_{Brought to you by Ellion and @Aerandir}

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Alexina stood in front of the Coven in the courtyard, on either side of her, sat her pack of twelve wolves that stared silently at the five witches that were singled out of all the witches in her castle. She had called every last one out to witness this. Her gold eyes seemed to burn as she glared at five witches, of which, Three of them nursing wounds on their arms. Marks from the pack of wolves that literally dragged them back to the castle when they did not listen to her.

Her fingers clenching as she tried to keep her anger in check. Three years, THREE YEARS they did not have an an issue, Now a town way wasted, painted red with the blood of all it’s previous owners who hung upside down stripped and mutilated. A church defiled, with it’s priest sacrificed on his own alter to his god as another slap to the face of those who believed in such a being.

Horrors and deeds brought out of hell itself. Worst of all. Innocent children had been killed. Sacrificed, for an evil ritual to extend the life of those for a too brief of time in compared to the life taken. A price for blood, must be settled.

“I have called you all out her tonight because these witches...and warlock… have put our home in danger! They left our home, and went to the small mountain village of Goldencrest and Massacred the people there. Defiled their church, and made mockery of the dead. Even slaughtering the children for a few more years to live! Their actions will have surely been found out by now. The horrors the hunters will see will spread and find the ears of more hunters! Rumors of our coven will spread and bloodthirsty murderers who care not that we want to live in peace will come searching our woods once again to destroy us. Calling for blood! ”

She looked to the three who once were old and haggard, now once again in their twenties. “ You all know I do not like the hunters. I have killed hundreds in my lifetime! I will continue to do so to protect our home! But to kill children who are innocent, Who have done us no wrong! Is always unforgivable!”

“The price of Blood...must be paid in blood.” She said suddenly very coldly.

“Is that right oh Queen of the Forest ? Going to sully your own hands for once? Going to take it yourself?” Hissed one of the witches stepping forward. “ Is this the leadership now? Killing your own for a few squealing mongrel whelps? ” Pressing one of her boney finger deep into the flesh of Alexina’s chest. The few whispers that scattered the room before stopped as the seconds slipped by, each one more tense than the last. A smirk flashed across the witches’ mouth as nothing happened. “I thought as much. Little girl, you’ve disappointed us all once again, Medusa would have had my neck for even daring to look upon her,”

Alexina suddenly grabbed the witch by the throat, her nails digging into her jugular. As her eyes grew narrow. With an unnatural growl that escaped her throat she lifted the witch off her feet. She knew she had to kill the woman, it fell within the category of necessary violence.

She pulled her close to her she asked with venom in her tone. “Like… This?” Giving the witch only a moment more in this life as her nails suddenly became sharper and tore into the skin. She then yanked the witch to the ground but held onto the Jugular. As the weight of the witches body ripped it out as she was thrown to the ground. She didn’t look back at the woman but lifted the warm bloody Jugular up and after a moment she raised her hand, showing the blood that was on it. “I kill when it is necessary. I keep my promises to the coven… Has there been a time I did not look after you? I protect the forest, I make sure those hunters do not find us and come for our heads. Is it too much for you not to listen to my words to NOT attack them unprovoked??” She asked pointedly to the witches in front of her tossing the bloody jugular to the side like it was trash.

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Remnants of a thick fog still hung on the outermost houses as the sun brought light to the horrors of night. A small group of hunters stood in what was once the center of Goldencrest Village. A nearby mountain town, close enough to Seren’s Folly that a handful of travelers reported hearing the incident less than a mile away from the hunter’s village. Yet so remote that it took most of the night to traverse the steep and winding path up the mountain.

Whatever had come was long gone, leaving no clear sign as to who--or what, did this. Sure, there were many theories tossed out, but no evidence that one was more true than the other. The villagers weren’t much help either. All dead. The survivors, if any, fled during the night. Emiliah's heart ached for the men, women...children, whose bodies now littered the streets. While more were hung upside down, bled dry like a stock pig.

The worst was the church. The bodies of the young were scattered across the floor. Looks of fear still etched in their small faces as they fled to this holy house for protection. The Font of Holy water was filled to the brim with their blood. At the very center of it all, the priest, striped bare and given a crown of the thorns as he was mounted upon a cross. His entrails draped across his hips offering a mock of modesty.

There wasn’t much to be done now, except leave the crows to their feasts and cleanse the land.

After the fires had been lit, it took what felt like mere seconds for the hundred year old town to be returned to nothing. Fire created the world and fire would cleanse it from the evil that tried to take root here. Maybe, in time, life would return to this area. Once the blood faded from the streets, once the bones crumbled to dust. Once the hunters who helped the priest down forgot how warm his body was when they found him.

Trusting the flames to take care of themselves, the hunters left the rocky village. It would be well into the night by the time they returned to Seren’s Folly.

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It wasn’t till it dark once again when the hunters Bobby sent out to help the village came back into town. Many of them went straight home...wanting to get away from the things they saw by being with their loved ones...to hold them close and remind them how much they loved them.

Most of the others however, went to the tavern. Because they had no family… or they wanted to drink till the burned images of the horrors in Goldencrest hopefully washed away and made to be remembered as a bad dream. The looks on all their faces spoke a thousand words… yet at the same time worried those who saw them. Wondering what they could have seen.

This hadn't been the first time that Draco had visited Seren's Folly; Far from it in fact. The Russ family had made a habit of visiting the town whenever they were traveling in this part of the world since it was a good place to meet up with their peers while collecting clues and hints about creatures that needed to be hunted while trading information that might prove useful for hunters who specialized in a different breed of the horrors of the night.

This time however Draco wasn't there for a friendly visit or just a passing stay.

Several of his prior hunts had shared a common theme, even if the animals themselves tended to be vastly different from each other; Beasts and creatures from the local area that had been fused together into one, deadly beast that nature had never intended to exist and didn't fit into the natural order of things. The fact that he had encountered several such creatures in different locations acted as a red flag in Draco's experienced mind. Having taken a map and marked down where the beasts had been found, a pattern had presented itself... one that led towards Seren's Folly.

It seemed like as good a place to set up a base camp while he pursued his investigations.

However, as he rode his horse into the town and made his way along the streets towards the tavern to secure himself lodgings he couldn't help but notice a familiar tension in the air. It was the kind of general worry that filled a town when a house on the outskirts had been found with its door broken through and the family who lived there ripped apart by some kind of beast that was bigger, stronger and nastier then a bear.

