Anderson Quest: Killing Vampires and Werewolves and Leprechauns (Hellsing/Bloodborne)

[Tricia]

Wait a tick.

When you first met her, she opened the door so you could see each other's faces. Sure, you've taken some blows to the head tonight, but you remember that quite distinctly. Something's fucky.

"Oh come on, lass, nothing's changed. This isn't the first time I've handed ya stuff through the barricade. I mean, ye still have what I gave ya, right? What did you think of it? Was it any help in these dark times?"

"I must admit, Father, I've been rather busy getting this portion of the clinic ready for any additional patients. I haven't had time to properly partake of your gift."

"Wait, have ye actually had any patients since I was here? And how didja manage to find time to clean up this mess here and work on shit back there?"

"I would not call myself a doctor if I did not know how to work efficiently, Father Anderson. And while I have not had a patient since we last spoke, I am well aware of the casualties such nights as this tend to produce and am preparing for them in advance."

Oh, she's good.

"Ye still haven't told me why ye won't open the door for me now when ye did earlier."

"I acted on impulse earlier, but I cannot risk becoming incapacitated when there are many who may require my expertise later this night."

What little you can decipher of her tone through her makeshift bulwark hints at frustration. Your cross-examination does not appear to be a welcome development.

"I understand your suspicion, Father, but on my honor as a woman of medicine, I am telling the truth. Now, I still have several beds to prepare. Good luck, and don't forget to tell any survivors you find about the clinic."

[] Keep talking to Iosefka
-[] About

[] Head out to Yharnam
-[] Plan of action

[] Teleport to specific location in Yharnam
-[] Plan of action

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Fuck it. Time to get to the fun part of inquisiting.

You flourish your hands and one of your many copies of the Holy Word falls open in your hands. The pages swirl and churn in a wind born of nothing but the righteous fury of their contents. Bearing you unseen in their embrace, they slice through the air, through every gap in her stalwart barrier. They coalesce with a roar before the stunned figure and you rise, massive and powerful and full to bursting with the wrath of God.



"For it is time for judgment to begin at the house of God; and if it begins with us, what will-"

She shoots you in the chest.

You look at her with abject loathing. "Is there anyone in this fuckin' city with the decency to let a man finish a bloody sentence?!"

As you admonish her, you size her up via your impeccable multitasking abilities (can do most things while planning and/or committing murder). She has about the same build as Iosefka, at least as far as you can tell beneath her voluminous robes, and she's got a face that would pass for the good doctor's with the right lighting. Closer examination drops it into the Uncanny Valley, though; she lacks Iosefka's tired eyes, instead looking at you with a cold, calculating gaze. In addition, it seems like her resemblance to Iosefka is a product of makeup as much as natural coincidence.

She planned ahead. She's a professional.

"Your body is terribly odd, Father Anderson. I can only hope that healing won't interfere with the vivisection," she says as she pulls out a cane. Without distance and the door between you and her, the differences between her voice and the real Iosefka's stand out clearly. It also helps that she's not bothering to disguise it anymore.

"Mighty big talk for a heathen who's too chickenshit ta open a door."

You fill your hands as she raises her pistol, weaving past a pair of of shots to close the distance. To your surprise, she stands her ground rather than retreat into the door and, as you swing, ducks and circles around you, effectively reversing your positions. She's light on her feet, cane held loosely and gun zeroed in on your center of mass. She's moving with practiced ease, a far cry from the rabble of the town or even the big man with the axe.

You're curious. Maybe even enough to just remove a limb or two rather than try to break your current "how many bayonets can I put in their torso before they die" record of 37. Although, to be fair, that WAS a wendigo and you can't reasonably hold humans to the same standards.

As you circle one another, what looks like a slug emerges from her sleeve and coils around her hand, translucent and dripping. In response, you slide a bayonet between each finger. You're sorely tempted to make a "salt of the earth" pun but are fairly certain she'd just shoot you again out of principle.

You have just enough time to throw the first set before an absolute shitload of tentacles slam into your chest. It's not quite as big a hit as the goatwolfgorilla dealt you, but it's still enough to knock you off your feet and raise what you're certain to be a gnarly bruise.

Where's Yumie when you need her? This shit would be right up her alley.

Thankfully, it seems one of your blades got past the wall of ick and embedded itself in her shoulder. Her stumble as the tentacles retract into the slug buys you enough time to regain your footing before she can press the advantage.

Still, seems like fighting at range might not be the best plan. Time to see how she reacts under pressure.

