You scream. Shadows snatch at you, and you duck away into your brain. It is safe. They cannot touch you here. In the past everything is happy. Nothing is dead. No one is dead. You go into the past, where it is cozy and warm. An August afternoon warms you. You step out of the car. Someone in a suit is waiting. Your mom kisses you goodbye. A school you live at, they told you. You didn't like it; but you didn't have to like it. You just had to go. The suited person takes you away from mom.

The past has many places to choose from. But the shadows snatch at you every time you look away. They whisper lies to you. But you know they're only lies. She's not dead. You can see her right here in your brain.

See, you tell the shadows. See her, right there. The first day you met. You were lost at night, and she took you back to your room. Her name is Melissa.

Was Melissa, the shadows taunt. Not anymore though.

That's impossible, though. Just look. So many years go by. There's so much past to look at. There you are in class with her. And here, you're fishing on the lake. And here it's a late winter night. You didn't sleep a wink that night, staying up an telling stories.

Melissa is a good girl. Sabrina is a good girl. Why would Melissa die?

Why would you kill her?

But you can't hide in the past forever. The shadow told you so. After all, the past is limited. It only lasts until now. And the past has passed. You've run out. Melissa smiles at you in your brain, and closes her eyes. After all, she wouldn't want all that blood to get in them...

You scream. Your eyes are open. Everything is warm again, but you're sweating now. It's too hot outside of your brain, and you flail your legs to try and curl up. Your legs won't move though. They're stuck, something's stuck them. You've got to get unstuck. You yank and pull and write, but nothing moves. Your arms are stuck too. You scream.

"Right. I've had enough of that." A voice. Your head isn't too stuck, so you look at the voice. It's attached to a woman. She's sitting in the corner. She would be very pretty, you think, if she weren't covered in so much blood. You shriek, and twist your legs to get away from the dead lady. But you still can't. The talking corpse twitches its bloody brow at you. "I wish Bartolomè had warned me you were completely nuts... All right, squirt, listen up. You're not moving until I get what I want from you."

No, you won't die. You won't be dead. Not like Melissa. Not like her. Where's your gun? Your hands twist and close their fingers, but the gun is gone. You've lost it. No. She took it!

>1. Give me my gun!
>2. Get away, I won't be dead like you!
>3. Give me my gun!
>4. Where's Melissa?
>5. Give me my gun!
>6. Go back in your brain.

>>30149183
>2. Get away, I won't be dead like you!

File: 1392066774405.jpg-(45 KB, 594x383, WhatCouldGoWrong.jpg)

45 KB JPG

>>30149183
>6. Go back in your brain.

>>30149183
>2. Get away, I won't be dead like you!

whoever this chick is Let's NOT get into any combat with her.

>>30149207
>>30149336
"No! Nononononono, won't be dead! Won't die! Stay away from me, get!" You hiss and shriek at the dead person. It blinks at you. Once. Twice. You count the times her eyelids slam shut and peel back again. Four times, six seconds. A little droplet of blood tumbles down her head. It pools on her eyelashes, and then it drips down onto her pants. Drip. Drip. Drip. Why is she still moving? Why is everyone still moving? They're supposed to be dead! You can see the blood, "Why can't you see the blood? All the blood. Dead! Dead!"

"Hah." The corpse laughs at you. It's scary. It sounds so lifelike. So sad. "Dead?" the corpse asks you. "No. I only wish." Her hands tug a rope. Her bare knuckle bones creak. "But you... you're alive, aren't you, Sabrina? You're the lucky one. Melissa Biancardi, though. She wasn't so lucky, was she?" You hide your face. The dead can't see your tears. They'll know you're weak. She'll pounce.

"Why did you kill Melissa?"

>1. She's not dead.
>2. She was already dead.
>3. You're ALL dead.
>4. Give me my gun!
>5. Give me my gun!
>6. Go back in your brain where it's safe.

>>30149567
>2. She was already dead.
>3. You're ALL dead.

>>30149567
>2. She was already dead.
>3. You're ALL dead

>>30149685
You shot Melissa. You definitely shot Melissa. You remember the kick of the gun. The little squishy noise when her brains came out her skull. But...

"Heheheheehee. I didn't!" you say with a sudden smile. It hurts so much, stretching your face so wide, but you can't stop. "I didn't kill her! She was already dead! You too! Dead, dead, dead, all dead!" It's such a simple answer. It makes sense. You didn't kill her, she was already dead. All you did was remind her body she was dead, so it would stop moving. Simple!

The corpses leans in her chair, points out a finger, and pushes her oval sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. She stares a you behind the lenses. What's she judging you about? The dead shouldn't judge. It makes your skin crawl. You writhe and shift in the bed to try and scratch at the uncomfortable itch, but you're too stuck to get at it.

She scowls. "Look up."

You look up.

You scream again. Pointy things. Blades, lots of blades staring down at you. Damocles, Damocles! Don't let the swords drop! You laugh at the image and scream at the danger and try to crawl away. Still stuck. All connected to the little rope in the dead lady's hands. "You don't want to be dead. Right? Answer my questions and you won't be." The shades drop, and merciless, maggot-gnawed eyes home in on you. "Don't, and I let go of this rope. And the swords fall."

She stands up, and walks to the side of the bed. She leans over you. You are still as a dead dog, and try not to move. Maybe she won't lunge at you if you're still. But it's so hard. Your body shakes and shivers as blood falls off her body. Cold liquid splashes on your skin. Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop. Make it stop, making it stop! You wriggle in the bed but can't get away from the blood.

