You set off on your journey to Fortune’s End, packing what little you could scrounge up; perhaps friends or family gave you some of what they had to help you, hopeful you would bring a bounty home; perhaps you acquired your supplies by less then scrupulous means. Whatever the case, you set off, some of you finding yourselves close to the town sooner than expected, even when you weren’t sure you were going the right way. As though the mere desire to be in the town carried you there. The road leading in is well maintained, though bares no signs of recent use. After an hour of walking in the woods you come across a line in the ground, gouged out of the earth. You kick some dirt into the line expecting it to fill but the dirt simply falls deeper into what you now realize to be a crack. You peer into the woods, first on your left, then your right. The crack stretches past the road into the forest, cutting through ground, but also splitting stones, and stumps, and roots, and the occasional tree. Anything the crack touched had been split. The sight was ominous to say the very least, but the horrors of back home were more than enough to propel you over the line and continue on.

The moment you step over the line you suddenly find yourself somewhere new. Before you is a town unlike anything you’ve ever seen, a chaotic cacophony of buildings piled on top of each other, each trying to take up the space of the other. They stretched far up into the sky, with bridges and ladders and rope creating a tangled web of architecture that blocked the light of the sun. Crooked in all ways it could manage, and not looking the least bit stable, the whole place felt as though it was leaning on itself to stay upright. You look behind you, the road stretches on far into the distance, no sign of the crack. You turn back to the buildings and examine them closer, a strange uncanny feeling squirms it’s way into your brain. Each building was made up of numerous planks, and the occasional log, but they all had the exact same windows right down to having the same crack on the same pane. Now and again you’d spot part of a word on a plank, fancy debossed lettering like one would see on a sign. A few nearby spots where the entirety of the sign could be seen revealed what was written. “Welcome to Fortune’s End”, you can even spot a wall that appeared to have a hole covered up with nothing but these signs.

You look up, finally noticing something directly above your head. Another sign. You step back a few paces to read it from a proper angle. The same sign was once again used but this time was altered to say “Welcome to Fortune Found” the s was crudely gouged away and the word “found” was made of various broken pieces of wood nailed onto the sign and painted red in stark contrast to the unpainted nature of the rest of the sign.

A raspy grunt catches your attention and you quickly look to the source of the sound, ready for some kind of attack. An old man is making his way down the steps of one of the crooked buildings, having emerged from a door that initially looked like just part of a wall. When his feet touch ground he makes his way over with more speed and gusto then would have been expected of such an old and haggard looking person. He glares at you with tired eyes, one of which he seems to be struggling to hold open for some reason.

“I see another idiot made their way here, I sure hope you had a damn good reason...” the man didn’t sound mad or disappointed, his voice carried the weight of someone who had long ago accepted what the world was going to throw at them. You like to think you indeed had a good reason to enter the town but before you can say anything the man holds up his hand. “I’m just here to do my job. I long since stopped caring about pleasantries... come with me, you need to meet the mayor.”

You hesitate, contemplating if it wise to follow. The old man keeps walking; you’re unsure if he noticed you weren’t following, but doubted he would have stopped even if he had. With little else to do, and a strange warped town not being as bad as the things your imagination had conjured up you take off after the old man.

The light from the sun slowly faded to a moody glow, with the majority of helpful light coming from an abundance of lanterns. You are lead through the strange town on a relatively straight path. You catch the occasional glimpse of a person walking around above you across one of the bridges, or make eye contact with someone starring out a familiar window. No one seems to be surprised or to care about your appearance. You spot more examples of the sign being used to build or repair parts of the homes, it felt natural to see them as homes despite nothing about any of the warped buildings appearing very homey.

You aren’t walking for long before you exit the area of the buildings and find yourself in a bright clearing, at the centre of which is a small, normal looking town, more along the lines of what you had been expecting. The cacophonous buildings formed a ring all the way around this central town, leaving a 50 meter gap between of nothing. High in the sky sat the sun, as bright as it could be, without a cloud in sight. The moment you enter the clearing it becomes unbearably hot and you almost instantly begin to sweat.

Unsurprisingly the old man was not slowed or deterred by the odd change, or the sudden heat, and passed under a sign on his way into the smaller town. The sign was familiar, you’ve seen it several dozen times now. “Welcome to Fortunes End”. You pick up the pace to catch up with the old man. On your way into town you can’t help but take notice of how the heat had ravaged the land. There wasn’t a blade of grass to be seen, every post that dotted the area was split and cracking, and even the dirt seemed unnaturally dry.

By the time you make it into the town proper you are drenched with your own sweat and in dire need of something to drink. You look around in search of a saloon or other obvious place one might get a drink. Fortune’s End is comprised of twenty or so different buildings all located around a central town hall, standard for towns once upon a time. The whole place looked fairly normal and unassuming, it was by all accounts a regular mid sized town. You do spot a Saloon, however the old man is making his way towards the hall. Out front of which you can see there is someone sitting in a chair directly in the sun. Given your current state you can’t help but feel that must be extremely uncomfortable for whoever they were. When you get a bit closer you can hear the sounds of hammers and saws and see that there are people who appear to be dismantling the town hall very carefully, making sure not to destroy anything as they do so. You spot a familiar cracked window.

Your attention on the building doesn’t last long as the old man leads you straight to the person in the chair. Though person might be the wrong word as they were clearly a mummified corpse wearing the stereotypical finery of the most pompous of pompous mayors. Gold buttons, gold cuff-links, and gold rings adorned the body.

“This here is the mayor” the old man clarifies. “His name is Finton and he’ll be explaining things to you, ain’t that right Finny.” The corpse begins to move, raising it’s eyeless head, jaw slack, revealing a dried maw on the creature.

“Right you are Quill, right. You. Are.” The voice clearly came from the mummy, it useless jaw wiggled and flapped as it spoke. It’s manner of speaking was slow and deliberate, it’s voice sounding akin to if dust could speak. The so called mayor let out a raspy cough and continued, “Welcome to. Fortune’s End. The town. Where you ca-” what ever clearly planned speech the creature was about to say is cut off by Quill.

“Spare me the blabber you dehydrated sack of bones and just get to the main bit.”

The mummified mayor slowly raised a pointed finger. “Ah, but surely. This fine. Specimen would wish. To hear about the town.”

“Trust me, they don’t give a god damn about the town. We all know why they’re here so just get to it so I can go home.”