Something had happened here... or at least nearby.

Face mask covering his face, Draco dismounted from his horse as he lead her into the tavern stable to find somewhere nice for her to sit and rest.

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Seated at a table in Witches Paradise, Bartolomeo Peckish looked a lot healthier then he had when he had returned with the hunter pack that had gone to Goldencrest Village. Those hunters whom had been there with him would have known exactly why the young man had looked sick; It was because he had been. The sights and smells at Goldencrest had proven somewhat to harsh for someone who had clearly just started on the path of being a hunter without having been born into the realities of the profession. After he had found relief (Ie, thrown up) from the sights of the carnage, he had maintained a fast and a sickly green color until he had managed to get an hour or two away from the smoldering ruins of what had once been a prosperous people and their homes.

Now seated in the relatively comfort and somewhat less repulsive sight and smells of Witches Paradise, the young man had taken to sipping from a wine glass that he had filled with a bottle of wine he had brought with him to the village when he had arrived a few days ago, his attention focused on the book in his heads as he read each page fully before turning to try and pry whatever information he could from the next.

Those interested would have easily been able to tell from the cover that it was a just one of several demonology handbooks that the catholic church had produced on mass to equip its demon hunters and exorcists with information on how to combat the devil and his demonic servants; More experienced and veteran hunters would no doubt know from personal experience that a lot of what those books had to say was largely self serving political bullshit... but either by luck or the writers actually knowing something for a change they tended to have the odd bit of useful information.

In this case however, Bartolomeo clearly wasn't finding what he needed. Sighing as he closed the book, he decided to pose a question to the tavern at large. "Are there any hunters here who know anything about demons?"

Rebecca looked at the assembled witches with pity for those who hadn't done the deed, and disgust for those who had. Oh, she could understand why an old, dying witch would rip the life force from a person to save her own life, even if she wouldn't condone it- truth be told, she'd briefly considered the act during her own illness, though the memory of such still shamed her. But just to give yourself a few extra years of youth and beauty? No, no. And now the hunters would be coming in force. These witches had brought the wrath of Hell down upon them all, and it would take all their skill and power to survive the coming storm.

Phagora sighed as Alexina went through her spiel. Yes, she'd been part of the ritual. Her blood desecrated the floor of the church and the holy relics. Yes, she'd eaten the priest's soul. But were they not witches? Did the circumstances of their birth not put them above the common rabble? Mortals needed to know their place. And that place was scraping and groveling at her feet. Besides, with a swift offering of blood and Hellfire, her father would be at her side- a foe even the mighty Alexina Broadchurch couldn't lightly dismiss. The Witch of the Wilds wouldn't dare kill her- would she?

Saen, meanwhile, was kicking herself- metaphorically, at least, since she didn't have feet. She was a witch, and mind magic was her stock in trade. She should have seen the plots forming in the thoughts of the renegades- the tension, the anticipation, the fear. Instead, Goldencrest would be a name spoken only in horror forevermore. "I could bite them, Alexina. It wouldn't be as ssslow a demise as they dessserve, but perhapsss they would know a measure of the pain their victims sssuffered before they passssed."

Kalisel walked into The Witch's Paradise, noting the startling inappropriateness of the tavern's name. She knew now what witches called paradise, and she'd vomited upon the sight. She'd seen murder before, as well as the torments suffered upon sinners in Hell, but this beat all sickening violence that had come before. "Bartender, your strongest drink, and a lot of it." He raised an eyebrow, but when she told him, "I was at Goldencrest," he nodded in understanding, then slid a copious quantity of whiskey over to her.

Ryleth stood with the other four witches. His hands were covered by the dry blood of those so-called innocents. He kept them behind him and pushed his chest out. The others around him felt rage or fear but not him. He felt pride. Everything went according to plan. He riled up the witches that needed blood and human sacrifices the most. Then, when they were on the brink of running away he gave them a valve to let out the steam. The first coven raid in three years. Even that was, surprisingly, a success. For the most part at least. He did not expect the witches to run off and kill children. Unlike them, there was no child blood on his hand. For one he didn’t have to. Blood was not his gift, bones were. But he also knew Alexina’s rule. Her most cherished law. Maybe he could’ve made sure the witches didn’t kill children as well but that was out of his hands now. The only thing that did matter now was the consequences. Outside the castle walls, the hunters would find the village. Its inhabitants killed, drained and sacrificed. Ryleth may not have a part in the death of children but priests were fair game to him. So he turned it into a symbol that their god had abandoned them. Now the hunters’ hands were forced, as was Alexina’s. For that, he felt proud.

Then Angela, an elder witch, hissed back at her coven leader. Ryleth knew she never liked the Queen of the Woods. Not even in the time of Medusa. Yet for her to step forward in such a brazen way, that was not planned. No, he was supposed to face the brunt of it. He was supposed to be chained down and imprisoned for years. Or at least that was what he expected Alexina to do. He wouldn’t stay a year in a cell. When the hunters attacked, they’d need him again. That was the plan but when he saw Alexina lift his friend up from the ground he felt that plan fade like dust in the wind. Then the body fell from Alexina’s grip. “No!” Ryleth screamed out and rushed towards Angela’s body. He tore off his own shirt and tried to stem the bleeding. It wasn’t enough. The cloth turned red as she tried to say her last words. “No, no, no. Save it. Save your breath. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Ryleth kept saying as he tried to stop the blood. To no avail. Angela died while Alexina gave her monologue about protection.

When she was done, Ryleth rose from the corpse of his friend. His arms covered by blood. Splatters of it covered his white-scarred chest. “Then what judgment may we face, oh Queen of the Woods.” Ryleth might have appeared vulnerable but he had no intention to die. He couldn’t die and leave the fate of the Coven in the hands of a delusional fool like Alexina.

Lyra sat at The Witch’s Paradise bar. She leaned against the counter from her seat, with a hand propping up her chin. Her other hand held an opened vial of lavender which allowed the calming scent to waft into the air around her. Kohl that had once carefully lined her eyes was now smudged. When the party had ventured back to Seren Folly, she had walked by herself and wept. And although she had tried to wipe away the evidence, dark and stained circles remained under her eyes.

Her gaze panned over to Bartolomeo. She knew nothing about demons so instead, she offered him a weak smile. She gave the same to Kalisel.

