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>>348052

Only the sudden silence – the absence of that grinding rumble – breaks you from your trance. You'd been staring up at the fat, glowing moon and thinking, although now it's hard, impossible even, to put a name to your thoughts. Not an usual experience, up here in the frozen north, especially among those who've started to grow used to it. The newcomers, they can't let their minds wander like that – they retain the uptight paranoia of cityfolk. You share the deck with one such newcomer, a portly man ill-suited to life in the north. He hurries to your side, fat jiggling as he runs.

“Mr Hanson,” he calls out, “Ah, Henryk?”

Ornstein, you reply as you recall the man's name, something he wanted?

“Well, I thought you might have seen my spare spectacles,” Ornstein pauses, “My other spares, I mean.”

Of course, you recall with a cold smile, his precious spectacles. His first pair had lasted precisely a single day before falling overboard. The second pair had lasted a few days longer before – somehow – succumbing to the same fate. In a rare moment of kindness, you had offered him your sympathies. A mistake, in retrospect – he seems to have mistaken you for a friend. Now, it seems, the final pair has been lost to the unforgiving waves, and he's come to tell you all about it.

It's little wonder that Ornstein has earned himself a nickname among the crew – Luckless Ornstein.

You've not seen them, you tell him bluntly as you return your gaze to the ocean. When the portly man lingers, you sigh and look around. Was there something else, you ask with more politeness than he deserves, something else he wanted?

“Oh, I just thought to talk,” Ornstein lets out a soft, pampered little laugh, “Say, that patch on your jacket... is that a League patch? I can't quite make it out – my eyes, you see...”

You glance down at the sleeve of your leather jacket, and the emblem you wear. It is indeed a patch for the Trident League, an animal rendered in stylistic form. The animal, of course, is...

>A wolf, the mark of the Hunters. Trained to fight beasts in the wilds beyond civilisation, you have skills in Firearms, Physical Combat, and Survival. However, your skills in Diplomacy have been neglected.
>A snake, the mark of the College. A scholar by trade, you are driven by the hunt for knowledge and possess skills in Academics, Medicine and Firearms. Yet, your skills in Physical Combat are below par.
>A bull, the mark of the Ministry. Devoted to upholding order, you have been trained in Firearms, Medicine and Diplomacy. Your skills in Thievery, however, are below average.
>A dragon, the mark of the nobility. Heir to an ancient bloodline, you have been taught the ways of Physical Combat, Academics and Diplomacy. However, you are poorly trained in Survival.

>I'll close this vote 15 minutes after the first response

>>348054
>>A wolf, the mark of the Hunters. Trained to fight beasts in the wilds beyond civilisation, you have skills in Firearms, Physical Combat, and Survival. However, your skills in Diplomacy have been neglected.
We Witcher now.

>>348054
>A wolf

>>348060

>I'm pretty excited to finally get started - pretty nervous as well! That's about what I expected though, so things should settle down soon enough.

>>348054
>>A dragon, the mark of the nobility. Heir to an ancient bloodline, you have been taught the ways of Physical Combat, Academics and Diplomacy. However, you are poorly trained in Survival.
This looks very promising. Fantastic writing.

>>348054
>>A dragon, the mark of the nobility. Heir to an ancient bloodline, you have been taught the ways of Physical Combat, Academics and Diplomacy. However, you are poorly trained in Survival.

>>348054
Dragon

>>348054
>A wolf, the mark of the Hunters. Trained to fight beasts in the wilds beyond civilisation, you have skills in Firearms, Physical Combat, and Survival. However, your skills in Diplomacy have been neglected.
Suits this gentlemen pretty well I think.
Good to have you back Moloch.

>>348054
>A wolf, the mark of the Hunters. Trained to fight beasts in the wilds beyond civilisation, you have skills in Firearms, Physical Combat, and Survival. However, your skills in Diplomacy have been neglected.

>>348054
>A dragon, the mark of the nobility. Heir to an ancient bloodline, you have been taught the ways of Physical Combat, Academics and Diplomacy. However, you are poorly trained in Survival.

>>348054
Wolfaboo

Dragon ftw

>>348079
>>348060
>Samefagging on a board with IDs.

>>348093
I deleted my vote to change my mind, but then decided to not change my mind. Turn on auto update.

>Ah, okay, looks like we're sitting on a tie - wolf and dragon are both at five votes. In this case, I'm going to take it to sudden death. The first reply to this post will claim it.

>Wolf
>Dragon

>>348107
Wolf

>>348107
>The first reply to this post will claim it.
Yeah and how about you go fuck yourself too?

>>348109

>Then, it looks like we're going to be a Hunter. Writing the next post now!

>>348107
>The first reply to this post will claim it.
Shitty desu.

>>348116
There's a need for speed in this quest. :^)
Majority vote? Pfft XD

>>348107
Roll it, Moloch.

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He really is blind without those glasses, if he doesn't recognise a wolf when he sees one. It's the mark of a Hunter, a killer of beasts, and you wear the mark proudly. It's solitary work, as often as not, the kind of bloody work that teaches a man to rely on himself and the weapons at his side. If pampered cityfolk like Ornstein see you as a savage, or unfit to walk the streets like any other civilised man, then that's his problem – his respect, or the lack of it, means little to you.

What good is the respect of a man like him out on the frontier, or deep in the wilderness?

“I-I see,” he replies, with all the hesitation you expect, “You're here to take care of any... creatures we run into? Do you have experience? I only ask, you understand, because you looks somewhat... young.”

You've got plenty of experience, you assure him with a cold smile, your age is irrelevant. There are so very few old wolves, so few Hunters who live to a venerable age. Those that do, you add, tend to be the ones without real experience. Who would he rather have – a young fighter, or an old teacher?

“I didn't mean to imply-” the plump man stutters, but you cut him off.

No offence taken, you tell him, was there anything else he wanted?

“Ah, yes, there was a certain matter,” Ornstein clears his throat, tugging at his clothes as he picks his words carefully, “I heard a noise earlier, when I was passing one of the storage rooms below deck. A rather troubling noise – like scuffling feet. What's more, there appears to be a disparity in our supplies of food, as if something had been taking meals.”

And he's telling this to you, rather than taking it to Captain Vasily, because...?

“Well, I'd rather not trouble the captain with something baseless,” he shuffles his feet, “He's rather... unapproachable.”

That, you can't really argue with. Alright then, you reply with a grudging sigh, you'll take a look below deck and see what you can find. If it's something that needs killing, at least he's brought it to the right person.

“I'll, ah, let you get on with it then,” Ornstein gives you a bland, idiotic smile, “Someone like me, I fear I'd just get in your way...”

That's something else you can't really argue against.

[1/2]

>We now have a character sheet, with our abilities and skills: http://pastebin.com/TuHXz5Kp
>In future, ties will be broken with a roll, rather than sudden death.

>>348171

Leaving the fat idiot behind, you descend into the bowels of the ship in search of this storage room, and whatever might be waiting within. In truth, you don't think it is a beast – it would be rare for a feral creature to show such discretion. No, if some beast had slipped on board, there would have been a massacre long before now – an orgy of blood and violence erupting up from beneath your feet. At best, it would be a costly battle. At worst, it would leave the ship dead and deserted, an empty hulk drifting on the open waters.

Such things have happened before.

When you reach the storage room, you pause to ease the pistol from your belt – an old Daud Model 10, as reliable as they come – and chamber a round. The hard clack of metal sounds very loud in this tight space, loud and very cold indeed. Smiling a little, you hold the gun at the ready and enter the room, allowing your gaze to sweep across the gloomy chamber. Reaching out with your empty hand, you press the heavy switch to activate the lights. As the bulbs are humming into life, you hear the sound that Ornstein warned you about – the soft scrabbling of feet on metal. Not claws, hooves or anything such as that – feet.

Moving swiftly, quietly, you're moving around the corner of a set of shelves when something hits you, running clean into your torso. You reel a little at the sudden blow, but your attacker – although that word is hardly appropriate – fares far worse. Grunting softly, they fall back and sprawl out on the ground. Then, looking up at you with offended eyes, the stowaway – a girl, teenage - speaks.

“Bloody cold in here,” she curses, “I thought the colonies would be warmer.”

The colonies, you repeat, does she mean the southern colonies?

“Yeah,” she stands, rubbing her backside and shooting you another venomous glare, “We're not there yet? I thought these ships were supposed to be quick.”

You blink once as you process her claim. She was trying to reach the southern colonies... so she hid on a ship heading north?

“Is that where we're going?” she looks dismayed, “Oh bugger...”

All you've done, you realise, is trade one idiot for another.

>Name?
>Why are you trying to get to the southern colonies?
>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain
>Other

>>348200
>>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain
LE FIRST POST CLAIM! XD

>>348200
>Why are you trying to get to the southern colonies?

>>348200
>>Name?
>>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain

>>348200
>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain
Cool, a stowaway that didn't bother to check where the ship is going.

>>348200
>Name?
>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain
"If you tried to keep being a stowaway for the entirety of our trip here you'd be in for a bad time. Better to announce your presence and work for your meal."

>>348200
>Why are you trying to get to the southern colonies?
>>348202
you can stop now

>>348200
>Name?
>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain

>>348200
>Why are you trying to get to the southern colonies?

>>348200
>Sigh.
>Come on, I'm taking you to see the captain.

>>348200
>Name?

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Name, you ask her as you lower your pistol ever so slightly, what's her name?

“Lize,” she answers promptly. Her voice, you notice, is rough in a strangely forced way – the voice of a scared girl trying to sound tough, perhaps.

Full name, you correct her, she has a family doesn't she?

“Yeah, I mean, I got my ma,” Lize frowns a little, “Only, I don't know nothing about a family name. I just call her “ma”, and she just calls me “hey you”. Only, not so polite.” Lize chuckles a little at that, at her own joke, and then shoots a worried glance at the pistol in your hand. “So, uh, you gonna...?”

Fine, you say as you return the gun to its holster, but you're taking her to see the captain. If she was going to stowaway, she should have made herself known sooner – that way, she could have worked for the food she'd been taking.

“Work?” Lize groans as she follows you – reluctantly – from the storage room, “You mean, like, a job?”

That's exactly what you mean. Even if it's just something like mopping the decks or preparing the food – assuming she can be trusted around food without stealing it – would be enough. Anything that shows a willingness to contribute. Of course, there are some jobs she can't do – she doesn't have League papers, does she?

“Huh?” another frown, “Oh, you mean, like, for touching blood and stuff? No, I don't got anything like that.”

Mopping the decks then, you decide, but the final call lies with Captain Vas. As you walk with her, though, you get more and more curious about her – why would a stowaway hide on the wrong ship? Not even the wrong ship, the wrong port entirely – no southbound ships leave from Port Daud, she would have needed to go to Port Odyss, in the south, for that. So, you ask her as your curiosity rises up, why was she so eager to go to the southern colonies?

“Warmer there, I guess,” she laughs a little, “And I figure, anything has to be better than Thar Dreyse, right? I mean, the capital is nice and all – if you've got money – but the streets are rough. Scavenging food, hiding from beasts whenever the weather turns bad, that's no life.”

A street kid. You look her up and down at that, your eyes sceptical. Her clothes are well-fitted, and made from good fabric. Even the dust and dirt that clings to them looks entirely perfunctory, something to keep up appearances.

More to this girl, you suspect, than meets the eye.

