is a creature of instinct, but the 'uman? That's a creature of emotion. We can balance our emotions wi' logic, but the wolf doesn't know logic, right?"

"Well you spend all that time fightin', an' all of that fear, that anger, that pain... it's all still in you when the wolf comes out. A wolf doesn't kill without reason, but it doesn't know what to do wi' all of those emotions runnin' through its body, an' all that adrenaline in its blood."

"You're afraid of the wolf, but maybe 'tis the 'uman in you that's taintin' the wolf."

____

He had predicted well, and she had moved to object but closed her mouth to listen to him finish.

She lowered her gaze silently, his words driving hard into her. It made sense, mostly at least. "I guess I can see where you're coming from with that.." She murmured. "I've never not fought when I shifted suddenly.. And all I can think of when I do is my own anger of not being able to stop it.."

She then thought of something else and added, "But why am I shifting the same time every night then..?" She asked quietly, flinching as she realized he wouldn't have known that. "I er.." She looked out of the window. "I guess you can guess how I knew I was going to shift last night.. It happens every night at the same time. Doesn't matter if I'm dead asleep or not.. And sometimes I remember, and sometimes.. Like the other day, I don't remember anything." She murmured quietly.

"I can't even willingly shift. I've tried a time or two.." She added sheepishly.

____

"Course you can't," Desmond said. "You spend all your energy fightin' it, and it's all your body knows how to do."

"I don't know why you shift every night, but until you find a balance between the 'uman and the wolf, I don't think you'll find that answer."

____

Their destination eventually took them to the end of a dirty road, that looked as if it hadn't seen much traffic in a rather long time. It was overgrown with grass, and the car rocked and bounced over the bumps as he drove along slowly.

Eventually the trail became so overgrown that they couldn't proceed any further.

"Almost there," he said as he turned the engine off. "We'll 'ave to walk the rest of the way."

It wasn't a far walk, and the faint woodland game trail soon gave way to to a large grassy field, ringed by forest. She likely could see their destination in the distance. A ring of tall stones was situated at the heart of the field. It seemed a peculiar enough place to have brought her, made all the more peculiar as they neared the location. The stones had no markers, no symbols, nothing to suggest their purpose. They where simply stones, sitting in a wide circle.

"Remember 'ow I said this all used to be part of Iveria? An' 'ow you could find remnants of our 'istory if you knew where to look? Me an' me brother foun' this place about a year ago. I imagine you're wonderin' why we're 'ere though."

He sat down on one of the lower stones ringing the circle, facing her.

"Go on then, you can ask now."

____

Chloe slowly followed behind Desmond, wincing as her bare feet caught on rocks or sticks along the way. Confusion and curiosity was evident in her expression, but keeping to her word she never asked one question. But when she came to the clearing and saw the ring of stones in the middle of the field, she stopped to gaze at the hidden wonder for a moment.

As she neared the location, she gently brushed her hand against one of the stones, listening to Desmond in silent wonder.

She turned her attention back to Desmond when he finally gave her permission to ask the questions that had been eating at her for over an hour now.

"What is this place.? Why did you bring me here..?" She asked quietly.

____

"Easy," Desmond stated rather matter-of-factly. "We're gonna teach you," he emphasized with a point of his finger at her chest from his seat. "'ow to shift."

He seemed rather cheery about this fact, given that she had tried to literally bite his head off twice now, and was probably about to figuratively do the same now that she knew why she was out here.

____

Chloe looked dumbstruck. She folded her arms over her chest and coughed as if clearing her throat, looking away from Desmond. "You do realize.. This is pretty much means you're asking for a beating.." She muttered. "Are you a glutton for punishment? Because I'm truly not trying to hurt you. Or kill you, as it may."

She bit her lip and sighed. "But I did make a deal.. If you want me to try to do this, then so be it.." She placed her hands on her hips. "What do you want me to do?"

____

"'ey, slow down there," Desmond answered. "I might be impulsive, but I'm not stupid. An' I like me arms where they are," he added with a wink.

"This isn't somethin' you can learn to do in a day. Today is about changin' 'ow you see yourself, an' how you see the wolf," he explained.

"If you're going to get a 'andle on this, you need a new perspective. You need to forget everythin' you think you know, an' start over again."

"An' we won't do anythin' you're not comfortable with," he reassured her.

____

"Fair enough.." She said slowly, crossing over to sit beside him.

"Then.. I'll look at this with an open mind then. Tell me how." She said quietly. Her brows knit. "And.. Thank you.. You didn't have to care.. Hell, you could have just killed me and not have to bother with this at all. Some others would have.." She shivered visibly at some memory she had.

____

"Don't thank me yet. An' I almost did kill you, you know. In the street yesterday. 'ad me gun to your head," he admitted. "But that was yesterday, an' today is today. So why don't we get started with you tellin' me what you see here."

____

An odd question, but she didn't voice hers.

"Okay.. Well.." She murmured. "I see this stone formation. You, me.. Empty field other than that.." She shrugged slightly.

____

"What else?" Desmond asked. "What does this field tell you, when you look around."

She shook her head, looking up at Desmond. "I don't see anything else.. The field is empty around us, and beyond that is the woods.."

She shifted on the rock slightly as she thought, trying to understand what he meant by his question.

Desmond nodded. "Good. Now close your eyes and tell me what you see.Take your time before you answer."

He himself fell quiet, leaving Chloe to the sounds and smells of the surrounding field so as to not disturb her.

Chloe took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was silent for the longest time, pondering upon his question. With her eyes closed, her other senses became more sensitive. At first, all she could hear was her own heart beat.

Her brows came close together when a bird broke the silence by fluttering away, and her normal reaction was to turn her head towards the sound of the bird. The leaves and the grass rustled with the slightest movement of the breeze. Bugs buzzed around, and that seemed to annoy her the most. She could smell the sun warmed earth around them and the hint of rain in the air. It wasn't much more than what she had seen around them before.

"I see much of the same.. But there are a bit more things around that I didn't realize were there." She murmured finally.

"Alright, keep your eyes closed," Desmond told her. He stood up from his rock, and took her hands in his gently, to guide her to stand up. "I want to try somethin' with you, that me dad did for me when I was a lad," he told her.

"Take a step forward, an' kneel down 'ere in the grass," he told her. "An' 'old onto those sounds and smells. Can you tell me about them?" he asked.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Knosis, and Alara

She allowed him to guide her forward a step before kneeling down on her knees. She winced slightly at the effort.

"Well.. There's a pretty upset bird that we've disturbed his nap.." She murmured. "There's a slight breeze.. I smell rain on it. The grass and trees seem to be aware of it too.. There are bees zooming around that I swear has enough balls to take on your lady friend in the pack.." She chuckled softly.

"Very good," he told her. "I'm gonna walk you through a meditative exercise, an' I want you to listen very carefully to me voice 'til we're done. Can you do that?" he asked her.

She nodded silently. "Sure." She answered.

"Alright, I want you to relax, an' slow your breathin'," he told her. "Forget I'm 'ere, and imagine you're sittin' out 'ere by yourself. Now I want you to imagine up everythin' you can 'ear an' see, an' picture it all in your mind. Imagine the smell of the flowers that the bees are buzzin' aroun', an' the bird in the trees. What color is the bird?" he asked.

She nodded and engulfed herself into the surrounding area."It's a black bird.. One of those noisy ones that like to pester people for shiny things.." She murmured. She took slow deep breaths, and almost became entranced after a bit. Someone watching could almost wonder if she were asleep.

They went on like that for some time, with his voice droning quietly in the background as he guided her along, helping her to envision up the field within her mind until it was as real as the ground beneath her knees.

With the calming of her breath and the trance like sensation settling over her, he could almost see the tension easing out of her body and he stood quietly, taking a step back.

"Imagine yourself standing up, an' taking a step forward," he told her.

"Feel the grass beneath your paws, 'nd the breeze ruffling through your fur. It's gonna rain soon."

He hadn't explicitly told her to envision herself as a wolf, and instead aimed to guide her to it subtly with the context of his words.

"Don't be afraid. In the days before the Querans came to Issunar, men called our kind friend, an' we roamed these lands without fear."

"Go to the forest. Feel its 'eartbeat beneath your paws. It's callin' you, it wants you to run wi' it."

Desmond's eyes watched her face carefully for any telltale signs of distress, but the slack calm reassured him.

"The smells of the forest are all around you, the sounds of the animals rustle in the trees overhead. They know you. You are a child of the lan'. The earth is your mother, an' both man and beast are your brothers."

 

[Tiko]

as written by Tiko, and Knosis

It was difficult to say how long they remained there in the field as she ran the trails of the forest within her minds-eye, but when he spoke again, the late morning sun had begun to dip lower in the sky towards late afternoon.

"The trail 'as come to an end an' you see the field from earlier. Look back. The wolf is standin' there watching you, but it does not follow you as you step into the field. You can feel the sun on your skin, an' you can see the stones from earlier. Walk to them. Remember them. Kneel in the grass, remember the feel of it under you, an' when you're ready, open your eyes."

By the time he had started telling her to imagine her journey, she was the wolf. At first she was uncertain, and Desmond could see it form a slight worry line between her brows. But soon in her mind's eye, she was running. She traveled between the trees as fast as her legs could take her, and he would see that any concern was gone completely.

The journey was a long one and even as Desmond began to end the journey for her, she could feel that she didn't want to. She wanted to continue to run through the forest, but eventually the trail did end and she was back at the top of the hill.

She turned around and noticed that she was no longer a wolf, and she stared into the eyes of her wolf self. A knot of emotions registered almost immediately, between anxiety and longing. She didn't want to leave. Desmond could see the distress on her face about the decision. So it was no surprise when Chloe finally opened her eyes, they were glowing bright neon. She groaned and grabbed her head, bending over to where her forehead nearly touched the ground.

"Easy," he told her. "Remember the forest, remember the sounds an' the smells. The wolf is still there, it's still a part of you. It will be there when you're ready to run again. Touch it if you need to, feel its fur. It's safe, you're safe. Just breathe until it passes."

Given what the woman had been through the past few day, the last thing her body needed was another transformation. Still, he wasn't a moron. He stripped his jacket off and draped it over the stone to kneel down in front of her, so as to be wearing fewer restrictive articles of clothing in the event that he needed to shift abruptly.

"Look at me eyes. Do you see it? Do you see the wolf?" he asked.

The rise of the wolf in her had turned his own eyes amber, and the energy filled them both.

"Let it go."

He would try to ride it down with her, letting the wolf fade from his eyes with her own, if she would let him.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Knosis, and Alara

She was breathing in deeply, but her breathing was coming in rapid paces. She was trying to slow it down.

She lifted her gaze up to his, trembling. She could feel his energy, his wolf just on the edge himself. "I-it's hard.." She whispered. She swallowed hard and took in some more deep breaths but it did not seem she was going to let go easily.

"You're doin' just fine," he told her.

He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"Focus on your breathin', an' let the fear go. Just breathe. You're safe here. Everythin' 'il be fine."

Intense adrenaline could easily spike a transformation even among more experienced shifters, so he focused on keeping her calm, slowing her heart rate, and steadying her breathing.

She swallowed again, and her breathing began to slow down over time. He could feel the energy slowly leave her, and eventually her eyes began to dim as well.

She was left a trembling mess.

"Th-that.. Was quite a ride.." She laughed sheepishly.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Knosis, and Alara

"Tired.." She murmured. "Very tired.."

She slowly sat up straighter and held her hands out in front of her. She couldn't stop them from shaking. "Let's not do that again right now.. Alright..?"

"No, I think that was quite enough for one day," Desmond said with a light chuckle.

He stood up and offered her a hand.

"Let's get you back to the car," he said. "The walk 'ill do you good, an' you can get some sleep during the drive back."

She looked relieved at that and took his hand gently. It took her a moment, as her legs had fallen asleep for sitting for so long but eventually she was back on her feet.

"At least.. You still have your arm this time." She smiled.

"I do?" he asked. He did a quick pat down of himself, checking all his limbs. "I guess I do," he agreed with a wink.

He picked his coat up and shrugged it back on. As they made their way across the field he fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up for the walk back to the car.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Tiko

Night had fallen across Issunar by the time that the lone cargo ship docked in the small port city of R'pierre, and it was in the cover of darkness that its cargo had slipped from its hold to begin their journey inland, towards the capital of Lutetia.

Questions had brought light to shrouded mysteries as the urgency of their departure had been made known.

There was no safety for them within Westeria City any longer. Their numbers were broken, and their position of prominence stripped from them. The movement of hunters within the city had forced them towards more promising lands. Their destination? Sanina's home-land and the birth-place of their bloodline.

This new land came with its own dangers though, dangers that she had impressed upon them all during their voyage. Dangers that had led their family to Westeria City in years past. It was time though to reclaim what was theirs, and to carve out a new home from those who had taken theirs from them.

For those who had known no home but Westeria City - such as Varia - there was more unrest about the decision. But even she didn't seem keen to set out on her own. Her anger had turned to silent seething over the course of the journey. Kyle was dead, Torrential was gods only know where, and now they were treading into unfamiliar land.

Sanina had taken the time to try and verse some of them on the local tongue, but some proved more studious than others.

The plan was a simple enough one. Arrive by sea, and cross inland by night. They would seek out her father's estate and from there part ways. Valentina and the other children would remain with her, while Riaze and the others would make for the city of Lutetia where Varia, Viktor, and Arien would present themselves to House Sylvestre, under the guise of refugees from the Terran mainland. Riaze and Chase would be left to their own affairs, and Talyria... she was free to remain or leave as she wished. Since the incident at the hospital Sanina had remained amiably indifferent towards the woman, but neither did she extend any invitation for her to remain. It would seem she left the matter in Talyria, and Viktor's hands.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script

Arien had been glum at the start of the voyage, and that glumness had only intensified as the trip drew on. The more he learned about Lutetia, the less he wanted to be there. In Westeria, at least there had been a fair amount of people who'd been indifferent towards vampires. Here, they were well and truly second class citizens - no rights, no protections, nothing.

It seemed like they were trading being persecuted by one set of zealots for another.

But still, Sanina had her grand schemes, and when it came down to it... where else would he go? Staying in Westeria would be suicide. And any of the other cities... well, he didn't fancy starting life all over again on his own. It would be hard enough with the others along for the ride.

So he resolved to bite his tongue, and quash his pride. He'd bend over for this 'House Sylvestre' for now, in patient anticipation of when he and the others fucked them right back. That was the plan, anyway.

Patience had never been his strong suit.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Ronin

It was the first, golden hour of dusk in the town of Vludharrow, and Jacon Tremont was smoking.

He sat in his rocker on the department’s front porch, hands clasped over his protruding gut. He liked to come out around this time of day; watch the townfolk close up their shops or hitch their wagons back out to their farms. He conversed with as many as he could. Most of his news came in this way. Small talk and gossip, invariably jaded by the mouth it came from. It was a game of sorts, whittling through information like a potter sculpts a work of art from a hunk of muddy clay. Widow Creel’s testament that old Tom Brixton had a heart illness was probably credible; Mrs. Parry’s angry denunciation of Ms. Amia’s character as a witch and accomplice to demons, less so. Garrow probably got a new wagon, Jillian’s husband was drunk, not possessed, and Liam would need at least three more acres by next spring if he didn’t want to close his farm. Yes. It was a game of sorts - one that constable Jacon Tremont had gotten very good at playing, separating truth from deceit. He knew his town. He was their lawman, after all - and a lawman is only as good as the town he protects.