"Answer me. You killed Melissa. Tell me everything. Where. When. Why. How."

Deep in your brain, the past stirs. It's all right in here, it tells you. All the answers. But you don't want the answers. You don't want to go back.

>1. Tell her. Remember.
>2. Don't say anything. Forget.

>>30150062
>2

Fuck you too zombie lady.

>>30150045
>1. Tell her. Remember.

>>30150045
>1. Tell her. Remember.

>>30150062
>1. Tell her. Remember.

She will drop swords on us if we don't.

>>30150062
>1. Tell her. Remember.

>>30150201
>>30150237
>>30150292
>>30150392
You have to go back. Can't forget. Have to remember. You close your eyes and go into your brain. It's all waiting for you. Plays back like a movie clip.

...

It's cold. Well past midnight, but you can't sleep. You've been curled up in the bed for a few hours now, but every time you close your eyes a little shuffle in the distance wakes you back up. Melissa should have been back by now. She said she would be gone for the weekend, and she would be back Monday afternoon. It's Tuesday morning now. She should have been back.

You know it's probably nothing, but you expected a phone call, at least. But you haven't heard from her since she left. You're on edge. Sleeping in this frame of mind just won't happen. You rise up from the pillow and flip the light switch. It's not very bright, and casts the room in a dim orange glow, but it's enough to move around in. You shuffle out of bed and over to the window. Your little pane of glass gives you an excellent view over the campus, and the forest beyond, winding down the hill and into a tiny village several miles down the road. The lights are mostly out, but a few stray signs help you pick out the distant place from the trees surrounding it. You watch the fields out past your dormitory, the dark grasses wafting in a winter breeze.

Then you see it. A shadow shuffles through the grass. Slowly, on a meandering path. What is that, you wonder, and scrutinize it as best you can. You shut the light off to reduce the glare, and see it is a person. Someone is down there, moving in the darkness. They step off the grass and onto a sidewalk, passing under a lamp as they go. You recognize the coat it's wearing. The curly hair.

"Melissa?"

Your friend is down there. But you don't know where she is going. She's faced away from the school, and is heading down into town. Shouldn't she at least have let you know she was back? Something's wrong.

You're not sure why you choose to chase her, but something tells you that it's necessary. Furiously you rip off your nightgown and throw on clothes for going about in winter weather, and storm out of your room. Down and down three flights of stairs you go, rushing through the lobby and out of your building. You know the path that Melissa is on, and your pace is greater than hers. You're certain you'll catch her.

...

You never knew this place could be so frightening. You walked this path often during the autumn, watching the sun go down and enhancing the radiant colors of the fall. Reds and oranges that made everything so pleasant and inviting. All those colors are gone. It is blue, and black here now, and little puffs of grey vapor from your breath, spurting out your nose and scattering in the cold air. Melissa must have picked up her pace; you haven't caught up yet, and you cannot make out her silhouette further ahead on the path. Down through many sloping hills lies the sleepy village your school sits beside. You can see no motion down there. Everyone is asleep. "Melissa, what the hell are you doing?" you moan, and lean into the chilly breeze. Your feet move a little faster, and you continue your trek down.

On either side of the road sentinels stand, tall dark trees that look black and stalwart against the starlight. Your breath is short beneath them; your mind plays tricks on you, and you swear there are flickers of light beneath the brush. Eyes follow you down into town...

You can only feel sound again once you've begun to pass the first few buildings of the town. A few houses, a convenience store that against all odds is still open, and a small parking lot. This is the "downtown" of the village, but it's not much to look at. None of the buildings are more than two stories high. But it's not a very claustrophobic place, at the least. You feel safer here as you pass from street to street, trying to find your friend.

The cool air is beginning to seep through your clothes and nip at your skin.

As you begin to fret over catching something in the cold, something moves ahead of you. A body twists right and heads down another street. Could it be? You follow it, and poke your head around. A few flickering street lamps illuminate the swaying body walking beneath them. It is her, definitely her.

"Melissa!" you call. She ignores you. You call again, sure to be a little louder so she notices. Nothing. "What's wrong with her?" you question. Whatever the answer is, the body has stopped. Beside a coffee house is an abandoned building, once a hobby shop. She tugs on the door, and it opens. Melissa steps in, leaving you alone in the frigid street. Don't go in, your brain tells you. Don't follow her. It's not worth it. That's a lie, you're certain it is. You jog to the door and peer into the window. There is only darkness. You exhale sharply, and an outline of your breath is impressed on the glass. Frightening. But you have to know. You have to know what's happened.

The door does not resist as you pull on the handle and step in. The tiny bell attached to most of these little shops is absent, and it's curiously quiet as you step inside. Shadows play on the walls, only the barest light creeping in from the outside street lamps. Goosebumps pop up on your skin. It's unsafe here. A feeling of revulsion creeps through you as you step further in. There is a staircase at the back of the shop leading down. You step towards it... and you slip. Your foot catches on something and makes you to stumble forward. You catch yourself on the railing of the staircase, and peer down. It is dark, and you cannot see what lies below.

"M-M-Melissa?" you call out. Nothing answers. "Are you there?"

She is down there. You are certain of it. Gathering your resolve you come to the top of the stairs, and take one brave step down. Then another. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Your footsteps are clumsy, and loud, and you cringe every time. But it does not last long. Before you realize, you are at the bottom.

"Melissa, this isn't funny! Now come on, turn on a light or something, I can't see."

And the hairs on the back of your neck stand as someone whispers in your ear. "If you insist."