[1/2]

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>>348246

“In the olden days, if they caught a stowaway, they'd slit the poor bastard's throat and throw them overboard,” Captain Vasily says, with an easy brutality, “Sometimes they'd linger in the water, to hunt anything that came to feed on the corpse. That's life out here for you – the strong devour the weak.”

“But, uh, you don't do that any more,” Lize lets out a skittering little laugh, one of pure nervousness, “Right?”

“Legally, we're not supposed to,” the captain nods in agreement, “But I don't see anyone from the Ministry around, do you?”

Vas, you sigh, leave her alone. She's just a dumb kid – not worth the effort of scaring.

“Fine, fine,” Vas sighs, turning away from you to gaze out the deck window. Ahead, the waters seem just barely colder than his eyes. “You'll work for me, cleaning whatever it is that needs cleaning” he adds a moment later, “And when we get back to Port Daud, I'm throwing you out. If you want back on, you can apply for a job like every other asshole on this tub.”

“Yes sir, I understand,” Lize nods quickly. Compared with death, anything might seem like the favourable alternative.

“Southern colonies...” Vas mutters to himself, shaking his head in disgust, “As if there's anything there but snakes, saboteurs and... more snakes.”

Captain Vasily, you recall, is no fan of snakes. He won't tell you why, no matter how much you ask or how drunk he gets. One day, you'll have it out of him.

“Captain!” one of the crew shouts, hurrying over and passing a telescope to Vas, “Looks like we've got a sign of life out here. A whale, I figure.”

“Yes indeed,” dark glee enters Vas' voice as he takes the telescope, looking out to the open waters. In the distance, you can see vague ripples in the water. When the captain passes the telescope to you, you get a closer look. “Seems like a small one,” Vas declares, “No armour – easy pickings. Well, Henryk, how do you feel about showing my men how it's done? The harpoon guns are loaded and ready, and I feel like whale meat tonight!”

>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale
>I'm busy, your men can have this one
>Leave it – it's not worth hunting one that small

>>348272
>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale
share a few suspicious glances at the stowaway?

>>348272
>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale

>>348272
>>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale

>>348272
>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale

>>348272
>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale
Get some practice in.

>>348272
>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale

>>348272
>>Leave it – it's not worth hunting one that small

>>348272
>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale

You'll take care of it, you tell the captain with a smile, it's been a while since you killed a whale. The practice would do you good – it's not good to let your skills grow too rusty.

“You bring the beast down, and I'll buy you a drink when we get back to port,” Vas offers, “Miss, and you're the one buying.”

Done deal, you agree, but he'd better put some money aside.

With the captain's laughter ringing in your ears – the prospect of killing something large and majestic always puts Vas in a good mood – you head out onto the deck. Trailing a few paces behind you, Lize follows you out. With her footsteps tapping away in the back of your mind, you consider her position – she doesn't have the accent of a southerner, unless that rough voice of hers is to cover it up, but she could well be a sympathiser. The colonies have been crying out for independence for a while now, and they're not above making grandiose threats to try and drive their point home. Sinking a League ship would be right up their alley.

Stand back, you order Lize as you approach the prow harpoon gun, this isn't work for a girl like her.

“You're gonna kill it?” she asks incredulously, “Just because it's there?”

Whales, you point out, are vicious bastards. They'll sink a damn ship if they cross paths with one, for little reason other than some territorial instinct. You could just stay out of their waters... only they seem to think they own the whole ocean. Even without the valuable meat, oil and bone, killing whales is just a matter of survival. Now, you repeat, stand back!

Lize, grumbling under her breath, retreats up to the bridge, looking out over the scene. Ornstein has retreated as well, perhaps driven away by the gathering clouds. There's some nasty weather brewing, you think to yourself as you check the harpoon gun over, and it could be bad. The gun is well-maintained and loaded with a steel harpoon. You won't need the grenade rounds for this one – it's no ramhead, this whale you're hunting. Too young for that, to have grown a crown of thick bone. Just as Vas said – easy meat, easy money.

As the ship gets closer, your target bursts from the surface of the water, showering you with icy cold drizzle. You get a chance, just a short moment, to notice the knife-like fins, the tentacles streaming from the mouth, the blind eyeless face, and then the whale is gone again. You've spooked it now – it'll surface again soon.

>Please roll a Firearms check. That'll be 1D100+10, and this is aiming to beat 60/80. I'll take the highest of the first three rolls.

>>348272
>>I'll take care of it. It's been a while since I killed a whale

Rolled 25 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>348325
WHEN YOU SEE THE WHITE WHALE

Rolled 77 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>348325

Rolled 62 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>348325

>>348327
i dont think that you did

>>348052
>>348054
>That OP

Aww shit, is this Dishonoured SoulsBorne: Demons of Razgriz edition?

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Rolled 55 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>348325
Late rolling

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>>348328
FROM HELL'S HEART I STAB AT THEE

>>348340
Correct on the first two, not sure about the third one.

Maybe Blaze will fly past us in some kind of flying contraption.

>>348361
Nah mate, one way or another, this quest is going to have a Demon of the North Sea, if you know what I mean.

>>348372
king in the north when?>>348360
should have hit it with my sword

There's nothing difficult about hunting whales, not the young whelps like this one at least. It's just a matter of waiting for them to show themselves, and then putting a harpoon through their brain. Sometimes, it's easy – a clear shot into an exposed flank – and sometimes it isn't. A missed volley can leave a ship defenceless for a few precious moments, long enough for a pissed-off whale to take advantage.

And they know – you can't say how, but they always seem to know when a ship is firing blanks. They might look like mindless hulks, but they can think, and they hold grudges. It's rare for a whale to run from a fight, even if they're injured. They can think, and they can hate.

This time, you don't give the beast time to do either. The next time it breaks through the surface of the water, you have the gun aimed and ready. Guiding the twisted wire crosshairs over the beast's blunt head, you press down on the firing trigger and send the harpoon – a great lance of polished steel – flying into the creature. With a great lowing moan – that sound always reminds you of cattle, for some reason – the whale crashes down into the water, a dark rush of blood already rising up to stain the ocean black. A few moment pass, and then the whale's corpse breaks the surface, floating lifelessly. Already, the crew are surging into action, casting out hooks and lines to keep the slain beast from sinking. As you're stepping back from the gun, brushing imaginary dust from your hands, a great crane whines into life to hoist the cadaver aboard.

Looks like Vas owes you that drink.

-

“It's so sad,” Lize murmurs as she gazes upon the whale's carcass, men circling it and taking measurements, “It looks so... dead.”

Probably, you tell her, because it's dead. Still, that doesn't mean the danger has passed quite yet.

“What do you mean?” she looks around, eyes widening slightly, “It can't bloody well hurt us now, can it?”

Watch closely, you reply with a shrug, it'll make more sense this way. As you both watch on, the first set of crew retreat back below deck, only to be replaced by a new group of men – these ones are covered in thick layers of leather clothing, armour almost. One carries a long knife, while another is burdened down by a great, hissing flamethrower.

“What?” Lize wails, “Why?”

Watch, you repeat as the first crewman sinks his knife into the whale's underbelly, watch carefully. Before Lize can say anything else, he pulls the knife through the whale's exposed flesh, carving a deep gash in the stomach. Dark blood rushes out, but it's not just blood that escapes.

[1/2]

Henryk Hanson, professional Cthulhu hunter

>>348386

As Lize cries out in disgust – utter horror and revulsion – a tide of scuttling parasites boil out of the carcass, each one the rough size of a small dog. Mouthparts rattle and clack as they surge out in search of new prey, of a new host, but the crew react with the haste expected from experienced men. As the first crewman retreats, dropping his knife in a kind of controlled panic, his companion shoots a long burst from the flamethrower. A great tongue of flame washes out over the deck, burning the scuttling little monsters to death in an instant. The whale's carcass – made of tougher stuff – is blackened, but unharmed.

“What were those things?” Lize cries, “Those things were awful!”

Some kind of parasite, you tell her with a shrug, you don't know their name. Really, the parasites aren't the real danger – it's their bite, and the infections carried by it, that men fear most. Bite wounds tend to turn septic, limbs can rot away to stumps, and those are just the merciful fates. Some parasites carry the Red Eye Sickness – that's a death sentence, no matter how quickly a doctor can be summoned.

“I've never heard of that,” Lize sticks her tongue out in disgust, “What does it do to you?”

A dark cloud passes across your face as you recall the sight of men tearing at each other, at their own flesh. With eyes full of blood and throats raw with screams, they fell upon one another like madmen, biting and clawing as if they were beasts cloaked in human skin. Death was the only cure, and even then it came far too slowly.

“Uh...” Lize notices your expression, “What... does it do?”

It kills people, you reply bluntly, that's what it does.

-

“And this is what you do for a living?” Lize asks some time later, as the whale is being carved up beneath you, “You kill stuff like this?”

Among other things, you reply with a shrug, you kill anything that needs killing. Any beast, at least – it's not your job to deal with humans. That unenviable task falls to the Ministry.

“Yeah, but, you ever kill someone?” the girl shamelessly asks, “Another person, I mean.”

The question – the sheer inappropriateness of it – causes you to frown again. Before you can answer it, though, something catches your eye. The moon is fully hidden now, and darkness cloaks the land, but your eyes are keen enough to pick out something. A shape moving through the night, as high and blocky as another ship. But... there shouldn't be any other ships in these waters, not right now.

Then your own ship dies, the engine growing still and the electrical lights wink out.

“Henryk?” Lize asks, blindly reaching out to touch your arm, “What's going on?”

>Stay here, I'm going to check the engine room
>Captain Vas should know – let's get back to the bridge
>I'm staying here, I saw something out on the water
>Other

>>348441
>>I'm staying here, I saw something out on the water
Tell her to go fetch the Captain.

>>348441
>>I'm staying here, I saw something out on the water
Go back to the captain, or go downstair somewhere you can hide.

>>348441
>Captain Vas should know – let's get back to the bridge

>>348441
>I'm staying here, I saw something out on the water

>>348446
supporting

>>348441
>I'm staying here, I saw something out on the water
"Go get the Captain."

>>348441
Seconding >>348446

>>348446
Seconding this

You're staying right here, you tell Lize, you saw something out there – something moving on the water. Vas needs to know about this, though, so you want her to run and fetch him. Once she's done that, she should find somewhere safe to lie low.

“Right, got it,” Lize nods, “You can rely on me!”

You doubt that – she can't tell north from south, which doesn't say great things about her competence – but you don't bother to crush her confidence. As she hurries away, though, you can't help but wonder. First, the thought of sabotage, and now the ship dies for no discernible reason? Well, you might not be the greatest scholar in the land, but you can connect the dots, and you can spot danger from a mile off. This, this exact moment, feels like danger. Too early to lay the blame at Lize's feet, true, but you can't rule her out as a suspect either.

The air feels strange without Lize around, you'll admit that much, or perhaps it's the mysterious shape upon the water that has made the hairs rise up on the back of your neck. Whatever it is, the men down on deck have noticed it as well, stopping their bloody work to look about and trade nervous whispers. Sailors, by definition, are a superstitious sort – they have all kinds of stories about ghost ships, cruel spirits and even Ghruul, the great, undying whale. When a ship vanished without a trace, there are all too many myths and legends to blame.

