The Nyxenberg Thing: A BPRD Short Quest

[BadAtScreenNames]

A snarling corpse. A pitched battle inside the church. A total and utter lack of information on what was going on or why.

God damnit, this was supposed to be delicate...

Start with the corpse. Good a place as any. Watch it hit the ground, tumble of mummified limbs and black robes tangling and dragging along cracked pavement. Take advantage now, while it's distracted.

The handcuffs are part of the standard BPRD loadout. A carefully crafted alloy of silver and cold iron, with runes and spells worked through every inch; protection, binding, weakness, pliability. Terrifying things. They're in your hands as you sprint after it. One of the swords has wormed loose of its dead fingers, skidding across the pavement. Closer. Closer...

(Does the corpse see you coming? D10, 1-7 is no, 8-10 is yes.

5. No.

Can you secure the handcuffs?

Strength 6+d100, DC ??

6+27, 33, DC ??, Failure!)

It doesn't see you till you're on it, all your weight pinning it's skinny body to the ground, hands clamped onto its wrists like vices. But then it goes mad. Thrashes around under you like an angry cat. The cuffs lock onto one wrist, but you can't get its arms together for the other.

It kicks you off, spitting, and points its sword at you. Fuck. This is going to suck. It lunges-

but not to kill. Too slow for that. You're being herded. It flashes past you as you flinch aside, snatching up its other sword as it goes, heading for the door of the church.

Yeah. No.

Dart after it, running as hard as you can-

(Can you stop the corpse?

Strength 6+d100, DC??

6+73, 79, DC 70, Success!)

-and bodycheck the fucker. Damn thing wasn't expecting that, clearly- it falls again and stumble-rolls into the door of the church. You're on it again in seconds, snatching hold of the handcuff, putting your weight onto it.

(Secure the handcuffs take 2-

Strength 6+d100, DC??

6+69, 75, DC75, Success!)

And this time, this time you manage it. The corpse's arms are locked behind it, and you're pinning it to the ground again with your knees and shoving your gun in its face before it can think.

"BPRD, punk. Freeze."

Dead eyes glare up the barrel of the gun, then fix on you.

"Fucker."

English. Okay. Good start.

"Who are you?"

It spits. You lean forward and glare.

"I said. Who. Are you?"

(Do you intimidate the corpse?

Presence 3 + Intimidating 7 + 1d100, DC??

3+7+40, 50, DC 60, Success with complications!)

It sees something in you, then. Something that frightens it. Withered lips ease back over yellowed teeth.

"Tulpa..."

Not the usual reaction you get to that. Still. Could be worse.

"Yeah. Tulpa. I am the story of fuck you, answer my question. Who are you?"

Long pause.

"Gerta, of the Valkyrie's Bastards."

"Thank you. What's going on in there?"

It mutters something in Finnish, then off your look it translates. "Mother Gulkyra, she says today we have a tool. Frekison. Wolf man, come to ask questions. We are to let him. But he saw me, my face as it is now. He called me monster. Mother Gulkyra said to be calm, for all are calm here- but he went wild. Took on the face of Freki and Geri, wrathful and heavy with war in his heart. Now he decimates all inside. We offered peace. Now we shall offer war."

...Fuck. Hakon. Had to be.

You turn to look at the door of the church.

How do you proceed?

[] Diplomatically. Try to talk Hakon down and get him out of the church.

[] Aggressively. Go in all guns blazing and try and beat some sense into him.

[] Write-in.

 

[BadAtScreenNames]

There's a noise inside. A wet noise, and crunching, like meat on a butcher's slab, disintegrating under the cleaver. Not the kind of noise one could describe as encouraging.

Your gun is a heavy, reassuring weight in your hand. Your mind spins out plans immediately; reload, kick in the door, aim, shoot, aim, shoot- werewolf, known quantity, silver hollowpoint rounds, wolfsbane essence, centre-mass to ensure maximum penetration-

Wouldn't be hard. Wouldn't be hard at all.

But then, unwilling, your mind flicks back to yesterday at the crime scene. He was a teenager, that was the damn problem. Seventeen at the absolute latest. Trying to be reasonable, too, which...

God damnit. You put your gun away. This is going to suck.

The door opens easily enough under your hands. Inside is darkness, wolf howls and snarling corpses, a HR Giger painting come to life. Still, no-one's noticed you yet, so bonus there.

In the centre of the place is Hakon. Well, you assume it's Hakon. If not, you've managed to run into yet another werewolf in this godforsaken city, and christ it would be nice if your luck wasn't that bad. He's transformed already, something halfway between his two shapes, with a wolf's head and a man's body, fingers tipped with savage claws. Around him, dozens more of the dead things you saw outside, all clad in black, each one a whirling tatterdemalion of swords and fury.

And then there's you, at the back, trying for diplomacy. If this works, you want a fucking medal.

