V M [Unmaking] The Haven Hauntings

[Arbiter]

CHAPTER I. LOOMINGS​

Two watery pools of dark liquid rose out of the encroaching fog, a gasp of moonlight rippling along the delicate legs and cream-dappled coat of a foraging deer. The moist glimmer of a nibbling snout dribbled with groundnuts and leafy frills, attentive and fearful. Its soft ears flicked, body turning at once in a sinuous ribbon of movement, and in the blink of an eye the snow-white flush of its tail disappeared into the brush, blending effortlessly with the forest shade both above and below.

Sister Josephine Peacekeeper adjusted the black veil covering her blonde hair and much of her shoulders, the white coif of starched linen beneath tickling at her cheeks and throat. The front of her holy habit was pinned up at the front so that she could sit comfortably astride her horse, the lack of stirrups allowing her booted feet to dangle and lightly brush the hair of the beast’s warm underbelly. The fabric of her scapular—a black apron pulled over her habit with a woolen belt looped securely over it—spilled down the animal’s flanks like dark raven’s wings, and would have draped nearly to the soles of her feet were she not on horseback.

The young woman’s hands twitched, touching the cross of gold around her neck and the equally gilt band on her left wrist. A closed envelope marked with the seal of her Potent Employer weighed heavily in her lap.

She was late. The individual who was to receive the letter, one Abbess Oriole of a certain esteem in this part of the Hinterlands, would surely be anxiously awaiting her arrival. It was an important and deadly business that brought Sister Josephine to these lands, after all.

Her horse was a wiry and skittish bundle of fur and bones, and when the first howl came stringing through the wood in all its clawing dread, she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was when the animal reared back and threw her from the saddle, its frantic whinnying sending her head into dizzying loops as she landed with a thud onto the sodden ground, her tunic and white underskirts already soaked through with mud. She could only watch as her pony tore off at a gallop into the distant fell, silver mane and tail fading into the dusk along with her cries, make-believe apparitions chasing her as the clopping of hooves thundered away into echoes.

Twilight superstitions clouded the front of the woman’s mind as she glanced around at her surroundings. There was a fearful darkness in the air, tomb-like blackness shuttering over the landscape in deep, expressive swathes, painting a perfect portrait of the dead hush spread for miles around.

Will-o'-wisps and foxfire sifted over the boggy fields, fluttering and dancing upon the strange winds that circled through the night, the whistling of faeries spurring them into a twirling, eddying madness. Moonlight oozed between the twisted branches of the gnarled forest, creating a blue phantasmagoria that shifted and undulated like an aetheric sea. Her heart raced as she heard the distant cry of some night bird, every fiber of her being attuned to the sinister ambiance of this arcane wood.

Reanimated houses of flesh, Jo knew well, stalked these lands: their eyes gaping like windows of long-abandoned houses, depressed into faces that sagged with unutterable decay. She had only ever glimpsed them a few times and at a distance—when consulting witches in the deeper marsh, usually—but sometimes they would make it out into the waters where the venomous snakes slithered through the low grasses and the turtles could bite at their decayed, fish belly-white meat, much of which had already slopped off to join the mud and worms and other disgusting, wriggling things that love cold earth.

These corpses would stare at her, teeth clicking all in a frenzy as if a display like that could somehow bring her flesh nearer to them, hair hanging in such grizzled, pond-stained strands that it seemed they were forever peering through a curtain of creepers and vines.

She shuddered to think that she might come across one here, alone, on a night like this.

Every little sound seemed like a footstep, every stray bramble a grasping hand to be followed shortly by gnashing, diseased teeth. The hairs rose on the back of her neck when something croaked from the bog, the noise seeming like the stunted wail a dead man would make. It was nothing, she was sure. A frog, or a bubble bursting on the vegetation-strewn surface, or...

But then the sound came again. Louder. Nearer.

Her breath stuttered in her throat, pulse roaring in her ears. Surely it couldn’t be! She had never been so unlucky. And now her horse was gone, too, run off with her incantation cards and everything. Damned beast.

She was still lying on the wet ground, her palms clenched in the dirt. Rooted in place. Every nerve ending strung out, cutting into her skin like razor wire.

Taking in a deep breath, Jo attempted to quell her quailing heart, so as to hear whatever it was a bit better.

There. There it was again. Jo listened good and hard, one hand slipping to her ankle, a few inches above where a silver knife was tucked into her boot. Her icy blue eyes flickered between the trunks of trees, all of her senses straining for a sound that may or may not have been real, and then darted to the road.

Am I going mad? She wondered, feeling rather small, and thoughtless, and completely out of her depth.

At length, her gaze came to rest upon her sawblade, still lying in the middle of the dirt path where it had been cast from her horse.

She needed that. Yes. She must retrieve it.

Jo shakily rose to her feet.

She propped herself against the trunk of a twisted elm, the overhanging branches shading the soft mud under her feet with their oily shadows, casting a wary glance around at her surroundings—and then abruptly froze, her eyes going wide.

A stranger stood upon the road, and he was strange in every regard. But, there were no strangers in this world who were unlucky enough to lack even the tiniest bit of strangeness, so it was a forgivable offense.

Jo first imagined that he must be a highwayman, and froze stiff against the twisted elm, wishing that she had brought her pistol with her instead of a fool knife. But then the stranger became slightly revealed to her by the silver light of the moon, the priestly robes and large axe slung across his back made starkly evident—a beast hunter or witcher, she imagined, but narrowed her eyes at him in fierce suspicion all the same.

He was an ashen, rugged figure, taller than any ordinary man had a right to be, and it would have been regrettable indeed if Sister Josephine had failed to see him standing there, so distracted was she by her own frantic wonderings, trapped within that asylum of a woodland.

"Ahhh... a traveller, is it?" the beast of a man asked, his voice hauntingly low. His calloused hand wrapped around the hilt of his axe, its blade shining menacingly in the half-light. "Or perhaps something more. Have you lost your way?"

The night swallowed up much of his form with a romantic regard, the tattered mantle of a long, ankle-length cloak hanging from his shoulders. His grizzled face was unkempt and his eyes shielded beneath bandages, a slight curl to his lips that seemed caught somewhere between a half-smile and a sneer. There was an intense quality to his voice that gave even the most narrow of minds cause to wonder, and listen, and look a while longer: a mesmerizing compulsion, drawing Jo in with such magnetic force that her feet could not tromp towards where the stranger stood speedily enough.

There she shook and sweated in her habit and robes, blue eyes flickering around to discern whether her unease really stemmed from this stranger... or some other creature stalking in the cavernous brush.

She stooped to retrieve her sawblade, and the man watched her do it. Even though she couldn't see his eyes through the bandages, she knew he was observing her very, very closely.

"Unfortunately so," Jo replied at length, her voice a curt whisper.

She startled a little when the stranger chuckled.

"Unfortunate, yes," he murmured, a slant of timely moonlight illuminating half of his face.

His gauze-layered visage turned, his breath fogging before him in the cold nighttime air, and seemed to look toward the messy hoof prints stamped into the damp, marshy earth, marking the departure of Jo’s wayward mare over the moor.

Alarm surged within Josephine's veins. Something about this man... Her limbs felt as if they had petrified, ensuring she couldn't move a muscle. Sweat pooled in the deepest crevices of her skin as her heart thudded against its ribcage with an incredible force. An icy chill raced to the depths of her soul; grinding and clawing at her spirit like a fox angling for a rabbit on a cold autumn morning. "Run!" it howled in desperation. "Run away! Run away!"

But Jo liked to think she was made of sterner stuff than all that. She braced herself against the growing wave of fear in her gut, her muscles tensing and her grip tightening around her sawblade.

"Yes, it is truly dismal," she replied crisply, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words. "Are you familiar with these lands, sir? I have urgent business with the abbess of Haven Abbey."

The man's head swung up with a jerk, like a dog hearing a particularly interesting noise. The bill of his weathered hat cast eerie shadows across his face, and long, grey hair hung limply from the sides like some kind of mane.

He flashed an eerie grin full of far too many teeth. Despite this, it was like the aura of menace he had exuded abruptly faded, replaced by a bizarre feeling of... camaraderie.

“You are here to investigate the strange happenings, yes?" he questioned, a pleased rumble in his voice. "Magnificent. Magnificent. We must travel together, good hunter..."

He whirled, the tatters of his midnight cloak billowing from the force. His axe gleamed in a shimmering arc as he marched off into the night's depths. And, after a few heartbeats of hesitation, Jo followed after him.

Inexplicably, she felt far, far safer than ever before.

The brutish figure strode just ahead of her, his lumbering frame crashing through the thick fog. The snarl of his breathing and the heavy thud of his boots on the soaked soil was all that echoed in the dreary night.

"I, too, have been sent on this hunt," the silvery priest spoke. "I swore a pact to purge these lands of whatever abominable corruption has taken root... not that I would have refused the opportunity..." his voice trailed off with a soft, echoing chuckle.

"Oh?" asked Jo. "Who sent you?"

The aged priest bowed his head in thought, silver hair shrouding his features. After a long moment, he sighed in apparent frustration, "Ah, it is difficult to recall the name... I believe it was a... a Karl Jak, if I'm not mistaken—a man of considerable means."

"A bit strange, though," he murmured under his breath. Jo pretended not to hear that bit.

"You're a Syntech operative?" she asked instead, her brows shooting up towards her hairline. She looked him up and down, her pale, bloodless lips twisting in amusement. "You don't look the part."

Deep, throaty laughter erupted from the man's frame as he bared his teeth in a sharp-toothed smile. "Yes," he cackled. "I was asked to dress in a most peculiar manner... it did not meet my standard for proper hunting attire. Far too much skin exposed. Yet I sense that you are a hunter yourself, miss...?"

"Sister Josephine... but you can just call me Jo," Jo replied, her voice much warmer now.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sister," he bowed his head in acknowledgement, the shadows of his face folding into an unsettling smile. "You may call me Father Gascoigne. Though simply Gascoigne will suffice."

”Then we understand each other perfectly, Father," the young woman spoke with a smooth air, her gaze fixed on the dismal road snaking before them. The woods were almost fully engulfed by fog and the trees cast an eerie, weighty blackness upon it. "Although I'm not much of a hunter myself, my abilities of divination have proven invaluable to many on hunts. I look forward to being able to put them to use."

Gascoigne uttered the word "Divination..." as if it tasted like poison in his mouth. "Have your gifts revealed what manner of blight we are to face, then?"

Jo shook her head, regretful.

"Not yet."

Falling into a companionable silence, the pair prowled through the woodland, keeping an easy pace. Here and there, the fog seemed to thin and dull moonbeams illuminated the woods in a pale glow. The trees blurred past them; ghostly figures succumbing to the frosty night air.

The road leading to Haven seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually Jo could see a faint glimmer of yellow lantern light ahead, piercing though the fog. As they drew nearer, she began to make out a towering manse rising from behind an ancient stone wall. The hard brick along its edges seemed to be silver in color in the moonlight, giving it a ghostly air of grandeur.

Father Gascoigne stepped forward as they approached the entrance of the abbey. His knuckles grew white as he wound up and pounded on the massive wooden gate three times, begging entry.

In response, a resounding clatter of iron keys announced the release of many locks and bolts. Ancient shutters unyoked from their bindings swung wide open, allowing a glowing orange light to seep through the cracks.

Its warmth dispersed the chill of night like an offering from a distant sun. As if controlled by some unseen force, the doors opened, allowing its gentle brilliance to touch upon their faces...

FOR MORE INFORMATION.