This is no myth or legend – it's definitely a ship. Crewed by the harsh northern folk, though, or by vengeful spirits? Is there even a difference between the two? As you watch and wonder, you almost feel yourself drawn in and hypnotised by that new ship, captivated by it's silent motion. When Captain Vas claps a hand on your shoulder, you nearly cry out in surprise.

“It's a ship alright,” he growls, “But there shouldn't be anyone else here. I can't radio for help, not with the radio out of action, but the most recent reports I got don't say anything about another ship. I won't lie, Henryk, this has “bad news” written all over it.”

Yeah, you murmur in agreement, this smells like trouble. Leaning forwards a little, you spot something adorning the side of the ship – white paint, perhaps, smeared in the shape of an outstretched hand. Before you can make any sense of it, a guttural sound breaks the silence. As if one of the ancient giants had cleared their throat, a hollow cough rings out through the night.

“Mortars!” Vas cries, as he drops low, “Get your damn head down!”

[1/2]

the whale was a bait.

>>348537

As if the whale carcass had been their true target, and not the ship itself, the first volley of mortars crash down into the deck. Bursting into fire and shrapnel, the bombs explode with savage force, the sound of their blasts drowning out the cries of the crew on deck. With your ears ringing, you rise up on shaky legs.

“Henryk!” Lize screams, her voice coming to you as if there was a thick layer of wool between the two of you, “What's going on?”

“Northern bloody barbarians!” Vas roars, “And we've got nothing that can hope to fight back – we've got one blasted harpoon gun, if it even survived their first shots.”

“Barbarians?” the girl cries, “I don't understand!”

You'll explain later, you snap, when someone isn't trying to kill you all! For now, you need to... to...

You have no idea what to do. You're a Hunter of beasts – naval combat is entirely outside your area of expertise.

“We've got to abandon ship,” Vas' face twists into a rictus of hatred and bitterness, “The engines are dead, and we'll be joining them if we stick around here. Even if I could get them started again, it would just be delaying the inevitable. The life rafts are our only hope. In the dark, they won't be able to get a bead on the individual rafts. You two – get out of here, it's the only chance you've got!”

“Wait, what about you?” Lize, panic high and shrill in her voice, cries out, “You're not coming?”

“I have to get below deck and spread the word,” another grimace, “The electronics are shot as well – I can't give the order. It's my job to make sure as many people as possible get out of here alive, so GO!”

>You heard him, girl – we're getting out of here
>I'll help you search below deck
>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working
>Other

>>348571
>>I'll help you search below deck
>>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working

>>348571
>I'll help you search below deck
We can get it done faster with the both of us. No need to let good men die if we can help it. Lize can get in a lifeboat.

>>348571
>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working

>>348571
>I'll help you search below deck
>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working

>>348571
>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working

Better chance of survival on the ship than out in the Northern Sea without even a harpoon gun, if we have a chance of helping we need to take it, have Lize prep a lifeboat too and start getting people on it. Tell her to drop it and get away if the ship starts going down

>>348571
>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working

>>348571
>>I'll help you search below deck

>>348571
>Give me a chance to check the engines. Maybe I can get them working

You're not letting him go down there alone, you snap, you'll help him search below deck. It'll go faster with the two of you searching, and you won't leave good men behind. Not if you can help it, at least.

Vas scowls at you, as if cursing you for a stubborn fool, but he can't keep a flash of gratitude from showing in his eyes. “I'll welcome the help, you damn fool. C'mon, let's get to work!”

“Wait, what about-” Lize begins, but you cut her off quickly.

Get people to the boats, you order her, and then get one for herself. If this ship starts to sink, you want her to get out of here as soon as possible. Is that understood?

“I... yes!” she nods, forcing a look of determination onto her face, “Don't die down there!”

Her last, flippant comment is still hanging in the air as you join Vas in racing below deck, stepping around pools of liquid fire that cling to the metal deck. Already, smoke is rising thick and black, causing both you and Vas to pull scarves up into crude masks. Perhaps the storage rooms have more appropriate equipment for this kind of work – gasmasks, fire-warding garb, whatever – but that's a heedless hope now. All you can do is split up and rescue as many people as possible.

“I'll take the upper section,” Vas grunts, his voice muffled by the scarf around his face, “Are you-”

You'll head to the engine room, you tell him quickly, to see if you can get this machine started. You'll have a better chance of getting away if you can fix things down here. Even if you can't, the engine crew are likely still down there – you'll need to give them the order to abandon ship.

“Hell, I think you're on a madman's errand,” Vas laughs, “But if you're right, and you can get this old bastard going, I'll see the lights coming on. You do that, I'll get my ass back to the bridge and pull us back. Good luck Henryk!”

Good luck, you shout back as you run for the next set of stairs down, plunging deeper into the bowels of the ship.

-

Passing the order to retreat to every man you pass, you continue your mad, blind journey into the depths of the ship. Without electrical lighting, you only have the flicking glow of your pocket flashlight to guide you, and more than once the deck seems to flee from beneath you. As you get closer and closer to the engine room, you see fewer and fewer crew until finally you are running through deserted corridors. Then, as if passing from a narrow vein to a great organ, you enter the engine room.

[1/2]

>>348644

Lit by the dull light of gas lanterns – the emergency option – the engine room feels more like an ancient cave than a place of industry. It's quiet as well, and it's only now that you realise something – you've never been in a quiet engine room before. There's always been some kind of noise, be it the rumble of engines or the random clatter of repairs. Now though, the only sound is the faint and muffled blasts from the next wave of mortars. Deadened by layers of steel, they sound more like a distant heartbeat.

No, that's not quite right, there is one other noise – the sound of two arguing voices, fear and anger merging into one frantic emotion.

“I'm telling you, this thing is dead!” the first engineer yells, “There's nothing we can do, we need to run!”

“Just give me five more minutes,” the second grumbles, “I'm gonna get the lid off this thing, really get down into the guts. There has to be something wrong – I just need to find it!”

Captain Vas has given the order to abandon ship, you bark out to the pair, they need to haul ass up on deck before the last boat leaves. If there's something left to do here, you can do it.

“Just. Five. Minutes,” the second engineer – a burly fellow – grunts as he prises a heavy metal plate off a boxy machine, “The generator should be working, you get me? But it ain't – not even slightly! Just give me-” Cutting his sentence short, the metal plate springs free, offering you all a look into the guts of the machine. What you see there takes your breath away, the words dying in your throat. The inside of the mechanism is choked with plants – weeds, thorny roots and thick, waxy leaves. Without soil, sunlight or water, life has found a terrible, unnatural foothold.

“Well,” the first engineer says softly, superstitious awe in his voice, “I think we found the problem.”

Silent, the life draining from his face, the burly engineer simply falls down into a slump, staring into the strangled machine with unresponsive eyes. Even when another blast shakes the engine room, causing the whole ship to shudder, he doesn't look away from that awful growth. The ship is dying, thrashing about in its death throes. Without any further encouragement needed, the first engineer takes flight back towards the deck, abandoning his companion with barely a backwards glance. A few moments after his companion has fled, your lone companion rises unsteadily to his feet and shambles towards the exit. Hope might have left him, but the survival instinct is enough to keep him moving.

Staring for a moment longer at the inexplicable life, you turn and head for the exit yourself.

[2/3]

Ornstein was the saboteur.

Calling it right now.

>>348704
Who's been growing their garden in the engine?

>>348704
I said POWER to the engines! POWER! With a P!

Most interesting first thread I've seen in a long time, Moloch. Eating this up

>>348644
Lize seems awfully concerned for a guy who threatened her with a pistol not so long ago.

>>348737
It's not like we actually threatened to shoot her.

>>348737
Eh he barely threatened her once he realized she was a stowaway.

>>348737
>Awfully concerned for the guy who didn't follow through on the threat to shoot her with a pistol

FTFY

File: Nihilo.jpg (204 KB, 2400x1374)

204 KB JPG

>>348704

Somewhere along the way to the deck, you lose the burly engineer. Either he found the energy to hurry, or he slunk off into some corner to die. In a perfect world, you'd have the time to search him out, but this is far from a perfect world. With the ship slowly sinking, you're not even sure if you've got the time to make it out yourself. The further up you go, however, the more hopeful you feel. It might be the flickering light of open flame, but nevertheless, you see light ahead of you.

Letting the flashlight fall from your hands, you sprint up the last set of stairs and emerge into the smoke blackened hell of the deck. Fires blast out a hideous heat, while the wind remains cold against your exposed skin. The contrast disorientates you for a moment, merging with the smoke to cause your head to spin, but then a voice cuts through your confusion.

“Henryk!” Lize screams, “Over here!”

You don't need any more encouragement than that. Shielding your face with an arm, you follow the sound of Lize's voice to one of the emergency rafts, a boat slung neatly over the side of the ship. As you collapse into it, the strength leaving you as you wilt, Lize begins to desperately saw at the knot of rope keeping the boat pinned to the larger ship. It seems to take forever, an eternity in which you can barely lift your head, but then the boat drops free, plunging down into the water. In that brief moment of free fall, you have the absurd impression of being in a dream, as if you'll wake up on the floor of your quarters the second you hit the water.

You don't wake up. That would be a mercy.

Still fighting off that wave of sudden fatigue, you just barely catch a glimpse of Lize fumbling with a pair of oars before the scene begins to fade out around you.

“Wake up you bastard!” Lize shrieks, “Don't go to sleep now! Don't-”

Too late.

-

When you wake up, you're not lying in a boat. You are, in fact, lying in a landscape quite unlike anything you've ever seen before. Black ice – as dark as squid ink – is beneath you, while a stream of luminous white water whispers nearby. This is no natural place, no sane world that you've found yourself in. This could only be a world of delusion, or some twisted interpretation of the afterlife.

“Nihilo,” a sad voice rings out, “No man, no mortal being, can brave this abyss. I have called you in your dreams, Henryk, to ask you one question.”

What, you mumbles as you lie staring up into the black sky, what question?

“What do you want most, in this entire world?” the voice continues, “Perhaps I can grant your wish...”

>I just want to get back home safely
>I want revenge on whichever bastard nearly killed me
>Power. I want power

>>348772
>I just want to get back home safely

>>348772
>>I just want to get back home safely

>>348772
>>I want revenge on whichever bastard nearly killed me

Maximum petty.

>>348772

Are write ins encouraged with this?

If so "I want to Hunt, to challenge and be challenged. It's what I live for."

If not

>I want revenge on whichever bastard nearly killed me

>>348772
>I just want to get back home safely

>>348772
>>I want revenge on whichever bastard nearly killed me
I'd go full on power, but that could lead to weird places like turning into a giant monster or something.

>>348772
>>Power. I want power

>>348793
>I'd go full on power, but that could lead to weird places like turning into a giant monster or something.
You say that like it's a bad thing.

>>348772
>Power. I want power

>>348772
>I just want to get back home safely

>>348791
Actually, I want Power. (so we can have revenge)

>>348789

>Write in options are always welcome, yes, either as a completely different choice or as a way to word specific answers

>>348772
>>I want revenge on whichever bastard nearly killed me
>>Power. I want power

>>348789
I'd second this.

>>348788
>>348772

Eh fuck it. I'll switch my vote to

>Power. I want power.

I just don't see the point in wishing to get home safely, unless we had died.

>>348799
You're absolutely right Anon. Switching vote to Power.

>>348772
>>Power. I want power
Unlimited power, ect, ect.

>>348789
>The Hunter's Dream.

