>>1038350

Even after Uriah concluded his story, assuring you all that it was based on nothing but peasant superstition and bad drama, you couldn't dismiss it quite so easily. Drawing back, putting a little distance between you and the rest of the grim-faced team, you listen as he continues to rationalise away the doubt and uncertainty.

“You see, the original playwright claimed to be from Tolnir, but that was quickly dismissed as the purest falsehood – a simple ruse to give his work the veneer of truth. Really, I must ask, does this entire story bear the slightest resemblance to reality?” Uriah scoffs faintly, “He took the bones of the truth and warped them into something that he could sell. What little truth there was to start with was soon replaced with scandal and salacious farce!”

You can guess why the young bastard is quick to dismiss the play. It hardly casts the nobility in a fine and respectable light, after all – perhaps he sees it all as some personal insult. He might not have any titles or status, but he's certainly got the noble attitude.

-

Forgetting about the miasma that hangs over Tolnir like a shroud, you headed up on deck to get some fresh air. Wincing at the odour of rotting fish, you pull up the hood of your oilskin and look out across the slate grey waters. Waves sluggishly crawl across the horizon, their murk hiding any number of hideous things from view. If they stayed hidden for all eternity, you wouldn't have anything to complain about. Grunting in faint disgust, you start to turn away from the waters and return below deck. Then, your gaze pans across the docks themselves – and the lumpen figure standing there.

Shapeless, motionless, and shrouded in filthy rags – it matches the description of the mountain folk perfectly. Seeing one for the first time, you can't blame Lars for being unsettled. Even at a distance, it looks... wrong. Your first instinct is to shy away from it, to turn away and pretend that you never saw it at all, but then your curiosity returns. What if you could learn something from it?

As you watch it for a moment longer, the shapeless figure seems to grow restless, as if trying to tear itself away from its vigil. The ocean seems to have a powerful pull, but eventually the shrouded creature is able to tear itself away. With an awful gait, it begins to lurch slowly away. Still plenty of time before you need to leave, you think, plenty of time to do a little more scouting...

>Let it leave. Attracting too much attention could be dangerous
>Follow it, watch what it does
>Catch up with it, try and talk to them
>Other

>>1038351
>Follow it, watch what it does

>>1038351
>Follow it, watch what it does

>>1038351
>Follow it, watch what it does

One day, you think to yourself, your curiosity is going to get you in serious trouble. Maybe that's true, but you can't resist the lure of something as abnormal as this. You might not be able to get many answers, just by watching the strange and shrouded figure, but that doesn't mean you can't learn anything. How fast can it move, how agile is it? Important questions, if you ever find yourself facing an angry mob of them.

So, with only the slightest delay to tell Saburakh of your plans – doing a little last minute scouting, nothing too dangerous – you hop down from the Ministry ship and start to follow the hunched figure. It doesn't take any effort at all to keep it in sight, and there's no risk of letting the thing get too far ahead – it's so sluggish that getting too close is the greater danger. Even then, there's not much risk when the thing is almost bent double, staring down at the unpaved mud path.

The only sounds that follow you for a while are the squelch of mud sucking at your boots and the staccato tapping of rain against your hood. Moving from the docks, the shrouded figure enters the town proper, slinking into the tight alleys between the buildings. Distaste darkens your features as you follow it into those cramped quarters – somehow, the rank smell of fish and decay is worse here, as if it seeps from the buildings themselves.

For a while, you have to wonder if the shrouded figure is going anywhere in particular, meaning to do anything in particular – could it just be wandering at random? Then, just as you're starting to doubt this whole farce, it stops at a nondescript door. Flattening yourself against the nearby wall, you crouch low and peek out, watching carefully as the hunched creature thumps one bandaged fist against the door. A pause, a stillness, and then the door opens a crack.

Just barely, you can spy a man in the doorway – one of the almost skeletal Tolnir locals. He glares out at the hunched figure for a moment before retreating back into his house. Returning a moment later, he hands an indistinct shape out to the beggar, slamming the door as soon as possible. It's only when the robed creature turns around, causing you to flinch back, that you see his prize – a raw fish, fat and freshly plucked from the ocean. Cradling the fish like a mother holding their infant, the figure shambles away. Checking again that the coast is clear, you continue following it.

When the figure next stops, it is to slouch down in a slight clearing and fumble with the draping robes it wears. With a flourish, quite unlike anything you've seen from this sluggish thing, it pulls a glinting knife from its belt. A long and slender knife, bitten with age and frequent use.

In your hiding place, the breath catches in your throat.

[1/2]

>>1038402

It hasn't seen you. With a faint sound – it might be a weary sigh, or it might be the gasp of a starving man – the hunched figure twists the knife down and plunges it into the raw fish. Slitting it neatly down the middle, the creature reaches in with filthy fingers and spreads the carcass wide open. What it does next, the sounds it makes, sicken you to the core. Snarling like a feral dog, it scoops the flesh and guts out of the fish and crams them all, the whole lot, into its mouth.

As it eats, you get a fleeting look at its face. Normal enough at first glance, albeit as pale and hairless as Lars said, you only notice the teeth after a moment. Smaller than normal human teeth, but far more numerous, they glint just as the knife did. At least they glint for a short while, before the oily fish guts stain them with unspeakable filth. Once the fish carcass has been hollowed out, the robed creature lets it fall to the ground and ambles away. Swallowing back a wave of revulsion, you rise out of hiding and get back on the creature's trail. What else do these strange things do?

A short while later, you get your answer. As it is shambling along, the creature suddenly stiffens and folds over, bent double like a man who has been punched in the gut. It lets out a strange wail, a low keening sound, and then it vomits the fish guts back up in a stinking gout of slurry. Having emptied its stomach once again, the creature simply straightens up and starts to wander away. You're about to follow, when a new sound reaches you.

“Hey!” the voice – thick, male, but low enough that it won't carry far – hisses, “You down there, you're not one of them, are you?”

You don't answer. Instead, you follow your best guess at where the voice came from and hide as best you can. Careless, you curse yourself, you were too busy being revolted to watch the upper floors of the buildings. Most of the windows are either shuttered or boarded up, but some of them...

“Hey, please! I mean you no harm!” the voice repeats, “I see you, the building opposite you. The door is unlocked – please, I want to speak with you. I'm not like them either! Just... just come up, and we can speak like gentlemen.”

He doesn't speak like one of the locals – if anything, there's a touch of the capital about his accent – but that doesn't mean you can trust him. On the other hand, he's the first person here, save for Lars, who actually sounds happy to see you. That, at least, must be worth something. The door is there, opposite from you – you just need to stroll on over and see what he has to say.

>Enter the house and speak with the man
>Return to the ship. This is one risk too far
>Other

>>1038434
>>Enter the house and speak with the man
Just make sure we have an escape route open.

>>1038434
>Enter the house and speak with the man

>>1038434
>>Enter the house and speak with the man

Letting the breath hiss out of your lungs, you resign yourself to whatever might be waiting on the other side of that door. Even though the voice is low, you can hear something in it – a plaintive desperation, perhaps – that puts your doubts to rest. There's a man in there, damn it, and he's reaching out to what he might see as his one last hope.

Still, you're not magnanimous enough to enter the house without your weapons drawn and your guard up. The knife, a faint warmth in your hand, is a constant reminder of the dangers waiting for those who grow complacent. Not only do you watch the path ahead of you, but you also keep a close eye on the path you leave behind – your escape route, should this all turn to shit. The tight and windings alleys don't offer an easy way out, but they'd hinder any pursuers just as much as they'd hinder you.

Pushing open the door – unlocked, just as the man said it would be – you emerge into a gloomy, cluttered house. It almost reminds you of Alyssia's apartment, for the sheer amount of clutter and garbage crammed into every corner or free space. None of it seems to have any real value – old books, but only of the most prosaic kind, and a wide range of random keepsakes. A few glass jars, you note, filled with cloudy liquid and malformed... things. Maybe fish, maybe not. Leaving the jars where you found them, you proceed upstairs. As you ascent, you start to hear the man breathing – a wet sound, as if his lungs were filled with water or phlegm.

“I thank you, friend, for humouring me,” the man rasps, his voice still coming from some unseen corner of the building, “I fear that I may not be able to help you much, but I wanted to speak with a sane man one last time. This may be my last chance, before I...”

Before what, you ask, what's going to happen? As you ask this, you track his voice to a small room. No door, but a thick curtain is draped across the doorway. You reach for it, but then the man cries out in panicked fear.

“No, don't!” he gasps, “I fear that my face would... not please you. I am guilty, sir, of misleading you – I said that I was not like them, but perhaps it would be more accurate to say...”

To say what, you press, what is he trying to say?

“That I am not like them YET,” the man sighs, “They have sunk their claws into me, and no mistake. I may still have my own mind, but I cannot say for how much longer. Perhaps this will be my last day. Will you stay, stranger, even just for a while longer? My name is... Gilbert, yes that's it. Ask me what you will – I would be happy to answer, if it gave me one last honest conversation.”

The silhouette peeking through the curtain – a lumpen, bloated thing.

>I have nothing to say to you - to one of them
>What do you mean, they sunk their claws into you?
>Did the healer treat you, is that it?
>Do you know of the Folly?
>I have questions, if you're willing to answer... (Write in)
>Other

>>1038506
>>Did the healer treat you, is that it?
>>Do you know of the Folly?
Gilbert sounds like a cool guy. Wonder if he'll give us a parting gift.

>>1038506
>What do you mean, they sunk their claws into you?
>Did the healer treat you, is that it?
>Do you know of the Folly?
>What's with that raw-fish-gut-eating man?

>>1038506
>>What do you mean, they sunk their claws into you?
>>Did the healer treat you, is that it?
>>Do you know of the Folly?

>>1038506
"What happened here Gilbert?"

What did he mean by that, you ask cautiously, when he said that they had sunk their claws into him?