The lights come on, and nearly blind you. But what you can make out causes your stomach to unload everything in a sudden gush of vomit. A crowd stands around you, coated in blood. Their clothes are stained and ripped, and their flesh falls off in rotten chunks. Milky, unfocused eyes watch you from dozens of unliving skulls. And at the head, close enough to reach out and touch...

"Melissa?"

Her body twitches at the name, wrenching is ugly jaw open and letting streams of blood pour from beneath its teeth. It spills to the floor and pools around her feet as she steps forward, trying to touch you with a rotten hand.

You scream. Wordless, thoughtless, formless, a bestial cry escapes you as you turn around and throw your body up the stairs. "Melissa" chases you and would be the faster of the two, but you use all four of your limbs in a desperate crawl to ascend. The lights upstairs have come on, you can see, and beckon you towards the door. Run, run, that's all you can do. Get outside, get away from this! You can hear your Melissa baying behind you, like a hound on the heels of its prey. Your vision is clouded by frightened tears, but you reach the top and spin around for the door.

You can see what you tripped over now. A dead man, in the uniform of the local police. His throat has been torn out, and lies sprawled out on the floor. His blood is still fresh and staining the carpet. His gun lies unused beside his limp hand. You pick it up, by instinct. You have no clue what you'll do with it. You make it outside the door, slamming it behind you, but it opens again an instant later. Even as you hurl your body across the street,

Melissa's corpse shambles up to the curb and eyes you hungrily.

Swinging your body around, you level the gun at her. "Melissa!" You scream. "This isn't funny! S-stay back! Don't take another step closer!"

The creature steps forward. You clasp one hand over your mouth. "Please..." you whisper. But it takes another shaky step towards you. "Oh, god..."

Your finger squeezes the trigger.

...

"Bang."

The girl laying in front of you finishes her story with a single word, frightened tears streaming down her cheeks. You, Catarina Belmont, are not remotely happy about what you've learned here. Ghouls. An entire hive of them. And recently created, too. Someone has been gathering power, and close to you. And your pupil is out of town. You can handle it yourself, but you wonder all the same. Klaus Hind is dead. Who else capable of such a thing is in your territory?

Sabrina is writhing in her bed like a caged rat. It's a little disheartening to look at. Before you do anything else, you should probably take care of this wretch before you leave the church tonight.

>1. Knock her out. You can't concentrate around hysteria.
>2. Give her a sedative. Same results, but less violence.
>3. Try to comfort her. That was a traumatic thing for a young girl to experience.
>4. Tell her to toughen up. She'll never recover if she can't acknowledge what's happened to her.

>>30151181
>3. Try to comfort her. That was a traumatic thing for a young girl to experience.

And then offer her the sedative.

>>30151181
>2. Give her a sedative. Same results, but less violence.

>>30151399
Good thing you came prepared for the crazy. A bottle of pills is on the end table, and you shake three of them into your hand. The dosage calls for two pills, but you really need her to shut up ASAP. With one hand you pry open her mouth. She's trapped, and no matter how much she struggles she can't get away. You drop the pills into her mouth one by one, and with a hand massage her throat to guide them down.

The effects come quickly. Her movements become sluggish, her eyelids flutter. She isn't screaming anymore either. That's definitely a plus. A sigh of relief escapes you as you throw yourself back into your chair, toying with the rope as you tug a phone from your pocket. Your pupil should probably be made aware of the threat.

It rings once. Twice. "Come on you bastard," you mutter. "Pick up."

"Hello?" A light, slightly raspy voice answers the phone.

"Bartolomè. Did you have a minute?"

"Um, I think I have a few." How weird of him to say; he sounds anxious. Wonder what's got him on edge. "Was there something you needed?"

"Yeah... Yeah. The girl woke up about ten minutes ago. And you're going to want to hear what she told me..."

...

You hang up the phone. Bartolomè should be boarding his flight now, and be on his way to Munich. Good. That gives you plenty of time to deal with this ghoul nest. As the sun dips down beneath the horizon, you pull on a light blue, sleeveless bubble coat over your sweater and head downstairs. You need to arm yourself. Slowly you walk into the dark hallways that run beneath the church...

>1. Go heavy. That town is compromised. You're burning it to the ground.
>2. Finding the father-vampire is most important. Go in light and mobile.

>>30152009
>2. Finding the father-vampire is most important. Go in light and mobile.

we can pick up the scraps afterword

>>30152009
>>2. Finding the father-vampire is most important. Go in light and mobile.

>>30152079
You enter the panic room. Walls of steel reinforced by concrete on every side. Weapons hang from every wall, and your shrewd eyes scan every one to determine what you'll need most. In the center, a table with yet more armaments awaits. You pick up a small Bible and place it in a pocket on the inside of your coat. You pick out several knifes, and clip holsters for them to your arms and legs.

It is a mindless task, and one you've done hundreds of time. Gearing up before a mission is second nature to you. Though that's not quite accurate. This is more like pest control than a mission. You can't say for certain how many ghouls await you, a dozen or a few hundred. Doesn't matter much to you one way or the other. You real objective is finding their creator. The thought continues to remain foremost in your mind. At least one of these ghouls, Melissa Biancardi, was created long after Klaus Hind died. Who is responsible? You groan, exasperated. All of this is too much trouble. Mages, and vampires, and psychotic little girls. Why can't you just train Bartolomè in peace?

Words of your colleague echo in your head. "When are you going to tell him?" That damned smile of that man still burns your head when you recall it. You only wish you'd had the guts to kill him right there. For the time being, you're too valuable. It's not like there would have been repercussions for cutting out his black little soul.

