Trevor had never been of the bravest sort. He just had too long a nose and kept sticking it too close to other people’s business. Yet – when he saw Monroe ragdoll across the room and against the table, like some demented practice dummy… well, he wasn’t fighting that shit, whatever it was.

He wanted to tell Meredith to fuck off. Get the guards. Run. But more than anything, he wanted her away from the mess. Anything that threw around knights would absolutely crush the meatless woman.

“Find the guards, Meredith.” Best he could manage before he shut the door and robbed those inside of what little light they had. His hands fiddled with an eyeheight latch, pulling it to secure the passage. Not that it would help Monroe or whatever the fuck she was fighting.

Turned, scanning the pitch for something to burn. Cured meat meant wood and sawdust, meant barrels and tar – it meant alcohol if the gods knew of mercy. But he knew them to be vicious cunts – so he didn’t hold much stock in that. Something to burn to make sure Monroe could see. Trevor had no need for sight. Recent experience had taught him as much.

Guided by more scent than sense, he lifted a bucket that smelt of grease. Another hand found an open cask his nose knew to contain sawdust. Vomited grease into the cask, before flipping it over. Sawdust and lard mingled and sloshed all over the floor. Fucking room full of flammable shit, and no way to spark it. But the deeper dark outlined the briefest hint of orange on the opposite side, beyond the thing whooping their ass. Well, Monroe’s ass… but same difference.

If he left the door unguarded to get the ember, the fucker would slip outside. Would find others. Would be another story he didn’t want to hear retold. No. If the two of them had to take a beating – so be it. Whatever this was – it was staying inside.

He ducked towards the floor instead, his fingers finding the handle of the misplaced cleaver. Must’ve made too much noise. Barely had time to awkwardly throw the thing before a shadow Tapaned him right between the eyes.

Didn’t take it as well as Monroe. Groan loud enough for a blind guy to hit onehanded.

Thought he could hear it biting flesh before the hit sent him back into the door. Luck that kept his nose unbroken was now bolstering the tipped barrel, laying on its side. A lucky cask without booze, huh – that was a first.

“You alive?” He yelled out.

Footsteps came closer. Kicked the flammable shit hard as he could. Sure would be lucky if it knocked the fucker out or reached the embers. Both even.

But that was life – you were either lucky or fucked.
 
You'll know when I am dead. She wanted to say, but those would be words she would keep to herself. Words that would burn inside her and remind her she was still alive and able to turn their fates. "Unfortunately for this fucker." She hissed through gritted teeth, her voice slowly regaining it's usual tone. Blades were repositioned in hand, Monroe cursing at the even lower level of lighting they now had to work with.

She had fought in pure darkness before. Darker than dark, darker than the darkness behind the stars. Monroe had to do the impossible, to find a way to save the young knight she would call friend.

Monroe felt the presence of life flickering in and out of life. Felt it nearby, as if the embers were peering through ash in the hearth, an answer to the twin flame that was ever present within the dawnling. She breathed out, hoarsely still, but it was enough to reach the embers and stir them to burn and grow to small flame. The warm brush of light filled the room, the painter's brush dragging along the canvas of dark and revealing shapes and silhouettes within the reach of glow.

Her eyes were trained on the assailant.

Wrong. Humanoid, as she suspected, but it's structure was not at all that of a man. It's skin glistened in some places in a crimson hue, but there were patches of something dried. The scent of strangeness and wrong reached her again, and Monroe recognised it for what it was at it's core. Blood.

Then next was the dusting of sawdust that burned in the flickering light, moving to settle on any surface. Grease... it shimmered slick and oily upon the floor.

"Scared of fire?" She asked aloud to Trevor, a bad idea forming. Their assailant turned on her again, rushing towards her in what she wanted to smugly think was out of panic. It leaped onto the table, the distinct sound not at all the sound one would associate with boots. Hooves. It launched at her, but Monroe was ready for it. Her legs moved and feet planted to root herself there in place, bracing for the impact of the body falling onto her. One blade found it's home between muscle and bone, eliciting a strange cry from it's mouth. Monroe used it's momentum to cast them aside, towards the line of light now growing from the hearth. She stiffened, her stomach wishing to heave at the sight she caught glimpse of.

Blood, drenched in so much blood she could not tell their distinctive features.

"Yield!" Monroe yelled, stalling it so she could look at it's awfulness right in the eye. What terrors had transpired here? That this thing could find enough blood to drown in.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong...
 