>>348884

That's a good name for it though I think we've been outvoted on that front

>>348772
So, why did we Pass out?

And I'll support >>348789

File: Artemis.jpg (72 KB, 540x576)

72 KB JPG

What kind of man are you, really?

It's not something you've thought about much before now, simply letting yourself move through life on gut instinct and impulse decisions. You've never been one for philosophy or deep, introspective thought either, so when this unseen voice asks its question, you don't quite know how to answer it. Yet somehow, no matter how long you think about the question, you don't feel as though any time has passed at all. You could think on it for hours on end, and you'd be no further forwards. So, you go with the first thought to cross your mind, trusting it to be your true feelings.

Power, you whisper, you want power. Power to live, to hunt, and to be challenged. Power to get revenge on the bastard that nearly killed you. You wish for power.

“That can be arranged,” the voice laughs softly, a mocking edge entering it, “You could be the greatest Hunter in all the land, Henryk. I can make you the greatest Hunter ever to live. All I need is one little favour...”

Strength returns to your limbs, and you manage to sit upright. Following the cold edge of that voice, you spy a woman, her white robes radiant against the black ice. On numb legs, you approach her and try to speak. Words fail you, the breath catching in your throat as the looks up to you.

“I am Artemis,” she purrs, “Goddess of the hunt. You, Henryk, could be my paragon, my champion. You wish for power? All the power in heaven and earth will be yours for the taking... if you serve me, and do me this one task.”

What, you ask, what does she want from you?

“You say you want to hunt? Then you shall hunt,” a slow smile touches Artemis' lips, “Twelve great beasts reside in this land – beings of power, of deceit, of resilience. Hunt them, kill them, and take trophies in my name. I will be watching, and I shall bless your travels. What do you say, Henryk... do we have a deal?”

>When do I get started?
>What are these beasts?
>No... I can't agree to this. I won't become your assassin
>Other

>>348905
Sounds fun.
>What are these beasts?
>When do I get started?

>>348905
>>When do I get started?
>>What are these beasts?
Then we kill her and become the new god of the hunt, right?

>>348905
>>What are these beasts?

>>348920
Thinking 12 steps ahead there champ. Rather see all my options later down the line as things open up.

>>348905
>>When do I get started?
>>What are these beasts?
Oh boy, sounds like a good time.

>>348920
>killing Artemis
This sounds like such a bad idea that I really want to go for it. Make sure you keep it in mind Anon so we can actually follow up on it when we finish her task.

>>348905
Put me on a ship so I can put them in a hearse.

>>348905
>When do I get started?
>What are these beasts?

>>348932
>>348935
Of course I meant we'll wait until those 12 are dead. I guess my wording was just bad.

>>348905
>>When do I get started?
>>What are these beasts?

>>348920
>>348935

>Not marrying her.

Bitches, she's fucking single.

If we're gonna become the God of the Hunt we need to take a bride.

First girl best girl, daughteru not included.

>>348949
>First girl best girl
>Already forgot about Lize

>>348957
>Daughteru
>not
>included

Read before you post anon.

>>348947
I know what you meant. Just saying that nothing is concrete in what is potential for us. We may have whole loads of options other than usurping her later down the line.

>>348949
>Bitches, she's fucking single.
That's because she's also the goddess of virginity.

>>348976
That's if we are assuming is she encompasses everything the Greek Goddess did and not just the Hunt aspect.

>>348976
>inb4 "Not after we're done with her."

>>348976
sounds like an end game challenge to me

>>348983
I mean, I assume part of the reason Artemis is sorta helping us is because we stuck our neck out for Lize.

She is traditionally known as the protector of women and shit and probably was mirrin' our "not shooting stowaway teenaged girls in the face" morality.

>>348905
>>What are these beasts?
>>When do I get started?

>>348976
The Greatest Trophy we can take.

This sounds like a job for you, an ideal job for a man of your skills and persuasion. You just want to know a few things – what are these beasts, these creatures that she wants slain?

“Their names would mean nothing to you, they are penned in a tongue long since dead and forgotten,” Artemis holds her hands up, palms raised to the blackened sky, “Suffice to say, they have all, somehow, drawn my ire.”

Her ire, you repeat, is that easy to draw?

“Everything must die, Henryk,” Artemis laughs lightly, her easy voice at odds with the bleak words, “and that which does not die, decays. Some of these beasts are relics of history, beings that have refused their call to pass from this world. Overs are abominations, things that were never meant to live at all. If it helps ease your mind, consider that you will be doing the world a service by destroying them.”

So, you conclude with a thoughtful nod, when do you get started?

“Soon. Very soon,” Artemis smiles warmly, “When you leave this dream, you will be on an island. There, you will find the first of these twelve beasts. Slay it, Henryk, and I will consider out contract sealed. By my hand, my influence, you will find your way back to Dreyse – to the land you call home. Then, the hunt will truly begin.” A dark note slips into her voice as she murmurs that last sentence, a touch of fevered anticipation that you've heard before. You've heard it in the voices of older Hunters, blood-drunk and eager for battle. You've heard it in the voices of men prepared to die in battle, just for the chance of spilling one last drop of blood.

Interesting, to hear it in the voice of a goddess.

“We'll see each other again, Henryk,” Artemis promises, “May the hunt prove your worth...”

The world, and everything you see in it, turns white.

-

Waking up, you practically sit bolt upright, eyes flashing back and forth in confusion. You remember the words you exchanged with Artemis, and the unnatural domain in which you spoke them. You remember everything, the details sharper than any dream you've ever had. Evidence, then, for the reality of what you just experienced? Shaking off the last vestiges of your confusion, you look around you. A small fire burns away, with Lize sitting, miserable, hunched up by it.

“You were talking in your sleep,” she says, without taking her eyes from the fire, “I guess you were having a nightmare or something.”

>Quite a pleasant dream, actually
>Watch the camp, I need to take a look around
>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
>How are you holding up?
>Other

>>349060
>Quite a pleasant dream, actually
>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
>How are you holding up?

Then onto business
>Watch the camp, I need to take a look around

>Why are you trying to get to the southern colonies?

>>349060
>>Quite a pleasant dream, actually
>How are you holding up?
>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
Why not all three?

>>349060
>Quite a plesant dream, actually
>>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
>>How are you holding up?

>Other

Take stock of our shit, get our bearings. Assure we've got food. Search for survivors. Check out if that boat full of bombarding barbarians is still around.

>>349084
Seconding this

>>349060
>>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?

>>349084
Now doesn't seem like the best time for that.

>>349060
>>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
>How are you holding up?

>>349060
>>Quite a pleasant dream, actually
>>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?

>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
>How are you holding up?
>Watch the camp, I need to take a look around

>>349084
I think this is just a super late vote from >>348200

In fact she already answered it.

>>349060
>Quite a pleasant dream, actually
>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?


Getting a shadow of the colossus vibe here

>>349060
>>Quite a pleasant dream, actually
>>What happened after I passed out, did the others make it out okay?
>>How are you holding up?

Quite a pleasant dream actually, you tell her with a faint smile, certainly not one you could complain about.

“Lucky for some,” she mutters, picking up a stick and savagely poking the first with it, “I don't think I could sleep after that, not after seeing what happened.”

What did happen, you ask, after you passed out? Or while you were below deck, did the others make it out okay? A flash of guilt passes across your mind – briefly, very briefly – as you hammer the girl with questions, but you push it away. You need to know these things, and she's the only source of information you've got.

“The others got out okay, I guess,” Lize shrugs her shoulders very slightly, “They all made it to the boats, Vas and the rest of the crew. I mean, the ones that made it up. He got the last boat out – second last, I mean. He told me to leave, so... I guess he thought you weren't coming. I wasn't sure either, but I didn't want to leave you.”

Silence descends over the crude camp as you consider her words. She risked her life to stay, you point out, why? You've not even known each other for a full day.

“I figure, wherever I ended up, I'd be out of luck on my own,” another small shrug, “With you, I got a chance of survival. That's how I see it, at least. You're not gonna leave me high and dry, are you?”

Nah, you reply after a moment, she did you a good turn by waiting. You're not going to throw that back in her face.

“Thanks,” she smiles a little at that, “Anyway, you passed out just as we got in the water. After that, those guys hit us with another round of those bombs and the waves sorta scattered the boats. From there, the water just kinda... took us here. I managed to start a fire, and here we are.”

What about her, you ask, how is she holding up?

“I'm surviving,” Lize's voice is fragile, brittle, “Y'know, that's the first time I've seen anything like that. All fire and explosions and stuff. I bet the southern colonies aren't this exciting, huh?”

You've never been, this time you're the one who shrugs, so you couldn't really say. Still, you add, what would she prefer – life on the streets, or life out here?

“Anything is better than what I'm running from,” her voice drops to a whisper, “Though I can't run forever. I know that.” As if realising what she just said, Lize shakes her head and raises her voice, speaking loudly and carefully. “Hey, there was a box of stuff in the boat, I think it might be emergency supplies. You wanna take a look?”

Sure, you muse as you replay her words in your mind, pass it over.

Just what, you think as she drags over a locker, is she hiding?

[1/2]

>>349208

The emergency supplies are a mixture of the vital, and the merely useful. Some food – awful stuff made with resilience rather than taste in mind – and clean water. A few flares, and a box of bullets – fat ten millimetre rounds perfect for your pistol. A folding survival knife isn't much help – you've got your own already – but that's just about the only thing you could do without. The other supplies – some medical supplies, a compass, a collapsible telescope, and a warm blanket – are all more than welcome. Overall, you've got enough to wait out a few days on this “island paradise”. Hopefully, it won't be any longer than that.

Were there any other boats washed up here, you ask Lize as you rise up and stretch your legs, either allies or enemies?

“Nah, I reckon we were the only ones. I've not seen anyone, at least,” Lize shakes her head, “Hey, at least we're not gonna have a fight on our hands, right? I mean, with just the two of us... Hey, where are you going?”

Taking a walk, you tell her, she needs to keep an eye on the camp. Keep that fire burning, just in case another ship passes by. You're just going to take a look around, check out the lay of the land.

“Yeah, but where are you going?” she repeats, “What are you doing?”

You're going to hunt, you tell her with a cold grin, it's what you do.

>I think I'll conclude this part of the thread here, and I'll pick up again tomorrow. Same general time, same thread. I'd like to thank everyone who took part today for making this a pretty great start!
>I'll stick around for a while in case anyone has any questions they'd like answered, or any comments they'd like to make.

>>349297
Thanks for running Moloch.

Looking forward to seeing what kind of eldritch horrors you are going to have us kill.

>>349297

Good show Moloch, I'm looking forward to seeing how this progresses

>>349297
And so the Hunt begins, thanks Moloch!

>>349297
So what influenced this quest? The main two I see are dishonored and shadow of the colossus.

>>349362

Bloodborne was probably the other "big" inspiration - the beast hunting in particular. The first thing that actually started me thinking about this quest, though, was actually a documentary about arctic researchers. The image of an icebreaker heading to this remote place stuck with me, and everything else sort of followed from that.

There are other inspirations, little things, but those are probably the main ones.

>>349389
How old is Lize? "Teenage" is pretty vague.

>>349522
Old enough to waifu her is all you need to know.

>>349530
Anon...

>>349530
Daughteru you mean. We will raise her to be a hunter or at least as a healer of some sort.

>>349532
>>349539
What I want to know is how much child labor we can squeeze out of her.

