[SS] Hazy Silhouette

«Hey, have you heard? Have you? Word has it something happened! It’s bloody creepy! Come, listen…!»

«I heard from my cousin…something’s going on in this town. Something’s actually happening!»

«It happened in Whitby, that’s what the reports say. No, they’re not solidified, but a lot of people keep claiming they saw something. Maybe we should check? Might be good story material?»

«Drained! For real, drained! The body they found was drained of all blood! Bloody empty!»

«A lot of the neighbours have forbidden their children to go out in the evening. Should we think about a curfew as well, honey? I mean…with what has happened.»

«Hm, how much truth value is there with those stories? Most certainly if this were actually true it would be disastrous. But still, I can’t deny my own curiosity…»

«A shadow in the night! I’ve seen it! Believe me! I’ve seen it that night! It came from there! From right there where the body was found!! I’m not shitting! It’s true! There was something! It drove a chill down my spine! I nearly had a bloody heart stroke!!»

«Why Whitby of all places? Why can’t we just live in peace?!»

«I’ve seen it! It stared at me! It was breathing right into my neck! Then I turned and then…then I looked straight into its face! Those fangs, those ears, those eyes! It’s a demon! A friggin’ demon!! I ain’t lyin’!!»

«A little girl, a little girl pale as snow. I saw her. She stood there, bathing in the blood. I swear! This is no lie! Hell, I even took a picture, see!»

«Rumours have been exploding. Some occult papers have jumped onto the bait and even some of the big Magic Cabals, along with the three major denominations have made their move. Maybe there actually is some truth among that mess after all.

If there actually is, it would most definitely be a grave mistake for us to overlook the matter, wouldn’t it Mark~?»

In the beginning it had only been a single spark, but as the haze slowly rose, that spark had grown into an incontrollable inferno. A lot of eyes had turned their gaze towards a single port town a bit in the northern part of England. A lot had happened and a lot had been set into motion by the dreadful possibility born from a simple rumour.

With all the talk spreading epidemically, how much of the truth would remain in the words spoken, if there had ever been any at all.

However, no matter what had become of it, a single word had already been dropped and that word’s very presence in the maelstrom of confusion would suffice to justify all that was caused.

While it may have sounded stupid when coming from some drunk fisherman or a crazy occult reporter, the moment those words left the mouth of someone actually involved with Magic, there was a whole new meaning to it all.

«It’s a vampire! A vampire has appeared in Whitby!»

February 12th, 17:34

The small port town of Whitby was nothing all too outstanding. It was small in size, a bit remote and had not the best industry running for itself. Much like many towns of this kind, the only sources of income were to be found in fishing and tourism. For the latter it once had been lucky, had it become part of a world famous best selling novel, even though the hype had died down over the years as well. Still, Whitby was not in the worst shape.

As the evening sun was on the verge of sinking, the thick haze covering the small town at the North Sea was dyed blood red. Another day was ending, it was dying, along with the town’s peace.

With the night closing in, unrest would once again creep through the city’s streets.

Only a few days ago things had begun to happen.

Nobody knew if it was just rumours or actually something more.

The sole thing that was for sure, was the heavy atmosphere that had spread everywhere.
A man was hurriedly making his way through the stone plastered streets. He had blonde hair and wore black formal suit with a scarf, his name was Mark Space, he was a Magician. He had been one of the many shady individuals that had made their way to Whitby when the rumours had begun spreading. A varying set of people had come, not only from all over the UK, but from all over Europe and the rest of the world. A lot of those clad in weird cosplay or with rather weird behaviour. Some of those had been quite open, the majority however like enclosed books you didn’t wish to read.

Their arrival had left a strange taste in the locals’ mouths, but in the end money gained through tourism was still money, so they didn’t mind. Especially since the «guests» quickly proved to be rather wealthy.

Mark Space fit the category of the wealthy guests as well, obviously. However much like the majority of said guests he hadn’t come to have a relaxing vacation. Much like all those others he was here for the actual same reason.

As he ran, he quickly turned a corner about seeing a number of men clad in shiny silver armour, a bunch he most dearly wished to avoid. Another turn later he stumbled upon a duo of men with backpacks and rather lousy attire, probably occult journalists or sight seers that had been drawn in by simple curiosity evoked by the rumours; a pitiful thing. Ignoring their presence the blond simply passed by them, heading further down the road.

He tried to seem casual when passing by an inn in front of which a group of nuns and priests clad in black, a threatening bunch, had assembled. He could breathe a sigh of relief upon realising that none had even cast a glance his way. But that was how things were. If one looked around there were strange people everywhere, the majority of those Magicians. Magicians belonging to various organisations, Magicians from all over the place. Magicians that usually wouldn’t dare to step out, in fear that some witch hunter organisation would go after them, the instance they became careless. However that wasn’t an issue in Whitby.
Too many had come, from too many places.
Even for an organisation as large as the Anglican Church, the Roman Catholic Church or the Knights of England, the number of Magicians that had shown up in Whitby was too hard to handle. Or at least it was considered unwise to harm those, as anyone was considered a possible asset when dealing with the possible threat that was reported to have been found there.

Yet, that didn’t mean Whitby was currently peaceful grounds. Hostility was everywhere one went. Each of the groups was just there to serve their own cause, only seeing their own standards before them. None would dare to stretch out a hand to another; pride and distrust were too strong a feature of Magicians. A single wrong word could very well become the spark to light the fuse.

Therefore Mark Space was eager to avoid contact with the categories he ranked as the most troublesome, actually holding a single item hidden in his left arm’s sleeve. It was simple card that could as well serve as a symbolic weapon. However its purpose was not proper combat, but a means of making a quick path to escape.

He was in a hurry after all.

«I hope the boss won’t be too furious about my being late…»

Mumbling to himself he saw his goal in the distance. It was a traditional British inn that barely had enough rooms to have one free with the sudden tourism outburst. Currently that inn served as one of the shelters the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight had set up in Whitby. While the majority of groups that assembled would set up their bases in a single inn or hotel, booking all of the rooms in order to create something akin to a fortress, the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight had followed their usual tactics of spreading their base of operations all over the place. They had rented rooms wherever available, even taking up bead and breakfast offers from a bit out-of-town. A necessary step for keeping their profile low, while also spreading the reach of their attention.

Whitby had become a difficult terrain after all.

It was only a matter of time before the more powerful groups would start picking on the weaker ones or their sworn enemies, and the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight was enemy to a number of those big shots.

However, right as he was about to reach the inn’s traditional wooden entrance door, another man in a black formal suit intercepted his path.

«Mark, we have a problem. The boss. She disappeared.»

«Again? What is it with that girl…!?»

On the verge of tearing his own hair out, all of sudden all the energy, motivation and fear of punishment he had held were blown away; only leaving a tad of frustration, upon realising how pointless his actions were once again…

…and that he had to start a running anew again. Right back into that god damn haze…


There was a small pub close to the actual port sight. It was old, rusty and had a hint of nostalgia. Nowadays even the most traditional pubs would undergo a hint of modernisation, this however still managed to escape that concept. Or maybe it had just removed all hints of modernity upon realising that the old rusty nostalgic feel was actually a good selling point with the newly arrived tourists. Whatever it was, she thought it was a charming trait.

Leivinia Birdway, a blond girl of about twelve years old, in a white dress with black stockings giving her attire a piano like feeling, was currently sitting at one of the sturdy wooden table a bit more in the back of said inn, taking a sip from a cup of milk tea.

Her eyes were hovering over the many guests that had assembled, her ears were listening in to the many conversations overlapping in the rather cramped place and her lips were decorated in a smile quite unbefitting of a kid her age, one that could only be categorised as evil.

She was enjoying herself quite a lot. After all her plan of running off alone had once again paid itself out, was she for the moment just the unimportant little brat in the background, all those powerful self centred Magicians would ignore while occupied with their own business. Someone like her, while it was still likely, would at least never be considered that much of a threat, at least when the surroundings were overflowing with threats.

To further her harmless appearance, the hand that wasn’t holding onto the handle of the teacup was busy smacking the buttons of a handheld gaming device. After all, even though her plan bore fruits, things were still kind of boring; especially with many of those Magicians talking about topics like their nose hair, low class rituals or sexual references they had found upon studying occult folklore, instead of the truly interesting matter.

Amidst the wealthy tourists, occult thrill seekers, magicians, knights, priests, and other weirdos was our favourite detective! With a thick brown bomber jacket worn above her clothes to keep her warm, she wandered the cool streets of Whitby in relative comfort. Ignorant on matters concerning the Magic Side's politics and factions, all of the tension in the air went unnoticed for the most part as she made her way down the streets looking for a certain address.

Why was she here, you ask? Being a private detective in England meant that the rumors of a so-called demonic beast appearing in the country reached her ears and those of potential clients very quickly. She turned down several dozen requests for capturing the creature alive for the purposes of turning it into a pet or carnival attraction before the first serious request was given to her by a local.  Unlike most people, this client was not interested in legends and supernatural rumors, but more in ensuring his town remained peaceful.

She was to get to the bottom of the rumors and if possible dispel any reason for so many bizarre people to remain in the area and leave the townspeople in peace. The pay would be good, and because he was so frank and honest with her, Erin accepted the job. Moreover, she was to be given lodgings on-site as the flood of tourists all but ensured there would be no vacancies in the limited number of inns. Considering the aforementioned good pay, Erin presumed this meant the client was somewhat wealthy and likely had the room to accommodate her.

Upon reaching the destination, she looked up with her eyes widening. The man, a Mr. Morrison, actually had a fairly large manor house with a fairly large room prepared for her. Being the awkward and modest girl she was, this was rather surprising, but also not wanting to appear rude and unprofessional, she accepted it without question or hesitation.

The room was fully furnished and exceedingly comfortable, but once she was unpacked, it was time to get to work. Mr. Morrison was unable to provide any leads other than suggesting she start asking around in places the tourists were less likely to form crowds in, along the local pubs, of course. She had barely gotten to feel the warmth of a home before setting off into the cool fog once more.

She figured that she might as well go and familiarize herself with the place as she looked for good spots to investigate. Walking at a brisk pace and taking in all the sights all at once guided her into a sudden near-collision with the man known as Mark Space as he took to running rather abruptly. She managed to get a good look at his face and attire, which prompted a suppressed laugh. Who would dress like that in this weather and still expect to be taken seriously?

"Uhm...Sorry about that. I'll be more careful from now on."

However, the oddly dressed man was clearly in a hurry, so she wasn't even expecting a reply and turned around to keep going, disappearing into the fog away from all the other oddly dressed people she had begun to notice. She neared the town's port and spied a welcome sight: An old-looking pub. Presuming it wasn't a tourist trap, an old place like that was sure to be a treasure trove of information. If it wasn't, at least she could have some warm food to fill her stomach for the next stretch of her investigation.

Upon closer inspection, her fears were confirmed: The place was definitely a tourist trap and appeared to have more visitors than locals. Still, she could at least try to gather some information while sating her hunger. She noticed the little girl with the devilish grin sitting in the back and immediately had flashbacks to her time in Wales. Her one true wish now was to avoid having to be seated too close to that really obviously weird kid.

...So naturally the only table available was the one right next to her.

"Maybe i'll have some sort of luck and find something out here that isn't just hysteria or designed for tourists. Stay positive!"

She mumbled this to herself as she took the seat, not particularly caring if the child overheard. She got out her notebook after ordering her food and began jotting down details while waiting.

Non-related content:

A hazy silhouette.

It glared back right here with malicious intention, before it turned away and disappeared in the cold steam.

I motioned forward to chase after.