Jacon Tremont also liked to smoke. He liked to smoke as much as he liked to eat - which was saying something. The constable had an impressive collection of antique pipes on display at his home - several Queran, a few vintage Lutetian … even a time-worn Iverian clay pipe, which he claimed once belonged to a great wolf chief. He never smoked that one, but the others he enjoyed quite frequently. Five a day. Sitting on the porch of his office, Jacon was savoring the beginning of his fourth.

“Evening Ribalt,” he nodded at a passing ranch hand.

“Constable, sir,” the young man nodded back, adjusting the pack slung over his shoulder. Jacon smiled at the formality. Ribalt hadn’t been in town long enough to learn that most people called him ‘Jacon’. He’d probably figure it out eventually.

“Wheat harvest on the Kened’s treating you well?” he rolled the tip of his pipe along the length of his lips and blew a gusty puff of sweet-scented tobacco.

“Bout’ as well as a half-drought season can.” He shrugged. “Should make a little bit of coin by the end of it though. Probably spend the winter in Lutetia.”

Jacon smiled. “Blow the lot of it while you’re there, eh?”

The ranch hand shook his head firmly. “No sir. I’m saving every copper. Fixing to get married.”

The constable’s brows raised. “Married? Young guy like you?”

“Yessir. Got a girl in Luskionos. Just fixing to get enough coin for an apprenticeship.” He scratched the side of his head. “Was thinking blacksmithing or something like that. Work till I can get us a farm.”

“Well ain’t that something,” Jacon chuckled, his laugh cut short by a series of gacking coughs. “You should, ah-” Another hack. “-ah. Scuse’ me. Should take it from someone who knows.” He wiped a bit of spittle off his collar. “Been married… oh… thirty years now?” He nodded sagely. “Love Dolly. Love her to death. But don’t think I didn’t wish that I’d of had a little more fun in my younger years.”

“I’ve had more fun than you might think, sir,” the ranch hand replied, “it ain’t the life for me. I’ve got a girl. Just wanna get us a home as soon as I can.”

The constable relented with an understanding nod. “Sure thing son, sure thing. It’s mature of you. Real mature.”

“Thank you sir.” Ribalt poised to leave, but stopped. He slowly turned his head back towards the constable, his cheeks slightly paler. “...by the by, sir. How is. Um.”

Jacon quirked a brow. “The prisoner?”

The farm hand nodded slowly.

“People asking bout’ her?”

“Yes sir.” He rubbed at the back of his head. “And I don’t mean to sound frightened or nothing, but the townfolk just haven’t felt safe knowing that she’s … y’know. Still breathing.” He scowled. “Or whatever it is they do.”

But Jacon only smiled - the patient, wise grin of an adult presiding over a squabble of nervous children. “You tell them they’ve got nothing to worry about, Ribalt. Not a thing. I’ve got her locked up nice n’ tight.” The pipe end passed between his thin lips and he sucked greedily. “Soon the capital’ll send a legal waiver and I can just finish the thing once and for and all. But for now…” He lounged in his rocker, the wood creaking under his weight. “She’s not going anywhere.”

A bit of red returned to Ribalt’s muddy cheeks. “Well thankee’sir. I’ll let the Kened’s know.” He hiked up his sack and turned to leave. “The Wick knows it’s all they’ve been talking about-”

He stopped dead, his eyes glazing into the distance at the point where the sun was falling into the mountains. A large cloud of dust trailed behind a glittering speck. It drew closer.

“Constable.”

“Ye?”

“Something’s coming.”

“Eh?”

“Something’s coming. To the west. Coming fast.”

Jacon frowned. “Sure it’s not a wagon?”

“No sir. No wagon moves that fast.” He took a fearful step backwards, hand gripping one of the porch posts. “Sir. You better look.”

With a weary sigh, Jacon rose to his feet, the chair groaning in ecstasy as his weight left the seat. He haunched up his trousers and stuck his pipe far back into his mouth, blinking angrily at the sun as he stepped out into the shade of his porch.

“Where is it?” he held his hand over his eyes.

“Over there sir, on the field by the old windmill.”

“Near Jensen’s cornfield?”

“No, the other side. Look, there’s a cloud of dust behind it.”

Jacon squinted. He saw it.

“Ribalt,” his voice was low and stern. “Get my rifle. And my pistol. They’re in the locker by my desk.”

The farm hand fumbled. “C-...constable?”

“Move boy!” he clapped his hands in the youth’s face, who sprang into the building like a startled rabbit. Jacon kept his eyes on the speck, teeth gritting as it grew ever closer. It was moving fast. Far too fast for a wagon … far too fast for a horse. He still couldn’t make it out from here, but it seemed to be … shining. A faint roaring echoed in his ears from where it approached.

Ribalt came out a moment later fumbling with the two firearms.

“Good,” Jacen reached for the rifle. “See here. Lemme’ have it.” He checked the cartridges. “Good. You keep the pistol and stay at my flank.”

Ribalt went white as the dead. “Sir! I… I can’t…!”

“You damn well can!” Jacen barked, his voice iron and stone, “I’m deputizing you, ffective’ immediately! You’re gonna stay the hell where you are. Keep that pistol handy till we know what that this thing is.” He looked back up at the speck, now no longer a speck. In a few short words the distant mystery had sped to within a hundred meters of the Vludharrow’s outskirts. The constable gasped. The ranch hand’s mouth dropped open.

The bike ripped across the open field like a streaking bullet, dust and dying grass kicking in the spew of its massive tires. Stones crushed beneath its tread, a vicious scar digging into the dirt and trailing the land wherever it thundered. Its engines were a rising bass-boom roar, growling, snarling at every gear shift, thrumming the heartbeat of its engine into the ground, into the very core of the earth.

Mounted atop was the figure of a man, armor gleaming red and gold in the setting sun. His cape trailed fluttering visions of a scarlet raven, his locked visor focused with fixed calm on the town before him. A sheathed sword hung at his hip, a rifle the size of a man strapped to his back.

“They sent a paladin,” Ribelt said breathlessly. “They sent us a paladin.”

Jacon could not speak. His rifle lowered stupidly and he watched the knight’s approach with muted shock. This never happened. Paperwork was sent back to Lutetia all the time … arrests. Imprisonments. Executions. They always let the outlying towns keep to themselves … always let them handle justice and law their own way. They never investigated themselves. They never sent one of their own.

Now that had changed.

The Monastic Order had come to Vluddharrow.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Ronin

The bike thundered through the town of Vluddharrow without ceremony, its grumbling roar growing louder and louder with each passing house. Eventually it stopped sounding at all and simply felt, a concussive quake that rattled the spine and set the brain humming in its skull. Townsfolk rushed out their front doors, expecting an earthquake or a monster, reeling at the truth ... No. Neither and both. A titan made of steel and light. A warmachine snorting smoke and shadow. Not a monster. A knight. A god.

A small crowd parted as the bike drew near, its tires slowing to a begrudging walking-pace. The people followed as closely as they could without being choked by the exhaust, forming into a thin circle as the newcomer halted his beast in front of the constable's office. Jacon had not moved. The tip of his rifle hung limp in the dirt and his tongue darted back and forth across his teeth as they did whenever he was nervous. Every so often his brows twitched and he squinted at the paladin, as if he were some mirage that needed to be examined and dissected so that it might disappear. He counted the feathers in the golden eagle spread across the armored sternum. He read the engravings etched into the rims of his pauldrons - 'Peret lutai, abso pacaix' - 'through light, absolute peace', surrounded by a litany of prayers and blessings.

The bike grumbled to an abrupt halt and the world stopped shaking. The knight straightened his posture and swung an armored leg over his seat, landing upright on the cobblestone. His head turned slowly, the slit in his full-helm scanning every face, every body, before resting on Jacon. The paladin started forward.

"You are the constable?" his voice was deep and tinged in iron.

Jacon blinked twice. He slid his pipe out from his lips and. "I. I am." Behind him, Ribalt backed away.

The paladin took a moment, his visor falling and rising as he took stock of the lawman from head to toe. His hands came up to his helm and undid two metal clasps. It came free.

His face was handsome, noble, cold. He looked young - twenty-four or five perhaps, though the lines carving his face and the creases above his brows made him look older. His hair was long and such a deep shade of brown it was nearly black. It swept over his ears and it hung below his chin. His eyes were dark.

"I am Sir Savien Durandet," he touched the tip of his lips with a finger. "Paladin Justicar of the Monastic Order. I greet you. I come on behalf of the city of Lutetia to investigate a criminal claim made against a citizen of this township."

All was quiet and still, the villagers processing the information as best they could. This was an impossible thing. Most of the denizens of Vludharrow had never even seen a paladin. Excitement rippled through them, coupled with the building suspicion a small town necessarily harbors for outsiders. The church knights were more legend then reality this far from Lutetia. What was one doing here so far from the city … and on account of such a trivial matter? Their attention gradually migrated to Jacon, realizing that the constable owed him an answer.

Jacon seemed to sense their eyes on him. He licked his lips and bumbled only once. “I. You.” He coughed. “What … what claim is that?” He regretted the choice of words almost immediately. What else could it be?

Savien seemed not to notice. He reached into his belt and opened a neatly-folded piece of paper.

“Five days ago,” he read from the parchment, “on the eve of Felling, a young girl by the name of Babette Marlowe was arrested and detained on charges of murder. She was found among the corpses of six of her friends, feasting on their blood.” He looked up. “Is this true?”

The crowd murmured. Jacon’s eyes shifted between faces. He struggled to compose himself. “That is … I mean, that’s right.” He cleared his threat. “We called her Mits, though. She was an urchin. Orphaned by her father.”

“You have Ms. Marlow detained in your holding cells?” He gestured to the office behind the constable.

Jacon looked over his shoulder. He blinked at the rocking chair he’d been sitting in a moment ago. “Yes.”

“I would speak with her.” He strode past Jacon at a steady walking pace.

The constable fumbled. “You uh. You can’t. I really shouldn’t…” But the knight was already halfway up the steps, wood groaning beneath his metalclad feet. The lawman huffed, following quickly after the paladin, ushering a hesitant Ribalt to his side.

The rest of the crowd lingered outside. Following the constable into the office would be far too personal … but to go back to their evening chores was unthinkable. A paladin had come to Vludharrow. Something was going to happen.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Ronin

The constable’s office was small and warm and smelled of pipesmoke and cedarwood. It was a clean place. Neatly-arranged tobacco jars lined his desk and daguerreotype photographs of a smiling woman framed the wall behind.

The paladin entered the room first, hawkish eyes flitting to every corner. They spent some time with the pictures. It was the same woman in each photograph - young, laughing, pretty. Many of them were with what appeared to be a younger version of Jacon.

The constable and the boy clambered into the office, the door swinging shut. Ribalt quickly moved to a nearby corner, watching the paladin with mouselike fascination. Jacon dusted off his pipe. He cleared his throat.

“Sir… eh...”

“Durandet.” The knight turned to face him.

The constable attempted a smile. “Right. Durandet. I apol’gize for the…” His forehead wrinkled as he racked his brain for the right word. “...shock. It’s just. We’ve never had a knight here. Ever.” He slicked back what was left of his hair. “Far as I know, no outlying town has.”

“You must pardon any sensation my arrival has made,” Savien again touched his finger to his lips. “I’ve been sent by the city of Lutetia. My business here is legitimate. I’m sure it will only take a moment. I should be finished with my work here in only a few minutes.”

The constable nodded, a bit of color returning to his cheeks. “Well I thankee. Anything I can do to speed this up, I’m more than happy-”

“You can introduce me to Miss Marlow.”

The red flooded out of his cheeks and Jacon paled once more. “Right. The girl. Have her in the cellar.” He walked over to a nearby dresser and began rummaging. “Key should be here. Somewhere.”

“Take your time,” the paladin nodded. He turned back to the frames. “Is this your wife, constable?”

Jacon perked. “Yessir. That’s my Dolly. Pretty lil’ thing, ain’t she?”

“You look very happy together,” the paladin nodded, “are these old photographs?”

“Yessir.” A jingle chimed from his wrist as he retrieved an iron key on a ring. He walked up to stand beside the knight. “Back when we lived in the city. She was a singer there. I was a policeman.” He smiled proudly at them. “She was just gorgeous, weren’t she? Absolutely gorgeous. All the fellas that came by that club…” His brows furrowed. “...club, what was the name of that club?” He looked up at Savien. “Off of Bellefleur and Argo…”

“Laradale,” Savien answered. He turned and began to inspect the desk.

“Laradale!” Jacon grinned ear-to-ear. “All those gents and such that came to Laradale, all of em, all had their eyes on’er.” His fingers ran the length of his suspenders. “But I got’er. Yessir. Best singer in Lutetia, she was. And she’s mine.”

“You must be very proud of her,” the paladin remarked. He turned one of the jars of tobacco and gave it a look. “I envy your wife. Vocalists have an incredible talent.”

“Oh, she don’t do much of that nowadays,” Jacon waved his hand dismissively, “don’t do much of anything, really. Stays at home. Cooks.”

A short silence. Savien gave a nod to one of the jars. “You like to smoke?”

Jacon smiled even wider than before. “Do I like to smoke, he says.” The constable looked over at Ribalt and grinned, “tell’im Ribalt.”

The farmhand-turned-deputy heard nothing, his attention completely absorbed with the knight in the room.

The constable frowned. “Ribalt,” he barked.

The boy jerked back into focus. “Huh?”

“The knight asked if I like to smoke.”

“You do.”

“I do,” he affirmed with boastful determine, “six pipes a day in fact. Finest tobacco outside the city walls - hell, maybe it’s even better than what y’all have in the city.”

Savien picked up one of the jars. “May I?”

The constable gestured graciously.

He unscrewed the lid and held the jar up to his nose, breathing deeply. An appreciative nod. Next the knight pulled loose one of his boiled leather gloves and dipped a finger into the container. He removed it and licked the pad of his digit.

“A fine blend,” he said.

“Thankee sir.” The constable was outright beaming. “I toldja I blend em myself.”

“Cherry and plum, a bit of honey…” the knight rolled his tongue on the bottom of his mouth, “...do I taste some rudastia in this?”

“Aye sir. We call it wakeroot up here. Much more fitting name.”

“I’m surprised you can get your hands on it,” Savien replied, “it’s a very expensive narcotic in the city.”

Jacen scoffed. “With all the refinin’ it goes through in the factory, it's no wonder. Up here we have a simpler way. Y’let it soak for a day then grind into a paste. Pan over a fire, mix it with some barley and salt it a bit. Then y’let it dry and smash it out into a powder.”

“It works just as well?”

The constable grunted. “Better. I’ve had yer’city root. Not half as good as what we grind up here.”

“Interesting,” the knight put his glove on.

“I can getcha some of you like. Ol’ Widow Creel sells it in tubes at her store. Not as good as what I make, but it’s still beats city blend.”

“No thank you, I don’t smoke,” Savien smiled. He fastened his glove to his plated bracer and flexed the fingers. “I beg your pardon, constable. I’ve steered you off track. You were opening the cellar for me.”

