The Hamlet Streets

[speakeroftruths]

Something makes the thin hairs on the back of Andy's neck stand up at the voice from behind, goosebumps running down their limbs. They sigh internally, and speak before turning, confident that they would have perceived it earlier if the source were a threat.

"Not sir, by any measure of the word. Inquisitor, if you..."

The words dry in their mouth as the turn and regard the figure. Their eyes widen as they take in the distinctive gear and armaments, their nose picking up a possibly imagined smell of charcoal, gunpowder, and burnt meat. The Whispers are suddenly urgent, commanding Andy to turn tail and flee this instant, that surely this is some agent sent specifically to destroy them and them alone.

They are frozen like a deer in the beam of a bullseye lantern for a breath longer than is natural or proper. Slowly, they regain themselves, and meet the newcomer's eyes as they hold their left hand across their chest, thumb crossing the palm. They search the other's gaze for any sign of comprehension.

[Kidney]

Churchill did not know who this man was, or what his deal happened to be, and he attempted, with all his concentration, to dissemble his intentions. But, his intentions seemed to be good, and his allegiance to the light was strong. Churchill respected and admired that, that in such a dark place, the light held a great deal of influence in at least one man. He reached, and pulled the helm from his head. What lied underneath was a dark, strong face, encrusted with a raggedy, patchy mustache, and topped by a choppy, blade-done hairstyle. It was short, thankfully, but could not cover what appeared to be enough dueling scars on one man to account for several men's lifetimes. 

After this, Andy (and The Inquisitor) could see what sort of fabric formed his mantlepiece. It was a tapestry, a dark forest set ablaze, amber flames coiling into a down hood that would have padded the skull had it been up. Though, it was about as much as they saw, the dark crusader aimed a look to The Inquisitor on his arrival. Churchill did not like him, or his clothes. His smells assaulted the senses, and Churchill did not like that either. He did not like it more than he disliked Andy's questions, or the fact that all this thinking and disliking make his eye throb. He looked to Andy. "I am not a Crusader. Not anymore."

His gaze was next turned to The Inquisitor in question. "Go fuck a pig." 

Upon that note, Churchill turned, and he walked to the Tavern, scoffing, holding his helm on hip, and wishing to savor a good drink after a long trip. 

[nox14]

The smell is far from imagined. Kor Hael's stench is as real as the ground he stands on. Burnings and executions by the dozen had sunken into the fabric of the coat, a cruel reminder of the innocents put to flame on nothing more a zealous whim. Strange, to think a man acting so amicable and friendly had probably left a small town worth of ashes in his wake. The crusaders insult was met with little reaction, as it was the ragged looking priest Kor Hael seemed more concerned with.

"I don't blame him." Kor Hael muttered, before setting dull green eyes on Andy. The pause is seemingly ignored, as people seldom react well to the presence of those of the Inquisition. "Kor Hael Ezekiel Kasky the second." The Inquisitor extended his gloved right hand. "And you?"

[speakeroftruths]

Seeing as the gesture went unrecognized, Andy's hand drops as quickly as possible, and their other hand rises to meet the proffered one. The uncovered scholarly hand seems quite dwarfed in comparison to the rough glove that screamed of atrocities. They worked up enough will to get the words that could very well save or damn them out of their mouth as they shook.

"Inquisitor Andy, Agent of Sancti Ordinis Sinistra. May I ask your sect?"

[nox14]

Now it was the witch-hunters turn to look nervous. The leg to which the Libros Ex Haereticus was moved so that Kor Hael's coat would cover the padlocked and chained grimoire, though he did his best not to try and draw much attention to it. "I've found the act of attaching myself to a sect rather limiting." He lied, knowing full well the reason he didn't align himself with any order.

That knowledge in the Libros, discovered on the corpse of a dead traveller, would see most orders put him to the stake as he had done to so many others. An extinct order which had become the very thing they swore to destroy, long forgotten by most.

"The Sinistra, though. I carried out a couple burnings with your kin, a good sort." Kor Hael admitted. He was never one to shirk from giving praise where it was due, a subject of contention depending on the subject of the congratulations.

[speakeroftruths]

At that, the Whispers practically scream to flee this horrid creature, and sure enough Andy does drop the hand quicker that propriety would dictate.

"...I'm pleased that my order has left a good impression," They say very carefully. "Though, I feel it only responsible to warn you that this place has been struck by dark forces, ones external rather than internal to the best of my knowledge. Any 'burnings,' as you put it, would best be directed towards them."

They are careful to disguise both their distrust and the blind panic that threatens to consume their baser instincts, though not being in the best of sorts, edges of it may slip through without their knowledge. They slip both of their hands into their long sleeves, covering themselves up completely. 

"What brings you to this place, so far from civilization?"

