Red slipped over the edge of the creature’s cup and the sticky droplet rolled, slow and viscous, down the side.

Colin’s stomach turned. He pushed his own plate far away from himself, what little appetite he’d managed to work up over the past hour disappearing in an instant. A glance around the hall. No one else seemed to have batted an eye at its open display of contempt. And sure. The hoods probably hadn’t provided human blood. But what difference did it make? One slip, and because they’d kept the thing alive, someone else was dead.

His face warmed as he curled and uncurled his fists under the table. He needed to do this, couldn’t just walk away now. Didn’t have the luxury of going it alone like the knight from before. But still, he’d be damned if he was just going to sit there and watch as the monster practically flaunted its disregard for humanity before his very eyes.

He stood, intercepting it as it made its way towards the table. It was taller than he was. Bulkier too. He felt his heart pick up. A thin sheen of sweat slip across his forehead. He didn’t let it bother him as he squared off against the monster, “So,” he hissed, “how long’s it gonna be ‘till the blood in that cup’s come from some family you slaughtered instead of a deer?”

Vitius cleaned the droplet of red blood off of the cup with a finger that he then wiped on one of the pieces of cloth woven into his armor. Normally he would have been upset about blood being wasted like that, but he had more than enough in this cup to sate his thirst. Even if it was from an animal.

Looking up from the cup, Vitius saw Colin blocking his path back to the table, his body language and posture telling him all he needed to know. The idiot was trying to start something. His intentions were made even clearer by the question he'd just asked, which was clearly meant to put him on the spot or make him feel guilty about his "actions" even though he'd never consumed or thought about consuming someone's blood without their permission first.

Though to be honest, right now he was considering just ripping out Colins throat so he didn't have to deal with his shit anymore. Not that he'd actually do it mind you. But still...

It was tempting.

"Well preferably never." Vitius replied bluntly. "Now tell me, how long is it going to be before you almost shoot another child?" He asked, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.

Colin bristled, hand wrapping instinctively about the handles of the daggers at his belt. The fucking creature was trying to play mind games. Of course, "This bow's reserved for putting your kind out of your mysery."he hissed, "only blood I've ever spilt's had it coming."

Vitius scoffed, but didn't make a move to grab his sword. Instead he simply took a sip of his drink and set it down on the table before crossing his arms in a casual manner, as though this were just another ordinary conversation. Vitius knew it was better to appear calm and undisturbed in situations like this. Yelling or resorting to petty name calling now would only weaken his position and worsen his already shaky standing amongst the Red Hood's. Something he did not need right now.

"Are you sure about that?" Vitius asked coldly. "Haven't you ever considered the possibility that some of the monster's you murdered didn't wish to be that way?" "Haven't you ever stopped for a moment to think about how terrified a person is when they first turn and realize their life is over? That everyone they knew or called friends now hates them? That they're now forced to run forever to avoid being caught and killed, or worse? Or have you only ever thought about wiping the world clean of us filthy creatures?" He said, nodding towards those in his group he knew were monster's like him.

Colin watched the blood in the cup slosh as the creature set it down on the table, bile rising in his throat. His grip on his daggers remained tight. Back when his Dad was still alive, he’d told him once to never approach a wild animal whilst it was feeding, to do so was to wish for death, when it needn’t come.

Of course, barely a year later, the man had been lying in a pool of his own blood with his throat ripped out, so what did he know?

“What, you expect me to feel sorry for you?” he said, lips curling around each word, “Sorry, but my sympathies are with Janey from the village’s mum, after her daughter was found without a spec of blood left in her. Or the Dwights, after their oldest son got murdered right before the harvest. Or the thousands of people that’ve died because your lot didn’t walk out into the sun the second they got turned.”

“Besides,” he said, voice low, “If you didn’t feel guilty, then why’re you even here?”

"I'm here because I had no choice. It was join or watch the Red Hood's execute my friend." Vitius said with unexpected steel in his voice. "Ironic isn't it? That the people who claim to be our protectors against the supernatural, are willing to stoop to murdering innocent people who get in their way. And before you ask, no I did not manipulate my friend into defending me. He did so because he knew me. Because he knew who I was before I became this." He gestures to himself. "A mortal man who spent his life protecting other's, who was then unjustly betrayed by everyone around him after being bitten."

“Then he was naïve.” Colin matched the hardness of the leech’s voice, eyes narrowed, “Or delusional. Or just a fool.” He glared at the creature, taking in the way it moved and spoke. It must’ve been turned recently, “Whatever you were before, you’re not that anymore. He died the second you were born. And sure,” he said, “maybe his memory’s strong right now. I guess you’ve only drunk animal blood, right? You’re not like them – the ones in the mountains that terrorise the villages, drink off humans like we’re meals that just happen to have bloody legs,” a pause, he let his voice drop again after noticing the stares of people nearby, “but you’re not fucking special,” he growled, “you might have some of your humanity left right now, or at least you seem to think you do – but the second the chips are down? You’ll turn some other poor sod just like the leech that turned you.”

"We'll see." Vitius said, his eyes narrowing into slits. He held Colins gaze for a few more tense moments before letting his arms fall to his sides and turning towards the table. Pulling out a chair Vitius sat down and picked up his drink, then took another swig from it. Staring out across the dining room with a dark expression on his face, Vitius thought about what Colin had said. Maybe he was right. Maybe he would become just like the vampires he had fought up in the hills and mountains. A cold hearted monster who only existed to feed off of life and cause desolation wherever he went.

The very idea of it was both repulsive and terrifying at the same time. Repulsive because he knew the human inside of him would die before senselessly murdering others and tearing apart their lives...

And terrifying because he knew the vampire inside of him would do it without a moment's hesitation.

Letting out a low and barely audible growl, Vitius pushed the thought aside as he turned to stare at the sunlight streaming through the large glass windows behind the three chairs at the opposite end of the hall.

"Perhaps he's right. Maybe I should have just walked out into the sun..."

Colin kept his eyes fixed on the creature for a moment, before shaking his head and backing away once it turned and sat at the table. For the barest of moments, he considered his own plate, lying abandoned, but as much as he despised the idea of wasting food, his stomach turned at the mere thought of eating, never mind right next to a leech.

He cleared his throat, giving the others a look, before quietly muttering, “Anyone that wants it can have my plate. Not hungry,”, shoving his hands in his pockets, and making a hasty retreat from the overcrowded room. Apparently, the budding friendship he’d struck up with Eliza that morning had been a fluke, and others here were not so amicable. Surrounded on all sides by murderers and monsters, he’d to keep his guard up if he wanted to survive longer than a week in this place.

He just hoped that, in the end, it’d be worth it.

---

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Brighid looked around. Apparently no one needed healing. I guess that's a good sign. I need to do research on werewolves and I don't know that I want someone getting my hopes up if it turns out I'm not going to survive it. Also don't want to get someone else's hopes up as well.

Brighid turned and started following the directions that she got from a random person she asked where the library was.

---

Brighid rubbed her eyes and caressed the spine of the book she had tucked into a pocket sewn into her black dress. I’m tired of hiding in these clothes. I’m different than the timid girl before… Brighid shook her head and focused on the fact that she was lost now in going from the library to the great hall. Her yellow cloak fluttered as she turned a corner and saw a window that was open.

There was a storm on the horizon. In more ways than one. Brighid moved to the window. She closed her eyes feeling the wind run it’s fingers over her skin and through her hair like a lover. She took a deep breath in. She could smell the rain coming the scent of wet soil. The smell of ozone that came with a storm. The window was deep and a cushion lay on it. There was a bench that Brighid was kneeling on. She leaned her arms on the cushion and watched the storm. Exhaustion quickly took over and as hungry as she was Brighid soon succumbed to the lure of sleep.

Ryder dropped a few coins on the bar before giving Bud a lazy wave and taking his leave from The Stumbling Ass. The questionable alcohol, while possibly turning on him later, was at least enough to take the edge off now. As he walked out of the bar and found himself in the courtyard, he simply stopped for a moment and stood, surveying the his surroundings. He wasn’t even sure where exactly he was planning on going next. Finlay mentioned wanting to have words and then there was the dinner that was approaching soon.

