“What terrible beasts,” a woman muttered breathlessly, looking through the now-closed gate that bordered the entrance to the elevator the civilians had just used to board it, looking at the battle taking place below. Growling, roaring and loud, metallic slams could still be heard from down there, though the sounds grew somewhat more distant as everyone ascended the elevator shaft. “Thank Oedon we got out of that alive...”
“I can't believe one of them killed the Hunter,” a man murmured incredulously, clutching his chest with one hand while staring off into space with a haunted expression. “I thought Hunters were invincible...”
“'Twasn't a beast that kill'd him,” another man pointed out confidently, tapping the side of his nose with a finger. “I smell'd him. The beast-armed one wasn't no beast, 'twas another Hunter. Mad, most like. Or...” He shuddered. “Of the Harrow.”
“Another Hunter...” the woman whispered thoughtfully, turning away from the sight of Yharnam lowering under them.

Soon after the elevator reached the top, all but the loud smashing of the giant's axe reduced to unintelligible noises below, and folding doors opposite of the ones they had entered through opened in the elevator. Outside lay a surprisingly clean stretch of street with a row of single-floor, pristine houses lined up on the far side of the area. Many of these houses were made of wood rather than stone, and all seemed to be recent additions to the city, built from scratch after the Night of the Blood Moon. They seemed empty, and not a single one of the ones in sight had light inside or a censer outside, in all likelihood marking them as unoccupied. But although the area looked deserted, the ground just beyond the elevator and as much as a dozen meters (three dozen feet) from the elevator had splatters, drips and smears of mostly-fresh blood that spoke of a battle having been fought here recently. There were even faint scorch-marks in one place, very close to where lay a broken lantern.
Strangely there were no corpses, though there were some faint tracks through the blood that suggested that someone had moved through the gore and to the left of the elevator, further north along the plateau, which seemed to be the only way to go aside from entering one of the houses there.

~~~

Looking around at the carnage surrounding them, hearing the silence of their far more powerful slain allies, the surviving five huntsmen turned to Marcus as he entered, staring at him in uniform horror.
After but a moment's silent but frantic deliberation one of the huntsmen turned to the only other door in the room – the one leading to the outside – and clumsily scrambled toward it, stumbling over toppled and smashed furniture along the way, not even sparing a glance for the weapon he had dropped at his feet. A second later the other four followed the first, fleeing the clinic as quickly as they could.

There were more Messengers in this room, too; two sat over by the man dressed in a thoroughly bloodied garb of the Healing Church, clawing powerlessly at a pouch on the man's left hip, which the fingers of the man's left hand was weakly grasping the top of. Another Messenger sat by a fist-sized abandoned brass bell on the ground, prodding at it and examining it without actually moving the bell in a way that suggested equal parts of curiosity and anxiety.
Most remarkable of all, however, was the crowd of Messengers – easily two dozen of them, maybe more – that surrounded and eagerly pointed to the one thing in the room that looked untouched by the otherwise rampant destruction that had occurred here. Seeming entirely out of place here as it arguably would anywhere, there was what appeared to be an entire skeletal human arm sticking out of the floor, reaching as high as it could, holding an unlit lantern in its petrified bony grip.
Two of the Messengers near this strange lantern-wielding arm seemed to be sitting apart from the others, and rather than trying to direct Marcus' attention to the lantern, these two appeared to be holding a rolled-up piece of parchment, looking at Marcus expectantly.
Adelicia would not be able to see any of this, of course; none of the Messengers, the arm sticking out of the ground or the lantern existed within a realm she could see. All she would see was the fleeing huntsmen and her guardian, Victor, collapsed on the floor.

“Ignore the little men. They are of no harm, at least haven’t been so far.”
Torquil stared incredulously at the nightmarish little creatures, eyes wide and terrified, as he contemplated the true depth of the meaning of the words “so far.” No one has been horribly eviscerated by the wolf so far, so it is probably harmless. And these little creatures? Compared to them, even the black-skinned, intestine-throwing creature and the vaguely humanoid beast he had awoken to finding seemed mundane and unalarming. And yet they seemed... familiar? Torquil felt like he had seen these tiny beings before somewhere, and it took him a moment to realize that they had shown up in his dreams, too, just before he had awoken as a Hunter.
Grumbling under his breath he aimed a kick at one of the ghoulish things – hard enough to be dismissive and threatening, without actually intending to harm it – only to find that his foot went straight through the faintly glowing form of the creature without resistance. The little one made a rude gesture at him in turn, but seemed otherwise unaffected and unfazed by his show of hostility.

Stumbling for a moment from the kick, Torquil decided to heed Marcus' advice and just ignore the “little men,” whatever they were, and hurry on to the barrels of weapons before he embarrassed himself even more. He perused the weapons in there for a moment, looking at the spears, axes and swords, and realized just how little he actually knew about weapons. He knew what they were, obviously, and the fundamentals of how one was supposed to use them – generally “the sharp bit goes into what you want to die” – but trying to think about it, he could not conjure any knowledge of tactics or technique at fighting. He could probably strike “soldier” from the list of possible professions he could have had before becoming a Hunter, which was less than encouraging; he figured that preexisting skills at fighting would probably have improved his chances of survival.
Channeling mental images of heavily armored knights and heroes of legend, Torquil's first instinct was to pull a sword from the pile, simply because swords were the most presentable of the three. Frowning at the alien feel of the blade in his hand he allowed himself to get a feel of the weapon, turning and tipping his grasp to feel the balance and weight of it, before tryingly swinging the sword twice through the air and finishing with a thrust.
He threw the sword back into the pile, strangely unsettled by the weapon. Wielding it felt unnatural, somehow, as though some part of him was protesting against the way his body moved while using the sword.
Of the remaining options, there was little doubt that a spear was a more impressive weapon than an axe, but... Torquil found his gaze lingering at the wooden handle of one such axe, and felt oddly drawn toward it. Even just looking at the weapon he already knew how the handle would feel in his hands, knew the heft of it, could imagine himself holding it, swinging it. He hesitantly picked up the axe, grasping it with both hands, and instantly felt that this was a much better fit for him. He swung it a few times, twice horizontally and twice vertically, and realized that his body was already intimately familiar with those motions. Axe it was.

Now adequately armed for whatever awaited beyond the door – or at least armed as well as he could be for the time being – Torquil stepped away from the barrels, carefully avoiding the little inhuman people that seemed to burrow out of the floor at random now, and went to the other Hunter. Not-Marcus, who had not yet introduced himself and had apparently been checking an extremely ill-looking woman.
