Sins of the past(Ekaterina)
Date: 2025-11-16 14:59
(Sins of the past(Ekaterina):Ekaterina)
[Sun Nov 16 2025]
In
The forest is vast and overgrown, the detritus of ages left under foot to crackle and crunch with each and every footfall.
All around you, to every direction save one remains more trees, the foliage obscuring the potentia of malice or salvation, the observable flora and fauna appearing alien, ancient and hazardous.
Ahead of you you see a dirt pathway that transitionally affords access to a coastal village, the homes and establishments antiquated, ramshackle and fraught with delapidation.
Though it was once a lively place– The signs brightly painted if crude– there are obvious signs of hasty vacation, with discarded items, incomplete daily tasks and a cart complete with its cargo left haphazardly in the center of the byway.
It is morning/span>49F(9C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. The mist is heaviest At Constitution and Sidney/span>Mercy exhales heavily and with a measure of some kind of relief when they step out to see their forested surroundings, though she does get her crossbow ready in-hand just in case all the same.
Through the mirror and right into a forest they all go, and Matthew finds himself buttoning up his shirt, noting, “I’d thought it would be summer out here.” But it is assuredly a cool and crisp day in this overgrown forest.
Eric pads along at Ekaterina’s shoulder, barefoot and bare-chested, completely unbothered by the cold or the detritus underfoot. “Always a forest, isn’t it,” he muses, gaze sweeping the foliage, blonde brows arched.
As the mirrorgate activates, the various workers activating, calibrating and enabling the teleportation, Ekaterina leads Eric, Mercy and Matthew to the dais from which they will travel to Westrend.
Handing each a folder, Ekaterina explains in brief, “In short. Reports came in about a week ago about Wildlings out of Westrend flooding into Killgrove. They claim a plague, but we suspect otherwise, so our objective is to neutralize the problem and return. And of course, each will be compensated for your time.”
The folders are slim things. They contain an expanded objective, along with a little more information on the situation at hand.
Inspecting the documentation, it is readily obvious to Eric, Mercy and Matthew that the situation stands as- During the period of the last full moon, a galleon dropped anchor off the coast, and by what ever means sank shortly after, with fires being assumed to be the cause.
Swarms of rats, a cascade of thick smoke and strange mutated dog-like creatures were seen fleeing the reck, and shortly after, the Burgermeister took his possessions and left the villagers to suffer the malody.
In the time after, sickness swept the land, the citizens finding themselves weakened, dejected, with the land upset unnaturally by insidious storms and early snows.
Of course, the Wildlings left, supersticious as they are, ending up in Killgrove, their stories shared.
Mercy eyes the village not far off with a wary countenance, barely suppressing a shiver as she does not share Eric’s comfortable ease with temperatures this low. A hand flicks out to accept the proffered folder, which she holds up to skim while listening to Ekaterina’s briefing with a furrowed brow. “Ain’ no plague left fer us to catch, I hope.” She murmurs.
Eric inhales deep and slow, nostrils flared. “We regenerate,” he shrugs, braids shifting across his broad shoulders. “We should be fine in theory, though Miss Ekat may not be.” He’s not wearing anything remotely resembling a place to store the folder, so after glancing through it he hands it to Matthew. “Fuck sake if we have to swim down to get at this ship, I’m no good at swimming. Or fighting in water.”
Mercy retrieves her phone for a moment, expression darkening even more as she listens to Eric’s concerns- ones which she shares. “.. Ayeah, same.”
Matthew skims over the file but says to Mercy, “Nah, don’t think it was ever a plague,” he says. Though temperatures are cool, the work shirt suits the Monarch well enough, who listens to what each say in turn, offering up assurances when it comes to water: “Oh, I grow a tail and I got us covered if we gotta get in the drink.” To Mercy he adds, “And I don’t think it was a plague at all, so nothin for us to catch, probably.”
Eric says “wait, you’re one of those, uh.“
Eric gestures vaguely.
“I think the ship will be unimportant, though time will tell.” Ekaterina shares, waving Eric off. “I will be fine. I am Russian, and always dress thermal.”
“I also suspect there is no plague, the signs are not correct for plague,.” An agreement with Matthew, and Ekaterina explains, “Mister Montrose heard something of a warning that was leading to an idea of a curse.”
Mercy glances up from the folder to shoot Matthew a perplexed look, seemingly with Eric on this one in being a bit caught off guard. “Yer a fuckin’ merdude?”
The forest is unseasonably dark, a thick tangle of roots, vines and overgrowth that resembles nothing from Earth.
It is entirely alien, the trees towering over head, the foliage dence, the path made obvious by the dirt trail that remains clear of obstructions save snow.
“Mermain,” Matthew supplies a name to his tailed form for Eric, nodding further at Ekaterina’s words. “Yes–” he winks at Mercy but continues on, “Avalon heard an account about a baker whose throat was totally ripped out and mutilated, covered in his own blood with a message written on the wall behind him. Said ‘I will claim what is mine to take from days of old’.” His nose wrinkles, “so some kind of…. well if folks is gettin’ sick, maybe they’re curse.”
Eric hefts his axe in both hands, clearly relieved at the revelation. “Curses are easier. Just gotta find whatever’s doing the curse, and then smash it until it stops cursing. Easy peasy.” And with that he ssets off, loping down the path towards the village, whistling a little ditty under his breath.
“Is he not so dapper that mer person was the obvious?” Ekaterina asks, breath misting before her as her hands find their way into the pockets of her jacket.
Mercy thinks she gets the joke in ‘Mermain’ and snorts with amusement, otherwise quiet now to listen as he, Eric and Ekaterina converse on the situation.