“I hope you two are feeling alright. Especially after.. Auhm.. All of that.” Her voice was strong and held no quiver. But there was a certain softness in it.

She didn’t know what else to say. Lyra couldn’t even recognize herself-- not after seeing all of those desecrated bodies. Not after holding them and stepping on the ashes of their homes. She was not religious and couldn’t even try to comfort herself with visions of an afterlife. What kind of lives had those people lived? She couldn’t say.

In the stables, Lyra’s dog, Jude, laid among the hay and muck. Upon Draco entering the stable with his horse, Jude leapt up and yipped at them with excitement. The dog danced around, begging for pets.

His arrival at Seren's Folly had been anything but pompous. The place Andvari usually lived at - Oriel's palace - was several hundred miles from the village and finding efficient means of transport was quite a little more difficult in his case. After a few traders and travelers had given him a ride on their wagons his luck had ultimately ran out, leaving him with nothing else than his very feet to propel him forwards. His supplies, weapons and other stuff ? Packed into a small cart dragged behimd him. Maybe a bit unorthodox, but much more comfortable than actually carrying all that stuff for an undetermined amount of time. At least the weather had held, allowing him to get into the village in a very tired, but clean condition.

The only problem had been the fact that the average villager wasn't exactly responsive when it came to giving advice to a bloody newcomer in the middle of the night. Andvari had been left to his own devices, resulting in him putting up his tent at a spot that he merely had thought to be a good one. Still a large tent was much more functional for him than a room in the tavern: It cost a huge lot less, he didn't have to worry about making a mess, and there wasn't any furniture he'd either break or feel uncomfortable with. A simple hammock could be quite advantageous...

By now all of this had happened almost a day earlier during which Andvari had been able to get rid of most of his sleep deprivation. Now he was left to wonder if his father's description of Witches' Paradise as an 'incredibly rough place' had actually been meant as an ironic way of saying 'Make getting there your first priority!' instead. While his limbs still felt somewhat sore from the extensive journey, Andvari felt well enough to find out. He had no idea about the recent events in Goldencrest and the impact it had on everyone else.

With a slight limp he trudged towards the place. The large sign was in plain sight, but so was that he once again would have to crouch in order to get in. Even before his hand was able to push the door open completely a surge of odours overwhelmed his nose: Smoke, roasted meat, sweat, but most dominantly alcohol of various kinds. He moved in, trying not to stare at any of the anonymous patrons while expecting the majority of them to stare at him. A slight, but noticeable surge of cold sweat ran down Andvari's spine as he realized that somebody in there might very well be old enough to have known his father. Would anyone theorize about him then ?

He picked up a stool and sat down carefully, trying to find out if the aged wood would actually support him. The next step was to politely ask for a beer. A small portion would have to suffice until he'd have been able to find out if the stuff here was actually worth the money - one could never know. While waiting for his request to be fulfilled Andvari could hardly do anything else than look around and see who else was here. He didn't know any of them.

The Prince of Peshwar moaned uneasily in his sleep, his hands, swollen with years of dissipation, clawed at the silken sheets. Writhing atop the supine potentate was a thing of nightmare. In its form it was a woman, evident by the curve of breasts and hips and the long lean form of its limbs, but it substance was that of abyssal darkness, black and inky as the dark beyond the grave. The thing had no eyes and its features were vague suggestions. In his dream the Prince lay with a beautiful woman, enjoying her favors as so often he had enjoyed those of his perfumed harem. He knew that this was different, greater even as the light of the sun outshines the firelight, his hips rocked with need, melding and twinning with the shadow thing in a hideous mockery of passion. His breathing grew ragged and he tore at his bedding in his somnolent madness, sweat pouring from his tanned skin as his body heaved. At the last moment his eyes opened and saw the thing above him and then, as suddenly as a lighting strike on a clear night, he tumbled over the edge of an abyss. The Prince spasmed took one final breath and lay still, sightless eyes fixed on nothing in this word.

Cassilda gasped as her eyes came back into focus. A pleased purr rolled from her lips as she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Warmth returned to her body with a delicious slowness as her spirit slid back within it, crossing the vast and inky depth of space with the speed of a shadow fleeing before sudden sunlight. A prayer had been answered this night. Somewhere, far from here, a courtier had prayed for a death. He had sought amongst the temples for a means to make his desire manifest, until, in hushed whispers he had met a man who told him of a way that his wish might come to pass. A small price to pay to offer up a little of his blood under the waxing gibbous moon. To speak a gibberish phrase in a blasphemous tongue. Shortly, that courtier would wake and find that his prayer had been answered and begin to worry that the debt that he had incurred might someday be called due. In time he would speak of what happened to another desperate man and another bargain would be struck. Thus, death by wished for death, her influence spread. Growing like a great tree, spreading forth its branches into the heavens and reaching its roots into the dark and secret places.

A raven cawed nearby, inquiring if it could partake of the meal that lay chained to the slab that Cassilda had just vacated. She looked back at the body of the young man, rigor already setting in. Sighing at the wastefulness of it she gathered her silken clothing about her naked form and nodded to the two hooded servants who waited to dispose of such things.

“When they are done with it,” she said to the Raven, pausing to ruffle its coarse black feathers with her ivory fingers. At the end of the long chamber stood a leather bound book. Already the name Tamil of Peshwar was inscribed in it, though no quill stroke had made the notation. A smile curved her full sensuous lips.

“They have returned from Goldencrest,” the raven cawed, its words both intelligible and animal at the same instant. Cassilda gazed into a large silver mirror set with flecks of polished jet and raked her fingers through her hair, setting herself to rights as best she could after her exertions. Of course she had heard of the intended raid, she had even been asked along, though she had politely declined. A foolish thing, attracting attention like that. Far better to steal out alone some dark night and take care of such things. There was little to be gained and, if she were any judge, much to be lost by such an action. Alexia was rather a prude about such things.

“Dress me,” she commanded, waving a hand imperiously at the servant who were returning from disposing of the body. Silently both women went about the task of draping her in a gown of silk so sheer that it neared translucence. This accomplished they girdled her about the waist with a simple cord of gold and silver. Cassilda did not relish leaving her subterranean lair, but it was the correct action to take. Better to appear than to have it put about that she had been involved somehow. Properly garbed, she walked the halls of the castle on soft silent feet until she reached the courtyard just in time to see Alexina tear the throat from some luckless fool. Cassilda let out a low moan as she saw the soul bleed from the shattered body.