You couldn't do it, though. Because he was right. You've been keeping too many secrets. "Urgh." You can't take all this stress, and knock a cigar out of the carton cartoon. You light up and shake out the match you used, watching the smoke dance in the enclosed space. Keeping so many secrets doesn't suit you.

"That settles it, then," you declare after chomping down on your treat. "When he gets back, I'm telling him everything."

...

Your car is the only one on the road this late at night. Your cigar's smoke billows out the cracked window as you scream down the road, dark walls of trees on either side zooming past your vision. Naples is far behind you, and the sleepy little village that was once home to Sabrina Rao is just beyond the next couple of hills. Quiet, classical music accompanies you on the journey, and your head sways to the tinny violins. It reminds you of the films you watched with your father. Artsy and pretentious, but entrancing all the same. Your head swims in images of orchestral arrangements.

But you shake the pleasure off. You're getting close.

>1. Pull off to the side of the road and go the rest of the way on foot. Stealth is your friend.
>2. Drive on in. Let the bastard know you're coming.
>3. Do something else.

>>30152552
>1. Pull off to the side of the road and go the rest of the way on foot. Stealth is your friend.

>>30152552
>1. Pull off to the side of the road and go the rest of the way on foot. Stealth is your friend.

>>30152642
>>30152820
Your Mercedes rolls off to the side of the road, grinding to a halt on the gravel between the pavement and the dark forest. You shut off the car and yank out the key. The music plays for a brief second more, only shutting off once you've opened the door. And suddenly there is silence.

As you step out of the car, the night greets you with frigid air and an unwelcome pressure on your shoulders. Something about this place disturbs you. Just over the hill, you can see the night sky is dimmed. A few stars are missing from the tapestry that is weaved every night. There are at least a few lights on in town. Hopefully that means not everyone is dead yet. You shut your car's door and lock it up.

Your ears strain themselves, but there are no sounds. The birds are not out tonight. A half moon sits above you as you make your approach.

The walk is about half an hour from where you parked. You couldn't afford to draw too much attention, but you suppose it wasn't worth much in the end anyway. You remember Sabrina's story, and with that in mind recognize the unwelcome presence following you in the trees. Something is watching you.

>1. Confront the presence. Demand it come out into the open.
>2. Keep walking. It can follow you if it wants.
>3. Throw a few Black Keys at it. (1d100+20, up to five times.)

>>30153023
>1. Confront the presence. Demand it come out into the open.

>>30153023
>1. Confront the presence. Demand it come out into the open.

Rolled 17

>>30153098
>1. Confront the presence. Demand it come out into the open.

>>30153098
"Hey," you call into the trees. "You plan on coming out here any time soon? I can hear you shuffling around in there. You're clumsy."

Silence. You put a hand on your hip, and peer into the woods. "You coming or--"

A guttural growl chortles out the throat of a charging ghoul. Its jagged teeth let loose a volley of saliva as it leaps toward you. Its body is stronger and faster than a human's, but it wasn't expecting you. Its hand comes swiping in and you bat it away with your forearm. With a reflexive kick you push yourself away from the Ghoul. He's standing on the side of the road, and you're about in the middle now; the beast's wary eyes scan you, looking for an easy meal. It won't have one. You smile as you roll up the sleeve of your sweater to look at the wound. Nothing terrible, just a nasty bruise. You'll live. HE, on the other hand...

3/25 Wounds taken!

>May use a total of five of any offensive actions.
>1. Throw Black Keys at the Ghoul. (1d100+22)
>2. Hail of Blades. (1d100+40, one-time use.)
>3. Close in and use the scythe. (1d100+32.)
>4. Further Distance yourself. (1d100+4)
>5. Run towards the town. (1d100+4)

Rolled 54 + 22

>>30153564
>1. Throw Black Keys at the Ghoul. (1d100+22)
>3. Close in and use the scythe. (1d100+32.)

I'm thinking we start by throwing some Black Keys into it, try to cripple its movement or pin it down, maybe get one in one of its eyes so that it's blinded on one side, and then charge in and scythe it.

Rolled 55 + 32

>>30153564
>3. Close in and use the scythe. (1d100+32.)

Let's not blow Hail of Blades yet.

Scythe is our best bet with Cat. No need to waste keys.

Rolled 56 + 22

>>30153638
Sounds good.

>>30153679
we can retrieve the keys no problem.

>>30153638
>>30153679
>>30154074
>54
>55
>56
Well that's unlikely.

>>30153679
>>30153638
"Hmph." You shake your bruised arm and let the hilt of a Black Key slide into your palm. You run a charge through your Circuit and pass it through. A steel blade grows from the empty hilt, moonlight glinting off the metal. Your arm flexes, and the blade buries itself in the ghoul's skull.

"Hrrk--" Its head snaps back from the force, and you take the opportunity to lunge. Your left hand looses, shoving out the palm. A jolt of pain rushes through you as you summon the scythe. Your flesh splits apart, the crooked wooden handle slides out from the space. It slides several feet before your right hand takes the weapon and yanks it out, the thin blade forming at its end once it's been wrested from beneath your skin.

The blade slips through the ghoul's neck, dragging out a single thread with it. Your free hand digs into a pocket in your coat, and retrieves the Shears of Atropos. One snip, and the thread is cut.

The ghoul convulses in an instant of pain before every capillary in its body bursts. Blood leaks from every socket and pore as it collapses into the gravel, deader than dead. You exhale, and kick the body just to be sure.