Scared by the shake which rocks the small row boat in the small gulf under dim cold light and foggy morning, the gruff boat man in a thick peacoat and a sailor cap yells with a thick accent. “Oi, are ye gonna sink us all? Sit steady.”

“Sorry, Freddie. It was a bit of a blur.” I say to him, a bit confusedly, I’m aware.

It’s no longer the cold ground that I stand above, it’s the face of water and a small boat. Just that the whole scenery and purpose of my journey remind me of that day … It was terrible.

Time to sit down properly. I flip the lapels of my light brown tweed jacket and close the jacket by its hidden latch, it closes up over my shirt and knit tie to keep myself from the cold that sweeps to the shore. Had I been wearing just the monk robe, I would have frozen. The kid monks I’ve met before always complain about it being windy that his junk feels uncomfortable. Bless you kids, that you don’t have to be here like I do now.

I sit down and look back out to the sea, the speed boat I have rode was still where it was earlier, it broke down a few miles away from shore. It would have been a hassle for me to be stranded at sea in the cold morning, luckily, Freddie – Freddie Naracott happened to passed by on a small row boat, he apparently knows the boat driver I rode along, so he said he would give me a ride. Much obliged, I have to say. He appears to be carrying a few packs of milk and eggs as he said he always delivers to the town of Whitby every morning. He even sang a song while he rows, but unfortunately, I couldn’t make a damn of what the lyric was. I made such a troubled face that made him stop singing, sorry Freddie. I think, but I can’t quite put it out of my mouth.

I look around and my eyes end up at him again, he looks back at worriedly, probably because I almost sank the boat, I was just trying to get the view and I slipped. That's all.

“You look a little off.” Freddie kindly says. “Have some of this.” He pulls out his flask.

God knows what it is in there. But I have never been the one to deny an offer, I’ve swallowed many toxins before. Yet, I have to refuse now. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“You quit?”

“Not quite.” I say. “It’s just too early.” I suppose the boatman at sea doesn’t give a damn when it is appropriate to drink, the sea is vast, it’s not as frequent that you can hit something with a boat if you’re not too much of an idiot.

The shore comes up close, I have to admit that I feel a little sad to bid Freddie farewell. But life’s like that, sometimes you come across people whom you think are wonderful, but the path that overlaps only happens once and never again. But then again, trying to disrupt that nature can turn it sour, keeping it in the memory this way is as good as it can be.

Arriving at Whitby, a port town on the east coast. An ideal place to throw 'never wear brown in town' rule into the trash can. I've taken liberty of that with light brown tweed and moleskin trouser, ecru shirt and chocolate knit tie. Critics and purists away, I thus rejoice.

My boots step up on the wooden pier and then I try to pick out my luggage before Freddie can trouble himself with. Me, two lovely brown leather suitcases and one lousy backpack ….  It looks like one that a mountain climber would sport, it was dad’s, apart from his money, he left this backpack. It’s definitely inappropriate to say that apart all of that, he also left mom … But yeah, on good terms, mom said, that was what she said. And I’d like to believe that.

Well, I was meant to say that with all my stuffs on the shore, I’m more than ready to go.

“Good luck, Lawrence!” Freddie says as he goes another way with the packs of milk and eggs. I say nothing and only smile back.

“Lawrence …” Well, I happen to utter that out to myself alone. Freddie’s no ‘girl in the bar’, I don’t have to lie about my name, do I?

Well, if it wasn’t for the last words I heard the elder master had said to me: ‘be careful, they may be after you.’

I don’t have much idea of who ‘they’ are. But the sign of their presence came up to me once, some people started to show up and asked around with the people I know, they were coming for me as he said. So I think it’s best to leave England as he suggested.

It was six years ago, maybe things could have died down. Paranoid, I hate bearing that feeling.

It’s been a while I got my feet on England. I wouldn’t imagine of having to come back, but the elder master has unfortunately passed away, so I came back for his funeral, he didn’t have much besides his students and his son, I don’t feel like leaving him like that. But then again, I don’t think he cares, he’s beyond caring for pity things, even he was a hypocritical monk. How? Anyone who knows the Five Precepts can infer that the Buddha is trying to prohibit us from vices and decadences, but one thing he doesn’t prohibit is: tobacco; because it didn’t exist back then.

So yes, the elder monk did smoke and that was what killed him.

I really got the bloody cheek to say that, I’ve spilled booze over my robe more than twice, I guess I’m in no position to criticize him. But I did have a sounding reason for that time.

The quest to that secluded village … It left an experience. So I drank myself to forget it and straight out of monkhood – according to the consensus of the temple I stayed … No drama, by then I started to find that it no longer provided me with any comfort anymore.

I’m wasting my time here …. Damn the bags, they are heavy, I regret packing them with too many bloody stuffs.

---

“Blore! Lawrence Blore! I’ve called three days ago, I should have my reservation!” I begin to yell after many repetitions.

The dear girl hasn’t a clue, she wasn’t even on the phone when I called that day, she was just here at the reservation of this cheap inn while the owner is away to deal with sorts of things. She has been flipping through the pages of record frantically, yet, we got nothing. Her short stature and sweet face may be an eye-candy, but it barely helps you from my wrath right now, poor girl.

“At least let me in to my room then, I’ll talk to the owner later .. Okay?”

“No, sir.” She blatantly insists. “Must talk to the owner first …” Her head went wood-pecking stutteringly.

“Why?” How old you even are? I hear myself speak the latter in subtext.

The Swiss Army watch tells me it has been 15 minutes I’m trying to get into my room. “Fine.” I brusquely say to her. “Can I leave my luggage here?”

She idiotically nods thrice. Then I leave her to carry my heavily-filled leather suitcases with her tiny arms as punishment. Would I get arrest if I had slapped her? Is there even any cop around here? I haven’t even seen any cop during the day while I was out there.

I go into bathroom, as I don’t see any fellow catching me in their sight. The lock shut tight behind me and I start to look like I’m a crack-head. I swear I’m not, I have tried once or twice, but no, I’m not.

The lousy backpack has sorts of equipment in there that I expect to use, if excluded all camera and recording stuffs, there are seven sticks of emergency flare and a gun in there. I take both, three of first and stuff in my chest pockets, the gun goes in the waistband, snug-tight over my buttock.

Phillip Morris, agent of sorts, he advised me I need some sort of protection. I’ve been to America, I said to him, but no, it is not like that in England. I don’t need a gun! Especially when I don’t know how to shoot it.  Anyway he has given me one, it has marks and scratches all over it like it has been to Afghanistan twice, British Army L105A1, he stressed to me.

On the second thought, it could come in handy if I were to run into those people I’ve been warned against.

I step out, it is already dusk, the haze comes back again in the night, the odd feeling of what’s coming to along with it occur to me. But afraid not, fright not. This is the perfect time to go if I want to get something on my hands, the interviews during the day weren’t much of help.

I have left the inn and begun walking down the marble road, and then the phone I have rings.

“Jen?” Even it displays on the phone as ‘Chinese takeout’, I know it is her. It’s sort of protection when some other woman sees the phone rings, I won’t have much trouble explaining it.

“Keen, aren’t you supposed to come back tomorrow? The editor starts ask for the article …” Her raspy voice would have put me into dreamy state, but the mention of the editor kills the mood.

"I'm making a little detour by Whitby." I say. “Tell him to wait.”

“Can’t he be told with that?” Her voice says doubt and worry.

“He’s coming for the political article, my ‘jurisdiction’ is in the occult, my desk is on the crappy floor and in tight room. When I get my desk on a better floor, he can come to me and stress me on the deadline whenever he wants.”

“But?”

“Do him tell him just that.”

“Fine.” Jennifer sounds like she is done with my persistence.

“I won’t be away long, okay? See you soon.” And yes, I hang up before I can ever hear her saying something next. I would have waited in normal cases, but since I arrived here, she isn’t the thing I really attention to.

Still, I can’t help wondering if she will say it or won’t say it …. We’re symbiotic creatures to each other, her desk is right by mine, we talk, we go out, and yet I haven’t heard it yet ….

Apart from her, I haven’t felt like I hear anyone talking but myself in my head, it always feels I live in there and only there even my physical body is among people.

And damn the editor, if he wants it now, he can find another ghost writer, which I doubt he would be able to.

I write all sort of things, I’m a gun for hire, just that the only thing that I will have my name stamped on by the article is occult-related. I don’t know how my aunt could refer me to this section … But any job back then was a bless, it pays well – enough. There’s travelling expense (to get the material to write), I get to go around and come around, don’t have to be stuck in the office under damp heat in Louisiana. In all honesty, things I’ve come across were a load of bull, I have yet to find one that is real.

Prep? Spooky town, haunted house, auu - is it paranormal? That kind of thing. I hope this will be more than just that.

In fact, I’m hoping this one will be worthwhile, even if it’s not true, let it be something that I can write and make a good use of it.

“Sorry, sir? Do you know where this inn is?” A tourist comes up to me with a map in his hands. Of course, he is a tourist, there’s a backpack just like mine slinging on his back. If that isn’t enough, he also wears synthetic parka. He looks certainly foreign, probably American, but then again, America is an accumulation of immigrants, I can’t make it beyond that.

I look down on the map, oh, hell, I don’t have a clue either. “Sorry, Mate. I don’t know.”

He sighs, accepting his fate.

As when I’m about to step ahead, I hear him say more …

“You’ve come here because of the rumor?” He says with the amount of curiosity that a professor would be glad but very trouble in his tone.

Yes. I have heard the rumor, but no, I’m not coming here and treating it like a tourist attraction. I’m thinking so in my head.

“Sort of.” I simply say with laziness.

“I’m John.” He says.

Of course, you are. John. I check him up, typical Caucasian guy, he looks anonymous enough to be John.

Then I stretch my hand out and say: “I’m Lawrence Blore.” I notice his eyebrow curling up. Yes, that doesn’t sound befitting me, of course, my face says otherwise. I hope he won’t start on guessing what Asian country I come from or what nationality I hold, they really do mistaken me as Taiwanese, now I start to say I come from there. Yet I can only write five traditional Chinese characters.

And thank god …

“I heard there was a body – drained out of blood.” He starts. “In here.”

“It could be a bizarre murder, an imitation or such.”

“If so, we wouldn’t be here … It looks as if it was Vampire’s work.”

“I think we should leave that to Scotland Yard and Sherlock-wannbes. A murder is nevertheless dangerous.” I suggest to him as he looks a fool who can get himself killed within a minute of encountering the supposed ‘creature’. Add me thirty seconds more, I’m that guy.

Speaking of Scotland Yard, I should have got a hold of their report on the murder, but they haven’t showed up yet …. I wonder why.

John then pouts at my rejection of his excitement before goes on speaking: “So why are you here?”

I pretend to ponder as the real reason runs through my head but I discard and digress. “A story, true or not, it makes a good entertainment, doesn’t it?”

Before he gets the opportunity to continue, I take my focus off of him.

I feel the wind running on the side of my body, something goes fast and passes by. I turn to, it is a man in a dark suit which I can’t deter under this dim light, tied around his neck is scarf. The pagoda shoulders take attention to my eyes. It gives off enough sense of Victorian imitation. But it doesn’t really look Victorian. I know, I’ve watched enough Sherlock Holmes.

“You know, there are folks like that all over the town.” John probably notices my heads turns away from him and along the rushing man.

“Folks like that?” I mean, people who walk in clothes that look more of a costume?

“Yeah. Past that corner, there’s a knight, nuns … I’m not sure if it’s part of promotional campaign by the town or a group of …. What they call these days, ‘cosplayers’ come together and gather up on their event.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” I say. I have been out all day long and I’ve just noticed now? It can’t be just that as John said, I can feel it.