>>349522

She'd probably claim to be older, but she's about sixteen. Henryk is older, at twenty seven. Not quite an old man yet though!

>>349553
Well she is a child and we will probably be sending her into labor maybe 6 or 7 times at the very least.

:^)

>>349539
>Implying she isn't a filthy sympathizer and we won't have to fug the "traitor" out of her.

>>349555
Hey Moloch since you are taking some inspiration from Bloodborne is there going to be Arcane like spells?

>>349597

Magic does exist in the setting, although not as a particularly overt force. It's more along the lines of making the appropriate prayers and offerings in the hope of appeasing spirits. It's quite the forgotten art in modern times, largely due to an official ban, although certain individuals still practice it.

Hardly an exact science, in other words, and not something to be relied upon. In terms of how much use it'll get, it's more likely to be an aspect of the background.

>>349648
And so,
By Fire and Bullet shalt we cleanse this world of Beast!

>>349671
We need to use our dick, it's the most effective tool we have at our disposition.

>>349740
Fire, Bullet, and... cock?
Eh, sure enough I am that that won't be wise for our health. Who knows what diseases beasts carry?

>>349648
Laudanum exist in this setting? This is really important.

>>349757

Laudanum does exist, yes. It's pretty easily available as well - it's seen as closer to alcohol than anything.
Also, please do not have sex with beasts. That's incredibly dangerous, and against League regulations!

>>349768
I mean I won't vote for it, seems OOC, just wanted to know that should it happen we've got the stuff to deal with the possible consequences.

...This is a fucky conversation, anyway see ya next time OP.

>>349297

As a Hunter by trade and upbringing – ever since your blood was taken and tested as a youth, there had been no other future ahead of you – these recent events are hardly new to you. In fact, this divine duty just feels like an extension of your normal life. So, as you slip away from Lize – that foolish stowaway – and her makeshift camp and into the dead, frozen remains of a forest, it's almost a relief. Not unlike nostalgia, in a way. Even now, surrounded by lifeless trees and hard, bristly bushes, you feel at ease. Dirt and snow crunch underfoot, while the leaden sky above looms over you like a shroud. No birdsong, you notice, but that's not surprising.

Birds, you've found, don't like the northern wastes. Not many things do.

It is with more fondness than you ever expected that you find yourself thinking back to the night when you became a Hunter – a real Hunter. It was an occasion cloaked in ritual and ceremony, as much a test of your skills as a rite of passage. First came the chalice of wolf's blood, purged of all impurities and then mixed with different, more desirable poisons. With warped visions haunting your mind, you were hooded and bound, brought out to the deepest reaches of the forests surrounding Canid and left there, abandoned to find your own way back to civilisation.

Not everyone returns. Not everyone survives.

You did survive – you followed the scent of horses, of men, and you traced them back to the city. Upon your arrival, you were welcomed as a brother, as a fellow Hunter, and as a man who had triumphed over nature. You also broke a man's nose – you were, quite understandably, irritated by the whole affair. Still, it was all in good fun. Smiling faintly at the memories, you drag your mind back to the present day, to the present task. You're here to kill something – one of Artemis' “great beasts”.

Whatever those are. What did she say about them – their names were penned in a dead and forgotten tongue? Maybe you'll ask a scholar, a member of the College, when you get back to Dreyse.

If you ever make it back there, of course.

[1/2]

>>352645

Pushing that bleak thought aside for now, you cast an eye around the dead forest and spot a hill, a rise in the land. Heading for the higher ground, you focus your senses on the land around you, searching for any sign of your quarry. You hear nothing, and you see nothing, but the air here has a certain... smell to it. A faint echo of death and decay, like something you'd smell in an old and abandoned tomb.

That scent haunts you, even when you rise to the top of the hill and look down upon the rest of the island. The surrounding waters are clear, empty and deserted, while Lize's fire makes an effective landmark. From this lofty position, you can see most of the island, what little of it there is – there is a small pool of water, a spring perhaps, and a thicker section of trees. That's all there is to see here, save for the narrow stretch of coast that circles the island. No other signs of life, no other signs of danger.

The water, you know, would likely attract wildlife. If this beast is a normal creature, it would need to make the trip there every so often. Staking out a position there might involve a long wait, but you've got good odds of finding your prey. The thick section of trees, on the other hand, could very well hide a lair of some kind. Confronting the beast in its den would be the most direct way of taking it on, but you'd be giving it the advantage. If it's a dangerous thing, giving it the advantage could be a crucial error. Of course, you've always got the possibility of tracking it down – even without the unnatural senses your training has endowed you with, you know how to follow a trail.

You've got plenty of options, in other words

>Take position near the watering hole
>Investigate the thick section of woods
>Search for signs of a trail
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track down your prey
>Other

>>352648
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track down your prey

>>352648
>>Search for signs of a trail

>>352648
>Take position near the watering hole

>>352648
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track down your prey
Time 4 Witcher

>>352648
>>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track down your prey
This sounds interesting, lets go with this.

>>352651
>>352659
>>352662
This is using our one focus
http://pastebin.com/TuHXz5Kp

>>352666
It's the only ability we have to use it on though other than the generic +20.

Might as well use it for what it's for.

>>352666
I'm aware.

>>352648
>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track down your prey

>>352667
The +20 is definitely useful though for when we inevitably crit fail a roll. I do want to use the ability though, might be fun.

>>352684
That's assuming both that the +20 will stop the critfail aspect of a nat 1 and there are critfails in the first place (Moloch's 4 other Quests didn't have a critfail mechanic.)

As you descend the hill, loose dirt crumbling and falling away beneath your boots, you cast a baleful eye about the dead, dismal woods. You've searched woods like these before – even the small patches can fool a band of inexperienced men, splitting them up and leading them astray. Men who blunder into the woods with no preparation rarely return alive.

You're not about to make that mistake. As you reach the bottom of the hill, you drop to a low crouch and draw in a long, slow breath, tasting the air around you. As you focus on your training, on the abilities – not entirely natural – that stir within your heart, the world around you seems to deepen, to take on a richer taste. The smell that had previously been haunting you, lingering at the very edges of your senses, now comes crashing down upon you like a great and awful wave.

>[Wolf's Blood activated]

The stench of death and beasts – it's enough to make a man sick. Yet, there is something sweet about that scent as well, something that draws you in and wakes a terrible hunger within you. Snarling, your breath coming out in a hot rush, you focus on the scent of death and let it guide you. A beast waits in these woods, cloaked in pestilence and decay.

Artemis was right – removing this beast will be doing the world a favour.

Drawing your pistol and your knife, a heavy-bladed thing that is as much a saw as it is a dagger, you stalk onwards into the woods.

-

Mist coils and curls around your feet as you follow your senses, your animal instincts, towards your target. Like the last breath leaving a corpse, the mist carries its scent to you, every slight gust of wind that stirs the land bringing a new rush of filth to your nose. That same wind moans through the trees, giving the air a sombre, painful air.

Then the wind drops entirely, and the moaning continues.

The beast must be close.

Drawing in another lungful of that foul, beast-tainted air, you draw a closer bead on the prey, allowing that taint to guide you along the true path, the right path. The urge to drop to all fours and prowl like the very beasts you hunt is never far, a grim reminder of the slim line that divides civilisation and savagery. More than one Hunter has strayed across that line, yet very few have ever returned to the side of humanity. Death is far from the only fate that awaits a foolish Hunter.

[1/2]

>>352648
>the air here has a certain... smell to it. A faint echo of death and decay, like something you'd smell in an old and abandoned tomb.
Remember her words, this is the smell of our prey, a beast that should have died yet lingers on!

>>[Hunter] Use Wolf's Blood to track down your prey

>>352688
>and your knife, a heavy-bladed thing that is as much a saw as it is a dagger
When do we get the pizza cutter? Everyone knows that's the best weapon.

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>>352688

In a peaceful grove, a clearing that could almost make for an idyllic scene in any other kind of situation, you find the beast. You had few ideas of what to expect, but those scant expectations are still disappointed.

Perhaps alerted by some instinct of its own, the beast is moving away from you, dragging itself through the dirt and filth as it goes. Covering your mouth with one gloved hand, you allow yourself a long moment to study the thing. Grey with the pallor of an old corpse, the beast's hide is mottled with sores and livid patches of decay, dark islands upon that ashen skin. The sores leak a clear liquid, its nature unknown and yet vile nonetheless, and a similar fluid drips from its open jaw – a mouth that can never properly close. Each breath that leaves it is a moan, a sigh, a terrible gasp of resignation. Yet, for all its deformities and disfigurements, it can still be recognised as a horse – or something like a horse.

Something about it is almost foetal, as though it had been ripped from the womb before it was fully grown and cast into a cold and uncaring world. It's the back legs that do it – shrunken, withered things that trail uselessly behind it as it drags itself forwards. It's a stillbirth, you think with vague disgust, something that should never have been born. Certainly not something that should have survived this long.

Moving around ahead of the beast, you raise your pistol and point it at the beast's skull. This, you realise with a faint bitterness, is a test. Not a test of your skills as a Hunter, but a test of your resolve, to ensure that you've got the stomach for this hunt. A test, and the final act to seal a contract. Once you pull the trigger, you'll be bound to a fate unlike any you could have expected for yourself.

>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract
>Walk away

>>352717
>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

>>352717
Honestly I think we are doing this thing a favor by offing it.
>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

>>352717
>Walk away

>>352717
>>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

>>352717
>>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

>>352717
>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract
Put it out of its misery

>>352717
>>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

>>352717
>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

>>352717
>Pull the trigger, and seal the contract

Killing this thing, you think to yourself, will be doing it a favour. In a way, you almost suspect that the beast agrees with you. Even when you press the barrel of your pistol against it's flat forehead, it makes no effort to move away or resist. The dark holes of its eyes are blank and utterly unreadable, as if it was already dead. As if it had died a long time ago, and there was just some terrible cruelty animating its bones.

You don't waste another moment. The gun barks, jumping in your hand as you tighten your finger around the trigger. The stillborn beast jumps as well, shuddering and slumping down flat as it dies. It dies easily, without protest or resistance, and you are again struck by its placid acceptance. Somehow, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth – you wanted a challenge, a test of your skills as a Hunter. This was just butchery, like slaughtering a dull-witted swine.

The next beast, you think as you slide your pistol back into its holster, had better put up more of a fight.

Looking down at the body, you recall Artemis' command – hunt them, kill them, and take trophies in her name. One more gristly part of this contract, one more aspect of this task. With knife in hand, you reach down and hack free one of the beast's ears, letting the blood drizzle freely down upon the snow and soil. It doesn't even hold the lingering warmth of fresh corpse – the chill of death has already taken a firm hold on the carcass. Grimacing with vague disgust, you drop the severed ear into your pocket and head back to the shore, to the camp. You don't even consider bringing the carcass with you.

Eating this meat, you suspect, would be a grave mistake.

-

Some nameless instinct slows your steps as you grow closer to the camp. Shrouded by the thin, skeletal trees and bushes, you lurk and watch, looking onwards. Perhaps driven by boredom, Lize steps back and forth, playing with a stick. No, not playing – swishing the branch through the air like a sword, lashing back and forth in careful, controlled thrusts. You've seen that kind of display before, albeit in very different circumstances. It was a noble son you watched then, and it was a fine fencing blade he carried as a weapon. Seeing his motions mirrored in Lize's careless play... interesting.