Jacen’s eyes widened. “Oh. No, m’apologizies sir. I got to talking.” He forced a chuckle. “I swear once ye’get me going there’s just no stopping. Ain’t that right Ribalt?”

The deputy did not budge.

“Ribalt!”

“Huh?”

“Can’t I talk up a storm?”

The farhmand blinked. “Yes. You do talk.”

The constable growled, shaking his head. “Nothin’ but air, that kid’s head. Here, I’ll getcha the cellar open.” He hobbled over to a trapdoor in the corner of the room and huffed to his knees, fiddling with the lock.

Savien turned to Ribalt, offering the boy a nod. “Good day, Ribalt.”

Up to this point, the farmhand had been observing the knight as a student through a pane of glass - a quiet, respectful audience. As Savien addressed him directly, the pane shattered. His mouth opened dumbly and noises vaguely akin to words choked out of his throat.

“Pa-... m’l… sir…”

Savien smiled. “How long have you been a deputy?”

The boy swallowed. “T…Ten minutes, sir.”

A loud clanging from the corner. “Alright, got it!” Jacon stepped back as the trap door swung open. A plume of black dust belched from the hole. “Phew. Forget how dark it is down there. I’ll find a lantern.” He walked to a nearby closet and opened it. “Bad business, this girl. Pity about what happened.”

Savien walked over to the cellar and peered into the shadows. “She was perfectly human for most of her life, I assume.”

“Perfectly,” the constable called out, “mischievous little brat. We think her father was the town drunk and her mother was a whore that made a stop here on her way to the city. One family or another tried to take her growing up but she always ran away.” He shook his head, stepping out with a wrought-iron lantern. “Thieved and pickpocketed herself a living. Town like this that wouldn’t last long, but some people took a likin’ to her. Protected her.”

“The neighborhood girls took a liking to her as well.”

The constable looked up, brows furrowed. “Aye.” He nodded grimly. “She had a posse of friends. Good, honest girls from honest families. They would go out into the fields and the forests and play in the river and in the trees. Jamie, Becca, Tali, Brandea, Dayae and Yumi,” He walked over to his desk. “When I found her, they were dead. All six of’em. She stood over their corpses, blood dripping from er’jaw.” He opened a drawer and retrieved a bungled knot of silk colors. “These were their ribbons. They wore them in their hair, cept for Mits, who wore hers on’er wrist. It meant they were friends.”

Savien made a slow stride to the desk and picked up the ribbons. They were shades of blue and yellow and red, some frayed and torn, others as fresh and shined as the day they were first cut. All of them were flecked with little dots of dark.

“How did Ms. Moreau became what she is?” Savien asked, eyes on the ribbons.

Jacen shook his head. “Y’ask me, it were the Roa.”

The knight’s eyes shot up. “Roans?” The Roa were well-known as vagabonds and travelling performers around the country. In larger towns and cities, they were usually welcomed. In smaller, more superstitious hamlets like Vludharrow...

“Whole circus of’em. Came into town a month ago, asking t’perform.” He feigned spitting. “Told’em no. Wasn’t gonna have trash like that in my town. So they set up just outside the limits. I told the townfolk not go near.” He gestured towards the open cellar. “Mitts woulda gone. Bet one of’em was a bloodsucker. Musta bit the poor girl for fun.” He shook his head. “Now she’s onna’them.”

Savien bunched the ribbons and put them in a pouch on his belt. “Did you get a good look at any of them? The Roans.”

The constable scowled. “They were about what you’d imagine. A rot-toothed, flee-swarmed bunch.” He snorted. “One of em’, young girl with big white eyes, tried making a pass at me to let’em perform.” He grinned with his teeth. “Set that one straight.”

“And when you found Ms. Moreau, how did you subdue her?”

The constable opened his desk and retrieved a matchbox. “Shot her in the back. Silver bullet. Knocked her out for a time, brought her here and locked er’up.” He strode towards the cellar. “Normally I’d just finish it outright, but she was a child. Didn’t know if there were any sorta’ law about that. So I wrote to the city, and…” He gestured to the paladin. “...here we are.”

“Here we are,” the knight nodded. A brief silence hung in the air before he nodded to the open cellar door. “Shall we?”

“Right,” Jacen nodded. His eyes darted to Ribalt. “Come on, boy.”

The farmhand looked at the constable, then at the pit of darkness in the ground. "Constable... Sir?"

"Perhaps you could go first, constable," the paladin offered gently, "light the way."

Jacon grumbled at Ribalt, but he turned to the knight and relented with a nod. "Alright. Stay close behind me now. Shut the door behind ye."

They lined behind the door and entered one at time, the darkness swallowing each of them in turn.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script and Emperor Jester

The Nuvellon Estate was located a few short miles outside of the Lutetia City limits, spanning over a thousand acres of land. The main house itself was a large, four storey building dating back hundreds of years, but kept in impeccable repair. A large circular driveway, complete with large oak tree on a grassy island at its center, played host to several cars, including both sports and luxury models. The cars were parked before a set of stone stairs leading up to the tall wooden doorway, which bore a gold plate engraved with the family name. Large latticed windows in the white stone walls and the sloping grey rooftop overlooked the drive and the fields beyond.

The estate also held several outbuildings - including a staff house and a large stables, where the Nuvellons' prized mares and stallions lived a life of luxury almost equal to that of their wealthy owners.

"Where's my tea, girl? I asked you for tea five minutes ago! Hurry up!"

The shrill voice of Agathe Nuvellon was rapidly beginning to grate on Christine's nerves, but she forced a pleasant smile as she addressed the aging family matriarch. "Your tea is on the table beside you, madame," she pointed out gently, "I can pass it to you if you wish?"

Christine always dreaded the days when Agathe insisted on pulling herself from her bed, for as long as the harpy remained in her chambers on the third floor, she was somebody else's problem. The maids had a rota for who had to tend upon her each day, to avoid any one poor girl going mad from the abuse.

In a way, Christine pitied the woman. Suffering from dementia, she had gone from a capable and proud woman to a feeble and scatterbrained shadow of her former self. Continually finding herself forgetting things frustrated her to no end, as did her growing frailty, and she took that frustration out on those around her.

The elderly woman wrinkled her nose, turning to peer through bottle-lens glasses at the teacup resting on the side table, where she'd placed it only minutes before. She grunted dismissively, reaching for it. "I can do it myself! Presumptuous girl. I'm not an invalid!"

"Of course not, madame," Christine said, continuing to smile.

"Don't backchat me! Lothaire! Lothaire!" Agathe turned to cast her eyes around the sitting room.

Lothaire Nuvellon was stood by the window, gazing out over the countryside and smoking a cigar. For a moment he didn't reply, but on the second cry of his name he snapped to attention and turned to look. As Agathe's son, Lothaire was the current head of the family in all but technicality. He'd had no success in convincing his ailing mother to sign over her ownership of the estate and horses, but had found little opposition in taking authority regardless.

In truth, the family had little involvement in the actual business of breeding and dealing in horses, relying on the hired experts to run their venture whilst they enjoyed the profits, and so beyond making decisions for the business as a whole, there wasn't much that needed to be done.

He was a tall man, his hair a greying dark blonde kept at a moderately short length. A neatly trimmed and presumably once-fashionable goatee adorned his chin. Despite his age, he remained handsome - age had been kind to him, and through riding and sports he kept himself in good physical health. "Yes, mother?" he inquired, giving Christine a sympathetic glance.

"The girl is being impudent! Fetch a different one to wait on me at once!"

Lothaire smiled thinly. "Of course, mother. Christine, if you would be so kind, perhaps my wife would like some tea. I believe she is in the library."

Christine nodded her head, "Of course, sir. Would you like me to let Madame Fontaine know that your mother requires another attendant?"

"No, no," Lothaire waved a hand dismissively, "I'll deal with that. I'll make sure you don't see any trouble for it."

She smiled, "Thank you, sir."

Christine slipped from the room as Agathe began to rant at Lothaire about being too much of a soft-touch with the help, forcing herself not to chuckle. Much as he could sometimes be short-tempered, when dealing with his mother he seldom raised his voice - at either her or the staff. He, of all people, understood how fickle she was with her anger, and never reprimanded the staff when they were at no fault.

The library was on the third floor of the building, and Christine wove her way through the maze of corridors and staircases with practised ease. She'd been working at the Nuvellon estate for twenty of her thirty-nine years now, and knew her way around it like the back of her hand. She'd been hired when the first of the two Nuvellon children was born - little Leon, who wasn't so little anymore, but who she would always remember for his derring-do antics as a little whelp. He had been ever so much trouble, but always good natured in his mischief, and always appreciative of her care.

She'd been sad to see him go to the Church before she had a chance to watch him grow up, but by then sweet little Inarin had been born, and her time taken up with caring for him. It had been a much easier task, for the second son had been meek and quiet where his brother had been loud and boisterous. She found herself having to try and coax him out of himself, where with Leon, the difficulty had been getting him to ever settle down.

Christine sighed, smiling fondly at the memories. Those boys felt as much like her own as her daughter did, and seeing them grow into young men - albeit only through their infrequent visits home - made her heart swell with pride. It was sad, she thought, that their parents weren't so close to them. Their mother Lucille had always emphasised accomplishment over anything else, forcing them into strict schedules of home tutoring from what Christine had considered far too young an age.

Neither parent seemed to have had time enough to actually raise the boys. It had fallen to Christine to nurse them, take them to play and nurture the sides of them that fell outside Lucille's narrow views of wholesome development. Lothaire was simply ... distracted. Though he'd spent more time with Aurelion, by the time Inarin had been born, his mother's condition had already begun to deteriorate and he had been forced to take over her duties as well as care for her. It seemed contrary that he insisted on personally supervising Agathe's care whilst leaving his children to his wife and to Christine, but she had been in no place to question him.

She found Lucille where Lothaire had suspected she would be, sat in the manor's ample library with a book, an empty teacup resting on the table beside her heavily cushioned chair. The room had seen little use before Lothaire married her, but after she had moved in Lucille had ensured that it saw a full renovation. Now, a warm fire crackled in the hearth and the bookshelves overflowed with books both old and new. She looked up as Christine entered, smiling briefly before returning to her novel. Christine snuck a glance at the cover, identifying it as another romance novel. In her earlier years, Lucille would have haughtily turned her nose up at such light fiction, but Christine supposed that with a marriage such as hers...

But it was not her place to judge, as much as she felt a part of this family, she had to remember that she was only a nanny-turned-maid. "Would you care for some tea, madame?" she inquired.

"Yes, thank you Christine. I was just about to call someone."

Lucille retained much of her youthful beauty despite her age, though no doubt much of it she owed to her makeup. She kept her hair dyed faithfully to its past blonde, and spent over an hour most mornings making herself look as she did, only to spend most of the day poring over a book on her own. Perhaps it was in an effort to earn Lothaire's attention... but the man never seemed distracted from his duty to his mother. Christine suppressed a sigh. A sad situation, it was. There was no doubt.

"I'll have that with you promptly, madame," she said, curtsying before turning once more from the room. The upper kitchen was just a short way down the hall. As she made her way towards it, she spied a pair of cleaning staff by one of the windows overlooking the driveway. They were looking down at something below with apparent fascination.

"He's ever so tall," one of them remarked - her name was Eloise, if Christine recalled correctly. A relatively new hire, plump and cheerful.

"And ever so handsome. I wonder what his business is? It's not often we get unfamiliar visitors." The second woman was Margaret, a red-headed young woman who Christine was fairly sure had been dallying with one of the stable hands, if the serving staff's rumor mill was to be believed.

She paused behind them and peered over their shoulders down at the driveway below, and raised her eyebrows. Goodness. He certainly was tall and handsome.

Nox was picking at something in his teeth as he waited to be seen. He made no further attempt to get closer to the door, or come onto the grounds proper, not that he couldn't. It was an old wive's tale, needing permission to enter a house. Please, that hardly made sense! If the desire of the vampire is to feed and kill, a simple "oh yeah come on in" isn't going to be much of a barrier. It was probably a lie the church spread to make the commoners feel safe.

For once, today, Nox was not dressed in white. No, today was the day he dressed to represent his clan. Though honestly, if the Nuvellon didn't recognize his crest, worn so boldly, on his chest, he didn't much care. It wouldn't change anything, just make it all less fun in the end. Though for now, he had a game to play.

Wearing a stunningly well cut three piece suite, black, with a white and ice blue line straight down his right side, together with his incredibly expensive shoes and designer sunglasses, Nox gave off the air of the uppercrust. Which he was, for all intents and purposes. The Caer's hidden fortune, left all to him, would last him eternity if he was careful. With him, he carried a briefcase, making an attempt to make it seem heavy. Inside was a nice surprise. A makeshift bomb. The things one could buy on the underground these days made the technology of twenty years ago seem like a joke.

After another few moments, Nox would call to a nearby staff, some one near one of the mansions many doors or windows. "Excuse me! I know I do not have an appointment, but I am here to see a man about a horse!" The Caer would make each word more dignified than the last, while managing to never come across as condescending. And pleasantly bassy.

"Doesn't the man know how to use a doorbell?" Christine tutted, startling the two maids in front of her as they turned guiltily to look up at her.

"Sorry, ma'am, we were just..." Eloise began, but Christine waved a dismissive hand. It wasn't as though they were on a particularly tight schedule, there was time for a little gawking here and there.

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure that Frederic will attend to him, just try not to spend too long ogling him." She chuckled to herself, and continued down the hallway to fetch Lucille's tea.

Indeed, it was but a few short moments before the front door of the manor house opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed smartly in a traditional butler's outfit, his grey hair neatly cropped and his face gaunt. "Good morning, sir," he said, inclining his head politely. He took a few brief moments to eye Nox up and down, quickly assessing his attire and coming to a conclusion.

"If you would like to step inside, I can call the stable master and inquire as to whether he can see you on short notice. May I take a name?" As he spoke, he stepped aside to politely indicate that Nox could enter.

Nox almost grew impatient, and more importantly, bored, but luckily, the help would eventually return his greeting. And right down to business too. It was a shame that this was the family of that boy at the party, but they were tied to the church. And, to the city. A double blow, one that even high society would notice.

Not that anyone didn't see what had happened at Lumenia Square. They were still doing news reports on it.

"I would like that very much, sir. Thank you for the warm welcome." Nox would offer the biggest, genuine smile he could muster without breaking his facade. He was having a hard time controlling his laughter already. "And if you could, sir, could you also send a message to Lothaire as well? Its about his son, the younger one." Nox would quickly hold up a hand, to interrupt any interruptions. "No, its nothing urgent, or an emergency, just that I'd like to meet Inarin's parents. He seemed like a very nice boy." And then he'd refuse to say anything else.

"Of course, sir." The butler nodded his head politely as he closed the door behind them, "Who should I say is inquiring?" A gentle reminder of his earlier question, for he assumed that the man had simply overlooked it.

"Oh, dear me. Sorry, I'm just so excited." It was hard to pindown how old Nox looked, but with his more than fair features, he couldn't be more than twenty eight. And that was pushing it. "My name is Malcolm. Malcolm Sucraix."