 

[Jester Lavorre]

She walked at a leisurely shuffle, humming, and looking about. Off the well worn walking path she noticed a peculiar white mushroom, blooming from the ground like a soufflé. Jester stopped, crouched, and leaned in close, tipping her nose down. An earthy musk of an aroma clung about the fungus and reminded Jester of a well worn sock, or a seldom cleaned bathroom. She wrinkled her blue nose in disgust.

“Yuck. That is a pretty gross mushroom. Someone should really do something about that.”

She rose up from her frog-legged crouch, drew her green cloak over her nose, and began to walk the path a bit faster– if for no other reason than to put some distance between herself and the volatile fungi.

Up ahead was the abbey, which exuded a dominant presence. A wide line of brick curtain walls with a massive oak double door punchout loomed ahead of the abbey proper, drawing a strange juxtaposition. An abbey was a place of peace, a religious sanctuary to which the poor and disheartened could turn and find solace and safety. A troubled history indeed must have dogged its past to necessitate an actual gatehouse. Jester felt a drop of reverence and a gnawing wonder at what would drive the abbey’s inhabitants to a closed door policy.

A gossamer fog drifted from the outer grounds, an embodiment of the chill that hung in the morning air. Jester waded through the shin high mist and let out a puff of cold breath, drawing up to the enormous gate. No stranger to enormous manses, she was reminded briefly of her youth, a life contained by grand walls and a stifling feeling of solitude. It was a disquieting feeling.

“Hello!” she called out, rapping her blue knuckles on the smooth oak. “I am here! I mean, technically, I am outside, but I am trying to be inside. Could you, like, let me inside?”

Silence. Had she come all the way to the Hinterlands, best friend in tow, just to get turned away at the door?

“Is this some kind of race thing? Because I’m not just a-”

The doors cracked, creaking and dragging across the ground with a sound like a body being pulled across gravel, until they had opened enough to reveal a hunched over old man.

He was far from hale and healthy; by Jester’s estimation, he had to be, like, a million years old. An enormous beard dangled from his face, pooling on the ground in a wiry splash. Two murky grey eyes leered at her from a well lined old man’s face. He had a mouth built for scowling, which worked its way in and out wordlessly in that special way that belonged to those who’d surpassed the stage of ‘old’ and had tread well into ‘fossilizing’ territory.

“What do you want?” he demanded, emphasizing ‘you’ in a harsh rasp.

Jester stepped forward, undeterred, and beamed at him, pink eyes sparkling.

“I am here about the thing.”

She lifted a poster up in front of her, an advertisement from a Sister Josephine, requesting the aid of able minded investigators in the solving of a happening.

“The happening,” Jester insisted. “You know. The thing. I happen to be a pretty good investigator, and I think you’re probably going to want me around. If something is happening here, you know, like, anything, I’m probably going to be able to figure out what it is. Probably. I have a friend, too. He is also a pretty good investigator, and he will be here soon, once he is done sleeping one off.”

She leaned in, glanced askance, and cupped a hand over her mouth to whisper conspiratorially.

“He really likes drinking.”

The old man glowered, misty eyes flashing, and opened his mouth to say something, before a surge of cognizance chased his mouth shut. He must have remembered something important, Jester realized. Maybe something about not chasing away potential investigative talent.

“You some kind of devil?” he demanded, looking her up and down.

Jester wore weathered traveler’s boots tucked into which were a pair of tan linen pants. A belted leather jerkin padded an otherwise womanly frilled blouse, over which hung a silver necklace that gripped a cut ruby. Her skin was all blue, her lips a darker shade of the same, and hair the same color as her lips spilled in loose cascades towards her shoulders. Two gently curling horns jutted out of either side of her head, one of them banded, the other wrapped with a pink ribbon.

She stifled a giggle with the back of her hand.

“No, silly,” she laughed, the tinkling sound spilling from her concealed mouth. “I’m Jester. I’m kind of a celebrity, you know. I fought in one of those big murder games. I protected this little goblin boy, but somebody really messed up my head and I ended up…well, it’s a long story. Are you going to let me in?”

A sort of rumbling gurgle that might have been consent slipped out of the gatekeeper’s throat, then he stepped aside, looking as if it pained him to do so, though whether that was because of his principles or his absolutely terrible conformation was up for debate.

Jester stepped past him, curtsied though she wore no skirts, and gave him a pleasant little wave.

“Thank you, Mister Gatekeeper. Here is a doughnut for your troubles.”

She reached into carry-on, plucked a donut from within its depths, and thrust it into the unsuspecting keeper’s gnarled hand.

“See you later!”

She pranced off before he could protest.

The inner bailey was a massive sprawl of everything an estate's grounds should be. At a glance, Jester perceived ponds, a sprawling orchard, lawns full of children, and best of all: bees.

Her path, however, was the direct route. A cobblestone path led to the actual abbey, whose towering architecture served as the foreground to the early morning sun that loomed sleepily over the high walls. Beams of sun caught the dew on the grass, and Jester felt serene, but mischievous as she approached. There were an awful lot of walls, and she would have to be particularly careful not to draw any dicks on them. Not while people were watching, anyway.

“Hold on!”

Jester stopped abruptly, then turned on her heel. At a brisk walk, a woman in a habit approached, hand held up in the universal sign for ‘hang on a second I’m trying to talk to you’. Obliging, Jester awaited her approach.

Wait for the woman, Jester, the Tiefling told herself, tapping her foot impatiently. It is impolite to rush people.

The Sister approached, stopped a few feet away, and looked Jester in the eye. The cleric was impressed by the woman’s stature: it was not the usual labor induced stiff backed stance one would expect from a working woman at an abbey. Rather, it was the proud posture of a warrior. It was instantly recognizable, and somewhat off-putting. Despite this, Jester offered a grin, through which her peaked Tiefling teeth poked out to hang over her plump lower lip.

“Hi. I’m Jester,” she declared, proffering a hand.

Sister Josephine took the hand into her well calloused grip, and Jester was impressed by her strength. Not to be outdone, she squeezed a little harder, and winked.

“I like a strong woman,” Jester said, releasing the hand. “You must be Sister Josephine. I saw your ad. I’m here for the investigating stuff. I’m technically a detective. …technically.”

Jester couldn’t help but notice that Josephine looked to be a bit more than a woman of the cloth, and wondered about the woman’s nature. There was something about her, but what, exactly? Time would tell. Some of her hair slipped out of her religious raiment, which Jester took as a good sign. She struggled with stiff rule followers, which was something she’d have to come to terms with, given that she was going to have to work out of an abbey. Above all else, however, Jester noticed the Sister’s eyes. They were kind, but belied an innate intelligence.

“Jester,” greeted Jo. “Yes. I am Sister Josephine. Some call me ‘Jo’. You must have seen one of my fliers. You’re actually the first to arrive. If you follow this cobblestone path to the abbey, you will find the Great Hall. I ask that you await the others there. I will direct them from the gates.”

Was that a hint of nerves that Jester detected, or was the woman simply in a hurry to get back to the gate, lest she miss one of the newcomers?

Regardless, Jester snapped an exaggerated salute, then grinned.

“Got it. I will head to the Great Hall. Be on the look out for my friend, Molly. He looks, well, kind of like me. But taller. And weirder.”

She gifted Sister Josephine an over the shoulder wave as she turned, then Jester began her approach of the abbey itself.

"See you later!"

 

[John Connor]

His first experience of the location was that there were two figures who were visible in the fog knocking on an ancient kind of gate that opened slowly like some sort of force was controlling it.


As he walked forward, he noticed some sort of non-human hanging around a gatekeeper who had a crooked back and a more crooked attitude to match.

The gatekeeper walked forward as Robert Langdon dug through his papers and found the pamphlet he was looking for.

The man gave a sneer, not trusting everyone that came through his gate.

The professor who was usually prepared for a situation such as this held a paper in his hand.

The fellow man grunted and looked at Robert with a frown on his face “Who are you and what do you want?!”

The Harvard professor held out a ripped piece of paper that was on the Corkboard at Crossbucks. “I heard there was strange happenings here, I’m here to check them out, sir.”

The gatekeeper growled “Yeah, so?!”

The man remained unconvinced, but the professor stood his ground, persistent both in his worlds and body language.

“I’m a Symbologist” Langdon explained. “ I specialize in unraveling ancient mysteries and the symbols that revolve around them. I’ve heard rumors about enigmatic events surrounding Haven Abbey, and I believe I might be able to shed some light on them."

The gatekeeper was very skeptical “So you want me to let you in based on a torn piece of paper and rumors?”

Professor Langdon remained respectful and calm “Oh, I assure you, I’m not asking for a free pass but I’m willing to part with a small amount of cash if you let me in, sir.”

The gatekeeper scoffed.

 

[Dr. McNinja]

Dr. McNinja sat in his office one fine day, enjoying his morning coffee. His nurse, Peter, sat across from him, enjoying his morning blood. The pair were silent, but appreciating each other’s company. Peter had long since accepted that Doc could drink coffee through his ninja mask, and the sight of a vampire sipping on a blood bag never really bothered Doc.

So there they were. Enjoying this fine morni-

“I’M BORED” Doc suddenly blurted, slamming his coffee mug onto his desk.

“Yeah, we haven’t done any adventures for a while,” Peter agreed.

“Don’t you sass me, we haven’t done any adventures in ages-” Doc stopped himself. “Oh. You agree.”

Peter nodded, quietly sipping from his strawed blood bag. “Yeah, let’s go out and fight something.”

Doc slammed his hands on his desk, jumping to his feet. “YES! Oh my god, you’re never this agreeable!”

The phone rang at Peter’s desk outside. Peter sighed.

“Let me go answer that first.”

Doc groaned, “But our adventuuuuure-“

“Work first!” Peter scolded, already picking up the phone. “Hello?”

Doc slumped back into his leather chair, kicking sorrowfully at the floor and sending himself into a truly tragic spin. Peter’s tone was monotone and empty inside.

Peter suddenly called out, “Doc, a patient on line 2.”

A patient? There goes the adventure. Well, maybe it wasn’t an urgent call. But who was Doc kidding? Nobody called him unless they needed him as soon as possible. It was probably just another werewolf stuck mid-transition, a fairy whose wings got a cramp, or, god forbid, someone with diabetes.

Doc sighed and picked up the phone. “Dr. McNinja speaking, no first name, how can I help you?”

“Erm, there’s been an incident, Dr. McNinja.”

Doc resisted the urge to sigh. Sometimes, he wished patients would just… come out with it.

“May I first have the name of whom I’m speaking with?”

“My name is Abbess Oriole. Erm… this may be a bit minor for someone with your expertise…”

Doc cleared his throat. “No worries. I could also refer you to-”

“It’s actually quite supernatural in nature, Doctor,” the abbess interrupted, “We’ve been having… nightmares.”

Doc raised an eyebrow. “What kind of nightmares?”

***

The fog was oppressive, making it hard to see, even breathe. Trees reached up to the sky like grasping hands begging for salvation.

Dr. McNinja and Peter watched the abbey from a distance. Peter held a briefcase; it was full of occult items of varying weights and magical significance, and shotguns. Doc held a firm stare. Dr. McNinja had his arms crossed pensively. Peter, noticing Doc’s pose, decided to emulate it.

Doc sniffed. “Well, this place sucks.”

Peter uncrossed his arms disapprovingly. “Oh, get over it. We’re here for work.”

Dr. McNinja sighed and poked the gate in front of him. Out of the mist, the wrinkly face of a horrifyingly old man lurched into view. Doc jerked back in surprise.

“Hrm,” the face croaked, “You’re some kinda brigand?”

Doc swallowed hard. “Uh… no?”