Glad to hear something beyond the violence, Trevor may have even smiled a little. A thing he would most fervently deny if anyone pressed. There were still two of them to stand against... whateverthefuck.

Light awakened in the hearth, working hard to reach his combustible contraption as it left a rolling trail on the floor. Fire... didn't behave like that. Was she pulling shroudshit? Smoke would be an issue in a couple minutes – but those were both future problems he didn't want to worry about yet.

The question of fear nicked him to the bone. Because he was afraid. And most days that fear took the shape of burning and the burned. He wouldn't be telling her any of that, though.

„You're up. Good.“

Worry didn't matter now. He'd finally seen the thing. Humanoid, if you ignored the blood it applied as makeup. No bodies yet – but he did gaze towards the stairs with a quiet certainty. Curing shops were never the rosiest of establishments. Upstairs would be worse.

Wished he was better with a blade or blunt. Something to stick between the fucker's ribs. Crack it like an egg. But he only had the fucking fishknife at his side. Suppose that was useful for picking the monster's teeth once it finished them off.

Monroe was keeping it in place for the moment, but Trevor still remembered her flying lessons. Kept his optimism in check. Almost like it read his mind, the thing turned and – galloped? – straight through the fireline, closer to him. Air must've been laced with more chemicals than he could smell. Because it wasn't running he heard – it was the beat of hooves. And whether it moved by necessity or immunity, the growing flame wasn't slowing it down.

It pushed past Monroe, exposing its flank. Trevor didn't have time to pull the knife, so he stepped back. Made sure he was blocking the door. But the fucker wasn't going for the door. Swept by him instead, aiming for the stairs. And if it knew what surrender meant – it sure as shit wasn't listening.

He yanked the cleaver still sticking to its flank. The thing just fell out. Funny, that. He could've sworn it had scored deep. Guess the creature had just been lucky. So he corrected that on its way to the stairs. Floor remembering how slippery it could be. First step remembering how loose the board was.

Someone might still be alive upstairs. They should keep it that way.
 
"Fuck!" Monroe cursed through gritted teeth. She sheathed one of her blades, the free hand reaching towards the flames. It answered to her, leaping towards her outstretched hand and curled around her wrist. It was a lick of a thing, a glowing ribbon that now surrendered to her.

She had difficulty producing flames for near a year, but anything she could breath back to life she could wield.

Monroe lifted her hand, daring not to let an ember jump and fall to the hazardous floors.

Navigating her boots through the grease only added to her frustrations. Each time her foot slipped, her breath would catch, but was always promptly followed by a colourful string of curses of different tongues. Alas, she made it to the foot of the stairs, and hoped to whichever god would be benevolent to listen, that the soles of her boots would not slip right here on these steps. She made haste, ascending as quickly and nimbly she could.

She had made it to the landing, had taken two steps before slipping onto something different than the slickness downstairs.

This substance was cold. The copper tang was so sharp, it hit the back of her throat and Monroe had to fight the urge to gag.

Her fire flickered, catching the unmistakable pools of blood staining the wooden floor. Three bodies littered the hall of the landing.

Fuck. She couldn't open her mouth, not wanting to taste the air that was filled with Death and the spilled blood. "Don't come up." She had to warn Trevor, to spare him from this scene. Did he have the stomach for this? To see where the blood the unknown creature had painted themselves in had come from? Her eyes fell on an older gentleman of a build she would have guessed was made from cutting up meats and hanging them up on hooks. Pale, slumped against the far wall.

May you have a blessed eternal rest, Vincent of the best smoked meats.
 
Fucker didn’t even slip. Blade didn’t even cut. Floor chose old age over memory – so did the step. Was he losing touch? He had been more hesitant in doing things after the most recent mess – but he’d clearly meant to slow the thing down.

Was She… fucking with him?

And it did happen from time to time. Grew more familiar, but never less terrifying. Because spirits were assholes, and their sense of humor followed suit. The moment of weakness saw Monroe climb past him as well. And the knight… slipped.

A chuckle escaped him. He normally didn’t appreciate Luck’s jokes for what they were. But that shit was funny. The gift wasn’t extinguished; it just burned in the wrong wind. A colossal middle finger from somewhere far above. They weren’t under open skies, but there was no ground or cover to shield you from getting spit on.

And Monroe’s words didn’t stop him… they summoned. Smarter man would’ve stayed at the bottom of the stairs. But he wasn’t clever – knew himself better than that.