Sliding a little closer, the bushes rustle around you. Lize stiffens slightly, pausing for a split second before returning to her game. This time though, her motions are sloppy and lazy, a far cry from the tight, disciplined display you previously witnessed. Discarding stealth and subtlety, you emerge onto the coast and call out a greeting. As she gives you a stiff nod, you take some of the survival food and start the makings of a small meal.

[1/2]

>>352760

“So why did you choose to be a Hunter?” she asks as she casts a dubious look at the can of oily fish you gave her, “Bloody dangerous work, if you ask me.”

Didn't have much choice, you tell her with a shrug, when you were young – fourteen or so – a noble woman came to take a sample of your blood. The next day, she brought you the news, the knowledge that you were suited for the Hunter's life. Those who go against their blood are treated with suspicion and distaste, you add, but surely she knew that already? She's about old enough to have been tested herself, after all.

“Oh,” Lize's face goes blank as she searches for an appropriate lie, “Yeah. I mean, they said I wasn't good for anything in particular. If I was, I guess I wouldn't be living like this.”

Members of the nobility don't have to take the test, you remark casually, they're exempt.

“That so?” Lize angrily pokes the fire with a stick, “I guess they got a great life, nobles. Not a damn thing to worry about.”

Smiling faintly at her outburst, you dip a hard cake of bread into the leftover oil, softening it until you can break off a bite. A picture is starting to form in your mind, a theory about her true nature. That rough edge to her voice is an act, one put on to hide the measured dignity of a noble upbringing. That explains her outfit as well – it could very well be a uniform from some distinguished academy. You could ask her for the truth, but there's little guarantee that she'd actually give you it.

“Look, we got more important business right now,” the girl says, a sour look passing across her face as she tastes the fish, “Like, how the hell do we get off this bloody island?”

Just wait and see what happens, you reply, you've got a plan that might play out – you just need a little time.

“Wait?” her eyes widen a little at the suggestion, “Wait and do what?”

Rest, you say through a heavy yawn, maybe get a little sleep. You're feeling like a nap right now, in fact.

“Sleeping again? Come on, this is hardly the-” Lize pauses, her voice already growing distant, “Henryk? Are you even listening to me? Are you really...”

The rest, mercifully, is lost.

[2/3]

>>352791

You dream a little – a dream of little consequence – before something shudders you to full waking life, or something like it. Here again, in the bleak wasteland of Nihilo, with the goddess Artemis sitting patiently nearby. There's something else here as well, moving in the distance. You stare at it for a long moment before you recognise it as the stillbirth you killed earlier. Now it's here, dragging itself through this other world.

“Pathetic, isn't it?” Artemis begins, following your gaze, “As I said before, it's name would mean nothing to you. The translation though – crude and cumbersome it may be – would be something along the lines of... “That Which Has Not Earned Life”. Words to that effect, certainly. It's a thing of weakness, surviving in a world of strength only because there was nothing around to deliver the killing blow. It didn't fight, did it?”

No, you confirm, it meekly accepted death.

“And that, Henryk, is what offended me,” Artemis gives the stillbirth a dark look, “Man or beast, everything that lives must fight to hold onto that life. It may be a futile fight, but they must fight regardless. Think on those words, my dear Hunter.”

And the next one, you ask, is that also something that has accepted death?

“Oh my no,” a gentle laugh, here, “I expect the next beast to be far less willing to die. That's a matter for another day, however – I believe I have my side of the bargain to uphold. You will find a way off that miserable island, Henryk, I assure you of that. As for the rest, the offer of power... I give you a choice. Would you take another step down the path of bloodshed, or do you wish to tread more civilised ground?”

With unhurried elegance, Artemis holds out her hands. One is pure porcelain white, the other drips with blood, a single red stain upon her brilliant white form.

>Accept the gift of bloodshed
>Accept the gift of civilisation
>Refuse her gifts

>>352809
>Accept the gift of civilization

Let's work on that diplomacy. I think we're gonna need it.

>>352809
>>Accept the gift of bloodshed

>>352809
>Ask for explanation
Gods and their antics. Someone needs a good talking to from a Wanderer it seems.

>>352809
>>352818
This

>>352809
>Accept the gift of civilisation
I think we are heading back to a city soon right? Maybe for right now we should shore up our weakness for diplomacy. We are probably going to need a bit of it going forward.

>>352809
>Accept the gift of bloodshed
Since we suck at things like diplomacy the civ path might be more useful in the long run but C'mon, murder powers.

>>352809
>>Accept the gift of bloodshed

>>352809
>>352818
backing this

>>352818
This feels pretty clear cut.

Since you played SGQ it feels like the difference between getting a Fire or Water Spell.

>Since we're sitting on three votes for asking for an explanation and the gift of bloodshed, I'm going to write up a quick post that should hopefully explain the gifts a little better.
>If there are any other questions you wish to ask, please post them so I can include them as well. I apologise for the inconvenience, and the delay.

>>352874
Well what the nihilo is would help, and what other gods are there and how likely we're going to step on thier toes.

These gifts, you ask as you stare down at her contrasting hands, what are they? What form will they take, and what will they do to you?

“You ask for power, and now you question it?” Artemis' smile doesn't waver, “A cautious and careful Hunter, I see – a welcome change from the kind of blood-drunk brutes and cowardly old men I've grown used to. These gifts, then – in time, I will be able to awaken the true potential of your blood, and hone your focus into a keen blade. That time, I fear, is not yet upon us. Still, I can impart a fraction of my power to guide you along the path you choose. A small fragment, true, but many fragments can become a magnificent whole.”

Each gift will provide a small passive bonus to Henryk's skills. Bloodshed governs combat skills, Civilisation involves rolls outside of combat.

Nodding as you consider her answer, you cast your eye around the landscape. Nihilo, you ask, what is this place?

“This is no place, no point on a map,” Artemis places a hand – her unbloodied one – upon your arm as she gestures around her with the other hand, “Nihilo touches against men's minds, but so few are ever aware of it. A deeper realm than any dream, I have made this lonesome place my home.”

That doesn't exactly answer your question, you point out, this place is like a dream?

“A similar thing,” Artemis offers a small shrug, as if she herself does not truly know the source of this place, “An island, if you like, upon the ocean of human thought, the collective dream than men no longer know.”

Are there other gods here, you ask, gods other than her?

“Not here, no,” Artemis shakes her head, “The nameless gods of the north still haunt the waking world. You could sooner banish the wind than take away their unseen influence.”

Will this hunt draw their ire, you ask then, just as your quarry drew hers?

“Who can say?” again, the goddess shrugs, “Their minds and motives – if they even have such things – are unknown to me. Remain cautious, Henryk, and trust only what you can hold in your own hands.” At that mention of hands, she offers you both palms once more, head tilted slightly as she waits for your response.

>Accept the gift of Bloodshed
>Accept the gift of Civilisation
>Refuse her gifts

>>352935
>Accept the gift of Civilisation

>>352935
>>Accept the gift of Civilisation
We already have a +10 in combat, better to buff some other rolls.

>>352935
Same argument as before. Shore up our weaknesses a little, then eventually go hard in the paint with combat.
>Accept the gift of Civilisation

>>352935
>Accept the gift of Civilization

Still think we should shore up our diplomacy weakness.

>>352935
>>Accept the gift of Civilisation
Something to balance our Wolf's Blood

>>352935
>Accept the gift of Civilisation

>>352874
Boo Moloch, you have dishonored every QM. You are a shame to the world and you ought to be banned from the Discord. A pox on you and you descendance!
>>352935
>Accept the gift of Civilisation

Reaching out, you take Artemis' hand – her pure, unbloodied hand – in yours and bow your head low. Her flesh is cool and smooth, more like polished marble than human skin, and her hand seems to have no weight at all. When she touches her hand to your forehead, it feels like a feather has fallen upon your brow. Closing your eyes, you feel something shift inside you, as if she has reached inside your mind and adjusted something within you.

>Non-combat skill bonuses increase by 5.

It feels... strange. That's the only word you can think of. It's not long, though, before a new feeling strikes you – a distant pain, faint and muffled, like someone lightly kicking you in the side.

No, it's not “like” that – that's exactly what you're feeling. Someone, and you've got a pretty good idea of who, is kicking you in the ribs. When you next open your eyes, reality has reasserted itself. Artemis, Nihilo, and the stillbirth, they have all vanished like morning mist.

Now, if only that damn girl would stop kicking you...

-

“Wake up!” Lize cries, pulling back her foot for another one of those feeble kicks, “You damn lazy bastard, wake up!”

You're awake, you grunt as you sit upright and block her foot, what's the problem?

“It's a ship, I saw a ship,” she tells you, the words spilling from her lips in an excited rush, “It's still out there somewhere, we've got to call it over somehow. Flares! You said there were flares!”

At the mention of a ship – of rescue – you leap to your feet and glance wildly about you. Despite the timeless feeling that Nihilo grants you, night must have fallen while you were speaking with the goddess, for the sky is once more ink-black. With only the failing light of the fire to help you look, it takes a moment to find the chest of equipment, and a further few moments to dig out the flares. Fat tubes of metal, a cord dangles from each one like the fuse on a stick of dynamite. Pointing the tube towards the sky, you tug hard on the cord and fire the flare, a newborn star, up into the dark sky. It blazes above you, casting a sickly red light down upon the scene as it creeps higher and higher. Such a beacon could be seen for miles – if there really is a ship out there, it won't miss you. True enough, a searchlight bursts into life, sweeping across the open waters to fall upon you both. As Lize cries out with desperate laughter, jumping and waving her arms, you settle for a cautious smile.

You've found a ship, now you've just got to hope it's a friendly one.

[1/2]

>>353028
Aya, pls.

>>353028

As the drone of an outboard motor grows louder and louder, the sign of an approaching boat, you slowly move your hand to the grip of your pistol, readying yourself for the worst. Even if they are hostile, these new arrivals have provided you with a boat, a means of escape. You'd rather not dirty your hands with human blood, but if that's what it takes to survive...

When the rescue ship draws close enough for you to make out details, faces, you let out a heavy sigh of relief, surprise warring with gratitude. Standing behind that searchlight, angling it up to brighten the sky, the bearded face of old Captain Vasily comes as a welcome sight. Laughing aloud, he jumps from the boat as soon as it nears the shallow water, wading ashore and slapping a hand on your arm.

“Henryk, you son of a bitch!” he cries, “I knew you wouldn't let something small, something like a sinking bloody ship kill you!”

Well, you admit, you had help. If Lize hadn't kept that last boat back for you...

“Not bad for a stowaway,” the captain gives Lize an approving nod, “Henryk and me, we go way back – you do him a good turn, that makes you one of the good ones in my book. C'mon, there's a ship waiting – a proper one, fit to take us back to the Free States.”

“How did they find us?” Lize asks as you're wading back to the rescue ship, “I thought we were the only ship in the area.”

“Blind bloody luck!” Vas remarks as the boat lurches around in a tight circle, heading back out to the open waters, “The way I hear it, there was some unexpected problem on one of the oil platforms out of Port Steyr, and they had to call someone out. He saw fire off in the distance and went to check it out. When he found us, we were just drifting – no idea where we were or how many of us had survived. I tell you though, if we got lucky then you must have the luck of the devil on your side. We were about to head back to Port Steyr, still no sign of you, when the captain suddenly called for one last sweep of the area.”