“Well,” Matthew asserts, “May not be a curse at all,” he nods in Ekaterina’s direction, “She said there’s other stuff that don’t sound like it’s fitting the bill,” he says.
Letting Eric get a head start, Ekaterina shrugs, deciding to follow the man.
The trail itself is empty– No rats, no creatures, though the undergrowth rustles with the suggestion that this place– Fortuitously– Possibly intentionally named “The Wilds”– portents those wild things for which it is named.
As things would appear, nothing is jumping out from the treeline… yet, and though the trail leads further into this discombobulating wild wood, Eric has already advanced down towards the village.
“The mutant creatures.” Ekaterina calls over her shoulder to Mercy and Matthew.
Mercy brings up the rear, keeping her head on a swivel both to watch for danger as well as take in these strange woods for the first time; once and only once, she glances over a shoulder as if hoping to glimpse a presence that feels starkly absent, but there is only more forest at her back. With her sights faced forward again she nods to Ekaterina and soldiers on.
Eric ambles along at a lope, but the set of his shoulders betrays a readiness towards violence, mirrored by the sharp scrutiny of his green gaze. “I say we just kick over things until something leaps out, right? I mean, something’s doing the violence, these creatures. We find one, chop it up, start with what we find inside?”
Though Eric may miss it, Matthew and Mercy are able to see a number of incongruities regarding this trail–
Though likely well trodden, the signs of beasts are absent. There are no deposits, no rent small corpses from predators, and the trail itself is beginning to grow out, with flora spreading to disrupt the trail. No one has been tending it, and from what can be seen, the only ones to travel it were Wildling carters and a multitude of foot falls in exidus.
No rats, though. No strange beast-like creatures as reported.
Mercy crouches at one point to brush foliage out of the way and inspect the prints, both of cart wheels and footfalls, humming thoughtfully and taking pause to give the area a more thorough inspection as Eric does.
Matthew keeps quiet, scanning the trail keeping with the middle of the pack though he does look back from time to time to check in on Mercy, doing his part to keep watch account of the group as a whole. When he notes her stopping to examing something, he too starts to take a closer look, catching sure-tell signs that he leaves to the rearguard to confirm.
Mercy stands immediately when she hears the howl, body tense and perked up- if she’d had the ears to do it right now, they would surely be swiveled and alert.
Mercy says “Y’all hear that too or it jus’ me an’ my lack of caffeine?“
Eric huffs in frustration at not finding anything, but as soon as that howl echoes out he cocks his head, eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you when you’re up all night howling like a hooligan,” he tells Mercy pointedly.
“M’jus’ singin’ the song of our people the way nature intended.” Mercy tells Eric with matter-of-fact sarcasm, eyes trained on the direction the howl came from. “Maybe we oughta go an’ say hello.”
The path is quiet until that howl drifts in, though nothing interupts Eric, Matthew, Mercy and Ekaterina, the latter of which seems to have noticed what Mercy and Matthew have, pointing out to Eric so that all are informed.
Eric sees nothing out of the ordinary– Or at least, nothing so far that he cant observe easily, though Mercy does, something on the edge of her senses, the trail tepid, stunted, as though it were all around, and not at all. Something that seems to stop and start, as though there one minute, gone the next.
Eric straightens to his feet, grinning with just a hint of anticipation alighting his features. “Maybe we should,” he replies, voice idle but gaze intent. “We’re such friendly folks, after all.”
“I heard it.” Ekaterina agrees with Mercy. “The wilds is, by some records at least, a realm that is home to the ancient white wolves who no longer walk the earth or linger in the deep mists in New Haven.”
Mercy holds a hand out to quiet and still the others for a second, nose in the air, some unease starting to creep into her body language. “Somethin’ ain’ right here.” The obvious is stated, but she elaborates, “As in like- the trail itself is all wonky, an’ I think I smell.. Ain’ know, kinda like death an’ decay. But old. Dry.”
Eric blinks at Mercy pausing in his advance. “I don’t know what that means,” he offers, exasperation in his tone. Prodding at the snow and dirt underfoot with a bare toe, he gestures downward. “Like, there are dead things here? Or further away? Or what.”
Mercy heaves a sigh and tries to explain, inexperienced with the concept of undeath and certainly new to its aroma. “Like somethin’ all dried out an’ dead, if you were gonna imagine what a mummy smells like maybe.”
pauses as Mercy relays that, gaze tracking between Mercy, Eric and Matthew. “Complications or part of our cause.” the Russian suggests, a wooden knife pulled from an internal pocket.
Eric worries at his lip, grunting an affirmative and looking none too pleased about it. “Bit cold and damp for a mummy,” comes the slow reply. “Vampire, maybe? Zombies?” He’s looking around, as if expecting them to pop from the trees right that moment.
Mercy goes a little wide-eyed at the mention of zombies and lifts her crossbow to be more ready to shoot the second she spots one. “Shit man I hope not ain’ like zombies, they scary as hell. Should we keep movin’?”
Stepping back closer to Matthew and Mercy, Ekaterina points up ahead of the group to where the trail widens into a crossroads before the village.
60The crossroads extra`X
“This?” she suggests, “Or something more?”
Mercy gives Ekaterina a hurried nod and starts creeping in that way, already spooked just thinking there might be zombies in the woods about to shamble out slowly to eat the brain she only allegedly has.
Eric pads forward, falling into uneasy step with Mercy. “Wish I had my gun,” he mutters under his breath, a litany repeated again and again as if it will help at all. “Everyone knows guns kill zombies…” There’s a deep sigh, and he just lofts his axe instead, ready for whatever may come as they proceed to the crossroads.