The mayor’s raised hand slowly lowered “As you. Wish.” The mayor took a deep haggard breath, “You have. Answered my dire plea for help. I assume?” You nod and show the poster, though it felt odd and unnatural to converse with a speaking corpse.“Splendid. Perhaps you. Will be the hero we need.” Quill kicks the mayor’s chair in an attempt to get him to hurry up his ramble. The mayor presses on, “We, of this town, were cursed. I recall. Not when, nor why. Nor who, nor. How. But I know we are cursed. For what else. Would you call such an existence. You must find. The source of our curse, and, if possible, bring it to an end. As payment. Your weight. In gold shall be awarded. We of Fortune’s End. Hardly need it now.” The mayor, suddenly stops talking and lowers his head back to his chest. You wish to press for questions but are stopped by Quill who spits on the corpse. The spittle hits the dead mans skin with a feint but audible hiss and almost instantly evaporates in the heat.

“Not a god damn useful thing said, ever. Unhelpful bastard.” He spits again, with much the same result, before noticing your expression. “Ask your questions tomorrow, I got other things t’do then sit here and listen to the same waste of time prattle, now come on. New arrivals stay in the saloon.” Quill walks off towards the fairly typical looking saloon. You are grateful for the sudden development as the potential promise of a drink arises.

Quill pushes past the saloon doors which surprisingly don’t creak despite your expectancy they do so, and flap back and forth with the vigour that all freshly made saloon doors should. You follow in, still baffled by the never ending barrage of strangeness you are being forced to accept. The barrage does not end; as you enter the saloon you are assaulted by the fresh smell of wood stain and paint, neither of which is as off putting as the grotesque malformed thing on the far side of the saloon existing behind the counter where one would rent a room for the night. You pause just in the entry way, your need for a drink quickly forgotten.

“Good evening Fredric.” Quill addressed the creature as he made his way across the room, wearing what one might call an attempt at a friendly face. You wonder why this creature warrants more humanity from the man than yourself.

“Well hello there Quill, been some time. Evening to you.” The voice that came out of the malformity was that of a tired old man with a deep American southern drawl. The pair sparks up a conversation comprised of an unusual level of pleasantries given the horror that filled the room. With only a small hint of hesitation you make your way closer, though as you move farther in away from the fresh air entering through the hanging doors the odour of the place becomes even less bearable. Of course bad smells were hardly the most pressing concern.

The creature behind the counter was an uncomfortable combination of wood and flesh. Its body melded with the counter, and the walls, and the floor, and the ceiling. The grain of the wood flowed into and over it’s bulbous form and warped and deformed as the creature seemed to breath. It’s face was all that was left of it’s head, it’s features stretching out unpleasantly as they tried to go with the flow of the wood and the grain. The creature wore a set of spectacles that it’s wooden body seemed to grow over and hold in place. It had no legs, but still possessed arms; though one was strangely long and gangly like a decrepit branch from a witches tree, and the other was fused into the rest of the body while still holding onto an extravagant cane with a golden handle. The creature, Fredric, awkwardly held it’s free arm away from it’s body, a series of ropes from the ceiling seemed to assist with this. Obviously he was trying to avoid the fate of his other arm. The cubbies along the wall that were normally there to hold onto letters for guests of the saloon were part of the creatures body, creating an uncomfortable holed pattern along one side. To add to the holy nightmare the thing’s entire body was covered in small termite holes, you can tell they’re termites as you can see them skittering over the things body going from hole to hole, and the occasional mite falls out of it’s mouth as it speaks or climbs out from behind an eye.

“Well I’ll leave it t’you Fredric. Im off.” Quill waved to Fredric, who waved back with his good hand, and left the saloon paying you no mind. Fredric turned it’s attention to you. When he spoke his voice had the sad tinge of someone in great pain but who had come to accept it.

“Welcome to the town stranger, it’s nice to meet you, even if under less than ideal conditions.” He smiles at you with a big toothy smile revealing even his teeth are also warped. Several termites crawl out from the corners of his smile when he does this. You worry about the condition of the rest of the building given the apparent infestation, but a quick look around reveals the termites aren’t going anywhere beyond the creature. If the thing noticed you looking it didn’t say anything. “It’s pretty late, you’ll be wanting to get to bed.” with its long hand it reaches into one of the cubbies on it’s body and produces a key, which he hand’s to you. Part of you doesn’t want to take anything from the creature, but futility quickly wins out and you accept the key. As you do you drop it from surprise as a gunshot rings out. You scramble and pick up the key. Fredric, the thing, chuckles. “You’ll be wanting to get used to that. Clock tower doesn’t work so old Thomas fires off a shot every hour on the hour, all day.” The thing waits a moment to see if you will say anything, but you don’t. There are too many things to say, too many questions, too many obscenities to scream. The thing continues once it realizes you aren’t going to add anything. “Between the heat, the constant sun, and the gun shots most new comers have a hard time sleeping. You can dull some of the sound and block out the light by pinning up the thicker blankets; with the heat most don’t need or want them anyway. Complimentary nails and hammer can be found in your room for just that.” the thing lets out a long tired sigh. “It’s pretty late, you should get to bed. Head on up and find the room that matches your key. There is only 6 so it shouldn’t be to difficult for you. There will be plenty of time for you to unravel whats going on tomorrow.” He closes his eyes. The urge to rouse the thing and bombard it with questions is strong, but you decide against it all the same. It could, or rather would have, to wait for tomorrow.

With little else to do you head to your room. As the thing, Fredric, had said the room was hot and brightly lit from the sun high in the sky. Normally you’d say the position of the sun meant it was freshly noon, but you had been walking long enough to expect the sun to be much lower in the sky, and your own tiredness did make you wonder how late it actually was. With little else to do you settle into your room for the evening and eat some of the food you had brought with you as none had been offered. You also finish off the last of the water in your canteen which you were surprised but happy to find It wasn’t much left but still helped a great deal. While you ate you contemplated what you had seen and heard so far. Some kind of curse was affecting the town, obvious even if you had not been directly told, but other than that there was little else to go on. To earn your pay you would need to uncover much and somehow undo a curse that by the looks of the secondary town built around Fortune’s End, many many people had yet to solve.

Will you be the one to free the town?