You rush once again, targeting her damaged arm. She tries to angle off and bring the gun to bear.

Not fast enough. In a swift motion, you pull the blade from her shoulder as you drive one into her thigh, sending her to the ground. Before she can fire again, you've lopped off the necessary fingers. You embed a pair of bayonets into the floor, criss-crossing her neck, and loom over her.

"So now that we've gotten ta know each other, how's about we chat?" you offer. She whispers something in response. "I am not fallin' for that 'lean in so I can say something cool before I escape' horseshit. Speak up."

"Fine."

You note that a second slug, much fancier, has joined the first one around her hand. Considering what the last one did, it probably has something to do with that gaping void growing above her head.

You have a newfound appreciation for the slugs back home. At least they just mess up your garden and creep out the kids (and Maxwell).

[] Hit the deck

[] Make distance

[] Go for the slug

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Alright, so.

In the second post, I mentioned that I wasn't planning on using dice for this quest. That said, after the Cleric Beast fight, I realized that at least some element of chance might make it more interesting. At the same time, I don't want any frustrating situations where a good plan is short-circuited by shit luck like the eight million missed railgun shots in AsukaQuest.

So what I'm doing is the following:

For boss and miniboss fights, certain courses of action will have percentages of failure. No critfails, just boolean "succeed" or "suck." A well-crafted plan may involve no dice at all, while a sufficiently risky one may have penalties for failure. These percentages will not be listed until the course of action has already been set, since I would like you to carefully consider each plan without me telling you how risky it is.

For this fight, there was a course of action that would have saved you from A Call Beyond without a roll: stabbing the slug. You've still got an interrupt chance of 50%. If that fails, you still have a chance of avoiding the blast, but since you took the time to attack her first, getting away scot-free is 30%, nonserious injury is 40%, and serious injury is 30%.

As might be clear, votes are closed.

Update will come later this afternoon. If you have suggestions or criticisms for this system, please let me know.

 

[Tricia]

Okay, she's probably about to either suck you into the vacuum of space or summon some kind of space monster. Either way, you don't want to be close when it happens.

At the same time, though, you don't want her going anywhere. While you've embedded a bayonet in her thigh and basically pinned her neck to the floor via a pair of blades scissored into the ground, it never hurts to be sure.

Well, it never hurts you. Her, on the other hand...

As you leap out of the way, you turn and fire off a quartet of bayonets. Two embed themselves in her forearms, one in her left thigh, and one in her already-occupied right thigh. That last one was probably unnecessary.

She grunts in pain, but the void continues to grow. It shimmers for a moment before fading away, leaving only pinpoints of light hovering about her. It's quite pretty, at least until they rocket off in all directions at uncomfortably high speeds. You have to admit, you weren't expecting that one.

You roll away, the miniature stars burning their way into the wood all around you. Several singe your sleeves and one catches your trousers, but against all odds, you're entirely unharmed as the barrage comes to an end. You scramble back to your feet and brush yourself off, cracking your neck for thematic effect.

"Was that yer Final Frontier, lass? Cus yer gonna need a hell of a lot more'n that."

You stroll over to her, careful to avoid the smoking holes left behind by the onslaught. She can't give you a proper glare, what with those two blades threatening to slice her throat if she leans forward, but she's making up for it with effort.

As soon as you get within arms'-reach of her, she tries to reach for something in her cloak with her one good hand. She's foiled both by the blessed steel below it and the heel of your boot, crashing down on her knuckles.

"Move again and I pin ye ta the wall like a fuckin' butterfly."

"I'm not afraid to-"

"Bullshit. If ye weren't afraid, ye'd be tryin' that star bollocks again. Ye may not be afraid ta die on yer own terms, but yer afraid o' how I might kill ya."

You rest your heel on the twin blades above her throat, ready at a moment's notice to show her why they call you Saint Guillotine.

"Or am I wrong?"

For a moment, there's only the sound of her breathing, steady in spite of her newfound piercings and the blood pooling at a worrying pace beneath her once-pristine clothing.

And then she deflates, drained of strength and bravado. She fumbles for something to say, some final retort, but settles for "I concede, Father Anderson."

Smart lass.

[] Question her
-[] Where the real Iosefka is
-[] Who she is

[] Try to heal her injuries

[] Look for Iosefka yourself

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

She's got four bayonets lodged in her and an entry/exit wound pair on her shoulder where one recently resided, not to mention her missing digits. Probably best not to waste time.

