Ancient Times [CyranoDeBergerac & Mutt]

[Mutt]

ping

@CyranoDeBergerac

The cobblestone that paved the street may have once been pretty, polished, and even but now it was dirty, cracked, and uneven. Years and years of wagon wheels and horses hooves have damaged the stones to the point where no one cares to repair it anymore. The road gives the town a little bit of charm from the otherwise bleakness, giving the shops on the street a reason to call out and start conversations to customers. A good conversation starter would always get one to loosen their coin purse. Being just outside of the castle also had its advantages, and setting up one's shop here was a privilege and a right given to only the best. The weapons one could pick up were of the highest quality. The fruits, vegetables, and meat were ripe, juicy, and made heads turn to consider them. It was a perfect place for one to set up a home to always have a viable and steady market. But it also was the perfect place to house thieves and pickpockets. It didn't matter how far down the road you went, towards the castle or away, merchants and customers often were plagued with urchins looking to pickpockets and snatch goods. Guards always had their hands full throwing miscreants to jail or executing them if the victim so chose. It was a more gruesome secret that the town tried to hide, but once you laid eyes on it. But the crown jewel of it all was the board used to pin jobs for the monster hunters. Attracting them was a blessing or a curse, depending on who you spoke to.

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The town wasn't exactly plagued with a monster problem, but there was enough that it regularly had notices on the board to clear out the monster problems. Be it wayward giant rats in the sewers or a terror bird in the sky, it was never short on work.

Avelyn had made a small name for herself for being one of the more notorious of the thieves, making off with enough coin and food to pay board in the seeder parts of town. Her wanted posters never stayed up on the board for long as she ripped them down regularly, both as a taunt and to save her sorry ass. She was a scrawny young woman, just reaching her fifteenth birthday. The woman would often be seen caked in mud, her skin tan and covered in freckles. She kept most of her body covered in dark fabric, hiding in a heavy cloak she lifted off one the guards as he slept unaware. There wasn't too much known about her, her face never seen under the hood of the cape. But the townspeople knew she was some breed of monster, her origin unknown. She happily lived on her own, turning down the offers of orphanages that discreetly gave her the opportunity to have a safe and warm roof over her head. She was happier on the streets, stealing from the rich to feed her poor body.​

There were roamers of a more successful hunter coming to town. For what, Hayota was unsure, she wasn't that big of a fish to attract such a worthy opponent. Taking the last bite of her apple, she ditched the core, leaping from the rooftops of homes and stores to perch near the hunting board, waiting quietly like the rest of the crowd to scout her prey.

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[CyranoDeBergerac]

Witchfinder Jakob Ravnstahl and his fashion sense

It was the year of our Lord 1663, August and there were queer happenings in the Earldom of Northumberland and Parliament and the King had sent one of their most competent Witchfinders to Alnwick Castle to settle out the problems and restore peace and order to the border county. It was held as a matter of faith in London Town that nothing civilized occurred along the border with Scotland and that beyond that border their was only savagery. The North was known as a stronghold for Popery, superstition, and traditions as old as the Danelaw. There were some who said that the problems that faced the county could not be settled by one Witchfinder, those people had not been paying attention to the career of Jakob Ravnstahl.

There was a chill in the air on this cold August day, a portent for a severe and cold winter to come. Jakob's black leather boots echoed on the cobblestone as he walked through the streets of Alnwick toward the hunting boards where he knew he would find a reeve to pay him for the bounties he had acquired since stopping over in York. He walked the streets leading two horses by the reins, the one on his right was a mare, laden heavy with two chest of oak. The one on the right was a grey gelding, passive and lightly laden. Hanging from the saddle horn were three heads, local outlaws who had been preying on travelers for nearly a year. Evidently they had preyed on the wrong traveler.

The Witchfinder wore a sword on his left hit, a broad sabre, a head taker. There was a flintlock on his right hip and more hanging from a belt at his chest. A musket was in a saddle sheath on his gelding. His leather was studded with silver, and he held a silver chain wrapped around his belt. For detaining bounties until later need. The Witchfinder was a big man, closer to seven feet than six with broad shoulders, his beard smelled of whiskey and gunsmoke. A coinpurse jingled at his belt, almost an after-thought, though when he reached back to withdraw a few pence to toss to a beggar in rags he did it smooth and easy. Any wrist that moved towards his purse would find itself caught in his iron grip.