Not wanting to demonstrate his broken ability to speak more than necessary, he simply waved at the man and gestured at the door, meaning to wordlessly ask whether he intended to leave as well.

Why can't we delete posts?

By all rights, what Draco should have seen when stepping out of the elevator was a scene of carnage. The blood was there, the signs of struggle were easy to see... and yet, the carnage wasn't present. No bodies to be seen and a trial of blood stains leading down the one path that they knew for certain would lead them in the direction of where they needed to go. Under other circumstances, Draco would have preferred to take his chances via going through the deserted buildings and praying to Oedon that there would A) Be a path through them that lead them to where they needed to go and B) Were devoid of beasts in hiding.

However, the escape from the mad hunter had made him deathly aware of the fact that there was a superhuman, still somewhat intelligent lunatic down at the bottom of the elevator shaft that was more then able operate it and pursue them if his disgust for killing things 'below him' run out when the beasts and giant he had been fighting were dead. Putting as much distance between themselves and that man was vital if they wanted to continue living.

Weapon held firmly in both hands, Draco started to lead the way along the blood stained path. His movements were cautious but unafraid; It went a long way to reducing the noise that he was producing and allowed him the chance to strain his senses as much as he could in order to stay alert for threats before they had the chance to spring whatever traps or ambushes they had planned. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that if something was laying in wait that he would be able to handle it one on one, but the the only way to survive the night was to get somewhere safe and secure and to get there, he needed to get to the end of a very scary path. If something just so happened to be waiting for him along side path, he was just going to have to deal with it or die trying.

Removing one of his hands from his weapon for a brief moment, he silently made a 'follow me' gesture to the civilians he was shepherding in order to get them to follow after him. They still had ground to cover after all. Message sent, he secured his hold back on his weapon as he did the only thing he could under the circumstances; Move forward.

The woman's body was cold.

Her lack of a pulse left a somber, unsettling emptiness in its wake. This had once been a person. Whatever she was like, whatever plans she'd had, whatever bonds she'd formed, she was gone now. It was a tragic awareness that Arcturus had become familiar with. Though he'd never quite grown used to it.

Distinctly unfamiliar to him however was what appeared to be the cause of her death. Whatever had blackened her veins and paled her flesh. Never before had he seen a body in such a state. Still more perplexing was the fact that she had died at all, presumably taken by whatever disease had brought her to the very place they were in. Wherever that was. Had the patients lined up upon those many cots not all been treated with Yharnam blood? Was not that very substance said to be a cure to all illnesses? Such were the rumors that had brought him to the reclusive city in the first place, after all.

Perhaps some skepticism, caution even, was warranted. Even after experiencing the results of the treatment for himself. Whatever the cause, this woman had died despite having received Yharnam's so called panacea. Assuming she had received it at all, of course, but he figured that was likely a safe assumption to make.

That train of thought was abruptly interrupted when suddenly a group of those small, ethereal seeming creatures from before burst out of the floor. Surrounding him. Reflexively Arcturus sprang back to his feet, taking in a sharp breath as his startled heart leaped in his chest. Before he could take much more action, however, he realized just what they were. Remembering how they had proved themselves harmless before. These strange, otherworldly looking... 'little men,' as coined by the man calling himself Marcus.

Slowly the young officer let his breath back out in sigh, staring curiously down at the odd creatures around him as he allowed himself to relax somewhat. Taking another glance around the room, he noted that they had appeared near the other two as well. Gesturing and moaning with animated movements. It was somewhat... Endearing. Though their inexplicable presence still left him slightly uncomfortable. By this point he was relatively confident in the reality of the situation. That it wasn't a dream, that all the surreal things he had witnessed over the last several minutes had truly happened. The sensation of being kicked across the room had certainly been evidence enough of that. Yet he still couldn't help questioning what he was seeing. Only the reactions of his new allies provided reassurance enough that he was not, in fact, hallucinating.

It was the sound of approaching footsteps that pulled his attention away from the uncanny yet friendly seeming creatures at his feet. Arcturus turned his head to regard the other man, his icy blue eyes briefly doing a once over of... T-... However that name was pronounced. He dare not attempt to say it out loud until he heard it more clearly. This man looked to be well worn. Callused, tanned, and scarred. Yet the way he carried himself did not strike Arcturus as particularly experienced. At least not experienced in the way he tended to look for. Still the man looked quite strong, and seemed comfortable with the axe in his hand. The young man wasn't quite sure what to think of this. Perhaps this muscled man had trained to use an axe, but never seen combat? That explanation would be odd, if true, and still didn't quite fit.

Lastly it looked like there was something off about the other man's face. His jaw looked crooked, as if broken, or more accurately as if broken in the past. So that might be why Arcturus couldn't understand a word of what he'd overheard earlier. Presumably. His piercing stare didn't linger long on that feature, however, as the older man waved and gestured towards the door. Arching an eyebrow at the choice of communication, he glanced towards the doorway to see that Marcus had already gone through. Emanating from that same exit he could hear the fading footfalls of fleeing men.

The sound caused his heart to pound faster in his chest, an involuntary reaction that caught Arcturus off guard. It was the opportunity of a fleeing foe, engraved into his instincts, triggering an unsettling urge. An aggressive impulse that bordered on predatory. He noticed his breaths quicken, his hand tightening slightly around the hilt of his sword, as he felt a desire to pursue. It was only for a moment however, as he drew in a deep breath and further straightened his already rigid posture. Discipline, Arcturus.

Putting a cordial smile on his face, Arcturus swiftly turned his gaze back to the man next to him, issuing a brief nod before drawing in breath to speak.
"We should get our bearings, determine where exactly we are..." He began, heading towards the broken doorway where the ethereal 'little men' beckoned. That small opening which not long before had served as crucial buffer against their still unidentified foes. Despite the uncertainty of the situation and the unnatural impulse he'd just felt, Arcturus spoke with a confident tone. Maintaining an air that he knew what he was doing even if he was perhaps the most lost person in the room. Every word enunciated with a refined yet foreign accent.
"...and why we were..." 'Attacked' is how he'd intended to finish that sentence. However the words died on his lips as he reached the door, his bright eyes peering into the blood covered room.