"Man. You things won't ever stop being so ugly when you die, will you?"

"Mrrrrrrg..."

An unwelcome sound teases you. Something is moving behind you. You pivot on the ball of your foot and face the new menace. Four ghouls. The Dead shuffle out of the forest, eyes shining in the dark as they set their sights on you.

"Damn, you've really spread out, haven't you?"

You lift up the scythe and prepare for a second round.

>1. Stick to the scythe. (1d100+32.)
>2. Hail of Blades. (1d100+40, one-time use.)
>3. Use the distance to your advantage and throw Black Keys. (1d100+22)
>4. Retreat. (Towards town or car.)
>5. Do something else.

Rolled 87 + 22

>>30154130
>3. Use the distance to your advantage and throw Black Keys. (1d100+22)

Open with keys, switch if it gets close.

Rolled 17 + 22

>>30154178
Good idea.

Rolled 5 + 22

>>30154178
rollan for this

>>30154178
>>30154382
Four on one. Not that you'd been planning on encountering so many ghouls at once... but still simple enough. The cluster charges, snarling and snapping their jaws as they set their sights on you. Your response is to pull six more hilts from your coat, dropping the scythe and shears long enough to do so. Three in each hand, you cross your arms and snap. The sextet flies, and makes contact with the Dead halfway through their charge. Four blades hit one. He's pierced through the skull, the legs, and the heart. The damage is instant, and fatal, and he tumbles to the ground. Another of them ghouls trips over him, landing flat on her face. The remaining two hit one ghoul each. The one struck in the kneecap twists its own leg off from the force of its gait, and slams into the pavement with little fanfare. The other keeps running for you with a Key lodged in its shoulder.

The creature's speed is phenomenal, and it is upon you within a second. But with one arm limp and useless its plan of attack is predictable. Swiping at you with the working limb, it tries to herd you in for a bite. But when you come closer, it doesn't expect you to want that outcome. It lurches at you to take a bite from your flesh... but you've already reinforced your arm.

Your fist collides with its nose, the force rippling its flabby, pustule-pocked skin. The ghoul's skull explodes from the force and splatters you with blood and grey matter. Three more rapid strikes to its chest cave in the ribcage and obliterate its lungs.

You exhale, the white vapor trailing away in the cool air.

The ghoul collapses. You stoop to retrieve your scythe... and receive a foot to the face. The ghoul that tripped has gotten back up. As you tumble back across the road she runs alongside you, slamming her foot into your side. You go flipping down the other direction, away from your car and the Shears.

As you finally grind to a halt, you spit a gob of blood from your mouth and feel the tender area with a free hand. At least a few of those ribs are broken, even with reinforcement. Shaking, you rise to your feet and clutch the scythe. The ghoul sways back and forth, face blank. Even if it's not technically sapient, you still take the time to single it out as the thing you hate the most right now.

"Bitch," you hiss at her. You kick off the same instant she does. You duck beneath her blow, and slip around her while leaving the scythe's blade in her path. It catches her in the stomach and passes through, dragging out her Thread of Life.

But it's stuck. The blade catches on it, and you find yourself trapped in place as you struggle to get just a few inches further, hand grasping for the Shears on the ground...

This Scythe, this Holy Scripture, is an immensely powerful weapon. And in the hands of its proper wielder, it could easily slice through the thread of any creature, even the strongest of divine beasts. But you. You're just a mortal; you're far too weak to use it in its proper application. You're perfectly capable of drawing out the Thread of Life from your victims, but you lack the strength to separate it of your own power.

But the Shears make up for that deficiency. The tool of the eldest Fate passes through such material like air. This is why the Angel of Death's weapon is a closely guarded secret.

How vulnerable would you be if anyone found out that without your off-hand weapon, you couldn't even kill?

"Rrrr-GRAAAGH!" You leap forward with all your might, and manage to pull the ghoul down with you. It is quick, and is back on its feet to pounce on you as you lay prone.

But it's already dead. The Shears are back in your hand. A single snip, and it's over. Blood pours from the monster's eyes as it collapses, and you push yourself back up to stand. One by one you visit the surviving ghouls, passing the scythe through them and cutting their threads.

In just a few seconds the other three are dead, without a doubt. You try to breathe easy. Yet, you're finished here.

More. Still more ghouls shamble from the forest. More than four this time. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two. Sixty-four. You lose count as the numbers pass a hundred. A thick fog rolls in through the trees as the dread host walks into view, growling and snarling at the single live human caught in their midst. Your heartbeat begins to rise as your eyes frantically take in the multitude. How can there be so many of them? "Shit. They got the whole town?"

"Well, not the ENTIRE town," a voice admits. You can already tell where it's coming from. A thick tree limb high above you supports a crouching silhouette, her voice silky and quite pleased to see your predicament. "It's really only a small percentage. Most of them weren't fit to become my thralls. Many just dropped dead where I killed them. I had to shore up the numbers from that school up the road... that won't be a problem, will it, Executor?"

You can see many shorter figures among the horde. Teenagers. Children. No older than five, some of them. Your stomach churns.

You glare up at the monstrosity above you.

>1. This isn't possible. How did you turn them so quickly?
>2. This is your last chance to surrender before I kill you.
>3. Who are you? What are you doing out here?
>4. I'm going to hurt you.
>5. Say something else.

Rolled 82 + 22

>>30155347
>1. This isn't possible. How did you turn them so quickly?
>3. Who are you? What are you doing out here?