The butler nodded, not so much as raising an eyebrow at the man's unusual enthusiasm. He plucked a small bell from a side-table in the entrance hall and rang it gently, sending a chime echoing through the house. After only a few moments, a young maid appeared in the doorway.

"Clara, please inform Monsieur Nuvellon that there is a Malcolm Sucraix here to meet him and his wife. A friend of young master Inarin's," he instructed. The girl - a plain-looking lass with mousey brown hair tied in a ponytail - nodded and mumbled an affirmative, before hurrying off through the door again.

Frederic then picked up the phone in the hall and dialled a short number, raising the handset to his ear. After a moment, he spoke once more. "Good morning, Edgar. There is a man here who wishes to speak with you regarding the horses. Yes, Malcolm Sucraix. No, he doesn't have an appointment, but if you have the time ... excellent. We will be with you shortly."

He set the handset down, and turned back to Nox. "The horse master has agreed to see you once you have seen Monsieur Nuvellon. Provided, of course, that he is available."

"Oh, marvelous. By the way, I know I've been incredibly rude today, what with not calling a head and all that. I just, well, I just inherited this money, and I've always wanted to have one of the horses off of this estate." He almost sounded like a fanboy, but perhaps he was just a very big horse enthusiast. Whatever Malcolm was, the butler was right, he was very energetic, and his smile was running wild, like he was giddy.

"Is there a lounge I could maybe wait in, or a parlor? If the master of the house is indisposed, I wouldn't mind a glass of wine. It was a long walk from the city proper."

And yet it looked like 'Malcolm' hadn't broken a sweat. And he was clean to perfection, not a crease out of place.

There was a hesitation to Frederic's next words that was so minute as to almost be imperceptible. The inconsistency between Malcolm's words and his appearance had not escaped the canny butler, and the seemingly unnecessary falsehood had immediately raised red flags in his head. "But of course, sir. I apologise wholeheartedly for not offering already." There had scarcely been a chance of course, between contacting both Lothaire and Edgar, but for the guest to have to ask for refreshments was a failure in butlering nonetheless.

"The parlor is just this way, sir. If you'd like to follow me." He stepped through the door opposite the one that the maid had vanished through, which led directly into a spacious and well decorated parlor room, complete with several couches and an elegant coffee table, as well as an array of similar antique furnishings in the form of bookshelves, side-tables and cabinets of ornaments. It was decorated with pleasantly neutral colours, and a large latticed window served to illuminate it brightly in tandem with a small chandelier overhead.

Another maid was already waiting there, this one an older woman. "Do you prefer white, or red, Monsieur Sucraix?" Frederic inquired.

"Oh. Red, please. Perhaps a nice Pinot Noir or Syrah, if you would? Something jammy, with notes of wildberries and sage, perhaps. Fruity, and herbal, not so much on the spice." The smile was full of warmth, somehow showing off all his best features at once, like a practiced act, polished to a shining brilliance.

The room was marvelous, though in a different way than the Caer stronghold had been. This place was just as stuffy and filled with memory-lacking memorabilia, but this place felt open, too open. So much wide space. way more places people could run and hide. Not that it would matter. Just make things more time consuming.

Nox would find the most comfortable looking couch, relaxing in and almost lounging position, his briefcase in his lap, quite snug. And no, he didn't put his feet on the furniture. He wasn't a savage.

"You are a man of impeccable taste, I see," Frederic noted with a smile, looking to the maid, "Bring a bottle of the Rosseau through," he instructed. Not moments after she had departed, the mousey girl from before returned.

"I am sorry, sir, but Monsieur Nuvellon wished me to inform you that he is presently busy with attending to his mother, and is unable to see you. He sends his sincerest apologies."

Frederic kept his expression neutral, turning back to Nox. "Would sir care to see the horse master now, then?" he inquired.

There was a twitch of annoyance, and Nox almost snarled under his breath, but he kept himself incheck. Instead, a wave of warmth and sincerity overwhealmed his features. "Oh, well thats too bad, but I can be a patient man." Nox would wave away the wine with a charming grin and a wink of his stunning blue eyes. "Later, lovely."

He'd stand and stretch, and then yawn. "Ah. Such a long walk. Yeah, lets get to that then. Tell him I'd be more than happy to have a glass. Tell him I don't mind who joins us. I'm not here for business, aside from the horse, and I have eternity to spend, if the company is fine."

Frederic nodded his head, "Very well, sir," he turned to nod at the maid to affirm that she should deliver his message. "If you will follow me, I will take you down to the stables."

The butler led the way back out of the parlor and to the front door, which he held open for Nox. Once the tall man had stepped through, he paused as though remembering something. "Ah, if you would excuse me for one brief moment, sir. I do apologise."

Leaving the door open, he stepped away and back through the doorway to the parlor.

Interesting. It wasn't often that the help would leave a stranger unattended in the house. Anything could happen. It was a matter of security. If this had been his father's home, the slave would already be drained and hung from the compound gates. So the servants could see it everyday they'd come into work. Or leave.

He'd look around, eyeing the suitcase in his hand miserablly. He couldn't wait to put it down somewhere. Or open it. Or detonate it. But no, not yet.

A smile crept over his face, this one much darker than any before. Perhaps his elderly mother would recognize the crest. What would her reaction be? Anyone older than sixty would remember a majority of his family's reign. They'd remember it alright.

Less than a minute passed before Frederic returned, inclining his head lowly by way of apology. "My apologies again, sir. If you would come this way."

He led Nox off to the side of the manor house, down a gravel pathway that led towards one of the larger outbuildings. The stables were almost as much the centre of the estate as the house itself was, and a number of men and women could be seen tending to the many horses, toing and froing in the yard.

One man appeared to be waiting for them there, dressed smartly but practically in a jacket and dark trousers, along with thick boots. He looked to be of a similar age to Frederic - somewhere in his fifties - what little hair he had grey and cropped short. He looked Nox up and down dubiously as he approached.

"Looking to buy a horse then, are you?" he inquired gruffly as the two approached.

"Allow me to introduce Edgar Forestier, our stable master. The most capable in Lutetia, some say." Frederic's smile was thin. The man's manners - or lack thereof - grated on his nerves.

"Yes sir, to get right to the point." Nox would extend his hand, his free one, giving his false name as he did so. "If you like to cut to the chase like I suspect you do, then lets say this. Breed isn't as important to me as you might think. I want it large, something strong and big enough that it doesn't look ridiculous next to me. A white coat, if you can manage it, or black. Something with passion, or fury, but thats trainable."

Nox truly did intend to leave the estate in style today. He'd need a fel steed to ride into battle, once his forces were sufficiently large enough once more. "And price, by the way, isn't really an issue, so don't even bother bringing it up. I know whose horses I'm trying to buy here."

Edgar grunted, nodding his head. "You can leave him with me, Frederic. Can tell you're itching to leave already." He turned back to Nox, "Based off of that, I've a few candidates in mind. Come on, I'll give you a look at them."

Frederic smiled, "If you require any further assistance, I will be waiting back at the manor, but for now I shall leave you in Monsieur Forestier's capable hands." With that, he turned and made his way back towards the house.

Edgar led Nox through the stables at a measured and ponderous pace, speaking at length on each of the horses he thought potentially suitable. "It'd help," he noted as they moved along from the first, "if you gave me an idea of where you're looking to ride them. I'm assuming, and correct me if I'm wrong, that you're no show jumper. So's it to be for sport? Hunting? Leisurely cross-country?"

"Hunting. Long distance hunting. I'm a foxer, and need a beast that can move through rought terrian for lengths at a time. Something durable, something that has enough athletic breeding that it won't trip over a rock and break its leg."

Nox would pause before an especially large destrier, pure black, as black as night itself, with bottomless pits for eyes. "Hold on sir. Tell me about this one. I'm surprised you have a war breed in the stables..."

"This here is Fieron," Edgar said, turning to look at the stallion. "He's something of a throwback - a friesan that has more in common with his warhorse ancestors than his modern breed siblings. Surprisingly calm for it, though. Even if he doesn't like someone, he keeps his cool - won't do anything for them, but won't nip or fuss. You'll just glare at them, won't you?" The man chuckled. "A touch over seventeen hands, he is. A right beast, but an elegant one - holds himself as snooty as any lord."

"I like him. I think we can end the search now." Nox almost seemed to swell, reaching a hand out of the magnificent beast. Animals were normally easy to control, but the Caer wanted to see where he'd stand with Fieron without the aid of magic trickery. Hopefully the beast would recognize another alpha, another being seperated from its kind, looking for a companion. Someone to seek revenge with. Someone to do great violence with. He let his beast bear witness to his true self, inside the mind of the creature alone. Nox's eyes seemed to ask the horse, "Do you accept a master who commits such deeds?"

The beast would stare long and hard at Nox, even growing frightened, impatient of foot, neighing pitifully before something triggered inside it. This was not an evil beast, this was a creature of valor. He would show him bloodshed and warefare to make history. This is what his ancestors were bred for. This is what he was bred for. The massive Fieron would slowly, uneasily lower its head, nuzzling its muzzle into the Caers well kempt hand. "This is a fine stallion, Mr. Edgar. How much do you think he'd cost me?"

Edgar's brow furrowed as he observed Fieron's behaviour. Such meekness was entirely uncharacteristic of the stallion - he almost seemed hesitant, of all things. The thoughtful expression remained until Nox spoke again, and Edgar snapped back to attention.

"Ah, well, Fieron's something special alright, but his size is a little beyond what most riders are looking for. I'd a mind that he'd be a good horse for a traditionally-minded paladin, but there's few enough of them around. Even Master Aurelion's taken up one of those blasted motorcycles, and he was a natural in the saddle when he was younger."

After a few moments more, he nodded his head. "I'd set a price at forty thousand, and that's a steal for such a fine beast. Of course, before I can make the sale I'll need to arrange an inspection of your stables - we've a responsibility to ensure our horses reach a good home, and all that - but I'm sure that won't be any trouble. I could even send around one of my boys today, if it's convenient."

"Of course. I'll give you an address. Right now the stables are under some much needed renovation, as my grandmother didn't take much care of the manor and its buildings, but my foreman knows to expect someone eventually. He can show him the grounds, the field I intend to have for him, and the stables, both what we already have done and what is planned."

With a gentle pat, he'd leave Fieron to its thoughts for the moment, pulling a checkbook out of his inner pocket. "Since I won't be taking him home today, unless things go very well, what do you say to half now, and half before he is delivered to his new home?" The address would check out alright. He'd slaughtered the rich old shutin who lived there weeks ago, and had been using his spawns to do minor repairs. He'd send them a snack. They deserved it. "Also, I was wondering if you could send a message to the Master of the house? I was wondering if he was ready for the glass of wine yet. Its getting closer to lunch, and I'm quite famished."

"I can't in good conscience take your money before we've confirmed everything, sir," Edgar replied, waving away the checkbook. "But rest assured, I'll keep him in reserve for you until one of my boys has checked out your stable." He pocketed the address. "As for a message, that'd be Frederic's domain I'm afraid. I can give the house a call, if you like, but you'd probably be just as well to head back on up there yourself."

"Well, thank you sir for being an honest businessmen. Any time after four would be preferred. They work well into the night and you can probably catch them on their dinner break then. Nox would extend his hand in thanks, eyes just barely peering over the tops of his shades.

The Caer might let this one live. He seemed like a fine fellow, and oddly reminded Nox of his favorite brother. Just...not at handsome, or terrifying. Just how they spoke. It was nostalgic. If Edgar took his hand or not, Nox would soon leave him, deciding to make a bee line for the mansion. He was glad today was overcast, otherwise, he'd be much more tired. It was risky to do this so early in the morning, but Nox was never one to wait for what he wanted.

At least this time he'd ring the doorbell.

The door was answered within moments, and Frederic smiled politely to Nox. "Ah, Monsieur Sucraix. I trust Edgar accomodated you well enough?" He stepped aside to invite him in.

"Of course. He was a fine man, and we quickly made a deal of Fieron, that magnificent black beast. I can't want to ride him on the fields, tracking down some wily fox." His smile was entirely genuine, and just as polite as he stepped inside and past the help. "Is Sir Nuvellon free yet, or am I return to the palor for now?" As he asked, Nox would inspect every little object, without touching of course. There might be some decent decorations he could take once he was done here.

"I'm afraid that Monsieur Nuvellon remains detained for the time being, but you are of course welcome to wait in the parlor," Frederic responded, leading the way through to the other room. "Clara," he turned to the maid from before, who had been waiting in the doorway to the hall, "Please inform Monsieur Nuvellon that his guest is waiting in the parlor, whenever he finds a moment free."

As the girl hurried off, Frederic continued to speak, making idle conversation. "Does sir's family have a tradition of fox hunting, then?" he inquired.

"No, not really. They tend to like to sit behind desks and make important decisios about important people's money, and keeping roads maintained, and whose bribes to take. I decided to get away from that, so I'm going to college, late I know, to study medicine and psychology. I want to help people." A sheepish smile, as Nox resumed his position in the same couch from earlier. "I don't sound very humble now, do I?"

"A certain level of boldness is important when striking out on one's own, sir," Frederic said, "there's no shame in self-confidence, after all. Is the pin sir's family crest? I must say, it strikes me as familiar, but I cannot place it for the life of me."

"Why, yes it is." It was a very simple crest. A black-blue checkered field in the shape of a shield, with an eight pointed white star, pierced by an almost cerulean blue blade. Something was written under it, the motto a part of the pin itself, but the font far to small to read. "You're seeming much more socialbe now, Mr. Frederic. Did I pique your interest?"

Frederic smiled politely once more. "I merely thought that sir might prefer to converse than wait in quiet, though if that would be your preference, I am happy to oblige."

"Oh no, by all means, I much prefer this. Its better to have a nice little chat than to sit here, alone with our thoughts, don't you think?" He hadn't asked for his wine again, at least not yet but he would like to know how much longer he was expected to wait. Nox was having fun playing Malcolm again, but honestly, this was growing a tad boring. Maybe something would lighten to mood, before his patience reached its end.

"But of course, sir. Shall I have your wine brought again, or would you prefer to wait until Monsieur Nuvellon is free?"

It was then that, as if on cue, another figure appeared at the parlor door. It was not Lothaire, but rather Lucille that had finally responded to the presence of a guest in the house. Inarin's mother was dressed modestly in a simple but fashionable getup, a comfortable dark pullover underneath a lengthy cream cardigan, along with a pair of black trousers. She smiled to Nox as she entered.

"Good morning, Monsieur Sucraix," she said, "I apologise for my husband. He finds it difficult to escape from his duties caring for my dear mother in law. I am Lucille. I understand that you know my son?"

Nox would rise to his feet and bow modestly. "Well, yes and no. I don't know him well, but I met Inarin at a gathering, and I heard off-handly that he was a member of the Nuvellon family. We talked a little, and left on relatively good terms I think. He was a polite young man." The Caer drank in the mother. Her looks had not faded much with her age, or her children. She was fine to look at, and seemed pleasant enough. Predictable, but that was good in this case.

"And yes, Frederic, if you'd please, I'd love to get that right away. I never did get to sate my thirst last time."

"A gathering of what nature, exactly?" Lucille inquired, frowning faintly, before catching herself and returning to a more neutral expression. Frederic wordlessly nodded and stepped away to murmur a few words to the older maid, who went off to retrieve the wine once more.