The pleasant hue of scarlet assaulted his eyes as they first fixed upon the unusual lamp and the assembly of yet more little men surrounding it. As well as the rolled up parchment seemingly being presented to Marcus by two of their number. Experience nagged at him to evaluate the room, so after a couple seconds of gawking he then turned his attention to the corpses whom had surely bled that which coated the floor. One of the corpses lying before him looked much like the men who earlier had peered in it at them. A fallen enemy. However not as notable as the two bodies which lie in the corner of the room.

One looked to be freakishly tall and unnervingly pale, with a bell and a cane lying nearby. The bell, no doubt. Just the memory of its haunting sound sent a shiver down his spine. The body looked to have been completely cleaved in half, and he didn't have to look very hard to find a probable culprit. Another body, this one dressed in attire of an ecclesiastical fashion, was completely drenched in blood. Far more blood than he would have expected considering the scope of the fight and the injuries of the bodies. Lying next to that figure was a likely, if absurd, candidate for the weapon that had silenced the bell. A truly massive sword, decorated with a beautiful pattern along its impractically thick blade. He would have dismissed it as a purely ceremonial weapon, were it not for the mind boggling feats of strength and resilience he had already witnessed since he awoke. Not to mention the blood clearly splattered all along its length.

Finally his eyes settled on a small figure on the other side of the room, draped in white. He'd almost failed to notice her. Young, delicate, innocent. The last kind of person he would have expected to find in the aftermath of a skirmish. What was she doing in such a place? Arcturus' eyes drifted back to the blood drenched man on the ground, where a pair of those little men were tugging at the pouch on the his hip. It was then that he noticed the man's hand moving. It was a small, weak, yet still unmistakable sign of life.

He gave a brief, uncertain glance towards the other two before making up his mind. Quickly he strode further into the room, setting his saber down next to the massive blade as he knelt beside the blood covered man. Hurriedly he scanned the body for whatever injuries might have incapacitated this person, something that might justify all that blood, before turning his attention to the pouch. What could it contain that a dying man would consider it important enough to retrieve? After a moment of hesitation, glancing at the stranger's face, he took it upon himself to open the pouch and see what it contained.

Upon examining the man in the vandalized antechamber, Arcturus found that though the man's clothes bore at least three distinctive, recent-looking tears – a long one on his right shoulder and two small, almost identical ones on the chest and back, respectively – there were no wounds matching the damage to his clothes. What he found instead was the man's skin bearing what seemed like hundreds of small fissures and punctures, none measuring more than a couple of centimeters (about an inch), all of which seemed to be in the process of very slowly mending themselves. Aside from the absurd number of these tiny injuries they were also remarkable by the fact that they were all somehow wrong, as if the wounds themselves were almost inside-out. The punctures seemed like the external damage resulting from an open bone fracture, and the places where the skin was rent in tears seemed more like the skin had been messily pulled apart than cut.
Now that Arcturus was closer to the man he would also notice an odd, subtle noise coming from the man's head. The man's eyes just shuddered slightly behind closed lids, but at his mouth his tongue was rhythmically snaking between his lips, dipping its tip and side into the puddle of blood he was laying in, scooping up a little and drawing it back into the mouth. After each slow, methodical lap of his tongue his throat would contract as if swallowing.

Turning his attention to the pouch at the man's side, the Messenger moved aside to let Arcturus' handle things. The pouch, he found, was internally padded and divided into twenty or so small compartments evidently made for long, narrow objects. All but one of these slots were empty, and the final slot held a small capped vial filled with crimson liquid; something Arcturus may or may not have encountered before, being a foreigner to Yharnam and only newly acquainted with blood healing, as a blood vial.

Setting off along the singular northward path available to them, Draco and the other civilians walked cautiously on this seemingly completely unpopulated area for several minutes. The trail of blood leading that way seemed to fade and disappear a short ways in, leaving only faint tracks of someone else having passed by here previously.
The entire way their right flank, to the east, remained guarded by a row of almost identical dark-windowed dwellings that stood side by side, presumably awaiting a time when the population of Yharnam grew enough to need the additional homes. On their left was the edge of the plateau, topped by a metal guardrail that was just a little more than waist-high, which did little to obscure their view of the city below.
And indeed, as they traveled north this unobstructed view of the lands below allowed them to witness a change come to Yharnam, as buildings seemed to first gradually grow newer and smaller, all while the terrain seemed to slope lower and lower, removing itself ever further from their position high above on the plateau. After a few minutes the small, new buildings down there seemed to transition to older, more run-down buildings, many of which bore damage, some almost reduced to rubble and most at least partially burned, though there was no fire to be seen, hinting that the damage was not recent. The streets down there were old, worn and filled with trash... but also much worse. Though it was hard to make out details now, as the plateau now stood about eighty meters (262 feet) over the city below, the streets of this ruined part of the city seemed alive with movement as countless forms moved through the streets, some slow and deliberate, others with terrible, inhuman speed, and most larger than humans should be.
Faint howling and barking could be heard from below, growing ever-more intense as the sun disappeared past the horizon and darkness gradually came to Yharnam. Draco, being a native to Yharnam, would recognize the land below as Old Yharnam, the part of the city claimed by no less than two plagues: the scourge of beasts and the Ashen Blood. Hunters had tried and failed for years to cleanse the area, and looking down now at streets filled with what seemed like hundreds of beasts, it was not hard to see why.

As they went further north they an end of their path eventually came into view, as the street was abruptly blocked by a wooden single-story building, perpendicular to the dwellings lining the right side of the street and filling in the area all the way to the edge of the plateau. While the building was still distant, however, frantic movement appeared at the door of the building, as five figures emerged into the street and ran in the civilians' direction. As they came closer, several things could be observed about these men: they were all bloody and battered to some degree, they were all dressed in common Yharnam clothing, they all looked absolutely terrified, and they were all unarmed.
The men went to give Draco's group a wide berth as if to simply pass by them back towards the elevator.

Baring witness to the beast filled horror that was Old Yharnam was... well, a complicated feeling for Draco. Logically he should have felt fear or dread at the sight of so many beasts lurking in lairs formed in the burnt out ruins of the city, but in truth it was hard to feel such things when the monsters were so distant that they weren't an immediate threat. He didn't feel anger or hate for much the same reasons; The beasts were too far away to drum up the raw emotions required for such things.

As he escorted his flock of civilians along the path, the huntsman found himself performing some self reflection on the matter and was mildly surprised by the answer. He was humbled by the sight. There was something about seeing the sheer scale of the problem plaguing Yharnam with your own eyes that put into himself and his place in the world into perspective.