"Where's the Doctor?"

"Down the hall, sedated and strapped to a table. I hadn't the time to begin my work before you arrived."

Huh. You're grateful that she's not wasting your time but at the same time mildly disappointed that you can't play Bad Cop yet. Or Worse Cop, considering her current state.

"How is she?"

"Alive and unharmed, save for the sedation. I was about to administer the next dose before you interrupted, so she should be coming around fairly soon."

"Who the hell are you?"

She's slower to answer this one. Without breaking eye contact, you pull out another bayonet and run your finger down the unmarked steel.

"Look, as much fun as it is ta wax poetic, I'm gettin' a wee bit impatient, so I'll just tell ye. Start talking or I take this blade, shove it under your toenails one by-"

"Stop. Stop," she hurriedly breathes. "I am Lumnia, of the Healing Church. Doctor Iosefka operated outside of our jurisdiction and had to be removed."

You frown at her.

"Lass, I just fuckin' teleported through a door. If ye think I can't tell when yer full o' shit, yer dead wrong. And just plain dead if ye keep it up."

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes tight.

"We needed subjects. With the bridge closed, we had no means of efficiently acquiring them and time is of the essence. We intended to exploit the locals' trust of Iosefka."

"Subjects fer what?"

"For our studies on the blood. Father, please, stop the bleeding and-"

"Ye speak when spoken to."

She's turning paler, both from fear and from blood loss. She might not be conscious for much longer.

[] Keep pressing
-[] More about the "studies"
-[] How she got in

[] Try to patch her up
-[] Yourself
-[] Find the real Iosefka, have her do it

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

(Un)fortunately for her, you do still have some questions.

"Fine, then. First, though, yer weapons, weapon-ish things, assorted doodads, and anything else ye might be hidin'. Bein' a gentleman, I won't ask ye ta remove yer clothin', but-"

Okay, yeah, she's about to pass out. Better hurry things up a bit.

"The cane and the pistol are on the floor. I believe you crushed the phantasms to death when you stepped on my hand. Other than that, I have only blood vials and some numbing mist in my robes. I am not lying to you."

You pat her down, retrieving said vials, a pair of syringes, and the little containers of transparent fluid you can only assume are this "numbing mist." Finding nothing else on her, you try to figure out what exactly to do. She's already lost a lot of blood and you don't know where Iosefka keeps the stuff for transfusions, not that you know how blood types work or how to use the damn things at all if you did. You're good at taking blood out of people, not putting it back in. Pulling out the bayonets would just make things worse. That just leaves the gross option.

"How exactly do ye use these things?" you ask, holding out one of the confiscated blood vials.

"Use a syringe. Inject it into my leg. Anywhere works."

This is much less scientific than modern medicine should be.

With a shrug, you do as she says, emptying one of the small vials into the syringe and injecting the lot into her thigh. Before your eyes, her body begins to repair itself; the open wounds on her shoulder and hand close up while the dripping streams from the bayonets trickle to a halt. Her fingers don't grow back, you notice, but the stumps are solid and scar-free, as though they'd been that way since birth. Her breathing drops to a more measured pace, though she's still visibly wincing. Now that the adrenaline's gone, it seems that her nervous system is finally catching up to the situation.

"Thank you, Father Anderson."

"I wouldn't."

As when you first exited the clinic, you produce your Bible and nails and will a ward into existence, surrounding her with the pierced pages.

"Try ta leave the circle and I'll know. I don't think I need ta explain what comes next."

She regards the barrier with curiosity. With her mangled left hand, she reaches towards it, only to draw it back, with a hiss when it reaches the boundary.

"Is this what you had around the Clinic?"

Oh, right. How'd she get through that, anyway?

"How'd ye get through that, anyway?"

"I shattered the back door with the Augur. Whatever force powers this barrier, Ebrietas' is greater."

There's a pause.

"When I get back, yer gonna explain every word o' that sentence."

"Of course."

A couple of those things sounded like proper nouns. That's a bit worrying. As is, you know, the fact that she apparently busted through your ward with sheer force. It may not be as effective on humans as it is on vampires or werewolves, but it's still quite a feat.

You don't have to walk far before you find Iosefka groggily pulling at her restraints. Beside the table stands an IV bag; it seems like Lumnia was in the process of setting it up before she heard you knocking. The Doctor is disheveled and mumbling incoherently, but not visibly hurt. She starts when she sees you, prompting you to hold up your hands.

"Not gonna hurtcha, lass."