“I beg you pardon, I have to get going now, later.” I say as I rush after the man in black.

“Later?” John looks confused.

“It’s a small town, not that hard to find someone.” My voice probably fades down and away as I move further from him. So long, John.

I decide to tail him, the man in black. If I were to do in a car, it’s easier, ‘Two car-length, my friend, those women never see me coming’. Bloody hell, I should have called cops on that Slavic guy when I heard him saying that, only if I wasn’t holding a bottle of beer and the man in my arm.

It’s not the brightest ideas, if he turns, I suspect he will spot me right away because of the backpack …... Damn it dad.

The thing that gets me tailing this man, following him, it’s that he sort of has the air of the secret service, stiff, serious. I had plenty time noticing it when I got my arse kicked by them when I tried to stalk a state senator, good thing he dropped the case, bless me. The man in black, indeed weird but still, he looks like the kind of man who will lead me to something solid.

He is stopping at an inn that has a vintage wooden door, another goon dressing alike comes up to the man and says:

“Mark, we have a problem. The boss. She disappeared.”

In which the man replies: “Again? What is it with that girl…!?”

Even faintly, I can make it out. But still, do I understand? Not a clue in this context! At least I now know what to call him by.

After receiving ‘Houston, we have a problem’ report, Mark shows his frustration before departing quickly.

Why is he in so much hurry, then and now? In his speeding feet, he almost hit a girl on his way.

"Uhm...Sorry about that. I'll be more careful from now on." I hear she says that but the man goes ahead without turning back.

I seem to be a bit distracted when my eyes are still on the girl and not ahead of me. She is in some of attire that I can imagine someone wearing and running amongst the lavenders … Well, it is under her bomber coat. Holding back her innocent giggle, I feel like it is not as innocent as it seems.

‘There are folks like that all over the town …’  

I believe you know, John.

My heart must have skipped its beat when I realized I had to turn back to keep my eyes on the man, I became spooked that when I turned and his eyes would be gazing right at me.

Instead, I have run myself into the obscuring fog ….

Haslemere, February 11th, 00:56
"Do you think they'll come here?"  A girl with a rather tired expression on her face, was looking up at the ceiling, laying on a nearby couch.  Insomnia, or maybe just fear.

"Don't worry, from the looks of it, they're very likely not leave the town and Whitby is rather far away from here."  Albrekka was sitting nearby, looking over the tired girl; after all, this was one of the many jobs he took on in Haslemere: looking after the mental well-being of his neighbors.  The girl especially was frightened by the news, word coming out of some strange serial killer of sorts in the area of Whitby.  Though, to Albrekka, it was obviously something more than that.

"You're welcome to sleep here tonight if you like; I can understand not wanting to walk back in the dark."  For a while, the girl would just simply stare at the ceiling, only later giving a light nod.  Perhaps even she realized that she just couldn't bring herself to leave so late at night.  "Thank you."

"I'll be right over there, call if you need me."  With that, Albrekka would stand, walking back over to his desk.  On it, a newspaper: "Serial Killer Still at Large!" it would say, as if the headlines existed to mock the girl trying to sleep, invoking fear just to sell a copy.  There was not much on leads outside of the town, though the town itself had its own problems apparently, that being an influx of tourists and guests.  To most people, one could chalk it up to people wanting to watch what was essentially a car wreck, but to him, it was rather obvious who most of those tourists were: Magicians.

The story itself was enough to draw just about any Magician curious enough: bodies had their blood completely drained, with some speculation that the perpetrator was a young girl.  A vampire.  The truth was certainly clouded in a haze, one that seemed to be creeping upon the town both literally and figuratively.  Albrekka was no different.  The appearance of a vampire was curious in the grand scheme of the cosmos and not wholly proven.  "Even the smallest thread can unweave a blanket." Albrekka would slightly mention to himself, looking back at the girl who had fallen asleep.  Albrekka had to know, despite the danger.

Whitby, February 12th, 17:12
"Hey, honestly, this is as far as I'm gonna take ya."  the driver would look in his rear view mirror, looking at Albrekka in the backseat.  "If its anything like that crazy incident in that town in the middle of nowhere, I'd like to stay out of it."  Certainly the incident in Wales a year ago did give some minor notoriety to him, but it quickly dissipated as Albrekka didn't give the media a chance to put him in the spotlight.  It would've hurt his relationship with his community; after all, if they pulled him into some sense of stardom he wouldn't have time to work with people.  Ironically he wasn't very interested.

"I understand, thanks for taking me this far." With that, he would step out, grabbing his purse and the luggage in the back seat, watching the cab drive back south.  For many, the day was ending, but for him, Albrekka had woken up much earlier, taking a nap on the way to make up for it.

A half a kilometer down the road was the town, the fog long since settled.  Even with the fog, however, it was obvious: the town was indeed filled to the brim with magical energy, though it was more scattered than congealed.

"...I will return here, and we can leave this place together."  Pulling a hair from his head, he had fashioned a spell before entering, tying it to his finger, one that held his luggage.  The fog was obscuring, unclear if it was magical or natural; regardless, if something were to happen he would need a way out: after all, Albrekka's visit was not wholly to find the truth within as most people would, and some conceptual spells would lose their effectiveness with the fog obscuring the stars.  He only needed useful enough fragments and components; still it would have been nice to stargaze a bit.

It took several minutes to arrive in town on foot, the fog slowly becoming more and more thick.  It was probably this reason why his driver decided to pull away so early, save of course the obvious.  By the time he reached the streets, the most he could see were several of the buildings ahead of him as well as many of the 'visitors' the town had accumulated.  Certainly, many of those there were magicians, huddling together near inns, churches, and street corners and alleys, dressed several different wear, some obviously a catalyst for a temple and the like.

The inn he would stay at finally came into view past the fog.  It was, honestly, the only place without too many reservations, probably as it wasn't completely rented out at the time he made his reservation.  The place inside was packed, with a few people annoyed by the lack of reservations, the whole situation clearly odd to the workers.

"I have a reservation.  Ms. Starbright."  His turn had come in line and the person behind the counter would rummage through some of their paperwork, finally handing him a key.  Of course, the glances from those inside were...not very pleasant, but not wholly threatening; after all, Albrekka had just gotten a room in a quickly filling city of curious people, it was only natural.  Regardless, he would find his room, quickly unpacking his things.  He had not eaten breakfast yet, hopefully some place in town was not completely filled up with customers.  That or some convenience store at least.  For now, his purse was enough, leaving his room to go back into the obscuring fog outside.

"..ss.  She disappeared."

"Again? What is it with that girl…!?"

Reaching for the door to leave the inn, he would overhear a conversation.

"A friend of yours is missing?" Albrekka had opened the door and spoke to the two men.  Considering the tense air, most people would not have asked but, with the town in the situation as it was, someone missing was hardly a good sign.  "I could help look if you like."  He would say with a light smile in the hopes of clearing the air of some of its tension.  To the two of them, such talk from what was very likely a magician must have been odd...

In the early evening, he found himself walking through the dense fog of the port-side town of Whitby. It was an especially thick fog; his range of vision only extended few feet before before objects became too obscured to make out the details of. All Moore could see were blurs and the occasional flash of motion. However, contrary to the almost deathly stillness he'd come to associate with these dreary low hanging clouds, the hustle and bustle of countless people could be heard all around him. he could feel the presence of countless lives in action, but no matter how hard he looked, he could only see a select few. Under normal circumstances, he was sure that the noise this many people would make could match even that of a city as large as London, but now it seemed muted, only barely amounting to an ever-present hum. It didn’t take long after his arrival to find that the combination of this blanket of fog and the many lives obscured beneath it produced an eeriness of a variety dissimilar but not in any way inferior to that which he'd initially expected.

Following close behind him were the other nine members of his unit. Even now he occasionally found himself wondering at how he'd managed to climb to a position where he could call himself the leader of such men. It still seemed like yesterday that he was just another foot soldier, as mediocre as any other. He could remember those times with the greatest vividness that made him suspect that this life was but a dream. Yet in truth, nearly a decade had passed since that time. He'd come a long ways since then. Daily efforts can scale the highest of mountains, and ever since that one fateful day he'd dedicated his entire life to living by that maxim. And without ever deviating from that path, he'd successfully distinguished his name among his fellow Knights, accumulated martial strength, and forged many precious connections.

Layton Matthewson, Steward Howell, Evan York, Marcus Wescott, Terrence Sanson, Van Wortham, Alexander Beathen, Sullivan Plaskett, and Franklin Heath. As he whispered their names, made inaudible by the fog, under his breath, a warm sense of accomplishment blossomed in his chest. he'd come so very far, and had been granted the privilege of leading such fine men. And looking forward, he found himself glowing in anticipation of where he might go in the future. He thought he may have been getting ahead of myself, but he simply couldn't help it. Those were accomplishments to be proud of, and he couldn't see himself stopping here. But now wasn't the time to reminisce on memories of the past or dwell on my hopes for the future. He was here to hunt a vampire, after all.

Vampire. Just thinking that word made his heart skip a beat. Ever since that day in that remote mountain village, the creature known as a vampire had always been his goal. He did not desire to simply reach their levels of power. What he wished for was to reach a level of power where he could not only fight such beings on equal terms, but wholly overwhelm them. He aimed to achieve a level of power that totally eclipsed those legendary beings. Moore held no grudge against them, nor had they had never done anything to harm him. That impossible level of power was simply the summit he had trained his eyes on. He may not ever reach it, but that didn’t matter. The meaning to a journey was given by the path you traveled along and not the destination, after all.

And now, he had been granted a chance to possibly face off with such a creature. As he was now, he did not know if he would be able to win. Perhaps he would have to be saved by my subordinates, perhaps he would require the assistance of the many shadowy figures within the fog. He might lose, and there might be no vampire at all. He could imagine all sorts of outcomes But whether he won or lost, it wouldn't matter. It will give him an opportunity to gauge how far I’ve come, and how much further he has to go to reach that peak. And even if it turns out to be just a fake, it will still serve as another achievement to add the list he’d been growing for the past several years. In the end, he could find no reason to suppress his growing excitement.

Unfortunately, he did not have the freedom of action required to fully devote himself to such matters at present. When news of the vampire appearing in this town spread, it was not only the Knights of England that came to investigate. Countless others had heard the siren’s song as well. If they were simply normal people, tourists who had the time and money to come out to this town just to investigate a rumor, or reporters for less than credible magazines or newspapers, then he wouldn’t have to worry about his growing headache. But for every normal individual who had arrived, it seemed that two users of those heretical arts had followed them. Through the fog, he had seen men and women of every ethnicity, garbed in clothing of uniformly nonuniform design, each of which attracted the eye with its own unique traits. The robes of a Buddhist monk. A design that formed an analogue with ancient Aztec priest garb. A dancer’s shawl. And right ahead, only just now coming into the sight, the habits of several Roman Catholic nuns.

Sitting well within the borders of the United Kingdom, Whitby was unarguably the domain of the Knights of England. Therefore, such a collection of opposing factions would normally never be tolerated. However, if there really was a vampire in this town, then their power may be needed. Pragmatically, his superiors had decided to prepare for the worst regardless of the truth. If any of them thought this meant they had a blank check, however, then they had allowed their hopes to soar far too high. In the end, they were merely being tolerated; they were not even guests. So instead of resting in the inn with a cup of tea to preserve energy for the events that would come when night fell —regardless of whether they were real or fake, if they had the fangs and taste for blood of a vampire then they would have other characteristics as well— we had been forced to perambulate through the town, declaring our presence to all foreigners, and announcing that this was indeed our territory. We could also familiarize ourselves with the layout of the town at the same time, but that hardly made up for tediousness of the task.