Smell had warned him well in advance. But there were certain levels of gore one never got accustomed to. Bile came up, conjuring vomit. Swallowed it down, more after than taste. Chase had left his legs. Probably should’ve kept running after the murderer… but feet just weren’t moving. Fingers twitched with horror and memory, just shy of grabbing Monroe’s shoulder. But it wouldn’t last. Snapped back to reality, as he bottled the parts that troubled him. He’d drink them later. Maybe leak a little too.

“Fire. Need to… put the fire out.”

Yeah – something to do. More to fill hands rather than mind.
 
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Monroe was unused to feeling panic. She could recall the few times it truly gripped her, had filled her with a weight of unease she was unable to push away. This moment, laying in blood thickened over hours of staining he floor and sticking to her as she moved her head to look at Trevor. Horror was haunting her facade, unable to rouse any annoyance at the sheer fact the idiot had not heeded her warning.

What he said didn't alleviate her panic.

The flames still clung to her like a fiery ribbon, coursing over in one breath of never ending flickers.

If she extinguishes it, she couldn't summon it back. The thought terrified her, that her own inner turmoil of returning home had robbed her of the comfort of flame. That she was unable to produce her own...

Monroe sucked in a breath and put out the flame with a fleeting thought.

Movement stirred, and before either of them could breath, the window smashed outwards and the creature moved. She saw it slip against the roof tiles, heard the hooves unable to catch grip and scrape against the roof. Her face took on something more akin to focus, her gaze set onto the window that bled light into the hall. It illuminated the scene, painted bloodied pictures of attempts to desperately get away from the assailant.

Injustice stained this home.

She had a duty, even without armour or the company of sister and brother knights by her side, Monroe knew she could not return home without bringing some peace to this town. "Halt!" She bellowed, her voice ringing out with impact. Disregarding the shards in the window pane, only managing to hiss at the slices to her hand, Monroe watched as the creature dipped down the side of the home. "Fucker!" She cursed.

Meredith was still on the street.

Turning back to the hall, eyes going straight to Trevor amongst the blood and gore. "It's made it's way to the street. We need to follow." Never mind the blood staining and clinging to her. Never mind her own hand now glistened in fresh ichor.
 
Fire to dark to broken windowlight. Jarring. Still numb as Monroe started losing what little was left of her calm. Imagined knights differently…but everyone was just people in the end.

But grief wasn’t universal, so who was he to judge? Anklebiter to one was fatal to another.

The knight had gotten twitchy, angry…dangerous. He did not wish to face the creature with her in such a state. When everything went to shit, it was the twitchy ones that died first.

Twelve steps exactly, to the window where she imagined herself tough and unbleeding. Hand reached out. Unsure whether he needed to halt or calm.

“It can’t hide.” From me. “Let’s check to see if it left anything behind before we follow.” Maybe a drink.

Trevor preaching caution – now that was fucking rich.
 
Monroe snorted.

"Besides the fucking bodies it left behind? They look as if they have been ripped apart." But the man was right. Despite the urgency to follow and apprehend the creature, they also did not have time to waste. The bodies they will need to burn, and soon, but they needed clarity.

What caught this family to be slaughtered? How had the creature gotten inside?

Monroe had been trained for this. The roaring in her blood still gave protest, but she began to breath. The first few lungfuls that passed had been filled with blood and the beginnings of decay, and that note she turned her gaze to the body she figured would be the main figure in this business. Bodily fluids present meant it had been at least a day or two.

"Well, fuck me." Monroe cursed, turning right round to look at Trevor and the bodies at her back. "That body has been here at least a day."

This was now an investigation. The hunt would come, but Monroe knew they needed to be here first. They needed answers, to help this town come to terms with what had happened here. "Fuck." She cursed again. "We need to report this... it can't just be you and I alone in this otherwise this town will pin it on us."

"Come on. We need to see Meredith, make sure she is alright." And have her, a local, be key witness that this was not their crime.
 
Angry was better. Angry wouldn’t get them killed. He preferred her stonefaced self in that regard. That woman he could work with.

“You need to clean yourself up, Monroe.” Nodded to her from the window. “If Meredith sees you caked in so much blood, she’ll be the first one to swing and stab.” She was as bloodstained as the fuckers at their feet, or the one that got away.

Tingle at the top of his fingers. Nerves and thirst. They could burn the bodies by dousing them in alcohol. Nevermind the pitch and sawdust. And if he was forced to taste the product to make sure it was strong enough to hold the flame – well, that really was only a silver lining to this whole shitcake.

Why had the thing stayed in the dark with people it had killed for so long? It hadn’t tried to hide the bodies. The way it moved in the dark betrayed a sight better than Trevor’s own – and while his wasn’t owed to eyes, it was still nothing to scoff at.