There was a small sense of dread over the idea of talking with Finlay. Not because he thought it would be an aggressive conversation, but because it would likely be bureaucratic discussion and one he had no interest in. After a small stretch, he finally started moving one foot in front of the other once more.

Making his way across the courtyard and back into the confines of the keep proper, he moved down the hallway towards the great hall. All the while he just looked at the ground, his mind racing, but not at any one particular subject. The gift given to him by the alcohol; inability to focus. It was comforting. It wasn’t until he noticed a foreign body entering his line of sight that he finally looked up. A woman looking dazed at the sill of a window, sporting a yellow cloak. One of the recruits, he thought to himself, answering his own unspoken question. His initial instinct was to keep walking. Don’t engage. These people are temporary. Move on.

“‘Ey.” Ryder blinked for a second after hearing the word before realizing that it escaped from his own mouth. So much for that plan. He shook his head subtly, disappointed in himself. The alcoholic swill was a double edged sword. The situation being what it was, he figured he might as well press on. "You're one of the Yellows," he said, stating the obvious. "What's your name?"

Brighid's eyes opened slowly and focused on Ryder. “Brighid. Are you drunk?” She rolled her neck and stretched her arms over her head to wake up. If he can be informal so can I. Besides I got woken up and I'm ravenous and exhausted. Plus I think he's drunk...cute but drunk.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow while he pondered on what he must've smelled like after his visit to the bar. "No," he said finally. "I'm Ryder." While he looked her over, several questions began to pop into his mind as he took in her features. "The trial. You don't seem too worse for the wear. What's your secret?" Despite his lack of enthusiasm for the assignment he was given, he couldn't help but be curious about the people involved. He thought back on his own trial. His team of initiates all saw themselves as the alphas of the group, reacting accordingly, attacking their creature individually instead of as a unified force. The mistake cost many their lives. This crop of people didn't seem to have that problem, at least for the most part.

Brighid smirked at him.[color=aquamarine] “Well I could say that it's a secret but I won't. I'm a White Healer. I don't suppose you know what that is exactly, do you?” Brighid blinked slowly.

Ryder’s eyes closed into a slight squint and he pondered the response. He didn’t exactly want to come off as ignorant, but imagined some base assumptions would lead him to the general idea of it all. Too relaxed to put up a front, he finally surrendered saying, “Remind me.”

Brighid raised an eyebrow and looked smug. “White Healers take the pain of a wound as the wound is healed. Do you need reminding about the others? Or do you remember now?”

Ryder let a subtle huff escape his nostrils. “It’s coming back to me…” he said. A person who could heal by taking on the wound. Quite a bit of sacrifice involved, he imagined. In her shoes, he’d be very selective of who he healed. Who was worth the pain. A thought crossed his mind for a split second. I wonder if it’s only physical wounds. “...But do continue.”

Nodding Brighid continued. “Of course Gray and Black ones as well. But I'm sure someone as knowledgeable as yourself knows about those as well. I shall spare you the lecture on the differences between sects. Any other questions?” Brighid was starting to relax and her eyes started to droop and the effect was like she was insinuating more in the conversation than she was.

She smiled as the wind blew through her hair. The strands seemed to reach out to him teasingly. Her hair was so long that even braided, which it wasn't, it went past her hips. Since she hadn't braided her hair she'd left it down.

Ryder gave a subtle grunt, a gesture of agreement. She seemed preoccupied with her thoughts as she let mother nature caress her. Ryder leaned over to look out the window. In the distance were signs of overcast, yet when he looked to her face, it was almost as if she welcomed it. “Rain,” he said, as if it were its own declaration. “Muffles the senses. Easier for the nasties to sneak up on you.” He straightened up again. “Hopefully it passes by tomorrow. I’ve never been fond of hunting when it’s pouring.” He gave one last look toward the outside before returning his gaze to her. “Will you be at the dinner?”

Brighid’s stomach chose that time to growl loudly. She turned her head up to Ryder and stood up. “I was on my way there and got lost. I love storms. All the raw power of nature. Visceral. Primitive. Raw. So you're not training then why are you tagging along with Yellows?” She leaned back against the window sill looking at Ryder.

“Duty.” He said it simply, showing no emotion. His was reluctant to make eye contact as he spoke. “I suppose I will see you there. You’ve been with this troop longer than I have. Anything I need to know?”

Brighid was not satisfied with that answer. “Duty? To what? Goddess? Country? Race? Or was it just something you were told to do? By the by, when someone is talking to you it's customary to look them in the eye. As for the troop… I've known them meer minutes before you. I know we've been through one quitting and one that just minutes before you showed died. I seem to be the opinionated one. There are two werewolves, two vampires, three mages and the rest are human fighters. Look at me when you talk to me.” Brighid stubbornly set her jaw and she invaded his personal bubble.

Ryder scoffed with a smirk. “Well,” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not sure whether to scold you or offer you a drink.” He took mental note of her headcount before considering which category she fell into. Obviously not a vampire, and she did admit to being a user of magic. He thought back to the other faces he saw in the crew to try and discern if any of them were obviously of a supernatural ilk. He finally snapped back and focused on Brighid once more.

“But always keep in mind that you are entitled to nothing here. Not an explanation, not respect.” He spoke not in anger, but as a matter of fact. “However, I look forward to seeing you earn it.”

Brighid raised an eyebrow. “Entitlement is more of a male state of mind. I earn my keep. Like right now. I earned it years ago, you're just slow on the uptake. It's okay, you men can't be pretty and smart. I get it.” She smirked holding his eyes in her silvery gray ones. “So you want to ask? Go on ask your question? That will mean you weren't paying attention to me. I hate that. I don't like wasting my breath. And consequences come with my anger. So ask your question pretty boy.”

He took in her stare, the color of her eyes. “Vampires, werewolves and mages,” he said, as if musing on the thought. ”And you’re one of the latter? Is that what makes your eyes that color? I’ve known mages who don’t quite share that quality.” The question was leading. Ryder watched her face for any physical cues, anything that could help him read her past the words that she chose to speak.

Brighid shrugged. “I don't know what you mean. My eyes are what my mother referred to as a dove gray. She always said that her mother's eyes were that color as well. Yes I am a mage. As I stated earlier a White Healer. And…” Brighid shrugged again and started to step away looking around for a clue as to where the main hall was.

“And…” It came out in a whisper. Ryder looked her over. There were no blemishes forming on her skin from the kiss of sunlight. He looked away again and down at his feet, a grin forming across his face. “What’s wrong. You look like a dog trying to find its bone.”

Brighid's eyes snapped back to Ryder. “More likely that I'll be dead in less than two weeks. Declan had it easy. He's dead. I'm still alive trying to pick up pieces of a shattered existence and refit them.” Brighid started to visibly shake and the volume of her voice rising as the wind blew the windows open and the breeze picked up. Her eyes flashed like lightning as the wind curled through the hall in a mad rush around the corner. “But by all means provoke the caster wolf. The only one in history from what I can tell. I have the sword of Damocles over my head but a joke about a bone makes everything better.”

Brighid shoves at him to get around him. Barely aware enough to keep it in check so she didn't hurt him. Unknowingly she had allowed herself to be boxed in. “Let me pass!!” Her temper flared and she snapped the phrase out. Glaring up at Ryder. Her eyes defiant sparks her hair blown back showing the delicate bone structure. Her shapeless dress blown to mold her form. Lean arms and legs, gently rounded hips and large breasts that looked even larger due to her petite bone structure. They were glimpses as the wind changed direction and shifted to and fro.

Ryder’s face remained stoic. It wasn’t that he wasn’t impressed by the display (and perhaps even a little intimidated), but he would never willingly offer that information through body language. If your opponent can’t read you, then they can’t predict what you’re going to do next. It was an essential skill to learn when every day could be your last.

“I didn’t take you for being sensitive,” he said. Declan. He’d have to remember to come back to that later. “Two weeks. What makes you think you’re dead in two weeks?”