“Their blood is in me now, friend. Their potion, that hellish swill that they all hunger for – it's like a leash, and a yoke. It keeps them... us... under control,” Gilbert coughs, and it sounds like something within him is rupturing, “I can't even begin to guess how it works. I feel like... like something inside me is being replaced, changed into... into...” Another round of coughing, and you see the murky silhouette swipe a meaty paw across its face. “It takes time, I think. Once you take the first dose, you're theirs for life – but you don't know it, not then! Ah, I pity those poor bastards who let themselves be talked into taking it...”

He took this potion, you ask, did the healer treat him for some ailment? He said that others were talked into taking it, but...

“No, friend, I refused. They came to me with all manner of promises – freedom with age and pain was their best, I thought. I was born here, I won't deny it, but I was raised a capital man. I placed no faith in their talk of miracles and healers,” this time Gilbert laughs, although it sounds nearly exactly the same as his cough, “They were insistent. I still refused, so they broke into my house, this very house, and forced that swill down my throat. Too much, they said, and now I'm... like this. It must be hard to be precise, when you're force feeding a struggling man.”

You watch the silhouette for a moment more, and it seems to... writhe, moving like no man should move. Men do not have lumps that squirm beneath their skin – at least, they shouldn't. The Folly, you press in a quiet voice, does he know of it?

“Ah, the other town. Out in the hills, isn't it?” Gilbert's silhouette flops back in bed, and you see the thick trunks of his arms raise in a vague gesture, “I know only very little, my friend. The mountain folk come from there – you saw one of those below, in the alley – and they bring in the medicine. It is rare indeed that the healer themselves descends. A terrible place, the Folly, it makes Tolnir itself look like a beacon of civilisation!”

So much for your vague hopes that it might be better in the hills. He mentioned the mountain folk, you ask, he was right – you did see one down in the alley. He... it was eating raw fish, only to throw it up later. Why, you ask, do they all do that?

“They love to eat!” Gilbert grunts out fat laughter, “They can't stomach food, not any more, but they do so love to eat. They still think they're human, those things, and sometimes they seek human comforts. It's disgusting really – that one likes to throw up, right outside my window. I have to listen to it, every day. It's torture, it really is!”

You... don't doubt that.

[1/2]

>>1038571
We'll need flamethrowers

>>1038594
Yeah this is ridiculous. Honestly we should take the ship and drive back until we have radio contact again and send for reinforcements, about a dozen flamer squads should do the trick.

>>1038571

Gilbert, you ask gravely, just what the hell happened here? This place has sunk into ruin and degradation – just how did it get so bad?

“Now there's a fine tale, stranger,” Gilbert sighs sadly, “Desperate people, here. It's rare that fresh blood comes into the community, and so the tendency is towards... stagnation. Corruption. Perhaps a Scholar could tell you more, the reasons behind it all, but I could not. I know that even generations of inbreeding could not cause these deformities. No, those came later, when the healer first came down from the mountains. Still, you need to know – the people here were sickly, twisted and bitter.”

Easy converts for someone offering a miracle cure, you guess, and fanatical devotees to anyone who can really deliver that miracle.

“Quite so, my friend. The healer spread their influence like a cancer – ironic, wouldn't you say? - until much of the island was under their sway. Then, their followers did the rest. Anyone who continued to resist would be taken by force, given their cursed “cure” or worse, dragged into the mountains and... never seen again. I fear to imagine what happened to those poor souls. Or the others – Igor, who was crippled, who would never walk again. Oh, he walked fine enough after taking the medicine... but he preferred to swim!” the longer he talks, the more feverish Gilbert's voice gets until he is spitting the words out with fearful haste. As if he feared that each word might be his last... or that someone might shut him up.

“I would ask one more thing of you, friend,” a pallid, fleshy paw reaches out, pushing aside the curtain and gesturing you closer. It's barely a human hand, the fingers running together like molten wax, webbed like those of a frog or a toad. “I have talked... long enough...” the man – if, indeed, he was still a man – gurgled, “Would you let me die human? I fear that I have far less time than I thought, and... and...”

Words fail him, and there is only that gesturing claw left. With each imploring wave, he gurgles – the silhouette raised up and contorting.

>Kill him, as he wishes
>Leave him. It's not your place to take his life
>Other

>>1038634
>>Kill him, as he wishes
Feels like a dick move to not do it.

>>1038634
>Kill him, as he wishes
It's always the quiet port towns. This really is a Lovecraft story.

>>1038634
>Kill him, as he wishes
Will piercing his heart even kill him? Maybe we should cut off his head once he stops breathing to be sure.

Search his room for any sort of evidence we can bring back... a tissue and blood sample from him too. There's got to be a flask somewhere we can use.

>>1038634
>>Kill him, as he wishes

>>1038634
>>Kill him, as he wishes

might want to bring his body back for the snake to look at

>>1038686
You think we can haul the bloated fishperson through the sucking mud filled streets without being seen? It's probably better to take note of where the building is so we can bring the team to him instead.

>>1038686
Honestly I think there will be plenty of bodies of these guys relatively soon.

File: Gilbert.jpg (26 KB, 299x379)

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You'll need to do this quietly. Holstering your pistol, you take a moment to weigh the knife in your hand. This miracle potion... just how resilient does it make the people who take it? With a kind of sick fascination, you realise that this chance meeting could be seen as a stroke of luck – a chance to learn exactly what you need to do to put one of these things down for good. It doesn't sit well with you, not at all, but you know a necessity when you see one.

That's College thinking, you realise with a bitter smile, that must be how they rationalise things. Everything for progress, everything for the greater good. Well, to hell with all that – you'll do this because Gilbert wanted to die a man! With the knife steady in your hand, you step forwards and brush aside the curtain.

It's...

That FACE...

It's barely a face at all, you think with sudden and choking revulsion, it's just barely recognisable as a human face. The eyes are all but hidden under sagging folds of greying flesh, while his neck bunches up like sackcloth. It it wasn't for the slow, laboured rise and fall of his chest, you would have taken him for a dead... something. Not even a dead man. Gathering up your courage, steeling yourself against the bile rising in your throat, you press the flat of your hand over his mouth and plunge the knife down into his heart. Gilbert's eyes flash wide open, and those meaty paws close tight – too tight almost, as if something as soft as him should not be so strong – around your wrist. Stabbed through the heart, you're certain of it, but he's still capable of putting up a fight.

Snarling involuntarily, you tear yourself away from his groping hands and bat them aside. This time, when your knife plunges down, it spears him through the throat. The thud of metal against bone sends a dull shudder running up your arms, but this – at last – is enough to kill him. The spine is a weakness, you note numbly, the whole head is likely the same. Removing it might be unnecessary, but... maybe not.

You like to be sure.

-

There's something almost unbearably macabre about this, you think once you're finished, severing the head of the man you were only just speaking to. At least it's done now, even if the task has left the bed stained with an ocean of blood. Your hands, your clothes are no better, dark with tainted blood. Wash that off as soon as possible, you tell yourself, you don't want it clinging to you any longer than absolutely necessary.

Next, you say aloud, next step... do something about this. Get samples, or get the Scholars out here to do their damn job. Get the whole bloody Ministry out here if you have to – the situation is no longer as simple as it once was.

And that's saying something – it was never bloody simple.

[1/2]

>>1038693
>>1038699

mybe just take the head back
or bring people here
are just tell them what happened

>>1038711
>We actually took his damn head off

Jesus, Henryk, a mite Beastly of ya don't you think.

>>1038720
The latter definitely. No need to carry around heads.

>>1038727
No, taking the head will absolutely convince Saburakh that this isn't a mission we are prepared for. If we just go back and tell him what we saw he is not stopping until he has confirmed it with his own eyes.

Just put it in a sack, no one has to see what we are carrying.

>>1038737
Saburakh trusts our competence pretty well.

Doesn't really matter whether we take it or not.

>>1038727
but the smaples
and i mean y eils did we take his head off in the frist place??
could always set the place on fire.
though y did he have deformed things in jars downstears??

>>1038766
>could always set the place on fire.
And bring attention to literally everything in viewing distance? Jesus Anon chill. We did a mercy kill and will be reporting things for back up or such.

>>1038711

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Mirrah breaths, the words barely seeping out from behind the hands clasped over her mouth, “I'm definitely going to-”

“Do it outside,” Saburakh orders, “And do it quietly – I don't want you making a fuss.”

When you returned to the Ministry ship and explained the situation, Saburakh's response had been instant – he needed to see it for himself, with his own two eyes. That was a request that you had been all too happy to oblige. Let him see the facts and make up his own mind, you figured, the grisly scene before you is more than capable of speaking for itself. After spending roughly half a second in thought, Saburakh's new orders had been simple – get everyone together, and examine the new evidence. Evaluate the situation from there.

“Take a look, and then make it up as we go along,” Lize had murmured to you as soon as Saburakh was out of earshot.

Frankly, you're just glad that he didn't ask you to bring back proof. True, there were plenty of sacks in Gilbert's house that would have done the job, but... the thought of carrying the head back to the ship, even concealed, was a little much for you. As you led the team back to Gilbert's house, the streets mercifully deserted, you briefed Saburakh on exactly what you learned from the doomed man. Again, Saburakh spent a long few seconds in thought before coming up with his answer.

“We're burning this town to the ground,” he tells you bluntly, “Every living thing in this place could carry some contamination, some infection. We have no way of knowing how this substance spreads, we cannot risk allowing it to fester. Even if there is the slightest chance of an infected fisherman spreading some corruption to Odyss and the rest of the Free States, I cannot allow this situation to continue.

Return to Odyss then, you ask, and come back with more men? Armed men, with rifles and flamethrowers?

“As many men as I can get,” Saburakh agrees, “But that's a matter for another time. For now, I want to focus on this infected victim. If he left any evidence behind, I want to see it.”

-

In the end, Mirrah didn't throw up. She quietly slipped out for a breath of fresh air – a fine joke, considering where you are – and left the grisly work to Lars. A crude, simple examination of the body – hardly a thorough job, but just about the best you could expect under the circumstances. Saburakh recruited Lize and Uriah to help him go through the books and other keepsakes – every last one of them – while you kept watch for any curious locals. The fact that none show up is a blessing, but it still leaves you suspicious. Paranoia comes easily in a place like this.

