Powder, Gears, and Blessed Steam - A WHF Engineering Quest

You cast a long glance at the corpse before sighing and leaving it where it lay. You are no Witch Hunter nor priest trained and experienced in these matters and it was hard to be sure what among her worldly possession might pose a risk, and so with a grumble you close your door and slam the beam into place. It comes as a surprise to you that walking is far less agonizing than sitting down as you collapse onto the floor from your first attempt.

"Traitorous bastard," You growl as you pull yourself up onto the stool with greater care than your first attempt, every shift of your arms enough to make tears well up in your eyes...

Ruined clothing needed burning. Injuries and acrid blood needed cleaned.

"And most importantly," You snatch up a bottle that has sat undisturbed for a while now and deftly uncork it, "I need a bloody drink."

You take a large swig straight from the bottle.

'It'll ease the pain a little for thi-'

A yelp follows soon after and a great many more curses are thrown to the corpse that can no longer defend itself this night.

...

Only hours after the fight are you able to take a moment to relax, or at least rest while keeping a close eye and Gromdottir pointed in the direction of someone capable of defying death. Some clean cloth is wrapped around your withered shoulder as best as you can manage, the burns that cover you from neck to waist have been thoroughly cleaned, and new clothing donned. Despite the ruined clothing and burnt flesh around it the amulet Gramps has defied the odds and come out unscathed...

Though you question if that defiance was chance quite heavily for a perfectly circular area around it is unmarred in spite of the flaming blood that struck everywhere else. Your eyes narrow as you glance between it and Gromdottir, uncertainty burning in the back of your mind alongside more questions than you have ever had about Gramps in your entire life.

'But for now they'll have to go unanswered,' You think as the faint green light bleeding out from around the window shutters fully gives way to the light of the sun and the sound of countless bells ringing carries through the city. Casting one last glance at the fallen priest's body, you make to head for the Garden of Morr.

...

Unlike the other temples the Garden of Morr lays outside of Wolfenburg's Temple District, the outer wall of the city splitting off much like with Königswald Keep to completely encircle it though no gate allows entrance within. Standing before the bizarre merging of defensive fortifications with cathedral architecture leaves you feeling intimidated. Black robed Morrites patrol the walls alongside Wolfenburg's city guard. Ballista poke out past the crenellations of towers aiming down towards either side of the wall. A half dozen Priests stand before the half open gates made of dark black wood seemingly polished to a sheen and reinforced with iron.

A steady flow of people come from within, all offering prayers to Morr and thanks to His Priests for the care shown to them last night. You smile as you remember your own memories of such mornings. A night under solid roofs and surrounded by walls that didn't have holes in them. Warm soup to go with slightly too hard bread and as much clean water as one could ask for.

'Among all the temples it was Morrites that have always treated me kin-'

Your thought is cut short by what feels like a harsh bite on your leg as you yelp in surprise and reach towards the source o-

Terror.

All you feel is a sharp sense of fear as your hand touches the crude figurine still resting in your pocket. You ignore the concerned glances cast your way as you hesitantly take another step forward and frown as the fear grows even more vivid than before. Whatever Mr. Rabbit feared lay directly ahead... In the Garden.

How do you react?
[] Trust Mr. Rabbit, turn and leave.
[] Continue with your intent to report the necromancer.
[] Head into the Garden to try and find the source of the fear.
[] Write in.