“Because no caster has survived the transition. How do you function in ignorance? I don't like not knowing if I'll live or die. I'm amazed that I survived the fever after the attack. And it only serves to anger me more that a complete stranger cares more than the few that I know!! Everything is so different now… and the same. I look back on how I'd have dealt with this and cringe. I was a doormat.” Her voice lowers to a whisper and thunder rolls almost covering her next sentence. “And I like this new me.”

She seemed to remember he was there and shook her head and raised hands out to the sides to palms up and the extra wind stopped. She moved them together in front of her and titled her hand to point at the ceiling thumb first and middle finger touching. The windows shut one after the other till the only one unaffected was the one that had already been open. “I'm not sensitive...and even so with what I've got in store will make what I've gone through pale in comparison.”

“Seems like you have two choices in the matter,” Ryder said as he glanced over all the windows after they had shut. “Own it or let it own you.” His eyes shot back at Brighid. “The way this life works, dinner isn’t guaranteed. You show up for a feast or you never feast again and it can happen at any time. You’ve got an upcoming challenge that you’ve never faced before in two weeks. Hell, woman, you might have one tomorrow morning.” Ryder shifted his weight and pivoted until his back was leaning up against one of the walls, facing outward to the courtyard, his eyes staring out, but looking far beyond the image that was in front of him. “Shit gets rough and there ain’t a soul in here who’s had it easy. Otherwise why the hell would we have walked through those doors? I’m sorry for your demons. But fuck ‘em.” His neck turned to look at her and he gave a stern, but shallow nod.

Brighid ground her teeth and advanced on Ryder poking him in the chest. “I have a name Ryder,” she made his name sound like a dirty word and stabbing him with a slender long finger. “I'd appreciate it if you use it since I gave it to you. Leave my demons to me. They're old enemies and familiar.” Staring off into space she murmured. “Life is short live it well and in the moment...for you don't know your last…”

She blushed as she realized that she was very close and snatched her hand back. She cleared her throat and swallowed stepping back as far as she could. Which wasn't far. Judging from the length of his arm probably still within arms reach. “If you could possibly forget my attitude and point me to the great hall, I'd be eternally grateful.” She smiled weakly, as if to say, pretty sure you know you now have the upper hand.

“Nearly there,” he said, locking eyes. “Keep going down this corridor and make a left. It’ll be at the end.” He didn’t move, didn’t point. Just spoke. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. Brighid.”

Brighid looked Ryder in the eye and stopped breathing. What's that supposed to mean? And that look…

Brighid straightened and said breathlessly. “A cure. And to make a difference, what I've always wanted.” Brighid was mentally kicking her own butt all the way to the great hall that she still hadn't moved toward.

“For now, you have control over the latter. You’re in the right place.” Ryder pushed himself off the wall. “The other bit… Well, let’s start by walking and see if we can’t figure out how to run together, ya?” He had never heard about a cure for lycanthropy, but he had seen enough in his life to know that nothing was impossible. It wouldn’t be easy, but maybe… This woman, this Brighid. Fiery, to say the least, but also a force to be reckoned with, as she demonstrated. Ryder was already certain that she was interesting. He was curious to see what the future held. “You and I. We good?”

Brighid blushed and the only thing that kept her eyes on Ryder was if she turned away she was sure that it would reveal that she connected to this stranger in a way that she was afraid couldn't be undone. Couldn't because it was to intertwined with who she actually was now. “Yeah we're good. Why wouldn't we be?” She turned and walked a few feet away hips swaying. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “You coming?”

Ryder’s eyes squinted for a moment, taking a half second to consider. “I suppose so.” His initial steps were quick, catching up to her pace before he found a more relaxed stride as he trekked the hallway. He started thinking of the dinner to come. He hadn’t had a meal that he didn’t have to catch in over a fortnight. The thought was beginning to make him salivate. “Did you have to travel far to get here?”

Brighid grinned at Ryder as he caught up. For a tiny woman she was used to her brother's strides. Calpernia had insisted that if she could still move with the grace of a swan and take man sides strides then she could dance. Brighid pushed the memory away. “Yes from a village in Chillwood. They took me in when I stumbled in to town out of my mind with fever and blood loss. What about you?” Brighid looked over at him and took in his expression into consideration.

“Mm,” he grunted, a little surprised. “Spent most of my life just outside of Chillwood.” A place he hoped never to have to return for any extended period. Too many happy memories drowned in blood. “Did you say fever and blood loss?” His interest was piqued.

Brighid pressed her lips together. “Werewolf bite. So yes.”

Ryder’s stride was a bit of a rhythm. He found himself focusing on it as his mind wandered toward other things, constantly calculating his next move. “A new home where they knew they were inviting danger,” he said finally. There was no judgement in his tone. If anything, that was a curious admiration.

“And what motivates you to be here,” he asked with waved arms, showcasing the keep.

Brighid scoffed at his reference for a new home. “No. Not a new home. Hunting party. Declan…” she shook her head her voice choking off. She swallowed audibly and cleared her throat. “Wolves. Not normal.” Brighid stopped and wiped her cheeks and eyes as she breathed in shakily. Consciously not looking at Ryder.

“Mm,” came the familiar grunt. “Declan. That’s twice you’ve said his name.” It was an inquisitive statement. The pieces were coming together in Ryder’s mind, but he was still curious if she would talk on it. He noticed he was taping each of his finger tips to his thumb as he walked. A tick often executed when he was in thought, calculating. As soon as he realized he was doing it, he forced himself to stop. No telegraphing.

Brighid cleared her throat. “My older brother. I shouldn't be surprised. He's a big influence on my life even though he's dead.” Brighid had noticed that he wore a ring. So he was probably married and just being nice. “So your wife is pretty lucky if she gets this kind of focused attention.”

Ryder looked at his hand, connecting the dots that lead to the question. He opened his mouth to speak but paused, even ceasing to breathe. His figurative armor was chinked. Reluctance was building up. After a beat, he let out a sigh of surrender before saying, “She was anything but lucky.” He spent many nights letting loose tears for Alice and he was sure there’d be more nights to come, but tonight would not be one of those nights. He wouldn’t allow it.

Brighid watched Ryder say that his wife wasn't lucky and stopped breathing. She reached out and put her hand lightly on his arm for comfort. Oh Goddess...he's a widower. His tone and posture say it was bad. I'll change the subject quickly.

“So how long did it take for you to become a Hood?” Brighid had left her hand on his arm and gently squeezed to get his attention.

The hairs on the back of Ryder’s neck began to stand on end. He let out a small huff of breath as he found himself a bit surprised. He hadn’t felt that kind of electricity in a long time. “Roughly a year,” he eventually answered. “They make you earn it. Some get to Red faster than others and there are no defined prerequisites for what makes you qualify. If you ever asked the Commander what you needed to do to get the hood, she would simply say ‘Prove you deserve it’. I brought down many enemies, performed several tasks, but it wasn’t until I nearly got myself killed that they finally decided it was time. It’s different for everyone.” And immediately after getting full fledged membership, he took off on his own to tackle a personal vendetta, solo, breaking a cardinal rule. Part of him was surprised that he wasn’t demoted entirely.

Brighid looked intently at Ryder. “Well that makes it even more difficult. Just out of curiosity how many female werewolves are there in the keep? I am hoping I'm not the only one. From what I've gathered they seem very close to wolves.” Brighid bit her lip. She hoped he didn't want to know why she was asking.

A shrug was the simple answer. “There’s too many wearing a hood for me to keep track of. Potentially there are others, but I’ve not fought alongside any of them. Worried about competition?” Ryder allowed a small smirk to escape.

Brighid felt herself smile. “Competition? For whom? No more like wanted to know what I was in for, assuming that I make it that far of course.”

“Mm.” Ryder stared off for a moment. Her question birthed more questions within himself. He’d been with this organization for a while and he was so fixated on his own goals that he truly didn’t know much about his brothers or sisters in arms. Maybe there were other werewolves and he was too blind to notice. As a race, they could blend in quite well most of the time. There were certainly tells, though…

“When do you turn,” came the question with a businesslike tone.

