Caz
You make your way silently to the Temple of Death during the darkest hours of night. However, when you arrive Nerjin's body is gone. It seems you will have to wait for another to fall before you can use your gifts.
--
Imp
You cast the runes, your mind focused clearly upon
Caz. The runes fall thus - Rain, Wind, Leaf. Caz, it seems, is a
Changer. You sit back and ponder this revelation.
--
Toaster
As night falls over the town, you gather up your weapons. Whatever monsters are out there, it is your duty to find them and eliminate the threat from the town.
And this night...Persus seems the most likely Monster to be hiding amongst you.
You make your way over to his house. There is faint light coming through the window, a candle by the hearth. But no signs of movement inside. You deftly snap the lock on the door and make your way inside.
A heavy silence hangs over the room. Your instincts are on edge. Your quarry is aware that it is being hunted.
A sound from behind, a flash of movement from the edge of your vision. Years of training snap into motion as you parry the blade with your own, turning to face your attacker.
Persus has a grim look on his face. The look of one who is not afraid of Death, yet has no intention of meeting it yet.
You circle one another, blades licking out. Iron clashes again and again, rasping as the blades slide along each other before swinging out for another blow.
The two of you seem well matched. Too well matched, perhaps. You take a risk, a lunge where he would have expected a slash. And are rewarded with a line of fire along your side as your own blade passes harmlessly through air. You dodge another blow, but you get a distinct sense the you will not win this fight.
Better to leave, to rest. You can Hunt again tomorrow night, if you live. If you die here you do the town no good.
Kicking a chair at Persus to slow him down you slip out the door and vanish through an Alleyway. You pause, waiting for him to follow, but all you hear is the door slam as he closes it.
You sag against the wall, your hand pressed against your side. Sticky, wet, and throbbing with pain. You should live, but this wound will slow you down.
A soft voice startles you from the darkness. "You fought well. But not well enough, Toaster."
"Who are you?" You demand, raising your blade to the night.
"Someone who wants to help you." Says Tiruin, as she steps forward from the shadows. "You are hurt. I can help you. Come."
Warily, you follow. She seems to mean well, and in truth your wound does need tending.
You follow her to a large house, where she sits you down. As she cleans the wound, she talks. She speaks of old gods. Old traditions. Times when your people were stronger. Renowned in the land for your valour in combat, for your victories. And as she talks, you see what it is she means. The newer gods are weak, indolent. They are a reflection of a weaker people, grown soft on the fruits of their forefathers labours. Your ancestors knew of strength. A strength you will need to fight the true monsters of the land. But for that to happen, the Old Gods must rise again. You must tear down the rotting facade of this civilization and help Tiruin and the others rebuild it into one you can truly be proud to be part of.
You have joined the Cult of the Old Gods You now win with them, and have access to the
Cult Chat--
Nerjin
Your spirit floats in a warm void, nothingness surrounds you, but it is a comfortable nothingness. You are content, awaiting the spirits who shall guide you to the gods.
Then there is light. Faint, and yellow, and below you. You look down, and you see the spark of a candle. It draws you down. In. The flame flickers...
You gasp for breath. Your lungs burn as bolt upright, life rushing once again through your veins. It takes a while, but you shake the cobwebs off of your mind. You are in the Temple of Death, sitting upon a Marble table reserved for the newly dead as they are prepared for burial.
Candles sit around you, and sweet incense fills the air.
It seems you have returned. But you know not how, or why. You do seem to be yourself, though, with nothing different or damaged. You slip off, back to your house. You can only wonder how people will respond tomorrow to your resurrection.
--
notquitethere
You slip through the town as night falls, making your way to the Temple of Death. There you find Nerjin's body, laid out in state and awaiting the dawn when the priestesses will prepare the body for burial.
But this time, you know, that does not need to happen. You take out some candles, specially prepared and sanctified, and the sweetest of incense. You arrange the candles in a precise formation around the body, and light the incense. You chant the chant of Life. The words of Breath, and Blood, and Spark tumble from your lips in a plea to the gods.
Your mind fills with a bright light, and a peace comes over you. The ritual is a success. Even now, shallow breathing has returned to the body. It will take a bit of time, but he will live.
And you must return to your house. The streets are not safe, and you would not wish to be caught here.
As you lie down in your own bed, a nagging doubt remains in your mind. The body lives...but will Nerjin be himself when he rises? You can never be quite sure, with rituals like these.
--
Persus13
The instincts of a true warrior are never wrong. You feel danger on the air tonight, a danger that will not find
you lying asleep when it comes.
You set a single candle near the hearth, grab your sword, and sit down in a shadowed corner of the room out of view from the door.
Time passes, but any true soldier can wait in readiness.
Eventually, you hear a click as the simple lock is burst. The door creaks open, and you ready yourself to attack.
A masked figure enters, a sword in one hand held ready as it scans the room.
You attack before the figure sees you. But whoever they are, their instincts are good. They block the blow, and spin around to face you.
You circle one another, blades licking out. Iron clashes again and again, rasping as the blades slide along each other before swinging out for another blow.
The two of you seem well matched. But then your opponent makes a mistake. A risky lunge that, if it had hit, would have killed you. But you simply dodge out of the way and score your own strike, a slash to their ribs. A gasp of pain and you opponent falls back a bit. They seem to focus more on defense, now, and favor that side. Suddenly a chair is kicked your way and your assailant takes advantage of your distraction to dash out of the door.
Well, good. Even if they aren't dead, at least you got out of the attack in one piece. You slam the door shut and bar it with a table.
You doubt they'll be back tonight, but you keep your sword close by your bed. Just in case.
--
Tiruin
You head off to Toaster's house to speak with him. Perhaps you can convince him to join your cause. He seems a reasonable sort, and you're pretty sure you'll be able to make him see how going back to the Old Traditions would make your people stronger.
You find him, but he is heading off from his house. Curious, you follow him. He makes his way to a house, and enters it, sword drawn. Interesting.
You watch through a window as Toaster and another figure fight one another. Blades clash and hiss as they battle. Toaster does well, but eventually takes a wound and needs to retreat.
Hmm. An opportunity.
He ducks down an alleyway and sags against the wall, his hand pressed against his side. You softly call out to him. "You fought well. But not well enough, Toaster."
"Who are you?" He demands, raising his blade before him.
"Someone who wants to help you." you say simply as you step forward from the shadows. "You are hurt. I can help you. Come."
He seems cautious, but he follows you.
You lead him back to your house and sit him down. You gather healing supplies and start to clean his wound. As you do so, you talk. You speak of old gods. Old traditions. Times when your people were stronger; Renowned in the land for your valour in combat, for your victories. You show him how the newer gods are weak, indolent. They are a reflection of a weaker people, grown soft on the fruits of their forefathers labours. Your ancestors knew of strength. But for that to happen, the Old Gods must rise again. He nods as you speak of tearing down the rotting facade of this civilization and rebuilding it into one you can truly be proud to be part of.
By the time his wounds are dressed, you can tell his is firmly one of you. You bid him good night, and leave him to sleep.
You smile as you head off to your own bed to rest. How much easier will all of this be, with a
Monster Hunter on your side?