When the “investigation” is over, you all cram around a small table and begin to discuss it all.

>Lars, could you tell anything from the body?
>I saw some specimen jars earlier. What were they?
>Were any of those books useful?
>So, what's our next move?
>Other

>>1038800
>>Lars, could you tell anything from the body?
>>I saw some specimen jars earlier. What were they?

>>1038800
>Lars, could you tell anything from the body?
>I saw some specimen jars earlier. What were they?
>Were any of those books useful?

>>1038800
>Lars, could you tell anything from the body?
>I saw some specimen jars earlier. What were they?
>Were any of those books useful?

Am I correct in assuming that any aspirations Uriah had for this 'healing' has gone out the window after what we just learned?

>>1038821

>That's a pretty safe assumption, yes

>>1038800
>>Lars, could you tell anything from the body?
>>I saw some specimen jars earlier. What were they?
>>Were any of those books useful?

>>1038833
Is our ship left unattended?

>>1038885
oh no. thats way theres on one here, there takign the ship/ burning it

>>1038885

>No, but there's only one man aboard at the moment. Not enough to repel a large attack, but enough to send us a flare if there's trouble.

>Sorry for the delay. I got called away to do something else. I'll get the next post up as soon as possible

>>1038941
Alright. I've had trouble remembering how many unnamed characters are with us on this expedition.

File: Mirrah.jpg (114 KB, 463x785)

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Lars, you begin, could he tell anything from the body? Anything about... what this miracle cure really does to it?

“I've been thinking about what you told me. Rather, what he told you,” Lars rubs a hand across his stubble, “Too much. That seems to imply that this cure depends on very specific dosages – likely linked with body mass. It's not all that different from using sedatives, in theory. A large dose would have a stronger effect on someone who was physically frail. Compared Saburakh and Mirrah, for example.”

So what happened to Gilbert was an accident, you guess, a misjudged dosage?

“Unless they gave him an overdose out of spite,” shrugging, Lars taps a finger against the table, “It's hard to tell much from the body. I don't know what kind of properties it might have exhibited while alive, but now that he's dead, his flesh seems to be... unstable. Decay is progressing at an accelerated rate. If I was shown this body, with no other context, I'd say it had been dead for... maybe a week, two even. It would take a lot more research to give you a proper theory, but all this suggests that the “cure” is somehow incompatible with humans – in its current form, at least.”

“Do you mean, sir, that it could be developed?” Uriah asks, a hard edge to his otherwise polite voice, “That there may yet be-”

“Stop,” Saburakh says flatly, “Do not finish that line of inquiry. This is not a subject that we will be pursuing further.”

Uriah bows his head respectfully, but there is still a scheming light to his eyes. No matter what Saburakh has said, he's still thinking. Moving the topic along – you'll speak with him later, in private if need be – you look to Mirrah. You found several specimen jars here, you ask her, what were they? And why, if she could guess, did he have them?

“Well, they appear to be deformed examples of local animals - frogs and fish, mostly. According to the journals Gilbert kept, and he kept quite careful notes about a lot of things, he found them here on Tolnir. Now, I don't wish to speculate, but...” the young Scholar clears her throat delicately, “Well, they're not the only deformed things on this island, are they? Everything here seems warped in some small way. It's like-”

“There's a rot here,” Saburakh decides, “Even the soil is tainted. Diseased.”

“I wouldn't put that in quite such a dramatic way,” Lars adds, “But it might be correct. If some contamination has found its way into the water here, or the soil, or... or anything like that, it would spread. Even if we found the source and cut it out, the land could be ruined for generations, if it recovers at all.”

“Wow,” Lize mutters, “Don't spare us the bad news, doc. Tell us how bad it really is...”

[1/2]

>>1038948
I just thought of something, what about the cannery? If giving Gilbert a few gulps too many brought him to this stage they wouldn't need to add many drops to the canned fish they export to slowly transform the people who eat it.

All that food needs to be recalled as a precaution, even if it's not drugged there is no way it is sanitary considering the state of the inhabitants.

>>1039013
Thankfully this is a matter for the Ministry, Saburakh's life will be shit for a long time.

>>1039066
would be fny he gettign supa health couse he will naver trust caned food agan

>>1039007

They said that Gilbert kept extensive records, you mention, was there anything worthwhile in any of them?

“Unfortunately not. It seems that your friend was something of an obsessive, prone to keeping journals on every little thing,” Uriah rubs his brow, as if to remind you of how hard he's been working, “Mostly his neighbours. He made records of their comings and goings, who met with who and when they did it... it's all faintly disturbing. If there's one bright side to all this, it's that he was in a rather excellent position to observe all manner of things.”

“That's why they grabbed him, I reckon,” Lize suggests, “Maybe if he'd just kept his eyes to himself, they would have left him alone. But, like, if you've got this guy spying on everything you do... yeah, you're gonna do something about it. Hell, I'd be pretty pissed off, and I'm not even doing anything nefarious!”

Nothing nefarious, you agree, plenty of sinister plans and dirty schemes... but nothing nefarious.

“Cut the crap,” Saburakh growls, “This is serious. Was there anything worthwhile in those books?”

“Look, going by the dates, Gil got pretty damn paranoid recently – after he got jumped, I guess. He was raving about all manner of things, saying that this healer would drag everyone down and make them like beasts – like those mountain folk. Scary stuff and all, he said that...” Lize takes a breath, forcing a disbelieving smile, “They weren't really like people. That was just a mask they wore during the day. Their real shape was something else, and some of the local folk – the townspeople, I mean – were getting like that too.”

“The diseased fantasies of a deluded mind,” Uriah drawls, “He was traumatised. Paranoid. Do you really believe that these men might be... something less than human?”

A memory, the hunched figure scooping raw entrails into his mouth. The tiny fangs that lined his mouth and tore at the oily meat. The keening wail he made when he was in pain.

Something less than human? That's easy to believe.

>Sorry, I'm going to have to finish things here for today. I hope to continue this tomorrow
>Thanks to everyone who contributed today!

File: 0.jpg (23 KB, 480x360)

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>>1039007
>Well, they appear to be deformed examples of local animals - frogs and fish, mostly.
>frogs

>>1039128
thanks

>>1039128
Thanks for running, Moloch!
Let's hope to purge the eldritch as soon as we can.

>>1039128
Thanks for running Moloch. Guess we'll be burning a town off the map. The canned fish seems like really bad news all the sudden especially if it's so widely distributed.

“That frog just moved,” Lize mutters to you, “That frog just bloody moved.”

No it didn't, you tell her, it's been dead and floating in preservative for weeks – maybe even months. You can tell her with absolute certainty that the frog, hideously deformed and mutated as it might be, did not move. Anyway, you ask, why is she just staring at a dead frog?

“I'm waiting. The boss told us to wait, so I'm waiting,” glancing around at you, Lize shrugs, “I mean, they said the bus thing was due just at sundown, right? So until then, we've just got to sit here and think of a way to pass the time. It's either arguing with his lordship or staring at frogs. Mirrah and the other guy are busy doing Snake things, so they're out. What else am I gonna do, then?”

Read some of Gilbert's notes, you suggest, learn about what his neighbours were doing. Just keep out of trouble, you add, while you go up on deck and have a word with Saburakh. He's been up there for a while now, and you're starting to think he's up to something.

“Sure, cool,” nodding to herself, Lize looks back to the jar of cloudy filth, “That frog definitely just moved!”

-

Saburakh leans heavily against the ship's railing, glaring at the hulking industrial gloom of the cannery. There's a cold fury in his eyes, as if the factory was responsible for some grave insult to his family. Maybe, you consider, he just hates canned fish. Then again, as you think back to Gilbert's story, a horrific idea starts to form in your mind.

“Do you know how much fish gets processed through that factory each day?” Saburakh asks, without turning around, “It's a lot. I can't even put a precise figure on it. If even a single percentage of the output was contaminated, it would spell disaster – it could spread this sickness, this corruption, to every corner of the Free States.” His fists clench a little tighter, and grimly set face twitches. “I don't understand this,” he admits suddenly, “Disease, I understand. Sedition, I understand. But this? I cannot understand it, and I wonder if I even want to understand it.”

Saburakh, you think to yourself, has a fundamentally sensible perception of the world. There's no wonder or mystery in his world of cause and effect. Artemis would never reveal herself to a man like him – he would simply denounce her as a hallucination and go on with his life. Now, when you both face this unknowable contagion, he's lost. He does a good job of hiding it, covering it up with steel and fury, but he's lost.

Fortunately, he's got you here. This strangeness and horror – this is your kind of work.

[1/2]

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>>1043790

“Our primary target is Gwendolyn Schreiber, or whoever is currently using that alias,” Saburakh begins later, as you're gathered around the detailed Ministry map, “She is the one at the heart of this conspiracy, I'm sure of it. Lagunov is just a puppet, no different to any of the townspeople – Schreiber is the one pulling the strings. We find her, and we bring her to justice.” Nodding to himself, the Ministry soldier runs a hand across the map. “But this situation won't end with just her. The whole town is contaminated, the canny could be compromised, even the mountain folk are tainted. It all has to be destroyed.”

“Sir, if I might ask a question?” Uriah raises his hand, “Schreiber – am I right in saying that you aim to execute her for her crimes? I do not wish to question Ministry judgement, but she appears to be a person of significant value. Her knowledge...”

“As much as I hate to admit it, the College considers her a significant asset,” Lars agrees, “Losing her would come as a dire blow. I fear it would upset a great deal of Scholars, many of them in quite lofty positions.”

“I fail to see the downside of that,” Saburakh sneers, “Schreiber is dangerous, and she needs to answer for her crimes – no matter what knowledge she might hold. I'm sorry, doctor, but the College will have to find another source of information.”

There are a lot of bitter faces around the table. So then, you ask calmly, what's the plan?