Stall for time to search for an escape route, and run to the car.

Rolled 43 + 32

>>30155347
>1. This isn't possible. How did you turn them so quickly?
>3. Who are you? What are you doing out here?

Gather info.

>>30155347
>>4. I'm going to hurt you.

>>30155382
>>30155476
This is bad. Blood trickles down your lip as you spin around, looking for an opening in the throng. You don't find one. The bodies press around all around you, but they have no attacked yet. These thralls are dependent upon the will of their master, and can't function without a will or order from her. That gives you time. So long as she thinks you're at her mercy, you can extract information from her.

"The Dead can't be raised this quickly," you protest. "Even viable souls take months to reform a shred of their ego. How did you do this?"

"You might believe that..." the shadow purrs. "But with the right friends, you would be surprised what you can accomplish."

Friends? So she had help building this army?

"Who are you?" you ask. "What brought you here."

"Would you be surprised if I said 'you', Executor?"

...What? "Me?"

"Yes, you. Catarina Belmont... the Angel of Death, yes?"

You snarl at her, and clench your fist. "...Fine. So you want me. Why? I've never met you before."

"You haven't. But my suffering is all your fault. Don't you even remember your kills, Catarina? You took my beloved away..."

Realization dawns on you. The Dead Apostle named Mikhaela looks down on you from above with hatred. "You're the one who took my beloved Klaus from me. So I'll bury you. Under a wave of teeth and flesh."

>1. Try to fight your way out of the throng. (1d100+32)
>2. Try to talk your way out. "____"
>3. Use the Hail of Blades.

>>30156105
>3. Use the Hail of Blades.

Honestly, if there's any time that something called Hail of Blades would be appropriate, it's when surrounded by the undead. Unleash that motherfucker, then hopefully we'll have an opportunity to rush Mikhaela down.

Rolled 30 + 40

>>30156105
>3. Use the Hail of Blades.
Is this onetime use as in forever onetime use or like long rechange onetime use?

>>30156162
>>30156177
You take a calming breath. Cold air is sucked down your throat, and is throttled through your lungs. Blood leaks from the lesions in your side. The frigid air threatens to freeze it.

You smile at the astoundingly stupid vampire. "Oh yeah. Bury me, huh? Well, I don't quite know how a lackey of Hind's managed to survive his death... but it doesn't make a difference to me." You reach into your coat, and retrieve the Bible you brought with you. You heft it in one hand and appreciate the weight. Over a thousand pages. That'll be plenty. You throw a taunting grin at the vampire waiting in the trees. "You just stay there, okay, hon? I'll be climbing up there in a moment to find out how in the hell you're alive."

"You think you scare me?" Mikhaela retorts. "I know bluster when I see it. The only answer you'll find is death."

"Maybe so. I have a way with death..." You lower the hand with the Bible, and recite an aria. "On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn of both people and animals, and I will bring judgment..."

You toss the Bible into the air, and it soars ten, twenty, and at least thirty meters. "Hail of Blades."

The Bible explodes. A surge of magical energy converts every individual page into its true form: a Black Key. Over a thousand weapons surge from the black leather binding, and for an instant every star in the sky is blotted out. The screams of the death are deafened by the sound of metal biting flesh, shattering concrete, and flaying the bark and wood of surrounding trees. It is not a piecemeal death; instant destruction is wrought on every inch of ground within a hundred yards of you. No individual is spared; not even the insects survive such a thorough slaughter.

The fog has been dispersed by the force of your strike. A field of blades surrounds you, embedded in the earth and the bodies of every last ghoul from the sleepy village. Not one stirs. Above you you hear quaking. The sole surviving figure, besides you. Mikhaela is trembling at the casual destruction of everything she has wrought, you'd guess.

"Now then," you say, back to business. You brandish your scythe as you glare at the Dead Apostle. "You just stay right there, prick. I'm going to scrape every secret you've got off your bones."

...

You and your companions are ushered onto the plane with the next batch of passengers. You let Wayne go in front of you, watching his pained gait regretfully. Every step he takes is clearly pained, and his hobble is noticeable even by the other travelers. He keeps a straight face, but it's becoming clear to you that he should be seeing a doctor, rather than travel. Alas, every time you bring it up he blows you off with a cocky affirmation of his health.

You head down the long tube and into the door of the plane. Checking your tickets, you see that you've got a dilemma. You have two seats for aisle 16, and one for aisle 27. "Er..."

"What'sa matter, Bart?" asks your Enforcer friend. Aldric peeks over your shoulder at the tickets. "Mm?"

"We've got to split up," you inform them as you scratch your aching head. "The only question is, how?"

>1. Sit with Aldric, send Wayne to the back.
>2. Sit with Wayne, have Aldric sit in the back.
>3. Have Wayne sit with Aldric and take the back seat yourself.

Rolled 32 + 22

>>30156673
fuck

Rolled 87

>>30156711
>1. Sit with Aldric, send Wayne to the back.

Friends sit with friends.

Rolled 53 + 22

>>30156711
>1. Sit with Aldric, send Wayne to the back.

Aldric's definitely the bigger danger in this scenario. Hopefully if anything happens to Wayne we'll know asap.

>>30156711
>1. Sit with Aldric, send Wayne to the back.

We really shouldn't leave her unattended, and I don't trust her and Wayne together.

>>30156711
>1. Sit with Aldric, send Wayne to the back.

>>30156926
>>30156877
>>30156830
You choose to sit with Aldric, who claps and slides into the window seat, slapping up the plastic blind to look out the window. Before you sit down yourself, Wayne lays a hand on your shoulder. "Be careful, Bart."