“You got a mask.”

“It’s a ninja mask.”

“So you’re a brigand.”

“I’m a doctor, actually.”

“Hrm,” the old man replied.

There was a heavy silence. Doc squinted expectantly.

Doc pursed his lips. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Please?”

The old man squinted in return.

“Mr. Krotgrim!” a voice called from behind the old man, “Is there another visitor at the gate?”

The face vanished into the fog, leaving Doc to wonder what the hell that was. Peter glanced at the doctor, before calling out into the mist again.

“Hello? Is someone else there?”

A woman appeared this time, her outline cutting through the fog. She was wearing a religious habit, which was hiding a youthful beauty that in turn hid her age. She wiped her glasses of the fog that had moisturized and opened the gate, which swung wide with an ominous creak.

“Abbess Oriole, I assume?” Doc said, reaching out his hand for a shake, “I’m Dr. McNinja. We spoke on the phone.”

“Ah, yes, pleasure to finally meet you in person, Doctor.” Abbess Oriole said, “Come in, come in. We have a few other visitors here-”

Dr. McNinja’s eyes widened as his eyes finally fell upon the other “visitors.” A tall, hulking man wrapped in a raggedy cloak, and some grim-faced woman in another habit. And next to them was-

“Oh my God, Jester?!” Doc exclaimed, dashing in.

He squeezed Jester’s cheeks and pulled on them, as if to check if they were real.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Doc shouted, “You’re… okay!”

 

[Jester Lavorre]

“It’th reawwy hawd to tawk wiff your handth on my cheekth,” Jester mumbled.

Doc tugged her cheeks out with a final pull then released. They snapped back into place, and Jester rubbed them tenderly with both hands.

“It is very good to see you, Doctor!” Jester exclaimed, planting her hands in the Doc’s own gloved ones and squeezing. “I was afraid I might never run back into-”

“Your head!” McNinja observed, leaning in and squinting. “Very intact. And the brain damage…”

He leaned in. He inspected one eye, then the other, while Jester went cross-eyed trying to follow his movements. The Doctor stepped back. He planted a hand on his chin, rubbing his mask ponderously.

“Cured. Minimal signs of brain damage. You barely seem whacked out at all.”

“No more than usual,” Jester admitted, grinning sheepishly. “It has been a long time, Doctor. I never got to thank you properly for taking care of me when I was, uh, you know…”

“Zonked out of your dome?” McNinja offered helpfully. “Whacked off your zoinkies?”

Peter stepped up behind the Doctor. “Out of your mind.”

“Yes,” Jester agreed. “I had taken a preeeetty bad shot to the noggin, and I was not myself. You stuck by me, though, and I am still grateful for you. Not a lot of people would do that, you know. It was probably pretty hard to watch. Probably.”

“I’ll admit that it was a challenge,” the Doctor said carefully. “But circumstances were unusual. I’m glad to see you in one piece. Although, my previous question…”

“What the Hell am I doing here?” recalled Jester.

“Yes.”

“Oh! I am here to be a detective,” she leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “There is some kind of weird mystery going on around here and my friend Molly and I are getting together to try and start investigating, like, paranormal stuff or whatever. It is going to be pretty cool. When everyone sees what we’re up to, they are all going be like, ‘woah, check out those cool guys, they’re solving everything,’.”

Doc McNinja let out a thoughtful ‘hm’. He looked Jester up and down as if noticing her in her entirety for the first time.

“It’s a tough business, you know. Adventures all the time. Patients, constantly demanding attention. Beasts with ailments, people with ailments, ailments with ailments. Disagreeable assistants. Diabetes.”

Peter Pellbrook cleared his throat. He looked askance at the good Doctor, narrowing his eyes.

“Your diabetes, or other peoples'?” Jester asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s not important right now,” replied McNinja.

“Well, I will admit that I am not a Doctor, or a Ninja,” said Jester, looking thoughtful. “But I am a pretty good healer, and I can whack someone a good one when I need to. And Molly is pretty good with a sword. Speaking of which, where is Molly?”

Jester looked past McNinja, anxiously eyeing the doors to the Great Hall. They remained stationary and free of any signs of Mollymauk. The Tiefling cleric frowned.

“I hope he gets here soon. I’d really like for you to meet him.”

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

The jingle from the trinkets adorning his horns was the only sound along the road as Molly walked with the late morning vigor that only a wonderful night before and a hearty homemade breakfast can fuel. He and Jester had come upon the Hinterlands inn 'Abbey Road' before sunset last night, and it had not disappointed. His best friend and traveling companion Jester had turned in early after some milk and leftover pastries, while Molly elected to stay up with the patrons once the first bottle of wine came up from the cellar. What appeared to be a marriage on the rocks was reconciled and renewed in love with first a tarot card reading, then more wine, and eventually all three of them heading upstairs.

Molly felt warm from the fine breakfast that was cooked up in appreciation, and was even given a bottle for the road, which surprisingly he had not opened. He expected a colder welcoming along the final stretch to the church? School? Orphanage? Wherever it was that this road led in the beautifully illustrated map that Jester had left for him before heading out herself as him and the innkeepers slept upstairs.

He wondered if it was too warm now, though. The trees blotted out the sun above, and what warmth could seep through the partial canopy should have been swallowed by the mist, as everything else nearly was. It was a dark trail, even this close to afternoon, but Molly felt like he was sweating on the inside, under his hundreds of light scars and lavender skin. He had double checked to make sure he was wearing his purple canvas pants and boots as he left the inn, and around his shoulders his motley and colorful cloak adorned with religious symbols from all over the crossroads hung open to expose the crisscrossing scars akimbo on his chest, neck, and torso.

"Well, I definitely should be feeling a bit o' a chill…" he said to the mist and barely visible trees he walked through and by, respectively in his lilting accent. His exploits that had carried him through most of the morning, enjoying the discordant twinkling music his horns had made was gone. His brow furrowed over red and pupil-less eyes that scanned his surroundings as he stopped and looked around him.

"Not a thing…dear Molly, ya might be losing it…might be time to crack open this old wine if I say so myself-" he was cut off from behind him as he pulled the dusty bottle out of one of many pockets on his cloak.

"I'd say that'd be a fine idea, lad".

Molly whirled around trading the bottle for the hilt of one of his two swords at his sides. He could not be sure if it was his embarrassment or this new heat that made his face feel flushed as he saw the withered old beggar in monks robes before him. Then he remembered, he never got embarrassed and completely forgot about it for a moment.

"And where did ya come from, ya old timer?" Molly said, flashing his brilliant smile complete with long canines that looked more like fangs.

"Oh, I've been around. Here. There. Most who come through this way are too focused on the path to ever give me notice. You gonna crack that bottle, or make an old man freeze in this chill?" Said the tattered robed figure, hunched and looking at the bottle greedily.

"Chill? I was just thinking o' how mighty warm it's gotten. But! Never let it be said Mollymauk Tealeaf denied a man needing a drink. So do you work at the old…building?" Molly sat down in the middle of the road and thought about taking his pants off to feel some of the chill this stranger was talking about, but thought better of it, then thought about it again.

"The Abbey? Oh yes, I did for a long while. No more though, also not for a long time, lad. They are letting in devils now? Guess it takes one to fight one. We were always getting attacked back in my days there…" And the stranger seemed to stare off for a second before joining Molly sitting in the road. "So, how about we open the bottle, young man. This cold will be the death of me…" and as he finished speaking the old man gave a mirthful chuckle which made Molly's increased warmth spike a bit in his dominant sword hand which was reaching for the cork of the bottle.

Uncorked, Molly lifted it to his deep purple lips and took a swig. It really was fine and he could tell this was a rare vintage as he drank deeply and passed it. The old man snatched the bottle not unkindly.

"You know…" the stranger began, and it was only now that Molly noticed how absolutely pale this old beggar was. "It's been a lifetime since I've tasted Haven Abbey wine…we make it there, you know, lad. Some of the best wine you've ever tasted, just right up the road. Edification to the masses who come knocking is what we offer, and our wine is renowned and remembered …" When the bottle touched his lips, there was groan that did not seem to come entirely from the old man, but the air and fog around them groaned with pleasure and Molly was very uncomfortable as his blood had seemingly gone from warm to almost hot.

Needing a bigger distraction while the stranger sipped hungrily but savoring with ecstasy, Molly fished around in robes until he found not a flask pocket but a card pocket.

"How's about a bit o' a reading while we enjoy this vintage…" Molly offered, and removed the first card he came across out of his robes. Just as he brought it up, the sound of a mostly emptied and corked bottle bounced off the dirt, and Molly looked around. Alone.

"Where did ya run off to, ya old geezer…I was gonna give ya-..." but the relief of his body temperature returning to normal caused him to sigh, then shivered as the cold of the woods and mist and strangled sun touched his bare chest. He looked at the card in his hand, and shook his head with a tinkle as the baubles clinked against horns. The card was stark white and blank.

"Well, that'll be enough o' that, then. Right…" Molly said and stood up and moved with a quicker pace to get out of the now cold road, what was left of the bottle back in his pocket. He thought he heard the sound of the woods whispering a 'Thank you' as he briskly sauntered further along the road, but he was no longer in the mood for nonsense.

He came to a large structure he reminded himself was called 'Havens Abbey', once again and walked to front doors that seemed as ancient as the woods he had just left behind. He knocked, somehow making it sound confident and waited. After a minute or two, a man poked his head out from a building next to it.

"Yes? What do you want?" He croaked, annoyed. As Molly smiled and walked over to the man in the doorway he overheard the man groan. When Molly got in front of him completely they looked one another up and down. If this old man ditched his clothes, he would be perfectly camouflaged amongst the hundreds of old and yellowed scrolls and papers forgotten to time as much as the gatekeeper himself seemed to be.

They spoke at the same time.

"Not another one…" they both said, exasperated. Then they looked at each other again. Molly peered past him and saw a signature of his companion Jester sitting on the man's desk, in the form of a baked good. Under that, Molly saw a less recent magazine with another friend of his on the cover. Molly figured this was a barter system for entry.

"I see ya are a fan of 'Days o' our Chocobos'... ya know I actually have a signed autograph from Dorothy Marigold I might be inclined to part with if ya can let me in," Molly said and flashed his grin, which just seemed to put off the gatekeeper, as his ever present frown receded further down his face.

"Don't care about shows or autographs or anything else you have to say-" the old man started.

"I find it amazing that Clarissa came out of her coma only to-" Molly cut in, but with unnatural grace the wizened old man came right up to Molly in a heartbeat, and moved as if to put his hands over the tiefling's mouth.

"DON'T TELL ME!" the gatekeeper hissed, and as he pulled away he noticed the neck of the old wine bottle poking out a bit from Molly's pocket. "I like to read the episode guides..." he grumbled. "I don't much care for an autograph, but where did you find that bottle?" The old man asked, unable to hide his intrigue.

"This? Oh, well it's mostly empty, but I'm sure ya can refill it for me from ya vineyard-" Molly started.

"We haven't made wine here in a very long time, young man…", and the old man paused before scratching an impossibly long beard and eyeing the Lavender devil at his gate. "Give me the rest of that bottle and you can go in…the other one said to expect you anyway…" the old man grumbled.

Molly took longer than a moment to consider not tasting the even more realized rare vintage he held, but thought of his blue companion and the walking through the strange woods again and relented, relinquishing his bottle to the gatekeeper who said nothing but pointed a gnarled finger towards the main gate.