Mercy gives a loud ‘tch’ to Eric’s griping, remarking to him in a sharp whisper that’s really not much of a whisper at all. “So can a crossbow bolt to the head, man how you ain’ know ’bout Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead?” The disapproval in her voice is almost tangible.
Eric sniffs haughtily, telling Mercy with absolute disdain, “Can’t believe you named your dick Daryl, Merc.”
Up until now Matthew/b>Matthew looks from Mercy to Eric and finally over at Ekaterina, seeing if anyone has more supporting evidence.
“Fool.” Ekaterina sniffs. “Mercy is clearly Lucille. And if it were a zombie, I think we would have seen it by now, no? More likely is a Wight, but again unlikely with the wolves in the Wilds as a rule of thumb.”
Eric sighs at Matthew, looking forlorn. “Yeah, that’s why I don’t have it. Or rather, why I can’t use it, I guess.” Turning to Ekaterina as they walk, he asks, “Do these wolves generally uh, smell like old death?”
“I do not think this would be a vampire, they don’t usually have their own odors,” Matthew adds to the group, “trust me, I have enough vampire cousins to know they don’t leave a smell and lurk behind dark corners…”
“Unfortunately Negan do kinda be my type.” Mercy admits to Ekaterina while meandering down the path at a cautiously slow pace, one step at a time, every footfall a pause where she listens to see if anything else stirs nearby, out of sight. “Only one way to find out what it is, an’ whether or not it bleeds.”
Coming to the crossroads, the conspicuous absence of a sign demarkating the village boundry is apparent.
There should also be arrows directing visitors towards the other paths, too. Yet, nothing of the sort, only freshly tilled earth– An unmarked grave, something often noted in supersticious tales of another nature, though in fact, nothing but hogswash.
“Mister Montrose is correct.” Ekaterina agrees with the Autumnal Monarch, explaining to Eric, “Firearms do not work off world- Is why I do not have my baby.”
From here the village is visible, along with the out-laying detritus– Signs of a hasty escape.
60The village extra`X
Snow piles high and over head the rain continues to pour from the heavens, like the weeping of a god that knows that only tragidy has befallen, but with no way to express this to the mortals beneath its watch.
Mercy tilts the aim of her crossbow upward as though expecting something terrible to descend from the dense cover of the flying creatures above, maybe a little on-edge. Eyes pass over the freshly tilled earth and the unmarked grave, each new element only adding to the ominous atmosphere. “Hope y’all got good fightin’ skills then without the use of yer guns, ‘specially if we gotta neutralize what ever’s caused all this.”
Eric trudges along, grumping to himself. “I need to learn to use a bow. Seriously. And, I dunno, if it’s not a vampire and it’s not zombies and it’s not a mummy, what else is it gonna be? Undead wolves?” He sighs, poking through the detritus. “Dunno what we’re even looking for now…”
There is a sound from further within the village. Not one, but two howls now, conveniently as the bats miander from view, once more revealing the darkened sky above.
Mercy pauses again, head tilted to listen, unable to help the way she leans towards the howls like she wants to respond in kind, run towards them or both. “Well we know where to find ’em to figure that out, best get closer an’ try to see what we’re dealin’ with.”
Matthew/b>Matthew turns to Mercy and Eric as they speak, nodding his head, though he does not look like he’s brought any weapons save a knife that he flashes. “I fight as good here as I do on earth,” he promises, which really isn’t boasting much if his tone is read. “But I’m still not sure what we’re dealing with…” He looks over at Ekaterina, “What were you saying about movies… I kinda dismissed it cus we’re out here, but you think this is some kinda movie thing?”
Glancing around as she walks, Ekaterina suggests to Eric, “Have you thought about throwing knives? Easier to hide and youcan bane them in a pinch.”
She pauses, frowning as she asks the more supernaturally adept members of the group, that being Matthew, Eric and Mercy, “Is it not usual to find runes or blood glyphs for curses? I have no knowledge of the arcane craft.”
Ekaterina shakes her head. “Nyet. Not that I think this is a movie, but it makes me think of one. I do not wish to create a bias however.”
Matthew nods when Ekaterina makes that clear, “Oh. okay… Yeah…” but his head tips looking to be lingering on that thought. “What about… hmm. I think so, in the movies it is, but I don’t know anything about magic, myself. Never used it, just employed it.” The Monarch flashes teeth as he smiles.
“Aw hell, screw it, maybe I can get ’em to come our way instead if y’all want.” Mercy offers with a glance that alternates between the rest of the party, further emphasizing the offer by holding her crossbow out to the side and letting it dangle loosely from a hand like she means to discard it and go without. Maybe the creatures would respond to something more familiar.
Advancing as he has, Eric is the first one to come across the cart, and by pure luck he stumbles upon what seems to be a piece of parchment lodged beneath the wheel of the cart that obstructs the road.
Ahead of the group, what can only be the Burgermeister’s home is left open to the elements, the doors swinging in the breeze, snow having built up, blending with the rain to create a slush that has at some point hardened to block the doors from closing properly.
Eric blushes from chin to hairline for some reason, before mumbling, “Don’t know much about rituals either.” He shrugs this off, turning towards the howls instead. “I still say our best bet is killing, whatever, as a first step.” He halts as he catches sight of the cart wheel and the parchment therein though, going to a knee in the slush to examine it closer.
Matthew lingers back, observing for a time, he’s missed Eric’s blush (hard as that can be) but does watch him intently as he begins studying the paper from the cart. “Anything written on that paper, eric?”