"This really isn't my kind of work..." he said softly, allowing a sigh to escape his lips, left exposed to the air by virtue of his opened visor. His only source of solace was that they were just about done with this task. He judged that it would only be a little longer before enough people had seen us for word of our presence to spread on its own, without their continued assistance.

Vampire, there was no doubt in the golden haired knight's mind that he was concerned about the implications of these rumours. Such legendary figures have inspired fear and are wholly dangerous and is advised not even to attempt to face such creatures on your own.

Being on your own against them was, without a doubt, was suicidal and while Alexander has never seen such beasts. He has at least read about them and studied records further on Vampires before the start of this mission to this northern port town.

Believed to be Cain's descendants despite contradictory writings in the Bible, these creatures are said to be immortal with unlimited magical power. Which makes sense considering how magic works, but that would also explain why no one has ever seen a vampire and lived. Mere mortals wouldn't be able to win a magical battle with them alone at least.

"Unlimited magical power...huh.."

And yet such dangerous creatures with superior existence to mere mortals are completely unknown to humanity. There was no real record of their numbers, how they hunt and other traits of vampires. It's sometimes hard to believe if they exist and Alexander had some doubts. While he heard rumours of a past mission in the mountains, there was something still sketchy about it.

Putting that aside, Alexander had to assume the only reason relevant details about vampires remain unknown because of one simple possibility. They probably looked human beyond the immortal life and blood sucking which aren't exactly visible traits unless you catch them in action. But again no one has even seen a vampire and lived, so it was hard to even achieve that much in the face of these legendary creatures.  

But one thing was clear to Alexander as he took careful note of his surroundings despite the awful weather.


In the worse case, if these rumours are true than Alexander would use every ounce of his strength and intellect to protect the lives of the people in this town and his fellow knights.

"Monks, Catholic nuns and bloody tourists everywhere...This is going to be a problem." Alexander mumbled to himself realising the possible issues arising with this array of people. This town was often known for being a tourist hot spot, but not such a place to attract those type of groups and he can only guess they were here for the same reasons he and his fellow knights had come.

Alexander careful note of his surroundings though had only led him to feel rather annoyed as one continuing factor made this job harder than was needed.

"Bloody hell, this weather has become terribly awful." Alexander said bluntly in the presence of his fellow knights.

It had been the perspective of returning to journeying through the thick haze, that had left a bitter taste on Mark’s lips. It wasn’t for how difficult the obstruction of sight made it to travel through the town’s people filled rather narrow streets, that he wished to avoid going back, but the fact that he’d make an easy target for both pursuers and ambushers. Even if the situation right now seemed peaceful, it was easy to tell that the peace was hardly everlasting; especially once you knew the true nature of the factions present. Overtaken by his own worries his mind did not even spare him the ability to notice that someone had actually run into him, at least not before the stranger had disappeared into the depths of the fog again.

He knew quite well that if he would be occupied by the work that was searching for a certain girl, his focus truly would falter eventually.

Then again, if he wouldn’t try, things could potentially turn ways he didn’t even wish to imagine.

However, just as he was about to step forward again, intensifying his grasp around the lucky charm that very well functioned as his easiest means of making a quick escape, someone spoke up amidst the confusion.

«A friend of yours is missing?»

A gentle voice, breaking his current state of mind.

 «I could help look if you like.»

«A girl…?»

Truthfully it wasn’t the person’s gender forcing the surprise onto his face and voice, but their innocence, softness and non-threatening aura that was so unlike the many faces he had seen on his way back to the inn. Then however, he, as well as his comrade that had fallen to the sidelines wouldn’t do the amateurish mistake of letting their guards down just with that.

Magicians were Magicians after all. Any person, any face, no matter the age, gender or behaviour could potentially be one. And if one was such a Magician, even though it was impossible to deduce at times, it was very likely they knew how to behave, hide their true identity and true intentions. After all there were many unwritten rules in the world of Magic; especially one was made the major law in the current incident: Everyone is only centred around themselves, thus do not trust anyone.

«Yes, my…uuuh…little niece, Le…Lemberta, got lost in the haze. I was trying to hold her by my hand, but that little devil managed to break herself free with her usual untameable temper. Now with all the commotion and fog, it isn’t hard to see how easily I lost track of her.»

While just a moment ago he had been close to tearing his hair from his head, he had now grown a lot calmer, actually integrating the panic he had felt over the perspective of having his ass grilled by the sadistic twists of his boss, into his act as the innocent uncle who had to deal with satan’s breed on the run. Said calm had enabled him to make careful decisions rather quickly.

«I would truly appreciate any sort of assistance. Nobody can say for sure what that rascal will do all on her own! Last time, oh I don’t even want to remember last time! The poor neighbours’ kid, the poor squirrels, the poor kittens!»

As his act furthered even tears began to well from his eyes. Not entirely because he had sunken so deeply into his role; rather for a strong killing intent he could feel chasing him from the far distance; an all too familiar sensation. Just how much surveillance had she placed on him…?!

Sucking up the dreadful images his mind had begun producing, he turned towards the green haired  samaritan in a kind of begging manner.

«So, please help us search! There’s not much time we have left!»

With all conditions overviewed he figured it was the smartest to actually rely on a helping hand, even if the issue of trust was not fully taken care of. For some it may have seem insane to rely on the assistance of an absolute stranger whose name he did not even know or inquire, yet that was exactly why he had taken that weird action; a partial blame could be placed on naive intuition, though. Knowing the nature of his boss, he could assess that she’d likely predict all of the moves they’d make to chase her down, ruining any sort of positive outlook on a chase scenario instantaneously. Even if they would gather all the members of the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight that had spread all over Whitby, she’d still get away, playing them until she grew tired of it, actually taking the chance to mock them by the end of the day.
However an outside influence would very well turn the tables.

That girl, whatever their name may have been - Mark had blatantly overlooked the etiquette of asking -, was the best option in that. There had been no hostility, nor any threat he or the comrade standing by his side had made out on first glance.

Even if they would eventually turn out to be an enemy, as long as they were chasing after Birdway, there was still this one insurance on their side. After all, once they would be with that girl, no matter who it was, the second they dared to pull anything fishy, survival was the least thing to worry about.

Mark shivered, knowing all too well.


For some reason the smile on that monster’s face twisted as she was still seated in that pub far away from Mark Space’s grasp. She was fully enjoying herself with the spying on the other guests and the handheld gaming device in her hand. However, her skill at multitasking allowed for her to focus on yet another occupation that was a set of surveillance spells she’d usually set up when letting the dogs off the leash. And of course, just like every time, her suspicion had served her quite well, had she once again overheard a certain man’s shameful conversation…

Once she had taken mental notes on certain people and certain ways to ensure they get the doses of suffering they have made themselves deserving of, she actually ceased paying attention, moving it elsewhere yet again.

Originally when heading off on her own, her desire had been to try out the local tradition of fishing, which magazines and brochures had made sound like the most amazing and nerve wrecking thing ever; however due to the impatience that naturally came with her age, she had chosen a more straight forward method suiting her much more: Splashy Ronny’s Fishing Rod Simulator 20XX - The Real Experience!
Truthfully it had neither been anywhere close to the borefest that actually was taking a fishing rod, sitting down on a boat or at a river bank and waiting for hours only to pull out a tiny shrimp of a fish. It was but an over the top video game that demanded all sorts of random button mashing to keep the player enthusiastic for at least a few hours to warrant the game’s full price cost, which of course was also justified by the license on Splashy Ronny’s name. Since it was a game directed more towards younger audiences it didn’t even have the high standards to demand, one had to dedicate a lot of time to it, making it the ideal game to play while splitting your own attention all over the place. Ideal for Birdway’s current situation.

The majority of the talk between the Magicians and other guests went into nowhere. If you listened to complaints about overly lengthy or weirdly curly nose hair and its usage in rituals for longer than 30 minutes, you’d at one point simply have that conversation fade out in your head; much like you’d loose interest in all the other ones you were trying to listen in to as well.

The bizarre thing was, that this actually increased your attention for the truly magnificent gems hidden among the blunt stones.

A girl with blue hair and hat had entered the pub at some point. She did not seem like anything all too special, not standing out in any way beyond the fact that she was bland enough not to mix in with all the weirdos. Neither of her features actually made her out to be anything of intriguing nature, yet she had a somewhat naive air surrounding her, that was found in her behaviour as well. In a sense it was that innocent naivety that made her stand out between all of those weird experts of the occult, who likely all had sullied their hands in blood. Birdway found herself attempting to pinpoint what it actually was that dragged her attention towards the odd one out, and finally settled that it was an outlook to further her own enjoyment, were the others a fishing game and talk about nose hair or the male treasure’s role in occult lore.

«Maybe i'll have some sort of luck and find something out here that isn't just hysteria or designed for tourists. Stay positive!»

It hadn't taken the deduction skills of an ace detective to understand the intention of the one uttering these words, especially not in alignment with the current scenario.

«Oh? You haven’t actually come all this way to this little Whitby to pursue the rumours, have you?»

Showcasing her usual blunt behaviour, Birdway easily invaded the other girl’s privacy without even knocking on the door.

«You wouldn’t actually happen to expect finding something in this messy collection of little insects, would you?»

She was looking down on her as well as all the others, that she was making a show of openly.

«Even if~ What do you hope to gain from finding what you are looking for~? Satisfaction~? Praise~? Fame~? Or…hopeless demise?»

The devious child decided to speak directly to her, as expected. She mentally prepared herself for the incoming onslaught of strangeness, and the verbose youth certainly did not disappoint in that regard.

"Oh? You haven’t actually come all this way to this little Whitby to pursue the rumours, have you?"

"You wouldn’t actually happen to expect finding something in this messy collection of little insects, would you?"

"Even if~ What do you hope to gain from finding what you are looking for~? Satisfaction~? Praise~? Fame~? Or…hopeless demise?"

Erin sighed loudly and put on her best look of understanding for their mutual benefit. Her words might be taken the wrong way otherwise, and it was better to make especially sure when it came to children. That said, this particular one was strangely perceptive, so extra caution was definitely advised.

"Pursue is such a strong word. It's more like....hm. Have you ever been asked to do something you don't necessarily want to do, but people insist you do it anyway? After enough pleading you agree to do it, if it really means that much to them. They mistake your accepting their offer as though you're excited and happy to be doing it, and make all sorts of promises of rewards and praise should you be successful. However, the reality is that you just want to get it over with and have no particular emotional investment in the matter one way or the other, so even talk about compensation and reward fails to induce any change in outlook, but nobody understands that."

Her odd meal of bread crusts and misshapen potatoes was delivered promptly to her table, and she took a few bites before continuing. While it was true she had difficulties in social situations, being able to ramble on seemingly endlessly was one of many ways to cope.

"All I expect to find here are answers in some form or another. I don't really know or care about any legends or folklore concerning the events here, other than if they will be helpful in the event it's real. All the better if it turns out to be false and I can return home knowing myself and the townspeople and wacky cosplay tourists aren't in danger and the town can be left in peace. There is no glory or pride to be found in this scenario, nor is it something I wish to seek. If that is the impression you have taken from me, then I must say you're sorely mistaken."

"A girl…?"

One of the men would turn to him in surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

It seemed that despite his attempts, the tension in the air was too thick.  It was no surprise, the amount of magicians gathered in one place was staggering, any sudden movement and the town would be torn asunder.