"A simple church meet-up. I have a cousin who is in the proselyte training as well. Well, a second cousin, but we get along well, so he invited me to a sponsored outing, a little relaxation night before exams. Harmless enough, and I had nothing else to do. It turned out to be a rather good time. Pleasant, peaceful." Nox would carefully take the wine out of the maid's hand, brushing his fingertips against hers. "Many thanks, by the way, for the incredibly hospitality, especially considering I caught you all by surprise."

"I see," Lucille said, nodding her head in apparent approval, "Well I'm glad that he made a good impression."

The maid blushed faintly as Nox brushed against her fingers, and she hastily retreated away to the edge of the room. "If I may excuse myself, madame," Frederic spoke up. "I've some matters to attend to."

"Of course, Frederic." Lucille replied, and the man bowed his head before stepping from the room. "Now, Monsieur Sucraix, how can I help you?"

"Well, I know its odd and unnanounced, both my appointment to buy a horse and my request to meet with you all. I can only imagine how busy you two much be, managing a house as wonderful as this one, and I can't help but feel a little guilty." The Caer would chuckle uneasily as he spoke, though not once did his confidence waver.

"I just thought a nice sit-down could be arranged. I won't take much of the day from you or your husband, I promise you that." And now Nox would begin to layer on his dark magnetism into every syllable, making his words honeyed and tantilizing.

"Besides, who knows. You two may end up rather liking my company. I've been told I can be very entertaining."

Lucille shifted ever so slightly in her seat, hesitating briefly before she spoke. "It is really no trouble, I assure you. The interruption to my regularly scheduled monotony is quite welcome. I'm afraid I cannot guarantee that my husband will see you, for he does so hate to leave my mother in law's side for any length of time." She smiled, "I apologise for his rudeness. But perhaps you would care to take lunch with me? Eating alone has grown very tiresome over the past few years."

"As long as it doesn't make Monsieur jealous, I'd love to accompany you for a meal. I was telling your stable master earlier that I was peckish, and that was before walking back across your fields, nice as they are." He'd twirl his wine before softly inhaling the scent. Then, with a smile, he'd let a small portion cross his lip.

"Oh that is marvelous. I'll have to try and stock up on this vintage. Would you mind asking the maid to bring me the bottle?" He'd then begin to pat around his inner jacket, finding two finely rolled artisan cigars. "Do you smoke, madam?"

"I don't, actually. Kicked the habit a few years ago." Lucille waved a hand at the maid, "Get the bottle," she instructed. "The cook should have lunch ready within the half hour, shortly after noon. If you want, I could have some biscuits or cheese brought?"

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script and Emperor Jester

Elsewhere in the house, Frederic made his way down the hall towards where Lothaire and Agathe were located. He knocked politely on the door before entering. Lothaire looked up with a faint frown.

"Is he still waiting?" He asked, sighing.

Frederic nodded his head, "Madame Lucille is entertaining him at present, sir. But, before anything else, sir, may I plumb your knowledge briefly?"

Lothaire's frown deepened upon hearing that Lucille was with the guest, but said nothing on it. "Of course, Frederic. What's on your mind?"

"Are you familiar with a crest - a black-blue checkered shield, and an eight pointed star pierced by a blue sword. Our guest claims it as his family's own, and I know I've seen it somewhere before, but cannot place it." Frederic replied.

Humming thoughtfully, Lothaire tilted his head. "It does sound familiar, but also somewhat generic... I can't say anything's jumping to the fore of my memory..."

"Caeruleum." Both men turned to look at Agathe, who had sat upright in her chair. "That's the crest of the Caer. I'd know it anywhere."

Lothaire frowned confusedly. "The Caer? But..."

"Killed your grandfather's brother, they did. Finest paladin the Church ever had." Agathe's voice took on a sadness, and she shook her head. "Before his time. Well before his time."

"That's where I've seen it before." Frederic snapped his fingers, "In the newspaper. Carved into that poor proselyte boy-" He stopped mid-sentence. "He said he knew Inarin. It could be..."

"Frederic," Lothaire's voice was calm and measured, "I believe that I am ready to see our guest now. I also think that it would be best if the staff took the rest of the day off. Please inform everyone that they are to take a trip into the city for the afternoon. Immediately."

"Sir, I'm not sure-"

"Now, Frederic. Make sure they use one of the back or side exits. The stable-hands too. Mother, Frederic will arrange for you to be taken to one of the cars."

"Pah!" Agathe shook her head, "And then what? I'm as likely to expire trying to get into a fucking car as in a house with a madman. I'll only slow the poor girls down."

"Mother, I'm not-"

"No, I'm not!" Agathe snapped, "Don't forget who's actually in charge here, Lothaire!" For a moment, the woman that Agathe had once been was clearly visible in her changed manner. "I'm damned tired of being a waste of fucking space. I won't have any of the girls dying because they were trying to haul my sorry ass down some stairs."

Both Frederic and Lothaire were somewhat stunned at the outburst - not least at the profanity contained within. Lothaire was the first to recover. "Frederic, get moving. I will keep our guest busy. If we're lucky, this will be a false alarm. But after what happened at Lumenia, I'm not willing to gamble that."

With that, he turned and swept from the room. Just as Frederic was about to move off, Agathe waved a hand.

"You there! Frederic!" She called, "One thing before you go..."

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script and Emperor Jester

"And she's always forgetting my name," Lucille took a sip of wine and rolled her eyes, "I swear she does it intentionally. It's infuriating. But please, let's not talk of her any longer. I get enough of her the rest of the time. Tell me, have you met my other son? Aurelion?"

Nox was more than happy to let this woman drone on and on about her wonderfully neglected marriage. The small talk of the living was always so small-picture, and was marvelous to just listen to, as long as they didn't say something to annoy him. He'd only chime in when he felt it would be appropriate, sometimes with a joke, often times with polite advice, always kind and gentle about what he said or how he said it. Otherwise, he was the picture-perfect listener, seemingly attentive to her every word.

"Oh, no, I haven't, but I'm not stranger. After meeting Inarin, I did some research on the house and your eldest. He is very impressive, I'll say. Some are saying that he'll rise as far as his great-uncle. What was his name? Very famous during those wars some fifty years back. Sir...Rosaire, I believe his name was?"

Something was beginning to bother Nox, despite the small talk and pleasing company. He'd understand if the Master was busy with something, but Nox had been here for hours, and for Lothaire to not even take a moment to give his guest a greeting...Either he was an exceedingly rude man, or paranoid. Perhaps wearing the crest had been a mistake.

"We certainly hope so," Lucille smiled. "He's always been a very talented boy."

It was then that, just as Nox was beginning to wonder over his absence, Lothaire stepped into the room. He paused in the doorway to glance between Nox and Lucille, taking in Nox's height and the crest he wore. "Good morning... or is it still morning?" He glanced at his watch, "Ah, no. Good afternoon, Monsieur Sucraix. I cannot apologise enough for not having come to greet you sooner."

He walked over to the couch, pausing to offer a hand for Nox to shake. "My mother's condition means that she grows agitated when I am not present, and so finding a moment free can be a difficult challenge. She is asleep for now, however, and so you have my undivided attention. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Nox would stand to his full height and plaster a grin over his features to hide his annoyance. Who cared about some senile bitch two feet in the grave already? There were matters of etiquette the Caer would have to explain to his man before the day was done. However, the mask was still required, for now.

With a handshake like cold iron, the younger looking man could only shake it excitedly. "Oh no, its quite alright. Frederic provided every comfort I could ask for, I found the horse of my dreams with your stablemaster, and your wife has provided some very tantalizing company, I assure you." There was something almost sexual about the way Nox said that, though mayhaps it had been a simple error in tone, due to his eagerness.

"We were just actually talking about your two sons, about the one I haven't gotten a chance to meet yet. Miss Lucille was just telling me how impressive a lad Aurelion is."

"Ah, yes. Aurelion is something of a marvel, is he not?" Lothaire smiled fondly, "I still recall his days as a little prankster, and for him to grow from that to the noble soul he is now? Well, it's a testament to the quality of the Monastic Order's teachers, I should think."

He seemed to be pointedly ignoring the sexual undertone to Nox's words regarding his wife, or if not, oblivious to it. At that moment, a nervous looking maid appeared in the hallway.

"Ah, Madame Lucille? There's a phone-call for you," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Lucille frowned, "Is it urgent?" she inquired. The girl simply nodded, and Lucille sighed. "Very well. I do apologise, Malcolm. I'll be back as soon as I can be."

She set her wine glass down and followed the maid out of the room. Almost imperceptibly, Lothaire's manner seemed to relax slightly, as though he were relieved. "Tell me, Monsieur Sucraix - or can I also call you Malcolm? - how is Inarin? He hasn't visited in quite some weeks."

Nox watched Lucille go, the tiniest bit of suspicion blooming in his mind. That was the first maid he'd seen in quite awhile, and even Frederic, who had promised to return was still absent. He and Lothaire were practically alone now. For the first time, 'Malcolm's' smile wavered, replaced by a harsh frown.

"Oh, I'm sure he is perfectly fine. He didn't talk at length, just an exchange of names and introductions, not much beyond that. I sensed a lot of talent in that boy. He'll be good for the Church, I'm sure of it, especially if he can ever shed that nervousness." On the contrary, at the rave, Inarin had been one of the few people to show him any decency that wasn't layered in hostility or ignorance. Its why he was here. Nox was curious.

"Now tell me, sir, if you don't think I'd be being too rude, but who does your decorating? I'm looking for some one to spruce up my little abode. It hasn't been lived in for nearly half a century, and I must say I like your taste in decor." Nox hadn't sat back down, instead, pacing around the room, once again inspecting the little knick-knacks.

"A lot of the decor was in place before I was born," Lothaire noted, staying in his spot by the couch. "The house has been with us for a long time. I've never been very conscious of such things myself, so I'm afraid I couldn't tell you where all the various items owe their origins to."

As Lothaire spoke, the faint sound of several car doors closing could be heard around the side of the house. Though it was too distant for Lothaire to hear it, Nox's enhanced senses would pick it up with ease.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script and Emperor Jester

Nox's frown completely shattered and he wheeled on Lothaire instantly, crushing the wineglass in his hand, his eyes as wide as saucers, his pupils mere slits, a some-how bellowing hiss building on his lips. "You! You stay here, meat!" The Caer would snarl, dropping the visage he'd clung to so tightly like it was a wet sack of potatoes. Before crashing out of the nearest window, a blue-black blur of a wraith, he'd drop his suitcase on the ground.

Was it beeping?

Immediately elsewhere, Nox was tearing across the estate lawns. He could sense them in the distance, he could feel the blood pulsing in their bodies, even from here. They were afriad. It was like a becon to him, something to guide his fury. As soon as he could see them, no matter how far away he way, Nox would let out an inhuman shriek. He wanted them to know he was coming.

"Drive!" Christine didn't need telling twice after that shriek. She slammed her foot onto the pedal of her sedan and the engine roared. She spared a glance in her rear-view mirror, looking past the terrified Eloise and Margaret to try and catch a glimpse of their pursuer.

Madame Lucille was being ushered into her own vehicle - the luxury car - by the housekeeper, Madame Fontaine, whilst still complaining that she didn't know what was going on. Anora was just starting her engine, with Clara in the passenger seat beside her. Frederic had hurried across to the stables to alert the staff there, but had insisted that they leave as soon as they were ready. The cooks had already disappeared from sight on their bicycles.

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She'd heard stories about the Caer. But how could one be here, now? And why?

They all seemed to be moving so slowly to Nox. He fully intended to ram the car at the head of the pack first, maybe cause a chain reaction. Or chase them down one at a time. As he got closer, he began to speed up, soon enough, sprinting all out.

Earlier in the month, he'd slammed through several houses at a brisk jog. No telling how a metal can on wheels would react if he shoulder checked it as hard as he could.

A loud crack echoed across the grounds as a bullet tore through the air towards Nox, just as he was beginning to gather speed. It was well aimed, and a few moments later a second shot followed.

Standing on the path between the driveway and the stables, Frederic held the hunting rifle steady as he prepared to fire another shot. Though his heart raced with fear, he didn't waver. He needed only to buy the others time to get away.

The second car pulled away, and the engine of Lucille's luxury car finally kicked in - perhaps too late.

Nox stumbled mid run, head snapping around to glare in Federic's direction. Good. He knew where the old fool was. Now that he was expecting to get shot at, he could move to compensate. All his war experiece was coming back to him. It was wonderful.

He'd finally lose his footing when the second bullet found home at the base of his neck, his spine momentarily fractured. He'd fall, skid several yards, slide under the tires of one of the fleeing vehicles, tires ruining his fine suit as they drove over him not just once, but twice, before finally coming to a stop.

Steadily rising to his feet, swaying dangerously, only to get hit by another vehicle, flipping and rolling over the roof and into the air, landing with a harsh, meaty sounding crack. Once again, he'd try to get to his feet.

Frederic kept firing. It wasn't until he'd emptied the rifle into the inhuman creature before him that he paused, and even then it was only to reload. He knew enough of vampires and their ilk that 'fairly sure' that they were dead, wasn't sure enough.

By now, the front car was nearing the end of the driveway, ready to pull out onto the country road leading back towards the distant city. Christine spared a glance in her mirror, cringing at the blood she could see on the vehicles behind her. Was ... was he dead?

Nox rose to his feet, his clothes dirtied and tattered, another car inches from crashing into him again. This time, the Caer was ready. With break neck speed, the vampire would turn, sending his fist crashing into the hood of the car, driving its front end into the ground, almost flipping it over his person...if he hadn't stopped its momentum with one hand.

Ripping open the metal like it was tin can.

Throwing blood and limbs from the driver side of the windshield.

Reveling in the screams, the carnage.

He'd save Lucille for last, wrapping a hand around her throat, lifting her from the car, keeping her between himself and the muzzle of Frederic's far-off rifle. The thing was a minor annoyance, but an annoyance none the less. "I'm so sorry its come to this my dear." Spirals of blue and white poured down Nox's arm, washing over the poor woman, rapidly freezing her solid, from the inside out. "Our talks were lovely, really. This is just old business."

There was nothing professional about his grin however. It was cruel, overly happy, destructively obscene, as if killing her, torturing her, was entirely a sexual act for the Caer. And in some small part, it almost was.

Frederic faltered as he watched Nox fling the Nuvellons' bulky car around like it was a toy, paling somewhat as he saw the housekeeper rent limb from limb in an instant. When he saw Lucille's body grow rigid, and her struggles and strangled screams cease, his shoulders drooped. He had failed. He should have had them leave on foot, so as not to make noise enough to alert the creature.

The fool he'd been to assume this man was merely a copycat, not a true monster like the Caers of legend.

A cry of anger drew his eye towards the front of the house, where Lothaire had just emerged. He brandished a shotgun, clutching it tightly as he saw his wife stop moving. "Bastard!" he yelled, raising the gun and starting to move forwards at a steady pace.

Nox would dash the frozen corpse against the wreckage of the car, shattering it in a storm of slushed blood and human shards. Between Frederic and Lothaire, the only two obvious threats, Nox would whip his head back and forth. Rifle. Cuts deeper, but a single wound. Also a faster weapon. Shotgun. Wide spread, and Nox was a close-range fighter. Closing the distance would be easier, but getting that close would be far more risky.