Mercy regards Matthew thoughtfully for a moment after her offer, though it’s more Ekaterina’s go-ahead she’s after.
Matthew continues watching Eric but he wonders of Mercy, “So how you thinking of getting them to come this way, proposing yourself as bait of some sort or…?”
Mercy holds Matthew in her sights with the tug of a smirk evident in one corner of her mouth. “By sayin’ ‘hello’ in a language they understand better.”
Eric says “so, we got a seal here that’s easy enough to see. Blood teardrop, bat wings. Parchment smells like… Old blood and mummified rot, and smoke? And if you look here, it looks like it failed to burn“
“Hmm.” Ekaterina thinks that over, suggesting to Mercy, “Possibly we do not know what they are. They may be lunatic being ancient, or it could be something more.”
Again those twin howls– They are definately closer, almost like they’re moving in to encircle Matthew, Eric, Mercy and Ekaterina.
The bats fly overhead once more and… Bats are nocturnal creatures… Something’s very much not right with that.
“Blood drop and bat wings?” Ekaterina asks Eric. “A familial sigil?”
The mention of a lunatic, ancient being earns a perch of brows as Matthew drifts back a step, arms settling casually over chest. Those howls are unnerving, the self proclaimed lover-not-a-fighter looking more than a little uncomfortable as he starts to drift central Ekaterina, Mercy, and Eric like he means to keep a warm body between himself and whatever is circling the group. “I wonder…” he says, pulling a knife from his pocket, “these bats lookin like the kind coming through the mist?”
Mercy shrugs to Ekaterina and starts shedding her outer clothes anyway, so used to it by now it’s a methodical process. “Worth a shot, an’ if the worst do happen ‘least I can try an’ intercept.” It wasn’t a yes but she’s taking it as one, perhaps more eager to exist as her better half than she’s letting on, and while making sure to stand quite close to Matthew the process starts. If this wasn’t already a horror movie-esque situation as is now it’s filled with the awful sounds of cracking bones and tearing skin, the latter of which creates a layer of steam around her as its exposed to the cold air and snow.
Eric rises, taking his axe in both hands. “Bat duty,” he calls to Ekaterina and Mercy(wolf), “Y’all can hit them up there, I can’t.” He turns to face where the howls are approaching from, planting his feet. “Matt, um… Do… Whatever it is you do?”
Eric says “ok fine Merc nevermind“
Poor Matthew isn’t really paying that much attention to someone until it’s too late, and the look on the Montrose’s face shifts from disgust — his body leaning away from the wolf — to fear because yes, it seems the Autumn Monarch is definitely afraid of werewolves. At least it’s no full moon, though his eyes drift overhead just to check what kind of moon shines in this foreign sky. A breath steels him, keeps him composed, and pride lends him the will necessary to maintain that same haughty attitude; his lip curls in distaste. “Gross.”
Poor Matthew isn’t really paying that much attention to Mercy until it’s too late, and the look on the Montrose’s face shifts from disgust — his body leaning away from the wolf — to fear because yes, it seems the Autumn Monarch is definitely afraid of werewolves. At least it’s no full moon, though his eyes drift overhead just to check what kind of moon shines in this foreign sky. A breath steels him, keeps him composed, and pride lends him the will necessary to maintain that same haughty attitude; his lip curls in distaste. “Gross.”
Eric shoots a disbelieving look over his shoulder at Matthew. “You do realize your backup is two thirds werewolf, right? Fuck sake no wonder you and Malin were together. If you say dog I’m kicking you.”
The bats gone once more, the howls return– They’re closer now, and from the end of the main street– such as it is in this ramshackle antiquated place, two large black beasts, each the size of a man make themselves known.
They are not werewolves. They are black hounds, titanic mastifs– Mastifs that bay at the sky like their preverbial ancestors.
Reaching for a rifle that is for once not slung over her shoulder, Ekaterina curses, a stream of Russian invectives, though at Mercy(wolf)’s shifting, there is little more than a disappointed (Tenzin-like) sigh.
“Do either of you feel as though this is the part where the first victim gets eaten?”
Never the less, Ekaterina steps back– Foot falls bringing her to the steps leading into the Burgermeister’s residence. She does not yet give the order to attack– Mercy(wolf) has that choice herself, should she take it.
The twin mastifs begin to stalk towards Ekaterina, Mercy(wolf), Eric and Matthew slowly, threateningly.
Mercy(wolf) shakes herself off after it’s all said and done, rumbling with an amused growl after catching Matthew’s look of utter revulsion- mission accomplished, one of them at least. She’s quick to pick up on the sight of the hounds in the not-so-distant distance however and whirls in their direction to stand with a wide stance, ready to lunge, teeth out on display as the first warning for them.
Matthew can’t help but smirk at someone’ words, “Yes, Malin is perfect for–” he starts to say but cuts that line of thoguht off. He screws his face, swallowing down whatever he would be saying, offering instead, “It does smell like dog–” his eyes drift towards Mercy(wolf), “and I do realize that dogs are man’s–” a gesture towards himself, “best friend, so I am sure you two will keep me safe.
Matthew can’t help but smirk at Eric’s words, “Yes, Malin is perfect for–” he starts to say but cuts that line of thoguht off. He screws his face, swallowing down whatever he would be saying, offering instead, “It does smell like dog–” his eyes drift towards Mercy(wolf), “and I do realize that dogs are man’s–” a gesture towards himself, “best friend, so I am sure you two will keep me safe.