“We return to Odyss and gather more men, as many as possible,” Saburakh decides, “This is no longer a situation that can be contained with just a few of us. The entire town needs to be swept clean – purged. There will be resistance, yes, but I'm confident that we can crush it. Once we have a force assembled, we can move steadily across the island and destroy any infection we can find.”

But it'll all take time, you think as you look at the map, time enough for Schreiber to prepare. Maybe to plan an escape, maybe to conjure up some horrors capable of defending against a Ministry attack. If you went on ahead, striking at the first opportunity, maybe you could seize the advantage. While the Ministry moves in to sweep the town, you could be dealing with Schreiber herself. It has potential, you muse, but...

“We leave soon,” Saburakh announces, his blunt voice dragging you back to reality, “Are there any objections?”

>None. We need to stick together and work as a team
>I'm staying here and going after Schreiber. You focus on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town
>I had another plan in mind... (Write in)
>Other

>>1043791
>I'm staying here and going after Schreiber. You focus on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town

>>1043791
>I'm staying here and going after Schreiber. You focus on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town
>And Uriah will join me
Because if he doesn't, he's going to slip away and cut a deal with Schreiber himself. This way we can at least make sure the people who need killing are dead.

>>1043791
>I'm staying here and going after Schreiber. You focus on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town

>>1043791
>I'm staying here and going after Schreiber. You focus on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town
Plus
>>1043808
Though I feel like it's going to give him a chance to betray us at the worst possible moment, it's still going to allow us to keep an eye on him.

>>1043791
>I'm staying here and going after Schreiber. You focus on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town
also>>1043808
that as well

You're staying here, you tell Saburakh plainly, you're staying here and going after Schreiber. If he focuses on gathering reinforcements and clearing the town – the cannery in particular – you can chase down the woman at the centre of all this. For a moment, you wonder if Saburakh actually heard your words – if he did, he certainly gave no reaction. With his head bowed, looking down at the map, he seemed lost in a world of his own. Then, finally, he speaks.

“It would take time to gather men and supplies,” he tells you bluntly, “You'd be on your own.”

No you wouldn't, you counter, you'll have Uriah with you. A second Hunter will be ideal for watching your back, and you're confident in his skills. Not quite the truth, you think to yourself, but Saburakh can probably guess the real reason you want to bring him – you'd rather not let him out of your sight. He has his own interests here, true, but that's just more reason to keep a close eye on him. Besides, you're supposed to be evaluating him. With all the excitement, that little task had retreated into the background.

“I would be more than happy to accompany you,” Uriah replies, his voice too guarded to show any enthusiasm, “What of the others, will they be returning to Odyss?”

“We've been discussing the possibility,” Lars speaks up, nodding to indicate that he speaks for Mirrah as well, “And we've decided that we should return as well. With the samples taken from Gilbert's... remains, we have plenty to study. The facilities in Odyss might not be much better than the lab here, but they're certainly much safer. With time and effort, we might be able to learn more about this contagion – exactly how it could be spread, for example.”

“You're free to go, if you choose to do so,” Saburakh assures you, “I won't lie – anything that gives Schreiber less time to do her vile work is a worthwhile venture. With luck, I should be able to return with reinforcements soon. Clearing the town, however, may take a great deal longer. We'll have to go house to house, street by street... but the Ministry is nothing but thorough.”

You think about the things you've seen and the stories you've heard, whole towns burned in order to contain an infection. Definitely thorough, you muse, and a terrible thing to behold.

-

You're in the middle of checking your equipment one last time, more to pass the time than anything else, when Lize slinks up. She looks... guilty, as if she's about to confess to some terrible crime.

“I'm going with them,” she mutters, staring down at her feet, “To Odyss, I mean. Like, I know what's going on here, and I know what's at stake. You go up there, you're not gonna want anyone slowing you down. The best thing I can do is stay back and let you work – I know that. Just...”

Don't worry, you assure her, you'll be careful out there.

[1/2]

>>1043824

The rain is actually starting to ease off when the time to part ways comes. A good omen, you hope, although the murky grey sky above doesn't really fill you with much confidence. The rain might be stopping now, but it'll be back soon enough.

Perhaps because of the improvement in the weather, there a few more of the locals roaming the streets and shambling along the docks. When they pass you by, they tend to pause and give you faintly knowing looks – or perhaps their expressions are blank, and paranoia fills in the rest. It's hard to say, harder still to be certain. Looking at these people, with their deformed bodies and lifeless eyes, you barely feel any kind of human kinship with them. They might as well be beasts, you consider, not even that – they're closer to livestock.

In the hushed town, the sound of the Ministry ship firing up its engines and pulling out of the dock seems to last a long time. Even when the ship grows distant, the roar of the engine lingers. Or so it seems – when the sound starts to grow louder, and not quieter, you realise that it's a different engine.

“That must be their motor,” Uriah suggests, “If it's anything better than a cattle wagon, I'll be dearly surprised. I can't imagine the locals place much value on their comfort and luxury.”

Going by what you've seen so far, you find it hard to disagree there.

-

The motor, as the local parlance goes, turns out to be better than you'd been expecting. It's old, battered and mistreated, but not all that worse than the buses that take people to the College. It's sitting at the ready when you arrive at the town border, belching diesel fumes while the driver hungrily smokes a cigarette. It's hard to say which smells worse, the engine fumes or the driver himself.

As you're examining the bus, he slouches over and looks at you both. “Got to wait here a moment,” he explains, “Wait and see who comes out. Had a few folks this morning, I'll wager they want to go home again.”

He says that word - “home” - with a sick, mocking irony. Although you had taken him for a normal man at first, you now see the first familiar signs of deformity in his features. A puffiness of the face, paired with a faint greasy look to his skin – he's taken this cure, as sure as everyone else has.

“You'll know when she's leaving,” the driver continues, “Engine fair roars when we get going. Hear it all across town.”

“I really must ask,” Uriah cuts in, “Is this vehicle safe? It rather looks like it might break down at any moment.”

“Never had any trouble,” the driver gives Uriah a baleful look, “And I've been doing this route for more than three years. If you'd rather walk...”

The bus will be perfect, you hastily assure him, and you'll be back when it's time to leave. Then, practically dragging Uriah away, you retreat to a more discrete distance.

[2/3]

Hope Saburakh doesn't end up like Rast.

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>>1043850

You told him about this, you hiss, about provoking the locals.

“I'm aware of that,” Uriah shrugs lightly, “I'll admit, I should have chosen my words with greater care, but I felt it necessary to ask – if that vehicle dies, we'll be cut off. Walking back to town would be a gruelling task, and I dare say that the natives know the terrain far better than we do. If they have ill intention, they could harry us with ambushes and attacks every step of the way.”

...True, you admit, but he needs to learn a little more tact. A little care and discretion goes a long way.

“Very well, I concede the point,” smiling wryly, Uriah holds up his hands, “In either case, I wanted to thank you for this – for staying, and for allowing to stay as well. I knew that Saburakh would never have suggested it on his own. He would rather destroy everything here, blind to whatever might be gained from it. This way, perhaps we can see what Schreiber knows – perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”

>You've seen what her medicine does. We're not making any deals
>If she's willing to talk, we'll talk – but I'm not making any promises
>From now on, just keep quiet and follow my lead
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
>Other

>>1043874
>I need to ask you something... (Write in)
"Why do you need the medicine Uriah? Who are you trying to heal?"

>>1043879
>>1043874

This. And add "What are you willing to condone to get it?"

>>1043874
>Whoever you're trying to cure, will you really be satisfied with this kind of medicine? Even if it's THEORETICALLY possible to remove the side effects, say an accident happens and they end up like that. What will you do?

>>1043874
"And if this arrangement jepordizes the lives of the Ministry reinforcements or the citizens of the Free States? Would you still go through with it? This medicine isn't something you want to fuck around with."

>>1043874
If this.... corruption is the best she came up with in years of study, perhaps you should look elsewhere. This cure does not help those of us with the blood, it just makes everyone less human. More like a fish than a man.

Taking a long look about, just to ensure that you really are alone out here, you sigh and look back to Uriah. His face is set in a determined mask, the defiant twist of his lips daring you to answer him.

Why does he need this medicine so badly, you ask, just who is he trying to heal?

“You must recognise the value of this work!” Uriah hisses, “Yes, I will admit that there are a great many problems to be found here – I would not dream of taking this medicine in its current state – but the work may yet bear fruit! How many of our drugs and medicines, now considered safe, were once poisons? We just need to-”

He just needs to answer the question, you interrupt, who does he want this medicine for?

“Damn you...” clenching his fists, Uriah looks away from you. “Fine then. Say there's a certain man – a man of wealth and status, but not health that worsens by the day. If someone was to bring this gentleman a cure... would he not be rewarded for this service?”

Rewarded with what, you ask lightly, public recognition? Acceptance into this gentleman's family? When Uriah's eyes widen at your words, you know that you've hit the target. So he wants the cure for his Dragon father, you consider, how touching. So say this cure, or an improved version of it, was placed before him – what kind of acts, you ask, would he condone to get it? Say this arrangement he spoke of put lives at risk – would he still be willing to make that deal?

“An element of sacrifice-” he begins, but then you cut him off.

How many, you ask sharply, how many lives would he be willing to sacrifice? One – a life for a life – or more? Is this gentleman of his worth more than the common man? As you hiss these words out, you spot a trace of weakness in Uriah's eyes. It's all fine and well to talk about sacrifice in the vaguest possible sense, but when he really thinks about it – about dealing with lives rather than numbers on a page – his resolve wavers. He looks younger like this, less certain, and you feel a touch of sympathy for him.

Listen, you tell Uriah quietly, if this corruption is the best that Schreiber has been able to come up with... perhaps he should look for his cure elsewhere. It doesn't help anyone, much less those with auspicious blood. This cure ruins everyone that it touches, making them more fish than man. Even if an improved version could be devised, how would he know it's really safe? What if it still tainted those who took it, but slowly – his gentleman would just be trading one doom for another, and where would that leave him?