Even though it hardly mattered which he took out first, he was determined to be tactical. He had to start thinking when he fought. Soon, the battles would be much less forgiving if his plans were thrown even a fraction off course.

So he went after the butler, after wrenching a ruined car door from its hinges, using it like a shield as he'd dart across the property.

Frederic opened fire, though he knew that it was likely in vain. Despite death bearing down on him, he did not turn to flee. He knew he couldn't get away now. He could only pump as many bullets into the creature as possible before he died.

Once Nox was close enough for his own liking, he'd fling the door away, tanking the last few shots, making sure they'd skim by his head or heart. Not that it mattered. His foul breath heavy on the butler's face, eyes wide and shining, pale blue dead lights. "And now your service ends. You did well, right until the end."

Frederic would fall next, and Nox smashed his head between two empowered fist, popping it like an over-ripe grapefruit.

“Blessed are they who stand before the darkness of Ténèbre and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood Elueu’s will is written.” Lothaire whispered under his breath as he advanced, hands shaking in the face of the carnage Nox wrought.

He raised his shotgun as he drew within range, and fired. It wasn't close enough to cause a lot of damage, but to a normal human it would have still been a crippling wound. As he continued to walk forwards, he continued to speak. He could hear the engines of the servants' cars growing fainter in the distance, and that gave him hope.

“Elueu, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light, I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, none can tear asunder.”

Nox teetered on his feet, his eyes swiveling in their sockets, his head turning to face the Nuvellon patron. The Caer was dripping sanguine and human refuse, not a single part of him free of blood and loose sinew, or scraps of bone.

"Enough, enough, enough!" The demon roared, grabbing and wrenching the shotgun from Lothaire's grasp, shattering it much as he had the mans wife, tossing it aside in broken pieces. "To think you'd just be another one of those helpless fools who turn to a false god when your life is in peril! Look on me! See what I am capable of! A divine stands before you and you dare preach to some idea a drunk man came up with, hundreds of years ago in his sleep?" There was just as much hurt in Nox's voice as there was indignant rage.

"I take it all from you mortals! I take your possesions!" As if gifted with extrordinarily good dramatic timing, the bomb in the house would finally detonate, a massive fireball swallowing the parlor behind them. As rubble and fire rained down around them, Nox would sweep his hands across the estate. "I take your family! Your friends! Your loved ones!"

Lifting Lothaire was easier than lifting the car, but he did so slowly, as if to build the tension. "Your life! Everything you weak creatures treasure, I use for my entertainment! YOU ALL BELONG TO ME!" He screamed it in his face, shaking the man violently, choking him, sinking his bloodstained fingernails into the man's throat, just squeezing.

"You are..." Lothaire's voice was raspy, and it was clear that the effort of speaking through Nox's grip was painful. "Nothing more than... a shade of the past... The light will cast you down as... it did your forebears..."

There was a sound like crushed, wet metal, organic in nature but sounding like a bad horror movie effect. Dismantling his throat and windpipe, Nox would scream as the life quickly fled from the human's eyes. "MY FAMILY WILL NEVER BE GONE! YOUR GODS CAN NOT HELP YOU, OR PROTECT YOU!!" Nox would continue to roar, even long after the man had died, ripping him to shreds, ribbons, devouring every little scrap and the house continued to burn, screaming out curses and obscenities between mouthfuls of flesh.

After minutes of feasting, Nox would slowly standing, still seething. Then he remembered! The horses! There might still be people out in the fields, or far off on estate grounds. More food! More flesh! More fear!

Nox swelled with new found purpose, in more ways than one...

...It might've been an hour or two later, but Nox had found all the stragglers, and those who had opted to hide. He felt sated. Making his way down the rows of stables, he'd let ever single horse he came across, stopping before Fieron, eyeing the horse with loving eyes. "Come now. We should get to your new home." Without the need of a saddle, Nox would leap upon the animal, riding off into countryside, a pale rider on a dread steed, leaving a trail of death behind him.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script and Ottoman

Within an hour or so of Nox's departure, the Nuvellon estate was a hive of activity. Several church vehicles were parked on the road outside, alongside a couple of police cruisers. Two fire engines were parked on the grounds, and smoke still billowed from the burned out husk of the manor despite the fact that the blaze had been quelled some time ago.

Estelle Dufort, Paladin and Master of the Monastic Order, stood at the end of the driveway looking over the scene of carnage that lay before her. They'd found at least six bodies so far. Only one of the six was remotely recognisable. The rest had been reduced to little more than gore.

As she heard the footsteps of her fellow paladin approaching behind her, she turned to meet Aislin's eyes. "You're here. Good. This is..." the hardened woman shook her head with a grimace "... bad. I hope you have a strong stomach, Sir Lughadh."

The church had been contacted by the police in the last hour, after receiving a call from someone claiming that the Nuvellon estate had been attacked by a monster. The Nuvellon family had close ties to the church - both providing significant financial support, and having two of their sons currently among the Monastic Order's ranks - and so a response had quickly been galvanised.

None of them had been prepared for what they found. The building in flames, cars torn apart like paper, and bloody remains scattered across the driveway. It was like a scene taken from a nightmare.

____

Aislin had seen the smoke a good mile or two out, and could only assume the worst at the sight, her mind dashing across various thoughts as she rode astride her Destrier to the scene which she had been called to so hastily. She'd only just managed the third lap of her patrol today when the call had summoned her here, to the nearly agrarian outskirts of the city, having had to fight the congested traffic nearly all the way. Where ever the police went delays followed, or so it seemed to the Iverian, slowing to a halt in front of the manor's grounds not long after Master Dufort had arrived herself, though Lughadh arrived later than she would have preferred. What assumptions - fears - Aislin had held concerning this matter paled in comparison to the sight that greeted her.

Between the flames, the gore and the wreckage of what she could only assume were once the Nuvellons' motorcades, she was thankful for the armor she wore, for the visual presence that it imparted her with.

"Master Dufort." The paladin bowed her head as she was addressed by her superior, one hand resting on the hilt of her blade as she paid the small gesture of respect. "Bad... seems a polite term for it." She mused, raising her head and giving the grisly sight another once-over. As the worldly agents of the Church, Paladins were no strangers to gruesome scenes and bloody business, but this was of a different caliber entirely - Aislin herself had seen victims of monsters, both paranormal and human, but nothing quite so remarkable as this.

"What would you have me do?" Came her question to Estelle, her old acquaintance, eyes lingering on the desolation before them.

____

"We have people searching the grounds for any survivors. Once the fire teams have given the all clear, we'll search inside as well. For now, though... We've found six dead. Four here in the driveway, two in a vehicle a mile or so up the road. We have some initial identifications based on belongings, and the accounts of the survivors that contacted us, but..." Estelle shook her head, "Confirming those IDs is challenging. The state that they've been left in..."

She grimaced. "We'll need to await the results of DNA tests before we can say with absolute certainty."

Gesturing for Aislin to follow, she started up the driveway. They passed a splatter of black ichor in the dirt as they walked, carefully cordoned off. "We believe that's the blood of the assailant. You're familiar with the Lumiena attack that happened two days ago? Our current belief is that it's the same culprit. The potential Caeruleum."

The first body was scattered across several meters of the driveway beside the sundered luxury car, in chunks. "Lucille Nuvellon," Estelle stated, "The only body with a face intact enough to confirm the identity on sight."

The fact that the shattered mess was the most identifiable of the corpses spoke volumes about the state of the others.

____

"In passing," Aislin replied, in regards to the attack in Lumiena. "I wasn't present at the investigation and I haven't given the case files the attention that they are due. Most of what I know is hearsay, at best." Which could be reliable information, but Lughadh wasn't the sort to rely on rumors in her official capacity, and instead spoke honestly concerning her unfamiliarity with the case. There had been plenty of buzz about it - the potential, even if inconclusive, of a Caeruleum threat was just the sort of thing to set the imagination alight, and not in the best of ways.

Coming to what had once been Lucille Nuvellon, the paladin took a moment to look to the splatter and spread of the gore, the blood already beginning to brown with time. Her emerald eyes chose not to look at this as having been once been the lady of the fine house before her, but instead as a simple exercise in physics - not dissimilar to a muzzle flash. Judging from the pattern as well as the angle, it wasn't hard to tell that the blood, if not the body itself, had been splattered from an impact - and whatever could throw a full-grown woman with enough force to do such a thing couldn't be anything less than paranormal.

That was what had been reported initially, hadn't it? A monster of some sort, attacking these former patrons of the Church. It wasn't an entirely outlandish scenario, though it did beg the question of what faction, or individual, would dare bring the scrutiny and wrath of the Church down upon them for attacking such a prestigious name. They were either foolish or mad. Or powerful, she reminded herself, as there were creatures and beings the likes of which men and women like Dufort and herself only stood a chance against thanks to the dedication and doctrine of their Order.

And to attack, it seemed, the Nuvellons in their vehicles? Were they arriving or departing? It was a question that would have to wait until they could track down any of the house staff, were it that any of them were still alive. Beyond that, though there was little doubt here in the driveway that a monster of some sort was at fault, why did the manor itself wear the wounds of open flame?

An unpleasant look settled on Aislin's visage, some bastard expression born of uncertainty and trepidation, the woman moving to crouch near the remains of Lucille, crossing her arms as he did. "I suppose it goes without saying that this doesn't sit well with me." The Iverian couldn't help but voice the thought, uncertain how else to put it. Did the sight of the former lady Nuvellon distress or disgust her, or any of the rest of the grisly remains that dotted the grounds? Not truly, at least she not on any level that hadn't already visited in her official capacity. It was the thought of the woman simply being shattered against the car that perturbed her, nevermind whatever had befallen the others who were unfortunate enough to have been here at the time.

With a quick glance and a brow that denoted her mood, the Paladin spoke to Master Estelle. "Do we have any idea why the house-... the manor, was on fire?"

____

"By the spread of debris, it looks like there was some sort of explosion in one of the front rooms," Estelle explained, "We're not sure yet whether it was a device of some sort, or if the creature somehow caused it. We'll know once we've got people inside to search."

She turned, gesturing for Aislin to follow, and led her towards the other bodies. The nearest was only a few feet away, inside the destroyed car and little more than a bloody pulp. It had yet to be definitively identified, but going by the accounts of the survivors, it was Georgina Fontaine, the housekeeper.

The most intact body of the lot had been found off of the driveway, some distance towards the stables. Determined by a wallet found in one of his pockets, the corpse belonged to Frederic Sauveterre, the house's butler. His head had been utterly crushed to a pulp, leaving little in the way of remains.

And the final 'corpse' (if the scattered chunks of flesh, blood-splatter and scraps of cloth just in front of the manor could be called that) had been determined by its scattered possessions (though not yet confirmed by forensics) to belong to Lothaire Nuvellon, the master of the house.

"I've yet to speak personally to any of the survivors," Estelle said as they halted by Lothaire's remains. Men and women were starting to venture into the burned ruins, fire teams to ascertain its structural integrity. "They've been taken in at the Monastery for questioning and care. The story they've told is generally consistent so far, although the details vary - likely due to the shock and confusion. What we know is that a tall, well-dressed guest showed up at the manor a short time before noon, and asked after purchasing a horse. He was shown to the stables, where we understand a deal was reached, before coming back to the house in order to speak with Lothaire."

"There, it seems like something alerted Lothaire to the danger that the man posed. We're not sure what. The staff were told that they were to leave the premises immediately with Lucille, but as they were starting to pull away, the man... or creature, I should say, noticed them and attacked. All of the house staff bar the butler and the housekeeper escaped - six of them, in all. But we've yet to find any of the stable hands, and most of the horses are dead or gone. There are dog teams searching the grounds and the woods for them."

____

An explosion? The woman began to ponder whether it was an explosive or, as Estelle said, was simply something caused by the monster - perhaps there had been a leak, were it that the manor had gas heat, and someone had fired a weapon inside - but she kept such thoughts to herself as she stuck close to her superior. Taking each set of remains in stride, Aislin looked between Dufort and the personnel moving inside of the manor as they came to a stop near what had been Lothaire. A hand moved to take each of her fingers and massage them - at least as much as she could through her armor - before popping her knuckles individually, as quietly as she could, whilst she listened.

There was no doubt in Lughadh's mind that she would be seeing to correlating what information came out of this attack with the one that occurred in Lumiena, as part of her already had a sneaking suspicion that she would. Master Dufort would not link the two without good reason, and the Iverian paladin trusted her schoolmate's judgement. As Estelle's explanation came to a pause, on the note of the grounds being searched, Aislin nodded, reflecting on what she had heard. "It seems that we play the waiting game for now, Master Dufort." She murmured, paying the former master of the house a pitiable look.

Without the reports from inside of the manor and the testimony of the stablehands, as well as whatever forensics could turn up, it was mostly speculation as to what had transpired here. "Judging by the strike here, on the vehicles," Lughadh offered, a gauntleted hand moving to gesture to the wreckage, "Which I will say I am assuming were in motion or were about to be, I don't think anyone who fled on foot stood much chance of escape, Master." It was not an observation that she was particularly pleased with, but it was her thoughts on the matter.

"Whatever it was that struck that vehicle, it must have been swift." Nevermind strong.

____

"I agree," Estelle sighed, "I don't expect our search teams to find anything but bodies, albeit that I hope otherwise. We retrieved the footage from the security cameras on the gate, but every section of video around the attack has been scrambled. That, again, matches with what happened at Lumiena Square. Most of the security cameras there were scrambled in the same manner."

She folded her arms. "I'm almost certain the culprit is the same. A Caeruleum, or something capable of the same feats attempting to copycat. The first attack was on a trio of proselytes, and the second on the family of one of our paladins and proselytes, and a financial backer of the church. I think the message is clear."

Estelle turned to face Aislin, "This creature seeks to hurt the church. Likely out of vengeance for the purge on its kind. We need to set our mind to likely places for it to strike n-"

"Master Dufort!" A voice called out from in the direction of the stables, as a young man ran up to the paladins. "We've found more bodies. Stable hands, we think."

Estelle scowled. "How many?"

"A group of six halfway across the first field beyond the estate's borders. On top of the two in the stables."

"Going by the maid's account, that leaves four unaccounted for. Keep searching."

"Yes, ma'am. Also, ma'am, one of the forensics teams found this on one of the bodies in the stables - the older man. It was clutched in his palm... the one on the arm that was torn off." The man pulled out a small plastic evidence bag with a check in it, and handed it over to Estelle. "It has an address."

"An address? I'm not familiar with the road name." Estelle raised an eyebrow as she examined the paper. "I'll have someone back at the Monastery look into it. I find it hard to believe the creature would give its true address out readily, if it's even staying in a house at all."

____

The security feeds were scrambled? Were it that a case of this nature had a smoking gun, at least in regards to pointing towards a suspect, Aislin figured that was it. The two cases could certainly be linked, though whether or not physical evidence would corroborate a connection would be the linchpin. "If it is the work of the same creature, ma'am," Lughadh started, doing her best to maintain her professional skepticism despite the mounting evidence, "Then I would agree." The message was abundantly clear, especially if it was willing to go after such a backed and prestigious target as the Nuvellon family. Given, judging from what she had seen thus far it did incline Aislin to believe that the creature might not be as strong as the monsters of legend and yesteryear, as it struck in the periphery, at the flanks of the Church, and not at the church itself.