He suddenly changed his mind, you ask, just like that?

“Yeah, I ain't complaining, but I don't know why he did it. He mumbled something about a dream, but I never got the full story,” Vas shrugs, shaking his head, “A good turn comes my way, I don't ask too many questions. Hey, speaking of questions, you got anything you need to know?”

>Do we know who hit us?
>Did you lose many men?
>How quickly can we get back home, do you think?
>Sorry Vas, I just need some time to think
>Other

>>353061
>Do you know who hit us?

>>353061
>>Do we know who hit us?
>>Did you lose many men?
You still owe me that drink, remember?

>>353061
>Do we know who hit us?
>Did you lose many men?

>>353061
>>Do we know who hit us?

>>353061
>Do we know who hit us?
>Did you lose many men?
>Other
"Vas, there were plants choking your engine. Have you seen anything like that?"

>>353061
>>Do we know who hit us?
>Did you lose many men?

>>353085
>>353061
This

>>353085
You might also want to ask if the two mechanics are still here.

Does he have any idea who was behind the attack, you ask, any likely suspects?

“Well, I got nothing to prove it, but I reckon it might have been the Tyrant,” Vas grimaces, “Ever since he took Port Lebel, he's been getting bold – word is, that damn barbarian has got the shipyards up and running again. I reckon he's cut a deal with those southern snakes, they give him “expert advice” and he harries us. If we're too busy trying to stamp out his little war, the colonies can do what they life.” Vas leans over the side of the boat and spits into the water. “It's a bad time to be alive, Henryk.”

But a worse time to be dead, you argue, how many crew went down with the ship?

“Not many. Too many,” Vas grunts, “I ain't had the chance to count heads yet, but we might be looking at a dozen dead, and that's a minimum. For a small ship like ours was, that's a heavy blow. Hey, you want to hear a bad joke? Guess who made it out without a single damn scratch.”

Ornstein, you guess, are you close?

“Fucking Ornstein,” Vas spits again, confirming your suspicions, “One of the men I lost, he had ten years of experience on the water. Ornstein – that bastard is a lawyer, and I wager he never even saw the ocean until I took his fat ass on as a passenger.”

Shit, you mutter to yourself, bad deal. Hey, you add a moment later in an attempt to change the subject, you wanted to ask him something. When you were down in the engine room, you saw something you can't explain – his engine was choked with plants, all kinds that had grown out of nothing. Has he ever seen anything like that before?

“Bad news,” Vas breathes, “You hear stories. Unexplainable things, curses and mysteries. The way people tell it, it's the work of the old gods, twisting the land in their own lunatic image. My grandmother told me a few of those stories, tales of rituals held under the moonlight. These witches, they could call storms, wither plants, whatever. I never believed them much – I mean, the Ministry says that those old stories were just fakes and trickery – but this... this sounds just like it, like the real thing.”

When you see the look that passes across Vas' face – wretched fear and nervous paranoia in equal measure – you quickly decide to move the conversation along onto safer ground. He still owes you that drink, you point out with a forced laugh, remember?

“A drink,” Vas matches your laugh, his just as awkward as yours, “Yeah, I hear that – I could go for a few drinks right now. Hell, I'll get the whole crew together and we can drink Port Steyr dry.”

[1/2]

>>353135

At the mention of the crew, you think back to the pair of engineers, and their desperate flight to the top deck. Did they ever reach safety, you ask Vas, the pair of men he had down in the boiler room?

“A pair?” Vas frowns, “There was one guy who made it out. Skinny, ranting about how he couldn't believe his eyes, not making much sense. He was in the boat before me, so I didn't get much chance to talk with him. The way I hear it, though, he had to be sedated. He was fighting so bad, he could have tipped the whole raft over. I don't know if he's awake yet or what – he was still sleeping it off when I came out here.”

And it was just the one of them, you press, nobody else?

“Just the one guy,” a shadow passes across Vas' face as the rescue ship – a welcome sight – rises high ahead of you, “His buddy... I guess they got split up, or he didn't make it. You were the last one up, so if you didn't see him...”

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh. Vas' right, you say a moment later, the engineer must have fallen behind or something. Whatever the reason, he went down with the ship. One more death to blame on the Tyrant.

“Hey, Henryk?” Lize asks, “This tyrant... what are you talking about?”

The White Tyrant, you explain, he's something of warlord around here. He has all kinds of aspirations – uniting the northern tribes, killing anyone who strays into his territory, even invading Dreyse itself. At least, that's what the stories say – it's pretty hard to come by any solid information, even proof that he really exists is thin on the ground. A few people claim to have met him, but the Ministry is yet to officially confirm anything.

“Huh,” Lize looks out at the open water, at the Norther Hunting Grounds in all their savage majesty, “Way I see it, he's welcome to this place.”

-

The captain of your rescue ship is a sullen man, not given to free conversation. Without even giving you his name, he ordered a member of his crew to show you to your quarters – a bedroll laid out in a storage room, something that reminded you strangely of Lize and her little hideout – and then stalked back to his own, far nicer chambers. You didn't let his dark mood bring you down, just the prospect of something approaching a real bed was enough to raise your spirits.

As you're getting settled in, you happen to reach into your pockets and touch cold, dead flesh. The ear you took as a trophy, you realise, you completely forgot about it. You can't leave it there, rotting away, but simply throwing it overboard doesn't feel right either. The sickroom should have some preservatives you can use – that'll do for now.

[2/3]

>>353187

The sickroom, when you arrive, is quieter than you expected. There are many men here, laid out on cots and sleeping soundly, but one of the beds is separate from the others, a heavy curtain drawn around it to hide the patient from view. Every so often, the still air is disturbed by the rustle of sheets or a shuddering breath, but those are the only sounds. No sign of a doctor or any other crew. Glancing around to see if you really are alone, you approach the isolated bed and slowly draw back the curtain.

Lying upon the bed, his wrists and ankles bound, the scrawny engineer shifts and twitches. His movements have the air of a man fighting against a crushing weight of drugs, fighting to claw back his wits and consciousness. Shaking your head sadly, you step back and draw the curtain closed. You came here for some preservatives, not to trade words with a lunatic.

Yet, even as you're helping yourself a jar of some noxious smelling chemical, the thought of the engineer laying there haunts your thoughts. It might be possible to wake him, to see what he has to say.

>Try to wake him
>Undo his bonds
>Leave him alone for now
>Other

>>353234
>>Leave him alone for now
He might have something of interest to say, but he's still nuts.

>>353234
>>Leave him alone for now

>>353234
>Leave him alone for now

>>353234
>Leave him alone for now

>>352935
>places a hand – her unbloodied one – upon your arm
physical contact! First step on the path to waifu

>>353291
Wait.
Wait.

I have only now understood we held hands

Man we are so dirty.

No, this is not your place to meddle. If he's been bound and drugged, it has to be for a good reason. You've seen men gripped by madness, fighting against anyone nearby with tooth and nail. Even without the Red Eye Sickness, or some other malady boiling away inside him, the engineer could still be a risk. You'll leave him for the doctors to deal with. So, tucking the jar down into a deep pocket, you return to your improvised quarters.

There are a few others sharing the space with you, but they don't bother to look up when you slump down in your little space. Even when you crack open the jar of chemicals and drop in the grey, clammy lump of flesh, you don't get more than a few questioning glances. You're wolf-blooded, a Hunter – some strange behaviour every now and then is exactly what people expect from you.

With your newest trophy floating by your side, you lie down on the bedroll and stare up at the ceiling. By your count, you'll be back at Port Steyr by the afternoon. After that, you'll be on the first boat to Dreyse – a week's travel. The wait seems intolerable, seven long days spend slowly cracking your way though the constantly forming and reforming skin of ice that separates the Free States from the Northern Hunting Grounds. Just before you drop off to sleep – a natural sleep, for once – you cast a suspicious glance at the other men slouched around you.

None of these bastards better steal your ear.

>I think I'm going to have to stop things a little early today, I'm about out of prepared material. I'll pick this up tomorrow, same general time, and I'll stick around in case anyone has any questions or comments.

>>353351
Do Hunters always hunt with a pistol?
Even 10mm seems a bit weak.

>>353351
Important questions you don't need to answer.

Are we doing some sort of Chinese Zodiac theme with these beasts?

And

Did each individual starting "animal" have its own separate storyline.

>>353367

There's no real formal policy for choosing weapons. Some Hunters use rifles or shotguns - even flamethrowers in some cases. As a general trend though, lighter weapons are favoured, usually paired with knives for close work. That said, just bringing a pistol is rare. Had there been a real need for it, and the time to prepare had been there, heavier weapons would be used.

>>353369

I didn't deliberately pick a Chinese Zodiac theme, no. I don't even think I could name all of the animals in it, now I think about it!
As for the animals, there would be differences. Some characters are more or less significant, depending on Henryk's background, and his circumstances would be a bit different. There wouldn't have been huge differences, mind.

for the sake of variety, can we NOT get Blink this time?

>>356306
Not sure we'll be getting magical abilities at all.

>>353351

Port Steyr – the closest thing to civilisation that can be found in the Northern Hunting Grounds. Sometimes, it's the last place that men can rest their weary heads before venturing into the wasteland, and the first chance for a warm bed upon their return. From here, the long journey through the frozen narrows awaits, a long week spent grinding through fields of unbroken advice. Some men read, others play endless games of cards – you've always had the habit of staring out, spending long hours gazing into the void.

It's an acquired skill, waiting in such a way.

Still, that particular task is yet to come. For now, you'll be spending some time in Port Steyr, taking in whatever comforts you can find. Not that there's much on offer – despite being the sole island of civilisation in the northern seas, Port Steyr has more in common with a grin, austere fortress than any warm, welcoming town. With high walls and looming towers, the place could hold off an invading army for months.

With the White Tyrant growing bolder with each passing day, that might be a real possibility.

As you're pulling into the docks – the struts and walkways clinging like parasites to the walls of the fortress-city – Vas passes you a small card. A business card, one for a bar named The Drowned Man.

That, you think to yourself, has to be the worst name for a bar you've ever heard.

-

Lize, citing some unease about the port, decided to stay on the ship. It's probably for the best – at her tender age, no bar or drinking hole in the city would so much as let her in, let alone serve her. Besides, you get the feeling that The Drowned Man wouldn't be her kind of place. The name was bad, but the bar itself is far worse – quite possibly the most squalid pit you've ever had the misfortune to step inside.

The perfect place, then, for old Captain Vas.

A warm rush of air, heavy with the scent of beer, sweat and burning tobacco, slaps you in the face as you enter the bar. It comes matched with a barrage of voices, men crying out orders and singing drinking songs – crude things, the bawdy lyrics usually centred around heavy cleavage or plump thighs. Even so, the songs have a desperate edge to them, as though the singers were frantically trying to cover fear and grief with lustful fantasies.

Vas sits alone, apart from the celebrations. He looks more like a statue, a grim-faced guardian watching over his men, an idol surrounded by drunken revellers. The cigarette, burning between his fingers like a votive candle, only adds to that impression. Stepping around a pack of leering sailors, you sit opposite him and notice, thanks to the small space between you, how dull and glassy his eyes are. He's not calm and contemplative – he's drunk out of his mind, no different from the rest of his men.