The shire reeve was a fat, balding man witha short brown beard. He wore clothes beyond his station, which suggested he was a cheat or a profiteer. If he recognized Jakob he did not give any sign of it. "And what do you have for me to day death-bringer?" The fat man asked sitting up in his chair as he saw the heads hanging fromm the saddle, flies gathering around. " Sammy Davis, Chris Paege, and I didn't catch the third's name." The Witchfinder said, his voice a deep bass that seemed to shake the world. The reeve gave him a silve piece for each head and then marked it down in a ledger. "I've also got two pounds of vampire dust, and five wolf fangs. Could be six." He added when he detected a wolf nearby, probably in ear shot.

 

[Mutt]

Avelyn watched with interest as the hunter collected his dues. Her eyes roamed over his body, identifying and counting all the weapons that he had strapped onto him. He looked pretty stacked and armed to the teeth, which did not surprise the young werewolf. She had seen all manners of hunters come through the town and collect their bounties or to take new ones from the board. The ones she had seen returning were always decorated with an abundance of steel and guns, the ones she saw graves dug for were often only relying on a single sword to protect them from their targets. It was interesting to see how many times the men and women were warned that they needed more protection and more weapons, and how many times they disregarded the warnings. She would often leave flowers on the graves of the younger hunters. The ritual was something recently started and something she couldn't explain to the other urchins. Wasting coins on the unknown dead was almost unheard of on the streets, but the wolf ignored their dirty looks and questions.​

Her attention was snapped back up to the back of the man's head when he mentioned wolf fangs. She wondered if he meant actual normal, feral wolves or her own kind. She tilted her head and watched him for a few more moments, waiting for him to be thoroughly distracted by the bounty giver. His coin-purse at his side seemed almost like an afterthought, tied to some piece of his clothing and forgotten. She wondered briefly how well he might be able to detect her approach. The city was busy, the road a constant moving stream of people. One more passing person surely wouldn't tip any radars.

The half baked plan would have to do. If she could reach that coin purse she could disappear for a long while, taking herself off the dangers of the streets until her recent heist would blow over. Taking a deep breath, the girl descended from her perch onto the building into the alleyway beside. Melting into the stream of people, Hayota made her way to the Witchhunter, her eyes on the prize of the brown pouch hanging to the side. Before her mind could change and her courage failed, her dirty, grubby hand made a quick reach out to snag the coins.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

There were two sorts of men who became Witchfinders in the Kingdom of England. The first were men who had been appointed by Parliament or the King, men who had distinguished themselves in the Civil War or the War of Religions on the Continent. The second, were those who came from a long line of families who defended their communities from the things that went bump in the night. Often these same people overlapped with the first, but the former were more often than not political appointments with combat ability who survived on their wits and reflexes. The latter, the latter knew the tricks of the night and used them to hunt monsters an the monsters hunted them. Jakob Ravnstahl was of the latter category. His ancestors had been volva and shadowmen, workers of magic. and wardens to protect the few communities in the north from those things that moved wildly upon the border.

He had known the little pup was there, he had seen her from the corner of his eyes, felt that her presence held in the air, the tension that was created in the 'prey population' just from her presence there. Homo sapiens were the strangest of creatures that inhabited this fallen world. Simultaneously prey and predator, mundane and supermundane, capable of great good and tremendous evil. It was a thing to ponder in the cold nights beside a campfire while smoking a pipe of tobacco from the colonies. Jakob was not a cruel man, he knew the pup for what she was the moment he saw her but he did not wish to collect the bounty on her head just yet. That was the strangest thing about the Witchfinders, no one interacted with monsters and other creatures more than them and no one held a love for those creatures more than them.

He had thought his threat would be enough to warn her away, to let her know that molesting him would only lead to great suffering for her, but still her hand reached for the pouch at his back. In that he was disappointed, in London Town a thief seeing a pouch so easily pilfered would have immediately known it was a trap. Life was not near so good for the street thief in London Town as it was in the far north. From the moment her fingers first tickled his pouch he was moving. Moving fast as a snake in the grass his leather clad hand found her wrist and gave it a harsh turn and twist sending her body with it, elsewise his grip would have snapped her bones at wrist and shoulder. He threw her then, hard across the cobblestone, but she was more agile than he had expected and the chase began. his long legs gave him an advantage, but she knew the streets, and she led him on a long chase until finally there was no where to run. And they were standing there, breathing heavily in front of the graves of Wtichfinders and amature monster hunters. At first he was enraged that she had saught refuge in front of the tombs of his dead comrade, then he saw the flowers.

"What is this?" he asked gestureing to them.