And then he thought of it. It was looking for something. That was the reason you agreed to sit with the dead as they pickled in their own brine. You hadn’t found it yet.

But what was it?
 
She looked down at herself with a severe frown. Her light jacket was stained beyond repair; blood painted all over her front, and with misfortune that she didn't button up meant her clothing beneath her layers had fallen victim.

"Fucking hell." She sighed, catching sight of her hand. That she could fix. All Knights had the Pursuit of Life in their pocket, ready for moments that suited them. For Monroe, minor healing was her extent of Life. It hurt a lot once she had noticed the injury, and through gritted teeth, she ran a finger down the deep cut and felt the gaping wound begin to stitch back together. A better healer could do this quicker and much more neatly, but Monroe had no qualms about obtaining new scars. She was littered in them, not that she would allow just anyone to learn.

There had to be a bath somewhere. A bucket of water for her to try and salvage what she could of her clothes as the rest of her gear was left in her rented lodgings, spelled to keep anyone from trying to steal it.

"I'm going to need to... borrow some clothes from someone that lived in this house." Her face scrunched with distaste, the idea of taking clothes from people who no longer were alive didn't sit well with her when she was mere feet from a corpse. "You head down, make sure she is alright and I will be down as soon as I clean up."

The air was thickening. Death had it's way in that; to suffocate any presence of life that stayed in the company of dead bodies, or perhaps it was imminent that they would need to burn these bodies and soon. They had been left here for a while, had not been burned right away. More questions began to burn her tongue, but Monroe kept her mouth shut.

One thing at a time.
 
Footfalls all the way down. No hoofs bottomed his legs, but he still thumped and banged. Tired, reckless. Not like he could wake the dead.

There were bigger things to worry about than the squeaks and whines of movement. Meredith would come back soon, and the guards with her. Then the place would be tossed and accusations thrown around. Bunch of perfectly edible stuff would end up on the floor, never to be seen again. That was the true tragedy here. Not the loss of life – that fucker came and went all the time – but the loss of ancestral knowledge. Vin and his folk had spent generations making the best they could out of otherwise ordinary things. And it was all just…taken.

Windows opened to light one by one. Could’ve smashed them, like the creature had. But it wasn’t the time for rage. Only mourning and light that sieved in like hope. Even with shutters moved and windows open, the room remained poorly lit. This was a good place for a curing shop. Light struggled to get in even with assistance.

Picked up the knives and cleavers and set them on the table next to the cat that had never stopped nibbling. Suppose it made sense – for the animal nothing had really happened. Didn’t know what other respect he could show the deceased craftsmen, short of consuming their work.

His teeth bit onto a tough and dangling bit of game even before his fingers worked it from the dryhook. Smallest bit of guilt for Monroe, stuck up there with worse cuts. So he emptied his satchel onto the floor and stuffed another dry piece into it. They would never see Vin’s like again.

But Trevor would remember. Maybe tell his story to those traveling wagonfuckers. They were good at keeping memory alive. Hell… they might even know the recipe.
 
This was not the first time she had walked amongst the dead.

Every step she took, looking into the rooms and having her breath catch with surprise seeing another body, lifeless, Monroe felt as if she were the ghost that haunted this home. She felt like an intrusion, that she was alive with many years to go — if one could be an optimist in this circumstance — and in the company of those long departed.

She was here to look for clothes to borrow. Borrow, not take, for she would be sure to burn them and send the ashes to take to the sky to reunite with whomever once owned them.

Monroe wasted no time. The first wardrobe she came across, she took the fine coat of blue she once saw at eventide, and all the stitching done in a colour that closely resembled gold. It felt wrong to take something so lovely, but it closely resembled her gear now that she was sure it would go unnoticed by others. After shedding her ruined jacket, Monroe held it gingerly as she descended the stairs. The fireplace still had some heat, and embers awakened at her weaving call.

With her Pursuit, she coaxed flame to grow and fed it her ruined jacket. It roared, flared, and gorged upon her offering.

Soon, the flames would be fed the dead lingering above.

Monroe made for the door, saw Meredith staring at Trevor. She had let out a breath of relief, and that was as much Syr Cathmore would sound in concern for the local's wellbeing. Untouched, unharmed. Looking up and back at the home, she could see the window the creature had escaped through was a back window possibly.

"We need an authoritative figure here. What we found... it's best to put to towards those that reside in this town." Monroe explained, surprised by her gentle voice. Glad for it, for this was a delicate subject. Of course, she doubted that Meredith was friends with a family that made business off of meat, but even then, the effect of death had a way of forcing grief on someone.
 