Brighid sighed. “Two weeks...If I survive. Why?” She sounded puzzled not offended just puzzled and that came across in her speech.

“I suppose I’ll need to make myself available when that time comes,” he said as a matter of fact. “Off to a decent start taming the woman. Perhaps I can tame the beast as well.” Ryder let loose a wink in jest. Something to take her mind off the grim aspects of what was coming.

Brighid gapped at him and sputtered. “I… well… it wasn’t like… not likely. Can’t prove it!!!” She finally lamely spat out as she stopped out of arm's reach as she stomped her foot lightly and put her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “You couldn’t tame anything let alone me.”

“Uh huh.” Ryder didn’t stop walking, nor did he make any attempt to conceal his crooked grin. As his footsteps echoed down the corridor, he faced straight ahead and listened to see if they would be accompanied by another pair.

He was walking past… Brighid shrugged and caught up with Ryder not making eye contact. She looked around. Wait where were they? “Shouldn’t we already be in the great hall?”

“About that,” Ryder smirked. “We missed our turn just a little ways back, but I figured the conversation was worth the extra travel time.” He executed an about-face and placed his hand on Brighid’s shoulder, pulling her in a little so that her line of sight would match his as he pointed to the corridor over yonder. “That’s our target.” WIth that, he led the way. It wouldn’t be long before they heard the rumblings of the other occupants of the keep.

Brighid’s head titled. “Worth the extra travel time? You make tha-” He reached out and touched her shoulder pulling her in. He smelled like the forest after a rain. He was warm too. His breath caressed her temple and she shivered lightly. Maybe he didn’t notice that. I’m not hungry...maybe... I’ll feel differently after eating.

Brighid walked behind him noticing his stride and the play of his muscles as he walked. She shook herself she only noticed anything remotely like that on one person. Sadon. She blushed and quickened her pace to over take Ryder.

---

Brighid poked at her dinner forcing herself to eat not really tasting anything. She was sure that she’d either lost both friends that she could have counted on in Eliza and Sadon. And she didn’t want to ask to make sure.

She saw the archer who had tried to shoot Vitius try and push buttons. Vitius didn’t look phased and the archer walked off. Wasn’t his name Rivington or something like that? Brighid shrugged and with her plate clear, surprisingly, she turned it in and went to her room. Getting the directions right.

Finlay stood up from the head of the table and moved slowly to the empty spot beside Ryder before plopping down theatrically and looking at the fellow Red with eyes that screamed out curses, but a face that wore a mask of reservation. Ryder sat there with a a leg of meat in his hand, a plate of grease where the meat once soaked set in front of him, and some freshly served ale in a mug just caddy corner to his plate. Ryder could already get a sense for what this was, a size-up, and chose not to make the first move. He simply continued to pull meat off the bone with his teeth and gulp it down as if nothing was the matter.

"So, there, Ryder," Finlay finally chimed in. "I've only got two real rules for our little 'partnership', ya follow?" Ryder dropped the meat, letting it fall to the plate with a loud clank before turning all of his attention to Finlay, wearing his agitation on his sleeve.

"No, Finlay, I don't follow because you haven't actually said anything." The tension was palpable and Ryder's attitude was not helping matters. He looked on at Finlay, his eyes drawn to the massive scar that decorated his face, a parting gift from some monstrosity, no doubt. Ryder found himself wondering what Finlay actually looked like out on the field. He'd never seen him in action but the man was not terribly large or muscular. And yet, there was seldom ever an ill word spoken about Finlay amongst the Hoods. A rarity. In an organization that demands working in close quarters with people whose survival depends on the amount of aggression that you can exert upon beasts of evil, it's not uncommon for toes to get stepped on and grudges to form. Ryder was convinced that Finlay was about ready to take a flying leap onto his toes right now.

"Right. Rule, the first: If any o' my people die on a mission with you, you better fookin have died first, ya hear?" There was no room for interpretation there. Finlay looked at Ryder with pupils that could bore into the latter's soul. The message was clear and understandable. Ryder regretting his sarcasm earlier and gave a solemn nod.

"What's the second?" he finally asked after a beat.

"While we're partners, we operate like partners. Share information. Lead as a unified front. Partner stuff. Y'know, 'what's yours is mine' and all o' that." Finlay then stood up and grabbed Ryder's ale before chugging it empty within seconds. After a lengthy and abhorous belch, he added "but what's mine, don't fook with." He then haphazardly dropped the finished mug back in front of Ryder, the remnants of saliva and foam splashing Ryder's face as the thing fell to its side. "Oy! Fairy lady!" Finlay called out, his once stern tone reverting back to a jovial one as he regarded Loona, his joyousness perhaps enhanced a little by his drink. "I bet you got some fookin' stories! It's Loona, right?" With a laugh, he moved down the table toward the fae, leaving Ryder with his soiled face and bruised ego.

Ryder looked across the table, his eyes landing on the nearest person who happened to be a teenaged guy with an outfit that had a little flair to it, before blurting out, "I swear, that fucking guy. I've done literally nothing to him. I'm following orders. Does he seriously think I want to be here?" He caught his tongue before going further and took a big breath in through his nose before letting it out slowly through his mouth. He looked to the young man once more after regaining his composure. "Sorry," he said a little sheepishly. "Anyway, you look a little young to be in this line of work, kid. What's your name?"

---

---

---

This was nice - the soft warmth from the hearth on her cheek, the heavy blanket resting over her shoulders, the… pounding on the door?

Kate blinked, groggy, as she rouse to a state of full consciousness. She’d fallen asleep in the workshop again from the looks of things, curled up on the, somewhat odorous, couch in the office, the edge of the old stone furnace just visible around the edge of the door frame.

The knocking that had woken her up continued, more insistent with each beat. She’d always been prone to headaches, and the relentless banging was already beginning to draw the familiar tension along her jaw, signifying the beginning of her wanting to curl up in a corner and die.

Fantastic.

With a groan, she heaved herself to her feet, pulling the colourful blanket she’d been huddled beneath around her shoulder to guard against the slight chill that crept through the poorly sealed windows and door that didn’t quite fit its frame. As her bare feet made contact with the rough flooring planks, she realised that Master Bertrand must have pulled her shoes off, and he was probably the one who’d draped the blanket over her as well. She smiled, and affection settled in her gut. That man really was too good to her.

“All right! I’m on me way!” she yelled, as the knocking still persisted, “gi’s a sec to wake the fuck up!” and then, under her breath, “Wanker.”

After plodding through the extremely hazardous to bare-feet workshop, she stopped at the door. Peering through the peephole with a furrowed brow, she scowled when she recognised the young woman still slamming her fist against the wood. Megan. She could practically smell the urgency that haunted her friend from here. A brief flare of irritation, quickly followed by guilt. Sure, it wasn’t unusual for her to show up at odd hours with even odder worries and concerns, but Kate doubted it was any more pleasant for Meg than it was for her.

With a sigh, she turned the key in the lock, letting the door swing open with a slight creek, “Meg,” she began, a hand on her hip, “The fuck are you doing here at this hour?” her expression was stern, but she hoped her friend would see the concern in her eyes.

Meg shifted for a few minutes, eyes darting nervously back and forth, before she swallowed, “Sorry Kate, I know, I know, I told myself I’d stop bothering you, but this is a big deal!”

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose. What was she supposed to say to that? ‘oh sorry Meg, but you have a shit track record so calm the hell down and get out of my doorway’? Unlikely.

Well aware of how put-upon she probably seemed, she opened the door a little wider and stepped out of the way, allowing her friend to walk through, “Alright,” she said, “you’d better come in.” she gave a small smile, hoping to reassure her, “I’ll warm us up some water, and we can talk it out over a drink, yeah?”

Meg nodded quickly, before following Kate through the workshop and into the office where she’d just been napping.

Once they’d settled down on opposite ends of the sofa, mugs of steaming hot drinking chocolate warming up their fingers, Kate finally addressed Meg.

“Right,” she said, settling comfortably with her feet pulled up beneath her, “how’s about you tell me what’s going on?”