She squints. "Father Anderson?"

"It's me, Doctor. Relax."

"Why wouldn't I be relaxed? You're here to help with the patients, aren't you? Now, if I could just get off this table, we can get started on curing that poor man whose hand turned into a spider."

"...What?"

"Hand-spider! You can't expect a man to live like that! Now, I just need to figure out a way to stand up and we can begin."

Whatever Lumnia sedated her with, it seems it was some good shit.

You undo the restraints and help her to her feet, cognizant of her occasional twitches and jerks. With her hand draped over your shoulders, you walk her back towards the stairwell, doing your best to explain the situation. There are a few more imaginary patients, but you can see the haze beginning to lift from her eyes after a minute or two.

"Someone sedated me?" she asks, wide-eyed. She reaches into a pocket in her coat with her free hand, clutching something. "Who? Why?"

"Lady from the Healing Church. Wanted ta replace ye ta draw in some 'subjects,' she says. Ye can ask her more yerself, if ye'd like."

She seems as angry as she is mortified. When you reach the woman in question, Iosefka steps past you, wobbling slightly. Taking in the prone figure, who is doing her best to do the same in spite of her current inability to lean forward, she walks over to a pile of textbooks and picks up the one on top.

You recognize it right before she uses it to break Lumnia's nose. You're not sure if that's technically a proper use of the Holy Word, but it is the heaviest book you can see.

Iosefka returns it to the pile, straightening it as she does, before returning to your side. She's breathing rather more heavily than when she came in.

"I do apologize for using your gift in such a way, Father, but it was the heaviest book I could see."

"No need, Doctor."

You couldn't be more proud.

[] Resume the interrogation
-[] Proper nouns
-[] The Church
-[] The studies on the blood

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"So, where were we?" you ask.

"I believe you wanted me to explain every word in my most recent statement," she answers, turning her head to the side to let the blood drain from her nose.

"Right ye are. Couple'a those things sounded like they were capitalized."

Iosefka looks at you quizzically.

"She mentioned an 'Augur' and an 'Ebrietas.'"

"Ah."

"The Augur," Lumnia responds once you're done, "was the first invertebrate I used in our fight. It and its kin are a means to partially summon Ebrietas, the Daughter of the Cosmos. Her tentacles shattered the door and, I'd hoped, your ribs."

You reach down to touch your chest at the memory. To your surprise, they're still sore. You can't remember the last time somebody besides that pissant vampire left a lasting injury.

"And what is Ebrietas?" you ask, a bit more concerned now.

"A Great One, left behind by her kin. I can't describe her in words. Through her blood, the Church was born. Yharnam itself was born of her blood, though its citizens know not. And now, through her blood, we seek Ascension. The masses are unworthy and so are twisted into mindless beasts."

Her explanation is shifting into proselytizing. The fervor is familiar.

"Wait," Iosefka interjects. "I studied blood ministration under the Church. I never heard of such a thing. I've never seen her garb, either."

"You are of the Church's lowest echelon. I am of the Choir, we who commune with the cosmos themselves. We are the Truth behind the Church that you were not fit to know."

She's really getting into it now. Might be more likely to spill something she didn't mean to.

"So if the blood turns the 'unworthy' inta beasts, what's the point of puttin' more o' that blood into 'em? What were ye aimin' ta accomplish?"

"To see if we could uplift even the basest of men into the Kin of the Cosmos. We shall lead mankind into the stars, but we must learn if they are capable of following."

"Yer bein' awful forthcomin' about yer evil plans, lass."

"Evil is relative, Father, but I am being so forthcoming because I wish to see the coming of the Great Ones. I wish to see the Paleblood sky. I don't want to die yet."

Dangit, she's lucid again. Missed opportunity.

"Tell you what I'm gonna do," you say. "I'm going to find yer church. I'm going to tear it apart. And then, I, Paladin Alexander Anderson of Iscariot, am going to kill yer god."

She smirks at that.

"You are welcome to try, Father."

[] Continue interrogation
-[] About?

[] Deal with Lumnia
-[] Kill her
-[] Leave her alive

[] Ask for Iosefka's input

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Well," you say, "That's about all my questions, I think. Unless ye'd be kind enough ta tell me how ta find Little Miss False God."

"What," she replies with a smile, "and make it easier for you? I'd assume such a mighty man as yourself wouldn't need so much help from a heathen like me."

"Heh. Good point."