As the massive wooden doors cranked open, and warmth and light spilled out on Molly’s skin he thought he heard the voice of an old man call out: "Guess it takes a devil to fight a devil". Molly could not be sure which wine stealing ghost he met today had said it, and he did not bother to turn around and find out as he crossed the threshold.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.” Sigmund mumbled to himself as he sat down at his desk, a stack of mail in front of him. No one ever told him that he’d be getting so many letters as a Lord of Uruk, and it really put a damper on an otherwise exciting job. “Spam mail, spam mail, spam mail, important letter from Victor, spam mail.”

With each piece of mail, the high priests tossed it into a nearby waste bin, only telekinetically saving the letter from Victor after a moment of reluctance. At the bottom of the pile, however, was a letter personally addressed to ‘the young hunter’.

The cultist perked up instantly, recognising that nickname anywhere. He hadn’t heard from the Father for years, now since the horrible affair that was the last Dante’s Abyss he had taken part in. Frankly, he had thought that the old hunter was dead, and not just short-term dead like himself, so this was an exceptionally pleasant surprise.

Tearing the letter free from its envelope, Sigmund quickly read the letter, eager to see what Father Gascoigne had to say.

“To Sigmund, the young hunter,

I hope you are well. It shames me to go so long without contact only for you to hear from me about business, but such is the life of a hunter, eh?

I have been hired by Mr. Jak to investigate some mysterious goings-on of an old Abbey on Erde Nona. Heard stories about horrible nightmares that no one can remember when they wake, and I couldn’t think of anyone better to take a look than you. I figure that your expertise will be useful.

If you’re interested, and I dare say you are, meet me at the Haven Abbey in the Hinterlands. Come prepared for a hunt.

Best regards, Father Gascoigne.”

Sigmund couldn’t help but wonder how the old hunter had managed to pen such a letter with the state of his eyes, but that was besides the point. He was thrilled to hear from his companion in the Abyss, excitement that was only exacerbated by the tantalising rumours that he had mentioned. Night terrors were not a particular specialty of his, but they certainly fell within his area of expertise.

“Cordie, I’m going on a trip.” Sigmund called as he practically leapt out of his chair, calling to his right hand woman as he began rapidly preparing his things. “Let the others know that I’ll be out for a little while.”

“Business or pleasure, high priest?” she asked as she materialised behind him, something that he was becoming unsettlingly used to.

“Hmm… business.” he responded after some contemplation.

“Of course. I’ll let them know.” Cordie said, giving a short bow before vanishing once more as the high priest blinked.