This line of thought was, of course, a distraction to try and pull his thoughts away from a more immediate, but no less deeply troubling problem for him then the beast filled Old Yharham; They had overshot the shelter they were trying to get to. In their haste to put as much distance between themselves, the beasts, the giant and the insane hunter that had murdered their escort, they had been forced to pass it by via taking the elevator to relative safety away from the battle down below but leaving them exposed to the night.

The way Draco saw it, they had three options to choose from going forward if they wanted to stay alive.

The first was to locate a sturdy, empty building nearby, fortify and trap it as much as possible to discourage beasts and other nightly terrors from breaking through and bunker down to try and survive the night without incense to hide their scent. Not a great plan by any means, but it was somewhat aided by the fact that this section of the city seemed to have been abandoned for some time; With any luck, a history of lack of prey would result in an incredibly low number of beasts searching for food. In theory, the beasts most likely to come this way would be those who were young and inexperienced or those weak enough to have been chased off of better hunting grounds by other beasts or hunters and whom were looking for scraps.

The second was to wait a while for the battle at the bottom of the elevator to finish up and the victor moving on, leaving the original path they intended to take to their original shelter for the night hopefully open. This of course had its risks. Namely, if they waited too long or moved too soon there was a serious risk that they would be detected and pounced on before they reached safety... even with the promise of incense, the insane hunter made Draco weary; As beast like as the man already was, he was collected enough that he liked was aware of where some of the shelters were... and incense wouldn't stop him from crossing the threshold and start killing if the thirst for blood and death was strong enough.

The third was to seek out an alternative shelter for the night. Considering he didn't know where one was, that was kind of an issue. Wandering around aimlessly looking for one on a night when the beasts were active was the most dangerous damn thing anyone could do.

Before he had a chance to explore his options fully and present them to his followers, a band of five Yharnam men, battered, bloody and unarmed, came into view with clear intent on making their way towards the elevator they had arrived via. These men were not a threat... but Draco still stepped forward and barked "You don't want to go that way just yet. We just came up; Left behind a three way fight between one of the church giants, a pack of beasts and an insane hunter that killed our hunter escort before leaving us be to join the brawl because we were beneath him at the time. What are you running from?"

The four bloodstained Yharnamites came to a stop when Draco stepped toward them, their wide, fearful eyes shifting from him to the strange weapon in his hands. The front-runner among them started to take a cautious step back the way they came, only to freeze when Draco's words reached them, their already overwhelming dread becoming discernibly more intense.
“The giant woke up?” one of them muttered to his fellows, while another two started looking around as if hoping for an escape route to spontaneously apparate in the vicinity. “Without the Speaker we don't stand a chance!”
The fourth Yharnamite, however, stepped to the front of their group and overtly sniffed in Draco's direction twice before seeming to calm down a little. He pointed back toward the building they had just come from, still looking at Draco. “A bunch of Hunters were fighting beasts in there.”

One of the three back Yharnamites ran to the front door of the house currently closest to them, tried the handle and opened it unhindered.
“We can hide here!” he said, and the other three started hurrying to join their fellow. Behind Draco, several of the civilians started hesitantly moving to join these strangers in hiding.

Marcus held steady as the men ran away. Marcus showed no intention, no motion or no attempt to follow them alone. Perhaps he could have, with the new powers he had aquired, but he didn’t want to risk the battle and possibility of injury or even death. Though Marcus remembered that they had wanted them alive. An odd group it had been; member with a sinister bell, a beast and rest were other yharnamites. Marcus wondered if they wanted to kidnap unwakened ones for blood knows for what purposes. Only thought that Marcus had was to have them woken up somewhere else and taught as members of some sinister army.

As men had Ran away, Marcus heard footsteps behind him. The Warrior got closer to him, sure with his steps and well composed to the. Torquil also had arrived, wielding an axe.”We should get our bearings, determine where exactly we are..." The Warrior stated. Marcus nodded. He too wanted to know where they were. He knew where he wanted to go, to the Black Healing Church. From them he had received the… Blessing or curse of hunters, Marcus didn’t know which. And from them Marcus would get advice of what they would do with him. Them. Marcus wondered if the Warrior and Torquil were also going to work for the church like Marcus planned, now that whoever their guide in their awakening should have been was not present. Come to think of it, he wondered if there was present anybody that they could talk to? Or had the assaillants killed everyone else in the building? One of many things that Marcus did want to find out. If alive they could also satisfy the Warrior's wish to know their location.

The Warrior continued. "...and why we were..." he continued, but never finished. Marcus turned to see whether he was going to finish, but noticed that the Warrior had just seen the bloodbath that was outside. A sight that had also made a strong impression to Marcus too, even thought he was an experienced bandit and seen his share of bloodbath. But the moment ended and the warrior composed himself. He had taken an interest to the man on the floor, who was most likely owner of the enormous weapon next to him. Marcus wondered for a moment to grab that weapon, but shook off the idea. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to wield such a weapon like it’s owner clearly had ahd, judging by the bellringer’s corpse that was in two parts.

Marcus wondered about the Lantern that was in front of him, away from the blood, death and destruction. There was a skeletal arm coming from the ground, surrounded by many of the little men. He was living in an alien world now, with beasts and otherwordly beings as the Echo had been. And these men, with their equipment. He wondered if the lantern was similar to the bell, an instrument for hexes, spells and enhancements. Such a thing would be valueable, if Marcus would know how to use one.

Then he noticed the scroll. Marcus looked at the two little men that were holding it. They were in turn looking at him. Marcus felt uncomfortable inside his garments. He preferred to ignore these otherworldly creatures, not interact with them. However Marcus hated to admit, but in this situation they offered a lifeline to grab. Hence for this once, he gave the little men a careful trust ”Best to grab whatever we can before leaving this place. That huge sword, whatever those men have, and that lantern.” Marcus said, nodding to each object of his statement as he said them out loud. ”I’ll grab the lantern.” Marcus continued. Before starting to inspect the lantern however he went towards the scroll and reached to grab it.

As he went to seize the Messengers' scroll, Marcus' hand – much like Torquil's foot just moments ago – found no purchase, but seemingly just passed straight through both parchment and creatures without resistance. But the little ones not only seemed to not be bothered by the gesture, they seemed outright excited by it. Each Messenger eagerly grabbed one side of the ethereal scroll and, with combined effort, unrolled it and held it up as far as they could for Marcus to read.