“Perhaps this will be more interesting than I thought…”

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Seren’s Folly was just as it had always been. When Emiliah was still in her early years of hunting she always felt that it would be somewhat different every time she returned from a hunt. Every time she was disappointed. It didn’t matter how much evil was in the world, life would always move on.

But seeing those things never got easier. To see how fragile humans had allowed themselves to become. To see how useless parents were at protecting their young. It was the reason she fought, because most people wouldn’t or couldn’t.

After returning from Goldencrest she went straight home to scrub herself of every evil thing she’d come in contacts with, a habit that had formed after her father had gotten too sick to hunt anymore, before heading to The Witches Paradise. But no amount of scrubbing could make her feel clean on this night. Her hair was still wet when she left her house again. Lines of water droplets soaked her tunic. But it was either leave now or starve. Buying and keeping food just never seemed to end well in a house so rarely inhabited.

It was still early enough in the year that the warm summer days gave way to brisk spring nights. The warmth of the tavern was welcome, if the mood itself was far more somber than usual. The familiar smells of food, beer, a hard day's labor and faint scents of lavender calmed her nerves at once. It was the smell of the Witches Paradise. The smell of victory and assurance that you lived to fight another day. Although there was no victory today, there was the promise of one tomorrow.

On the far side of the bar were two of the hunters who had ventured with her to Goldencrest. They were talking about the possibilities of the attack having come from demons. A topic that had been throwing around a lot while still in Goldencrest. Alongside witches and worse. Emiliah ignored them, not wanting the sight of the slaughter to haunt her anymore than it already had. Besides, if it was demons, well...with the hunters current numbers and ferocity of the attack...it was best to hope that it wasn’t demons.

“Bobby,” she said, lacking her usual finesse. “ Mug and some food? If Sophie made any more of that soup from yesterday...it would be welcomed,” She waited a few moments before a bouncing bar maid flitted in and out of her line of sight. “ I see that Sapphire is back. It’ll be good that you have some help,”

With her meal being handled, she settled back on the stool, her eyes drifting over the other patrons. The nearest of which was a giant of a man. Although he occupied a single stool, his height made it seem like he took up much more space. That trait alone made him just unique enough that there was a good chance he was new. Even if he was a terrible hunter, his height alone would have made him known.

Social niceties were never her strongest suit and she was too far past exhausted to ‘play nice’ but if there was something that her father always push, it was taking every opportunity to meet a new hunter. People tended to watch the backs of acquaintances better than strangers. “Hello...you’ve probably never heard this before...but you are very tall,” Social niceties….not ….good.

It was a rough night for John. He was out on a hunt for Goblins far on the Southern woods when terrible noise was heard from the foot of the mountain. Considering the time, and the unnatural loudness of it, John instinctively knew a village was under attack. And by that he did not mean an attack by wild animals either. No, it was the sound of a large-scaled raid.

"That direction.. Goldencrest?" He thought to himself. "Was there a large scale attack on the village? Are witches involved in it?"

His thought was interrupted by a Goblin spear whistling just millimeters away from his cheek. An attack that was instinctively answered by the roar of his trusted flintlock gun, followed by the wet sound of a goblin chest bursting into puddles of flesh and blood.

"Ah damn.. Hope I can retrievable the bullet after this," he then announced dejectedly as he refocused his mind to the ongoing hunt. "That thing cost more than a drink, you know."

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Having finished his duty, John rushed as fast as he could towards the direction of the now-smoking-ruins that was once the Village of Goldencrest. Needless to say, he did not make it in time. The sun was already setting in the horizon when he finally arrived at the scene. The area was desolate; not a single living soul was to be found within the vicinity, and the once prosperous if rather small village has been reduced to ash and glowing cinders. Even the Church, a shining symbol of divine protection, had been reduced to smouldering pile of coal.

John was not the most pious of man, but in the face of such harrowing display, even he felt the urge to kneel and offer a prayer for the deceased. However, he would not let sorrow led him from the thing that is most important. Determining who, or what, was responsible for the attack.

Thus, John scoured the remnants of the village for clues on what kind of terror made its presence towards Goldencrest. Scars on the walls, craters on the ground, remnants of cryptic runes, trails of blood; anything of the sort.

He knew that looking for such clues are next to impossible, now that the location has been desolated by flames. Yet still he continued, for even if a sliver of evidence were to be found, he believed that it would help immensely in the Hunters' long term endeavour against the witches.

Possible interactions with Bartolomeo @Bright_Ops, Andvari @Fetzen, Emiliah @Ellion, and Kalisel @blackdragon. Or at least anyone in the tavern.

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A young Hunter breathed.

Not as fast as he had a few hours ago. The ghosts were driven off with his iron pan, the zombies put back into the ground without their heads this time, and the werewolf probably being savaged by a very hungry were-something. Whatever it was probably came from... somewhere nearby. Some place where he could feel a sort of invisible current, the first of which he felt days ago on the road.

The Hunter tried to breathe slower. He coughed. He was breathing normally now, with the ache of days behind him weighing down his body. Every step was hard, but he saw a town--with lights this time!--in the distance.

The young man finally sat down as soon as he reached a fountain in the town. It was only then he noticed the looks everyone directed at him.

He looked down. His armor and metal plating was torn. He stank of the forest, sweat and blood. He probably looked bad.

"Ma, there's a Hunter that looks like a zombie!"

"Come here dear, you don't want to go near him now..."

The young man concluded he had to find somewhere to stay first. Except he had no idea where he wandered into this time, so making use of his travel experience, he raised a hand to ask a nearby townsman and asked--

"No please wait! I'm a Hunter and I won't hurt you! I just want to ask for a good inn and any shops catering to Hunters."

The townsman thankfully stopped to tell him. "Oh. Sorry, er, that way. The tavern's called the Witches' Paradise, and the owner's name is Bobby, a retired Hunter. He might help you better than I could. Shops are that way."

"Thank you kindly. Ah, and what's the name of this place?"

The man eyed him critically. "Are you really a Hunter? It's Seren's Folly! This town is a right spot for Hunters far and wide."

A sour feeling suddenly filled the Hunter's stomach. "And... populated with Witches too?"

"Hunting for them then? Well, you'd have to go into the forests this way though. Young, reckless ones like you though..."

The man pointed to the right with a finger. The Hunter followed it and saw trees, tall and dark in the night. While that was nothing out of the ordinary, the sight gave him more than just a chill down his back.