"I will," you promise him.

"She's got a mean left hook."

Tepes stumbles down the aisle towards his seat, clutching the wounds beneath his shirt. You hope he'll be all right on this trip. You scoot into the seat and begin the long wait for takeoff.

The only problem is that you forgot who is sitting next to you.

"Bartolomè, I'm bored." A childish pout squats on Aldric's face as she looks over at you, poking her fingers together.

"Aldric, we've only been on the plane for a few minutes."

"And I'm booooored!" She slams her head against the seat in front of you. A tiny ouch comes from whatever poor soul is sitting there. Head still muffled against the seat she says, "Do something entertaining, Bartolomè!"

>1. Tell her a story.
>2. Tell her about your home and family.
>3. Recite a parable.
>4. Tell her to read Skymall.
>5. Do something else.

>>30157852
>1. Tell her a story.

>>30157852
>1. Tell her a story.

>>30157898
>>30157944
...What story are we gonna tell her?

>>30158121
Some sort of fairy tale could work, and I wouldn't be surprised if Bartolme knew some by heart. The Bird of Truth might amuse her, it's even of Spanish origin.

>>30157898
>>30157944
"Entertaining?" you ask, flabbergasted. Is this a vampire or your little sister? "Ay, por amor de Dios." You rub your temples to think of something that Aldric might find entertaining. A moment later, you snap your fingers. "Okay, I've got one! Would you like to hear a fairy tale?"

The shine in her eyes tells you yes. Yes, she would. Turning to her you begin to frame the story of the Bird of Truth. "Okay, listen closely. This is a long one. My mother told it to me when I was little. Once upon a time, there lived a poor fisher, who built a hut on the banks of a stream...."

...

"... they were given riches and honour, and were loved and cherished to the end of their lives."

Aldric's smile has practically ripped her face in half, gleefully arriving at the end of the story. "Wow. That was incredible."

"I thought you'd like it," you say, satisfied. The girl curls her lip.

"The only thing I don't understand is, how come the chamberlain didn't kill the babies?"

"...Eh?"

"Why didn't he just kill them? If he put them on the river, there would be a chance they could come back one day. That wouldn't have happened if he just killed them and threw their bodies into the river instead."

"I...I..." you have no idea how to answer that. "Well, maybe, but it wouldn't have made for a good story, right?"

...

Time passes. You're a little over an hour into the flight now. The distance between Italy and Germany isn't particularly long. It should only be a short while longer before you land. You begin to ponder how best to spend the time you have remaining on the plane.

>1. Talk to Aldric about something.
>2. Go back and check up on Wayne.
>3. Do something else.

>>30158692
>2. Go back and check up on Wayne.

>>30158692
>2. Go back and check up on Wayne.

Tell her to behave while we're not there, check on Wayne, make sure he's doing alright, then get back to Aldric.

>>30159017
This, her doing something bad on a plane would be utterly disastrous. Lets make sure our friend hasn't died of internal bleeding already.

>>30158957
>>30159017
Your fingers tap on the armrests for a moment as you decide what to do next. "I'm going to go check on Wayne. Promise you'll behave yourself while I'm gone?"

"Uh huh, uh huh." Aldric isn't paying attention to her. Her face is pressed up against the glass, nose flat as she looks out the window. You're passing over some city or another, and she's eagerly taking in every little pinprick of light from this lofty height. "It's so small..." she says in awe.

"Aldric? Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I'll behave!"

"Well, good." You push yourself out of your seat and aim toward the back of the plane. You sidle down the aisle, looking for row 27. A dozen idle conversations pass through your ears. Most are in Italian or German, though you pick up a couple in English. One young person is talking to his friend about some blonde bombshell on the plane. You assume he means Aldric; and you're sure he has no idea how prescient he is using a word like bomb to describe her.

Back a few rows you find your companion. Wayne is slumped in his seat, a hat over his face to keep out the light on the plane. You assume he's sleeping, but he stirs as you approach and removes the hat. The motion is slow, and deliberate. The grimace on his face displays his discomfort. "Oh hey, Bart. Fancy seeing you back here. Gotta tell ya, been boring as shit back here."

A moment of silence passes. "Heh, yeah, no, that's a total lie. I'm glad to be back here. Loads better than sitting next to the psycho who compressed my vertebrae, anyway."

He tries to get a little higher in his seat, groaning in pain as he makes the attempt. He doesn't really get much higher though. "So, what did you want, pal? I mean as long as you're here I guess we should discuss what we're doing with Kayton when we get there tonight. Telling you right now, my vote is we leave Aldric at the hotel. No telling how she'll fuck this up if we bring her. If I wanted him dead, and every inch of property he owed demolished, yeah, she'd be great, but..."

Wayne continues to babble, leaving you in the dust as you catch up on what he said there. Does he really expect to be confronting Kayton tonight? In his condition?

>1. You're right. We should probably leave Aldric somewhere safe.
>2. I think we might need to bring her for the muscle.
>3. [PERSUADE] I don't really think you should be attempting this in your condition, Wayne.

>>30159553
>[PERSUADE] I don't really think you should be attempting this in your condition, Wayne.

>>30159553
>3. [PERSUADE] I don't really think you should be attempting this in your condition, Wayne.

Not tonight at least, he isn't in good condition.

>>30159583
>>30159701
"Wayne, I don't think that's a very good idea."

His head tilts, and he looks oddly at you. "Not a good idea? It's the reason we flew up here. What if Kayton gets word we're coming and splits town?"