It also meant it wasn't stupid.

The elder paladin's eyes darted to the newcomer and listened intently to what he had to share, remaining silent as the master spoke instead. The discovery of the bodies confirmed her earlier beliefs, the Iverian woman holding out little hope that any of the remaining four had managed an escape in the wake of so many others falling prey to this thing's wrath. That aside the presentation of evidence did intrigue Aislin, who let Estelle linger over it for some time before inquiring if she might examine it, her gloved hand offering a half-point to the bag. "If I may, master Dufort?"

"It might be a diversion." She mused, quietly, offering her thoughts for what it was worth. "Or a trap."

____

"It's certainly possible," Dufort agreed, frowning. "If it wished to draw the might of the Church down upon it, it would target us directly, as opposed to vulnerable assets such as proselytes and remote estates."

Estelle looked back at the check, before handing it over to Aislin. "It's possible that this isn't even connected to the perpetrator at all, as well. We know he conducted the pretense of reaching an agreement for purchasing a horse, but this check could be unrelated. We can look into it back at the Monastery, if we don't find any other leads."

____

Assuming it was the same perpetrator, it did seem that this individual - this creature - did have a desire to target the Church, or at least Church assets. It was a reasonable assumption that the culprit would produce a false check, with false information, Aislin nodding her head in affirmation that such would have to wait until they returned to the Monastery. "Of course, master Dufort." Was it too forward of her to suggest what she had? Had she spent so much time in the mire of the city to assume deception or trickery?

The Iverian glanced once more to the bagged check before her eyes fell on the manor, wondering how much longer the crews would take before they gave the all-clear. "I hope matters are clarified by what we find inside." And not complicated.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script

An article published anonymously in a Lutetian Newspaper...

MONSTERS AMONG US - LEGAL LYCANS WERE A MISTAKE​

With dozens dead in the latest werewolf massacre, Jean LeChapelle asks: where will it stop?

Werewolves. Since beyond living memory, lycanthropy has been a plague upon Lutetia. Packs exert a gang-like control over entire swathes of the city, normalising the drugs, weapons and sex trade without remorse or morality. Entire neighbourhoods live in fear of the local pack’s displeasure, and even the Garde fear to walk the streets at night. How, you ask, has it come to this? Since when should humanity have to cower in their homes, whilst monsters roam the streets with impunity?

When the state legalised lycanthropy, werewolves had the opportunity to live in peace, and they rejected it. They chose to flock to gangs and to crime, to turn their brutal and inhuman strength on their neighbours even as we showed them the kindness they had been pleading for. They have PROVEN that they will not live alongside us.

In the last month, pack violence has skyrocketed. Massacres at the Rollin’ Bones Casino, in Lumiena Square, at the Nuvellon Estate and at St. Caron’s Church in Luskonios are only the warning shots of what is inevitably coming. We gave the werewolves too much, and now they’re going to take it all, unless WE TAKE ACTION.

The police and the church have proven themselves USELESS in our defence. They can’t even protect their own, so how can we expect them to protect us? The answer: WE CAN’T. We, the people, need to take matters into our own hands. Now is not the time for protest and petition. Do you think the werewolves will sit idly while we wait for due process? NO. They have declared war on our way of life, and we will not let that go unanswered.

We must TAKE BACK OUR CITY. Grab your guns, lock your doors and be ready. Don’t be fooled by their lies. All werewolves would sooner murder a human than allow one of their own to be taken, even those that claim innocence. They FORFEITED their innocence the moment they became MONSTERS.

A WEREWOLF CANNOT BE SAFE. They are stronger than us, faster than us, tougher than us. Imagine your neighbour spent all their time in body armour and carrying a knife. WOULD YOU FEEL SAFE? NO. If your neighbour is a werewolf, they’re ALWAYS ARMED. Every werewolf is a murder waiting to happen.

The government MUST re-criminalise lycanthropy. WE CANNOT COEXIST. We can no longer allow them to build strength and numbers in impunity, or it will be TOO LATE to stop them. How many more massacres will it take for our leaders to WAKE UP?

DEMAND ACTION. DEMAND AN END TO LEGAL LYCANTHROPY.

This article was written under the pseudonym Jean LeChapelle, for the protection of the author.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script and Sentry

It had been a bit of a hike, but Miron had insisted they go this far. They were right outside the city. As they walked up a hill, fireflies started to dance between the trees.

Once at the crest of the hill, rolling hills turned gold lay in front of them in the sinking sun. Twilight had just begun to settle in.

Miron stood in front of Noah, making sure he had all of his attention. He contemplated for a moment, unsure of his wording, his presentation. After several long moments he took in a big breath and spoke.

"Earlier, you said you couldn't place my accent at all. Said it was weird I didn't know much about everything going on. The city I'm from... it's not really all that small, but it's really far away. Far enough away that it's not on the plane anymore. I'm from Aelora."

As he spoke he began to slide off his coat. "Avengarde floats off the coast. Well, no. It doesn't float."

The coat dropped to the floor, and a vast pair of wings stretched out behind him.

"It flies."

Noah stared, mouth agape. He'd been poised to speak, to follow up Miron's explanation with a question. But when the coat was discarded and the ocell's wings unfolded, the words died in his throat.

When he finally spoke, a good few seconds of stunned silence later, all he could manage to muster was "...whoa."

Miron placed his hands on his hips, waiting several seconds longer for another response. "That... that amazing, huh?"

"I..." Noah was speechless for several moments longer before he found it in himself to finish a sentence. "...wasn't expecting that, I'll say that much. Are you ... an avorian, or something else?"

"Ocell. As far as I know, there's no relation. I haven't really gone there to see for myself," Miron smiled, then folded his wings to approach Noah. "What... were you expecting?"

"I don't really know. Some sort of... tragic and potentially controversial history? I had an open mind." He laughed, raising a hand tentatively. "Ah... is it rude to..?" he gestured towards the wings.

Without hesitating, one of Miron's wings extended toward Noah. "It's not that much different from a hand, really. Not to us," he told Noah. He let out a laugh. "I'm relieved, though! To imagine I worried you that much!"

Tentatively, as though worried that even the lightest touch might cause Miron harm, Noah reached out and ran his hand over the feathers of the wing. "They're soft," he remarked absent-mindedly, before seeming to realise himself and flushing. "I mean, of course they're soft. They're feathers..." he muttered, shaking his head.

After a moment, he looked back up, lowering his hand. "You said something about another plane, though? Aelora? I've not heard of there."

"I think everyone forgot about it here. It was moved hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Everything is so different here. I never encountered... cars and cell phones... power lines..." Miron grimaced. "I couldn't speak to anyone, not really. It was the most confusing thing I'd ever experienced. It still is."

Noah blinked. "You're doing ... well, all things considered. I can only imagine the culture shock must have been ... significant." Dealing with Aurore's questions about things had been hard enough, and she'd only lived around fifty years ago.

"Do you have any idea how you got here, then?"

Miron's eyes glazed over. "I don't. Not one idea. I was flying, trying to fly to Avengarde's peaks. Sa'ida was watching, and... when I looked down, I couldn't see her anymore. I couldn't see the edges of the island. There wasn't a shining city below me, just trees as far as I could see."

Blinking away the vision, the ocell put Noah into focus. "And I was so scared. But at the same time, I don't think I was ever happier."

"Happier?" Noah's frown shifted from sympathetic to perplexed. "Were you not happy there?"

The ocell scratched the back of his head and grit his teeth. "People like me, silver-eyed, we're usually weak. We can't use magic all that well, and it helps us fly. I'm a bit of a disappointment, but they still trained me, hoping that somehow I was going to get better. I wasn't allowed to leave. I wasn't allowed to meet new people. I was to stay on Avengarde and push my limits until I broke them. It was a prison. A pretty prison, but only that."

Noah nodded in understanding. "That's... well, I guess both of our cultures can be backwards in their own ways, huh?" He smiled, and added, "I can see where your attitude towards my training habits came from, now."

"I was a little hasty deciding that everyone wanted the same thing," Miron mumbled. "In a place like this, you've got so much more promise."

"The key difference is that I chose this path," Noah noted. "I wasn't forced into it. It gave me something to dedicate myself to, which at the time... well, I needed it."

He walked away a few steps to gaze out over the hills, folding his arms behind his back. "But you weren't wholly wrong. I... since I completed my official training, I've been unsure where to go next. I forged myself into someone who could challenge the worst dangers that Lutetia has to offer, but now... Finding the right way to actually do that is proving difficult. Do I join the corrupt police force, and play second fiddle to the even more corrupt chuch? Do I hire out my services as some sort of ... hunter, meaning I'm only protecting those who can afford it?"

Noah sighed. "Or do I take up the mantle of a vigilante, meaning not having adequate means to actually support myself, and likely ending up in trouble with the law? It's all a lot less... simple, than I had hoped."

"I can tell you from experience that the last option is probably the harshest. Not having proper documentation helps, though." The ocell smiled flatly. "I thought animancers were already in their own group. It... couldn't be hard to make one, though? Like hunters, but... different?"

"The order largely only take action on matters concerning other animancers," Noah replied, shaking his head. "We haven't got any legal authority. The closest we get is in cases like now, where I'm working with paladins as a ... I suppose the best term is consultant? When I'm with Peregrine I have some leeway to back him up. And obviously, when it comes to monsters like that hand thing the other day, you don't need any legal authority to take it out."

He sighed again, shrugging. "But in any case, I'd rather not get into it any further. Not now. Besides, I don't think a young person not being sure what to do after graduating is exactly an uncommon occurrence." Noah chuckled.

"Well, you've got your life more sorted than I do," Miron replied. He reached down to scoop up his coat, then paused. "Did you learn any arts in that fancy school?"

"Any ... arts?" Noah looked over his shoulder at Miron with a raised eyebrow.

"Painting, singing, dancing? Here- close your eyes a moment?"

"Oh, right. Well, like I said, I can play the cello... and, okay, I guess?" Noah turned around fully, obligingly closing his eyes. "May I ask why?"

There was a soft whooshing, more silent than Miron's wings, but noticeable, and something similar to a match being lit. "Just trust me for a moment," the ocell assured Noah as he took his hand and lead him forward. "You do trust me, right?"

A slight blush coloured Noah's cheeks when Miron took his hand, but he did his utmost to ignore it. "Well, we've spent time together a grand total of twice, and you're from another plane of existence that I've never heard of... So speaking objectively, it would be unwise to say yes." He smirked, waiting for a beat before continuing. "But... yes. I do."

Noah was lead forward gently, toward the edge of the hill where it dropped off. Miron muttered something beneath his breath and as the words left his mouth it became a breeze, then a gust. The warden was pulled forward toward Miron, where his feet left the ground entirely. "Open your eyes!" the silver-eyed man exclaimed.

They were in the air, just steps away from the hill. The grass below them whipped violently, but the two young men barely felt the flutter of the magic holding them aloft.

"Oh!" Noah exclaimed as he was drawn aloft, eyes snapping open in surprise as he stared downwards and his cloak fluttering wildly around him in the wind. "We're... you can make other people fly, too? Well, obviously you can, but..." He looked up, his expression a blend of bewilderment and excitement. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Miron couldn't help but laugh. "It's not really flying, but- oh!" The wind beneath their feet vanished faster than it had been summoned, Noah's eyes widened and he instinctively grabbed onto the ocell as the magic gave out beneath him. Miron did the same and held onto him, flapping his wings furiously as they descended. They landed in a tumble, Miron laughing all the while. "It's a bit difficult with two people!"

Noah pushed himself up from where he'd landed on top of Miron, suppressing his own laughter in a valiant attempt to maintain a modicum of dignity. Those efforts were all in vain, however, as after a moment he registered the position of their landing and blushed, shuffling backwards and off onto the grass. He huffed, shaking his head. "I could have landed just fine if you hadn't clung onto me," he mumbled, "then neither of us would have fallen."

Miron took a handful of grass and tossed it at Noah. "Oh, like you weren't clinging, too!"

"I..." Noah spluttered, "that was instinctual! I would've let go and landed safely after a second..."

"Oh, I'm sure," the ocell snorted. "You enjoyed it."

"Maybe you should sit up, because clearly all that blood rushing to your head is making you see things," Noah grumbled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off.

"You're welcome!" Miron sang happily. He rolled backwards onto his feet and shook the grass out of his hair. He marched up the hill and retrieved his coat at last. "So what now? Seeing as I can't take us on another joyride very soon."

"Well..." Noah joined Miron at the top of the hill, seemingly deliberating over something. "I suppose since you've shown me what you can do, it's only fair if I reciprocate to an extent..."

He smirked. "I may not be able to fly, but I bet I can get us higher off the ground."

Miron raised a brow. "Oh, can you?"

"Your turn to trust me," the warden said. "And admittedly, it might be a little less dignified for you, but if you don't mind..."

That caught Miron's interest a bit more than it should have. "Yes?" he asked eagerly.

Noah grinned, a faint glow beginning to spread across his form as it had when he fought the creature earlier in the week. He stepped over to Miron and, as effortlessly as though he were a child, scooped him off of his feet and into his arms. "Then hold on," he said, before bending his knees and leaping.

The pair shot into the air like they'd been launched from a cannon, soaring easily two storeys into the air before reaching the apex of the arc and beginning to descend.

Miron's eyes shot open like saucers, unused to ascending so quickly. The feeling was so exhilerating he let out a holler that echoed beyond the hills. One hand gripped around Noah's shoulders tightly.

Noah couldn't help but smile at Miron's enthusiasm, even as gravity took hold and they fell as quickly as they had risen. After a few short moments, he hit the ground, dropping into a crouch as his aura absorbed most of the impact.

"That was fucking amazing. Fighting was one thing, but... Gods above, I'm not the only one full of surprises, apparently!"

Laughing, Noah shrugged his shoulders after setting Miron down. "I suppose so," he replied, allowing his aura to recede once more and letting out a deep breath. "Shall we head back to the city, then?"

He looked up at the horizon, where the sun had almost fully set. "We're already going to have to walk through some of the worse neighbourhoods after dark. Not that I'm concerned for our safety, but I'd rather avoid the trouble of attempted muggings if at all possible."

"Pff, let them come. No one'll be able to catch the two of us, now, can they? Let alone fight. Let's go!"

The coat slid on with ease once Miron's wings were folded tight. One couldn't even tell he had a secret to hide.

"It's hard to believe how compact your wings fold," Noah remarked as he watched the process. "You don't even look like a hunchback."

He glanced over his shoulder as he started to walk back in the direction of the city, smirking. "Much."

"You're going to make me unreasonably paranoid," Miron joked.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Peachy00Keen and RAmenAmen

It had been a long day. Kidnapping, dealing with witches, being hired by those witches, wandering through a possessed treant-infested forest... There were few things that Eris wanted more at this point than to get home, shut the door, curl up on the couch, and have a cup of tea before falling asleep.