Astrid closed the door behind her with a soft click, and finally left out a shuddering breath and shrugged off her backpack. It made a dull thud as it fell on the floor, and were Astrid in a more stable set of mind she would have been worried the boards underneath might bend or break. As it was, the bed was the only thing on her mind.

She sat down, feeling it creak underneath her, and put her head in her hands. The dry, hot air did not give as much relief as she would like, but she breathed nonetheless.

‘Deep breath, hold it, then exhale slowly.’

She repeated the mantra a few times, focusing her mind on stemming the tide of uncertainty and panic—something she had been trying to do ever since she had witnessed the mayor. “Hvað hef ég komið mér í?”

She had been en route for perhaps six weeks by the time she reached the boundary. Off the boat in Denmark, and then a few more days south, and then that odd crack in the ground. She had expected at least an additional two months on the road, maybe a few weeks less if she could grab a lift. Money was tight enough that she did not take the train, but she had plans to maybe attempt to sneak aboard one if the chance arose. All in all, she was prepared for a very long journey, possibly up to a year, if she had to stop to work so she could earn some money.

It had surprised her quite a bit then, when she had just crossed through Aalborg, when she came upon a miniature ravine. A tiny split in the ground barely the width of her hand. It had not been the most curious thing of her travels yet. The odd flatness of the entirety of Denmark was likely that. It had not even crossed her mind that the crack might be more than met the eyes. So when she stepped over and found herself in a place completely unlike the gentle fields of the Danish countryside.

The first thing she had noticed was the heat blasting down from above. The second was the shuffling footfalls of a man who looked as cantankerous as they come. He led her into the city proper, past the outer ring of chaotic buildings and across the figurative no-man’s-land. Within the city proper was where things had taken a turn for the bizarre, and when Astrid’s panic had started to mount. The words scarcely registered to her, her brain busy with categorising how a dried husk of a corpse was able to move, let alone talk.

She followed mutely towards the saloon when the “Mayor” had gone silent, and Quill—the angry old man—had walked off towards it. She had only just ducked through the door when the breath was stolen from her lungs as the cabinets behind the counter started talking. It took a full count of ten before she realised it wasn’t the cabinets at all, but the remnants of what could only be assumed to have once been a person, now fused to the wood in a way she was certain would give her nightmares. She had realised that it spoke to her about a sentence into its introduction of the place, and though she listened it was difficult to force herself to move. When it held out a key, she paused for a significant amount of time, before a gunshot rang from outside and shocked her into action.

It was with a mix of embarrassment and lingering panic that she thought back to how she had rushed past, grabbed the key, and walked upstairs as fast as her legs could carry her.

She breathed out a long, slow breath before inhaling and straightening up in the same moment. She had survived the worst of it, she hoped. This place was from out of fairy tales and folklore, told to keep naughty children in line lest they misbehave. But now she knew that, and she could hopefully prepare herself for the sight of more. The fact that the innkeeper was a horrific amalgamation of wood, flesh, and termites and the mayor could barely be considered alive, were enough to be relatively certain that she should expect more things that raised hackles around here. At least the existence of Quill, and the faces of the others she had seen in the windows in the ring-city, told her that there were humans to be found here. Normal ones. With two arms, two legs, and skin that looked fresher than a piece of one-year dry-aged meat.

With some renewed vigour she stood up and set about covering the windows. She seemed to remember either Quill or the thing-person downstairs telling her that the sun didn’t set here—a fact which she refused to think about now—and so using the blankets to cover the windows might be a good idea. It was a small mercy that the summers back home had prepared her for sleeping with the sun out.

A few minutes later Astrid lay on the bed, wondering what tomorrow would bring. If today had been any indication, more things that would raise question after question. For now, at least, she would sleep. But only after blocking the door, and propping her axe against the bed and in easy reach.

Beyond the fourth door one could hear the rustling of a bag, swiftly followed up with the strike of a match tip against its packaging. Dylan's nerves have already gotten to him. He sighed, the back of his throat growing more irritated the more smoke grazed it. If this was the kind of fuss he'd be encountering on a daily basis, then he'd be fixing to burn through them cigarettes for as long as he lasted. Just when he was staving off them too. Readjusting the cigarette in his mouth, he glared at the overbearing amount of sunlight rushing in through the window. Nails and a hammer cross his gaze.

Just as that... thing... said, he’d take care to pin them in a way that’d ensure any glaring beams of light wouldn’t seep through. Strange that there weren’t any other holes indicating that other stay-goers did the same, but he wasn’t about to question that compared to what he saw in the rest of the town. They probably fix up the room with those planks they were harvesting over at that big ol' hall. For whatever sun was able to seep past the blankets after his first sweep, he’d pull out the pin he misplaced and stretch the sheet further over the window. He’d repeated the process for each and every blanket until he was left with a barren bed and what was technically less light than before. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere near comparable to a night sky.

He poured out everything he’s been keeping in his pouch and looked it over, refreshing the notes in his mind, making sure all he had left was with him. So far everything he’s had on his person was here. The saddlebags carrying anything extra were whisked away with his horse, who had gone off a long time ago. Along with the rest of his crew, falling to the wayside one by one. With everything accounted for, he slumped on his bed.

To think, this town might’ve actually been worse than what he was dealing with back at home. Still, he wasn’t fixing to go back out to the toil and hunger. To cows falling over dead out of nowhere, for no particular reason. Happened as spontaneously as the signs that plagued the towns he’d travel to, the same ones that he’d use as a cushion, the same ones he’d roll up for a blunt. Thought it was only happening to his cows until someone else’s slumped over the same way at an auction. Eventually, the land went coarse, and water wells were drying up. Crime hit an all-time high. The place he called home turned into a hell that made him glad he didn’t have kids. As of yet, if there was a chance for him to live comfortably, even if he had to live out the rest of his days at the town next door, it was shaping to already be an upgrade to how they were living out there. The straining tug at his chest started to subside as the burning end of the cigarette neared his lips. Satisfied, he tossed it to the ground and snuffed out the sparks with his boot.

- - -

Despite the covers over the window, he’d get little sleep throughout the night. The gunshots kept him alert, thinking that some bandits were closing in before he realized it was just Thomas. He wouldn't be surprised if Thomas actually did end up being as trigger happy as those idiots. With the number of gunshots blasting, he’d assumed it was sometime in the morning already, however, it was hard to actually tell given the sun was in the same position as it was yesterday.