The scroll bore little text, but what was there was written in exquisite calligraphy:

“Glance calmly upon the lantern's pale gleam,
and find safe haven within the Hunter's Dream.”

While Draco believed that he had done his Oedon given duty towards his fellow man by stopping the group of men who had been about to run by into a highly dangerous situation before they had gotten themselves killed, the longer he remained in their presence the more red flags were raised in his mind that something was... off with this party of Yharnamites.

For starters the fact that all four of them were bloodstained without any clear sign of injury suggesting that the blood was their own or weapons to suggest that it was someone or something else's was raised a few very worrying questions, but for Yharnam standards that was honestly the least worrying thing about the whole situation. The fact that there was a group of unarmed men wandering a part of Yharnam that had clearly been abandoned for some time as the sun was going down and the beasts started to leave their lairs was somewhat of a more pressing concern... but what truly set Draco's instincts off was the fact that one of the group had made no small show of sniffing him and then relaxing when something about his scent reveled that he wasn't a hunter.

...Something that had disappointed the insane hunter that had killed Stefan rather recently when he had done the exact same thing.

All together, this wasn't quite enough for Draco to justify lashing out and hoping the element of surprise would allow him to even the odds a bit before the group (the term 'pack' raised its ugly head) recovered to counter attack properly, but it was more then enough to ensure that he didn't trust the four in the slightest.

However, the information that there were hunters nearby fighting beasts offered a possible addendum to the plans of surviving the night. Turning to look at the flock he had taken over the task of shepherding, a course of action was selected. "I'm going to go in there and talk to the hunters inside. I doubt they'll care enough about us to escort us to shelter but I'm sure they'll be very curious about the insane hunter murdering his peers at the bottom of the elevator... and if they're just happening to be taking their hunt in the direction of incense covered shelter and clearing out the dangerous shit in the way for us, all the better!"

While he had his doubts about the group who was running away from said hunters, he couldn't exactly express his doubts without playing his hand... so turning to his group of civilians he simply said "Anyone who wants to come with me is free to do so, otherwise stay here and don't wander off. I am not going to be investing that much time or effort into chasing after idiots who get themselves separated or lost right now."

Arcturus frowned at the condition of the finely garbed body. Nothing about the wounds made sense. They didn't line up at all with the damage to the attire, and they didn't look like any he'd seen before. Hundreds of small lesions in the skin, slowly mending alike to the injuries of the sleeping patients in the previous room. Stranger still, it looked as though they were all exit wounds. It was as if something within the man's own body had attempted to rip him inside out.

It seemed to Arcturus a miracle that this man had survived such injuries, though perhaps it had something to do with the pool of blood surrounding him. The viscous, scarlet liquid that their unnamed reinforcement was steadily lapping from the floor. A sight which the youthful foreigner found distinctly revolting. Though it did not dissuade him from carefully extracting the mysterious vial from within the man's pouch, examining it for a moment between his slender fingers. The substance within bore that same pleasant hue as that which was strewn across the room.

Indeed though the sight of an incapacitated man drinking his own blood was a disturbing one, it made a twisted kind of sense. Arcturus did not take long to decide on what he would do with that vial. Heavy as it felt in his hand. Oddly tempting though it seemed. Carefully he removed its transparent top cap, revealing the thin needle beneath, before gently pushing it into the other man's thigh. Where he knew an artery was located.

He could hear the words of Marcus behind him as he carried this out, nodding in confirmation while his piercing gaze fixed curiously on the vial. Watching to see if it would have any effect. Those eyes quickly shifted past it to the other body, however, as Arcturus assumed the blood would take time to work. If it did anything at all.

"I'll secure the bell, too." He called back, rising to his feet and taking the couple steps towards the object in question. Lying next to the bisected corpse of the absurdly tall figure dressed in black. It was certainly different from the towering beast they had faced earlier, yet he got the impression it was something other than human. His gaze did not linger long upon it, though. Arcturus felt apprehension nag at the back of his thoughts as he knelt down next to the bell, inspecting it while taking care not to touch the thing.

Working out an idea to pick it up without any unwanted ringing, the young man tore a piece of cloth from the robe of the corpse next to him, glancing hesitantly at the ethereal little man before finally reaching his hands out towards the bell it was investigating. As if seeking encouragement from the equally anxious looking being. With a focused care Arcturus slowly stuffed the sinister object with the cloth, hopefully ensuring that the clapper would not be able to strike the inner surface of the bell.

“Glance calmly upon the lantern's pale gleam,
and find safe haven within the Hunter's Dream.”

The sound of muttering drew his attention back to Marcus, the spectral scroll, and the unusual lamp sticking up from the ground. Hunter's Dream. There it was again, that mention of hunters. Everything that had happened so far seemed to revolve around that title. The strange attack, the astounding physical feats, and now seemingly these odd little things and their lamp. Arcturus couldn't even begin to work out the how or why of it all. As his thoughts raced he remained silent, tucking the bell away in his coat's left pocket.

As the needle of the blood vial pierced the unconscious Hunter's skin and went deep, finding the artery within, the vial seemed to abruptly get sucked dry in but an instant despite the lack of any kind of mechanical delivery mechanism. It was as though the specially treated blood within, as soon as it came into contact with the Hunter's blood, rushed to join the bloodstream by a will of its own. And as the vial emptied itself into the man, bestowing innate regenerative power beyond what could be harnessed from normal blood of man or beast, Arcturus would witness every single wound on the man's body heal in but a second.
His body physically mended the Hunter remained on the ground, eyes closed, but started turning onto his back and groaning, his breath becoming deeper and steadier as his life force stabilized. Witnessing the restorative power harnessed by the Healing Church was always impressive, especially when it came condensed into such tiny vessels as this vial, but watching this man recovering to seemingly perfect health from the verge of death would nevertheless likely be a particularly impressive sight.

Leaving the still-unconscious but restored Hunter alone, Arcturus turned his attention to the tall ghoulish creature that lay carved in two, the pools of its blood – one surrounding its legs, one its torso – overlapping and mixing with the blood of the Hunter he had just saved from the clutches of death. He inspected the bell next to the creature – the one it would likely not be too hard to identify as the “hoarse man” from beyond the door – and the Messenger next to it moved aside to allow him a better view. It looked at Arcturus for a moment, hanging its arms and head in what seemed like confusion and disappointment with its own findings upon examining the bell, and vanished into the floor.