Eric doesn’t shift, but there’s no less teeth on display as a grin steals onto his face, lips pulling back in a snarl part joy, part fury. Deep in the verdant hue of his eyes, embers smoulder to life, minute flecks of crimson drifting across the sclera as he stands tall at Mercy(wolf)’s side. Braids whipping in the wind, face lifted to the sky, he bellows in accord with her cry, a wordless challenge and call to mayhem all the more primal for being torn from a human throat. Then he’s bounding forward, axe whirling, screaming at the top of his lungs.
The hounds return the howl by sinking down, ready to pounce.
Their jaws pulled back, though no spittle flies– What falls are streams of crimson, white– too white teeth flashing.
Eyes that glow with a crimson phosphorescence regard Mercy(wolf), but more pervasive– At least for Eric and Mercy(wolf) is that scent that lingers with ancient hatred.
A lone eye and ear turn back towards Matthew and Mercy(wolf) pauses like this, as if to ensure he knows she heard him and that she would remember those words when less pressing danger needed handling, and then she’s off. A flurry of of snow is kicked up- probably right at the Monarch if he doesn’t move away quickly enough- and she’s charging after Eric towards the dark hounds with haste.
Stepping back to the steps, Ekaterina produces a number of throwing knives, readying to launch when Eric and Mercy(wolf) charge.
It’d be inadvisable with so much motion, and friendly fire are a thing of the US military, and so the Russian holds off of throwing as she gestures Matthew behind her, good soldier that she is.
The hounds do not move. They await Eric and Mercy(wolf)’s interception, their only motions to inch forward, jaws gaping, fangs flashing, eyes a glow with bloodlight.
Matthew avoids the snow– Not that it would matter. He has a charm for this situation, and filthy clothes are for peasants in any case.
Matthew is way too smooth to get snow kicked up in his face, when Mercy(wolf) goes sprinting off, and its’ true his clothes are as Outkast would put it, so-fresh-and-so-clean clean; he’s no peasant.
Matthew also does the only sensible thing that comes to mind, and takes cover behind the Ekaterina, the Russian soldier and his savior for the moment.
Mercy(wolf) may be an animal in both heart and mind but she knows the limitations of cramped fighting quarters and that the two she and Eric had left behind only have so much at their disposal, as well as prior experience having to keep Ekaterina’s gun in mind while charging into things, and so as they close in on the hounds she strafes to the side to flank them and create at least a small opening of space through which the others might be able to attack from a distance without hitting her or Eric.
Eric takes the last few steps in a running leap, all his momentum, fury, and the whirling arc of his axe transitioning smoothly into a cleaving hack aimed directly at the leftmost hound. All the weight of muscle and speed concentrated behind that razored edge sweeps down, intent on sundering the beast in twain.
Mercy(wolf) attempts to collide with the rightmost hound in tandem with Eric’s assault, and bowl it over with her weight to get it pinned beneath her or a hold around its neck with her jaws.
Eric and Mercy(wolf) race in as Matthew and Ekaterina remain back, the one not engaging, the other waiting for a shot.
These things– Mastifs at first glance seem somehow slick– hard to hit– Not so much slippery, but not entirely corporial. Almost fluid.
As Eric swings into one, axe flashing, it parts– There’s no blood. This thing is as dry as a bone, and the axe cleaves to the bone, catchingg.
Mercy(wolf) tackles, runs the creature down and pins it- The thing’s neck between her jaws ready to snap, and then…
Then exactly what? A blink and Mercy(wolf) is skidding to a stop, with Eric’s axe biting into a cartwheel.
The hounds have gone, the bats having returned– A shift of some kind, one of the harder to achieve– The two forms becoming multitudinous as a swarm of bats lash out, nipping and biting, driving Eric and Mercy(wolf) back.
Matthew should be focusing on the danger looming ahead, how he has manged to survive this long is a testament to the people he’s employed because the man’s know-how and survival instincts are sus. He’s just watching but then calls out, “Hey, no, those aren’t hounds at all, this is magic! This is–” but the swarm is already attacking, “Get as many of thoes bats as you can, do not let them scatter!”
Matthew of course doesn’t actually lead a hand, he’s doing the thing he knows how to do best, pointing at things for others to shoot and kill.
Eric blinks down at his blade, before bracing his feet and yanking it out of the cart wheel with a grunt. THen the bats descend upon him in a wave and he’s bleeding from a few wounds, then a dozen wounds, then more and more, flesh closing rapidly but being opened again just as fast. His axe is ill-suited to the work at hand, but he reverses the grip in his hands until he’s holding it sidelong, with the broad flat of the heavy blade extended like an enormous paddle. He whirls, swinging this at the surrounding creatures, pummeling rather than chopping in broad arcs as he retreats towards Ekaterina.
Mercy(wolf) needs a few seconds to do that thing canines do when confused and stand there, bewildered, while occasionally stomping a paw as if this insistence will somehow help everything make sense. Then the bats are on them and Matthew is shot-calling from the temporary safety of his hiding spot. She may not want to take his orders but the situation kind of forces her maw, and the large red wolf becomes busy snapping around herself and rearing up to try and catch higher targets to tear them right out of the air, as many as she can get her teeth around, which are summarily flung to the ground with force.
It’s lost to Matthew that Mercy(wolf) would prefer not to follow his orders, he simply expects it as a Monarch amongst peasants (yes, everyone here is a peasant in his eyes). “Good, good. Keep it up. Don’t let a single bat scatter or escape!”
“Blyet.” Cursing again, Ekaterina rummages– Grenades wont work. That’s unfortunate, and Matthew is to be admired, such a great leader as he is– Just look at him, his clothes arn’t dirty and he’s not had to lift a finger. Smooth!