Meg, who’d shed the woollen cloak she’d been wearing earlier, but not her leather boots or rigid posture, sipped cautiously at her drink, ”I need to go home for a while,” she let the mug rest in her lap, “I figured that I should probably let you know, didn’t want you worrying.”

Kate scoffed, jokingly of course, “What’d I be worried about you for?” her brow furrowed as the implications dawned on her, “wait, why? Thought you, and I quote, ‘never wanted to set foot in that fucking place again’? What’s going on Meg?”

Meg’s teeth worried at her bottom lip for a second as she stared into the mug on her lap. After a moment she looked back up, eyes suddenly harder, “It’s Llian. I got a letter saying she might be in trouble.” A deep, shuddering breath, “bad trouble, Kate. Supernatural crap.”

Kate’s breath caught in her throat, and sympathy welled up in her chest at Meg’s confession. She swallowed, placed her cup down on the floor by the fire, before reaching over and grabbing Meg’s hand. Meg seemed a little surprised, but after a moment, she gripped onto Kate tightly, as if anchoring herself.

“What can you tell me?” Kate said, voice quiet, undercut only by the crackling fire.

---

The arrow thunked, hard, into the target some fifty metres away, but Colin didn’t stop to look. Another arrow, tugged from the quiver, strung, shot within seconds. It hit, because of course it did, it was a stationary fucking target.

Again.

His muscles burned, sweat soaked into his shirt, chilling the skin beneath uncomfortably in the morning breeze. He stopped, overtly aware of the way exhaustion dragged at his limbs like treacle and his stomach ached with that deep, gnawing emptiness that always came after it stopped growling angrily. He hadn’t slept well last night. Hadn’t been able to stand the thought of the leech just one room over. Stuck with his ‘teammates’, one of whom’d sooner throw him to the wolves, and the other, sweet as she was, more likely to get swatted before she even stood a chance.

He could almost hear Andi in the back of his head, having a go at him for not eating more than a stale chunk of bread from his pack and napping in a supply closet, knife in hand, but he didn’t care. She wasn’t there, so what did it matter what she thought?

He grit his teeth. Reached for another arrow. Faster, he had to be faster. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, or let his increasingly stiff and painful arm hold him back, or whatever. If anything, yesterday had proved that if he wanted to survive, he had to be better.

His fingertips met air.

He blinked, confused, as his hand groped the inside of the empty quiver, he could’ve sworn he’d had-

“Gonna have to pay better attention than that, kiddo,” he whipped round to see a woman in a tattered red cloak standing, hip cocked and smirking, with five of his arrows poking out from between her fingers like claws, “Least, if you’re planning on making it to Red.”

His knuckles whitened where he gripped Nessy. Heat crowded his face as he struggled to keep his temper in check. Whoever this was, she was a hood, and could probably slaughter him in five seconds flat. Instead, he met her eye coolly, not trusting himself to say anything.

After a second of staring him down, she raised an eyebrow and let her arm fall back to her side, “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or should I say the closet?”

Colin felt his eyes go wide as his jaw, quite literally, dropped. His heart raced. How did she know? Had anyone else seen him? Was it really that easy?

“Oh calm your tits – no one did anything…” she paused, brow furrowed, “well, that’s not quite true, might want to check in with a mirror sometime soon. But aside from a little artistic expression, everything was fine!”

Colin did not think everything was fine.

The woman continued, “But that’s beside the point – you’re one of Finlay’s lot, right?”

Colin nodded hesitantly, not relaxing his grip on his bow.

“Yeah, well, looks like you’re on loan,” the woman said, “there’s a friend of the hoods in need, and while we can’t really afford to be wasting qualified hoods time on people that can’t afford to pay up, we can send you lot.”

“Wait, so I’m not with Finlay’s group anymore?” he replied, confused.

“Don’t be stupid, ‘course you are. Like I said though, you’re on loan ‘cos nobody was expecting quite so many of you fuckwits to survive the trial.”

Colin’s heart sunk, so he’d still have to be with the leech and the killer then. Fantastic.

The woman gave him a disapproving look, “Jeeze – you’d think I’d just killed your puppy. Perk the hell up kid, you ain’t gonna last long with an attitude like that.” She pursed her lips, “The carriage leaves in an hour from the front gates. Go wash up and grab something from the kitchens before you keel over. We don’t know what you’re gonna be facing, but we do know it’s not gonna be pretty.”

She made to leave, presumably to round up the rest of her unfortunate victims, but then paused, “Oh, right,” she said, “Forgot to introduce myself – the name’s Caira. Try and stick around long enough to need to use it again, huh?”

And with that, she was gone.

---

---

---

---

Hunched over at a desk in the library, Eliza hummed a melodic tune. Soft hands were coated in clay, and while she was immensely focused on her crafting, at times she’d glance up to peer at the cups of materials pushed up against the wall. Cord, glass vials, paint, miniscule flowers, and shards of crystals. The placement would look random to anyone else, but to her everything was in meticulous order.

Peering back down at her work, she ran her thumb over the runic piece again and again, smoothing out its surface. It was a basic speed charm, something she had made many times over, and yet, she never dared to rush. Not unless she was forced to. The more time she spent on her charms, the longer they lasted and the better they looked. Not to mention it calmed her.

Footsteps approached her from behind as someone else entered the library. Tall and spritely, the woman approached her from behind, moving surprisingly quickly, she leaned over Eliza as she worked, “Hey, yellow, what're you doing in here so early?”

Eliza jumped, her thumb pressing down harder than she would have liked on the clay, causing a dent to form on its surface. She pursed her lips, staring at it with distaste. Calmly, she set the piece down and turned to settle her gaze on the woman who had interrupted her work.

A glance at her worn cloak was evidence enough that Eliza should give her respect. So, she straightened her posture and offered up a bright smile. “Just figured I’d get some charms done before I was tasked with something else.”

“Sorry, did I make you jump?” She said, only a little sarcastic as she examined the charms laid out in front of Eliza with curiosity, “Spellcaster, huh? Heard it was a spellcaster that did for one of the trial beasts - was that you by any chance?”

Eliza didn’t dare puff up her chest. She assumed any confidence would be met with sarcasm or disdain. Instead, she paused for a moment before nodding her head, seemingly indifferent. “Yes, ma’am, that was me.”

The woman gave her a brief nod, “Good job. Certainly don't look like much, but I guess you pack a punch, huh?” She stood up straight, giving Eliza space once more, as she gave her a look, “Y'know, wouldn't kill you to have a little more pride in yourself, you did good. There's not many here who can say that. If you don't toot your own horn, there's not a soul in the world who'll do it for you.”

Goddess, the reds were confusing. What did this lady want from her? Was she just trying to get her to ‘toot her own horn’ around a hood that didn’t appreciate it? Maybe that was just her overthinking things. Perhaps it was like being in a bar full of drunks, who all liked storytime.

“I suppose I did do well,” She finally admitted. “But I don’t suppose that’s why you’re here.” She added, wanting to further the conversation and bring it away from her minor achievements. She didn’t want to come across as rude, but why would a red want to hang out with a yellow if they weren’t trying to get something out of them? Eliza mentally scolded herself. She really was overthinking.

“You're right,” the woman said with a slight smile, “I'm not. You're one of Finlay's lot,” she didn't pause for Eliza to answer, just carried on, “which is all fine and dandy, only problem being, there's about eleven times as many of you that survived than anyone was expecting. So. I'm borrowing you. Favour to a friend of the hoods, if you will.”

Eliza was only confused for a moment. She nearly interrupted and asked if she would no longer be a part of Finlay’s squad, something that would irk her...if she had to stay with the same roommates. But since she was only being borrowed, this was probably only a temporary shift. “Sounds great,” She said with a smile. “What are we going to be doing?”

“Well, y'see, that's where things get a little…” she bit the inside of her cheek, apparently searching for the right word, “fuzzy. All we know is that a local blacksmith's friend’s worried about a family member. The pair of them'll be going with you, mostly to help you figure stuff out, but from what we were told, she stopped getting letters off her sister a while back. Next thing you know, she gets a letter off a neighbour telling her to get back soon as she can cos her sister's life is in danger. Apparently the girl's not been home in years, hasn't seen her family in as long. So, looks like it's gonna be up to you to puzzle it out.” She gave Eliza a slight smirk, “You up for the challenge?”