The bell, on a closer look, seemed entirely mundane. It was very easily recognizable to anyone who had more than a passing experience in Yharnam as the bell carried around the neck of a church servant. It was big, clunky, made of brass and bore a number of dents and bruises from having been in use for an extended period of time. Aside from the bloodstains that marked it, much like many other things in the room, the bell seemed entirely unremarkable.
Arcturus managed to wrap and pad the bell well enough with the ripped cloth of the corpse, without sound, and it seemed that handling the resulting bundle was safe.

By the time Marcus read the note presented to him by the Messengers, Torquil had also entered the room, axe in hand. He looked around at the surrounding carnage in awe, though his attention was helplessly drawn to the bizarre sight of the skeletal arm sticking out of the floor and, more importantly, the unlit lantern hanging from its hand. He seemed fascinated with it and the way this mass of little ones was trying to draw their attention to it.
About at the same time, however, the now-restored Hunter on the ground seemed to stir. He moved sluggishly for a second, as if waking from a deep slumber, before suddenly rolling backward, away from everyone and deeper into the corner of the room, and jolting swiftly to his feet. He faced them all, fists held up in a defensive stance, his breath now rapid and panicked, as his gaze shifted rapidly from Arcturus to Marcus, to Torquil and to the huddling Adelicia. His eyes seemed strange for a moment, the irises seeming to shift and writhe with a life of their own while his pupils seemed to shine like those of some animals' eyes. Once his gaze found the woman, however, his posture seemed to somewhat relax, and his eyes lost both the unnatural moving irises and their inhuman glow, resuming the appearance of normal dark blue eyes.

And just then...

---

The four bloodied Yharnamites did not wait to hear what Draco had to say, but simply fled into the house as soon as the door was open, leaving him to address the group of civilians that had been traveling with him. The civilians seemed deeply perturbed by Draco's words, and although several faces lit up with hope at the mention of possibly being escorted to a shelter, it was pretty clear that there was a predominantly grim and fearful mood among them. Even the few that seemed to respond positively soon resumed expressions of wariness and fear.
As Draco headed for the squat building that marked the end of the path, about half of the group seemed to immediately run into the nearby house where the four other Yharnamites had gone, before the rest started slowly, hesitantly filtering in there as well. By time Draco had reached the sole entrance to the building, the entire group of civilians had vacated the street and hid within the house, the door they had entered through swinging shut with a barely audible noise. It seemed that whatever admonitions and recommendations Draco could offer, staying in the street when beasts were about, let alone actively pursuing an area with beasts, was too much for these common folk of the city.

Draco entered the open doorway, the censer beside it unlit, to find the room beyond wrecked and devastated in a way that suggested targeted harmful intent toward the actual furnishing of the room more so than collateral damage in a fight. A fight had undeniably occurred, however, evidenced by the large amounts of blood scattered across mostly the far side of the room, with but a few drops having fallen just inside the doorway. Immediately to Draco's right was a young woman, seeming little more than a girl, in the garb of the White Healing Church, keeping her distance from everything else in the room.
Directly in front of him were three men, all in commoner's clothes and wielding mundane weapons, but all looking a little bloody, with one of them, a tall, pale, blonde and icy-eyed man currently handling a small bundle of cloth of some kind, seeming to have taken the worst of it, the entire lower half of his body seemingly drenched in blood, though seemingly not his own. There were also two corpses, one of which was a Yharnamite not unlike the four Draco had just encountered outside, with a deep gash across his torso. The other one could only somewhat be justifiably referred to as “human,” seeming more like an unusually tall, partially mummified corpse clad in simple robes. This inhuman creature was even worse off than the Yharnamite, having been carved in two at the waist.
Past the sundered corpse of this creature lay what would probably be a familiar sight to Draco, namely a Holy Blade in its giant form, its placement and bloodiness heavily suggestive of this having been the tool to kill the two fallen. And finally, standing in the far right corner with his back to the wall, was a man in the garb of the Healing Church, though whether it was black or white was rendered unrecognizable by the sheer amounts of blood he seemed to have been drenched in. This man, all color erased by a near-perfect coating of blood, stood defensively with his fists raised in front of him and jolted once more into a wary and defensive stance as his eyes came to rest on Draco.

Marcus reached to grasp the parchment from the little men. But his hands grasped nothing but air. Marcus flinched, then carefully reached to the parchment to touch it. His fingers went through the parchment like it was but thick smoke he tried to grab. This unnerved Marcus more than he wanted to admit, and he flinched backwards. He made a quick look at the Warrior, but he had been shifting his focus from the blood-clothed hunter to the mummified being in two parts. “ “I secure the bell, too. The warrior had stated. Marcus nodded and then turned his head back to wonder the issue with parchment.

Grey men seemed to understand his problem. Even more so, they seemed to want to help, even showing some… Joy and excitement as if they had been waiting for years to be useful. And thus they opened the scroll for Marcus to read. Disappointingly little amount of text to Marcus, who wished more clarity to the situation at hand. Then Marcus started to read. He was not good at it, as he had never had any need for such a skill. On streets his fists and daggers were message enough to the opposite side. This skill would have never been acuired, if it wasn’t for a gangmember of his old gang. One of the more smarter ones made effort to teach his gang how to read. Marcus always wondered why man with such smarts was with them, but appreciated the lessons. He still had to speak the words out loud slowly to form the words in his mind, to understand them.

“Glance calmly upon the lantern's pale gleam,
and find safe haven within the Hunter's Dream.”

Marcus frowned a little after saying that out loud. He read again, now more silently as he was more familiar with the parchment. This couldn’t have been everything, just a riddle, a meaningless phrase. But there was nothing else on the parchment. Marcus had to think for a moment about what he read. Parchment clearly referenced to the lantern that was in front of him. Guided Marcus to look deep inside, calmly, to the ghastly light. But the latter part was nonesence to him.

Marcus’s grip from the sword tightened and his senses sharpened as he heard some noise coming from behind. He turned around. First he saw Torquil, axe in hand and fascinated by the lantern next to Marcus. But that hadn’t gained Marcus’s attention. Then he noticed the dead hunter, in his bloodied glory, rise. Now Marcus saw something sticking from his tigh, a syringe or a vial. He was first like just woken from a horrible nightmare and realizing now that this was not a dream; Then he backed to the corner, fists up as if whole world was against him. But something made a slight change in his expression as he took a look to the woman. Made him go at ease.