She turned the familiar corner from the main thoroughfare onto her street, the loose gravel front the broken road crackling beneath the tires of her motorcycle. The sound of its engine reverberated off of the crumbling, ramshackle walls of brick and mortar around her. Night had fallen and the streets were relatively quiet. Odd. Usually there was the sound of some back alley scuffle or a minor brawl from a few streets over.

Toward the end of the road, her building came into view. The little old apartment was not really "nice" by any definition of the word. Hell, it hardly qualified as "passable" in most people's books, but it was home to her, and that was all that mattered.

As she drew nearer, a figure became apparent, standing in front of her door. A chill ran down Eris' spine. All in all, her day had been pretty harmless. Not great, but harmless. Her run-ins had ended peacefully, but as events were unfolding, situations were tense and unpleasant. Now, there was a stranger blocking the egress to her home, the one place she wanted to be most of all.

She slowed her bike and cut the engine, coasting in closer to her building with only the crunching sound of stones to give her away. Across the street, she noticed, was a car that seemed starkly out of place in the run-down neighborhood: sleek, black, tinted windows, shiny. Eris grumbled.

She kept her eye on the strange man at the door as she turned her bike into a narrow alleyway beside her building, closing a chain link gate behind her as she exited and securing it with a padlock. The man hadn't moved. She reached one hand down to a holster at her hip and rested her fingers comfortably around the grip of her pistol, just in case. Ascending her steps, she locked eyes with the stranger, narrowing her gaze and staring him down territorially from beneath a deeply furrowed brow.

____

Standing in front of the door was a lean, wiry man, with a smooth, expressionless face that gave away nothing. His eyes were grey, and he carried in his gloved hands a thin envelope with a plain wax seal. Before she could speak a word, the man held out the envelope, nodding curtly as if to give her permission to open it.

____

"What's this nonsense," Eris spat, tired of playing head games with people, as she opened the letter. The writing inside was neat and meticulous. It almost looked typed, save for a single ink smudge. The letter read:

"To the Lady Eris Montblanc,

I hope that my messenger has arrived in time; I have urgent business for you. There is a young woman in mortal danger, though she does not yet know it. This woman, a Mydalsan under the name Pandora, is the willing captive of a Paladin of the Monastic Order, and on her way to the airport, where she hopes to leave the city. That cannot be allowed to happen. I’m aware of your reservations about interfering with the Paladins, but I am certain that the enclosed payment will bolster your resolve.

The Paladin in question is an acquaintance of yours, one Savien Durandet. Deal with him as you see fit. If you choose to accept this assignment, and I do hope you will, my messenger will take you to an unmarked vehicle. Inside are all the tools you may need to enter the airport and complete your mission.

Stop Savien, recover Pandora, and return. Another messenger will deliver the second half of the payment and give you your next assignment.

Sincerely yours,
A friend"

Eris looked at the money in her hand. "A Friend," she scoffed in her head, I don't have any friends... But if someone is willing to pay me offhand cash and tell me to fuck with the paladins, they can be my friend any day. She folded the bills and slid them into a pocket.

Looking at the messenger, she narrowed her eyes once more, this time, analyzing him rather than sizing him up for a potential fight. "Alright, Spiffy, I'll bite. Show me what you've got."

____

The messenger nodded again, and began walking briskly to the car Eris had noticed earlier, not speaking a word. As she followed him, Eris noticed that he was, well, utterly unremarkable. His features were plain, his clothing was ordinary, in shades of gray that blended in with the city around him, and if he hadn’t been in her way, she might have never noticed him in the first place.

He opened the rear left door of the stretched car, and motioned for her to get in. The window between the passenger compartment and her driver was closed, giving her complete privacy. On the floor was a large briefcase, unlocked. The man closed the door as soon as she was inside, and a moment later, the car began to move.

____

As the car lurched into motion, Eris settled in with the back seat. The briefcase at her feet was presumably for her. She set it on her lap and opened it. Inside, there was a folded up airport security uniform, an ID badge with Eris' picture on it and a name reading "Odette Bellegarde," four vials of tranquilizer serum, and a USB drive with instructions to plug it into the security terminal before entering the airport proper.

She set all the other items aside and looked at the ID badge, scrutinizing the picture. "How in the hell...?" she didn't recognize the photo, but it was undeniably her. She grimaced and set the photo ID down on the seat beside her.

The windows around her were tinted dark enough that she hadn't been able to see in from outside, and the divider between the driver's and her compartment was opaque. Though the man hadn't said anything to her, she assumed they were heading directly to the airport. That meant she'd have to change in the car. Great. This day just keeps getting better... she thought to herself as she began undressing as the car rambled on toward The Airport.

____

"Where are we?" Eris asked as the vehicle rolled up to a decrepit-looking building. They were somewhere near the edge of the city, based on the time it had taken to get there. The skies overhead had turned gray and it had begun to drizzle. In the backseat of the car, Eris held the unconscious girl's head in her lap, the rest of her body laid out, supine, across the seats. She absentmindedly played with a lock of the girl's hair. It wasn't well-kept hair, but it was clean. She looked down at the girl's relaxed expression and then turned her attention outside the window again.

I don't know what this guy intends to do, but if he intends to harm her, I can't promise myself I won't at least protest. He may have paid me, but... she stared through the rain at the crumbling sides of the building, but something about this feels off. For everyone's sake, I hope I didn't agree to something stupid and whoever this "friend" is doesn't have any plans for this poor girl that would leave her hurt. She looked back down at the girl's face, studying her scar and her tattoo. Then again, I suppose it couldn't be much worse than being brainwashed and held captive by some god-crazed super-policeman in a foreign land. Poor little lamb...

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script, Emperor Jester and Knosis

Elsewhere...

The air outside the city proper was clean, crisp, and most importantly, cold. The early signs of winter's arrival were more apparently once you past the northern limits of Lutetia, and it was in this direction that Nox, Lord of Caer, Emperor of the Novus Imperium, had traveled. After hours of swift travel, none of which had dirtied his pristine snow white attire, the undead would find himself at the shore of a respectfully large lake. Still as a mirror were its waters, eeriely so. Likewise, the trees on the far side were just as unmoving, as if the breeze that blew off the waters didn't effect them in the slightest. Here, the power of Winter was strongest. Here was where it would be built.

Only one small hovel stood within eyesight, though it wouldn't stand forever. In less than a week, it would be demolished, in favor of the new Manor that would come into being. This hovel housed his Sired daughter, Noemi. She had been on his thoughts as of late, especially since her brother had come into being. Now would be the only time in the entire journey he'd speak to said relation, looking over his shoulder at Nathan for the first time since they had left the safe house, just as the sun had fully set. He had only told the young, unfortunate boy to "Follow" before setting out. Now he spoke once again, the normally grave, rumbling tones replaced with an almost fatherly patience and optimism. "Are you ready to meet your sister, Nathan? I'm sure she'll be thankful for the company."

Nathan had been silent for much of the journey out of the city, trailing after the domineering figure of the Caer with his arms wrapped around himself in a futile attempt to ward off a chill that came not from the winter air, but from within him. In truth, the direness of his situation had been far from his mind as he had stared with a newborn's wonder at all the sights they passed. It had been almost a decade since he'd experienced light, and colour. More than half his life.

The joy of seeing again - and what's more, being able to keep pace with his captor without help - was enough to almost completely inure him to the grim reality of what he had become.

It was only as they'd left the city limits behind them that he'd started to contemplate his situation. He'd well and truly left his life behind, and sold his soul to this monster. He was sure that it wouldn't be long before he realised the true implications of that. For now, he could only dread the unknown.

"You have someone else out here?" He frowned, wondering what exactly the Caer's plans were with a collection of 'children'.

"As I said, your sister awaits you. Come along now." The towering figure would explain before resuming his leisurely march, boots crunching against the wet, compacted sand. "Since my enemies destroyed my previous home, I hid all those I cared for across Issunar, all within a day's travel. Noemi I secreted away to this hiding spot, along with a beast I am quite proud to call my own." A reference to the stallion he'd stolen from the now butchered Nuvellons.

The walk would be very brief, especially once compared to the one that had taken them from the metropolis proper. Much shorter, under an hour in fact, and that was without factoring in their inhuman speeds. The closer they'd get, the more obvious it'd be that the hut was just that. A hut. Probably one room, maybe two, less than six hundred square feet. Only two windows, each on an opposing side to the front, and only, door the shack had. No doubt his daughter would've felt his presence approaching, but still, Nox would knock all the same.

The very air seemed to become more frigid with every rap with his knuckles. The woman's voice came a slow moment or three later. "Come in."

Inside, Noemi hid within the shadows, the blankets covering over her useless limbs. The silk fabrics drapped her shoulders loosely, as though she had lost some weight. Her father had made sure she had been comfortable and well taken care of while she was in the short term exile out here in the frozen wasteland. But it didn't nessesarily mean she took advantage of every jester he sent. Anger hid behind the icey blue hues of her eyes, glowing in the darkness as she gazed towards her father with hatred.

"Figured I would never be graced by your presence again." She bit.

Behind Nox, a matching pair of cold eyes looked past him to the woman inside. The boy cut a far less imposing figure than the giant of a man he tailed. For all that his turning had given him (ironically) a new lease of life, he retained his slight and waifish stature all the same. Nathan lingered silently on the threshold of the hut, taking in the sights. Taking note of the venom in her tone. It seemed he wasn't the only one who hadn't come to this place altogether willingly.

Was this what awaited him? Being abandoned in a shack in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but resentment for company?

How the Caer expected to produce anything but enemies that way was beyond his understanding.

"Your tongue is as sharp as ever my dear. But the hostility is not appreciated." It seemed like their respective 'Father' wanted to say more, but he'd bite his words off, pushing Nathan gently inside. "I have brought some one to show you. And to let you know how things have been progressing. Boy, introduce yourself to your sister. It seems giving her the solitude she had saught out in the manor so fiercely was a mistake after all."

The ungrateful harlot. How could she be this inconsiderate. Taking her out of the city while he was being actively hunted was the best choice imaginable. She'd be of no use there, and more importantly, the danger to her person would've been greater than his own! "Or perhaps don't. If we're not wanted here, then I will take my time and tutelage elsewhere."

The woman glared at him hard. After a long silent pause, she lowered her gaze from her father. "I apologize. My uselessness has me more irritable than normal, father." She even managed to sound sincere. Her grip dug into the sheets covering her legs and her jaw clenched, but he could tell the frustration was directed at her own being this time around. Though she could not feel the pain of her legs, she couldn't use them at all still. And it infuriated her to be so.. So..

The sheets ripped under her nails. She was angry. She had no outlet to release this anger for some time. Even the savagery she had treated the meals she had eaten had not sated her lust for blood. Slowly she took a deep breath and her cold gaze moved over to Nathan, looking at him with a studious and expectant gaze.

"You feel familiar." She admitted. "I assume you are family of some sort. I apologize to you as well for my behavior. I am Noemi."

"Nathan," the boy answered meekly, unsure what to make of this 'sister'. The familial references were growing a touch unsettling, to say the least.

"As for my being family..." He clenched his fists, halfway turning a bitter glare on Nox before forcing himself to look away and continue. "Apparently, yes. Whatever that means."

A sharp gave of his own shimmering cyan eyes found its way to Nathan, "It means that while not born of my loins, I still created both of you as you are now. Making you both my children. If this connection displeases you, either of you, then I hate to tell you its a tad too late to be upset about such things." This was not going as planned. Nox had not come out here to have a verbal joust with his offspring about symantics.

"I'll assume you're legs haven't gotten much better than, Noemi? It seems you did not inherit my gift for putitng yourself back together. A shame. We'll have to see what I did manage to pass along in that case. Whatever it is, it should be impressive, given we haven't been able to access it yet. I'll be outside. You two meet me when you're ready."

With a grunt of annoyance, Nox would turn swiftly on his heels, all but slamming the door behind him. He'd give them time to talk. Time to trade stories. In the mean time, the lake needed his attention...

 

[Tiko]

as written by Script, Emperor Jester and Knosis

"Father..!" She cried out after the man, but it was too late. Noemi was pretty sure she was going to be left here, broken and useless by this point until the end of time. Her gaze fell to the ripped blankets between her fingers as she slumped against the pillows behind her. "Cruel bastard.." She muttered under her breath. She closed her eyes with a sigh.

"So it seems he was able to sire another idiot. Congratulations on joining the ranks of his tortured committee." She murmured. "He promised me how to fight, how to fend for myself. Then locks me in here without even the hope I can ever use my legs again. No one for company either. Except for the occasional damned soul who is suckered into walking into a room with a starving vampire." She grumbled.

Nathan flinched at the slamming door, subconsciously taking a step away from the barely suppressed fury of his sire. After a few moments, he moved to take a seat against the wall, glancing across at Noemi as she spoke.

"I didn't exactly have much choice," he murmured. "But by coming willingly I saved my friend's life. So... idiot or not, I wouldn't choose differently now."

A pause, then, as he held his hand out in front of his face.

"Besides. No matter what else I lose, at least I can see again... I was blind, before. I don't know why he was interested in me. Blind, and feeble."

The dark haired woman gave a short snort. "At least you can say you had a noble cause." She murmured. "Nox pretty much beat me senseless. Broke half my ribs, every bone in my arms and hands and even carved into me. Left me barely alive to heal up and find me in my appartment months later to tell me he was going to turn me. I was too weak to fight him, and he knew it. But I tried anyway."

She peeked through a lid towards the boy. "Please know that if ever I seem hostile to you, it is only to stir him up. I don't want him to ever forget how much I hate him."

A grimace. Nathan had been given a glimpse at how cruel his captor might be, considering his threats, and apparent disregard for Claire's life. This just confirmed it all the more. "I'm sorry," he said, though the condolence rang hollow even to him. "He didn't... hurt me, before turning me." He gave a small, bitter chuckle. "He probably knew I wouldn't survive even a light beating."

Resting his head back against the wall, Nathan sighed. "And now I'm ... fixed, for lack of a better word. I wished for a miracle for so long, and I got this. It's hard even to be happy about it." A pause, before he turned back to Noemi. "What happened to your legs?"

The woman grimaced. "We were attacked." She said. "At the old manor, that is. I couldn't keep up with Nox. And I was captured at one point." She rubbed the covers where her useless limbs laid. "My legs are pretty bad off from the wire they used to hold me down. Nox was hoping I'd heal myself, but it.. Doesn't seem possible for me." She smiled bitterly.

"So, when we go meet with dearest Father, I'll need your assistance, if you don't mind.."

"Attacked by who?" Nathan raised his eyebrows in worry. Was he about to be pulled into the same violence? He'd never fought anything in his life! "And of course I'll help. I've had to be on the other side often enough..." He gave a small, wry smile. "It'll be a change of pace, at least."

"I don't know." She said honestly. "Assassins, is all I've been told. From who? Or if they'd come back? I've been kept in this shack, secluded for quite some time. So I don't know." The woman began to stir, pushing herself up into a more sitting postion.

"We best not keep him waiting, though. I'm sure we will have the rest of time to discuss matters further." She murmured.

Nathan made his way over to help Noemi to her feet, doing his best to accomodate her injuries. He was startled by how easily he supported her weight. To be so strong after being so used to being weak... it was going to take a long time to adjust. He grimaced at her final words, shaking his head.

"I hope you don't take any offence at me saying... I hope not."

And with that, he helped her towards the door.