Barely registered Monroe skulking around. The smell of burnt cloth was familiar. Never liked it – but at least it wasn’t his hand burning shit. And that would have to be enough for today. Wasn’t sure whether he imagined it before, but he was certain now – Monroe had messed with the fire. Shroudshit.

The knight must’ve unlatched and opened the door, because the light poured in and stabbed him in the eye. Blinked away the poke from his eyes. Found Meredith there. Looked at him like he’d looked at the fucking cat moments ago. Because through it all, Trevor never stopped eating. He and the feline shared the table now, each slowly working their way through the meat.

“I… I got ‘em.” All that made it out before Meredith became framed by two more unfriendly shadows.

Figured Monroe could try the talking as he ate. Was never Trevor’s gift. His tongue never worked the shroud – it just got him arrested.

“What in Ghanga’s gash had happened here?” boomed the older of the two.
 
She scowled as two strange faces appeared, stepping in and around Meredith like water flowing past a rock in the current. They closed in towards Monroe, still stood in the open threshold. Her arms crossed, and her eyes narrowed. Despite the right thing to do was alerting local authorities, it was the sense of something not being right gnawing at her. She was a Knight of Anathaeum, trained and honed to assist those in need.

Even with her Pursuit, Monroe was not suited to working this alone. She needed her Dusker, even if Saskia had been temporarily partnered with her, Monroe knew the Shadow Knight could hear whispers in the dark. It made hunting more successful.

"Murder. Bodies upstairs have been dead a day or two. We happened upon this place after the market stall was unmanned and closed." Her eyes searched past the two guards, finding Meredith's terrified eyes. The vegetarian stared back, stiffening so still that the Knight was afraid she had stopped breathing.

And yet, she had only needed a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Vincent and his family were not present this morning. No word on anyone working with the business. I showed these two where they operate and there were no patrol waiting here... the door was not locked."

"So then, invited yerselves in, ay?" Asked the taller and scrawnier one. Monroe tried not to discredit his skillset, but the impression he gave on first glance had her betting Meredith could topple the man over. At least the other guard looked the part of his role in this town. Younger, stronger, and with a nose that looked as if it had been broken a couple of times. He stepped forward, closer to Monroe who still stood in the way of entry.

"She said two. Who else is here?" He smiled, and Monroe could see the few missing teeth. Either he could take some punches, or was lousy as a combatant that got him knocked around a fair bit.

Monroe glanced over her shoulder, face neutral as she truly took in Trevor and the cat. Unbothered, they chewed away at meat in silence despite the death and decay existing upstairs. She had been looking forward to some bacon this morning, but a meal would have to wait until she was in a bathhouse and cleaning off blood from her person. "Meet Trevor." She took a few steps back, admitting the guard into the room lit by the daylight coming through the door and the well fed fire still feasting on her ruined jacket. "The man, not the cat." The impish addition was a spell taken from spending too much time with the Shadow Knight, even if it had been over a year since they last saw one another.

The memory made Monroe's lip twitch a short-lived smile.
 
Cat hissed at the approach. Couldn’t blame the lil’ guy. Some days that was his reaction to being called Trevor too…but it was still better than the alternative. Pulled off a piece of the good stuff and left it next to the animal. Rotten porksides were nice and all, but had it ever tried the completed product? Hiss to purr to pushing in closer. Because a single bite was never enough.

“Right, not a Trevor.” As he scratched at the cheek. But he wasn’t very clever about it. Because you don’t mess with cats while your hands smelled of nibbling.

Tssk.

“How about Fuckup?” With a tiny twonk to the greedy creature’s ear. Couldn’t even get mad. He had that one coming.

“What’s wrong with you?” Came in angry and halftoothed. Guard looked to Monroe like she might hold the answer.

The younger guy slipped in and ushered Meredith in too. Door closed behind them. Good head on that one.

Had lines ready about having lunch with the lead witness – but figured it wasn’t patience that put the gap in that smile. So he kept the joke to himself. No need to match smiles with this fucker.

“You know, none of this is going to be here in a couple hours.” Shrugged. Might as well be the first to loot the place. Not like anyone would miss the stock.

Not like you’d ever get a second chance.

Eyes squinted with all the possible accusations. Where were they? Where were the guards back when there was time to stop all of this? But he ate quietly as he kept inching the food away from Fuckup.

“Don’t let Meredith go upstairs.”
 
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