Them Marcus heard more rattle from behind him and turned to see… A new face, something Marcus had never seen before. A man that had no nose but instead an ugly scar in it’s place. He was a tall man and pale as a moon in the sky. But what captured his eyes was the pitchfork that he was wielding. It was almost a work of art, not to be used by a normal farmer, it was too sturdy. It was more a weapon than a tool. Marcus was bit tense at the sight of this. He couldn’t tell if he was a hunter or not, or an enemy. But he had came from where the four others had ran, so Marcus guessed he was somewhat an acquaintance to the four.

He heard the hunter behind him scuffle again. A quick look revealed that the hunter was again more defensive. Perhaps this was due to fact that he was close to the woman that had made him relax. Marcus didn’t want this situation go out of hand before he got some answers. So took took again the glance to the Ugly Manm rising his sword, taking a tighter grip from it and pointing it towards the man.

”You. Who are you and why are you here?” Marcus said in a demanding voice. ”And what do you lot want form us?” he continued. A question that had puzzled him for some time now.

Draco couldn't really fault those following him for following the 'Yharnamites' into the abandoned house rather then stay out in the open or follow him into a possibly dangerous situation. Even more so because he didn't exactly let his doubts about their new 'friends' be known, concerned that if he had alerted them to the fact that he didn't trust them or their intentions that the situation would have turned to violence then and there.

Despite being alone through, he pushed ahead despite his nerves being balanced on a sharpened steel edge while his heart pounded in his chest like a drum. Fear was an old companion that was always willing to walk with him when no one else would, but he had committed to his course and he would need to see it through.

Entering the clinic proper, the scene of carnage before him was difficult to witness. The scent of splattered blood easily dominated Draco's highly dulled ability to detect odors... and for the first time in his life he was honestly thankful of the fact that an insane woman swung a cleaver at his face because he was pretty damn close to throwing up and the smell likely would have pushed him over the edge.

Looking somewhat green but experienced enough to hold himself together in blood bath situations like this, Draco turned his gaze towards the hunter who had addressed him. He tried his best to take in as much detail on the room as possible and keep watch on all the players on the board at once, but he focused on the who talked to him to try and defuse the situation as quickly as possible. "My name is Draco. I'm a blacksmith and huntsman that was escorting a group of civilians alongside a hunter named Stefan towards a shelter for the night before an insane hunter ambushed and killed Stefan. Only reason he didn't slaughter the rest of us is because we're just human and there were some beasts and a church giant fighting each other nearby that he would rather have been fighting."

Who he was and why he was there answered, he nervously glanced around and swallowed the contents of his stomach down as he continued "Look, I know you hunters have bigger things to worry about then escorting a bunch of civilians to safety, but if you would at least be willing to start your hunt tonight along the path we need to go at least that would be great... even more so because as I said, there's an insane hunter hunting other hunters in that general area." There was a final gulp... before he finished "And I've got a group of civilians currently hiding in a building nearby with the four blooded guys that just ran out of here and at least one of them did what the insane hunter did and was able to tell I wasn't a hunter by scent, so I am afraid that the longer I'm here talking with you, the more likely whatever madness they are suffering from is going to result in a bunch of dead civilians."

Both Torquil and the thoroughly bloodied, freshly revived Victor focused their attention at Draco upon his arrival, though with quite different demeanor and reactions to the words being shared. Torquil seemed a little dazed and distracted at first, his eyes still shifting to the Messengers and the lantern-wielding arm – neither of which were in any way perceivable to Victor, Draco or Adelicia – but grew more focused as Draco spoke, he seemed to grow increasingly concerned, especially once he started speaking of endangered civilians.
Victor, meanwhile, was panicked, confused and defensive at first, entirely at the mercy of his fight-or-flight instinct, but gradually seemed to return to his senses and calm down as words were shared among the others. As he calmed he also seemed to grow less and less interested in what Draco was saying, his expression turning indifferent and his gaze starting to scan the room they found themselves in. By the time Draco had finished speaking Victor seemed fully back to his senses and thoroughly unimpressed with the supposed severity of their current circumstance.

Victor looked at Draco once he fell silent, idly scraping the side of his left hand against his face to wipe off as much blood as he could.
“You talk too much,” he told him with a sigh. He looked down at himself in disgust, fully realizing that his clothes had been completely ruined by his recent trials. Then he looked back at Draco.
He held up his left fist, extending his index finger. “Firstly: I guess the state of your snoot means you don't smell a lot, but Hunters stink. Anyone can smell a Hunter. You don't need to be a beast for that.” True enough, the air in room they were currently in, occupied at the moment by no less than four Hunters, was thick with the unique, but not unpleasant, scent of Hunters, if somewhat intermingled with the smell of blood and viscera.
He extended his middle finger. “Secondly: yes, they're mad. I fought them, and they were helping jerkyman over there.” He nodded at the bisected corpse of the Pthumerian. “But they seem to have left their weapons here. We should be okay for the moment.”
Finally he stretched his thumb. “And thirdly: I have a job to do. I protect her.” He nodded at Adelicia across the room. “I'm getting her to safety. Your group can follow. I don't care.”

Victor moved to retrieve his Holy Blade from the ground. “I'm Victor. Of the white church.” He glanced back at Torquil, Marcus and Arcturus. “And you're the new Hunters.”

Draco had the decency to look somewhat bashful at the manner in which he had been informed that the sniffing thing wasn't actually a sign of madness or darker things. "In my defense, I got this-" There was a quick gesture towards the scarring across his face where his nose used to be "- before I ever met a hunter and no one has ever felt the need to inform me that they have a certain scent." Much like with all things that 'everyone just knew', when you didn't know you were left somewhat out of the loop.

Still, despite his somewhat flustered frustrations, he did notice that one of the hunters seemed to be sympathetic to his request for help... even if Victor clearly didn't care and was focused on his mission. A mission that, as he turned to look at the woman that was Victor's charge, he realized he could use to his advantage. "You want to get her to safety? Well, I know where a shelter designed for civilians caught away from home with incense nearby is. I also know for a fact that there is a hunter with beast like claws actively hunting down other hunters in a mixture of bloodlust and sport. He's already killed one hunter from the church, he'll almost certainly try again."