Well, you've come to that bridge you were planning on crossing once you came to it: how to deal with her. She has been helpful to you, but she also tried to experiment on Iosefka and others and is complicit in spreading the "plague" that's devoured this city. That's not even mentioning her willful worship of a false idol.

There's only one appropriate penalty. You straighten up and clear your throat as a puzzled Iosefka looks from you to her.

"Lumnia of the Choir," you say, "You are charged with assaultin' an innocent physician, conspirin' ta abuse the trust of the people and experiment on the unwillin', and complicity in yer Church's crimes against humanity. By the power vested in me by the Catholic Church and in the name of the LORD, Jesus Christ, I hereby sentence ye ta death."

Iosefka covers her mouth. Lumnia breathes out and somehow deflates even further. You can hear her breathing, already hampered by her shattered nose, become ragged.

"I understand," she says. "But I ask you to reconsider. Please. I want to see the Paleblood sky. Please don't take that away from me."

For the first time since you've spoken to her, there's true emotion in her voice. No religious zealotry, no haughty confidence. Just a woman, beaten and broken and tired and afraid to die.

"Father Anderson," Iosefka says, grabbing your hand, "this woman has committed grave crimes against me and, by her own words, the people of Yharnam. But she has also aided us and answered all of your questions. I, too, ask you to reconsider."

"It's out o' my hands, Doctor," you say. "What this woman has done is unforgivable. I'll see to it that she does not suffer, but that is the only mercy I can offer."

She purses her lips, fishing for some reply, before casting her eyes downwards.

"Very well, Father."

You walk towards Lumnia and stand over her, careful to avoid the bayonets still lodged throughout her body. She looks up at you, teeth clenched to stop the unwanted tears in her eyes.

"Do ye desire a prayer or any other final comfort?"

"I wish to see the moon, Father Anderson. One last time."

"Aye."

You pull the twin bayonets across her neck free from the floor and vanish them up your sleeves. With fluid motions, you extract the four bayonets from her body, offering her some wadded-up scraps of your coat to bite into while you do so. Gingerly, you scoop her up and begin carrying her downstairs.

It feels bizarre, unfamiliar. You haven't done "gentle" in so long.

Outside, the air is humid and stifling and heavy with the morbid smell of the hunt. You lay her on the grass where she can see the moon, huge and serene in the Yharnam twilight.

She takes a long breath, and then she waits in silence. You draw your blessed blades.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,

Amen.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

It's quiet, you notice. Whether that's a product of your enthusiastic meet-and-greet campaign, you're not sure, but it is welcome nonetheless.

Around you stand gravestones, some fresh and some so weathered that they are as nameless as the empty husks beneath them. You stamp your feet exploratorily; the soil is soft and yielding.

You've got time.

For want of a dedicated spade, you pull out the massive sword bequeathed by the Messengers. It's a shame to use such a lovely thing for this kind of task, but at the end of the day, that's all it is: a thing. Pure, devoid of emotion and mercy.

Like you should have been.

Something clatters to the ground by your feet. A glance confirms that it's a shovel, while a look towards its presumed point of origin reveals Iosefka, holding an identical specimen.

"The grave digger keeps some spares around the yard," she explains as you re-inter the sword. She walks up to join you, pointing out an unoccupied plot of earth large enough to house the former Lumnia.

You toss huge heaps of dirt aside, vastly outstripping Iosefka despite the doctor's best efforts. For a time, the earthen 'fwumps' of your efforts are the city's sole backing tracks.

"I'd have thought you'd want to burn her," she says between grunts. "Seems more fitting for a holy man."

"Already drawn enough attention ta this place," you reply. "And besides, this way she's givin' back ta the world. Keep an eye on this spot after all this is over; kinda interested in seein' what grows out o' her."

Maybe space mushrooms? Tried them once. Wouldn't recommend it.

The hole is a little uneven and short on elegant angles, but she'll fit. You place her, all of her, gently into it, closing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest. Making the sign of the cross, you rise up and heft your shovel.

"I'll take care o' fillin' it back up. I want ye ta go inside, get her weapons, and pick up everythin' important ye can carry. The clinic's not safe anymore."

She nods and walks briskly back inside as you begin the process of undoing all of your previous efforts. Even without Iosefka helping, your sheer strength lets you fill the hole and pat it down smooth in record time.

You plant a bayonet at the head of the mound. Might get her a proper stone once this is over and done with.

Before long, Iosefka returns with a large pack slung over her shoulder and Lumnia's cane and pistol in her hands. She offers them to you hopefully, but doesn't seem surprised when you shake your head.