An estranged family member that hadn’t visited home in years? Sounded like her mentor. Though his reasons were likely different than this blacksmith’s friend’s. “This is the type of work I signed up for.” She remarked easily. “When do we leave?”

“That's what I like to hear.” The woman grinned, “Told the last guy I talked to to get to the carriage waiting out front in an hour, so that'd probably give you forty five minutes. Still need to find a couple of others to tag along.” She started to walk away, before, over her shoulder yelling a quick “Good luck!”

Eliza winced when she yelled over her shoulder. Despite the library being mostly empty, it was still rather...rude. She wondered what the woman’s name was, as she hadn’t caught it during their brief chat. Well, no bother. She had to get to cleaning. Turning back to her workspace, she began putting everything back into a sack that she carried with her to the library, wondering what she’d do before the trip.

The sun had risen and, with it, Blanchette. After waking from the recurring nightmares she faces every night, she stood up, covered in sweat, and started to make quick work of her morning routine. Once she got herself cleaned up, she sauntered over to her armor that was rested on a rack. Blanchette's nude body was a novel of scars and scratches, telling stories of the battles she survived and ones she nearly didn't. She didn't used to wear the armor all the time, but she had since learned to be wiser. There was no place that was truly safe. She moved to her undergarments and began getting dressed before finally suiting up in her crimson.

There was a new crop of Yellow Hoods. It was time to put them to work.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridors as she made her was to a particular dorm room. Once she found herself at the right door, she gave it three solid pounds. She didn't hear any movement on the other side, and there was no sign of response. She pounded again.

"Finlay!" she shouted, stern. When there still wasn't an answer, she opened the door and was surprised to find it hadn't been locked. More surprising, still, was the vision of a half-naked Finlay sprawled out on the bed, his head hanging off of the side snoring with enough volume that one might've mistook his for a werewolf. There was an empty mug that was discarded upon the floor with a damp puddle around it that smelled of ale. There was cause for celebration last night, Blanchette reminded herself, trying to fight back her disappointment. She looked around the small chamber and spotted a glass of water that was half full. Without hesitation she grabbed it and hurled its contents right at Finlay's head.

"Ah, for fook's sake!" he shouted after spasming into consciousness. "Who's the fookin' dead ma-" His bloodshot eyes regarded the shape of the blurry commander. It was a shape he had memorized. With a sudden jolt, he shot up off the bed and to his feet, standing at attention while water dripped from his hair and nose onto the floor.

"Good, you're up." She had no intention of asking him how he came to be in this drunken stupor. There was work to be done. "When Ryder came back to us, he told us of his encounter with a small horde of ghouls. This is in line with other reports we've heard from various other northern outposts. I need to know what's going on and I need to know it now."

"Yessir," Finlay diligently responded.

"I don't want dilly dallying on this one. We need to hit this now and hit it hard before it gets out of control. Seems like the perfect assignment for some of your recruits to cut their teeth on." Finlay just nodded where he stood. "Get a team together. We don't have time for you all to travel by horse. I'm sending a mage with you. He's no hood and he's certainly no fighter. He's only got one trick up his sleeve."

"Aye, o'course. If I may, what's the trick?"

"He gets you where you need to be in seconds rather than weeks. He's an incredibly valuable asset. You break him, I break you. Understood?" There was no humor in the commander's face as he delivered that last line. Finlay gave a dutiful nod and then watched as Blanchette left his quarters, shutting the door behind her. Finlay let out a sigh of relief before turning around and taking in the scenery of his room.

"Right. First, get the room ta stop spinnin'. Then we throw the yellas to the wolves. Gonna be a good day."

---

Some time later...



Finlay was briefing most his hoods in the main hall about the situation. To the right of him stood a man of small stature in a very earthy wardrobe with a large pointed hat and a pipe that he was currently toking upon.

"...and the Commander expects us to get results. This is... uh... Well he's going to help get ya there and bring ya back and that's about it. Make sure to keep him safe or we're gonna feel the wrath o' Rouge." He looked to the short man. "The hell is your name, anyway?"

"Francis," said the man, his voice an incredibly high as if he were exposed to massive amounts of helium. Finlay did a double-take, his face contorting as if he had just witnessed someone eating their own excrement. Fancis, on the other hand, just took another puff from his pipe before continuing. "Francis Dobber. At your service."

"...you've gotta be fookin' kiddin' me..." Finlay just stared at him as if he were looking at a mystical unicorn. After a moment, he forced himself to snap back to attention and looked to the crew once more. "Right. So this squeaky fookin Dobber is gonna get you dobbers up north to Crimson Heights. You're objectives are as follows: Locate the the fookers that forgot how to die and kill 'em proper. Find out why in the ever-burnin' hell they were there to begin with, and get yer arses back here with some useful information. Ya follow?"

"And also make sure I'm safe," Francis added with a queasy smile. Finlay looked back at him with a look of horror and continued confusion as to the existence of someone such as he.

"Oh sweet lords, I'm gonna kill ya myself if I have to here ya speak again, ya fookin' mouse in man clothes!" Francis sheepishly went back to his pipe. "Right. Ryder! You're takin' this one," he glanced at the other Red Hood who was leaned up against the wall across the room. "There's no way in hell I'm spending any extra time with this weird, properly named fookhead." Ryder pushed himself off the wall and walked to the front to stand by Finlay. He was ready. "Who else is in?"

---

---

Kiri had managed to avoid interaction (small talk, pestering, getting into any fights) for the most part since the scene at the room. She'd gone to dinner. Eaten. Discouraged anyone approaching her with her overall demeanor. Left when she was done. She'd gone to a training room to move through forms, the familiar shape of them weaving through her consciousness, letting years of training take over: memories of doing these same moves back home, learning them as a child with her uncle, her uncle bloody with a slack face, skin already greying, dead, dead like Locksley, burning, boiling, screaming --

Her sword had clattered to the floor. It wasn't -- she didn't --

Kiri grit her teeth and swiped her sword up from the floor. Her hands were trembling. She clenched her fists tighter around the hilt. She held the blade up to inspect it for any scratches. All she saw were the two little knicks near the tip that she hadn't been able to smooth away, the last physical traces of that battle. Her first battle.

She stomped down on the emotions, the memories. She pretended she could hear them crack and shatter.

But there was no sound. Only emptiness.

Kiri left the training room.

She'd returned to her shared room that night long after her infuriating roommates were already asleep. Gotten little rest. When dawn stretched its grey fingers across the sky, reaching through their window, Kiri had climbed out of bed, eager for motion. For... something. Anything that would keep her from thinking, from remembering, from doubting. Most of the morning passed in a blur, though Kiri fought to keep her focus. This... this was unbecoming. Unacceptable. She was alert. She was a warrior. She could handle herself. She wouldn't give anyone cause to say otherwise.

So when Kiri found herself in the main hall, leaning against a table as Finlay drawled and cursed about this new mission...

Kiri pushed herself away from the table. Straightened up. Stepped forward.

---

---

The carriage set off as soon as the door slammed shut, the driver, an older man with a scraggly beard who didn’t appear to be a member of the hoods, barely saying a word as they trundled over lumpy roads. They veered out of central Duncaster with its opulent architecture and distinguished looking pedestrians as soon as they could, favouring side roads that soon led them directly out into the more agricultural land that marked the outer reaches of the province.

They stopped for a short break shortly after hitting Sinstead – the driver tossing rolls of bread, apples, and small blocks of cheese from a hessian sack in the direction of the three human members of the party, and a skin of what was presumably blood toward Vitius. Another driver then hopped aboard, continuing their journey throughout the night. This pattern continued for the multiple days it took to complete the journey, until, late one evening, they rolled up outside a small inn with ‘Beds for Ewe!’ scrawled on a heavy wooden sign in flecked green paint, a faded image of a disembodied sheep’s head floating beneath.