Draco's hope was that Victor would connect the dots himself, but their were two conclusions that he was angling for. The first was that because Draco himself knew a safe location nearby that he could take his charge too, protecting Draco (and by extension, the Civilians with Draco) would assist with his primary mission. The second was that with the presence of a confirmed hunter killer on the prowl nearby who was actively targeting hunters, the danger posed to his charge if said mad hunter tried to ambush him would discourage Victor from trying to travel by himself.

Marcus listened very carefully to the man with the scar. Marcus’s eye stared at the Draco’s – as he called himself – eyes, listening as this blacksmith and huntsman pleaded for help. A hunter that kills hunters. At least killed someone called Stefan. A church giant fighting beasts was now more attractive fighting partner to the hunter, according to Draco.

Marcus disliked the idea that he’d be helping people. There were a lot of dangers outside and to worry about some people was not in his greatest interest. However there was two points in favor to his quest. There was a shelter and there would be a bigger group to make it there. Marcus was worried that such a group would attract beasts, but perhaps they would target the civilians instead?

But this thought was tossed to a corner soon. Discussion had went to someone identifying a hunter by scent alone. And then the now-alive Hunter had revealed a truth. There was a scent. Marcus took, as a reflex, a deep breath in through his nose. And sure enough, Marcus smelled the blood; But there was another scent present. He had smelled that all the evening, but he hadn’t thought about it until now, but there was no mistaking it. Just to be sure, Marcus rose his arm closer to his nose.

A memory came into his mind. This smell. Now that he thought about it, scent was familiar to him: He and his sister running in sewers and the scent of the assaillant is stronger than the filth in sewer, as he grabs his sister. She screams and the hunter playfully says “Got you...”.

And Victor then said the harsh truth that brought Marcus back to the real world. What Marcus had perhaps suspected and somewhat known until now, but now that it was said out loud it was more sombering. It was now true. He was a hunter. They were now hunters. The smell proved it, the feats moments ago proved it, what the huntsmen had said proved it. The effect was much stronger than he could have guessed. His mind was blank. He saw as Draco emoted towards his nose, but Marcus couldn’t understand the emotion or care about that.

His senses came back when Draco was speaking about the shelter. Victor would do anything to keep the woman safe, at least according to his own words. Draco was quite good with his thoughts. This proposition mioght get the veteran hunter and his enormous sword with them. Marcus was bit doubtful. Victor was a member of a White Church, which was a rival to the Black Church that Marcus had contacted. He didn’t know if the two Churches were connected in this room of cots filled with nightmare-ridden patients. Would-be hunters or woudl-be dead meat, whether the treatment worked or not. But at the moment it was Victor that could lead him to some answers.

Marcus lowered his sword until his arm was relaxed and turned to Victor. ”I need answers to this whole mess, so I will follow you. But if there are beasts that want her delicious blood and a hunter out there that wants to hunt you… ” Marcus said and turned to Draco. “Then better to cooperate. For now.” He finished. He took few steps towards the room with cots. He wanted to find the rifle that the huntsmen had left behind. Or rather which Marcus had yanked from them. In case he’d meet them again, he’d ask them for gunpowder and bullets.

Victor mostly seemed as if he was barely even listening to what Draco and Marcus were saying, apparently concentrating on retrieving his weapon off the ground. Interestingly the Messengers near him, visible only to Marcus, Arcturus and Torquil, started making rude gestures and just generally taunting the Hunter as he crouched to pick up his sword, without Victor in any way indicating that he registered their behavior or presence.
With his weapon in hand he stood back up, swinging the giant sword over his right shoulder and onto his back, where he took just a moment to find the right place for it. Once it was in place the mechanism inside the blade produced a faint click, and the much smaller silver sword within the greater Holy Blade was released through the edge of its blade-scabbard, leaving the giant blade stuck to Victor's back. The stark contrast between the relatively clean, pristine silver blade of the small sword compared to the rest of the bloody and beaten man's appearance was quite remarkable.

The only times Victor had any kind of perceivable reaction to the others' words was when Draco mentioned that the offending Hunter had had “beast like claws,” and when Marcus finished his own contribution to the conversation with an utterance of “for now.”
Even someone barely paying attention to his expression would likely notice Victor's frown at the mention of the beast-clawed Hunter, showing intense displeasure at hearing about it, but someone paying closer intention might also register that an actual physical change overcame the Hunter's eyes as he frowned, with his irises starting to shift and churn once more, and for just a second the animal glow returned to his pupils. Then he seemed to calm back down, his expression relaxed into its resting look of general annoyance and disinterest, and his eyes resumed a more human appearance.
At Marcus' utterance a similar look of displeasure came over Victor's face, only this time without the unnatural change in his eyes. “You're one of those...” he muttered under his breath, his disgust evident from the hushed words, but likely too quiet for Marcus to hear himself.

“Here's what I'm gonna do,” Victor finally spoke out loud, glancing around the room, still showing no signs of awareness of the Messengers at all. “First I light the censer outside of here to keep other beasts from getting in here. Then you –” he indicated Draco with a nod, “– take me to where these other people are holed up, and I kill the madmen before they can make an even bigger mess of things. Once that's taken care of I'll take the saint back down to the shelter and stash her – and anyone else that comes with and wants to – in there. Now, I only have one...”
He padded the bag on his left hip as he said this, only to suddenly stop mid-sentence as he apparently was not feeling what he was expecting upon handling the pouch. Looking down, it seemed that Victor only now noticed the empty blood vial that was still sticking out of his left thigh, which he simply stared at with disbelief for a couple of seconds before he reached down with his left hand and quickly pulled it out, only to pocket the empty vial.
“I have no blood vials left,” he corrected himself, a hint of distress in his voice as his eyes started shifting nervously around the room, his confidence visibly shaken, “so next I'll head back to the Cathedral Ward to resupply before joining the hunt. You can follow as far as you want. I don't care. But if you come with me, you can properly arm yourselves at the Cathedral Ward, get some blood vials of your own and maybe find some other Hunters to band together with. You know, so you're slightly less likely to die tonight.”

Marcus, meanwhile, would know that the currently unloaded rifle he had taken from the huntsman was still in the back room of the clinic, with the cots with comatose Hunters-to-be. Going back to retrieve it would be a simple matter. Turning back towards the door, however, he might notice a second rifle, similar to the one he had seized, on the floor in this room, seemingly one of the weapons dropped by the fleeing huntsmen. Next to it, among some other rubble, lay two small pouches: one shapeless against the floor, its opening closed with a piece of string, and another that had fallen with its string untied, spilling a handful of small dark-gray pellets among the debris.