 

[Mutt]

Avelyn knew her mistake just moments before her dirty fingers even came within touching distance of the pouch. The Witchunter had known she was there all along, his demeanor, and how quickly he turned to face her told her as much. She should've guessed as such, her hubris taking advantage of her, making her think she was better and bigger than what she really was. A lowly street beggar would never rise above their station, no matter how big of a haul they stole. With no home, no family, and no reputable skills they would never rise above their station. It was a cruel reality that Avelyn still hadn't learned, even after being dumped on the streets at the tender age of 5. There was a wondering of what he would do to her that flashed briefly in her mind and the thoughts of her being captured and hanging at the gallows made her grimace. All this flashed in her mind in the matter of moments it took her from making what she'd call the biggest mistake of her life if she were to survive.

She cried out as his larger hand caught her smaller wrist, not expecting the suddenness and how quickly he moved. She could feel the bones in her arm and shoulder give protest at the way she was twirled around. She couldn't help another yelp that came from her mouth as she hit the stones of the road rather harshly. There was no time to be stunned, however, as she could feel the man advancing on her. She jumped quickly to her feet and took off, running through the city, the paths known by heart. She could hear him behind her still, keeping up pretty easily. Huffing, she made a turn to run to the graveyard, a sacred place in the city that she hoped he wouldn't dare tarnish their honor by slaughtering her on a plotted piece of land. Avelyn hoped that he wouldn't follow her past the gates, but it was short-lived when he spoke to her. She couldn't tell if he was angry and confused or just plain intrigued.

She shuffled to huddle behind a grave of an un-marked man, one of her favorite tombstones to care for. "I...tend to the graveyard, m'lord," She spoke with the accent of the low-born street urchins. "You-you can't kill me, you know! Not if I ask for the mercy of parole!" She stammered out, her pupils blown wide out of fear. She wasn't sure what the ancient law between monster and Witchunter would exactly entail, but if it saved her hide so she could escape living another day, she would clearly take advantage of it.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

Parole. Every culture in the world that had developed some organized form of monster hunting had also recognized aw way in which to distinguish between the monsters that needed to be put down, the ones who were more beast than man, and the monsters who could be tolerated to let live. From the New World to the Orient this truth held true. In the European world it was called Androcles' Rite, named for a Fable told by Aesop of a slave to a Roman consul in Egypt who befriended a wounded lion and then three years later the lion refused to kill him when they met again in the Coliseum. British Law had recognized the need to allow some of the creatures native to the land to live in it for thousands of years. Most of the monsters currently living were descendants of those who had previously fallen under the Ritee.

Jakob thought on his response, taking in her apperance and the state of the tombstones that she said tshe tended to.When giving the Rite Witchfinders were tasked to consider such things, in order to determine whether it was a sincere invocation of the Rite or an attempt for a monster to save its skin. Jakob knew many monsters who lived under the Rite, Isaac newton, who often consulted for the Witchfinders in Lond Town kept a veritable army of them going in and out of his Natural Philosophy laboratory, particularly imps and demons, and all of England knew the story of Prince Rupert and his witch-dog. Putting thew Rite upon hewr meant that she would need to obey his every command, abide by the law, and help him uhunt other monsters. If she did not it would be his responsibility to kill her, and more importantly his life may be forfeit as well.

The sound of his sword scraping against its scabbard was louder than thunder in the quiet graveyard, adn for a moment he considered simply taking her head and putting an end to it. It would certainly be the more merciful option. But if she truly wished to have the Rite invoked, then he would have her kneel and swear to it. His left hand slipped into his pack and revealed a metal collar tha expanded in his hand from the size of a ring to the size that would perfectly fit her neck. The collar was cold iron, unable to be tampered with by faeries, and he had a lock for it of siler as well. he held them both out to the wolf making it clear what her two choices were, kneel and swear, or stand and die.

 

[Mutt]

Avelyn watched him silently, she couldn't read the emotions in his eyes. His face being obscured by his beard made it even harder to tell what he was thinking and debating on what to do with her. She was unsure if the law was still being observed; if this man would even honor her cry. It was well in his right to take her in, just simply on the act of her being a thief, and turn her over as a bounty or cut her down where she stood. There were no other laws that protected her kind, the current ruling King held a strong, public disdain for all creatures that were not natural. The court would never go against their king and the people feared retribution should they cry out on minor injustices. Nature was harsh on its children, and Avelyn could only agree with most viewpoints. There was nothing she could do, short of killing the king. No other werewolf would stand with her and no other super-natural would bother dealing with a lowly pup. Her opinions would remain silent and her own.