“Oh, this is going to be such fun.” Sigmund giggled lightly to himself as he packed a series of schematics into his bag. Truly, he considered this a trip of pleasure, but that was the last thing he needed anyone to hear. Knowing Victor, the rumours would get out fast.

~~~~~~~

In the Hinterlands of Erde Nona, a rickety old carriage rolled down a narrow path, pulled by a wide-eyed old horse that spooked at every shaking branch and shifting shadow.

“This place is really quite nice!” Sigmund said jubilantly as he recklessly stuck his head out of the carriage, nearly losing it to a low-hanging branch which scraped the sides of the vehicle.

“Hush.” his driver hissed, equally as old as his steed. He nervously scratched at his patchy grey beard, eyes flitting too and fro to keep an eye on their surroundings. “Never know if something nasty’ll hear you out here.”

“Something nasty?” the scion inquired, intrigued. The driver turned around to face him, only to balk as he saw Sigmund’s entire torso sticking out.

“Get back in the carriage!” he snapped before slapping a hand over his mouth, nervously glancing around for anything to leap out at them. When it became apparent that nothing would, he breathed a sigh of relief and carried onwards. “Yes. Nasty. Bandits are the best case scenario.”

As if it accentuate his point, a wolf came barreling out of the underbrush. This would have been worrying enough even if the beast hadn’t been as big as the carriage itself, jaws open wide to snap up the horse.

Sigmund, who had rebelliously decided not to get his torso back inside, lazily flicked a finger, tracing a line down the monster’s middle. A beat later, it seemingly spontaneously split in two as it was bisected by a blade of psionic force, each half slumping lifelessly on either side of the carriage.

“Alright! That’s quite enough!” the carriage driver said shrilly, trying and failing to keep his composure at the sight of the colossal carcass. “The Abbey is just up this road, get out, I’m going home!”

Sigmund pouted a little but obliged, hopping out of the carriage before rifling through his belongings for his coin pouch. Before he could find it, though, the horse turned and sprinted away far faster than the high priest would have thought possible for a creature of its age, especially with the carriage in tow.

“Hey! I didn’t pay… hm.” Sigmund called out, simply shrugging as the carriage disappeared out of earshot. Gathering up his things, he continued down the road, the Abbey quickly coming into view. The psion had imagined a quaint little place, maybe a few cottages around a central building, but he was now face to face with a veritable fortress.

Furrowing his brow, he briefly wondered if this was the wrong place before approaching the front gate.

“Hello?” Sigmund called out. “Is this Haven Abbey?”

“What’s it to you?” a positively cranky voice replied. The cultist startled a moment before coming face to face with a wrinkled old man, even older than his carriage driver had been.

“Good morning to you too.” the priest beamed at the gatekeeper. “I’m here to investigate the… phenomena that have been going on around here.”

“Another one huh?” he grumbled. “No, I don’t think I’ll be letting you in.”

“Oh.” Sigmund said, unsure of what exactly to do now. He wasn’t necessarily expecting a warm reception, but he imagined it would be better than getting turned away at the gate. “Why?”

“I know your type, cultist.” Krotgrim spat. “You’re probably here to make things worse, eh?”

“Slander! I would never do such a thing… not without good reason…” Sigmund gasped, clutching his chest dramatically before stating the last part under his breath. “Look, I have an invitation.”

The gatekeeper peered at the letter clutched in Sigmund’s hand before simply shrugging.

“Don’t buy it.” he shrugged. “Anyone could have written that.”

“Let him in, Krotgrim.” a female voice suddenly cut in, evidently tired of having to convince the old man to keep letting people in. “His invitation is real. Gascoigne wants his… assistance.”

“You can’t be serious.” the gatekeeper sighed, even as he reached for his keys. “Look at him. He’s wearing robes, he hasn’t stopped grinning at me, I don’t even think he’s blinked. He has a grimoire, Jo.”

“It’s a Codex, technically.” the cultist corrected.

“I wasn’t asking you!”

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either.” Jo admitted. “But apparently he knows his stuff.”

The gates reluctantly opened, groaning as they swung wide to let the son of Gal’skap into their walls.

“Thank you kindly.” the avatar of madness grinned as he stepped inside. Krotgrim stood to the side, grumbling under his breath, but Sigmund paid him no mind. Instead, he gleefully extended a hand to the woman who insisted on his entry. “Sigmund Vrell, eighth Scion of Gal’skap, pleased to meet you.”

“Sister Josephine.” she said, giving him a wary look but shaking his hand nonetheless. “Now you’re going to want to go up that path to the Great Hall. That’s where the other guests will be waiting.”

“I see, I see… So, you’re a colleague of Father Gascoigne’s?” Sigmund inquired, apparently ignoring her directions while grinning incessantly at her. “Any friend of his is a friend of mine!”

“We’ve met.” she said. “I guess it wouldn’t be wrong to call us colleagues for this incident. Time will tell if we stay as colleagues.”

“Hmm… ok.” the cultist replied before his eyes trailed up the path to the Great Hall. “So is he waiting up there?”

“Probably.”

“Ok!” Sigmund grinned, starting up the path. “Nice to meet you! I look forward to working with you!”

Josephine gave a half-smile at his enthusiasm as he shot up the path towards the hall. The Abbey seemed a little closer to the quaint, homely place that he had imagined now that he was still inside the walls, but it was still more well-fortified than he had expected. This didn’t particularly bother him, though. Well-fortified religious compounds were always a good idea!

Reaching the doors of the hall, a telekinetic shove opened the doors, allowing the high priest inside.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

The air was the first difference that Molly noticed as large protective doors of the Haven Abbey closed behind him. The breeze was warm and welcoming, letting a visitor know truly that they were safe from the dangers of the Hinterlands, at least for a moment. Honeysuckle, fresh cut grass, and the ancient stone of the building replaced the always damp undergrowth of the trail in moments and Molly breathed deep and shut his red orbs for a moment, basking in the calmness.

The moment passed as soon as it came as a voice to his side snapped him to attention.

"You must be Molly. Hm, you don't seem hungover…" the voice had the same sort of youth mixed with the cadence of 'I've seen some shit', that Molly had only heard come from himself and Jester to date.

Molly slowly opened his eyes and with moving his body, let his head roll on his neck in the direction. The woman was indeed close to two tiefling's age, and absolutely had seen some shit. Blonde hair spilled out here and there from her coif, the long apron worn over the nun's habit was definitely to keep it clean from whatever the saw shotgun on her back was used for. A scarred religious symbol branded on her forehead only made her brilliant blue eyes stand out more. She seemed a walking consecration with necklaces and bracelets adorned with as many symbols and charms as Molly had on his robes.

They stood there for an oddly unawkward amount of seconds, getting a read on each other, taking one another in before she spoke again, this time sounding amused.

"The whole devil-may-care style you have going on might be a little on the nose, don't you think?" The nun said warmly.

"Are ya staring at my fandangles, good sister?" Molly said with his lolled head snapping up as he gave a twirl, letting the pierced trinkets of his horns make their tinkling unrhythmic noise, while his robes spun around him showing their glamorous motley of colors and symbols, like a little child showing off a new princess dress.

"I am Sister Josephine Peacekeeper, pleasure to meet your acquaintance, and please, call me Jo", she said with a small smile. "It's good to bring a little levity, and you are quite as strange and cheerful as your blue companion". The smile left her face for a moment, as she leaned in, creating a gravity to their conversation. "I can appreciate seeing the bright side, but I do need to say… this is a serious situation, involving real people who are being harmed and haunted by something…other. I just want you to know…well we don't know anything much, but still it feels…dangerous. Are you any good with those?" Jo finished and grabbed her holy symbol around her neck while pointing at his swords, raising an eyebrow.

Molly looked down, looked up confused, then followed the correct direction at his waist she was mentioning and chuckled as realization and understanding dawned. Sister Jo, for her credit, did not give in to the bait.

"Better than I have any right to be, good sister. As much as Jester and I love to laugh, we also enjoy helping. This place, to be honest feels…right and wrong at the same time. Jester is a fine right detective, and I am a bit o' a hunter in my own right. We won't let ya down, good sister", Molly said and flashed his award winning smile, letting the fangs do all the work. "Fighting evil forces is in my blood. Really, it is. I may not remember who I was before, but my blood remembers…anyway! Enough o' that, pleasure to meet ya and where can I find my sweet Jester"?

Jo returned his smile and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "What a crew we are turning out to be already. Pleasure to have you on the team, Molly. Everyone is meeting just ahead through those doors." Jo said, and nodded to the large doors of the main entrance at the end of a short cobblestone walkway.

Molly turned away and felt the ancient stone under his boots as he made down the short path. Opening the doors, he was hit with the unmistakable sound of Jester making joyful conversation in her one-of-a-kind cadence. He passed the first stained glass window, which added a kaleidoscope of even more colors to his robes as the sun shone through it.

Standing near a staircase going down was a sunkissed middle aged nun who seemed to radiate an aura of kindness about her. She was talking to a large figure but all Molly could see of him was the massive axe he carried on his back. When the nun caught Molly's eye as he passed she gave a smile that showed the crows feet of an easy to laugh motherly matron. The smile from her made him feel like how children must feel being hugged by a mother, full of warmth and security.

He was coming closer to Jester, walking quietly to surprise her when he stopped dead in his tracks. Jester was talking to an oddly dressed nun with a mask and stethoscope around the shoulders, but next to them both was a beautiful sight for Molly's red eyes.

A shuffling and uncomfortable looking man about his own age was seemingly and awkwardly trying to shyly participate in the conversation with Jester and the nun. He was gorgeous, and possibly a monster, but also a complete angel. Molly's blood was sending tingling sensations in response but his stomach also leapt into his heart for a dance. He eyed this stranger for a moment, and caught a glimpse of fang out of dark red against a pale face. A vampire.

Molly's blood was telling him no, but his body…his body was telling him yes.

 

[Jester Lavorre]

“So the whole thing was, like, totally crazy, and I don’t even know if he remembers me,” Jester started saying, hiding her lips behind her hand.

That was when a purple Tiefling popped into the scene, lurking behind Doctor McNinja’s assistant.

“Molly! You’re finally here!”

Jester launched herself past Doctor McNinja, Peter Pellbrook, and onto Mollymauk. She slapped her arms around him, found herself a little over the top, then pushed back and blushed.

“Sorry, Molly,” she murmured. “I kind of talked you up to these guys.”

Mollymauk, ever the showman, stepped up with his hands on his sword hilts and grinned.

“Jester! I imagined ya’ talking about me. I suppose that’s par for the course. But who’s yer friend?”

Mollymauk thumbed over his shoulder, motioning at Peter. Jester gaped, and in her momentary reactionary lapse, Molly whipped around on a heel and leaned in to kiss Peter’s hand.

“Seems ya might be a special kind of man,” Molly lilted, in his special Irish cadance. “I’m not an uncultured man. I saw yer performance with the penguin.”

He leaned in, then planted a kiss on Peter Pellbrook’s wrist.

Peter shuffled back, withdrawing his hand then shaking it out profusely. He blushed, then beheld his purple skinned suitor. Feeling strange, Peter looked to Doctor McNinja then gestured emphatically towards the Tiefling, as if to state that he needed as assistance. McNinja pointed back, then shrugged. He pointed to his wrist, letting Peter know that he was on the clock, then raised an eyebrow.

Flirtation isn’t free.

Jester stepped in..

“Sorry about my friend,” she stated flippantly, waving her hand. “He kind of likes pretty boys. And you are a pretty boy. Technically.”

Peter Pellbrook looked from Doctor McNinja, who shrugged, back to Jester, who also shrugged, then back to Mollymauk.

Molly, for his part, also shrugged.

Peter, not knowing what to make of the interaction, pointed a finger toward the corner of the room.

”Hey, Jester, don’t you know that guy?” asked Peter.

He stepped away from Molly, fanned his face for a moment with a pamphlet, then glanced back at the purple Tiefling.

Molly leaned in, whispered something in Peter’s ear that made him blush, then pointed at Jester.

Jester threw her hands up, exasperated.

"That guy!?” she demanded, pointing a finger at Father Gascoigne. “That guy…”

She raised a dark blue eyebrow, then gestured at Peter and Molly. Her gestured were, at best, rude, and at worst a little exasperated.

Jester Lavorre threw up her hands and read the room. She did know the father. And she was here, the same as they were, and ready to let them see her lot. There was no denying it now - she knew that guy.

"Yeah. I think I do know that guy.”

Jester puffed out her cheeks, murmured something under her breath, then walked straight up to Father Gascoigne. She thrust a finger towards the man, curled her lip back from her canines, and…

Hesitated.

Jester paused, tried to think of what to say, and then found herself utterly flabbergasted. Her mouth dropped open, and she thrust her finger once more into his chest.

“You know, YOU-”

She flummoxed herself trying to find words.

“YOU!”

Then she jabbed her finger harder into his chest.

Gascoigne laughed heartily, and planted a hand on her shoulder.

“Yes. I?” he asked.

Jester asked…

“...?”

She whipped around in place, turning on her heel, then scratched her chin.

“You know, I can’t remember.”

Gascoigne threw back his head, let out what seemed like a genuine belly laugh, then clapped Jester on the shoulder.

“Neither can I,” he declared, shifting his eyeblind along his eyes.

“I can remember something,” Jester stated, holding a finger to her temple. “I just can’t remember what.”

Then she smelled him. He had a musk about him that made Jester narrow her eyes. It was a smell that was genuinely unforgettable. She looked at Gascoigne, then, and felt as if she’d seen him for the first time.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, smiled, then shook her head.

“I can’t recall, Father.”

Molly came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Jester. Maybe we should…”

Jester sniffed the air, scowled, then took the time to look around.

She wrapped an arm around Molly’s waist.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Maybe we should.”

 

[Shinku]

Shinku donned his obsidian-black garb, blending almost seamlessly into the darkness that enveloped the misty forest even at the dawn of the morning's first light. It was a long, arduous journey through the mystic woods until he finally reached the gates of Haven Abbey. It was said to be a sanctuary of hope and tranquility, but to the assassin's sight, all he could see was a building shrouded in unsettling darkness. Still, it was a sight to behold, an immense sanctuary, with walls rising high above the lush surrounding trees.