Rain was just beginning to dust the packed dirt ground as the driver hopped down from the perch, flinging open the door and looking at them all expectantly.

“Right,” he said, after a few moments of no one answering, voice carrying despite the wind whistling through the carriage, “Traffyn Fenwd’s just a twenty minute walk that way,” he gestured with a gnarled thumb toward a windy road that disappeared into a dense cluster of trees, “Ye’ve two rooms booked in this here inn for the next week under the name o’ the Red Hoods, after which someone’ll be back te pick you up, so no faffin’ about. The people what called us in’ll be waiting inside – go by Meg n’ Kate, but this spot ain’t too busy, so yer can probably expect them to spot you lot easy enough.”

And with that, he waited for the four to file out, before taking off back in the direction he came with a yelled, ”See you in a week! Try not to get yerselves killed!”, leaving them standing, alone, in the rapidly worsening weather.

Tags: @NorthernKraken @ZAVAZggg

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The ride was uneventful, though he tried to stay awake he slipped in and out of consciousness despite not wanting to. Though Sadon's dreams kept him tossing and turning during the night, he soon learned to live with it. Choosing to avoid sleep with an 'occupation' like his was a fool's errand. This meant a restless night, at best, and a sleepless one at worst. He was jostled to wake by the stop of the carriage, rubbing the exhaustion and sleepiness from his eyes, he peered outside. The place looked as eerie as it felt- dilapidated wood hugged the wall loosely with the smell carrying some sort of unidentifiable odour.

Sadon arched his neck left and right, letting his bones crack. He, too, pulled his scarf up and his faded hood down. With a short hop he got off the carriage, the muddied earth sunk into his once clandestine metal grieves. Before looking around he mentally noted to polish them when he had the time. He had thought that the cold and unwelcoming atmosphere would subside, instead they made his hair stand on end. With the rain pelting on his hood, his lips cracked and he opened his mouth;

"Shall we?"

Sadon followed a few bodies distance away from Vitius, keeping his guard up for some unbeknownst reason.

Dinner ended up not being as bad as she thought it would be. Everyone seemed to be nice to her at the very least, and she made sure not to step on anyone else's toes before the mission tomorrow. She even made an effort to talk to Finlay about some fairy tales that she heard growing up around her people. It was fun, but alas, more drinks were poured and it became harder and harder to hold and actual conversation with the others, so Loona bid the other a good night and headed back to her shared room. Instead of using her time to train, Loona perched herself back on the windowsill she's chosen as her bed and chose to meditate. A clear mind was needed to produce the substance that would help her allies. If she could keep a clear mind in the heat of battle then she'd have plenty of bodies on her head.

Loona thought back to today. A lot happened, most of it she wished never happened, but it did and there was nothing she could do about it. The wingless creature frowned as her shoulders relaxed. She should be happy, most of them were okay...well physically okay. Kiri was still mad at them, but that was something she could always make better right? The freckled girl could only hope that she wasn't putting herself down for something they couldn't control. Colin too. They both need to see that their teamwork is what lead to that result. They...they should be proud.

Shaking her head quickly, Loona let out a sigh. There was also herself as well. She wanted to say that she was alright, but it's hard to tell with everything going on. And it wasn't like she could ask any of her teammates, they barely even know each other! Not to mention that one of them for sure probably hates her at this point.

A bit too discouraged to continue meditating, Loona found her way onto her pillow bed and closed her eyes, the stars being the last thing to engulf her vision.

---

The new mission didn't seem too bad in the fairy's eyes. It was like a recon mission that had an extra bit of killing on the side...okay maybe it was the other way around, but still. Depending on who joined in, she wouldn't have to do any fighting by herself right? Quickly weighing the options, Loona pulled down the yellow hood over her head and floated a bit closer to Finlay.
“U-Um, would it be alright if I c-came along?” She practically mumbled out.

---

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Current Hairstyle||Current Outfit

---

Throughout the journey, Eliza felt herself growing restless. She spent every moment doing something. Whether it be crafting little clay men and working on her more complex movements, making delicate charms during the less rocky periods of the journey, or even just twisting and un-twisting her hair. Her hands were always busy, but she resisted the urge to speak entirely. Every time she felt she had to speak, she'd force herself to sleep. She was sure she talked a lot while she rested, as her dreams were almost always about pleasant times with her mentor. Either way, she usually woke up renewed, before soon falling back into her state of unease.

When rations came around, she ate her part willingly. She wasn't one to deny any food, even though she'd be lying if she said watching Vitius chug his blood didn't make her stomach churn. Soon enough, she developed a system of delicately avoiding his gaze whenever it came time to eat. She'd glance at Colin from time-to-time to ensure he wasn't having another freakout, giving him a small, reassuring smile when their gazes met.

It seemed as though she was just moments away from a freakout of her own before they arrived outside the inn where they were supposed to be staying. She huffed, pulling her yellow hood up and over the hair-do she had finally settled on. Taking her bag -which contained her clothes and the charms she didn't have on her person- she patted herself down one last time to make sure she had everything. Stepping out of the carriage after Vitius and Sadon, she watched as they wandered down the path, hopefully heading towards the inn as they were supposed to.

Eliza began the task of stretching, planning on waiting for Colin so they could walk together. Suddenly, a distraction came. A woman jumped off the carriage, deft as could be. Eliza cocked her head, recognizing the girl as one of the fellow members of Finlay's group. The newly turned vampire. At least, that's what Brighid had identified her as. Her yellow hood made them equals, but she certainly seemed different than the rest. Her mannerisms spoke of confidence, and her amber gaze was enchanting. When the girl smirked, Eliza tried to spot the fangs hiding behind her lips. She caught herself staring, and forced a nod at the woman's words, despite that being the strangest response.

When the girl began walking away, Eliza turned to the carriage. She wanted to wait for Colin...but if she stuck with him all the time she'd never make new friends. Deciding against abandoning him entirely, she called out to him. "Colin, c'mon, we gotta meet Meg and Kate!"

Wrapping her cloak around herself, she jogged until her pace was matched with the female vampire's. She turned her face to look at the woman, smiling. "Hi there, I'm Eliza. Who're you?" She waited patiently for a response, before following up with another comment. "Strange we had to go on loan, huh? I guess they didn't know what to do with all of us."

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The rain sank, straight through Colin's linen shirt and the crisp yellow hood bandied about his shoulders, soaking him in seconds. A glance back, at the cart setting off back in the direction it'd come from, leaving them stood outside the inn alone, and something unpleasant sprouted, deep in his gut. Barely had their hoods a day, and already they were on their own. He flexed his fingers, cold and stiff already from the icy breeze that'd sliced through the slats in the wooden carriage, so he did his best to warm them up to a point where they were functional. He needed to be able to fight. They had a vampire with them and an unknown supply of pacifying blood, along with the dangers that surely waited in the dark shadows of the trees that towered above them.

He stretched, trying to ease the way his shoulders twinged and his spine ached, almost as if someone had lodged tiny daggers in between each and every vertebra. Payment, he supposed, for the way he'd spent the carriage ride - wedged into the corner, discomfort rippling through tense muscles as he kept his eyes affixed to the thing he'd found himself sharing a space with. Sleep had been both sparse and poor. Something else he was paying for too - this time with the itching, crawling feeling that tugged at the back of his eyeballs and the fuzziness wrapped around each unwieldy though he managed to grind out.

Eliza's voice, calling from a little way away, caught his attention. It looked like they were moving off, so he quickly made to catch up, but by the time he did, it looked like she was already talking to someone else - a woman, amber eyes. The one he thought might've been a leech before dismissing the idea due to the rosey tinge of her skin. He decided to hang back, not wanting to intrude on their conversation, but also wanting to keep their whole group in his line of sight.

The leech and the other man - had it been Fendrel? - seemed to be heading towards the path that ran through woods, in the direction the driver indicated the village lay. Eliza and the woman, on the other hand, were headed towards the inn. Colin took off after Eliza. They'd been told to go to the inn after all, regardless of what the leech wanted to do.