“Responsible,” Uriah breathes, “I would be the one responsible for it.”

Dealing in life and death is a serious matter, you murmur, and it should be treated as such.

[1/2]

>>1043927

There is a long and thoughtful silence after this, a silence that you take as a good thing – it shows, at least, that Uriah is thinking. That's always a promising start. He thinks all the while until the bus engine roars into life, with that throaty howl snapping him back to reality. Swallowing hard, he looks you in the eye and speaks.

“I still believe that we should investigate this matter with all due care,” Uriah begins, “Rather than simply burning everything we can find. It may be true that this cure, or any other attempt that draws from this same source, is doomed to failure, but I still believe that the research should be preserved. A warning, if nothing else, to future generations. However, I wish to make this clear – I will not defend Schreiber or her actions. She must be held to account for what has happened here. For that reason alone, I believe she should live.”

If she is called to answer for her crimes, you point out, she'd face execution – there's no doubt about it. Swift execution, probably, she'd be lucky to make it off the island.

“Then she would not live for very long,” the young bastard says with a shrug, “Shall we go?”

-

You'll admit, you're still not entirely convinced that Uriah has put aside his hopes – if he was presented with a perfected cure, or something claiming to be such a thing, would he really turn his back on it? Doubt remains, but he's won back some of your confidence. At the very least, he's unlikely to stab you in the back at the slightest mention of a cure. Probably.

When you return to the bus, a few of the hunched mountain folk have arrived and taken their seats. Just looking at their shrouded forms is enough to send a faint shudder of disgust through you, the memories of what you saw earlier still fresh in your mind. They gather at the back of the bus and although the vehicle is not particularly large, there are enough empty seats to put a good bit of room between you and them. Even with cold wind whistling through a broken window, you can smell their corrupted bodies already – the smell of fish, decay and the ocean. The same smell, you can't help but notice, that hangs over the entire town.

Then the doors rattle shut, and the bus starts to churn forwards through the mud. It's strange – you loathed Tolnir, with its dank buildings and conspiratorial locals, but you don't feel very glad to leave. The waiting hills loom like the corpse of some giant creature, a thick shroud of fog clinging to the rise and fall of the land. Somewhere ahead of you, nestled within that mass of broken land, the Folly awaits.

>Going to have to pause here briefly. Sorry about this.

>>1044029

The bus makes good time at first, picking up speed and forging ahead through the bleak wasteland. Every so often there will a dense patch of sickly looking trees, clinging to each other like frightened children, but otherwise the landscape is depressingly flat and lifeless. The hills ahead provide the sole exception, naturally drawing the eye back to their grim heights as they steadily approach.

As the bus enters the hills it slows considerably, crawling up the narrow and winding paths. As if the situation didn't feel precarious enough, the weather takes a sharp turn for the worse, sheets of rain crashing against the bus windows and cutting your view down to a meagre distance. More than once you feel a shudder run through the entire vehicle, as if the ground below was about to crumble away and send you plummeting to your death. Uriah looks calm, but then you notice his hands – clenched, white knuckle tight, in his lap. Even during the worst of it though, when the bus is just barely clinging to the unpaved road, the driver looks utterly indifferent. To him, this might as well be a pleasant afternoon drive.

Then, after what might well be some of the longest hours in your life, the path swells into a wider outcrop and the bus grinds to a halt. With the shuddering motions of broken clockwork toys, the mountain folk get out of their seats and shamble out of the bus, hesitating just long enough for the creaking doors to open. Soon, the vehicle has just three people left in it – you, Uriah and the driver.

“Here we are,” the driver tells you, raising his voice without turning around, “End of the line. Path just ahead takes you into the Folly. Too narrow for this old thing, so you'll be walking the rest of the way – now bugger off, the both of you!”

Well, you can take a hint.

-

The path leads you into the hills, high walls of rock rising up either side of you for a while before widening out. The Folly is nestled in something not unlike a crater, naturally shielded from all sides. Ahead, the path is a steep downhill slope but for now, you've got a good view of the area. Peering down into the darkness, you take a good long look at what you're dealing with.

There's no particular order to the few shacks left standing, with crude structures dotted about more or less at random. The ruddy glow of lanterns lights up the buildings, with a few more lights burning in the broken ground surrounding the crater. Tunnel entrances, perhaps? The only other feature is a grander house, set apart from the rest of the shacks – the manse, it has to be.

“How charming,” Uriah drawls, “Where exactly are we supposed to start?”

>Head straight to the manse
>Search the town itself
>Delve into the tunnels
>Other

>>1044192
>>Search the town itself

>>1044192
>>Search the town itself
Let's take in the area.

>>1044192
>>Search the town itself

>>1044192
>>Search the town itself

You'll take a look through the town itself, you tell Uriah, what little of it there is. It shouldn't take too long, and you'd like to know what you're dealing with. Always learn the lie of the land, you add, that's a useful thing for a Hunter to know.

“Please remember, I did finish my training,” Uriah points out, “I would have thought Abernath told you as such.”

He did, you agree, the old man told you that Uriah had been a pretty mediocre student.

“Well,” the young man pauses for a while, the only sound that of your boots squelching through the mud, “I won't deny that.”

-

The air down in the Folly is strange, almost thick. It's not the smell - although there is definitely a repugnant odour hanging heavily in the air – but something else. It sounds absurd, but you almost feel as though you were underwater, walking across the bottom of the ocean with a crushing weight of water above you. Movements fee sluggish, and the sound of your footsteps feels muffled. It reminds you of something, but it takes you a long time to figure out what.

The far north. This place reminds you of the far north, with the constant dream-like feeling tugging at your thoughts. The sole difference is that there is no moon here, no bloodshot eye leering down at you. For that, at least, you feel grateful for the rain and clouds. Shaking off the surreal feeling, you nod towards the closest building and creep toward it, bracing yourself for one of those robed figures to lurch into view at any minute.

Empty and barren, the first shack you come across offers some shelter from the elements but not much else. The locals don't seem to care much for decoration or hygiene, and the smell that greets you as you enter is foul, far worse than normal. There is the usual stink of dead fish, of course, but also the more mundane odour of unwashed bodies and the sour reek of bile. What little items you find are mostly practical – a wire snare, for catching rabbits, and a number of rusted harpoons. Piles of rags mark out where the native threw off their ragged clothes, and that little detail raises more than a few unwelcome questions.

“I must presume that they changed into fresh clothes,” Uriah murmurs, his voice faltering and unconvinced, “What else would they...”

Look at this place, you counter, does he really think these creatures care about fresh clothes? Frankly, you're surprised that they wear clothes at all.

“With all due respect, I'd rather not think of such things,” with a prim note in his voice, Uriah continues, “Perhaps we should move on, and see if any of the other houses have anything more useful to show us.”

Yeah, you mutter as you step away from the pile of rags, best to keep moving.

[1/2]

>>1044359

From here, you lead Uriah to the closest thing the Folly has to a proper building, save for the manse itself. Calling it a guard tower would be a stretch, but it rises up higher than the other shacks and it's made of crumbling stone blocks rather than spongy, mouldering wood. With the same caution, you first peer into the building before entering it. Empty – just like the first house you checked. It's odd, it's almost like-

“Where are they?” Uriah mutters, “We both saw those locals come here, so where have they gone? If the size of this settlement is any indication we should have seen someone by now, just as a matter of random chance. So why, then, is this revolting place so empty?”

Gesturing for the young man to stay quiet, you test one of the stairs with your foot. They're wooden, but they don't creak too much when you put your weight on it. Encouraged by this, but still keeping your weapons close to hand, you climb up to the uppermost floor of the tower. Less encouraging is the dagger in your hand – it's warmer now, but not yet blazing with that familiar heat. You're getting closer, at least, but you're not there yet.

-

The top of the guard tower is open to the elements, one corner of the ceiling torn away by age and the walls crumbling. Even with the damage, though, the ceiling is strong enough to support a heavy bell. The iron is corroded, and it's studded with what look like barnacles, but you have no doubt that the bell would ring honest and true with just a little encouragement. An alarm bell, you muse, sounding an alert to any local who hears it.

“Hanson,” Uriah hisses, his voice drifting up from below, “I've found something. I believe you'll want to see this.”

Leaving the bell for now, you return to the bottom floor and nod to Uriah. What is it, you ask, did he see something?

“Here,” gesturing for you to come closer, he points to a corroded brass plate fixed to one of the walls. It's so tarnished with age and crusted with moss that you overlooked it, mistaking it for just another stone brick. Now that you're seeing it properly, however, you see if for what it really is – a rack of four separate keys, letters engraved above each one. Three keys are under the word “manor”, while the last is under “mine/temple”.

Temple?

“A temple,” scorn creeps into Uriah's hushed voice, “Truly, these creatures have fallen into barbarism and degeneracy. Those tunnels must lead into it – perhaps they've made their real homes in the old mines.”

Maybe so, you muse. Now, though, you're left with a choice – where next?

>Investigate the manor
>Search the mines for this temple
>Other

>>1044453
>Investigate the manor
Should be safer, and might hold information.

>>1044453
>Investigate the manor

Tell him this place feels like the far north. Things will probably stop making sense soon, if that's the case.

>>1044453
>Investigate the manor
Manor might be empty if they've all gone to the temple.

Anyone getting the start RE4 vibes?

>>1044487
More Bloodborne but yeah.

>>1044453
>>Investigate the manor

It's the manor next, you tell Uriah quietly, but you want him to stay alert – this place... it doen't feel right. He should be prepared for anything, even things which might not make any sense. Maybe you're wrong – you seriously hope that you're wrong – but the laws of reality might not be quite so strict here.

“I must confess, I don't understand,” Uriah admits, “But I think I prefer it that way.”

Good man, you murmur, just keep his guard up and he'll be fine. If you're lucky, the locals might all be in their temple, performing whatever blasphemous rites their god demands. As long as it keeps them out of your way, you don't care what they're doing down there in those sunless tunnels. It's an advantage – you're not about to pass it up. Gesturing for Uriah to stick close, you slip the keys into your pocket and head out into the filthy settlement once more. The manor, looming out from its aloof distance, almost seems to call you onwards.