"What if he does?" you retort. "And what if we barge in there without a plan and you half-dead. Do you think you'll survive a fight with him?"

"I survived a fight with McCrushmaim up there. I think I can take a nerd."

"Wayne..." you fold your arms and frown at him. His eyes meet yours and fight for dominance. But they're weak, and he can't stand to look at you when you're so forceful in your opinions.

"Oy vey. Fine, Bart, we'll do it your way. One day's rest--ONE--and then we're kicking down Kayton's door and I'm gonna lay my knuckles into his smug face. And that's not up debate. Capiche?"

He's adamant about that, and you choose not to argue any further. A day's rest. Maybe not enough to get him in fighting condition, but at least you'll get a chance at some sleep. It will be easier to keep him safe once you're rested up.

"I suppose that is good enough. Thank you, Wayne."

"Aw, don't worry about it. I'm basically outta luck moving my legs tonight anyway. Not like I'll be kicking any doors in when I can't get 'em above my hips."

The captain's voice blares over the intercom. A warning comes for passengers to return to their seats. "Uh, sounds like it's for you," Wayne helpfully notes. You say your goodbye to your weary friend and ask him to take it easy.

A trip back up the plane gets you back to your seat, where Aldric has been visited by a stewardess. She's munching on a pack of peanuts, curled up in her seats with a happy smile. "Mm! Oh, hi Bartolomè!" she greets you as you sit down. "Hey, what are these things called?"

"Peanuts," you tell her.

"Oh. They're really good. Think they'd taste better if I dunked them in coffee?"

Over your quiet chat, the captain alerts you and your fellow passengers that the plane has begun its descent into Munich. The city awaits, and you soon find your mind wandering. What will Kayton have to tell you about his dealings with Klaus Hind? What as his purpose in giving away the orb? And what does any of it have to do with your father?

...

A wretched cough shakes Catarina's body. A wad of blood splashes onto the street. Her body shakes as it struggles to stand. With only one arm to prop herself up with, the task is strenuous. The other hangs at her side, fractured and limp, blood slipping from her veins and down its length. Her working hand clutches the Shears of Atropos, unwilling to let them go.

But the scythe rests under Mikhaela's knee. Collapsed on all four limbs, the vampire is a flayed ruin. Blood streams from every inch of her body, and her muscles twitch and spasm, struggling to stitch themselves back together. Awful, deep gasps are the only sound that escapes either combatant for the longest time.

But it is the Dead Apostle that is smiling. She can heal her wounds. But the Executor? She's crippled. This fight is already over.

"Haah--what is--haah--what's that phrase they use in your country... you bitch?" She pushes herself until she is resting solely on her knees. She shuffles forward, fangs bared. "Bon Appétit?"

And I think that's where we're going to be stopping for tonight. Thanks for playing, everybody. A little slow tonight, but I hope everyone who played enjoyed themselves. I tried something different and focused on some other characters this time around. Did you like that? Or would you prefer if I kept the focus on Bartolomè? Let me know, along with any other questions or comments you may have either here or on my Twitter @Frolloswagendir.

Thanks again!

>>30160187
Why is Catarina such a weak bitch with her reputation.

>>30160554
Presumably she has that reputation because she stole Death's scythe.

Rolled 60

I love the perspectives from the other characters. It was indeed a nice change of pace.

>>30160554
Though I have to agree, Cat had always seemed to be this huge badass. Going on a quickie mission of extermination, and she's wore herself thin. A bit underwhelming to see Bart's mentor crippled so easily.

But as always, your execution is spot on, Beatta. I always look forward to your threads.

>>30160187
I liked the different perspectives. It helps us to flesh out this world, and shows us different extremes of different tasks (Shattered faith, etc). I'm very fond of this. I'd like there to be more focus (specifically, getting to know Sabrina as more than a crazy victim would be nice), but Caterina's course of action follows logically from the revelations.

I'm worried about us losing focus on Bartolome's adventure, what with Wayne's ex-ally AND a crazy True Ancestor connected to the Father metaplot threatening to be a BIG can of worms. I want to see more of Caterina, but I'd rather we focus on the Tasks At Hand (return Magical Thingy to Kayton, Keep True Ancestor Under Control).

Then, at the end of the arc, we have a single thread flashback which deal with Caterina's misadventures starting from the phone call and ending where we did.

I'm still loving what we're doing here, and I want to see more, but I'm afraid we're going to go the way of Bleach Quest - too many plot threads happening at once leading to player ADHD and focus being lost. You've already established that the kid gloves are off, what with Bart losing an eye, so trying to keep focus a little less limited helps stop players going "OMG I HAVE TO MAKE THE RIGHT CHOICE HERE!"

Thanks for the thread, Beatta!

>>30165016
I like this idea but it makes contact between Cat and our priest undo-able for the duration of the mission. how would we handle that?

>>30165659
I'd approach it by having Bart receive a phone call, have Caterina deliver the info she needed, and leave a flag [Caterina interlude Unlocked] waiting. Then we carry on with the Bartolome story until it hits a lull, and then we switch over to the interlude.

Imperfect, but it's a possible writer's tool

>>30165008
Seems like she needs both hands to actually kill anyone with her scythe, one to swing and one to cut the thread. I bet thats why she keeps it a secret. ALSO probably why her arm's broke. The vampire figured out how the weapon worked and tried to keep her from using it.

>>30167783
But what if we get her killed anon.

>>30167906
She really did seem like much, think that mage we're investigating helped her out with a power boost?