It’s Mercy(wolf) who scents it first, shifted as she is, and shifted as she is, she is prime placement to begin ripping into the swarming rodents.
Race animosity on full display, life against death, the red furred wolf damages the swarm more than otherwise might be able, with Eric’s bat-like swings bludgeoning and deflecting the creatures, stunning them long enough that they can be chomped, batted and splattered by Mercy(wolf)’s wild swings and snapping jaws.
– They retreat, the swarm– now missing a few members conglomerating into a single form that takes shape.
It is a vampire, and an old one, flesh tugged tightly against the bones beneath, patches of rot and warped features transforming what should be an elegant creature into a twisted abomination that is barely human any longer– One of those who sacrifice their humanity early before growing to an ancient age.
It raises a hand, a roiling globe of blackness forming as it invokes a magic older than mancy, a dark sorcery, though it does not launch it yet, the globe of annihilation warping the air around its clawed fingers.
Its clothing is at best, dated, a tunic cloak and pants that are moth eaten and tattered by age, though of more notice is the ring upon its right hand, a silver band with the heraldry of a crimson blood drop with bat wings.
“Two dogs.” it hisses, voice rasping and as cold as the tide treked by the shepherd of souls, Charon, the boatman. “A faerie and a human. What business have you in a land that is by right mine?”
Mercy(wolf) almost staggers when the bats finally retreat, maw parted for heavy panting after exerting herself a bit too much in that attempted eradication of every winged thing within her sights. It’s a poor state to be in when the true enemy finally reveals itself; she tries to snarl but the sound is quiet and dry, stance wide again but more to keep her upright as she catches her breath than out of preparation for the next fray. She really should have had that coffee this morning, and less alcohol the night prior.
Eric halts, breathing hard and dripping blood from numerous places. He faces the creature, lip curled, before shooting a look to Ekaterina. “She’s in charge,” he ventures, speaking loudly as if to an invalid. “We’re just here,” he points to himself and Mercy(wolf), then hesitantly to Matthew, “As the hired muscle. To beat,” he makes exaggerated swatting motions with his axe, “Your ass.” He turns sideways, gesturing at his own rear for emphasis.
While fighting was never Matthew’s strong suit, talking seems to be just the Monarch’s brand. When the vampire hisses he doesn’t flinch, he steps forward, smiling like some kind of walstreet wolf. “See, that’s where you’ve got it wrong,” he says, voice smooth and velvet, “You own this land, sure. You’ve got the power, the–” he look around the forest for signs of what he ha to say (there are none) “castle, the bite–” a lazy sweep of his hand to indicate himself, “But even keings need peasants.”
A beat and then Matthew steps closer past Ekaterina and Eric, the latter granted a dismissive wave of the hand, “Hard to find good help, but the dogs are strong. But look, think of it like capitalism , yeah? You–” he points a finger at the ancient vampire, “are the elite. The Apex preditor. THe one percent, or less, in your case.” He smirks, continuing, “but what’s a feast without something to harvest? What’s wealth without someone to spend it for you? You start slaughtering the working class, and suddenly you’re the king of dust.” The Monarch gesturesvaguely towards the village below. “They till the fields, let them worship you, they fear you, that’s the point right? Fear’s currency. You don’t want tequality, gods no. You want dependence! You let them live, they keep the machine running. It’s messy, sure, but necessary.You bleed them dry too fast, and even the throne starves.”
Of course Matthew argues for Supernatural dominance in the region, even if this is a TEmple run job. Someone please remind this man he’s not in charge.
Mercy(wolf) witnesses Matthew taking his moment to shine with a blank stare, as deadpan as a wolf’s expression could possibly convey without all the right muscles, and given the bartering starts to hinge on full support of the vampire ruling with tyranny she inches closer to the ‘Monarch’, breath sufficiently caught, and aims a loud snap at his nearest leg that doesn’t intend to connect but only just barely, like she’s herding an unruly livestock animal back to heel.
Here, in the Wilds, time is different. It was of course morning, but as you look on, that morning has crept its way towards noon– The time where even sunlight resistant undead are weakened.
It is likely only the cloud cover, snowfall and rain that keeps it active.
“Big words.” the creature hisses, its words nails on a chalk board. “And you let a human order you– Yes, you, even dogs.” Its lip twists, the flesh cracking, “Order you.”
Ekaterina stays back, those knives slipped away, wooden ones replacing them, though she doesn’t throw. Matthew steps forward though and the vampire’s gaze falls on the Montrose.
“You speak true and with wise words.” the ancient allows the man the slightest nod of the head, the roiling ball of dark sorcerous power still held up to one side, ready to launch. “Wise for your young age, but you do not quite appreciate the gravity of the situation, faerie.”
“This land is now mine.” it states again. “The bargain was struck long ago. The ruler’s father’s father afforded me the dispensation of his descendants. You understand, I am sure.”
Temple job though it might be, Matthew’s retoric resonates well with such a monster, and if allowed, it would more than likely begin monologuing. For now however, the creature simply states, “All I want is the Burgermeister’s two daughters and his son.” Yes, all it wants. Such a simple -moral- ask. “And if I gain them, I will return to my home and no longer salt these lands and drain these -people-.”
No plague. It was the uneducated peer pressured mass hysteria from vampiric induced anaemia the entire time. Simple when stated in that way, and for the supernatural world, three lives in exchange for leaving is another easy choice, though one of ambiguous eefficacy.
Eric thinks it over, for about three seconds. He slowly shakes his head, glancing to Ekaterina for confirmation. “I think that’s going to be a nah from us,” he ventures. “If I can counter offer?”