-

An iron fence, more rust than unsullied metal, surrounds the manor, but a single glance is enough to tell you that the fence is more for show than anything else. Collapsed in places, anyone with working arms could climb over it. Even so, you use the first of the three keys to open the front gate wide. If you're going to come fleeing out of this place, you don't want to waste time scaling a slippery fence. The same key works for the front door as well, hinges screaming out as you push the door open.

So much for a quiet entrance. Standing there, in the doorway, you hold your breath and listen for anything – cries of alarm, the rush of approaching footsteps, anything to suggest that the manor is less than deserted. You don't hear any of that, but you do hear... music. Muffled and deadened by this lifeless air, but you can definitely hear the scratchy sound of a record being played.

“Hand-cranked,” Uriah whispers to you, “You hear that? The way the music falters every so often? It's unmistakable – and very old.”

Of course, you murmur, no electrical power. If it's being cranked by hand, that must mean that somebody is here – and they would have heard the hinges crying out. They must know that somebody is here, and yet they've just carried on playing their music. To lull you into a false sense of security, perhaps, or for some other purpose? Maybe, you think with a bitter smile, they're just mad.

“They probably are,” Uriah agrees, when you suggest this, “But I rather suspect we both knew that already.”

...True.

[1/2]

>>1044624

“Wait,” Uriah holds up a hand, looking around the entranceway, “It is – or, at least, it was - customary for noble families to keep a guestbook by the front entrance. Typically, they contain anything that a guest might need – traditions and customs honoured by the family, rules to follow...”

You're not here to honour tradition, you remind him, so how does that help?

“Because they often have maps – annotated plans of the manor,” the young man looks at you as though you're the greatest fool in the world. Marching into the old manor, he waves a hand at a lectern of tarnished brass. On it, open to reveal yellowed paper, a book. “Something like that be helpful for people in our position,” Uriah suggests, “Wouldn't you say?”

Point taken, you admit, it might be worth a look. As you're flipping to the start of the book, you hear something – or rather, you hear nothing. The faint music has stopped. Looking up towards the stairs, you draw your gun and take aim, with Uriah mirroring your actions. Time drags out for a moment longer before a new song hums into life, warbling tunelessly until settling into the right speed. Just changing records, you mutter, nothing to worry about.

“Oh yes,” Uriah agrees, “There's nothing to be concerned about.”

Ignoring that little insincerity, you return your gaze to the book and finally find the map. There's a good deal of damage, age and dampness really, but there's enough there to know what you're looking at. From what you can tell, the music is coming from the study upstairs, while the lower floor has a library and a kitchen. Below you, the floor is just marked “storage”.

Storing what, exactly?

>Check the study
>Check the library and kitchen
>Check the storage
>Other

>>1044738
>>Check the study
Let's go talk to our DJ. I imagine we'll get more information from him than inspecting the shit these things eat.

>>1044738

>Check the library and kitchen
>Check the storage
>Check the study

In that order

>>1044738
>>Check the study

>>1044738
>>Check the library and kitchen

>>1044738
>>Check the study
Let's find them while we know where they are

You want to check the study, you tell Uriah, that music is starting to get on your nerves. Until you've figured out who's up there, you're unwilling to focus on anything else. The library and the storage rooms might be worth investigating, but they're not going anywhere. Your musical friend, on the other hand... they could cut and run at any minute.

“Do you really think so?” Uriah asks mildly, “I would have thought they might have done so before now, if that was the case.”

Well then, you ask slowly, does he have a better idea?

“I want to check the library,” without breaking his eyes from yours, Uriah lays out his case, “If Schreiber has been carrying out research, her library might well be rich in secrets. Not just research specific to this cure, but all manner of subjects. The College has treated her well over the years, or so we've been told – I wish to see exactly how she has profited from this partnership.” There is a short pause, a cold smile touching his lips as the music wails away in the background.

He makes a convincing case, you decide, but that changes nothing – while you know the study is occupied, you'll check the study first. He can pick over the bones of the library later, when all this is over and done with. Once again, silence follows this declaration, broken only by the shuddering music. A particularly bad batch of discordant notes squeal out, causing you both to flinch, and the moment of stillness passes.

“Very well,” Uriah agrees, “If it means never hearing music butchered in such a way again, I'll be happy to check the study first.”

You're glad to have his cooperation.

-

Perhaps it's your imagination, but the music seems to slow as you climb the stairs, each note suffering the tortuous fate of being drawn out longer and longer. That alone sours your mood even further. When you reach the study door and find it locked, you thrust each key into the lock with the malice of a man plunging home his dagger. When the third and final key brings you success, you push the door open and step inside.

Sitting at a low table, her attention focused on cranking the handle of her antique record player, you see a woman. Old, past middle age, she would – under any other circumstances – pass as a harmless bystander. Deliberately harmless, you muse as the flickering lantern light catches her spectacles, as the most dangerous people always are. She must be-

“I am Gwendolyn Schreiber,” she says, without looking up from the record player, “And who exactly are you?”

The dagger at your hip burns, like iron plucked from the forge.

>Sorry, but I'm going to have to pause here. I aim to continue this tomorrow, same usual time
>Thanks to everyone who stuck around today!

>>1044975
thanks

>>1044975
Thanks for running.

If we had just gone alone we could have gutted her right now, Uriah is going to make this such a pain in the ass.

>>1044975
Thanks for running!

>>1044975
Thanks for running.

>>1045003
Thankfully I think no matter how we play this she is going to die, either by us or by execution. Hopefully.

>>1045011
Doubt it, unless we engineer a fatal accident she is going to be whisked away. By our enemies, by the College or by Loch.

With some luck Saburakh will return with the authority to give her a summary execution without trial but that's not likely, though he might just do it anyway.

>>1045032
>If she is called to answer for her crimes, you point out, she'd face execution – there's no doubt about it. Swift execution, probably, she'd be lucky to make it off the island.

Henryk seems to believe she's sure as dead and he knows more about procedures than us.

>>1045032
Nonsense, if she resists and causes trouble we
ll put her down right away. Same happened with Yvette, she attacked so we took her out. If she goes quietly then hopefully she gets executed at some point instead of magically disappearing.

>>1044975
Thanks for running Moloch. Missed the entire session but still was good.

>>1044975
Thanks for running 'loch.

About How many Hunters are currently active in the States?

>>1045148

Honestly, that's not really something I can say. Matters of logistics have never been an easy subject for me. Ultimately, Hunters are common enough that people, in their normal day to day life, don't need to worry too much about beasts. In times of crisis, however, Hunters are uncommon enough for there to be a shortage.

Again, I apologise for being vague about this sort of thing. I'd rather not commit to a figure that ends up making no sense.

>>1045110
Yeah I get that, but what are the odds that an aging snake woman will do anything against two hunters? She'll sit there and be smug. Yvette was an impulsive idiot with a sword.
We'll see, fingers crossed that all her supposed knowledge isn't such an invincible shield it's made out to be.

>>1045239
Nah, it's fine.

>>1045267
Exept that if I remember correctly, Gewn was stated to be a dragon last thread

>>1045551
Yup, she's a Dragon and she can probably kill us with her bare hands.

File: Gwendolyn Schreiber.jpg (272 KB, 1280x1867)

272 KB JPG

It's strange how a single witness can change things. If not for Uriah, you could cross the room in a few meagre steps and bury your dagger up to the hilt in Schreiber's throat. It could be over in an instant, like snapping your fingers. Instead, you have to settle for slowly entering the study, closing the door behind you. It's gloomy here, and the shadows don't seem to behave like they should – when the lantern flame flickers, the shadows remain as still as a painting. When the flame grows still, the flames cavort and dance.

“Do you mind if I keep playing this? I don't like to hear the song,” Schreiber smiles faintly, although she still doesn't lift her gaze from the record player, “Logically, I know that I'm still hearing it – or rather, my ears are picking it up – but it makes me feel better. Allow an old woman her foolishness.”

She might be a lot of things, you think, but she's no fool.

“What song?” Uriah asks, “I don't hear anything. The only song here is the one that you're... mutilating.”

“You learn to hear it, if you linger around here too long,” the old woman shrugs, “I can't say exactly how long, however - I've never had the chance to run the proper studies. It's surprisingly hard to get suitable research subjects out here... which raises a rather interesting question. How exactly did you find me here?”

Uriah opens his mouth, but you silence him with a curt gesture. Really, you ask her, does that matter?

“An inquiring mind never dulls, Hunter,” finally, Schreiber looks up at you, “I don't believe they teach your kind that adage. Oh, and before you say anything – it's your posture that gives you away. Wolves always have a certain... air about them, just like Snakes and Bulls. Open books, the lot of you.” Her face never offers you anything more than a polite smile, but her words drip with scorn. “Wolves...” she continues, “You're light on your feet, even the large ones, and your eyes flicker. Bulls are so stiff and upright, like they'd be flogged for slouching just a little. Snakes are my favourite, you can practically see them thinking – it's like looking into the guts of a piece of clockwork.”

Most of her bile passes you by – after spending time around men like Wehrlain, you've become quite skilled at ignoring them – but something she says sticks in your mind. The way she mentioned large Hunters makes you think of Krebs. Is this where his trail came to an end, you wonder, in this dismal place?

“What about Dragons, then?” Uriah asks mildly, “Can you tell them at a glance?”

“Oh, of course I can,” abandoning the record player, Schreiber rises to her feet and straightens her spectacles. “I know Dragons like I know the backs of my hands,” she continues, “And child... you're no Dragon, no matter what you might wish. Nothing can change that.”

[1/2]

>>1048330

For a moment it looks like Uriah might kill Schreiber for you, and save you all the trouble, but then he reins his temper in. At the sight of his anger, Schreiber's smile deepens. “But don't feel too bad,” she purrs, “We're more alike than you think, you and I. Wolves and Dragons have always been close – practically kin, just as Snakes and Bulls are close. Our blood manifests as a change in the body, theirs manifests as a mental abnormality. Do you know who discovered that little fact?”