"I don't need to ask why," he decided.

The young Hunter bade the man goodbye as they walked off. Seren's Folly... he was only told that a girl with the Wonder Painter's face was around this region, but here? He heard the stories.

It was just a short trip from the fountain to the Witches' Paradise. He saw a group of people dressed for battle, chuckling in a rather muted agreement as their blades and bags swayed from their hips.

The young man walked right in and stood there for a moment. Warm air, but quiet chatter assailed him. This place was popular for some reason.

He looked around. The host was serving table, probably Bobby, sounds like the right man to look for as a Hunter, but he seemed busy talking to a few patrons. He scanned again. There were other patrons too. Maybe he could ask them?

Well, he should probably do something about his padded armor first.

Draco had never really been a hunter who had kept pets or animal companions. This wasn't because he didn't see the value in them; Far from it. On more then one occasion a dog had picked up a scent that saved him and others from ambushes or sped up the tracking of the quarry tremendously. The issues were raised between the fact that he traveled vast distances rather often because the job required him to almost always be traveling to deal with the next monster... and the tragic fact that a fair number of dogs he had tried to keep in the past had ended up as monster food.

Still, under his cloth mask he couldn't help but grin a little as he bent down to give the excited puppy in the stables some scratches behind the ears before moving on to secure his own horse in one of the stalls. There was always something about dogs that tended to bring out the best in people.

Still, once the dog had been patted and his horse stored away safely he turned to enter the Witches Paradise proper. Door opening with a wooden creak, he crossed the threshold and glanced around at those who were gathered while feeling an air of... not defeat or fear, but concern in the atmosphere.

Closing the door behind him, the masked man calmly and collectedly walked over to the bar, offering Bobby a polite nod of his head as he asked "Lodgings for one Bobby. What's happened?" It was a simple question, but the look in his eyes reveled that he knew something had gone down... the matter was in the details.

Running about within the tavern, a very short brunette was helping the owner, her Uncle Bobby, deliver drinks and food. Sapphire bounced on the balls of her feet as she smiled widely at a drunk customer who now had an empty glass. “So you want another one right?”

The drunk man hiccuped and looked at her face, being too drunk to think properly and seeing her adorable face awaiting an answer. He of course said yes, giving the girl the money for another as she bounded over to her uncle. “Uncle Bobbyyyy~” Saph singsonged. “The man over there,” She pointed to the man, ”would like another drink.” Sapphire hopped up on a stool and handed her uncle the coin.

“You almost tripped three times this time” Hunt, her black wolf stated as he came to her side. He tended to lay back behind the bar out of the way while Sapphire did her thing. Sometimes sitting besides it to keep an eye on the girl to make sure she stayed out of trouble.

“I’m getting better then! Quicker delivery and less almost accidents.” Sapphire cheerfully said, causing Hunt to simply just look at her with an annoyed expression.

“Maybe you slow it down and there won’t be any almost accidents, or even accidents. One of these days someone will not take to kindly to having a drink spilled on them.” Hunt told her.

“It has been 3 days since a Sapphire accident Hunt. 3! I keep track of these things thank you very much.” Sapphire watched as the drink along with other drinks for other people were set down in front of her to deliver. She listened to her instructions and nodded. “I’ll show you I can handle this Hunt!” Sapphire told her wolf as she picked up the drinks and headed off into the crowded tavern to deliver the drinks.

Hunt shook his head and trotted back behind the bar, lying down and hoping to not hear any commotion caused by Saph.

---

---

Despite not wanting to go to Goldencrest, the demon annoyed and pushed her into going. So Rowyn had found herself within the group of hunters at the town that was massacred by the unknown. Walking through the town she had found herself talking to herself, or so it would seem to others if they had been paying attention to her, she was actually talking to the demon.

“What did this? Was it others like you?”

’Demons? Ha you think demons did this?. There isn’t enough blood and guts for a demon to have done this. Not enough torture either. A witch on the other hand… more likely.’

“A witch… hmm more likely multiple witches if it was.”

’Yeah yeah yeah. That’s not important. The important thing is what is around you. Look at it. It’s beautiful! Why don’t you do more stuff like this?’

Rowyn shook her head, disgusted by the idea. She didn’t even need to voice it to the demon, he knew that she wanted nothing to do with him or the things he liked but she was stuck with him. The rest of the time spent at Goldencrest was similar to that, the demon enjoying the view and Rowyn just numb to it and the demon’s disgusting thoughts and ideas as he spoke to her in her head.

By the time she made it back to Seren’s Folly part of her wanted to go sleep in her small home but currently the demon wasn’t shutting up so she headed to the tavern run by the man Bobby. She’d had a few conversations with him, he was friendly and helped point her in the right direction when she’d first arrived in the town years ago.

Upon entering the tavern, Rowyn surveyed the people there until her eyes landed on one with a red stained cloth bandage. Looking to the person’s face she noticed it was someone she regularly had to hunt down to help. Shaking her head, Rowyn tied her hair back and made her way to the man. As soon as he saw her and saw the stern look she was giving him, he simply undid his makeshift bandage to reveal his wound. It was a claw mark on his bicep, not too deep but deep enough it needed stitches.

Pulling over a chair besides where he sat, Rowyn placed her bag on it and took out her supplies. She placed a small bowl on the chair and poured clear alcohol like substance into it before pouring a bit over her hands to clean her hands. She then grabbed the other bowl she had and out of her other bottle, she poured the soapy water she carried around. Placing a cloth in the water she made sure it was wet enough before cleaning the wound. She then poured clean water over it to get out any soap and caught the water in the bowl. Taking out the needle and suture thread, her hands skillfully threaded the needle and then dunked it into the alcohol to sterilize it. Rowyn then used a cloth and dipped it in the sterile alcohol and cleaned the first part of the claw wound before stitching it up, repeating for all other sections. She cleaned the now stitched up wound with some water, placed an herbal remedy she had on it to help fight off infections, and finally wrapped it in a cleaner cloth bandage. The man handed her a small amount of coin, despite her trying to refuse it, and thanked her as she packed up her stuff. She carried the bowls outside and dumped them, wrapping all the dirty supplies in a separate bag that went into her bag before going back in and looking for others to help.