After a change of wardrobe, a morning check of his inventory, and opening his door with the intent to begin his search for the source of the curse, he’d pause. He could hear an oscillating creaking faintly moving in and out. Fredric's drawn-out flesh permeated his mind. The wooden planks chafing against each other, either leaving the flesh in between pinched or strained. Termites bleeding throughout. Dylan kept his head down and his hat tilted, its shadow obscuring his eyes as they desperately try to recover from the sudden surge of terror. The only other obvious sign of his state was a heavy staggering breath, interrupted by the occasional gravel cough. Another match was struck. Alongside his ritualistic chain-smoking, he scanned his surroundings, making sure that it was just a hallway and not hosting some other godforsaken monstrosity. It seemed nothing was lurking in the corners, yet. He suspected that none of the other five travelers left their rooms either, but he had no way of knowing for sure. His only hint was the stillness lingering in the air.

"So this place is where you have gone to Abigail," Vergil said to himself as he sat down on his bed. There was a hint of both surprise and annoyance in his voice as he sat there with most of his gear put away but a pistol in his hands. "It is sure of a town to go to, but why this place?" Asking himself a question that he knows he can not answer for now. His father's books could barely prepare him for a town like this, and who knows what the rest of the townfolks are like. Maybe his father would be better suited to his place. Vergil knows he has more experience when dealing with the supernatural than he does. But he is back home in safe care and resting from his wounds. When Vergil left, his father could barely walk, let alone track down Abigail, and now here he is. In Fortune's End and with strange townsfolk. Surely, one of them has to know about Abigail and where she is.

The sound of a sudden gunshot alerted him, and he gripped his pistol, but as he checked his pocket watch, he saw what the time was. He realized it was just Thomas and relaxed. Surely, there has to be a better way of telling people what time it was. Vergil is not sure if he can sleep if a gunshot goes off every hour and in this heat, but he has to try. So before he went to bed and stored his pistol under his pillow. Vergil gave one last look at his pocket watch, and a thought came to mind. "Why take that book, Abigail, and are you still you?" Sadness in his voice and the fact she is a dead woman walking. She might just fit in this town, and that might make his job harder. So with that last thought, Vergil after closing the covers of his window. He went to bed and just hoped he could get some sleep in.

......

To say that Vergil slept last night is an understatement. The man barely slept as he thought he would, and the never setting sun did not help things. Along with the hourly gunshot, but he knew it was morning thanks to his pocket watch and after shaking himself up as a way to wake up. He got out of bed, collected his things, and made sure that he was not missing anything. Since the last thing he needs is to learn that the townsfolk steal from outsiders.

However, a thought did come to him. If the townsfolk were as... strange could be a polite word for them. Then what is the food and drink like? That question he did not like thinking about, and this town must have something for people to eat. He is not excited to find out what. Still, if anything, his father and his father's books have taught him. Not all of them eat or prey on people. But he will have to find that one out for himself in this town, and that thought did make him uneasy.

Still, he has a job to do, and he needed answers. So as awake as he could be, Vergil, got up and as he readied himself to begin his hunt for Abigail. Though he mutter something to himself, "please let there be no skinwalkers in this town." Sounding almost like a prayer as he opened the door and left his room. Where he would soon see a fellow traveler with cigar smoke around him. Vergil could not see his eyes as the man's hat shadow hid them, but he could hear his staggering breathing.

Not a good sign to see a traveler like this, but, given the state of the town. He should not be surprised and merely respectly tipped his hat to the man as a way to help him relax before heading downstairs. He is not keen to see what the other townsfolk look like and what other strangeness awaits him in the saloon. But strange times, here they come.

Céleste looked around the room assigned to her at the Saloon to inspect her work. As soon as she entered she set about making it a place suitable for her to stay. As was suggested she covered the window, but instead of using blankets she disassembled a nightstand and used it's wood and repurposed nails to board up the window. She also used a combination of her own hardware and a piece of wood stolen from the beds backboard to fashion a make-shift locking bar for the door. Once inside the room she could easily place her make-shift locking bar across the door. Between that and the boards on the window there would be no easy way in, which was something that normally brought Céleste comfort, however that was when she was only worried about murderers and thieves. Fortune's End threatened her with more than just the usual human sin, but a possible unimaginable menagerie of unknown horrors. While the Mayor seemed harmless, and Fredric seemed kind, there was no telling what else was in the town and if it was as equally harmless.

The last thing she did before changing into her nightgown and settling in for the night was to position her bed so that if anyone did manage to open the door it would immediately slam into the bed and, hopefully, get stuck. Another trick she often used when she was feeling uneasy about a town, and it felt as equally pointless as her other attempts. But old habits die hard, and one never knows when their efforts might prove fruitful, even when it feels like they won't.

The gun she slept with under her pillow brought little comfort in the face of the never ending nightmares that tormented her all night. The whole experience didn't feel natural, as if it was not her own mind conjuring the terrifying visuals and experiences but someone or something else. Her dreams were filled with shapeless beings who could at one moment be small enough to fit between the pages of a book then the next be swallowing a town whole as their form burst out from those pages. She watched the earth from above as thousands of years passed, watched as man came into being and died out so fast their existence was barely even noticeable making her feel like a tiny spec of nothing. She felt not the pain but the indescribable terror as the ceaseless teeth and claws of creatures she'd never seen before awake or in her previous dreams tore into her and ripped her to pieces. She heard the sound of drums, beating louder and louder as she ran through a void of nothing, hands clasp over her ears as she tried to escape the sound that did not seem to come from a source but merely manifested within her own head. When she eventually awoke she found herself in a sweat soaked nightgown and bedspread, the heat having little to do with it. She laid there for several minutes, taking deep breaths, eyes focusing hard on the ceiling above. She was no stranger to bad dreams, her familiarity with them often leading to her barely noticing when it was normal or a nightmare. But what she had experienced was something new and far more horrible than anything she had seen during her slumbers before. The horror did not come from the images themselves, though she could not deny they alone would have been enough to scare her hair white, but rather from a small instinct flaring in the back of her head, a warning light that had never gone off before as it had had no reason to before then. Some long forgotten part of her mind was trying to tell her, warn her, that the images she saw, felt, last night were not conjurations of the mind, but memories, predications, things that have and will happen. She would have given her other arm to forget that feeling.