No, you reply coldly, but they don't teach Hunters that kind of thing these days.

“I did. Me. My reward was exile – some silly law against defiling corpses. Bah!” Schreiber's expression darkens for a moment, before clearing just as quickly, “But I digress. Where were we? Ah, you haven't even told me your names!”

And you have no plans to do so, you think. What about that song of hers, you ask, wasn't she trying to block it out?

“Oh, talking to you should be enough for now,” waving an indifferent hand at you, Schreiber starts to murmur to herself, “Was it the doctor? I suppose he would have been told about me. Lagunov? She's a fool, but I keep her on too short a leash for her to betray me. Not surprised to see me, couldn't have been random chance. I wonder, I wonder...” Letting her words trail off, she turns away from you and starts to fumble with a small wooden chest. You and Uriah both raise your pistols but when Schreiber turns back to you, it is not a weapon she holds but a glass flask. Even in the gloom, you can see that the liquid it contains is blood.

“This is what you came here for, is it not?” Schreiber asks, “You must know what this potion can do by now – you've seen the locals. I'll admit, it's not the miracle cure that I had hoped it would be, but it's really quite fascinating. The tests I've been carrying out here...”

Her eyes grow hazy as she says this, rapturous wonder creeping into her voice. Silence follows, except... it's not quite silent enough. There's something else there, some other sound dancing just beyond your reach. Description is impossible – just as you think it might be a faint ringing squeal, it drops to a low throbbing that is felt more than heard. Judging by the look of distaste that passes across Schreiber's face, and the one of confusion that touches Uriah's features, you're not the only one to hear the curious sound.

If there is one advantage to it, however, it shuts Schreiber up long enough for you to get a word in edgewise.

>That song... what IS it?
>What do you hope to achieve here?
>We're not the first Hunters to come here, are we? What happened to the one who came before us?
>This medicine of yours – have you taken it?
>Other

>>1048332
>We're not the first Hunters to come here, are we? What happened to the one who came before us?
>>This medicine of yours – have you taken it?
>What do you hope to achieve here?

>>1048332
>We're not the first Hunters to come here, are we? What happened to the one who came before us?
>this "medicine", you got it from somewhere, didn't you. From something.

>>1048332
>That song... what IS it?
>What do you hope to achieve here?

>>1048332
>What do you hope to achieve here?
>We're not the first Hunters to come here, are we? What happened to the one who came before us?
>This medicine of yours – have you taken it?
>Where did you go and what did you do to get it from?

>>1048332
>That song... what IS it?
>What do you hope to achieve here?
>We're not the first Hunters to come here, are we? What happened to the one who came before us?

What's her goal here, you ask harshly, what does she hope to achieve? Harshness comes easily to your voice, your words loud in hope of beating back that keening, wailing song. These tests that she spoke of, they must all be building towards something, some final goal – so what, you press, is her aim?

“You are mistaken, Hunter – these tests are not the means, they are the end. My goal was to study, to learn. Putting that knowledge into action was just one more step on an endless road to discovery. What use are result? Who exactly would I share them with?” she laughs lightly, the lantern flame glinting from her spectacles, “The Free States, who cast me out and branded me a ghoul? No, I study this land because it is the only road left ahead of me – the locals, the College... they are tools.”

Tools, you murmur, that's all anyone is to her – Krebs would have been no different, if he really did fall into her hands. You're not the first Hunters to come here, you snap, are you? There was one who came before you – one who was sent here. What happened to him?

“Oh yes. Him,” Schreiber limps a step closer, heedless of the knife to raise, “He was taller than you. Broader at the shoulder as well. He didn't give me a name either. No matter – I didn't need a name. He was more cooperative than you, you know, very obedient. He accepted my tests with barely a moment's thought.”

And she told him all the risks and dangers, you guess, or did she leave those out?

“I never lied to him. Not once. I told him two things – first of all, he would be cured or he would be killed. Second of all...” finally, Schreiber glances down at the knife in your hand, giving it no more than a passing glance, “I warned him that he would not be unchanged by the experience. Knowing that, he still agreed... oh, and it was magnificent! A pure and refined dosage, a transformation unlike any I had ever seen, or have seen since!”

“Transformation?” Uriah, despite himself, takes a faltering step backwards, “Damn you, crone, explain yourself properly!”

“He was a beast on the inside,” shrugging, Schreiber doesn't take her eyes from you, “I simply allowed his true nature to be seen. His mind must have remained human – more or less – because he was able to make his escape not long after. Quite the cunning beast, really, I'm sad that he chose to flee. Tell me, did he ever show up? You would, I think, recognise him – the antlers...”

Old Grey, you mutter, it really was Krebs. That means Uriah...

“I...” swallowing heavily, Uriah's face grows pale and still, “He was...”

Dread and fear on his face, but not for long - anger soon rises up to replace them.

[1/2]

>>1048376

“You damned witch!” he snarls, the young man's noble guise falling away as he bares his teeth. The slender blade he carries trembles slightly as he raises it, pointing the weapon at Schreiber in a heartfelt threat. Whatever thoughts he might have entertained before, thoughts of deals and arrangements, those days are long past. He would kill her without a second thought, you have no doubt about that.

Maybe he'll get the chance – but not yet. Not while you still have unanswered questions. There's nothing gentle about the way you take Uriah by the shoulder and push him back against the wall, but that's exactly what he needs right now. A different anger – haughty outrage rather than genuine loathing – flares in his eyes for a moment, and then they clear. His sense returns, and the noble mask slams back down like a visor.

“The Ministry was wrong to banish you,” he hisses to the old woman, “They should have killed you, there and then.”

“But they didn't,” Schreiber replies flatly, “And so here we are.”

They let her live, you sneer, and she found this miracle cure – has she also enjoyed its benefits?

“Good lord no!” laughing in amazement, Schreiber's eyes flash, “Even when I first discovered it, I would not have dreamed of taking it myself. No... the locals were easily coerced into taking it. Peasants, one and all, bowing to whoever shows the slightest trace of authority. After I discovered its... side-effects... I knew that I would never take it.”

How brave of her, you say with a bitter laugh, how noble. But this medicine of hers, you add, she didn't even make it herself – she got it from somewhere else, something else. Where did she get it, you press, and what did she have to do to get it?

“I did not “get” it, Hunter, I was not given it like a noble brat claiming their inheritance,” Schreiber snaps, “I TOOK it. I seized it with my own two hands. Deep in the bowels of this land, in the tunnels beneath this very manor, I claimed it for myself – I have every right to claim ownership over this elixir!” As she declares this, she holds the glass bottle up to the lantern flame, casting a sickly red light over the entire room. In this light, the room feels close and claustrophobic – like you've been enveloped in the belly of some giant beast, a sensation only worsened by the throbbing pulse of that repugnant song.

What is that, you groan as pain starts to blossom at your temples, what is that song?

“That is what I found there,” Schreiber sneers, “That is the song of a mermaid.”

[2/3]

>>1048420
god I hate Murmur

>>1048420

“Why should we believe a word of what you have to say?” Uriah spits, “You talk of old stories, of magic songs that befuddle the mind – all lies and superstition!”

“I have never spoken of magic, child,” Schreiber corrects him, “A sound outside the range of human hearing, that's all it is. It induces hallucinations, disorientation, suggestibility in those of weak will. In a sense, you ARE correct – the song befuddles the mind, yes, but there is nothing magical about it. It is the nature of children to blame that which they do not understand of magic and spirits, but you should not be so foolish.”

It makes sense now, you realise, all the abnormal things you felt before. A creeping madness, brought on by the creature lurking far beneath. In this short time, you've felt it tightening around your mind like a slowly clenching fist – what, then, must it have done to Schreiber? How long has she been in this dismal place, soaking in the corruption that boils and churns here?

As the conversation falters, Schreiber wanders back to her record player and starts to crank it into life once more. As the warbling music once again fills the room, she spares you a single glance – a glance that seems to say “Are you still here?”

>Cut her throat, here and now
>Arrest her. The Ministry will deal with her
>Leave her here, and search the tunnels for this “mermaid”
>Ask a few last questions... (Write in)
>Other

>>1048458
>Leave her here, and search the tunnels for this “mermaid
>Knock her ass out and tie her up though

>>1048458
>Cut her throat, here and now
She turned two whole villages into this.

>>1048458
>Cut her throat, here and now

The difference between execution now or later. Doesn't really matter.

Let's go find the mermaid afterwards.

I can't believe Weirhlain is a significant upgrade compared to her.

>>104845
should we ask if its giants blood?

>>1048458

Cut her throat, here and now
Mybe burn down the house and spill the potions so the college dosnt keep up with the studys.
You know they will

>Closing the vote here. Going for cutting her throat and then searching for the mermaid. Writing the next post now, delays possible.

A thin, creaking tune wavers through the room as Schreiber plays her music, each note scraping against your nerves. Glancing across to Uriah, you give him a slow and weighty nod, holding his gaze as you put a hand to the dagger at your hip. His eyes widen slightly as he grasps your meaning, but then he returns the nod with an equal weight. Permission of a sort, his appetite for negotiation long since exhausted.

Holding the blade tight against your back, you approach Schreiber and grab her by the wrist, keeping her from cranking the handle. As silence falls over both of you, she looks up and meets your gaze. Calm eyes, you note, with a faint trace of expectation in them. This cure of hers, you ask lightly, it reminds you of something – the stories you've heard about Giant's blood. It was said that Giant's blood could cure any ailment, but without the grotesque side-effects of her own cure.

“I'm surprised that you know about that,” she remarks lightly, “Yes, I will admit, this cure is nothing more than a pale imitation of Giant's blood. Nothing, no amount of refinement or purification, could raise it to the level of that mythical substance. A shame, but one mustn't expect too much. Now then...” The ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Are you going to get it over with?”