She had gone for one day, ONE DAY to travel around the mountain to check on something on the other side and this is what she came back to. She walked through the town, not minding the blood she stepped through as she looked for anyone still alive. Celosia couldn’t find a single survivor among the massacre. She couldn’t find a single survivor in the town she vowed to protect. In the town she HAD protected for so many years. Yet now, after one short period she had allowed herself to go elsewhere, they were all massacred. Treated no better than pigs for slaughter. People who had helped her when she was younger and provided her a sense a familiarity in her life.

Nothing was left of them but corpses now. Celosia wanted to scream, to set everything a blaze, to set the world a blaze. But that wouldn’t do anything to undo her mistake. To make up for yet another burden she’d carry upon her shoulders. Looking one last time at the corpses around her, Celosia turned and made her way out of the town, knowing Hunters would be on their way soon with such a huge event like this. She couldn’t stay in the town and mourn. No, she’d have to retreat back to her place of solitude.

So that is what she did, making a quick stop by the small stream near the town to clean the blood from her bare feet. Trying to forget for now. As soon as Celosia had made it to her caves entrance, she turned and looked back at the town noticing the hunters were finally arriving. She turned away and retreated to the depths of the mountain where a pool of lava awaited her to help her relax.

Celosia stayed in the pool of lava for a few hours before deciding to make her way back up to the cave entrance. She grabbed a loose dress and threw it on so she wouldn’t be walking around bare this time. The dress hung off one shoulder as she made her way back up to the cave entrance. Once she got there, Celosia stopped and watched the dying flames of the town. She was not surprised they had burned it. Celosia had wanted to do it herself, she would have if the hunters didn’t. Sitting down, Celosia decided to just watch the town from a distance. She’d stay there and make sure no one did anything to disturb the resting souls of the people or to defile the town. She would watch over the town for now, until she decided what to do next.

(In reply to @Whoami)

The more John sifted through the ashes and rubble, the more he seemed to lost track of his surrounding. After all, it did not take an expert hunter to guess what had happened. Trails of people getting dragged against their will, and marks of dried blood, has painted picture enough to put any depiction of Hell in the national museum to shame.

"These people.. They are dragged towards the Church. Perhaps for a ritual? But what kind of witch ritual were to be carried inside a holy ground? Unless.. Well, no point to dawdle. Let's take a look at the Church," he thought as he cautiously approach the now blackened and ruined building.

Pushing the double door open, foul wind, filled with the odor of burnt flesh and fat gushed towards him, as if telling him to turn back; to avert his eyes from what he was about to see.

Bones. Piles and piles of bones, both big and small, some still covered by sticky black substance that was once living flesh, stacked upon each other; lined the path towards the altar. And decorating the once sacred place, was a burnt and broken cross, with dried, burnt blood painting a very gory image upon it.



The church bell tolled, snapping John out of his trance. And with that, he crumbled to the ground. His lung did not seem to retain their ability to take in air. And as a splitting headache assaulted him, John spilled the content of his guts to the floor.

-----------------

Having collected his breath and put his mind back on track, John approached the now desecrated altar. Horrors be damned, there might be some clues among the remains of the poor souls.

"To kill children and clergymen alike.. Even for a witch's standard, isn't this just too much?"

And as if to answer his question, the bell toll once again. Only this time, it did not come alone.

"You there!" a man called out from the entrance of the Church. "Are you the one behind this treachery? Speak before I put an arrow between your eyes!" he continued.

Oh for f*ck's sake..

"Hold it!" John replied with an equally loud shout. "Don't move a muscle."

John raised both of his arms and turned slowly towards the source of the voice, as not to agitate the other party. Then, with the most serious of tone he could muster, John continued.

"On the floor, three to five inches from where you are standing," he said as he used his left index finger to point towards the object of interest. ".. Is a puddle of my puke. You don't want to step on it, do you?"

Matrim
Goldencrest (near @whoami and @Celsius )

-----------

Three months. It had been three fucking months since it last happened. This was a new record for him as far as he could remember. Three months without the screams, the knives, and that damn question that rattled endlessly.

Matrim walked alone on the road, walking stick in hand. He held on a backpack filled with supplies and gear, and would appear as a wandering hermit to many. He technically was a hermit at this point anyway, but this hermit was ready to murder any supernatural that happened upon him. As long as it wasn’t a witch, he would happily go after it.

He was away now, away from witches and the whole madness of it. No, no he was far done with witches. He was on to new supernatural now, taking on new challenges. In fact, just this last month he had saved a town from a fearsome dragon (it was an oversized lizard), got the girl (she slapped him), and was beloved by the town (they ran him out after he obtained the local record for quickest town drunk).

He had been enroute to a further city a few weeks out, planning his trip casually throughout the countryside, and had been planning to stay at the small Goldencrest village as night approached. That was, he was hoping to stay at Goldencrest before he found it burned to the ground. He saw the smoke first from a distance, and had been hoping it was some weird traditional bonfire that looked large enough to burn the village.

Goldencrest came into sight eventually, no longer letting him deny the village’s actual fate. “No…” he said aloud. “No no no…” He had liked Goldencrest, especially one of the taverns here. It seemed like the place had been burned only a day before. “Who the hell did this?” He had only ever heard of such things happening to towns. Raiders and bandits burnt towns all the town, but this seemed bent on tearing everything down.

Matrim reached down to his belt, pulling out a spear tip that had been tied to it. He attached the tip to his walking stick and now held his preferred weapon. Kill them from afar...but close enough to make sure they die... Words echoed his mind, but Matrim could no longer remember whose words it was. A friend? He ran out of those a while ago. An enemy? What enemy would give advice like that? Himself? Maybe?

Shouts rang out from nearby. Matrim shook his head and focused on the possible new threat. Could the attackers still be here? Or were they survivors? He looked around the corner, seeing a carriage and several people near it. Who the hell had a carriage here? They didn’t seem like the attackers, and just scouting the place like he was. Some had seemed to take interest in a church, but he didn’t immediately spot any others. The bell tolled, and Matrim stepped out into the street. He approached the building he frequented often when he came here, the famous tavern he so loved. He entered into it slowly, peering around at the burnt walls as his spear thudded against the boards. “Oh what I’d give for an ale right now,” he muttered to himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Aromull
Witches Paradise
Interaction with @Kitty

------------------

I must say the journey was quite arduous, but to gaze upon Seren’s Folly was a sight to behold. Of course, the mere architecture was similar to other places in this area, but something about the culture was different than the other towns. Hunters are more frequent here than in any other place, which I attribute to its historical encounters and legacies. It is a wonderful opportunity of the curious hidden world that I may explore.