[EloHim]

[Elorit]
He shambles along the streets, pale as death, his movement scuffed a little. It gets harder and harder to appear normal...He needs blood. But where to get blood if he doesnt have any gold to even pay a bucher for a cup...
"Patience, patience...soon...soon. Just need to hold out till the next change in decorations... I cannot rely on Ben or Lekalis...they have their own troubless to deal with...fucking Gunsche, damn you and your Suok to oblivion..."- he mumbles as he walks. His head and body was covered with rags that sometime ago were a good blanket... But he could not allow himself anything better. Most of his posessions were taken by Hook to pay off the damages to the Tavern's basement. And now he had nothing but clothes on his person. And a dagger. He made sure to visit Smithy for that. A rusty thing but still better than nothing.

[nox14]

Kor Hael sighed, reluctant to finally expose his reason for appearing in this dilapidated hamlet but seeing that this was probably where he belonged. Away from his orders grasping tendrils of influence and the killsquad he was the target of.

"It's a rather long winded story, but suffice to say there was a small misunderstanding between me and my higher ups." Kor Hael explained, hoping to leave it at that. "I figured I would be well served to put my skills to use for someone who would let me use them, and our contracter here seems quite willing to forgive any wrongs from the advertisement I saw."

[speakeroftruths]

Andy blinks.

"Contractor? OH! You refer to the Caretaker of this place, who funds the mercenary groups, yes? That must have been some misunderstanding, for one of your... calling to sell their blade for coin."

Silently, they are extraordinarily relieved to hear that. If the hunter is here in no official capacity, then the likelihood of pogroms and burning has significantly decreased. 

This must have been exactly how Sister Toustain felt upon meeting me for the first time. With the thought, a new wave of shame over their actions in the cloister.

"Well, is there anything you need, some way in which I might assist you?"

[nox14]

"Are quarters available in the tavern, Or has this caretaker fellow given us barracks? I'd like to settle in as quickly as possible." Kor Hael explained, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Oh yes, and where would a man go if he had some... needs to satisfy."

Strange for a holy man, but with his excommunication many previously frowned upon experiences were begging to be explored to their fullest extent. The witch-hunter mused on this silently, finally letting his hand rest rather than toying with the blade and picking at the splintering wooden grip.

[speakeroftruths]

"Most quarter in the tavern, yes, the profits of their work going to Hook for his rooms."

Andy certainly isn't going to be the one to tell this pyre lighter of the Abbey's accommodations.

"As for the other... I'm not quite sure I follow. There is a market in town where you can find common enough fare, or the tavern provides for those that wish a prepared meal, or alcohol. What needs in particular do you need?"

[nox14]

"I'm looking for wenches, Inquisitor." Kor Hael rolled his eyes, displaying some sense of embaressment at needing to fully voice his request. "There must be some in a town such as this."


He straightened up, causing the trinkets on his back to rattle. The old skull affixed to the cross, unlit candles, small collection of chains. All symbols of a man who clearly enjoyed his job a bit too much.

[speakeroftruths]

Kor has possibly chosen the worst person in the Hamlet to ask. Not that he could exactly be blamed for it. Still, the flush that creeps into Andy's cheeks unbidden is enough to give the correct impression of the mistake.

"I, ah. I'm not sure who, that is, where those services might be provided. I've only been in town for a few months myself, and while my sect does not exactly prohibit, it is not, that is..." Andy takes a moment to center themselves, running a hand through the nearly nonexistent stubble on their head, fresh from a recent shave. "You might ask at the Tavern, there are plenty there from all walks of life. I'm certain that they, if any, would know."

Maybe it is their imagination running rampant, maybe it is the Whispers or the goosebumps still running wild on their skin, but the mental image of this killer going to bed with a prostitute for coin is somewhere in between disgusting and humorous. They decide that maintaining their awkward silence is perhaps the best course of action going forward.

[nox14]

Kor Hael let loose a chuckle, soft but sincere. "No worries. Thank you Andy, if I've earned the right to address you as such."

Adjusting his grip on the bag of personal effects he carried, Kor Hael shot a glance to the tavern and then back to Andy. "I'll be on my way, then. Blessings of the Light upon you." The witch-hunter nodded respectfully, deciding to take his leave to walk to the tavern, disappearing behind the establishments doors and leaving Andy standing in the square alone.

[speakeroftruths]

More than one cart of lost souls has rolled up today, and the one that opens its doors in front of the Hamlet gates is no exception. A thud and an oath announce the person who emerges from the shadowed interior successfully on his second attempt, rubbing his head where he impacted the frame of the door. And little wonder at that! He stands at at nearly six and a half feet, lean and muscled in his thin cotton shirt. He is hauling a military gear bag behind him, his other arm capturing the shaft of a weathered polearm in the crook of his elbow.

He bears many marks of a life hard-lived, face crossed with burned veins like an aged drunkard, his back-length ponytail burned an ash grey that matches the grey of his goatee. The moment his boots hit the soil, he begins to shiver, and pulls a heavy gambeson from the bag.

"Nobody said it would be this fucking cold!" He mutters to himself in a voice that sounds of whiskey and tobacco, pulling the padded coat on as armor against blade and weather both. Securing the buckles, he lifts the bag once more, and wanders into the town square to orient himself.