So much for subtlety. Letting go of her wrist, you instead take her chin in your hand and twist her head up, exposing her neck. Her skin is pale, as dry as paper, and you see the pulse quivering at the side of her throat. Even now, she offers no resistance – not even when you draw your blade across her throat in a single smooth motion. Gasping, choking softly, she shudders in a few short convulsions before growing still, her clothes darkening with spreading blood. When the last breath has left her body, you let go of her chin and allow her head to slump forwards.

-

“I thought she might fight back,” Uriah says quietly, “I thought she would offer some resistance.”

What would have been the point, you ask, would it really have changed anything? She was a Dragon, true, but she was an old and faded one. Perhaps she had accepted the idea of death from the moment you entered her study, welcoming it like someone greeting an old friend.

“I suppose,” the young Hunter sighs, “It just...”

Would he have felt better if she had fought, you ask, would that have satisfied him?

“No, I...” shaking his head, Uriah sighs again, “Forgive me, sir, but I would rather not speak of such things. Our efforts would be better served in searching this place, disposing of whatever research she may have recorded.”

As you nod your agreement, you start to wipe off your blade on the hem of her dress – and that's when you notice it.

Your dagger is still as hot as ever, the heat undimmed by Schreiber's death.

[1/2]

>>1048516
The 'mermaid' then? It's song sounds like something Glorious would do.

>>1048516
Cue episode ending!

>>1048516

“Is there a problem?” Uriah asks, “If I may be so bold as to say, you look... unsettled.”

It's nothing, you assure him quickly, you're fine. You were just thinking about what to do next – he suggested disposing of her research, you add, what happened to benefiting from it?

“I am not ashamed to admit that I was wrong,” the young Hunter tells you, “I had thought that this research was done in good faith, by a healthy – if mislead – mind. Now, having spoken with Schreiber, I know how wrong I was. Her mind was gone long ago, worn away by isolation and gnawed by the dragon within her. No, there is nothing here that deserves to be kept. We should destroy it all, starting with this.” Uriah lifts the glass bottle as he says this, holding it away from his body as if it might strike out at him at any moment.

Destroying her research and her samples is a good start, you point out, but there's the source of this corruption to consider.

“Then we'll destroy that as well,” the young man says curty.

-

Yes, the mermaid – the source of all this filth and corruption, your true prey. Schreiber was just one more member of the vile beast's “congregation”, even if she herself was unaware of it. You wondered what her mind might have been like, after spending so long listening to the beast's song, and now you have your answer. It was the greatest delusion of them all – she thought she was in control. She never took the medicine – the mermaid's blood – but that made little difference. One way or another, she fell under its spell.

As Uriah grimly scours through her library, you take another long look at the flask of blood, holding it up and letting the light from a nearby lantern shine through. You'll burn it later, along with the rest of her work, but for now... you're content to look, to study, to-

Oh very good, you mutter, very cunning. The mermaid's song is a subtle thing indeed, to inspire such fascination. It's not hard to see how an inquiring mind, and one unaware of what might lurk here, could be ensnared. Be careful, you call over to Uriah, his thoughts might not be his own. You'd both better keep your guard up.

-

“This is it,” he says simply, placing a stack of roughly bound books down in front of you, “All of the others are conventional College texts, nothing that would be considered dangerous. These are her research materials, such as they are. They don't make much sense in places – either that, or I'm too sane to understand them. I did find a personal journal as well, but I didn't read much of it. That would have been... improper.”

He has some strange priorities.

>Okay, let's take this stuff out and burn it
>What do you mean, the research doesn't make much sense?
>Give me the journal, I'll take a look
>Other

>>1048590
>>Give me the journal, I'll take a look

>>1048590
>What do you mean, the research doesn't make much sense?
>Give me the journal, I'll take a look

Then
>Okay, let's take this stuff out and burn it

>>1048612
supporting

>>1048590

Give me the journal, I'll take a look

Hand over the journal, you tell him, you'll take a look. Considering that you just slit her throat, a few breaches of protocol don't mean much to you. Besides, there might be useful information inside.

“Suit yourself,” shrugging, Uriah holds out the scruffy book. His principles might stop him from reading it, but apparently they don't extend far enough to stop you from doing the same. Taking it from him, you start to leaf through it at random, skimming it for any passages that catch your eye.

So those notes he mentioned, you ask as you skim the book, what did he mean when he said they didn't make much sense?

“Well. I admit that I'm no Scholar, although I have benefited from a College education, so some of the intricacies of academic research may be lost on me. However, as these notes appear...” he clears his throat, “Shall I be blunt? They're mad, devoid of any reason or logic. Schreiber seems to have tried things at random, mixing samples of the blood with whatever she could find. Alcohol, sea water, animal blood... none of it suggests any real chance of success, but she experimented nonetheless. There's only one possibility that I can think of...”

Go on, you press, what's his guess?

“This research was just a guise for something less... scientific. She was spreading the contaminated blood through the island's population, just for the sake of spreading it,” he grimaces, “I believe she was acting under the mermaid's influence, and her own reasons were self-delusion. An attempt at justifying her own actions.”

Considering what you've felt so far, alien suggestions tugging at your own mind, you can very well believe that theory. Was it a gradual process, you wonder, a slow erosion of her own will and desires? Maybe her journal has an answer to that.

With that thought in mind, you return your attentions to the old book.

-

“So...” Uriah asks delicately, “May I ask what you've found in her journal?”

So now he's curious, you point out with a faint smirk, what happened to acting proper?

“I merely ask because the information within may prove vital to our current mission,” the young Hunter replies stiffly, “I would not wish for us to be met with failure, simply because-”

Alright alright, you grunt, he doesn't need to give you an etiquette lecture. You'll get right to the point – the journal is a mix of resentful complaints, mainly at the start as Schreiber bemoaned her fate, and less organised thoughts. Later, as the mermaid's pervasive influence started to set in, the journal entries became more and more fleeting, scattered and chaotic. Often, they have no proper beginnings or ends, giving the impression of a book with half the pages torn out. Still, you do learn a few useful things from the journal.

Uriah leans a little closer as you start to describe the contents, curiosity lively in his eyes.

[1/2]

>>1048332
Haven't caught up yet, but I'm calling it now. That music is fucking with us somehow.

>>1048766
That wasn't as dramatic as I thought it would be.

>>1048687

Schreiber wrote much about the way she was treated as the healer, the adulation lavished upon her by the local people. A false adoration, born out of their growing dependency on the cure she brought them. Their addiction was not a fatal one – to test that, Schreiber isolated and imprisoned one of the mountain folk for more than almost two weeks – but a mental one. While the contaminated locals did need to eat, they hungered for more of the mermaid's blood. Too much, however, caused them to bloat and deform.

There's a certain arrogance in those sections, as if Schreiber saw their adulation as her rightful reward, but occasionally she writes of feeling confused, uncertain – as if the desire to be adored was alien to her. This, you assume, was the first sign of the mermaid's influence.

She also wrote a lot about her dreams – visions of bottomless oceans and the passing of countless years. Memories, you guess, another sign of the mermaid's invasive thoughts. Thinking back, you recall the image of the shrouded figure standing at the Tolnir docks, gazing out to sea. How much of their thoughts were their own, you wonder, how far does this mermaid's reach extend?

One thing you do note. At no point in the journal does Schreiber mention the cannery, or any desire to spread the contamination beyond Tolnir. That doesn't necessarily mean anything... but you'd be lying if you said you weren't glad to see that absence. When you mention it, Uriah can't help but let out a faint sigh of relief as well.

Well then, you say as you clap the journal shut, enough reading - time to get rid of this stuff.

-

A few pieces of furniture, taken from the rundown manse, serve as suitable fuel once you splash a good amount of lantern oil over them. Even the rain can't fully dampen the bonfire flames as they rise up to the leaden sky, and soon the makeshift pyre is burning away merrily. Hungrily consuming everything that you feed them, those dancing fires soon turn Schreiber's notes to ash. The flask of mermaid blood is last of all, with you and Uriah tying scarves around your faces before going any further. Pulling the cork from the flask, you start to tip it out into the flames when something stops you. It's like... like every instinct in your body is crying out for you to reconsider.

Not going to happen, you mutter. Throwing off the nagging voice, if it could really be called a voice, you tip out the blood and pour it onto the bonfire. Perhaps it's your imagination, but the smoke seems to darken slightly as the corrupted blood burns.

Come on, you tell Uriah, time to find this mermaid.

>I'm going to have to pause things here. I'd like to continue this tomorrow, but it may be tuesday instead.
>Again, sorry for the delays lately.

>>1048800
Thanks for running Moloch. I'm sad I missed the thread.

>>1048800
thanks for running.
kinda sad about krebs' fate

>>1048800
That bonfire will probably be a nice alarm to the fish people, hope they don't gang up on us immediately. Thanks for running Moloch.
I might have just read wrong but there was no split between the beast and human side of Krebs right? I think I misread it as they split and Krebs ran off, but it was just the beast took over and ran off.

>>1048876

No, there was no split involved. Essentially, Krebs was transformed into the beast we saw earlier, although he retained more of a human mind than the average beast.

>>1048900
I'm guessing that's why Uriah's story seemed so embellished.

Krebs let Uriah kill him huh?

>>1048909

Exactly so, yes.

>Just making a quick announcement that I won't be running today. If everything goes well, I should be able to run tomorrow as planned.

>>1048800
Thanks for running Moloch!

So, now that we know the mermaids probably the great beast, I wonder if the rest of the great beasts are also so long lived? The furtherest anyone got was the last two we killed, the Twins. Since no one got this far, should we look out for old legends of beasts for clues on our next hunts, like as with this?

>>1053304
Hey Moloch, is everything okay?

>>1071434
Don't have him on Twitter?

https://twitter.com/MolochQM/status/821787280121663489

https://twitter.com/MolochQM/status/821787525639536641

The gist is we'll be continuing on the 27th, a week from now.

>>1071510
Whoops, didn't see those. Good to know he's alright.