"Yes, my…uuuh…little niece, Le…Lemberta, got lost in the haze. I was trying to hold her by my hand, but that little devil managed to break herself free with her usual untameable temper. Now with all the commotion and fog, it isn’t hard to see how easily I lost track of her.  I would truly appreciate any sort of assistance. Nobody can say for sure what that rascal will do all on her own! Last time, oh I don’t even want to remember last time! The poor neighbours’ kid, the poor squirrels, the poor kittens!  So, please help us search! There’s not much time we have left!"

"It seems that she's quite the handful."  He would look up to the sky in an attempt to get a feel for the time of day.  The haze was thick, but one could see the sun setting, vaguely.  Once the darkness hit, who knows what could happen to the girl?  For a moment, he frowned, wondering why a child was even brought here in the first place.  But, he sighed, regaining his composure; what was important was making sure she was safe.

"Lets move together.  I worry that once this town becomes darker, with this fog, things will become more dangerous.  I don't want to see Lemberta upset if something happened to you."  Of course, Albrekka was none the wiser, but his concern was genuine.  "Keep an eye out for any places of entertainment in this town.  Can be shops, restaurants, game centers.  Children are usually drawn to them."  With that, he would pick a direction and start moving.  The day was just about to end and neither of them had a whole lot of time left.  He wasn't even sure if the both of them could find their way back to the inn once the darkness came...

«It seems that she's quite the handful.»

«You can’t even imagine…»

After mumbling this comment welling of despair to himself, Mark still wouldn’t shake off the worry written to his face. In fact, who knew what would happen if that girl was left all alone out there. The situation was already bad enough…


The positive aspect was found in the advent of a search party of three; Mark on the left wing, his comrade on the right and the green haired samaritan girl in the middle. While the term formation would have fit the purpose of combat a whole lot better, it did still apply to their current pattern while treading forward through the port town’s streets.

«Keep an eye out for any places of entertainment in this town.  Can be shops, restaurants, game centers.  Children are usually drawn to them.»

«I doubt there are any game centres around in this town. It feels they’re a tad too small to actually fancy such things, even if it would serve tourism. Whitby seems to focus more on the culturally interested tourist. Maybe we should…hold on…no.»

He recalled the idea behind teaming up with an outsider was to actually take the kind of path they wouldn’t usually choose, so he cut his train of thought before voicing it would lead to ruining that very strategy.

«Shops or restaurants you say? Understood.»

Both Mark Space and his comrade, who by the way was also clad in a black formal suit only lacking the scarf, nodded in response to the suggestions from their new guide. Therefore they both did what they were being told, like obedient well trained dogs.

«You don’t sound to me like a local, miss. The way you speak and the methods of searching you suggest, tell me that. So, have you been led to Whitby by the rumours, as well?»

There was no use to remain silent when in a group. If anything would serve as a good means to increase the morale it was casual conversation, a thing Mark was actually quite adept in; his way of wording was in no way lacking the signs of an experienced talker. His proficiency was well enough, he could actually use it to cover his true intentions. After all who’d grow suspicious of an interrogation being underlined by this formal yet casual a talk?

«To be honest, it does feel rather strange to me to see an assembly of that many differing individuals in a single place for such an unsolidified reason. It’s a miracle that even though the truth remains uncertain such large numbers have gathered to pursue one and the same objective. I just hope the disappointment in the possible case of it all being none but humbug will not lead to a catastrophe.»

Sinking a bit into the rant that had grown from his question, Mark’s glance crossed the many individuals they passed on their search.

«It’s clear as day that the tension between the visitors is ever growing; not that it had been anywhere near relaxing to begin with.»

With his worried expression taking even gloomier shaped, he trailed off a bit too much. At least it was somewhat unfortunate when the leader of a search party was never given the most crucial details. Oh well.


She grinned, cherishing the satisfaction the reply had brought her. Birdway was not the type to simply throw around loose assumptions just like that. What she had done before was merely an act to draw out the truly interesting matters. The playthings she had sought from the beginning on.

«How foolish.»

Seemingly she wasn’t even giving it any further thought or attention, as her fingers were still quick at mashing the buttons the over the top fishing simulation game commanded.

«You came to this place and yet you don’t care about that which is the most important? You believe that you can use it, if needed, but only then? What kind of fool would play a board game without looking at the rule book and expect to win, while everyone around has been playing the game since they were small? Even if you would make one or two fine plays, you’d get dumped on in the end.»

In all that apparent distraction her tongue had held the sharpness of a 100 layered Japanese blade.

«Not that someone with this fundamental lack of understanding or desire would actually impact anything to begin with. You’re gonna get lost in the haze, come astray and fall. In the end you might leave or you might not. But if you leave you’ll still feel grieve over the time you wasted for nothing, solely for your lack of seriousness or investment.»

This was just a child’s talk? A girl’s that hadn’t even seen a portion of what was a long life?

«In the end doing things for others solely for the sake of fulfilling whatever they asked for is just that pointless. You gain nothing from it and you will not succeed, eventually. This might work out if they ask you to find a lost kitten in your hometown, but not if it is in a foreign country with a foreign language, culture and society.»

«Means alone do not make you reach an end.»

Completing her reply to the blue hair and hat girl, her fingers ceased pouring effort into the game. Simply switching the handheld console off on her next move, she’d remove it from the table right away. The game had ended.

«Then again, it’s fairly unlikely that anyone in Whitby is naturally capable to make it to the bottom of this incident, anyway.»

For Leivinia Birdway there were reasons she had come to this place, there were reasons for any move she made. Even the words she would speak towards the other girl held reasons far deeper than the surface she was presenting. That was a fact she didn’t even need to make a secret of.

Henry Moore

---

"...All right, this should be enough," he said aloud, at a volume loud enough for those following behind him to hear. And a moment after, long enough for them to process his announcement, he stopped his long march. That was the signal for them to follow suit.

Turning around, he faced his men. Through the fog, he could only see those standing at the front, but he knew that the rest were there as well. By this point, word of their presence in the town should have spread far and wide. There was no longer any reason to continue wandering aimlessly. However, there was still some time before night fell. They could use that time to get some work done, and it would serve to break the monotony as well. They couldn't go rest in their rooms at the inn just yet, but this was a good alternative.

"All those foreigners in this town should have heard that we're here by now, so we can finally quit wandering around like lost ghosts." For someone of his rank, he spoke rather casually. But rather than a lack of awareness of his position relative to his subordinates, that was simply his style. Though he could walk the walk and talk the talk at formal events, he didn't like being so stuffy. A man should be straightforward, after all.

"But we can't rest just yet. There's still some time before nightfall, so we should use this time to ask around and see if we can learn anything of use. There's really no point in doing that in a big group like this, so we'll split up into pairs of two." He proceeded to name the pairs one by one. Matthewson with York. Howell with Wescott. Sanson with Plaskett. Wortham with Heath. And...

"...And Beathen with me. We'll meet back up in an hour, or if something happens. Dismissed!" He'd just held a briefing in the middle of the street, but he didn't show any sign of particularly caring. With the way the town had been suffused with people, it wasn't as if they were going to be able to find a nice, secluded place to have a talk in privacy, after all.

One by one, the other pairs of knights walked off into the fog after giving their affirmation. He stayed where he was, not budging an inch until every other member of the unit had left. Only then did he turn to address Beathen.

"Beathen, you're good at all that talking stuff, right? I'm not exactly the most eloquent kind of guy, so I'll be counting on you," he said in a friendly tone. His pairings hadn't been random. He may not be completely familiar with his new comrades yet, but he did have a general grasp of their strengths and weaknesses. So he'd made sure that the partners complemented each other. For example, he was gruff and not exactly the most approachable sort, while Beathen was friendly and sociable. And while Beathen was by far the weakest member of their unit, he was most likely the strongest.

He didn't like to walk the walk and talk the talk, but he still could, and well enough to make it to his current position. That showed that he had a definite brain beneath his simple-seeming exterior, that focused so strongly on the importance of simple effort. No matter how much he loved that straightforward sort of approach, one couldn't make it as far as he had without a certain level of craftiness.

Erin tilted her head curiously as the devious child's words cut into her, making no attempt to resist or fight back. While it was true she had been manipulated into revealing her intentions somewhat, that was going to stop now, as Birdway had ended up revealing her own intentions in the process. The child was clearly one adept in the art of wordplay and mind games, but our favourite detective was savvy enough to recognize the value in being able to identify and turn this around by redefining the game itself on the fly. "Winning" isn't always the goal of a person like her.

Therefore, when the first thing to follow her scathing barrage of criticism was a welcoming and comforting smile on her part, it was sure to be rather confusing, and altogether not indicative of what was to come next.

"I understand. Your criticism rings true and strikes me in the softest parts of my very being. I accept fully what you have said and suggested, and would like to thank you for it. Only a kind person such as yourself would have the heart to offer me this chance to reflect on my priorities, since being aware of those flaws means I can then improve. Thank you, little Miss, for allowing me the chance to improve my life with your encouraging words. But before I depart to think about things, may I ask your name and reasons for being here?"

There was no hostility, ill-will, or sarcasm to be found in her words. Only a disarming smile and kindness could be seen and heard emanating from Erin.

He had continued to think about the myth of vampires, but since there isn't much to know about them other than legends and rumours it was best to let the topic die for now. Vampires were the main subject, but the location of where this hunt for the truth about them takes place here in Whitby.  

The location here was just as important to know as the legend of vampires.

He had to admit being this far north from Cornwall was always unsettling for him. It feels like a different world up here in comparison, and it's not like he hasn't been north before it's just most of his station he has worked in the south. But this town on the edge of Yorkshire isn't exactly the biggest place in the country and so patrolling the entire place with just ten knights should be sufficient.

Alexander didn't know much admittingly about this town; the golden-haired knight seemed more interested in studying vampires than one of many locations he hasn't yet visited in this country. But they have been patrolling the streets, letting all those far and wide within this small town that they were here. And while they did Alexander had taken a mental note of his surroundings and while the mist had hindered his attempt the knight read all the streets signs they passed.

From what he knows from just that and the basics is that this is a port town that is split by the river Esk. Also, there was Whitby Abbey which is in ruins a fact often know by many; the other known fact is that Captain Cook used to live in this town, and there is a museum dedicated to his life. The indication of a museum not far from them had been proven by a street sign they had recently past. But the other thing he had noticed unknown to him was St Mary's church he hadn't realised there was one here.

Pulling down his hood further over his eyes Alexander thought on that last possibility.

"Those Roman Catholic nuns may of made that place their---"

"...All right, this should be enough," Sir Moore had shouted aloud which had startled Alexander out of his thought process. Realising only then they were stopping Alexander had looked around to see they had returned to a more central position in town.  

And before his Moore had continued the golden haired knight pull down his hood to listen to what he had to say.

"All those foreigners in this town should have heard that we're here by now, so we can finally quit wandering around like lost ghosts. But we can't rest just yet. There's still some time before nightfall, so we should use this time to ask around and see if we can learn anything of use. There's no point in doing that in a big group like this, so we'll split up into pairs of two." Sir Moore explained and Alexander had thought that was a smart move; the town wasn't actually that large in comparison to other places, and it wouldn't take long for any of them to search their respective areas. But more important it was a show of force and something you couldn't take lightly. The other groups would have no choice but to let the knights do their business without interruption and that's a powerful play.

It gave us the open use of the main roads and population centres to gather information, while they have to slope into the shadows and have a crack at any information we find second.

"...And Beathen with me..." "Huh?" Alexander was caught unaware as Moore continued. "... We'll meet back up in an hour, or if something happens. Dismissed!" Sir Moore had declared who had already made up the teams without him realising.