When he pulled his sword from the scabbard on his side, she could've sworn her heart would've burst through her chest with how fast and hard it was beating. Her musings were cut short by the overwhelming sound of blood pumping in her ears, her fight or flight instincts crying at her to obey. She watched his arm move again, disappearing into the pack on his back, only to show again with a heavy-looking metal collar.

Her eyes darted between the two items. It seemed, for now, he would uphold the law and take her in as a ward. She wasn't sure how long it would last, or if it was just a trick to lure her into quiet cooperatives. She wondered if or how quickly she would be able to escape him with the collar on. She worried the thing would make her a martyr and even bigger outcast in the under bowels of the city. It was worth taking a chance, she reasoned. It was either take her chances with a collar or let her head roll on the ground, her blood decorating the tombstones and ruining the pretty flowers she had bought. Taking a deep breath, Avelyn slowly fell down to one knee, unpracticed with how to humble herself and submit to someone stronger than her. A sneer crossed her features as she fully lowered herself to both knees, her eyes glued on the ground.

 

[CyranoDeBergerac]

It was said that things were different in the times before the Crowns of Scotland and England had joined together; that there had been no Guild of Witchfinders and no Hunt as it currently was known, but that was far in the past. King Charles II had come to the throne at the behest of Parliament who had decided they would rather have the House of Stuart ruling them as of old instead of establishing a new monarchy in all but name under the House of Cromwell. Oliver Cromwell had been the Lord-Protector of the realm and had declared an out and out war against the eldritch creatures. Knowing that not all creatures could be expected to exterminated when they possessed valuable talents or knowledge the Witchfinders Guild had employed goblins, dwarves and alchemists to create and enchant collars like the one he clasped tightly around her neck just now.

At first apperance it was a simple iron collar, like one would put on a dog, fitting for a werewolf bitch. But at closer examination anyone with knowledge of such things would identify it as being forged from cold iron, bane to counter-charms to undo the work that the original forgers had wrought. She would experience discomfort if she disobeyed his commands, at least at first, eventually the discomfort would turn to pain and that pain would grow worse. As it was currently latched she could just reach up and undo it. So he withdrew a silver lock from his pocket and locked the collar shut. Sheathing his sword he looked her in the eyes as she knelt before him.

"You have chosen a difficult path, but one that will certaiinly serve you and your immortal soul in the long term. You will follow my lawful commands, as is your obligation before the laws of God and man, and you will be treated fairly so long as you maintain the terms of your parole and aid the Witchfinder's Guild in bringing down the monsters that plague our realm. If I fall in battle you will see that the Witchfinder's Guild learns where and how and you will submit yourself the tho the Witchfinder General for review. Now, Avelyn, change shape into a wolf and follow me. I ahve business in the castle." With that, he did not say another weould, instead turning on his heel and beginning to retrace the steps of their chase.

 

[Mutt]

Some part of Avelyn expected the Witchfinder to lop off her head anyways, the bounty too enticing for him to upkeep any sense of honor or code. It was only a tad bit surprised when she felt the cold steel of the collar being locked around her neck. She didn't bother to look up at him or ask him if he was sure if he wanted to take in a pup as a hunting partner, it seemed he had made his mind up, if not rather quickly. It didn't bode well for her if she wanted to try and talk her way out of servitude, she was unclear of the rest of the laws that protected her kind. She only cared to know that she could use and abuse it if she'd needed to. She would have to breach the topic later; right now didn't seem right. Perhaps once they got out of town she could try and give him the slip or give her best speech on why she wouldn't make a great house pet.

Her thoughts were broken when he knelt in front of her, imploring her to look him in the eyes. She listened quietly to his speech, dread settling heavily in her stomach. She took a deep breath and gulped down the air, her eyes following his form as he stood and began to walk back towards the town. He had commanded her to take her fur-skin form and that struck her as odd, most humans avoided dealing with werewolves in any other skin than human. Avelyn had to remind herself, yet again, that the man she was dealing with was no mere and simple human. She couldn't stop herself from palming the collar that sat on her collar-bone, the metal feeling foreign and uncomfortable. She felt along the back for the lock, only to recoil her hand with a slight hiss. There was no way she was removing the silver without help. And help, she wouldn't find any.

Huffing, she decided to obey his demand. With any luck, the collar would simple explode under the impact of her body changing shape. Assuming her natural form, a rather large, russet-colored wolf. She was dismayed to find the collar expanded along with her, fitting her wolf neck just as snuggly as her human neck. With a huff, she trotted after him.

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