When the emotions of the experience quelled and she felt like it was safe to move again Céleste slipped out of bed and removed her nightgown and the sheets from the bed, hanging both up on the wall using the last of her claimed nails. Hanging them up on a line would have been better, but the heat was enough she was sure they'd be dry by the time they were needed again. Céleste hoped what she experienced during her sleep was a one time affair brought on by her long journey and the strange -people felt like the wrong word- individuals she had met at her journey's end. Only time would tell if it was a one time thing so rather than worry about it any longer Céleste went about getting ready for the day. She sat on the sheetless bed and rubbed some ointment on the stump at her shoulder -the only thing that remained of her left arm- and attached her faux wooden replacement, ensuring the straps that kept it in place were tight but still comfortable. With that done she threw on one of her spare dresses to give the one she journeyed in a few days to air out, and strapped on her pistols and axe sheath. Once dressed, Céleste made to head out of her room to get her day started. On her way out of the room she almost grabbed her custom hunting rifle, but decided to leave it in her room along with her wooden backpack which she stuck in a corner so that it couldn't be easily seen from the door.

On her way down the saloon stairs a shot rang out, most likely coming from the towns so called clock tower which was little more than an unfinished building with a non-functioning clock. She hesitated briefly, her right hand instantly twitching in the direction of one of the fire-arms she keeps at her waist. A false alarm, it was just the a man named Thomas sounding the hour in place of a bell. On her way down the stairs she passed by a window through which she could see the tower in question; she paused a moment and looked outside at it. It was easily the tallest point in the town despite having a small footprint in comparison to the rest of the buildings. Céleste made a mental note to speak with Thomas, as from his vantage point he had probably often saw much of the comings and goings of just about everyone in the town.

At the bottom of the steps she spotted Fredrick and started up a conversation. He was as nice as he was yesterday, asking about how she found the room and if there was anything he could do for her. As they spoke she did her best not to look at the -man?-, which felt rude but did allow her to actually hold a conversation with him. If she had tried to make eye contact she wasn't sure such a feat would have been possible. After a bit of small talk she was able to determine the saloon, like many buildings in the town, had food supplies that would restock at the beginning of that day as if by magic no matter how much had been taken the previous day. The people of Fortune Found were allowed to take food from any building in the town, but the food in the Saloon was meant exclusively for new visitors, specifically those new visitors who stayed at the saloon. After finishing her conversation she went into the saloons kitchen and fixed herself up something eat. To her surprise they had her favorite tea, so naturally she made a cup of that using the supplied kettle and barrel of -possibly- fresh water. Breakfast made and tea prepared she made her way back to the second floor balcony where she could enjoy her meal in solitude.

As she sat and ate she watched the town, hoping to see signs of other people or perhaps more creatures. But no one showed up, the only soul she could see being the mayor, head hanging down towards his chest, sitting lifeless in the chair. She wondered why he didn't move his seat inside rather than sit out in the sun all the time. Something told her he didn't have a choice in the matter. Her eyes having wandered towards the Mayor lead to her noticing that the town hall close by that people seemed to have been dismantling the day prior was looking quite whole and unmarred. It was as if someone came along and replaced all the parts that had been taken.

Céleste sat and sipped her tea, nibbled on her toast, and began to plan out her next steps. She had made her way to Fortune's End for a reason and nightmares or not, monsters or not, and anything else the town could throw at her would not dissuade her from her goal. Someone, either in Fortune's End or Fortune Found, needed to die.

So there were other people around. With the hat obscuring his eyes he couldn't look at them head on, however it seemed that they were determined to get where they needed to be going. Frankly he felt a bit embarrassed, freezing for so long. Still, the sight of another adventurer was enough to mitigate his hesitation. He should really be getting a move on if he wanted a chance at that grand gold prize. His nerves ever so slightly regained, he made his way down the stairs.

He keeps the mass of flesh out of his line of sight as he beelines for the kitchen. After ultimately deciding it would be better to stamp out the cig before the smoke ruined the taste of everything and would probably get everyone pissed at him, He looked for something suitable for the morning. Anything would have sufficed, though he was cautious around any form of meat. He decided to go for something he was always comfortable with: oatmeal. As he prepared the grain, he would keep tabs on his surroundings, trying to look for anything else out of the ordinary. Making sure nothing weird made its way in his breakfast.

An explosion of sound ripped Astrid violently from her sleep, giving not a care for her rest and instead thrusting her into half-awake panic before her eyes had properly opened. For a moment, the only sound in her room was her own breathing and her thundering heartbeat. Wide eyes took in her surroundings with an outer calm that did not match the state of her mind, taking stock of the room as the memories of yesterday returned to her. The chair she had put under the doorknob still remained, and nothing was different from yesterday evening. She breathed a rattling sigh of relief and sank back onto her bed, letting go of the axe she had grabbed on instinct alone.

She had arrived at Fortune’s End, and the gunshot that woke her was the man keeping time. She had been led to the ‘saloon’ the old man called it. Then the wood-man, the corpse-mayor in the chair outside. It had been real, after all, as much as these living nightmare people could be considered real she supposed. Her rational side told her that they hadn’t attempted anything to her during the previous day, nor had anyone or anything tampered with her room or tried to come into her room it seemed like. Small mercies, but ones she would gladly embrace for the moment. There were plenty of things she would have to get used to, if she were to get the gold so that she and her family could survive the struggles of recent times. And to get that gold, she would have to get up and start the day.

Her mind set, she set about getting dressed and rolling her braid up into its customary bun, held in place by her customary iron nails. That done, she donned her hat, put the leather cover back on her axe and sheathed it in her belt. She was about to remove the chair from the door when an errant piece of sunlight snuck through one of the blinds she had set up and struck her square in the face. Just the light alone immediately reminded her of the weather being much hotter than she was used to, and it was unlikely that it would get much better. She contemplated the sleeves on her shirt for a moment before coming to a decision she hoped she would not regret. Grabbing hold at the shoulder with her teeth, and holding the sleeve itself with her free hand, she tore them off unceremoniously while privately apologising to her mother for ruining her clothes.