Matthew yelps. Like actually yelps when Mercy(wolf) snaps at his leg, the sound embarrassingly high for someone calling himself a monarch. He hops back a step like he’s avoiding a puddle instead of a bone-crushing maw, hands up, dignity already bleeding out on the forest floor. “HEY! heyheyheyhey… I’m on you’re side, alright?” Possibly the first (maybe the last) time he’s ever made such a statement. His position before the vampire surely diminished but what’s explained makes all the sense in the world to him.
“Oh, that’s all you want? I mean… give the man his due!” This is no man, but surprising to no one, surely, Matthew is on side Vampire here but he does nod towards Eric all the same. “Reasonable ask, a deal’s a deal,” his fae nature showing through, “can’t reneg on that, though…” he turns back, acting like no, he didn’t just yip and yelp and flince away from the wolf like the coward that he is. “I dont’ suppose you’re open to a reworking of things? Times change, generations are different. Like back then in your day maybe three kids for peace was a hot deal, but now it’s, you know, morally frowned upon. PR nightmare. Cancel-culture-level bad. Look, I get it, you want a little snack pack, but we gotta modernize the terms. What if instead of the Burgermeister kids, we talk infrastructure. Tribute? A rorating seasonal offering that’s not–” he circles his hand in the air, searching for the word, “human kids with surnames? You’re THE OWNER of this land but nobody recognizes you anymore. Where’s your branding? You dont’ need three specific villagers to prove a point. You need stability. Optics. A reliable food supply that doesn’t end with you being stake by, like, someone’s angry–” he glances between the other three, “Temple gang. right?”
Eric sighs wearily at Matthew, clearly bored with all the bibble babble but trying not to show it. “I’m a Thornbearer for the Conclave, you realize. Not Temple in the slightest. I just don’t like ancient assholes.”
Mercy(wolf) can’t believe how much one man can speak and yet here is Matthew throwing words out like a volley of arrows, a talent in its own right that she’s never had, so for now she lets him negotiate. If there’s a chance this mission can succeed without her ending up in a particular Temple personnel’s medical bay again, all the better, though she remains close in case he needs another ‘gentle’ reminder of where the line is drawn.
Matthew gives Eric a look like toh-may-to, toh-mah-to.
For all that this ancient being has no idea of what half the words Matthew is saying mean, the rest– the reasonable aspect of the diatribe is something he’s willing to accept. The creature lets the dark sorcery fade, likely the wrong choice, but ancient beings don’t usually fight. They speak– They negotiate, and this is exactly what Matthew is offering.
When Eric explains that he is Conclave now, there’s another of those disapointed shakes of the head from Ekaterina She really has spent far too much time around the Temple’s resident ascetic in Tenzin.
The day is creeping onward however, and even under cloud cover, it is noon. Ekaterina does the math, throws a knife– A wooden knife– and more than reasonably calls out, “Red. Cry havock and let slip.”
The knife impacts, the vampire staggers back, and then decides on the other choice it has. It snarls, lowering into a crouch, ready to fight.
And Matthew is reminded why the righteous don’t have many friends.
Matthew had no dog in this fight, not really, beyond success. If the righteous say it’s time to fight, then it’s time to fight…. from the way, way, back line and cover, and… he makes for a nearby tree, squaring up behind it.
Mercy(wolf) bursts into motion like Ekaterina had pulled a physical trigger, a loud canine shriek the only warning to their enemy and to poor Matthew who she had still been lurking near before he wisely retreated, before she’s once more a charging mass of red fur, muscle and teeth. With the vampire staggering back she rushes in to try and get her jaws around the nearest outstretched limb before it can recover and move.
Eric shadows Mercy(wolf) with careful steps, the berserker fury is gone, he’s careful and conserved now, awaiting his moment. The heavy blade of his axe weaves sinuous traceries through the air as he stalks the vampire, and only once Mercy(wolf) has secured her grip does he swing, a massive overhand blow. Crimson veins pulse beneath the pale canvas of his skin, bolstering his strength to yet greater heights as he strikes, teeth gritted with effort.
Matthew’s choice is not a wrong one. Sometimes a good monarch must find a capable underling to hand the reigns over to. Someone who can die heroically in order to make the monarch look good. Martyrs are on discount, and either way, from the position of his tactical retreat, this is something the Montrose can spin into good publicity either way– Either the Temple go down and it’s tragic/grandiosity for the supernaturl community, or Matthew gets his plan to go off without a hitch– After all, he didn’t attack. He was even willing to make a deal like reasonable people, and those displaced Wildlings would have grattitude to spare.
If it were any other time of day, Mercy(wolf) would likely fail. Ancient beings are usually harty, tough and, if not as fast as a freed angel, then far stronger than most.
It is noon however, Mercy(wolf) is a werewolf– one that is shifted, and nature provides. Vampires are the antithesis of wolves. Wolves nature as creatures of unbounded life give them advantages that many do not have, especially here, where modern weaponry cant be employed to frag, neutralize or irrepairably cripple with an incendiary round.
Eric winds up, swings, and though his axe sinks into undead flesh, it does not cleave. It sinks in, crunching into bone and if not for it carving through rotting flesh like butter, would lodge.
There is no blood. It is not a killing blow, but it is crippling, and the vampire swings a claw, one that might rip Eric’s arm from his body if not for the wolf.
Then, another wooden knife flies– Bane after bane, wolf and wood.
Mercy(wolf) is a werewolf hunting her natural prey in the wild, National Geographic would have surely had a field day with this one. With the ancient creature unbalanced and taking several blows, she releases its leg to vault up at its head next- one good bite, one solid crunch, and that would likely be the end of that if she succeeds.