In his silent praise of Moore's decision-making Alexander hadn't paid close attention to the finer details of the groupings. But then it didn't matter as it would seem he would be partnered with the man who knew everything about the groupings and plans.

And when the other groups left only than Moore had turned to him.

"Beathen, you're good at all that talking stuff, right? I'm not exactly the most eloquent kind of guy, so I'll be counting on you," Moore had said much to Alexander's surprise. He'll be honest he's not so used to be counted on as you might expect other than those where he live, every other knight does look down upon him for his lack of strength. "Sir Moore, I appreciate the kind comments, and I hope not to let you down," Alexander had said while tapping the top of his sheathed sword.

"May I suggest though we visit the local governing body for direct information about the town. If any secrets are to be found about any of the residents or this place, in general, it's most likely to be stored there," Alexander had suggested calmly.

Leivinia Birdway had held all the ability, skill and talent necessary for an ideal ruler. Her power as a Magician was only surpassed by her terrifying ability in conversation and mental games. She was clearly superior the vast majority of individuals you could find in this city or anywhere else in the world. And yet, even that girl was taken aback by the blue hair and hat girl’s reaction.

The way she worded herself, the things she spoke; they were fairly adult, sincere and perceptive. Especially the last hit the actual meaning behind the word quite hard. Cutting her own breath for a moment Birdway interrupted what was her clear display of superiority.

«How very impolite. Asking for another’s name without giving any of your own. But it’s not like there is any worth for me in caring for that to begin with.»

Having recovered quite clearly the blonde piano like attire girl did not waste any of her tongue’s sharpness just because she had been caught off guard for once. In fact she even took that as an ideal opportunity to make a great comeback.

«I am Birdway. My reasons for being here shouldn’t concern you in any way, to be honest. It’s better you don’t know, since I doubt you could fully understand them anyway. Let’s just say I am here to see where the events will be moving. Yes, I think that fits my purpose of being here quite well.»

Her glance wandered straight towards the blue hair and hat girl’s face, their eyes making contact, the delivering of a threatening message.

«‹Little Miss›. You’d be better off not referring to me that way, you squirt.»

If there was one way to annoy a child then it was calling a child as such. Usually they’d shout at you, pout their lips or kick your shin, but with Birdway…it was quite noticeable that things would head towards one extreme or another.


She was sitting there. She didn’t know for how long. She didn’t know why she had even been sitting down there of all places. It was not on a bench in a park, not on a chair in a café, it was the bare ground in an alley covered by shadows. She had been sitting there for the longest while, away from the people’s attention, away from the sunlight’s protection, away from anything. She was just there, her head held high, staring towards the heavens. Her body was limp. Her skin pale. She was lifeless and yet alive. She was empty and yet fulfilled. She was lonely and yet there existed someone all her thoughts would circle around.

She said nothing, she did nothing.

That was all there was.

She wondered.

Was she lost or found?

At least that someone was…

"You don’t sound to me like a local, miss. The way you speak and the methods of searching you suggest, tell me that.  So, have you been led to Whitby by the rumours, as well?"

"Well, yes..."  Was about as much as he could say, doing his best to look ahead, the haze obscuring many of the buildings.  Many of the shops and stores had closed, due in part to the weather, the time, or the events in general.  The townspeople in Whitby weren't fools it seemed, thankfully.

"To be honest, it does feel rather strange to me to see an assembly of that many differing individuals in a single place for such an unsolidified reason. It’s a miracle that even though the truth remains uncertain such large numbers have gathered to pursue one and the same objective."

"True or not, people will come.  Its simple game theory: if you decided not to come, the truth of this event could be obscured and you would be none the wiser.  So you came to know."

Perhaps it was simple, but it was true.  For many magicians, there was no other option but to come.  To many magicians, power is all they sought, and so word of a vampire that was credible meant that by not moving, you decided for yourself that you will not pursue power.  If it was not power, but knowledge, or justice, the results were the same.  Essentially, magicians convening to Whitby was simply a result of a logical outcome.

"I just hope the disappointment in the possible case of it all being none but humbug will not lead to a catastrophe.  It’s clear as day that the tension between the visitors is ever growing; not that it had been anywhere near relaxing to begin with."  Of course, the tense air could be felt by every 'visitor'.  A solution, however... "...for now, lets just look for Lemberta"  At that moment, Albrekka stopped, looking over a lit up building to his left.  "Here."

The haze made it hard to see, but if one stared long enough, it seemed to be a toy store.  Well, that was the impression, given the hastily made sign outside offering a sale on costumes and toys that was closer in view.  It seemed that not everyone in town was privy to what was going on, or simply wanted to utilize the 'tourists' by offering services to them.  It was not a complete wash: a few people in odd wear were certainly outside of the building.  One was entering, two others talking amongst themselves.  "Cheap plastic...it'll work though, for sure."  "Yep, told you."

"Won't hurt to look inside."  He would turn to the two men to assess their opinion.

Mark Space was surprised as his company - not the comrade in black, but the girl - cut the conversation short, not allowing its petals to blossom. But that was fine, had it readily brought him back to the present.

«A toy store?» His mind trailed on a bit. «Truly, somehow this would actually fit her.»

It sounded as if he had just realised that the one they were pursuing was in fact a child.

The other man in the black formal suit remained silent, focusing on those that had just left said store, his eyes glued on them, a sign of his own worries. However very unlike someone who actually cared for those around him, Mark remained silent, taking notice of said worry, yet not jumping onto it. He understood, thus he knew it was wrong.

«Won’t hurt to look inside.»

The both of them nodded in agreement. However while Mark should follow the green hair samaritan girl, his comrade would remain outside; guarding duties, more or less.

The toy store’s interior was anything but surprising or new. It was the typical toy store you would expect of a small town. There were shelves everywhere, stuffed with toys of various kinds. They were sorted by their kind. Board games were aligned with the board games, stuffed animals with the stuffed animals, the plastic toys with the plastic toys and so on. Of course the major attention of the modern age was on video games, so those got the largest shelves.
Surprisingly the star of said store was the special section that was placed at the entrance, which fit neither of the aforementioned. Swords, lances, armours, wigs, body paint. It was a strange selection of items, you’d usually expect to surface only around halloween.

«Cosplay items, huh. Of course you would believe to make a little fortune with that given the current situation.»

Whitby had changed with the sudden events that had occurred a few days ago. The marks were all over. An army of tourists had arrived, the majority dressed weirdly. For someone who lacked education in the matter, said tourists would be nothing but cosplayers hungry for an opportunity to bring out their stuff that’d otherwise catch dust in their wardrobe.

«Sure. For some this might actually be sufficient. Just like for those two gentlemen we saw out there.»

Mark pondered while eying the goods only half heartedly. They were here to solve a different issue after all.

«Now then, which section would be the most likely for her to lu…hm?»

As he was about to voice his thoughts his speech was interrupted by his eye’s curiosity.

While on first glance it had appeared the shop was entirely empty, besides the old cashier who was counting the bills in the till, there was indeed another human presence in the store’s far corner. Actually it was more than just a single presence…

A number of children had been playing in the back, loudly, much befitting of someone their age. They were young, probably below elementary school age even. Their clothes were dirty and old looking. It wasn’t that they were in bad shape, but they were hardly anything you’d see sold these days. It’s the kind of stuff parents donate to welfare organisations. So those children had to be orphans?

The children, however, were not alone. There was someone with them, kneeling down on the ground, pushing a wooden toy truck while trying to imitate car sounds with their lips. It was a cute heartwarming scene, as long as you’d overlook a single detail.

That woman was clad in a black nun’s habit. One that didn’t fit the Anglican design.

Mark recalled, among the many factions that had come to Whitby there was only one group reported to have nuns among them: The Inquisitors of the Roman Catholic Church. A bunch of people most famous for their work of purging the world of pagans and heretics. Only cruel stories without any happy end could be associated with them.

But what was someone like that doing in a place like this, playing with children jollily?

Hold on, weren’t those children locals?


The Vampire of Whitby.

Much like many serial killers the police were quick at giving him a name, once the second victim was found. Marybeth Whitewinter. She was nothing beyond a simple girl working at a bakery. Many had called her a beauty, but she stood a prune virgin, keeping herself away from all men, no matter how much they had admired her. Therefore it was hardly strange for her to be murdered. Either jealousy or a grudge held by one of those turned down. However that had only been the consideration while she still remained the first.
Bernard Forkspeak. The second victim was quite the counter part of the first one. He was a barber, in his mid thirties he was quite the good looking man; however he was married, had children and no enemies. Yet he had been killed in the exact same way, found all alone in the shop he worked in.
Third was Martin Wheelmaker. Same method. However, he was found in his one room apartment. Neither were his looks good, nor did he have any friends or family. He had moved to Whitby only a month ago to work as a fisherman.

In all three cases there had been no sign of a break-in or fight. All three cases had occurred in quick succession, actually one every day. Each time the victims were found in the early morning, the time of death had been late at night. And even though investigations had begun, no real evidence had showed up.

However since all three bodies were connected by the method, that gruesome method, it had quickly lead to rumours.

Two holes were found in the victims’ neck, right where the aorta rested and not even a single drop of blood was left in their bodies. Like pale husks their remains had lost all signs of their lively beauty.

The longer he would think about the murders, the stronger the desired to do something about them. But that wasn’t a given.

Paul Oldturf had been the chief investigator in the beginning. He was the head investigator of the local police, even though only 24 years old. Circumstances had lead to it, them mostly being associated with recommendation letters from all sides; especially from his family. The Oldturfs used to be that famous, were all of their offsprings master detectives. Besides him, though. Paul was neither skilled nor intelligent. He was average. That was how he had ended up in Whitby to begin with. Even if he was that lacking in ability, the family couldn’t bear but have even the least talented of their offsprings in a high position. That’s how it came to this.

Paul Oldturf was not depressed over his lack of anything. Actually it did not even stop him from being dedicated. He wasn’t a good detective, that he knew, but he was still determined to solve that terrible case. Not for his family’s sake, not for fame, not to prove anything to this world. He believed in justice. That was all.

He had been eager to do everything in his might to bring this case to a close. He was heads and heels into it. He held the reigns.

Until they arrived.

The rumours of Whitby had of course reached the capital. Someone from a higher agency arrived and took over. They still kept him by their side, as some sort of assistant. However that was soon over as well. An even higher group had arrived.

Those men with the weird clothing, along with those clad in the silver armours. Sorcerers and knights, that’s what they appeared as. He had thought it was a joke, but in fact those had held all the rights and permissions to take over the case. Mercilessly they shut out the normal police forces; both the higher ranked agency as well as the local police.

To give them the least bit of compensation, the local police had been asked to patrol the town and inform them about any strange events. In case something should occur however they were strictly asked to stay out of it no matter what.

«The bloody fuck do those assholes even think who they are…»

That was the situation Paul Oldturf found himself in, as he flung away an occult magazine he had found on the curb. He was most displeased. Not only because he had all right to pursue his own desire for justice, but because obviously discretion had been thrown overboard along with all signs of proper police work.

Why else would even the lead article of some crappy second rate occult magazine contain so many details on the murders. True, the places and methods were one thing, but even the victims’ names?

He sighed as he grabbed the flashlight from his belt.

In the end, even if forced, the ordinary police man would do his appeal right and do the things the ordinary police man would do in a situation like this…

"Sir Moore, I appreciate the kind comments, and I hope not to let you down. May I suggest though we visit the local governing body for direct information about the town. If any secrets are to be found about any of the residents or this place, in general, it's most likely to be stored there."