Her clothing situation sorted out, Astrid ducked out of her room as quietly as she could, letting the door close with a soft click behind her. The hallway didn’t comment on her caution, though she might have expected it to, in this place. The doors, however, were a somewhat different story. Across the hall and not far from her, she saw the unmistakable writing on one of the doors to another room, the name ‘Vergil’ spelled out in what looked too much like blood for her liking. That name had not been there the day before, nor had—she flicked her gaze down the hallway—any of the other names, on the other doors. Had other occupants arrived after her? Had they done this themselves? It would be macabre if they had, but if not them, then—another thought came to her, and she chanced a glance over her own shoulder.

Astrid stared at the writing on her door, her name clearly marked the room she had been assigned to stay in. She didn't recall giving her name to anyone, in fact the old man she met at the entrance to Fortune Found had not even let her introduce herself. Then how come her name had been spelt out on her door, in what looked far too much like almost-liquid blood?

Was there some force in the town that knew her? The thought was unsettling, but it led to an even more unnerving thought that skittered its way across her brain. When she had arrived at Fortune’s End she had done so much faster than she had expected. Her bag had been packed for a several month long journey, but seemingly out of nowhere she found herself at the crack in the ground and then suddenly, she was there. It was as if the town itself had moved to meet her, or moved her to meet it. In either case it meant it somehow knew she was looking for it. The thoughts flowed into each other rather naturally, and though there was no evidence to tie them together it all fit too perfectly to not at least hold a grain of truth. If the town knew she was looking for it, knowing her name would be trivial in comparison.

She choked down her own desire to vocalise the very insistent discomfort that wormed its way into her thoughts. Much as she would have preferred to just walk away or stay in the room, she was here now and there was very little she could do about it. She had a goal, a purpose, and if she wanted any chance at all to get that gold, she would need to get out of this hallway first, and then figure out what to do. She just hoped there were more humans here in the centre city.

With little in the way of other options she made her way down the hallway, pointedly keeping her eyes forward and away from the other doors. The stairs groaned slightly under her as she finally found her way downstairs, and ducking under the doorway and stepping into the common room proper, she found people! Three of them!

A look of nearly exuberant joy lit up her face as three ordinary, normal human people came into view, prompting a very hearty, “Góðan morgunn!” from her. Belatedly she realised that they likely did not know her mother tongue, making her clear her throat and make a second attempt, this one a little more subdued.

“Good morning,” she said in a heavy accent. “Are you also ta- tr—Mamma, hvað er orðið?—ah! Are you also travelers?”

Luckily for Vergil, there was food, and it was of the normal variety. So there is at least normal food in this place Vergil thought as he made his way to the kitchen. Though he was still cautious about it just in case it was too good to be true. But, as he made his breakfast and nothing seemed out of place or moving for that matter. He finished making his breakfast and went to a lone table, and started eating.

The food tasted fine, like a normal dish, and as he ate. Vergil saw that the man he saw earlier was done here eating. He had half the mind to ask the man who he was. Since normal people like them seemed to be a rarity and a simple talk could be good. But at the moment, he seemed busy eating, and that was when the other normal folk showed up. Granted, she seemed rather tall for a woman from where he was. Actually a bit taller than him when he looked but realized he was staring, so he stopped looking at her and continued eating his meal.

But, when the woman spoke up with an accent, he could not place and spoke some language he did not know, only to correct herself. He replied back, though he was curious what language she spoke. "Good morning, ma'am, and I am a traveler and I... Vergil chose his words carefully, "I have business in this town, and you have a reason for being here, too? Just asking since there are not many reasons to come here given the town's... state."

Céleste looked over her shoulder through the doorway leading from the balcony inside. Three more people had made their way downstairs, some of them had also managed to locate food for themselves. A giant of a woman and a man straight out of a tale from the west seemed to be talking to one another. The large woman seemed strangely friendly, though that was hardly a bad quality simply an unexpected one. Céleste had made her way all over the world and the one consistent thing she found was that kind people were worth taking note of; both because of their rarity and because there was a certain breed of parasitic scum that fooled others with a kind exterior and show but had souls blacker than pitch. She doubted the Jötunnesque woman was such a creature, something about the way she held herself presented an air of sincerity even the best tricksters couldn't mimic once you knew to look for it. Céleste similarly didn't get a bad feeling about the other two either, though it could be difficult to say for certain with what most would consider zero interaction. At the very least she doubted they would be a threat to her so long as they did not get in her way and she in theirs. The cowboy of the groups response seemed to suggest like Céleste he was in Fortune's End for reasons not relating to gold, which was good. Gold had a way of turning even the most level headed of people into a back stabbing asshole, so the less people around concerning themselves with it the better. That in mind Céleste decided it would best to introduce herself and let it be known to the others she would not be competing with them for the prize.

She popped the remaining piece of her meal into her mouth and downed the last of her tea. She brushed any crumbs that had accumulated on her attire onto the floor and re-entered the saloon. "Bonjour, I am Céleste R-" she stopped, deciding that last names were probably a bad idea. "I am Céleste, and I too have business in this town. I wish to make it known I have no interest in the supposed bounty of gold for solving this town's most...circonstances étranges." she let out a quick and quiet sigh of exacerbation "This towns most, odd, circumstance. I have more important matters to attend to so you need not worry about me, intentionally, getting in anyone's way. That said, once my business is concluded I will have an abundance of, shall we call it, available time on my hands and would gladly assist if I can. My heart goes out to these people and their pligh-" she was cut off by the loud bang of a gunshot ringing out which broke her concentration, making her think of the man in the tower. She didn't finish what she was saying and instead waited to see if any of the group had something to say.

So Dylan makes his way to a table, head down, trying not to look anyone in the eyes so he could enjoy his oatmeal. Til a loud 'Góðan morgunn!' bulldozed their way into his ears. His latent anxiety flared up from the foreign words, only to realize moments later that it was actually another traveler coming down the stairs. Thank god. They definitely weren't from anywhere close by, but it didn't seem like they mean any harm.

Before he could say anything however, someone else decided to introduce themselves. Brown vest, leather satchel, loose-fitting jeans. This was shaping to be the same man from earlier. Seemed like he was looking for reasons about why she even traveled here at all. Dylan himself wasn't too interested in digging into other people's motivations, most times it just made both parties either get too comfortable or uncomfortable with each other. He was better off just knowing it they could both work together and drop it from there. With the Baron being the exception of course, he could listen to that old man's stories all day long.