Matthew peeks out from behind the tree, watching as the fight unfolds, fumbling through his belongings until he finds a knife. But nothing’s thrown, not yet, no, the Monarch keeps watching, silent unlike before, seeing as the target is already in hand.
A third knife from Ekaterina, another wooden one, and the ancient vampire staggers, caught by its bane. The sun, then the wood and now two solid chomps from Mercy(wolf) and a swing of the axe from Eric.
It swings again, batting at Mercy(wolf), narrowly missing decapitation, though it is overwhelmed. One or two more attacks, be it by axe, knife, tooth and claw or a surprise thrown weapon might dictate the way of things.
Eric jerks mightily on his axe, wrenching it free before he wades in, working more like a butcher than a warrior. He attacks in short, methodical hacks, trying to take the creature down chunk by chunk, each decisive movement providing plenty of room for him to dodge away from retaliation. The way he moves in tandem with Mercy(wolf) speaks to a level of subconscious beyond anything intentional, his every step flanking opposite and drawing attention to provide her with openings.
What has Matthew been doing behind that tree all this time, other than watching, perhaps weighing his chances, because it’s only when the vampire looks like it’s about to go down that he actually pitches in and helps. A last ditch effort to be on the right side of history as he tosses a knife towards the fray.
Mercy(wolf) is so all up on this vampire that Matthew may very well hit her instead if the throw is bad enough, but she doesn’t see him trying to swipe the glory and focuses on overwhelming the thing to its last dusty bit of life with Eric.
Another series of swings from eric and a steel knife thrown- Both blades bite, but the creature is still up, though by the looks of it, it will not be for much longer.
One arm hangs limply, it’s lasserated, pinned by wood and still has a wolf on it, to say nothing of Eric’s axe.
If nothing else, Matthew did indeed help, and can return to the Court a conquering hero, somehow on the righteous side of things.
Mercy(wolf) gets the arm– the vampire unable to cast what ever it was aiming to do, and it is too staggered to shift and run.
The killing blow is made, but it doesn’t quite manage to land.
The vampire kicks, going for Eric’s knee, though one more shot will down it. It is severely wounded, and though it moves to wound itself, staggered as it is, it is unable to do more than sideswipe.
Mercy(wolf) keeps her jaws locked on its arm so that any of the other three might be able to get that last hit in without it moving more than it already is, having taken a few swipes to the muzzle already but thanks to adrenaline she doesn’t feel it yet.
Eric is left hobbling on his battered knee, leaning on his axe for support. He waves Matthew forward urgently, calling out to him, “Do the hero thing! Double time!”
Matthew doesn’t need to be told twice, and with Eric hobbled and the vampire pretty much downed, he comes running over, another knife in hand, preparing sink it where it really doesn’t matter cus it’s not a stake or wood or anything of consequence: the vampire’s temple.
A final wooden knife flies from Ekaterina’s hand but- Too late.
Mercy(wolf), Eric and Matthew are the more useful ones here, be it via their natures, regenerative ability, being living banes, or not inhibited by the restrictions imposed by off-world combat.
A bandage pulled from a fanny pack, Ekaterina rushes over to triage Eric, but again, she’s only human, and the vampire is already downed, withered, fetted flesh turning to dust in its unnatural repose, Matthew’s knife in its temple.
Ekaterina steps in then, methodically retrieving her knives, then- asks Eric in calm tones, “Please behead it. I would rather it did not regenerate and come back in a hundred years.”
Mercy(wolf) steps back and smacks her lips, tongue running over her teeth and along the roof of her mouth in an effort to get rid of the lingering taste of the ancient creature.
Eric limps forward, putting weight on his injured knee with a grunt at each step, but he’s quick to follow Ekaterina’s orders. A few heavy blows of his axe sees the head roll free, and he spits a bit of blood after it with a scowl, still puffing for breath. “The day is saved by the grace of good king Montrose,” he huffs, wiping sweat from his brow with one dirty, blood-crusted hand.
Mercy(wolf) meanders back for her things afterwards, fur receding and limbs shrinking as she gets close.
“It’s a good thing the Director and you two knew the plan,” Matthew claims then, nodding like he is indeed the savior of this day. Not the strategic timing of the mission (at noon) or the much stronger and capable wolves on the scene, or the wooden knives, but– “which was to distract him all along. Great thinking on your feet. Hope your people give you all raises for the good work and the people of this village erect statues in your image.”
Mercy misplaced her things it seems so in the end she’s just naked, hands on her hips and gaze staring down darkly at where she’s sure her belongings had been left. Overhearing Matthew however, she turns to peer at him from over a shoulder, commenting flatly, “You got a nice set of pipes on you, Montrose. Had a feelin’ you were a screamer.”
The threat executed, Ekaterina, Matthew, Eric and Mercy are able to return to New Haven, objective achieved.
Over the next few days, the news spreads via social media and word of mouth. The -plague- resolved, the ancient being threatening the lifestyles of the Wildlings destroyed, and in time, the village returns to normality, unbothered by the happenings of Haven.
Once teams are sent, it is identified that the vampire had been speaking the truth. The Burgermeister’s familial ancestor had made an unwise bargain with the unliving monster.
During the full moon, the galleon was chartered, the vampire delivered to these waters, and as forensics would reveal, the vampire had sank the ship, escaping in swarm forms– rats, bats and eventually, idealised to taunt and terrify the citizens, the hounds until Matthew, Mercy, Eric and Ekaterina stopped it.
OOC Plot rooms are considered universal stashes, so Mercy should be able to outfit wear.