“Ha! Polite as always, aren’t you,” he said, laughing at Beathen's formality.

“But, well, isn’t that a good idea. In that case, the police would be good, don’t you think? We barged in and took their jobs, so it’d be good to give them a chance to actually get something done. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, after all.”

He spoke bluntly, and if an officer had actually been there to hear his remarks, they’d probably boil over in anger. And if someone didn’t know him well, then they’d probably still immediately label him as insensitive. But this was actually his consideration to the public workers of this town who were out of a job because of them.

As someone who had climbed through the ranks with hard work, he knew exactly how important the feeling of putting in effort was. If you had your job stolen from you all of a sudden, then the gap it left would leave a chance for all sorts of unwanted thoughts and feelings to seep in. It was important to leave them with something to do instead, or at least some way to make them feel like they’re still doing something of value.

Having not been acquainted for particularly long as of yet, however, it was unknown how much of this his younger partner would see through.

---

Thanks to the fog, it took longer than expected to arrive at the station, but here the benefits of their long trek through the town were finally beginning to show themselves. After having spent so much time wandering about in the fog, they had gotten used to navigating it. So though the travel time was longer than he’d wanted, it was still shorter than it would have normally been.

“Excuse me, could I speak to an officer? Whoever’s got the highest rank, if at all possible.”

Exiting the fog, he could finally see further than a few feet in front of him. It was quite refreshing after all that time he’d spent in it, so he unintentionally spoke louder than he’d initially intended. He didn’t seem sorry about it in the slightest, though, just making a bit of a surprised face and then shrugging it off.

Those already present within the building didn't take it quite as well, however. They were already on edge with the fog and murders, so large man wearing a suit of armor making such a loud entrance strained at their nerves. If it wasn't for the fact that the knights had already officially taken command over the investigation, then it wouldn't have been strange for him to have been labeled a suspicious person and arrested, or at least detained.

“If I recall correctly, that should be a 'Paul Oldturf', if I believe? I’d like to ask about a couple of things.”

Honestly, this was where he should have left it to Beathen. He’d brought the man along because of his comparably silver tongue, after all. But he was used to operating like this, and so the thought of letting Beathen do the work for him didn’t even occur to him until it was too late. It was at times like this that his normally earnest nature backfired on him. He’d just have to hope he hadn’t unintentionally stirred a hornet’s nest.

“Ha! Polite as always, aren’t you," Moore responded with a laugh and Alexander tried to keep a straight face as he wasn't sure he was making fun of his attitude. “But, well, isn’t that a good idea. In that case, the police would be good, don’t you think? We barged in and took their jobs, so it’d be good to give them a chance to get something done. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, after all.” Moore said bluntly, and it would have caused trouble if the wrong people heard that and it made it clear this is just what the Knight 'Sir Henry Moore' as a character.

A straight forward guy and Alexander can respect someone like him. Pulling his hood back up to follow Moore on his decision after a nod in agreement; the golden-haired knight had to think about it for a bit.

The decision to choose something else than Alexander had suggested was something he had to get used too, and it was a good exercise. His father often said that his position has often left him in charge of local forces unless his father personally takes command. Or by certain situations his Uncle, but more often than not when it came to incidents in Cornwall Alexander had the lead.

Of course, none of them compares to the command of the royal family or the knight leader, but he hasn't been in the position yet to even be chosen for a task by them. Either way, the important lessons to learn for leadership is actually to learn to follow others first.

Alexander understood the need for this even if he disagrees with the leader's decision. He didn't know everything and he have often admitted it. Henry Moore who is clearly more experienced may have figured something that he had overlooked in this situation.

It's just they have different methods or steps to take when tackling a different situation. That doesn't mean either one was wrong, and maybe it's just that which made Alexander to readily accept this decision and of course out of respect for his leadership.

Alexander had known by experience that English councils often hold all the information of the local area, even the reports made by the police following recent incidents and events happening many years in the past.  

Alexander had figured there was some pattern to be found, some connection between the victims or anything that connected to what they knew about vampires. However the only downside he saw between his choice is that they wouldn't be getting the most up-to-date reports on recent cases quickly so for the most relevant information on the case the police station was a good choice.

Maybe Alexander had just stepped a bit further ahead than what was needed or maybe well conversing with local law enforcers would be a far more powerful ally than relying on their abilities. They knew the way to the town far more than anybody else in Whitby, and so they might have the much-needed advice in securing the town against any threats.

Securing their alliance to the Knights beyond simple orders would give them an upper hand, though that depends on how they approach them. They did just frozen them out due to authority alone and that already caused tension.

What is important now was not to seem like imposing figures but allies who both want to see the safety of this town and its citizens as the number one priority.

But Alexander who can be blunt himself was nothing compared to the very straight forward approach of Sir Henry Moore.

“Excuse me, could I speak to an officer? Whoever’s got the highest rank, if at all possible.”

Alexander was going to pull his hood down out of respect for being indoors, but that just now had delayed any sense of politeness which was expected of him. His eyes quickly scanned the area as they had entered the police station to see the reaction of the local officers, who seems more stressed than his father on 'inspection' day.

He didn't blame them since this weather was very obstructing to any investigation and very nerve wracking during these uncertain moments. With murders suddenly occurring, feeling safe is almost a luxury to only those who can physically defend themselves and maybe not even them.

“If I recall correctly, that should be a 'Paul Oldturf', if I believe? I’d like to ask about a couple of things.” Moore continued with his straight forward approach and had he just taken over the point he went with Moore in the first place? Alexander wasn't sure what to do here and only decided to pull down his hood to reveal his face.

His young and possibly friendly face may make him seem more approachable than the more imposing Henry Moore who's clearly more of a tank than himself. But it was clear from anyone that he wasn't in command here, and that would only negate any attempt for him to seem like he has the authority to speak here.

Alexander though had decided to give a friendly reminder to his superior officer with a friendly pat on his shoulder. "You may want to take it easy Sir Moore, the straightforward approach might not be so wise here. If you intend to get them to do something, then wouldn't it best to ease the stress by making them feel like equals in this investigation? If we throw our weight around here than it would only demotivate the already stressed police force who may have felt powerless from being unable to stop the recent string of murders." Alexander had said to Moore loud enough for only him to hear. He understood the reason for why they was frozen out to protect the secrecy of magic, but if Moore wanted them to be busy than making them feel equal even though they aren't should motivate them in this very demotivating situation.

They were frozen out to protect the secrecy of magic, but if Moore intends to get them to do something than misleading them to think they're equals will get them to be more compliant and focus their eyes elsewhere.

The young detective finished her meal with haste whilst Birdway rambled on and on about herself. Once she was done and was allowed to get some more words in, the smile returned.

"I'm Erin Lightheart. I do apologize, Miss Bird Way. When you began talking to me out of the blue and made personal judgments about every fiber of my being with such familiarity in public, I presumed you must have already known my name, so it felt only right to ask for yours. How about we put this behind us so nobody's the rude one, then? We're even now, after all!"

All spoken with a kind tone. Almost insufferably kind. She rose and paid for her meal immediately after this, still carrying the same smile as before, and turned to leave the establishment, making sure to face Birdway again before opening the door.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Miss Bird Way. But this is where we part ways. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours. Don't stay out for too long, or else you'll be extra sheepy in the morning!"

With that, she opened the door to walk out of the pub and back into the foggy evening. There was plenty of time for one to try and catch up with her if they so chose.

«Paul Oldturf isn’t here. To be honest, we do not know his current whereabouts, either. From what I heard he went out on patrol, but that had been a while ago. I’m sorry to disappoint you.»

A man had appeared out of nowhere. It wasn’t that he had simply come around a corner or that his presence hadn’t been noticeable yet. It was simply that he had appeared just there, right now. Quite fishy.

As he closed in on the two his features would become more visible. He was wearing the same uniform each and every officer in this station wore. However unlike them he’d wear the cap even indoors. Said cap was placed too neatly as the brim threw a perfect shadow covering the major part his face. Frankly, this facelessness, kind of gloomy as it was, would remain as his most remarkable trait.

However, if this wasn’t enough to make him the strange painting in an otherwise orderly gallery, then it was the way he spoke, the way he positioned his body and the very atmosphere that he emitted.

This man was not a police man. This man was a Magician.

«I take it the gentlemen Knights were not informed about our presence? To be fair, this isn’t out of the ordinary, considering the bad relations between the church and your group.»

There was a change that neither the Knights nor the local police had been actually aware of, but the possibility would surface as the man spoke. They had been invaded, infiltrated and taken over rather quickly. It wasn’t the knights themselves, but the Anglican Church. They had likely sent out a few men to infiltrate all institutions involved with the vampire incident, corrupting those to their heart and fully claiming control over each and every of them. It was tactic used to erase the chances of outsiders meddling with the business of the Magicians, partly to protect the innocent, but also for pride’s reasons. Usually the church would ensure that none of the normal investigators would remain in the game, would all files be taken and a handful of means be used to prevent anyone from stepping out of line.

So to say, the police had lost all value without even realising.

«Sooooo~ What have you come here for? What can I do for you?»

The faceless officer asked politely, only with a hint of devious hostility.


Birdway watched and listened as the girl added further sincerity on top. Her smile may have been marked with soft friendliness, yet there was something about those words she spoke that left an unfavourable taste on the small girl’s lips.

Bird Way.

Her ears weren’t bad enough to simply skip over such horrible intonation. Gritting her teeth unnoticeably, it had taken her a bit of an internal struggle not to reveal her wand for carnage’s sake.

«…really…one day that foolishness will come to dig you your grave…»

Muttering to herself, the blonde averted her gaze to suck up anything that would only lead to disaster. Even someone like her did have at least some self control to go with.

Before she could even give a reply of her own, blue hair and hat girl Erin quickly rose from her chair, leaving behind what as an empty plate and a slow to catch up Birdway. It likely was the mispronunciation that was still gnawing at her, but the little devil really hadn’t noticed that quick change. Was it a change to begin with, though?

Only leaving a carefully worded goodbye message to her table neighbour before leaving served to further the polite impression the girl had given this whole time. Leivinia Birdway couldn’t help but laugh about that display internally. It was annoying, stupid and in every way foolish. Yes «foolish»; wasn’t that a word that’d fit this girl quite well? Even from the first steps of the conversation onwards, her behaviour and the many facets of her personality, this girl quite well fit the designation «fool».
But what exactly would it matter now? The blue hair and hat girl had already left the place, so there was no further need for any wasted thought.

…

«It’s not like I wouldn’t be able to guess myself, but I do wonder: Where are you headed now, Fool?»

It wasn’t exactly clear when it had happened, but from one moment to the next there would be a girl walking by blue hair and hat girl Erin’s side. A blonde girl clad in the piano like combination of a white dress and black stockings of only grade schooler age. Her expression bored and devoid of all interest.

«Also it’s Birdway, not Bird Way. Try to remember that, even if it might strain your underdeveloped skull, Fool.»

Was this the dawn of a wonderful friendship?

Inside, he would look around the store from the viewpoint of the entrance for a short moment.  Maybe there was a small glimmer in his eyes, but that was just a distant memory.

"Cosplay items, huh. Of course you would believe to make a little fortune with that given the current situation.  For some this might actually be sufficient, just like for those two gentlemen we saw out there."

That was certainly the case.  In fact, new variations were certainly possible with what was here, but Albrekka had already planned in advance.

"Look around, I'll ask the store owner."  With that, Albrekka would break away from Mark for a moment.

The store owner was certainly making a killing off the entire ordeal, his thumbs flipping through several bills, counting them and writing down their totals on a piece of paper, a calculator to his side to quickly tally up the results once he double checked.  "Haah..." the man would scratch his head, seemingly worried about something as Albrekka approached.