If one were to gaze upon the strange man Aromull, the first impression they could give would never be related to the term “hunter”. His clothes seemed like one of a nobleman, except strangely foreign of some kind. Glasses were chained around his neck like a necklace, and he carried a massive book in his right hand as he walked along. A small knapsack rested on his back, and he gave a whimsical look to nearly everything around him, as if every single speck of dust fascinated him.

Aromull had gone far for this quest of his, a personal quest of discovery. Ever since he had learned of the world of supernatural, the scholar had always wanted to learn more. He had taken to join the art of hunting the creatures, and with it he compiled every note he could on specifics of supernatural.

Witches had become a peculiar interest to him lately. He couldn't exactly explain why, other than the fact he was simply curious one day about them. A friend, or more likely someone trying to get rid of him, recommended the “Bobby of Witches Paradise” as a great source of information on witches. And so he travelled for several fortnights, finally arriving at the door to the tavern.

Aromull entered inside, gazing around the place with his childish look. He hadn’t been to a tavern of this kind before except on few occasions. The place was quite loud, not what he was used to but not uncomfortable towards it either. Now he just needed to find this “Bobby”. Unfortunately he never actually got a description of the man, just the name and place. A name and a place and you’ve travelled all this way Aromull, you should really do more research on such a thing before going this far, he thought, chuckling to himself.

He noticed an employee of the tavern walking around and delivering drinks to the customers. She seemed younger than most here, but mostly capable of handling everything. “Excuse me madam, does there happen to be a Bobby that works here? If there is, could you to introduce me to him? I’ve been trying to meet his acquaintance.” Aromull spoke in a cordial and respectful tone, as if speaking to another high scholar from Ninevar.

---

In the tavern Witches Paradise, Bobby watched as the few hunters that went to Goldencrest came in with that look on their face. That and added to the fact that the fire could be scene from there was all too clear what exactly happened. He sighed as he felt a personal weight on his shoulders...not being able to get people there in time. He decided to let them to process things a bit before going into details.

He glanced over to the boy who brought his own drink and glass to his bar. Growling to himself, annoyed that the little rich boy didn’t seem to understand that he needed to buy something to be here. But he did understand he just saw something he was dealing with so he let it slide for the moment.

When he brought up asking about Demons. No one said anything. He left it at that for a moment as he noticed another hunter, walk in demanding one of their strongest drinks, then saying she was with the party from Golden crest. His bartender glanced at him and he shrugged with a finger raised silently saying just one free one.

He looked back to the boy and said, “Demons are some nasty business there lad, many of which are even too dangerous for an elite hunter. Why do ye want to know about them? Does it have to do with Goldencrest?”

He then heard another hunter who asked if the lad was alright. He noticed her smudge makeup under her eyes. He huffed. “He’s doin fine enough… with all his reading and such.” He poured the lass a drink and placed it in front of her. Along with one of his rags for wiping drinks. Looking her in the eyes pointedly and used his thumb to quickly and discreetly wipe under his eyes, hoping she would understand what’s he saying.

He looked up as the door opened and seeing a massive silhouette walking in. “Well I'll be…” He stopped himself when he realize it couldn’t be, He heard he was dead… and he swore he was never coming back. He stopped the bartender and told him to give him a large portion on the house. Changing the order to a stronger mead… his old friends favorite drink

He noticed he noticed a familiar brunette lass who lived here all her life asking for a pint and his wife’s cookin. One of his servers was next to him as she asked and he indicated with his head to go get it for him. She mentioned Saphy bein back and his normally gruff appearance softened with a smile. “Aye, she is. She brighten ups the place a bit...even though she’s a bit clumsy at times. “ Having a hearty chuckle. “ Especially when Evelina is gone.” Mentioning his only child. Who usually often went to get supplies and food for the tavern.

He was drawn away from the conversation when a lad walked through the door looking like he went through a recent ringer of sorts. But most notable was his two….frying pans? What is one running round with frying pans as weapons. He rightly deserved to be in the state he looked to be.

He didn’t have time to go over When Draco walked in, a promising hunter who focused on werewolves. He nodded his head back to him when he asked for lodging. Mentally reserving a room for him. When he asked what happened Bobby sighed. "Well, I haven't asked for details yet, but its not good. We lost Goldenridge to a nasty attack. Had to burn the town. All I know at the moment."

This was when his adorable niece called out to him He filled the order as she spoke to her wolf hunt. Who generally stayed out of the way behind the counter. He looked down at the massive animal and tapped his hind end with the top of his good foot pushing him gently to get his attention. “Alright you overgrown teddy bear, Need you out of the way the counter is gettin too busy. To the corner with you” He said pointing to the corner that was free of tables and patrons. He couldn’t hear wolves like his best friend did, or his family, But he knew that the wolves that they partnered with could understand him.

Seren's Folly smelled weird. Sanjin had decided this the moment his pack step foot into the village. There were the obvious smells associated with towns of course, the distant musk of live stock and the light wafts of baked goods barely overriding the gentle bass note of outhouses and street 'leavings'. But there was another smell. It hung loosely around his nostrils, acrid and unpleasant. Like a wet moldy log on a fire.

The older hunters in the pack told him it was the other hunters, though refused to explain further. Frustrating, but understandable. He was old enough that their guidance was not required anymore. If he was confused, he was on his own in regards to finding answers. The pack was here to hunt, all other things were secondary.

The bulk of The Pack had come through two months ago, he along with them. They took advantage of the surplus jobs and made a heavy profit before heading south to the warmer climates before winter began to set in. Now only the veteran and novice hunters of their clan remained. The veterans because they were accustomed to the life (a few had even settled here permanently, as insane as an idea as that sounded to him) and the novices because they still wished to prove themselves and were more than strong enough to make the journey on their own later.

He entered into the Witch's Paradise quietly, as he always had for the past week or so. The place was nice enough, the food was warm and there were always a hunter group or two forming up during the later hours of the evening. It was a good place to find work, if you could stomach the weak drinking that city folk had. Tonight, the place reeked of the unidentifable smell, and Sanjin had to repress the urge to hold his nose at its sudden intrusion.

Taking a moment to adjust he sniffed the air, his perfeered method of finding...well anything really. A few scents caught his attention, the scent of recent travel being one of them. A familiar mix of body odor and dirt, though there was a lot...more of it than normal.