"I've never fought, Father Anderson. I very much hoped I would never have to."

"Ye'll have ta learn, then."

She looks back towards the clinic, frowning.

"You alright?" you venture. She sighs, fiddling with the cane.

"I joined the Church to help the sick. I left it because I felt I could do more on my own. The Hunters would hunt the beasts, I would treat them and any survivors of the Hunts, and Yharnam would live another day. I knew it could never last, but I was comfortable. I was doing good."

Her shoulders slump.

"This is all terribly complicated," she says after a moment's silence.

You clap a hand on her shoulder.

"The path o' the righteous is never simple, for how can we grow if we never struggle?"

She still seems sad. Damn, and you'd batted 1.000 with that platitude.

"Look," you say, meeting her gaze, "we have ta keep goin'. Can't do nobody any good if we don't."

You continue resting your hand on her shoulder until she straightens up and takes a deep breath, rubbing at her eyes with her once-pristine sleeves. She looks up at you and nods.

"Right, then," you say. "We can't stay here. We might be able ta come back and get supplies later, but it's not secure anymore. Any idea where ye could set up shop?"

"Oedon Chapel," she replies. "It's large and secure enough for me to take care of multiple patients if need be." She pauses, apparently remembering something. "If it's a night of the Hunt, the bridge will be closed, but there's an alternate way through the aqueducts. You can get to them from the main plaza."

"I've mostly cleared out the streets, but I've not been through there." She raises an eyebrow at "cleared out the streets" before getting the picture. "Is there somewhere ye could stay before I make a path to the other place where ye could stay?"

That sounded a lot better in your head.

She puzzles over this for a moment.

"With Gascoigne, perhaps? I know he's done a lot to secure his home. And he used to be a Hunter himself. He can be rather terrifying, actually. I'd feel quite safe with him."

And there's that name again. Everything comes back to Gascoigne.

At least you'll finally get to meet the bastard.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Right," you say, "let's be on our way, then. Stay close and stay vigilant, Doctor."

She nods, carrying her pistol with both hands as the cane oscillates on her hip. With that, you're off.

The two of you pass through the gate near the ladder, checking each corner with increasing symbiosis. You note Iosefka's mounting astonishment as she observes the fruits of your labors.

"They were all infected. All of them. I've never seen anything like this. And you killed them all by yourself?"

"Tried bein' nice an' neighbourly. Didn't take, I'm afraid."

"Did you find any sane people?"

"A handful. None o' them were willin' ta talk, save Gilbert."

She looks a little surprised at this.

"Gilbert? The man with the cough? I must say, I didn't expect him to still be alive. Gascoigne introduced him to me some time ago; I treated him as best I could, but I could only buy him time."

"He's still got a sharp mind and a sharp tongue."

She smiles at that.

Many of the burning crosses that line the road have collapsed at this point, leaving only the bodies smoldering among the splinters. The flies are thick and their omnipresent buzz fills the silence. The smell of incense is too sporadic to overwhelm the stench of blood and guts and excrement.

You've yet to encounter anyone or anything besides some intrepid carrion birds by the time you step around the hulking corpse of Igor McBrickpunch and enter the plaza. You note with some amusement that your hairy former projectile is once again outside Chateau de Shithead and the broken window has been hastily boarded up. Maybe they drew straws to see who would have to carry the thing back to the street.

You've got so many wonderful ideas for further disproportionate retribution, but alas.

"This way," says Iosefka, pointing to the right-hand side of the plaza. You follow her towards a tall, narrow home with a gate to the side, beyond which you can see and smell an incense lantern burning.

"What's past there?"

"The aqueduct. From what I understand, they put the gate up to make it harder for people to dump things into it or fall off the ledge while drunk. Most workers have a copy of the key," she explains. She turns to knock on the door.

Something catches her eye and she hurriedly raises the pistol at you. You don't get a chance to ask what the hell she's thinking before you feel steel on your throat.

"Don't," says a voice from behind you, oddly muffled and somewhat more elderly-sounding than you'd expect from someone currently menacing some of your favorite arteries. How the Protestant whore-tits did she get behind you without you noticing?

"Can't smell properly in this thing, but I can tell you're not a Hunter. What exactly are you two doing at this house? Oh, put that thing away, girl. It'll be another twenty years before I'm slow enough to get hit by that."

Well, you suppose it's only fair that you're the damsel this time.

[] Talk this over like civilized people

[] Stab your way out

[] Write in...