[1/2]

>>356322

“The next ship back to the Free States leaves tomorrow morning,” Vas slurs, waving a hand to summon over a fresh round of drinks. This would be the... third, fourth round? However many it's been, you're feeling pretty good about things. With the smoky liquor burning in the pit of your stomach, rest and relaxation seems like something you might actually find, in only you could reach out and claim it.

Though, it''s hard to reach out and claim anything when you're blind drunk. As Vas reaches out to take a new cigarette, all he can do is sweep the box from the table. He curses once, softly, and then the entire matter is forgotten. A ship, you repeat, that's good.

“I'll be glad to get out of here,” the captain mutters darkly, “Whales, barbarians, curses... I'm getting too old for all this.”

Vas, as you recall, is only just in his thirties. It'll be a long time before he counts as an old man in your book. For the sake of conversation, and perhaps to satisfy your curiosity, you ask him about those old tales he was raised with. Did any of them mention a goddess, you ask, a goddess of Hunters?

“Artemis,” saying the name seems to sober Vas up a little, “Yeah, I've heard of her. Way I hear it, she used to be widely praised and worshipped, but that was a long time ago – centuries at least. She even had a temple down in Artyom, or close enough. Maybe that's why they call Artyom the Hunter's city, huh?”

Maybe, you murmur as the next round of drinks arrive. Clicking your glasses together, you both throw back the dark spirit and shudder.

“Only folks that praise her name these days are witches and barbarians,” Vas scowls, “Bah... seems like every dark corner is hiding something vile these days. I even hear the woods outside the city have cults gathering in them, doing all kinds of rituals under the moon. Bad business, I'd say...”

Bad business, you agree. Even as you say this, though, a wicked light has crept into Vas' eyes.

“We should go take a look,” he offers, with the misplaced confidence of a drunkard, “Go out there and bust some heads, bring a few witches to justice. Yeah... yeah, I like the sound of that. You're not gonna leave me to go alone, are you?”

His enthusiasm, you must admit, is contagious. His words have lit a fire in your heart – or was that the alcohol? - and you're tempted to take him up on his offer, even with a cautious voice in the back of your mind urging restraint.

>Count me in – but for now, we're just taking a look
>Forget it Vas, you're on your own
>Neither of us is going out there
>Other

>>356323
>Count me in – but for now, we're just taking a look

Hmm, is a drunken stupor a combat benefit? Probably.

>>356323
>>Count me in – but for now, we're just taking a look
>>356326
no time for this

>>356323
>Count me in – but for now, we're just taking a look
Eh fuck it, as long as it's just scouting.

>>3563237
>Neither of us is going out there
Given how drunk he is, he's more likely to bust his own head open on the pavement than to do that to anyone else.
As for you, well getting comfy is still an option.

>>356323
>>Forget it Vas, you're on your own

>>356323
>Count me in – but for now, we're just taking a look
Woohoo, best new quest

He can count you in, you tell him, but on one condition – for now, you're only going to look. If there are any heads that need busting, you'll call in the proper authorities. At least they'll have the training to do a good job of it.

Vas tuts a little at your prudence, but he smiles regardless. “That's my man, Henryk,” he tells you, creases gathering at the corners of his eyes as his smile deepens, “Just wait here and get another drink, I've got something to take care of first.” He stands, wavering only a little, and then slouches out of the room before you can so much as reply, or even think of a reply.

When a man's got to go, you decide, he's got to go. Yet, as the long minutes stretch out, you start to suspect that Vas wasn't just going out to take a piss. No, he's got something else planned, and when he returns – nearly half an hour later, and with a heavy bundle under one arm – you realise what he was doing. Calling in a few favours, if your guess is worth anything, and they must have been pretty significant ones. The kind of favours that men live and die over.

How else would he be able to find a pair of shotguns, their heavy barrels cut short and brutal, on such short notice?

-

Walking through the wide streets and deserted avenues of Port Steyr, you realise something – something very small and insignificant, but nevertheless enough for an uneasy stirring to take hold of you. The doorways here, in the most ancient buildings, are far too large, as if built for men of great and powerful stature. One of them you pass must be eight feet tall, at a conservative estimate. When you point this small detail out to Vas, he laughs aloud.

“Giants,” he says, tapping the shotgun against his hip as he leads you onwards, “Or their rebellious children, at least.”

You had thought the cold air had sobered him up a little, but this talk of giants has forced you to reconsider. Giants, you point out, are myth. This is just another one of his grandmother's tales, isn't it?

“This is historical fact, Henryk,” Vas scolds, “The first beings to walk this land were giants, and their children were something else. A smaller breed, but still giants compared with you or me. Large enough, I wager, to warrant those lofty doorways.”

And these giants, you press as you humour the drunken man, they were overthrown by their children? What happened to the children?

“They were overthrown by their children,” a faint note of scorn creeps into Vas' voice, as if that should have been obvious, “That's how life works out here. They got old, they got complacent, and they were cast down by the next generation.”

And who, you ask, were they?

But Vas, that unexpected student of history, merely laughs.

[1/2]

>>356337

You have no idea how Vas manages to secure passage through the city gates, or the assurance that you'll be allowed back in later. In fact, you're not even sure you want to know. Bribes, perhaps, or more favours. Just what Vas did to get so many men in his debt, well, that's just one more secret he'll keep.

A man fond of his secrets, Vas.

The transition between city streets and empty wasteland is a jarring one, and the crunch of packed snow under your feet is the first sign of it. The forests lie to the east, thick and primal, but you've got a fair walk before you reach their border. With a glance up to the sky, you realise that it will likely be dark by the time you reach the trees, darker still if the clouds move in to steal away the moon. As if noticing your very deliberate glance, Vas hands over an electrical flashlight, keeping a second one for himself. Although you don't refuse the flashlight, you do give it a sour look. You've never been a great fan of these little things – they have a habit, you've found, to fail at the most inconvenient time imaginable.

Out here, once night falls, even the slightest flicker could prove disasterous.

-

For a while, the only sounds you hear are the crunch of your footsteps, and the rattle of fat, brass shotgun shells clinking together. Then, just as you reach the first trees – great evergreens that punch up into the sky – you hear faint music, lunatic drum rhythms.

“I told you!” Vas hisses, “I told you there were people out here!” As if the maddening drumming isn't enough to prove him right, he forges ahead into the trees, a beacon of dull yellow light clicking into life as he gives life to his flashlight. Grimacing, you fire up your own light and follow him, low bushes rustling around your feet as you press on after him.

The sound of drums grows louder and louder as you move deeper into the woods, and soon you see a light up ahead, the bloody red glare of an open fire. The woods smell of smoke, curiously spiced, and a throbbing chant has risen to join the beat. Like a man caught in a fever dream, you are drawn closer and closer, until Vas – appearing behind you, somehow – grabs your arm to halt your advance. He holds something out to you, and – fumbling your flashlight into a pocket – you take it.

A stray figure, it looks like, a crude imitation of a man. You start to voice a question, but then Vas touches a finger to his lips, hushing you. He points to a dangling noose, and then to several more. The others all have dolls dangling from them, hanging like charms from the trees around you. With the sudden superstition of a fool, you drop the stray doll and take a hasty step back, as if it might explode at any minute.

An explosion, you suspect, would be the least of your problems.

[2/3]

>>356351

All logical sense and reason point to one conclusion – turn back, and leave these witch-cursed woods behind you. Leave now, report them to the Ministry, and never think about them again. Two men in their right minds would have realised this almost immediately, and even one man with his wits about him might have been able to dissuade his foolish companion.

Unfortunately, tonight is a night for whiskey rather than wit, and logical sense is rather thin on the ground.

Even with a small, voice – the voice of animal panic – crying out warnings from the darkest reaches of your mind, you step ever closer to the site of this moonlight ritual, a dread curiosity dragging you ever onwards. With Vas lagging slightly behind you – he has reached the limits of his courage, or so it seems – you press yourself against the rough bark of an ancient tree and peer into the clearing ahead.

With both fire and moonlight illuminating the scene – the need for flashlights had long since passed – it should have been easy to count how many people were gathered ahead of you, and yet a precise number always eludes you. No matter where you look, your eyes are always drawn back to the figure standing at the centre of the circle. In the light of the fire, her bare skin is a mottled red, dark tattoos standing out against the ruddy glow. Leaves, flowers and vines, all life seems daubed onto her skin, leaving just her face and hands uncovered. Her head is thrown back, her eyes closed tight and her lips shaping the unknowable words of the rite.

This is nothing natural, that much is certain. By your side, Vas slowly raises his shotgun, the motion mired in uncertainty. His wide eyes painting two pools of white against his face, he turns and looks to you.

>Attack. This rite must be stopped
>Fire a warning shot to break up the ritual
>Watch for a while longer
>Retreat while you're still unseen
>Other

>>356358
>Watch for a while longer
But
>Keep your gun aimed and senses sharp

>>356358
>>Retreat while you're still unseen
Time to bail, no need to waste time here.

>>356358
>Watch for a while longer
Also
>Stop that idiot Vas from shooting them

>>356358
>Watch for a while longer
>Other
Have Vas start to head back to report to the Ministry. Against this many people his extra shotgun won't matter if it comes to a fight. If we get spotted at least we know help is coming and we can buy time.

>>356367
seconding

Shaking your head ever so slightly, you reach out and gently press down on Vas' shotgun, lowering it until it points, once more, at the forest floor. Without needing to pass a word between you, he seems to understand. Watch for now, but run at the first sign of trouble. Overt trouble, at least – the entire scene playing out before you is a kind of trouble. It's not trying to kill you yet though, and that's good enough. A thought strikes you, and then you lean over to whisper in Vas' ear.

Get back to the port, you tell him, and bring word of this to the Ministry. You'll keep watch for now, but one of you needs to bring back the news. A doubting look touches Vas' face – as if he fears leaving you alone would be a death sentence – but then he nods and begins his slow retreat. He walks away with the care shared only by old men, cripples and drunkards, taking each step with deliberate precision. Even with his cautious pace, it isn't long before you're alone.

As you keep up your watchful vigil, the ritual seems to progress to a calmer state, the drumming tapering off to a slower pace. It's no less insane though – if anything, the overlapping sound of so many different drums each keeping a slightly different beat is far more deranged than the furious pounding you heard earlier. One of the witches stands, swapping their drum out for a brush and bowl as they approach the leader. In contrast to their naked leader, the witch wears a thick robe – so heavy that you can see the hands at the end of their sleeves and nothing more. Bowing low, they draw the brush in long strokes over the leader's stomach, painting a circle upon the already coloured skin.

As that circle is painted – drawn and redrawn time after time until the cult leader's stomach is black with ink – the drumming returns to its furious pace. As if responding to the sound, the bushes and undergrowth around the clearing behinds to stir and shake, some unseen creatures moving within and drawing ever closer. The rustling of bushes doesn't just come from the far side of the clearing either – you can hear something approaching from close by. Not quite behind you... but close.

The air sours with the animal stink of a beast, and the breath catches in your throat. By your reckoning, it will only be a matter of moments before the fiend will pass right by you.

>Find somewhere to hide and wait for it to pass
>Cut the beast off and try to kill it silently with your knife
>Retreat immediately. Use the shotgun if you run into any beasts
>Other

>>356392
>>Cut the beast off and try to kill it silently with your knife
What could possibly go wrong?

>>356392
>Cut the beast off and try to kill it silently with your knife

>>356392
All these people trying to get murdered by swarms of hellbeasts.
>Find somewhere to hide and wait for it to pass