He followed it quickly, weaving quietly between patrons until he was staring at the back of a very very large man. He looked...well, desperate for work if Sanjin was any judge of character. Good news for the young Pack hunter. Now that he was closer he could smell someone else, obscured by the larger man both visually and otherwise. It was a lighter scent, like old rope and lavender.

"You stink of the road mister!" Sanjin chirped loudly, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet as he introduced himself to a hopeful meal ticket. "If you dont bathe properly the prey will notice you." He added, in the small awkward pause that followed. "....and then you'll die...I'm Sanjin, do you have work?" He added again, too eager for a response to properly wait for one.

((OOC: sanjin smells the tension in the air. Sniffs himself into a conversation. Proceeds to have the charisma of a brick.))



Alexina was angry again, Usoa could tell that much. She always called a lot of people to the hall and said a lot of things when she was angry with something or someone. Today though, she seemed especially incensed about...something. Usoa was pretty sure the woman had explained somewhere in that speech but she was also pretty sure she got distracted halfway through by a bug crawling on the floor. She liked Alexina, but listening to her talk like this was exhausting. Made no better that she was required to wear actual pants while not in her private domain.

"I hate pants..." She grumbled to herself, one of the witches piping up and questioning Alexina's authority. That was a bad idea. When the Queen of the Forest was angry your best bet was to stay quiet and let her tire herself out. Saying things just made her get worse...or louder depending.

A flash of red finally brought Usoa into focus, watching calmly as a handful of ripped flesh squelched to the ground. She willed herself through the crowd (a fairly easy task given the general berth most of the coven gave her) and picked up the discarded piece of throat and finally listening to her Coven leader as she spoke.

Ryleth was the first to break the silence after Alexina's question, a welcomed thing in Usoa's eyes. "...we could cut off things from them...?" She suggested quietly, slithering forward. "I mean...I can put those things back on afterwards...but it...ya know...will hurt."

She pauses for a moment, the silence telling her she was doing rather well in this conversation. "...'cept if its things like this." She added, lifting up the discarded juggular for all to see. "Can't fix that...I think...oooo. Can I try it?" She asks Alexina, a sudden burst of giddiness exploding in her chest as she played with the skin flap from one hand to another absent mindedly.

More and more hunters filed into the tavern, all of them looking ashen-faced. Either they'd passed through Goldencrest on their way here, or they'd heard about the tragedy. Either way, this place was going to be a hotbed of hunter activity until whoever had committed the atrocities was tied to a stake and ablaze.

Finishing her drink, the former- she was not fallen, that was a term reserved solely for denizens of Hell- angel looked at the gathering group. "Drinking away the pain is all well and good, but eventually, we're going to need to kill the bastards who did this. I say we get started sooner rather than later. Did anyone see anything that would help us learn who did this? Or a motive? It was a ritual, that much is clear, but what were they trying to accomplish?"

---

Earlier….

The howling of the wolves in an otherwise silent night roused many of the castle’s diurnal inhabitants and drew the eyes of the ones that worshiped the night.

Standing in the courtyard was Alexina’s pack of wolves. Huge beasts that that could rise above the height of some men, in the middle of the pack were five of their own. Even from his tower window, Taran could see the wolves snapping whenever one of the five move too quickly or in the wrong way. The largest of the wolves sent forth a summoning howl that pulled all out from the castle into the bitter chill of the night air.

The moon cast long shadows that were dispersed by the flickering of torches across the courtyard as more and more witches filled in the ranks. A hand caught Taran’s shoulder as he stepped into the courtyard. Glancing toward the owner of the hand, his eyes were met with the piercing gold eyes of Alexina, full of rage, hurt and sorrow. Without speaking Taran reached out a hand to comfort her, to try to take away some of the burden she refused to share. Whatever was coming and whatever had happened...it cost Alexina deeply.

“Alexina,” he whispered after a few seconds, he kept his words soft and slow, so’s not to add to the woman’s stress. “What is it? What has happened?”

He felt her hand tighten on his shoulder and for a moment he thought that she wasn’t going to tell him. “Some...something that shouldn’t have,” She took a deep breath. “There was an incident in a village and some of our witches did something inexcusable. Something-But never mind that, I need you to do something for me. When my wolves were returning they caught the scent of an unfamiliar witch. It was all over the village as though she inhabited there but gone when the wolves swept through. She cannot be left alone. This incident will bring every hunter within a league sniffing around the forest she’ll be hiding in. Find her...offer her sanctuary, ” Alexina turned and took a few steps into the courtyard. “ It is our fault that she lost hers..”

Taran stood a moment longer as Alexina started to address the crowd before leaving. It wasn’t the first time Alexina sent him out to recruit from under the noses of hunters. He blended in more than his brothers and sisters of the coven. Being male automatically made him overlookable, there were so few male witches that to assume he was one was far fetched. He also didn’t boast his statues like some other warlocks who took pride in who they were. No...unless he started shooting fireballs, no one had any reason to suspect he was what he was.

As he left the castle a tiny shadow emerged from the woods. A fox with far too clever eyes to be a normal animal approached. One of Alexina’s. “Alexina...I don’t need a chaperone,” Taran muttered under his breath. The fox yawned in response, sneezed and then followed him anyway.

----------------------------------------------------

His travels brought him to and around the town more times than he would have liked. He stood on the edge of the clearing as the hunters lit the fire that burned the town to ash. He was exhausted and longed to return back, but every time his mind wandered to that thought, the fox seemed to catch a scent and take off into the bushes.

As the sky began to darken, the pair walked past the entrance of a cave and the fox gave a small noise before leading up to its’ entrance. Inside was a red headed women, looking a few years older than himself but with witches looks meant nothing. She could be a hundred years old for all her looks were worth.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, so as not to frighten her. “You’re the witch from Goldencrest?” He said softly, casting a small spark of fire in his palm to show her that he meant no harm. “Mistress Alexina would like to offer her coven as home to you, to offer you sanctuary in this time of great tragedy,”

Even from this distance, the air smelt of smoke and faintly of cooked meat.

“No no no…” Screamed a voice from the town. The sight showed that the once deserted area now held more than a few guests “Who the hell did this?”

“You should join us,” He said finally, just as the bell from the church started to ring. The little fox jumped onto Tarans shoulders, looking at the redheaded.

Bong!
Bong!
Bong!