He caught himself staring at the two by the time the french woman, Celeste, spoke up. A bit unnerving seeing someone loaded with guns from shoulder to waist, and even more so if they know how to use them. So ain't it a blessing that Celeste wasn't in it for the money. Course' it was a bit selfish taking joy in knowing that at least one person here wouldn't be competing against them for the prize, but any chances to improve life back at home would've trumped over any courteous virtues. He scoops some oatmeal with his spoon, contemplating whether he should pitch in his ow-

Bang!

"AH! Shi..." Dylan's hand had jolted, sending oatmeal flying onto his face and him in a rush to wipe it off. He glares up to the others, his annoyance fading out.

After a moment of silence, he returned to his train of thought and figured a single sentence should suffice for anyone who willing to hear it, "The name's Dylan, I also got business here." He finishes off his bowl of oatmeal, his arm lightly shivering from the last gunshot.

Astrid remained politely silent as the others introduced themselves, keeping in mind her father’s lessons to keep eye contact as people spoke. As such her eyes flitted from one to the other as Vergil, then Celeste, and finally Dylan gave their introductions. She tried only to cringe a little when the man outside marked the hour once more.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” she said slowly, before smiling and doing a small curtsy. She then turned towards the counter, and though she knew the sight that awaited her, she forced herself not to grimace. “And to you as well… I did not catch your name yesterday, I am afraid.”

“Fredric,” the wood-man amalgamation offered helpfully. “I hope you slept well. If you’re fixing for some food, you can find some in the kitchen. Whatever suits your fancy is yours.” His one free hand gestured towards a half-open door beside the counter.

She gave him an appreciative nod, deciding that food could wait for at least a moment and turned back to the other occupants of the room, the very human ones much to her relief. “The reason I am here is because my family is in trouble. I hoped to get some gold to take back, so we can move to a place with more work.” She pulled out a chair by an empty table, about to sit down, but decided against it and pushed it back in, and instead occupied herself by fiddling with the axe at her hip.

She paused awkwardly for a moment, her eyes flitting from one to the other. Then continued on with some small uncertainty. “I am not very good at… being clever? I can read and write, and I know numbers, but I am best at building things with metal, and some wood. If I want to go home with some gold, I think I will need help. So if you need or want my help first, please ask." Again she paused, this time awkwardly scratching her arm. "I can make or repair tools, and lots of other things. So if you will help me, then I will help you. I will go to get something to eat. Please think about it while I am gone.”

Having said her piece she went where Fredric had pointed her, and set about finding a suitable breakfast.

Introductions suitably out of the way and with everyone having a better understanding of where they all fit in the grand scheme of things Céleste decided it was time to get her own task underway. Once the other woman, Astrid, had finished talking to Fredric Céleste made her way over to the abomination, pulling out a piece of paper.

"Bonjour again monsieur Fredrick. Seeing as you seem to be the the place where everyone will end up, I was wondering if you might recognize a face." She unfolded a rather worn piece of paper that was once a wanted poster, though much of the ink had worn off or faded leaving being barely legible text. The depiction of the criminal however was rather crisp, having clearly been repeatedly traced over with ink more than once. In fact there was enough layers of ink that cracks were forming in some of the more thicker sections. The man depicted was unremarkable in appearance, looking like a stereotypical man of the time you could bump into just about anywhere. All over the rest of the paper were various names, each crossed out -some more aggressively than others-, with various combinations of freshness of the ink. Sometimes both the name and the lines used to cross it out were equally faded, sometimes the name was more faded than the lines.

Fredrick's face contorted and twisted in a way that might have looked normal on any other person straining to think but on him caused a feeling in Céleste that made her want to reach for a pistol. "I can't see that all that well, may I take a closer look?" his long gangly arm stretched closer to Céleste, the ropes supporting it stretching taut as he moved it to the limits of the ropes range. Céleste hesitated a moment, quite protective of the paper, but only a moment. She placed it delicately into the man-things hand and let go. Fredrick seemed to pick up on the importance of the paper as he handled it just as carefully as she did and brought it closer to his face. He inspected the paper for a reasonable amount of time and passed it back. "Lots of folk come through here," Céleste's heart immediately sank as she suddenly expected poor news, Fredrick continued, "and I can't say this man is particularly distinguished. But I can say for certain there have been quite a few people that have passed through here that have more than just a passing resemblance to this man. Couldn't rightly tell you names, names are a lot harder than faces, but I'd be willing to bet my life, as little as it may be worth at this point, that the man you're looking for did come through at one point. Assuming he didn't die or somehow figure out a way out of the town, he'd be over in Fortune Found" Céleste gave a wide and excited smile, carefully placing the now folded paper deep into the pocket she retrieved it from.

"Bon! Merci monsieur Fredrick! I shall venture off imme-" she stopped. "Pardon? What do you mean by, managed to find a way out?" Fredick shifted, a clear sign he did not want to answer the question. "...monsieur?"

"Well..." he began, his eyes looking away. "Now that you all are here, you can't exactly leave until... well we don't know what needs to happen. We just know you're stuck here. That's why they built Fortune Found, so many people have gotten stuck here over the years they needed a second town just to house them all."

Céleste's eyes went wide and she took a few steps back. She had wondered about the strange outer ring of a town but with all the oddness going on just assumed it was more or less normal.

"Par Dieu, dans quoi me suis-je fourré..."

"Eh? Beg your pardon ma'am?"

"We are, trapped?"

"I'm afraid so."

The air was hotter and drier than most people who hadn't spent time in a desert would have experienced. It was, to say the least, extraordinarily uncomfortable, and yet Celeste was still glad it was a dry heat rather than a humid one. There was also an unexpected and very welcome breeze. It was slight, but enough that it offered some level of relief, which seemed surprising for a town that had all the trappings of hell on earth. Relief seemed like the sort of thing hell would do without, at least that was her immediate thought, but then she remembered something her husband had once said. In his younger days he had been a prospector and would travel around trying to find good sources of gold, and on occasion he did. In that line of business superstition and rumor lorded over many like the all mighty Himself, and for some even more so. If rumor got out a spot had gold it was a certainty that that area would be flooded with men of all ages trying to find their fortunes. Her husband told her of one such incident, a rumor had spread that there was guaranteed to be gold somewhere and of course he and a trainload of other fools grabbed their pick-axes and pans and set off. Her husband spent about a month searching with around a hundred or so other men without so much as a shimmer of gold. Feeling confident there was nothing to find he and several other men left, chasing other rumors or following their own wonky instincts. He spent around three months traveling around collecting gold where he could and by the time he decided he had had his fill he had collected enough gold to settle down and have an easy life. He always liked to joke that he had planned to spend the rest of his days getting drunk and trying out a new whore every night but some lady showed up and married him and dashed all those dreams. Celeste smiled as she remembered that old joke.