The trees gathered, bushy and green, thick enough that only the occasional sliver of grey twilight made it through, rain hitting the canopy and rolling off like it'd hit leather. The ground was dry underfoot as Sadon and Vitius made their way along the path, interrupted by lumpy roots that burst up from the ground in front of them that they had to step over, the way made more difficult by the twists and turns the route took in order to avoid particularly dense thickets of trees and tangles of dark, impenetrable undergrowth.

It wasn't quiet.

Twigs, leaves, other detrital material crunched and shifted underfoot, accenting each footstep they made. Squirrels scrambled through the trees, branches creaking and shifting beneath their weight, cracking in their haste. Figures rustled in the darkened hedgerow. Probably birds. Other sounds that were definitely not birds, and definitely did not come from the hedgerow. Carried on the icy wind that sliced through the trees.

Something that might've been a moan.

Something that definitely was a voice. Harsh. Grating. Female.



The ground lurched beneath them.



Kate watched as Meg paced, addled with tension, from one side of the small inn to the other. The barkeep had been eyeing them warily, but Kate had slid him some coin and uttered a quiet, “just leave ‘er be.” In his ear, after which he’d seemed satisfied to let the woman continue. Fortunately, there weren’t many patrons at the bar, despite the late hour, and before long those that were there started to drift off upstairs.

Being back here was hard for Meg, Kate could tell. She’d found herself looking out for her friend, more than she usually would. Not that she minded. In fact, if anything, she was glad she’d convinced Meg to let her help, not just for Meg’s wellbeing, but out of her own sense of curiosity. What kind of place had she come from? She rarely spoke of it, and when she did it was only of her sister, Llian. Apparently a bright child, Meg had high hopes for her.

It hadn’t been hard for Kate to hear the concurrent disappointment she had in herself.

She took a sip of her drink. Warm ale that had likely already tasted like piss before it’d been watered down. Still. It was all that was going right now, and it eased the hunger pangs, so she grit her teeth and bore it. This place was a dump, but it was all there was without journeying into the heart of the village, and Kate didn’t like their odds under those circumstances, at least not without waiting for the hoods to arrive. She’d never admit it, but that letter had shaken even her.

With a sigh, she pulled herself to her feet, made her way to the bar. Seemed like it was time to get started on something stronger. “Whiskey. Neat. And…” she glanced at Meg, stil pacing, “make it a double would ya?”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, but poured the drink. In a wine glass. Kate handed over the coin, and took a fiery sip regardless, leaning one the bar to wait for the hoods to arrive.

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As the hoods volunteered, Ryder found himself alongside Kiri, Brighid, Lonna and Tholo. A formidable team, for sure. Once assembled, Finlay relayed a few more key details. Something about meeting with 'some fookin guy named Geoff' who was the local hood in charge of the investigation. He then took his leave, but not before giving Francis another suspicious look.

Francis leaned over to Ryder and sullied his ear with, "I don't know why he doesn't like me. I didn't do anything."

Ryder just looked down at him and replied. "Yeah. That's kind of his deal. So what do we need to do? You're getting us there, right?"

"Oh, right! Yes. Everyone link hands!" After a moment everyone awkwardly complied, forming a circle. Francis then started speaking words that Ryder hadn't heard before. The man's eyes began to emanate a green hue as massive power began springing forth from such a small individual. The world around them became a blur, the only things remaining in focus being anything within the circle. Ryder's stomach began to turn a little. Their surroundings began to take on a different set of shapes, different colors. Even the air felt different. The distortion around them became more subtle until it finally settled and the group found themselves-

"Why the hell are we in the middle of a field?" Ryder asked, not willing to hide his annoyance. In the distance, they could see the Red Hood Outpost, but it would be quite a hike to get there.

"Safest place to teleport," Francis said with confidence.

"What the hell are you talking about? Why wouldn't you just put us in there?" he asked, breaking the links and pointing to the much more humble structure (compared to the Keep, anyway).

"Well if I go sending us into a highly populated environment and someone happens to walk into the space we're about to occupy, it can get ugly. Trust me, I've seen it. It's gross. Like, really gross." Ryder didn't want to argue, but he did find himself suddenly curious about the morbid incident that Francis was describing. No time, though.

"Fine. So it looks like we're walking the rest of the way." Ryder led the hike and it truly wasn't long before they found themselves at the entrance of the outpost. Once the local hoods spotted them from their stations, Geoff was quick to meet them at the gate.

"So you lot are the ones that Commander sent? One Red and a bunch of Yellows? I was hoping she'd take this seriously." Not the welcome Ryder was expecting.

Tags: @ZAVAZggg

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Sadon's itching feeling came true, sounds surreptitiously emanated around both him and Vitius. He noticed the fair-haired vampire dropping into a guarded stance, pale eyes swimming around the treeline. Sadon unsheathed his sword and dagger, watching the vampire's blindspots while also looking around for the potential enemy. "What the-" Sadon muttered as the earth beneath him shook, almost making him lose his footing. Fortunately he caught himself at the last second and kept his balance.

"What was that."

"She is taking it seriously. That's why she sent us when you clearly weren't capable of quelling the threat on your own." Ryder's tone was sharp and his eyes piercing as he looked at Geoff with obvious irritation. "If you're done playing the pompous idiot, maybe you can get on to briefing us."

Geoff opened his mouth to speak, his eyes conveying protect, but Ryder quickly took another aggressive step forward as if issuing a warning. If Geoff chose to speak out of his ass any further, Ryder would react and not in a friendly manner. Recognizing this, Geoff stopped and sighed in surrender before moving on. "I suppose we should head inside. We can make out way to the war room-"

"No time for formalities. Tell us what is going on and what we need to do."

Geoff looked Ryder up and down, as if trying to figure the man out. "Alright... As I'm sure you're aware there have been sightings of ghouls in this area."

"And others." Ryder added.

"And others, right. We're the northmost province and it seems like the... affliction... has been spreading south from here. It stands to reason that the origin of the plague may likely be in Crimson Heights." Geoff let his eyes scan the others with Ryder. "We've only got two leads. There was a couple of villagers who claimed to have encounters.

"By the village inn is a woman called Nancy Harrows. A few days ago she was running around telling everyone that a man of death was visiting her at night. She's an old widow. Most of the folk wrote her off as crazy. With the dead having risen from their graves, it stands to reason that those folk were wrong. She needs to be questioned further.

"Directly across from the local tavern is a modest home occupied by a middle aged couple; Tom and Samantha Toomes. A while back, they claimed to be attacked by fiends in the night. They offered one of the very first reports of this type of occurrence. I suppose everyone assumed it was your typical hoodlums who were just trying to rough them up for some quick coin, but that no longer seems as likely anymore.

"I would start there," Geoff concluded. "And hopefully it'll lead to something helpful." Ryder nodded, thought on it for a moment and then turned his back on the Red Hood, facing instead his group of Yellows.

"I don't know about you all, but I don't want to be here all night," he began. "Lets cover more ground faster and meet back at the village tavern." He looked a ways away, the glow of lanterns illuminating the humble homes in Crimson Heights off in the distance. "Tholo, Brighid - You check on the couple by the Tavern. I want to know what they saw, what attacked them and why. Kiri, Loona - We'll take the widow. I'm very curious who this 'man of death' is and we're going to find out. If no one has any problems, let's move out." He then looked back to Francis, who seemed to be busying himself watching an ant crawl across the ground. Ryder's eyes ckenched shut as it trying to will away an incoming migraine. "Geoff," he said finally, his eyelids coming open once more. "You see to it that Francis is kept safe. These are direct orders from the Commander." Geoff looked at Francis, who was still looking at the bloody ant, and gave a reluctant nod. Satisfied, Ryder took point and started heading toward the village.

As they walked the dark, chilly streets, their steps echoing through the nearly silent night air, they found themselves at a crossroads. On a directional post, the Tavern and the Inn were in opposite directions. Both landmarks would lead them to their respective witnesses. "I suppose this is it. Be careful and stay on your guard at all times. If you could make it through the Trial, this should be child's play."

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