You reach into your jacket, pull out your BPRD ID, and raise your voice.

"Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!"

Nothing. No-one seems to notice. Well, it still counts as diplomatic if you don't actually shoot at anyone, right?

Two rounds into the ceiling. The sharp, flat shouts of the gunshots, echoing around the room. And silence, sudden and absolute. Faces, mostly dead, one furry, turn to stare at you.

"My name is Agent John Smith," you begin, retreating into formality. "I'm here as part of a BPRD investigative unit, consulting with the Provost's office. I have some questions for the Valkyrie's Bastards. That would be you, yes?"

You point at one of the dead things.

(Manipulation 3 + Captain America's Understudy 7 + 1d100, DC ??

3+7+96-106, DC 100, Success!)

It nods uncertainly.

"Good. I understand you're busy people, and I'd rather not take up too much of your time. Can I make an appointment to speak to someone?"

There is a confused rustle of scratchy voices murmuring to each other. Then the one you pointed to speaks.

"Mother Gulkyra, she is downstairs."

"Excellent. She's your leader?"

A dozen or so nodding heads.

"When would be convenient?"

They speak to each other again.

"...Half hour? Let us tidy up?"

You nod.

"Half hour. Great. Thank you. Is there anywhere I can find a coffee around here? I skipped breakfast."

"Two blocks over," mutters one a little further back. "There is... cafe. Small."

"Thank you. Hakon, a word please."

The werewolf is staring at you. It's kind of funny to see incredulity on a face that's quite so far from human. Not useful, though, and the bastard's not moving. You put a little more schoolteacher into your voice.

"Hakon."

He starts, guiltily, and comes after you, flesh flowing as he comes until the same skinny teenager from yesterday is standing hunched next to you. The two of you leave. Gerta lies, still bound, outside. You step over her without looking, and lead Hakon away from that place. It's only when you're absolutely sure that you're not being followed that you turn.

"...What. The FUCK. Was that?"

His head dips, lips murmur something inaudible.

"In ENGLISH, please."

"Trying to find out about the birds," he mumbles again, a little defiant.

"So you take on an entire coven of... of fucking draugar? That's how you investigate?!"

"No!"

"So how, precisely, did you get in that fight?"

"They..." He stops. Looks down again, hideously embarrassed. "They were heretics."

Oh God. This is a religious thing. Wonderful.

"Heretics."

"They blaspheme against Odin's holy Valkyries. Profane... death..." He doesn't quite finish the sentence under your withering stare.

"And you didn't realise this before you went to their HQ?"

"No, I- I knew. Met one in L'Arcane. We were talking about Huginn and Muninn. They said they... knew some things. But when- when I saw-"

He kicks the ground mulishly.

"I... I lost my temper."

...This is why no-one wants to work with teenagers. You fight down the urge to cuff him around her ear, glance around. You're still alone. The aforementioned cafe must not be too far off, either, because you can smell the rich, glorious scent of coffee on the air. And what's probably bacon, too. Your stomach grumbles pleadingly. There's no point dealing with this on an empty stomach.

"Come on. I'll buy you breakfast."

"I- I have to go back," he mutters.

"Then come with me first and let them calm down a little. Otherwise you're just going to end up fighting again, and I doubt that's going to improve things." And with that, you drag the recalcitrant werewolf away.

---

Turns out, you're right. There is bacon. The cafe is a tiny little place, with a beaten down-"better days" look; formica floors and counter tops, leather seats so elderly they creak as you sit down, tables bolted to the ground so no-one can steal them, awkwardly pinning you in the most uncomfortable position you've ever sat in - just the worst kind of shithole, seriously.

Still, it'll do for now. And the bacon and coffee is serviceable enough. Opposite you, Hakon is wolfing down (no pun intended) bacon and eggs, drinking orange juice by the pint, and avoiding your eyes. Still, there's only so long you can keep not having this conversation, and you don't have long before your appointment.

"So what next, then?"

Hakon winces. "I have to- the Bastards. They know something. I have to ask what, and how."

"That's a bad idea. For one, you broke their window, and probably more than a few of their members. They're not going to tell you shit."

"Still have to do it. My quest, it-"

"Hakon. They will kill you. You'll fuck up a lot of them, sure, but eventually one of them will put a sword though your brain. Even you won't heal from that. And that's assuming they don't have silver, which by now they probably do."

He growls in frustration. Then something occurs to him. He looks up at you.

"You could do it."

"...I'm sorry?"

"You. You can ask them. They like you. And you have an appointment. You could ask what they know of Huginn and Muninn."

What do you do?

[] Say yes. Those are literal puppy dog eyes he's flashing you right now. Besides, it might not be related to the case, but it never hurts to have a little extra intel.

[] Say no. You are here to work, not teach a baby werewolf how to sleuth. It's not your fault the kid blew his lead.

[] Write-in.