He approached carefully, in a mixture of awe and trepidation, briefly pausing in front of towering oak gates, each as massive as a dragon's wing. The gates themselves would have been enough as sentinels, to guard the sanctuary from the outside world. A great crank, hidden ingeniously within the gate's intricate design, allowed passage. Shinku approached the formidable entrance. With a practiced hand, he sought out the concealed crank mechanism, turned it, until the gates started to creak open.

Before he could make his entrance, however, a voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind stopped him in his tracks. "Hold it right there!" A tall, grizzled man with a weathered face emerged from a nearby guardhouse. His eyes bore the weight of years of duty. The man's presence commanded respect and authority, his eyes seemingly piercing through Shinku's very soul.

The assassin of shadows regarded the Gatekeeper with a serene demeanor, his hand still poised near the hidden crank. "I seek entry to Haven Abbey," he said evenly, his voice as calm and measured as a tranquil pond. "I've heard whispers of strange occurrences within these walls, and I've come to investigate."

The man's brow furrowed, and his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of the sword at his side. "We don't welcome strangers easily, especially not those who come uninvited," he replied, his voice filled with suspicion.

A palpable tension hung in the air. Nevertheless, Shinku maintained his composure. The assassin of shadows understood the Gatekeeper's caution, given his own reputation. Moreover, places of sanctuary such as Haven Abbey often had to be guarded against those who might seek to disturb the peace. "I understand your concern, but I assure you, my intentions are pure," Shinku replied, his tone carrying the weight of sincerity. "I am but a humble traveler who wishes to aid in any way I can."

The Gatekeeper remained unmoved, his gaze locked onto Shinku like a hawk tracking its prey. "Words alone are not enough. We have a sacred duty to protect this place," he stated firmly, his tone reflecting his iron will.

Shinku tilted his head slightly, meeting the gatekeeper's gaze with a hint of steel beneath his calm exterior. Then, undeteterred by the gatekeeper's skepticism, he reached into his cloak and pulled a parchment that contained the abbey's request for aid. "Here. This might help." With a steady hand, he extended the parchment towards the gatekeeper, offering it as an evidence of his purpose.

The gatekeeper's eyes narrowed as he examined the parchment. His demeanor however, remained unmoved. "Still, you are too suspicious to be let in."

Shinku sighed in resignation, almost giving up at the gatekeeper's resolute stance. There would be other missions he could tend to anyway, he thought.

However, just as Shinku was about to turn and take his leave, a voice from behind the Gatekeeper interrupted. A voice that held both authority and compassion. "Wait, Brother, I vouch for him."

Turning to see the source of the voice, Shinku saw a woman in the robes of a nun, her expression one of unwavering determination. Her eyes, like pools of infinite depth, held a warmth and understanding that seemed to instantly put anyone she encountered at ease.

The gatekeeper continued to hesitate, his gaze shifting between Shinku and the nun. "But Sister Josephine, we can't be too careful. We know nothing of this man or his true intentions."

The nun stepped forward, her gaze never wavering from Shinku's. "I've seen this man's kind before," she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. "He may be unconventional, but his heart is in the right place. We've been plagued by strange occurrences lately, and I believe he can help us."

A sense of relief washed over Shinku as he listened to Sister Josephine's words. He knew that trust was not easily given, especially to one with his reputation. "I thank you Sister. You can be rest assured that I'd do my best to be of service," he affirmed with utmost respect.

With a reluctant nod, the gatekeeper stepped aside, allowing Shinku to enter the sacred grounds of Haven Abbey. "Very well," he conceded, his eyes still wary. "But keep your blades sheathed while you're within these walls and know that we will be watching."

Shinku respected the Gatekeeper's commitment to his duty, acknowledging his caution with a solemn nod. As he passed through the towering gates, they groaned and creaked shut behind him, sealing off the outside world and immersing him in the tranquility of the abbey.

Sister Josephine led him through the hallowed courtyards of Haven Abbey. The abbey itself was a masterpiece of architecture, its towering spires and intricately adorned walls a testament to centuries of devotion and craftsmanship. Lush gardens filled the air with fragrant blossoms, and the harmonious chants of monks seemed to infuse every stone with serenity.

As they walked, Sister Josephine shared the unsettling disturbances that had marred the abbey's peace. Shinku, on the other hand, listened intently, his senses attuned to the subtle energies that permeated the abbey. He knew that disturbances like these often concealed deeper mysteries, hidden beneath the surface.

"For now, you might want to meet with the others with whom you'll be working with," the nun continued, her hand extended towards a room at the end of a long corridor.

Shinku nodded gratefully at the nun's guidance. "I will, and thank you for leading me this far."

"No, we thank you for offering your help," Sister Josephine expressed sincerely, before taking her leave.

Moved by the nun's words, a faint smile formed the assassin's lips as he walked to where he ought to meet his would-be companions.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

One had to ask, if admiration was what was sought when performing acts of service. Or gratitude. Or, in Minala's case. Self-worth. In a storm filled sky the charred remains of an abandoned shop sat at the end of a hilltop. The world itself wistful. Nona wasn't usually this... depressive. Yet here amongst the damp grass and scattered villagers. The young Animak stared at the blackened ash, now being washed away by the sky's tears. At what soot covered wood that remained. Within, corpses of children and adolescents that couldn't have been further than fifteen years of age. It was... almost stifling. How had the guard of this small town, decided to so recklessly take total control? Better yet, why? Minala didn't understand, nor could she.

Those people. It felt so strange. They hadn't asked for something like this, and when she and hers had checked on this area the last time... everything had seemed in normal capacity. They'd had a bit of a thief problem to be sure but from what the Captain had said. That seemed to be close to sorting itself out.

Was he wrong? Or was he simply lying to safe whatever face he had in front of his men? Well, considering the state in which they'd left his body...

She struggled to think on it. Perhaps because the situation would be all to familiar to what happened to her own group. It just.. felt too close to home. For the girl to properly digest it made her pause and truly stop to think about the situation. Which she would have done with greater detail had her mothers voice not cut through the buzz of silence and anxiety that'd surrounded the town.

"The stragglers are dealt with. Have you apprehended the man I described to you?" Her voice, sharp, stern. Almost infallible. Which, should one be garnering power from the God of Drakes. Was supposedly something that came with the territory. Despite this there was a warmth to her tone. A familiarity that Minala herself could never track. Was it because of their bond or something else? She felt eyes on her back as she turned around, meeting her mother's with her own Amber. Of which she could glean no information. Red hair gently glistened against what sunlight struck through the cracked skyline.

"No, mother. He resisted when I explained the situation to him, and attacked me. So I had no choice but to defend myself."

Silence, once more. For just a moment. Before a long and drawn out sigh took hold. "What the hells is going on? Honestly. It's going to take a hot minute to get trade set up between settlements again.. not to mention the people's distrust of Authority. What were those fools thinking?"

Minala had no answer to her Mother's question. Her chest tightened. Somewhat. She felt anxious, unnerved. Why hadn't she asked yet, if she were uninjured? Or if she were okay? She opened her mouth to speak, but only found her voice drowned in a number of voices approaching, each garnering the uniform of the Fortissian Inquisition. The Symbol of the Dragon Lord's Divinity crested proudly on their chest.

"Grand Inquisitor, A word?"

Just like that, their conversation was cut short. A few steps away another discussion was being had, at the sight of the flames the locals had said drew the thief away from their home. Some told this as a happy story, others did not.

"With all due respect, I do not believe she's qualified for this. She's very little experience in this field, and I-"

"What better way for her to gain some, then? You needn't worry. Neither I nor Hakor would allow her death by premature means."

She always talked like that. Always so flippantly using the Dragon Lord's name. Always so unconcerned with Minala's own safety, and worse yet. Always so implicative of whatever was to follow.

"Minala, I've a task in mind. Perhaps this could be what you were waiting for?"

The girl sighed at those words. While she'd waited for them, for some time. Used in this fashion was.. disconcerting. To say the least

---

That... was a very large building.

The gatehouse stood tall in the face of.. her? She supposed. Yes, but most everything was tall to Minala. Short as she was. A step closer made her feel the unease of the area. A subtle mal.. something. Presence? Was that a word? Malpresence? She assumed so. She liked the way it sounded. As she neared the gatehouse however, her thoughts were jostled by the sound of creaking and the subtle clap of boot against stone.

"Who goes? Show yerse- Oh. Another one?" His face held creases like old weathered parchment paper. His eyes bore into Minala's own. "State your buisness." He spoke, with the young girl finding her voice. "I am Minala de Fortissiae, of the Fortissian Inquisition." She spoke. Pausing to see whether or not those words gathered some form of a reaction on his face.

It did not.

"I don't rightly care who you are. State what you're here for." He spoke, eyes narrowing slightly, the shade striking him ominously. Sending a shiver through the young Cleric's spine.

"Alright.. we've received word that you and yours are undergoing strange phenomena at night? Relating to... nightmares? I believe I was told?"

"Right.. yeah.. another one.. blasted.. never should've.. damn psychic" The man began muttering as he moved aside and out of view, when the gates began opening with impossible slowness. Minala began to wonder if all of this was to waste her time rather than give her a chance to prove herself.

It wasn't until the gates had opened, and she'd stepped inside to offer a nod of thanks to the groundskeeper who'd already turned away. That she truly felt the malaise surrounding the area. Something was here, that was for certain, and suddenly, Minala felt very uneasy about having been sent here.. alone.

Heading foward the young girl spotted a.. woman of the faith? She assumed.. at the very least, based on her attire. Who's eyes then flicked to Minala in a way that caused her to stand up and tense. As though readying for something.

Her unnerving stare was cut by a warm smile she then projected. As the Cleric began to walk. "Please, head in. The others are waiting patiently." Not wanting to spend much time outside, at this point. Minala did just that.

Opening the door into the Abbey itself. She was rather surprised to find such a busy center. There was conversation, banter, joking. Multiple parties who she assumed would be rightful killers on their own, and... assuming she saw correctly, a few contenders for Dante's Abyss. A death show she had very little patience for.

"Welcome!" Spoke a new, soft voice suddenly, grasping Minala by the hand. Her eyes hasty, and eager. but hidden with something that the girl couldn't quite gather. Her visage a mixture of worn and brand new at the same time, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss..?"

"Minala de Fortissiae of the Fortissian Inquisition, Ma'am. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Her words caused an eyebrow to raise. "I can't say I've heard of your..? Inquisition?" the woman stated, her lips and posture rigid, suddenly. Perhaps.. wary? The title 'inquisition' wasn't exactly a friendly term. But..

"You've nothing to fear. We mostly just help settlements and serve as needed. I understand the hesitation, however." Minala spoke with her own curled smile. A faint wave of relief washing over her current partner in discussion. "It's lovely to hear that. We need all the help we can get! Oh!" She exclaimed. Eyes wide in sudden realization. " I'm so sorry, where are my manners!" Her short chuckle is undercut by the droplets of sweat gently trailing down her forehead, which she casually wipes with a small handkerchief.

"I am the Abbess, Oriole. Please feel free to join the others, with all hope we'll begin shortly."

Minala casually offered a small bow, before doing as Directed, and moving further down the Great Hall to meet with the others, her ears perked upward on the top of her head as she heard the creak of wood echoing from the hallways. Which was, of course. Undercut by the conversations at hand.

Not feeling... totally up to socialize, at the moment. Minala did her best to fade into the background, with any hope, they'd just keep things as business. Well... Yeah. With hope.

 

[John Connor]

The Harvard professor sighed as a woman in a black cloth came up to the argumentative gatekeeper man “It's alright, he's here to help."

Professor Langdon quickly flashed an appreciative smile to the Nun "Don't worry, Ma'am, I assure you I know what I'm doing" he stood in a straight posture with confidence.

Sister Josephine's kind words were enough to make the gatekeeper drop his guard and let Professor Langdon in. She smiled kindly and asked him a question "So Professor, can you help us out?"

The man smiled and held out a hand "That's what I'm here for, Ma'am."

The nun looked back "Let me lead you to where the others are inside the Abbey."

The professor was ready for whatever was thrown at him at the time but as he walked the fog covered Alley on the way inside, he noticed others: Some human, some non-human, who exactly were these others and should he trust them so easily?

He eyed an interesting man who was just coming in as more and more flowed into the Abbey.

Robert Langdon attempted to strike up a conversation with the nearest person.

For some reason, he stared at Shinku, convinced with all the tattoos, this man could easily be mistaken for being in a cult after first glance.

But he didn't discriminate after remembering who his mentor was and who he was in.

"Hello stranger." He eyed Shinku with weary eyes.

 

[Shinku]

The assassin of shadows approached the great hall with a mixture of anticipation and caution. Somehow, the serene atmosphere inside the Abbey lowered his guard. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down completely as he proved in his counless encounters that danger often lurked in the most unexpected places

Before he could see the other guests, Shinku's attention was suddenly demanded by a voice that seemed to have called out to him. He turned, and met the stranger's gaze warmly, his demeanor calm and composed. He eyed the stranger briefly, acknowleging the weariness in his eyes. The man clearly stood taller, but a bit leaner than he is. His neatly combed brown wavy hair, and finely pressed tweed jackets however, gave the stranger an impression of intelligence and sophistication.

Ever the man of few words, Shinku nodded in acknowledgment. "Good day sir," he replied in a measured tone. "I suppose you're here for the same reason as I." Shinku's cautious nature prompted him to very carefully choose his words as he tested the waters with a friendly but guarded response.

 

[John Connor]