"Sir? Albrekka would call on him to get his attention, the man trying to count through his money.  "...argh, what i-" the man would quickly catch himself from coming off rude, clearing his throat and writing the next tally and putting the stack of bills back into the register.  "Sorry, did you need anything?  If its the toy swords we're fresh out.  The next shipment, well..." the man sort of rubbed the back of his neck, not really sure what to really say on that.  "Oh, don't worry about that, I'm fine.  I was wanting to know if a little girl came in here."  The man would give a rather odd look, only later looking towards the back of the shop.  "Well, we have some kids from the local orphanage here.  Someone from the church wanted to give them a good time.  Don't blame 'em, whole situation here is nutty."  With that, he would look back as well.

In the back of the store were children playing, a nun making noises with her mouth as she dragged a toy car along the ground as the children laughed, perhaps at the idea of a nun even doing it.  An executioner?  Her garbs implied as much.  Still, the position the woman was in...well, one could say it was a brief moment of humanity at any rate, and so Albrekka let it be, smiling slightly at the thought.  The last thing he wanted was to ruin any moment of peace that could be had, considering her position.

"Oh, no, its the niece of that man over there." He would point back at Mark with his thumb, Mark at this point looking down one of the aisles, presumably looking at the children and the nun play.  "She cut loose from her and we're trying to find her..."  "Sounds bad." The man paused for a moment to think.  "Well, several children have come in, but they've been with their parents.  Only children here right now are those orphans."  He would move his head in their direction while saying that.  With that, Albrekka would think with his arms crossed, slightly nodding to himself.  The store was a dead end. "I see.  Thanks for your time."  "Yeah yeah, stay safe and good luck." With that, Albrekka would turn to return to Mark.  The man seemed to almost want to add something else, his mouth open for a moment, but well, there was no point anyway, he had all of that money to count.

"From the sounds of it, she never showed up here, its just the kids back there.  Lets keep moving."  Outside the store window, the setting sun could be seen.  Time was valuable and they had very little of it.

Admittedly the nun’s presence hadn’t left Mark with the most cheerful thoughts. For someone like him the authorities guiding the major groups in the Magic Side were naturally a source of trouble, something he’d love to stay out of at all cost. However right now the rather small space that was the toy store’s interior didn’t offer much of an option to hide or make a quick escape, unless of course you stayed close to the door.
Therefore he didn’t even dare to reach beyond his current position, glancing around with great caution instead of any sloppy moves.

«From the sounds of it, she never showed up here, its just the kids back there.  Lets keep moving.»

Unfortunately the return of his company didn’t bring any better news.

Not that he did expect any results just from heading to the first stop on the road.

«Just let us hope we can make it before the actual night falls…»

Checking on the sun’s status through the window as well, he at least tried to wring some positivity out of the current situation. Time was running, but the limit could be extended any time. If it was the departure of the sun at first it could very well be changed to the end of the evening measured by the clock.

Therefore he found himself readily accepting the proposal to move on, even assuming the role of the gentlemen that’d step forward to open the door for the lady to leave first. The manners of a true Englishman or just the not so tasty side effect of many years of abuse by a twisted princess.

«You there, freeze.»

A cold chill ran down the blond man’s spine. Time itself was frozen. He could feel a strong killing intent welling up from behind him, robbing him of all breath. Nervousness, tension, he was all too familiar with those sensations, yet their suddenness still overwhelmed him.

Tilting his head cautiously, driven by curiosity, his eyes met with deep crimson. A colourless nun’s habit, long wavy black hair stuffed underneath a cap and that crimson, that all too bone melting crimson pinning him down like sharp daggers. He could smell death all around that individual.

«Won’t you filthy heretics ever learn some manners? Gazing at a pure maiden with those impure eyes. I should…ah, forget it. Just. Don’t. Give. Me. That. Stare.»

With Mark having fallen into that defenceless silence it was an easy game for the nun to cut even deeper with her words devoid of any friendliness or even the tiniest hint of affection. They were welling over with grudges, hatred and hostility. Every fibre of her body simply would mean to express something beyond simple dislike, a threatening existence through and through. Even the most bland idiot would have all their alarm bells go wild.

However…

«You do not have to worry. Right now, I do not hold any ill intentions towards you. All there is is left to my imagination alone, unfortunately. Stabbing your eyes our, cutting your throats open, ripping your fingers and toes out and pinning them onto a wall with rusty nails, making you experience the sensation of your flesh burning, it turning to ashes slowly bit by bit, your screams, your deserved suffering. I would love to see that, in the name of the Lord I cannot lie. But I won’t.»

Getting a bit off topic that pure nun had a smirk on her lips, further underlining the joy she might have felt at the thought alone. Yet as quickly as that change had occurred, she returned back to seriousness.

«You are looking for a lost child, right? I might be able to help you with that~.»

That woman was forcing herself to spit out those words with as much of a positive impression as she could leave on the other two, yet there was a certain amount of compassion in that act alone. No matter how impolite or hostile her whole appeal may have seemed right now, there was an obvious hint of good intention mixed with all that.

«After all: Both of our sides do not have the possibility of a better choice…so would you listen to my request?»

This development wasn't altogether unexpected, to the point where there was no sign of surprise from the detective. Once in the haze, she turned to face the darkened town, her mind back in the game. They were going to get nowhere if they followed the example of the others; people who really knew dark secrets weren't the type to advertise their knowledge as a product for consumption out in the open. People who were witness to horrible events were far more likely to hide themselves and deny everything instead, so long as others such as the police didn't get involved.

"I'll head to the quieter streets first. If the people marching outside selling merchandise really knew anything, this case would have been over already. Real victims and witnesses are frightened out of their minds, and would rather not advertise information if they can't help it. Even if I can't extract information from them directly, their reactions will tell me more than enough to get started."

She began casually walking toward the residential area of the town after confirming her plan and justifications for it. However, she made sure Birdway wouldn't be left behind either.

"My name isn't Fool, by the way. It's Erin. It is silly though how we both got each of our names wrong, isn't it? Another thing to be even on~"

"You may want to take it easy Sir Moore, the straightforward approach might not be so wise here. If you intend to get them to do something, then wouldn't it best to ease the stress by making them feel like equals in this investigation? If we throw our weight around here than it would only demotivate the already stressed police force who may have felt powerless from being unable to stop the recent string of murders."

If he wasn't being stared at by a half dozen startled police officers, paper pushers, and receptionists, and wearing a helmet, Moore'd have sheepishly scratched his head with an embarrassed expression on his face. He'd dragged Beathen along for precisely this kind of thing, but he'd ended up stealing the show without even thinking about it. What a blunder. He was about to give Beathen a slight nod to indicate that he'd heard his advice before actually heeding it, but a sudden voice drew the whole of his attention away before he could.

«Paul Oldturf isn’t here. To be honest, we do not know his current whereabouts, either. From what I heard he went out on patrol, but that had been a while ago. I’m sorry to disappoint you.»

This man had managed to appear completely undetected, without Moore noticing his presence in the slightest. He shifted his stance slightly. It was not outwardly combative, nor did it seem explicitly indicative of an intention to attack. It was not anything so blatant as putting his hand to the hilt of his blade. But the change in his posture, a shift in his breathing, an adjustment of the distance between his feet, and an alteration of his mental state all occurred with the express intent to prepare him to immediately react to an attack or launch one of his one with the minimum of delays. It was something an amateur, untrained in martial arts would never be able to notice. But he had a feeling the man in front of him would see through it even if he'd never trained his body a day in his life.

«I take it the gentlemen Knights were not informed about our presence? To be fair, this isn’t out of the ordinary, considering the bad relations between the church and your group. Sooooo~ What have you come here for? What can I do for you?»

Though the man had not stated anything directly, the implications were obvious enough. He was a magician of Necessarius, the Anglican Church. Allies, compatriots from the same country as the Knights of England. Another of the three factions that held up the country. But though they should have been on friendly terms, Moore's wariness did not diminish, and instead his animosity grew. He showed no signs of acting on it and attacking, but it was clear he did not consider the man in front of him an ally.

"Sorry Beathen, but this is above your pay grade," he muttered, just loud enough for Beathen to hear. It was intended for his ears only, but looking at how shady this Necessarius agent seemed, he doubted it would escape his notice. It was at once an apology, and an order to not get involved.

He'd brought Beathen along to take advantage of his diplomatic skills, and to make use of the pre-existing network of the police. Beathen had likely had something more along the lines of the town hall in mind, with its extensive records, but he had been underestimating the capabilities of the local police. They may not know of the magic side, but they were not incompetent. If there was any data relevant to the case, then they had already gathered it. The reason they had not yet discovered the murderer was only because the data they needed to complete the puzzle could not be found without knowledge of that mysterious other set of laws. Moore himself was not the most eloquent person, and he freely admitted that, so he was planning to let Beathen handle the negotiations and greetings, acquiring their assistance without acquiring their aggression.

But this was a different matter. Talking with those bastards from the church was an entirely different affair from making nice with the locals. What was needed here was not eloquence. What was desired here were not kind words, or good intentions; no one present wanted to share a drink at the bar and make merry, or to shake hands and exchange friendly smiles. All that was asked of them was barely concealed animosity, and all that was needed of them was the bare minimum of cooperation needed to keep up appearances. And what was desired, was to screw the other party over at every possible turn. That was the kind of relationship they had. Above the table, they shook hands with courteous smiles, and beneath it, they stabbed at each other with rusted knives.

"No, we hadn't heard a word about you being here. Man, those higher-ups really need to get their stuff in gear, huh? Factional disputes are one thing, but it's a real pain if their squabbles end up affecting us on the ground, you know what I mean?"

He spoke with his usual uffish affability; friendly, though gruff. And the words he spoke sounded friendly enough on the surface. But they were laced with venom beneath. Moore was asking the magician if he seriously thought he'd believe that the lack of communication had been an accident. He was implying that it had been engineered by their side. He was blaming them for the inconvenience. For the usually blunt Moore, who freely admitted he was not the most eloquent person, but still remained friendly and upbeat at all times, this was a startling transformation. But he'd risen this far through the ranks, and that was impossible without any affinity for the backroom dealings that the magic side of England was rife with. No matter how strong he was, if he couldn't trade false smiles and exchange venomous greetings, he'd soon hit a wall, be used as a pawn by those above him, and eventually be stabbed in the back.

"Anyway, I wanted to see what the locals had figured out before we got here. I know we got the report and all, but these guys have already been working out here in the field for a while, so I wanted to see if they had anything interesting."

He didn't put up any fronts, telling the magician exactly what he'd come here for, answering his question exactly. But he wasn't expecting an answer. Why would Necessarius give the Knights their info? Why would they let their rivals get an advantage? Though the two groups were allied on paper, in truth they were as much at odds as every other faction currently in the city. The only difference was that the veneer of cooperation they had added several extra layers of complication to their interactions. Even if the magician gave them exactly what they'd come here for, the information would still be highly suspicious. And that attached suspicion meant that regardless of its actual reliability, they would not be able to act on it except in the most cautious of manners. That made it all but useless.

So he wasn't even attempting to fulfill his original goal of coming here anymore. The moment he'd encountered this unexpected interference, he'd given up on that. This was just the usual song and dance; the paper-thin veil of assistance that the two groups were required to reciprocate. There was no actual meaning to it: merely custom, politics, and animosity. Thinking of his partner, he could only feel sorry for him. He was going to get a chance to strut his stuff in front of his leader, but instead he'd ended up encountering one of these vipers.