Malefic Matching#1

Halloween Seasonal Quest

You drove a stake into your father's heart.

You didn't kill him with this brutal action, rather this was how all the children of Fear, the humans of Brisganne began burial of their beloved deceased.

Indeed, the father of Ludmilla, Joakhemn after a long illness had passed away. Stubbornly you had stayed to care for your only family while the rest of the nameless village risked the journey to the closest town, for the Vaelpurgis was approaching! Even now, the ever present moonlight of the ever-evening of Brisganne's dayless nights had shifted to red hues, making it hard to separate one night from another and already a thick crescent of black of the slowly approaching Vaelpurgis Eclipse grew.

Following the stake, your delicate hands adjusted his suit, and then moved to Joakhemn's face, now that illness had been replaced by Death, he looked strong and valiant once more, brown hair now as healthy as your own, upon closed eyelids, you placed a pair of silver coins, some of the few you had left from keeping your father in the realm of the living.

"It is done, if you gentlemen would mind lowering him to the soil now"

The one speaking was not the grieving daughter, but a man with a melodious voice marred by a slight hoarse croaking.

Taemaeus, a black robed priest who came into the village as it was hollowed out, as if to give last rites to the community, after all, it was unknown how many of the villagers would reach the town alive, let alone return back.

A tall severe man of raven locks, whose eyes were covered with blindfold over pale skin. Between being a lone traveller, covering his eyes and his pallid flesh, there would have been the fear that he was one of the children of Night, a vampire, feaster of blood.

Would have been, but for half of his body being scarred by flame, so you had only two worries of this marred beauty of a man. What power did he rely upon to travel alone, seemingly blind, and what was he a priest of?

The last question was the one that Fear stirred mightily in you, for Taemaeus had not been forthcoming with what was the object of his devotion, but at least being so afflicted by flame, you had hope he was human.

Four other men placed the lid and lifted the coffin.

"Why can't the dead weigh less?"

"Why can't you keep your mouth shut?"

Speaking then were the last two original villagers besides yourself.

The whiner was the village idiot, Rackle an orphan who had managed to survive to adulthood on a combination of pity and later theft. You were sure he was still a child of Fear like yourself, so you didn't understand what gave him the confidence now to stay in the village for Vaelpurgis. Certainly confidence was what he had in abundance these nights, strutting around the village like a noble vampire lord, only tucking his tail when crossing paths with the other four men in the village. He had taken to sleeping in a different empty house each night, none his own.

He would have had roguish charm with his blue eyes and brown nest of hair, if the expressions on this weasel of a man weren't so emotionally grotesque.

What you feared was the all too human lust he showed of late when looking at you.

The other man, who rebuked Rackle, you had feared since you were both younger. He too was an orphan, Petyr the huntsman. His father had been a hunter too, and his mother had lived with them both out in a little cabin hidden a bit away from the village. Even now, you remembered the joy that Petyr's grim faced father would bring when he came with game, but one night, it had been a cold eyed Petyr who came down to the village, steely eyes no longer glittering, when asked about his father and mother he simply replied 'dead'.

He would have been the spitting image of his father, a craggy but handsome man of ashen blonde hair, but between his own body hair, the furs and pelts he wore, he looked the part of one of the wrydfolk, a wolf walking on hindquarters perhaps.

You remembered your father's words about hunters, that in devoting themselves to the Hunt they often became no less monstrous than one of the Grim.

Petyr did not look at you with lustful eyes, no all that was in those steel eyes was either pity or indifference to a pig that was destined for slaughter.

As your beloved father was lowered into the earth, you still took stock of the last two men in the village, recent strangers both.

The knight clad head to toe in battered dirty armour was the most recent, arriving like an ill omen not long before your father died. Not once had he removed any of his armour, of his weapon no sight could be seen, not even a scabbard. His tall and broad figure would have cut an admirable heroic sight, but bowed in defeat and despair was his form. He hadn't given his name, indeed he had barely spoken.

Such mystery of course gave you plenty of Fear's brew.

The other stranger, you could see the flesh of at least, and knew his name.

Hamlish, he wasn't fat, but certainly he was portly, thickset and heavily beard with the supposed blessing of Luck, auburn hair, not as blazing flame, as some believed the most fortunate to be, but not blood red as some believed to be most unfortunate. His jolly bearing and appearance would given some comfort to you, but...

Hamlish had taken over the blacksmithy, and he was forging and reforging like a man possessed, a wild and frightening appearance when forging. He looked nothing human when amid the flame, and the dissonance between his nature when at rest and when smithing provoked Fear in you. What was he even trying to make? It defied all description, a twisted mass of metal glowing with flame but never form.

Not just that, but like all the other two strangers who came to the village, there was the question what had he relied upon to travel alone?

Of course, a small voice raised that weren't you rather abnormal yourself for considering all this in your grief?

Or perhaps Fear had chilled your heart to stone...

"...and let not this child of Fear rise in Night, become Grim invoking Horror, but may he slumber past Abyss, resting in your embrace beloved Brisganne"

Taemaeus still did not reveal his allegiance, but none could find issue with a prayer that the dead remain dead.

You cast a handful of soil in and watched as the five men shovelled soil over the coffin that robbed you of one final sight of your father.

Petyr left as soon as the work was done, saying not a word.

Rackle looked like the familiar village idiot once more, none of the queer confidence or lust in his eyes. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, just like a fish, if grief and Fear did not grip you so hard, you would have laughed at the absurdity.

Still, his eyes kept shifting to the three strangers, and in the end, he left as wordlessly as Petyr, sullenly kicking rocks like a little boy.

You clutched your shawl tightly as the Knight came before you.

"My apologies, good lady, I've come too late, yes, too late. Had it be earlier I could have escorted you and your father from this village"

You thanked him for his consideration, but you claimed your father would likely have been too weak to move.

"Ah, a shame, I cannot help you now, it's too late"

Indeed, deep was the red hue of the moonlight. These nights the wilds would be far too violent, even the wrydfolk who still had their senses would be holed up in their dens.

Hamlish followed after the despondent knight, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"The knight is right lass, you'd best have a think about what you'll do now, no time to grieve, such a shame to be trapped here!"

With those tactless words, the smith left, leaving you alone with the black robed priest in the misty graveyard.

"They mean well, you'd do well to heed them, if you need any advice, I'll be in the chapel of the Three, praying for us all"

Fear, Silence and Luck, the three patrons of humans. Taemaeus left you alone in the graveyard with Fear.

Fear so you know what danger lurks.

Silence that it may pass you by.

Luck that it may not see or scent you.

Luck was what you needed the most now.

Advice...

You recalled your father's dying words, desperate clarity before death.

'Take refuge'

But with who? At least you still had some nights before Vaelpurgis, the Eclipse of Night descended.

Trembling, drying your tears, you resolved to act, so that you wouldn't depend solely on Luck.

Who will you cleave to, Ludmilla, child of Fear?

{You have eight nights to choose, then on the ninth, you must choose who you shall beg refuge with, but beware, some may not be so accepting of you if you beg on the ninth night without having interacted with them enough. Spending time is both how you build goodwill and find out more about these men, hopefully discovering who is both safe to take refuge with, and who has power to protect...}

{Can't think of a sensible paid extra set of options for this quest, so, there isn't for now, there's no paid subscribers yet in any case. It's by no means required, but should you vote, which can be done by clicking or tapping an option, it would be of great interest to this teller what your reason for the choice would be}

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