Professor Langdon walked over to Shinku and nodded "You are right about that, sir. Though I don't come from the crossroads, I came here under mysterious pretenses as much as you do."

"I'm sorry I misjudged you, stranger. It's just I've seen others that look similar to you in some fashion or another.”

The Harvard professor was quiet, wondering if this man was going to shake his hand or not.

“I should… introduce myself. My name is Professor Langdon, I teach art, symbology and religious ideology."

 

[Shinku]

Shinku offered a slight smile, reaching out for the professor's extended hand to reciprocate the handshake. "You may call me Trevor," he responded, given that's how he made himself known during the death games. His words were trailed with hesitation, given his own shadowy reputation. "And I appreciate the apology. I guess misunderstandings can't be helped," he continued, trying his best to maintain a gaze of sincerity.

The professor himself, carried with him an air of confidence and knowledge, something Shinku couldn't help but be intimidated at. On a more positive thought however, he saw a potential ally that might be highly useful in complex investigations. The glint of curiosity in the professor's eyes spoke of a sharp intellect, and his scholarly disposition was evident in every way he carried himself. Hence, aligning himself with the professor seemed like a strategic decision.

"So what sort of art do you specialize in, Professor Langdon?" One thing he learned in the art of socializing, is that it's best to keep the subject with one's interest. It's an easy and effective way to establish rapport and make the person open himself more. It would always be a gamble of course but with Shinku's experience, it almost always worked.

 

[Dr. McNinja]

Peter swallowed hard as this “Molly” character kissed his wrist. The vampire was physically unlikely to blush, lacking a functional cardiovascular system; and yet, there he was, blushing. But then Jester called him a pretty boy, which was Daisy’s nickname for him, and suddenly he felt himself snap to attention.

“Erm,” Peter finally said, opting to give a polite nod to Molly, “A pleasure to meet you as well. Jester was just telling us that you’re a friend of hers from your home dimension.”

Dr. McNinja, meanwhile, was too distracted by the arrival of another tiefling to really participate in the conversation.

“This is fascinating,” Dr. McNinja said, pulling out a notepad, “You’ve got purple skin. Did you notice any differences in inherent manifestations of magic from Jester? I know you fantasy types tend to have different magical abilities, but I also know tieflings have-”

Peter nudged him with an elbow. “Try hello.”

Doc cleared his throat, putting away the notepad. “Oh. Hello.”

“Sorry about him,” Peter continued, “He’s a bit… eccentric.”

Molly chuckled, seemingly unfazed. “It’s no problem, really. I know he’s an odd one.”

Doc crossed his arms. “Hey, I’m right here.”

Dr. McNinja redirected his attention to Jester, watching her interact with Father Gascoigne.

“So she really doesn’t remember much from DA, huh?” Doc mumbled.

“Guess not,” Peter replied.

“She remembers me, though!” Doc chirped, pointing at himself proudly, “Nice to have friends around here.”

Dr. McNinja looked at Molly. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. Dr. McNinja. This is Peter, as you know.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess we’re kinda celebrities thanks to those inhumane games of death.”

“Ah, but you are!” Molly said, winking at Peter, “And quite a fetching one, might I say.”

Peter looked at Doc uncomfortably, but the physician wasn’t paying attention. Instead, Dr. McNinja rubbed his chin over the mask. He pulled out a notepad and started scribbling something in it.

“Now I know I’m not the only one who feels that creeping sensation on my neck,” Doc mumbled, “There’s definitely something wrong here…"

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Molly with his arm around Jester, spirited them fast away to a portion of the long and detailed historical tapestry recounting the Haven Abbey. Jester, who could and would often easily support his weight after a night of revelry, was surprisingly leaning on him. She started to right herself but didn't pull away fully. She rested her head on his shoulder as he put an arm around hers as they stared past the artwork they were facing, backs turned to the crowd in the hall.

Molly had felt it too, that simple sheer terror of being that close to the man named Gascoigne.

"That is a man who nobody'd want to be fightin' or spitin'...fuck an Arbiter sideways with a chocobo's lucky foot and excuse my language," Molly hissed and made some gestures that were an allogmerate of various religions meaning absolutely nothing at all. He just figured with it being an Abbey and all, mine as well show proper manners.

"He looks like he was born from a rock, or cut from one at the very least. Do ya think there's just thunder under those bandages on his face? Have ya ever seen a pair of lips so sad and tight, 'Saint Barbarossa make my spirit free and bless me'…" Molly finished his nonsense prayer he had heard before somewhere and gave Jester a little shake of encouragement. She giggled and sighed.

"I really did meet him, you know. We were like, on a whole other planet together as it crumbled and Molly, it was crazzzzy and I can't even remember because I had donkey brains," Jester said emphatically, as if she was trying to force the damaged memories back into her skull.

"Well, if you can't remember anything, sweet Jester…we can always ask the fates?" Molly craned his neck to look at her, and his lavender face reflected almost unseen against her deep purple orbs. Jester, meanwhile, saw herself reflected fully and clear in his bright red mirrors. She perked up a bit and faced him, blocking their view from onlookers, shoulder to shoulder conspiratorially.

"Molly! You should totally do a reading, like right now. You're prob-bably the best that I know and I know like…at least three. One is a dog, though…but he's pretty good. You're probably at least number one or two of the three best fortune tellers I know," she said beaming at him with her brilliant white canines flashing in that devilish and mischievous smile of hers. Although Molly could definitely tell she hadn't yet decided if he truly was better than that dog she mentioned.

"Er, right. I got one somewhere…where in the, ha! Got ya, ya little bastard," and Molly fished out a flask, taking a hearty pull of something strong he couldn't remember putting in there. Putting back the flask, he pulled his deck of self-made tarot cards from a low pocket and sent the cards shuffling up to his free hand. He then split the deck one-handed and sent half of it to his original hand by his waist. He brought his hands together as well as the deck, then promptly put the whole thing into a top pocket that showed a sunburst. Casually he reached past the deck to the nearest inside pocket of his open robes and plucked a fresh single card. They both looked at it.

It was one of his half finished new cards he had made recently. The thick cardstock had no intricate designs along the border yet, nore was the background completed fully. But nevertheless, the card clearly showed a Red haired man with his mane spilling out from under a cowboy hat. He sat atop a raging black stallion, with a dancing bay pony trailing behind. Molly gasped, and Jester was enthralled. She waited for his response like the best of audience members.

"...The red-headed stranger. Oh my sweet Jester…" Molly whispered, so Jester had to lean in. Molly handed her the card for her to take. She took it and looked closer at the artwork as he spoke. She had used to help him on cards because of her talented skills as an artist, until Molly had noticed some of the creative licenses she had taken in the form of beautifully crafted interwoven dicks for their borders. Jester thought her border would look amazing on this one especially as she stared and listened.

"He's suffered a loss that leaves his heart as heavy as night. Don't cross him. Don't boss him. He's wild in his sorrow, he's riding and hiding his pain. The kind of man ya want to wait on till tomorrow, and maybe he'll ride on again. He just doesn't care. Always remember, stay out of the way of the raging black stallion and don't put a hand on the bay", Molly finished and their eyes met.

"Wow, that is like…super intense. Good thing Gascoigne doesn't have red hair or I would be like, super freaked out. Also, he doesn't ride a horse. He definitely doesn't remember well, though. A sorrow and pain you cannot remember is probably like the worst. So bad even a delicious pastry can't fix it…probably," Jester said shaking her head. Resisting the urge to look behind them at Father Gascoigne across the hall. "...also, I'm going to keep this card and finish it for you," She finished quickly, her smile coming back.

Molly returned the grin, both of them knowing it would look beautifully illustrated, complete with a highly detailed and camouflaged dick covered trim.

"Well, what do ya say? We'll make some new friends and solve a mystery or something or other," Molly said.

They both turned as one to take in the gathered motley of characters awaiting further instructions along with them in the grand hall.

Two devils smiling wildly under the tapestry, looking impossibly innocent and welcoming to anyone who would approach.

 

[Ben]

The walk through the overgrown forest was pretty piss-poor. The ground was all muddy and the air was all wet, and the humidity was getting into my ears. The area was boggy and muddy and overall disgusting and worst of all, the ground was spinny and I kept warping forward at random intervals.

Admittedly, the last part was mostly just my own fault. Night after I’d finally made it to civilization, away from these ‘unmade’ beasts and whatever else was lurking beneath the town, I’d obviously found the nearest tavern and got blasted enough to forget the next eight hours.

Or, at least, blasted enough to try. The dream - that of an abbey, a walled convent of the gods, danced across my dreams, along with the path to get there. I hadn’t even gotten a day’s rest and already the fates decided I was off to go somewhere.

I, of course, promptly said ‘fuck that’, and managed to lie enough about my coin purse to manage another day in the bar. I managed to collect enough psychedelics to sell and obtain a few coins and a particularly wonderful night where I was sure I’d be too messed up to have to keep up with the visions - for a few days at least.

Instead, the screaming and wailing of the damned and the dying added a certain ambience to the dream next time, and for all of my chemical talents, I couldn’t deny the calling with just a few exotic mushrooms and some everclear.

My head was very clear in the morning, and I knew I needed to go. To fix whatever I needed to fix there. To follow Silvanus’s call. But my heart knew it hadn’t even had time to process this new world, or what had happened before coming to this new world, or what had happened before that.

I made a compromise between the two by having myself a nice cask before I went off to what was likely to be a sober occasion, and as a result my current crab walk was more a result of inebriation than choice.

Still, I used my left hand to scratch my chin, slurring what was on my mind. “But how’m I still…” I mused, before a look to my right hand, firmly clasped around a nice and empty two six. “...Oh. Yeah. forgot all ‘bout that.” I Mumbled, stumbling forward.

And almost into someone.

“Hey, maaan!” I managed with a chuckle, Stumbling backwards from the pale old human - or was it humans? - no, upon thinking it through, that was just the alcohol. Summoning what was left of my addled wits, I forced myself to stand up straight and prim, dusting my skirt in what I felt was a pretty dang good impression of sobriety.

The gatekeeper did not have as good an impression.

“What manner of drunken fool are you?!” the gatekeeper gave a snarl, and even as drunk as I was, it didn’t take me long to realize this guy was already nettled, so I try to just let my mouth run and my normal roguish charm take hold to fix the situation.

“The magic kind.” I replied, dancing my fingers forward as I twiddled them towards the gatekeeper.

He was unimpressed. Upon a second’s further reflection, it was probably because that was stupid.

I opened my mouth before he decided to do something about me and my public disturbance, as I grew rapidly aware of the big solid door before me, and realized he was probably the guy who decided when to unlock that thing.

“Druid. Precisely.” I continued, as I took a step back. “...I am Brass Belle, and I am here as a servant of the…”

I Stumbled back, windmilling my arms as the Drink took one last swing in an attempt to knock me off my feet.

After righting myself, I continued. “...Balance! As druids are. And I’ve been guided by Silvanus herself to your doorstep. So if I leave, she’ll be right pissed.”

“Is that a threat?” The gatekeeper asked, his mood darkening.

“No no no - pissed at me!” I blurt out, placing both hands in front of my chest and waving them apologetically. “I’m the one expected to do the things that, err…” I stumble, the panic as the old man’s excellently practiced glare bore a few holes through me. “That protect nature. And there’s clearly some disturbance here, even if I ain’t been told about it. So If I don’t help resolve it, that’s like, another divine punishment. And ‘tween you and me?” I asked, leaning in towards the old man. “Pretty sure I’m already going through one o’ those.”

The words didn’t seem to improve the old man’s mood any, but he did seem to believe me, nonetheless. “Not that difficult to think a woman like you’d insult the gods. But it’d be just as easy to believe you a vagrant with a penchant for stories and a desire for free room and board.”

“Wh-that’s on the table?!” I stammered, which… caused the man’s complexion to go a few shades further red, but his fists were relaxing, not tightening. He may have thought me a buffoon, but at least he didn’t think me a charlatan.

Which was correct on both accounts for him, at least in this case.

Eventually, though, a woman’s voice cut through. Lyrical, sharp, cutting and strong. The sort that felt like a blade in your belly and dug upwards through the stomach.

“Let me talk to them, mister Krotgrim.”

“You’re going to let a drunken oaf come in with no conditions?”

I Gave a smug grin to the gatekeeper, one that immediately left me as Josephine took a further step forward, right past my comfort zone, and spoke up.

“I can sense something in you, and I believe your claims. You may well be a druid. But we are conducting an investigation here - an important one. You may join, but leave the bottle with mister Krotgrim there if you do so. Someone drunk beyond reason is little use in an investigation.” She instructed, and her stare scared me. Not because of the glare, but because there was none. She was calm, her voice steady, her actions confident. She had that air of a natural leader - the kind that could likely see through all my little tricks and pretenses, and even if I knew that vigilance wasn’t directed at me, it was scary nonetheless.

“G-got it. I’ll be a good girl.” I managed, “I-I am… honestly, here to help.” I managed to stammer, and if there was anything positive for me that that speech had managed, it had helped me sober up just a little. “I’ve been a druid for thirty years. I’m missing most of my magic at the moment, but I’ve kept most of what I’ve learned up here…” I replied, tapping my head. “I swear on my oath, I’ll be as sober as a nun until whatever business has drawn me here finishes.” I finally say, placing a hand to my chest.

The sister gave a small smile, seemingly happy with that. “Good. then come in here and sober up, Miss Belle.”

“Won’t be that hard to find me a bucket and some water, I hope?” I ask, as I enter. “And, uh, would you mind telling me the problem in simple language? Silvanus tends to find it far more fun to give me picture shows with the occasional jumpscare than a straight explanation.”

 

[Ben]

