[安科/安价] [半沙盒][wod][黑暗世界]一支上古血族的命运

Great Yarmouth, "The Street Corner"

Hunts: …The smell of nectar. *deep breath* Sickly sweet. Nauseating.
There's something… strange about this place.

Gecko Spirit: *sound of crawling* Garou? Garou? Garou?

Hunts: Uh—hello there, little one?
Hoo… something I can help with?

Gecko Spirit: Voice of spirit, body of spirit, skin of spirit.
There is one thing I need your help with, need your support with, need you—need you—need you—

Hunts: Easy now, little one… Yeah, what is it?

Gecko Spirit: I have a friend, same kind, friend! Same kind!
It has been imprisoned by a servant of the Weaver for over ten years, decades—it pulses inside flesh that cannot rot, longing for freedom, for autonomy, for ease—
That servant is dead now, burned away by fire made by the apes. But my kind! My friend! Still trapped in the prison that servant made.

Hunts: …You mean you need me to go free it?

Gecko Spirit: Yes! Yes! Inside that trap there is not only my kind—there are others too, spirits of nature as well.
That servant who obeyed the Weaver took them and imprisoned them each in containers that cannot rot, day after day, the servant died, and they all long for freedom. Yes, yes, that is it.
Little Red Talon—Little Red Talon, will you do this favor for me? Little Red Talon?

Hunts: Hoo… All right, little one.
I'll go find them, and I'll get them out of… whatever web, woven by whatever kind of spider this is.

Gecko Spirit: Many thanks—thanks! *vanishes*

Hunts: Tch—Let's hope this isn't anything too troublesome…

Great Yarmouth, Umbra, Night—11:44

[Drums of the Umbra, sound of flowing water]

Hunts: *sniff sniff sniff*
Why is there another stench in the wilderness of Great Yarmouth?
Motherfucker… Leeches again?

Masked Priest: "Scio enim quod redemptor meus vivit, et in novissimo die de terra surrecturus sum…"
"Requiescat in pace…"

Hunts: *light sniff*
…Fucking hell… Another one… (muttering)

Masked Priest: *closes the breviary*
"For I know this: after my departure, savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock…"

Hunts: *growl*
You Leech. WHAT—THE—HELL—ARE—YOU—SAYING???

Masked Priest: Heh. You know exactly what I mean, Garou.
So. What do you intend to do with me?

Hunts: *growl*
…Hmph. Doesn't matter. Just get out of my way.
I don't want to waste time on you, Leech priest—considering you're still willing to put on that hypocritical posture of piety.

Masked Priest: *opens the breviary*
You are free to leave at any time, or to go around me, Garou.
I am merely a watcher of the dead. I will not stop you—unless you came looking for me.
Hunts: —Fucking ridiculous—
Do you even know what you're saying, Leech?

Masked Priest: …Do you consider that… a humiliation, or a threat, Garou?

Hunts: Both, I'm afraid, Leech.
Last time I let a pack of Leeches through the Gauntlet on the condition they promised to return to reality and… drain the blood of those hairless apes. Is that what you mean—you want to make a wager on that?
Or do you also intend to convince me with a hunt that treats humans as prey?

Masked Priest: I've seen more than enough of that kind of hunt.
Organized by Leeches, organized by lupines, some disciples of Lilith have done it too… Honestly, it bores and sickens me.

Hunts: Hmph. Didn't take you for the well-traveled type.
So?

Masked Priest: So what do you want to do, Garou?
If you're just passing through, go around me.
If you want to speak with me, I will listen while I watch the dead.
If it's a hunt…
I'll oblige.

Hunts: *growl* Fucking—
Do I have to wait until I've eaten your eyes before you're Satisfied!?

Masked Priest: If all you want is to eat these eyes of mine… I can give them to you at any time. After all, these eyes are merely external possessions—provided you are willing to say so.
To give to one who asks what one does not need—that is the virtue of the sages of the East.

Hunts: *sigh* You… are really not normal.
…So. You're not going to bare your fangs, and I don't actually want to eat your eyes.
How do you want this to play out, Leech?

Masked Priest: *closes the breviary and sighs* So there's room for things to turn, then?
Michael above, I thought all Red Talons were rabid mad dogs…

Hunts: *growl* Shut up! Leech!
Wait… You know the Red Talons?

Masked Priest: Especially the Siberian ones. Honestly, I truly bear them no ill will, but… alas, I have my own small grievances. Though I feel no shame about them.
More than Red Talons, flaying Fenrir's hide with a silver knife puts me in a better mood.

Hunts: *growl* WHAT—THE—HELL—ARE—YOU!?

Masked Priest: In your words—a Leech. Nothing more…
But if you wish to speak with me about anything, call me Father Wyler.