Stranger Remains

[x] Corpseherd Crook: This reinforced crook is designed to tame the dead, with a wider hook to pull on human necks and limbs rather than those of sheep. Weighed to give a solid hit. Inside the curve is a length of black rashwire that can be drawn taut to cut off trapped limbs or shear off unarmored flesh. Before better methods of guidance and control were invented, corpse labor had to be blindfolded and lead by the crook.
[x] Grapple Gauntlet: A hefty crossbow made of an unusually springy alloy purchased from the black markets of the Central Sea, mounted to a leather gauntlet, steel manacle and shoulder brace. The bolt is attached to a dull black rashwire that can support the weight of an elephant. It can penetrate most armor and surfaces, but releases with a specific wiggle of the wrist. Useful for fighting and mountaineering.




Taking those items that seem most useful, you set the remainder on the counter. Nothing says you can't come back if you change your mind, after all. The crook feels unassuming enough, though the grapple gauntlet is anything but: the belt that keeps the mechanized crank from tearing your arm off at the shoulder draws taut across your collarbone and mid-section ribs. You're grateful that this rummage sale outfit of yours doesn't have more belts than necessary, or you'd have difficulty placing and drawing the straps shut.

The gauntlet's shoulder brace and manacle lock into place with similar ease, allowing you to practice with your weapon of choice. Your practice swings come easy, crushing imagined heads to a pulp with strokes from the left and right and the odd overhead smash. Drawing the string taut gives you a cutting edge, or a nasty surprise. The rashwire laced along the inner rim is thin and sharp, extending from the tip of the hook to halfway down the shaft when drawn down.

Enough to deal with any uncontrolled corpses, at lease.

You pause and glance at yourself in the shop reflection, in your borrowed clothes and playing with funeral parlor tools. It feels natural, rehearsed. If the locket is to be believed, perhaps you're really one of these people, and violence with these stylish implements is another of your forgotten skills.

"Convenient." You mutter to yourself and push a lock of frizzy silver hair out of your eyes and behind your headscarf.

Very convenient, on a long night like this one.

"Welcome back lass! And look at you, dressed to the nines after a good shopping trip. Heh heh heh heh." The old man seems to be waiting for you, greeting you with a low, dull chortle as you approach the windowsill. "I hope the savings were good. I know many of youngins' struggle to find gratifying labor these days."

"...yes." You blink and try peer behind the glass, puzzled by his statements. There's no seeing him on the other side with the lights out. "What should I do now?"

"Eager to help are we? Well-timed to be sure! Heh heh heh heh heh." He laughs, clearing his throat. "Power's cut to many of the boroughs and I've not much coal to survive these long nights. Were I of the capacity to walk, I'd march right up and tell those upper crust dandies to fix it or let the Church give out a fuel dole like they used to."

"The Church? Who are they?"

"Lass, you're lucky there's nobody about to hear you speak of them that way! They're, well... the Church. Good, right and holy people who ministrate to the living and prepare the dead."

You stand silent for a moment, realizing you'd probably know them if they have anything to do with the dead. "Where are they?"

"Do you know where you are?"

You look back down the alley, and then down the constant procession of longdead porters. The trudging laborers and snowfall have erased your footsteps leading out from the cemetery. "No."

"Gods above, lass! This is the Old Guild Quarter. To the east, fenced-off, is the Nalva Waterfront. Up the hill is the New Merchant Quarter, where most of the city's people have moved."

"And the Church? The Aldermen?"

"The Church is west of the Merchant Quarter, just past the statuary gardens. Used to be an old monastery back a ways, but the old king had all those folks put to death for heresy and usury or so the stories go and replaced em' all with a more amenable sort of clergy. Nalva Cathedral Square is still pretty enough, though I last laid eyes on her when she was brand new."

Your gaze turns up the street and the slope upward. True enough, there are tall buildings and lights rising out of the snowy haze. Squarish stone buildings with sharply pointed tile roofs, packed together in tight rows, large enough that you can see them at night and from this distance. Spires and arches and baroque sculpture, the specific shapes of which are uncertain. There's an outline beyond that, something far larger than these recent developments. The weather keeps secrets from you. "I assume... the Aldermen live further up the hill?"

"Right in one, heh heh. Palatine Terrace was built on top of the remains of the old monastic fort."

You sigh. "This feels like it could be a long walk."

"If the lifts work, there'll be scarcely little walking to do from Cathedral Square!"

"And if they aren't?"

"There's a, shall we say, colorful route through a bit of the city's ancient history if rumors are to be relied upon."

You grimace and reach for your flask, taking a sip. A long walk indeed. Your cheeks burn with only minutes of exposure to the wind, adding unwelcome red to your natural pallor and tightness to your jaw and mouth. The tonic makes everything a little more pliable, only that you want to claw your own throat out until the taste fades.

"Fine."

"What a reliable lass. I'll pray for your good fortune, heh heh heh heh." You feel as though he's waving you off as you begin to march up the hill. With tools in hand, and an objective.

What will you do first?

[ ] Just follow the path directly up the hill.
[ ] Look around the district for a while.
[ ] Go back to the cemetery and see if you didn't miss anything in your initial stupor.
[ ] Those mannequins in the clothier's shop were better dressed than you, with protective and stylish clothing. How odd that they'd be suspended out of reach. You'd like to cut one down in anticipation of bigger threats than corpse hounds.
- [ ] The elegant dandy in the opera jacket, tophat and ivory mask would make quite an impression. And you could tell there was protective padding sewn into the liner of the coat and slacks.
- [ ] The mock-officer in funeral-appropriate formal dress, with epaulettes, gold rope and a plumed kepi. The sleeves and torso of the jacket had engraved metal plates over them, protecting from cuts and bites.
- [ ] The eccentric in an all-black lace dress and wide-brimmed hat inspired by the occult, with a black feather-and-fur long coat over top. You'd give anything to get into that coat.