The gatehouse opened into a much nicer set of grounds. Current dreary weather aside, they were actually pretty nice. Water, for washing out the worst of the booze stench, children, which weren’t a negative when they were this productive, a lot of helpful little beehives for him to ask questions for - insects weren’t exactly the smartest things in the world, but bees are probably among the least unhelpful little guys I’ve had ever had to interrogate.

As we walked, I did have a few questions about the investigation, but she’d already told me we had other people here to help waiting in the gatehouse, and redundant questions would probably just be an annoying waste of time. As a result, while we made our way across the grounds, I chose to ask a few questions of a different but equal importance to me.

“So about staying here…”

“In exchange for your services, the abbey is happy to provide us with food, water, and lodgings.”

I give a happy nod to that. “Nice! When do I get to pick my stall?”

Josephine turned and gave me a slightly shocked look. “...There is one dorm room. You’ll each be assigned your own bed.”

“We get a bed?!” I exclaimed excitedly.

“Abbess Oriole is a kind soul. I don’t believe she’d allow you to sleep in the hayloft.”

“Oh, that’d have been good too.” I mutter.

“I see. You’re not used to indoor living.”

“It’s been over three decades since I had that option.” I muse, tail flicking as we head towards the doors. A hole in the ground’s all I knew, since the last house I’d been offered contained it’s own set of problems. A lovable but untrustable thief by the name of Wilfred Honeypot.

The thought brought the mood down immediately, and as I walked forward, still stumbling just a little, I managed to hide that frown a little later than I’d have liked.


“So, uh, food!”

“There’ll be three meals a night-”

“Three? This is paradise!” I exclaimed, as we entered the halls.

Looking around, I immediately saw a whole helluva lot of weird types. Some devil dudes, a ninja who’d worn the wrong jacket to work, some of what her brief stay in the Erde Nona taverns had informed me are called ‘teeth-lings’ or something to that extent, and worst of all - an academic, standing there in his nerd clothes, probably with a nerd book hidden somewhere in his nerd suit.

I got ready to defend myself from this professor’s attempt to recruit me to some university with a well-ordered response, until I noticed the Ninja’s companion.

Probably not visible to the majority of the Abbey compatriots at a glance, I imagined - because who would be looking for it in plain sight? Yet I noticed it immediately as I saw it. The sunken cheeks. The fangs…

Didn’t realize until I’d hit the wall behind me that I’d been backing away. Or that I had my quarterstaff up. Luckily, it seemed no one but the devil twins knew this thing was a deadly weapon, or I imagine I’d have caused a bit of a panic.

It was like I could feel the sword in my gut again, as I saw the crimson, piercing glare in his slit-eyes. I’d thought I’d escaped, but he stood before me. Somehow hoodwinking everyone again. This abbey was a trap, and I needed to get out, I needed to-

My thoughts were immediately interrupted by being grabbed like an ice cream cone and the glare of an angry ninja interrupting my view of Wilfred.

“This woman is clearly either dealing with a sudden vampire-based panic attack or an overload of Nos’talgian Poisonous gummy bears! It’s probably the latter, so take this!” the jacked dude yelled, Forcing me to drink something purple and - to my horror - grape-flavored.

“Nnnmmghh…” I managed to spit out, as my head started poudning and I felt ready to pass out. All the while Wilfred was approaching, getting nearer, and he spoke, in a distinctly un-Wilfred-y voice.

“Doc, it’s the other thing!”

“Parmesian centipede bite? I didn’t bring it up because I doubted a cheese-based animal’d survive in this moist an environment.”

“No, the thing you actually- Ugh. I’m sorry about him. And you clearly have issues. But I promise - I’m harmless. I don’t mean to cause you any harm, or him. I’m here to help out, just like you. Can you calm down?”

It took me a few seconds of looking at him, as my brain started to kick back down into low gear. Wilfred had a curly shock of hair. An overbearing smirk that never left his face. Smooth, chisseled features to accompany his shocking musculature and a special twinkle that survived in his predatory eyes. On closer inspection, despite being a vampire, this guy was…

No Wilfred.


All at once, I was broken from the trance, my body lost it’s sudden paralysis, and as my stomach lost the stone that had oh-so-suddenly sank into it at lightning speed, it threw it’s metaphorical self out of my body along with my literal breakfast - all over the Medicine Ninja’s coat. Along with a good amount of the grape flavoring, as I horked a good line across his coat, and left him covered.

“U-uhh, sorry.”

“Oh, don’t mind it, this happens at least once a week.” the Ninja man replied. “Oh, I’m doctor Mcninja. Pleased to meet you. And this is my assistant, Peter Pellbrook.” He introduced himself.

The idea of a doctor working with a vampire damn near snapped my mind, but I gave an awkward handshake to the man nonetheless, as Dr. Mcninja had somehow already cleaned up the mess on his shirt.

“Brass Belle.” I offered, shaking his hand, as Peter stepped shyly up and offered his own.

I looked to him, those eyes filled with a hope I had never seen in a vampire’s face, and the cold sweat started again. I brought my hand forward, halfway, almost touching that pale, cold flesh…

And then retracted.

“I… I’m sorry. I can’t. Maybe some other time. But I… I just can’t.” I Muttered, retracting my hand as my ears went down.

Peter gave me a look that would have outdone the average puppy, were it not accompanied by predatory slits and fangs made for cleaving me neck in two.

Then, it was followed up by a smile.

“...You know what? That’s okay. I hope we can work up to it, though.”

I gave a slow, non-commital nod. Maybe we could. Or maybe this mission’d be mercifully short, and I could finally be free from those awful red eyes in naught more than a day or two.

Either way, I’m sure it made me look super competent to everyone else involved, and more than a little blush entered my face as I looked around the chambers.

“Okay. I am sober now.”

 

[Aster]

"Man...what am I even doing here...?" Aster murmured to herself, staring at the looming sight of the structure before her. It was still some ways off yet, far enough that she (probably) wouldn't get easily spotted and screeched at for loitering and staring like some kind of nefarious ne'er do well or something. Close enough that she could still make every little detail out, though. The imposing outer walls belied what was inside, she knew, but...especially combined with the foreboding, mist-shrouded environs, they sure did a good job of making her hair stand on end -- literally as well as figuratively, her tail puffed up to well over its normal size and agitatedly flicking back and forth, brushing the dirt beneath her.

Shifting her weight uncomfortably, she hunched her shoulders against the chill morning air and let out a long, slow and shaking breath that momentarily added more fog to the already soup-like air.

"C'mon, now...keep it together," she muttered. "Can't go and psyche myself out before I even finish getting there."

With an unsteady hand she reached up to push her glasses up. She didn't really need them, exactly, but...well. It gave her one more thing to fidget with when she was nervous, and Uncle Ricter had always said that glasses could change your entire look, and maybe give you something to hide behind if you needed an extra second to get yourself together. Uncle Ricter was kind of bizarre, but he had some pretty good nuggets of wisdom every now and then, bless his heart.

Her other hand dropped down to fish in a pocket of her jacket, pulling out her phone. A few errant taps brought it faithfully out of the black screened sleep of "you haven't used me in 30 seconds so i'mma nap now" mode, and she quickly pulled up the message from her dad one more time, putting it up to her ear to listen.

Hey, kiddo. Hope you're still holdin' up alright.

The words came out in a long, drawn-out drawl that was instantly recognizable, even after not hearing it in person for years now. You didn't quite slur in that exact way unless you were just the right combination of old, worn down by a long work life, and 'dealt with a broken jaw a time or six' as her dad.

Or, well...as well as ya can be, I guess.

Listen, I uh... I know this's gonna be a mighty tall ask of ya, but I need a favor. Ya remember a place called Haven Abbey? Might not...ain't been around there since you was real little. But they took good care of us for a bit there, specially when yer ol' uncle, Ricter, came down bad with that weird case of 'about to die' all sudden like. He owed 'em big for savin' his life, and we all owed 'em just as big for lettin' us stay with 'em while they took care of him.

Well...got wind of somethin' kinda troublin' lately. There's been some mighty strange rumors comin' out of that area. Ricter's off on some fool's errand off world somewhere right now, between work and these old bones of mine...hell, I couldn't make it out that way even if I wanted to.

I know it's one hell of a thing to ask out of nowhere like this, but I'd like it if ya could at least head out there and find out exactly what's up. Lend a hand if ya can, even; I know you're a smart girl, Aster, even if ya don't act like it sometimes. It might be nothin', and I sure as heck ain't gonna beg or demand for ya to go or anything, but... It's more'n just for curiosity's sake. There's the little family debt, but...

The lands 'round that place are mighty spooky, even at the best of times. It'll be rough on ya, after what happened, I reckon. But that might be good...face your demons and allat, y'know? An' if that don't work, Haven's a good place. Good people, helpful people. Figure out what's up there and help 'em solve it, maybe they can help you out. I know ya don't like goin' to normal doctors more'n ya have to, so... Consider it at least, alright?

Hope ta actually get to see ya again in person sometime soon, now, ya hear? Stay safe out there, whatever ya do.

She sighed, letting her arm flop down to her side listlessly and just stare blankly ahead into the misty morning sky.

"Oh, dad..." she groaned. He meant well -- he really, really did, bless his heart -- but he had never really grown out of his 'particular' way of talking about problems and giving advice. Still...he was convincing and sincere enough to get her to actually pack it in and trek her way all the way out here, so that had to count for something, didn't it? Probably. Maybe. Might just be she was getting desperate for something -- anything -- to do, to distract her from the way shit had been going lately.

.....yeah, it was probably some combination of the two, actually.

With a heavy sigh, she pocketed her phone again and hefted her bag of supplies up over her other shoulder. Nothing fancy, but some spare clothes and emergency supplies never hurt to have. It hadn't exactly been a short trip out here, for her, after all. She was by far the closest one of her family, but still. She'd left her bike at home, not wanting to risk the potential damage -- or even worse. losing the thing altogether -- all the way out here in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. So it had been an exercise in public transit and hoofing it, much more of one than the other.

Thank god for well-made hiking boots.

She trudged on down the path toward the abbey, a shiver running up her spine with an almost electric tingle as she finally stepped within the shadow of the walls. "Fuckin' hell...Terry, give me strength...I'm gonna need it." She mumbled, a clawed hand reflexively grasping at the drawstrings of her jacket and giving them a sharp tug, tightening the fabric in a vain attempt at either warding off the chill or (very poorly) mimicking a comforting hug.

She crept warily up to the gate, her ears now standing straight up and straining for any hint of a sound even slightly out of place. She lifted a hand up, letting it awkwardly hang in midair before the large, imposing wooden gates. "....I can still leave," she muttered to herself. "Dad even said I didn't have to do this. I can just..."

She wavered, her posture shifting to something between ready to step back and turn around, or walk forward through the gates if they were actually open.

"....no. No. I don't have to do this, but I gotta do this." She hunched her shoulders again, giving a sharp huff and quickly jerking her arm up to brush back a loose curl of hair from her face. "Let's get it over with." And she abruptly reached out to knock on the large doors a few times.

"Was wondering if you'd ever actually knock, the way you were just loitering around out there," a crackly old voice rasped out, as the doors creaked slightly open. And shortly after, a man that Aster could only describe as 'old as fuck' poked his weathered, dynamite-blasted-cliff looking face out into view. He squinted in something between "standard old man disapproval" and "it's too bright out here and I can't see shit", looking the new arrival up and down. "Hmph...and why are you here, then?"

Aster instinctively clutched her jacket tighter. She was surprised to hear that old man Johnson here could see his own hand in front of his face, let alone have noticed her before she knocked. And the way he was looking at her as if she was exactly the helpless little dog plopped on his doorstep she felt like, definitely didn't help matter. "I, uh...I'm..." she started, her voice faltering and unsteady.

"Out with it, now!" the old man snapped, stepping more fully through the doorway to lean against it. "It isn't good for either of us to stand around here with the doors open longer than needed!"

Aster sucked in a deep breath, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut. Okay, okay...keep it cool. Normally it was trying to keep her temper down, but every kind of stress worked basically the same way, right? (Not really.) Just treat crochety old man Jenkins here like any other uppity customer.

She let out her breath after holding it for a second or two. "I...m'name's Aster," she managed, her normally pristine tone and less 'family' accent slipping as she focused more on keeping her voice from wavering. "Good while ago, family was here to get help with some real bad stuff. Can't remember what, I was just a little pup back then."

"Not an uncommon tale," the old man grumbled, adjusting his glasses. "But what's that got to do with why you're here now?"

"Dad heard 'bout the strange stuff goin' on out here. He's too busy with work, and too worn out to travel 'round this way himself, so..." She trailed off somewhat lamely, with as much of a shrug as she could muster.

"So what?" The old man raised one wispy eyebrow, his gnarled face doing a marvelous contortion routine of a landslide to settle into its new look. "He sent you out here instead?"

"....somethin' like that, yeah," Aster mumbled, with a quick head bobbing nod. "Wanted to know what was going on. Find some way to help, or try to, iffen it was somethin' we could lend a hand with."

The old man snorted derisively, running a hand through his beard. "....you said your name was Aster?" he finally spoke up again. And after a quick nod of confirmation he nodded with a deep 'hrrrm'. "And your parents -- their names?"

"Uh..." This caught Aster off guard, making her just blink slowly several times. "....T-Trigger and Hanna," she eventually managed to croak out. "And...i-it was my dad's brother, Ricter, that brought us here...

The old man's eyes flashed, and his frown -- along with the deep furrows in his face -- grew somehow even deeper, which would have been impressive if his already uncomfortable gaze didn't evolve into a downright disconcerting glower. "I remember that bunch," he growled in a gravelly voice, before giving a long, wordless series of quiet grumbling. "Your family was a bright one, if I remember rightly...with a very interesting point of view and outlook on the world."

"Fine." Seeming somehow reluctant, he stepped back and pushed the door further open, ushering Aster inside. "Get inside, then."

With something between relief and a freshly-mounted sense of anxiety, Aster nodded and meekly shuffled past him and into the abbey proper. The noise of the doors as they ground and sung shut behind her was only slightly foreboding.