On his way home he was close to that spot he had been at all those months ago and decided to pass on through out of curiosity, see if there was anyone there had struck it big. Most of the men were gone, but there were a few stragglers left behind, still looking. In all those months of searching, they had found a combined total of a quarter ounce of gold once those that were left pooled it all together. They sold it so they could buy some rations and replace some equipment. It was always possible to find a little bit of gold just about anywhere her husband had explained at the time, but that did not mean there was some grander deposit waiting around. The men who were left searching were the most tired and rundown men he had ever seen. They looked sad and pathetic, and each one carried themselves like they were walking towards their deathbed. But still they searched, day after day, hoping to find that fortune they wanted.

"It was that bit of gold they found that did it. Hell, had I been there I might have kept looking too. Hope is a cruel thing when used against you. You get your hands on even a little bit of hope, and most men will stick it through the worst of the worst life can throw at them. That's the amazing and terrifying thing about man, the ability to push forwards when the only thing keeping them going is the flicker of light they remember almost seeing. Hope will pull a man through hell, and they'll gladly let it, when the sensical thing to do would be just give up."

His voice was still so clear in her head even though it had been so long since she had heard it. If Fortune's End was hell, perhaps a little bit of relief, a little bit of hope, fit in just fine.

After Fredrick revealed her and the others were trapped in the town Celeste was struck stunned. She wasn't sure what the others said or did in the face of the news, she was in too much of a daze to comprehend what was even happening. When she snapped out of it she found herself outside by the blacksmiths having left the saloon without even realizing it. Evidently some part of her mind had decided she needed to leave and walk it off, a rather good idea as it gave her some time to herself to calm dow. With the initial shock having ebbed away she was able to rationalize enough to determine that she would focus on one problem at a time. She had made her way to Fortune's End for a reason and she would see to it that reason was fulfilled, anything else could come after.

Based on her conversation with Fredrick before his upsetting reveal it would be best to head to Fortune Found, however Celeste wanted to make a quick stop somewhere else first. She was very curious to speak to the man in the clock tower who fired a shot every our, from his vantage point he might have some form of insight into the goings on of the town or where she might be best to start looking.

On her way to the clock tower she had to pass by the Mayor, who spoke to her as she passed.

"Good... morning, Celeste..." his struggle to speak made her very uncomfortable, it was like listening to a man dying of asphyxiation. Celeste stopped, but didn't turn to look at the shockingly loquacious mummified corpse.

"Good morning monsieur Mayor."

"Off. To speak with. Thomas. I su...suspect?"

"Oui monsieur. I hope that his unique view of the town will give me some helpful insights." A strangled sound came from the once-a-man as he attempted to laugh, but all he could muster was a dry exhale of breath that sounded like a tumbleweed being crushed underfoot. "Is there... something the matter?"

"Oh. No." the mayor lifted a hand a few inches, his wrist and fingers moved ever so slightly as if he was trying to gesture. The skin all over that area cracked and split revealing dry gray muscles beneath. He lowered his hand. "He just. Hasn't. Done much seeing. In some time. Is all. But don't let. That. Stop..." He stopped and took a deep breath for some reason, pulling in air with a strangled wheeze, "don't let that stop you. Go on ahead. I. Wont keep. Ya..." he lowered his head back to his chest and stopped talking.

Very uncomfortable, and glad the conversation was over, Celeste made her way to the clock tower. The tower was evidently still in the middle of construction, somehow, as there was a series of temporary stairs on the outside of the building that led to the top. Celeste suspect that the stairs being on the outside meant there was nothing on the inside and so made her way up the sturdy if still worrisome outer steps to speak with Thomas.

When she made it to the top she once again found herself stunned, evidently the town still had plenty of knew strange and horrible things to show off. At the top of the tower sitting in a chair under a roof where a clock should have been was a man whose head was missing several large chunks, so much so it looked like a lump of meat and bone atop an otherwise normal human body. In one hand the corpse held a pistol, a peacemaker not unlike the kind Celeste herself carried, and in the other hand was a pocket watch. The floor was covered in dried blood so thick it almost looked like a carpet, and one of the walls next to the man was covered in enough dry and hardened viscera. She tried to muster the ability to say something, scream, or move but she couldn't do anything. She didn't even jump as a slight ringing chime began to emanate from the pocket watch and the corpse began to move. It raised the pistol to what could be considered its' head, pulled the hammer back, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. A loud bang cracked through the town as part of the man's skull was blown away, showering the wall beside him with fresh viscera and the floor beneath with fresh blood that dried almost immediately from the heat as soon as it hit the floor. The corpse lowered it's raised pistol, then the remains of it's head turned to look at Celete. There were no eyes, or other facial features to really tell otherwise but she could feel it in her gut, the thing was looking at her.

Celeste began to sputter and back away, trying her best to speak up and say something ineligible.

"Je suis tellement désolé! Je ne voulais pas te déranger! je reviendrai une autre fois! Ou plutôt je veux dire, je ne vous dérangerai plus, excusez-moi!" she couldn't manage a single word in English, not that it really matter as the orb of meat that was once a head didn't posses any ears. Yet despite that the corpse nodded, as if in understanding, then returned to the position she found it in when she had arrived. Celeste took several more steps backwards and bumped into the railing of the stairs which was slightly too low and she almost pitched herself backwards over it. She didn't, but the sudden feeling of almost falling snapped her out of her daze and she fled back down the stairs and rushed towards the saloon. As she passed the mayor he raised his head.

"You. Will want to get up. A little earlier in the day. If you want a. Chance to speak with Thomas, proper. Not much. Left of him. By this point..."

Celeste didn't stop to talk, she rushed past him and back into the Saloon. She paid no attention to what might have been going on with the others and rushed upstairs to her room. She slammed the door closed and locked it, throwing her extra bar across the door to make sure it was as locked as it could get. She leaned her back against the door, and slid down it to the floor. With her good hand she pulled out the pistol at her waist and held it at the ready.