The winds blew, swaying frozen leaves and delicate flakes of snow in the cold air like a rain. Without the cover of his trusted umbrella Williams was soon covered in a shimmer, casted from the flakes that clung to the fabrics of his tailored suit like a powder. With each puffing breath he took a pale cloud of air formed under his nose, but his eyes wavered not from the creature in front of him. A wolf with three heads and black fur stood with its gaze fixated on Williams. The pale white flakes of snow shimmered as stars on its black fleece.
"A.... Beauchêne..?"
Williams resorted to his memories for clarity. He learned about Nils from a third party. Although not a reliable source of information, the potential of a Variant of Dietrich was not one he would let slip through his fingers because of skepticism. That girl who told him this was a recent addition to the Shadow Crusade guild of the Fontaine house. She was a short young lady, a slender body similar to that of the witch and had hair as black as the three-headed wolf's, although her porcelain skin was much paler. She was a celestine worthy with an inheritance ability that transformed her into an angel, however due to her low rank the angelic properties are few. She is a strange one, that girl. Unbefitting for modern society and what many would call an imbecile. That is because she was new to the norms of Einar, after all. She was merely an experiment of yet another Shadow Crusade guildmember whom summoned an eldritch horror from the Void and fed it an Odom apple. The god-bestowed fruit worked as it did with any other creature and manifested the inheritance that transformed that unsightly abomination into a low rank angel. She has been teleporting all across Ridgemond and Linctusville, abusing her new body and teleportation abilities as an angel to try and seduce men into being her devotees for "world domination", likely finding this variant by pure coincidence in the process.
Williams sighed deeply. "Haa~ Yog-Umutmu..you could've at least warned me that the Variant was acquainted with the Beauchênes!"
Then, like a thunderclap in a clear sky, the air shifted and crows manifested from Williams' attire, emerging from its black cloth as if submerged underwater. The murder of crows and floating feathers swirled into a whirlwind, coalescing a humanoid shape into a spiraling pillar of crows.
"Kraa!! Kraaaaa!!"
"This isn't over, Ornelle Beauchêne. Mark my words! Shadow Crusade does not accept defeat!" The words echoed through the air with an eerie tone of deep resentment as if branding his proclamation into his own heart.
A crackling hum and the nigh constant fluttering of wings filled the space as the figure desolidified. Its body shimmered with a strange and almost otherworldly energy at the very last second, accompanied by the cyclonic, swirling mass of that adapted a more towering frame. Suddenly, the murder scattered in all directions, fleeing as if frightened with Williams nowhere to be seen.
"So he ran away.." Ornelle, the red witch scoffed. "Cowardice is the defining feature of a coward after all."
She turned, facing the warm corpse sprawled on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, watching with sharpened glares as the very last slivers of life ebbed away into nothingness."Why was the Shadow Crusade guild after you, I wonder? What could you be... [Variant of Dietrich]..?".
______________________________
[Roughly fifty hours later...]
A man approached the bar. The stone steps leading to the entrance had frozen over, becoming a smooth and slippery surface, almost frictionless. Above him a high balcony cast the steps in gentle shadows and the wide wooden entry doors flung open with little effort as he entered.
With each step his leather boots thudded against the wooden floor. The sound was quickly swallowed by the lively tumult inside where rowdy men gathered in groups and sat around wooden tables and enjoyed steaming coffee and dry liquor in a game of cards. They wore simple, disheveled attire and cussed, cursed and laughed as they played. The bartender had his flint pistol and sword hung by a belt, forgotten on the wooden hat and coat stand in the corner behind his counter of his bar. They were his tools for self-defense, although rarely in use.
Without hesitation the man clutched his vest tightly as he brushed off the snow clinging stubbornly to its surface as he entered. The racket was overwhelming and he felt his patience falter. Walking from Tipstone bridge to the bar had already drained his alcoholic character. Still, he forced himself not to call out to the men and in doing so avoid any conflict between drunkards, as frequent bar fights were a common practice in Ridgemond.
The man had emerald green eyes and they caught the faint light from the windows. His outgrown, tousled hair was brown like the bark of a tree and it suited him well. It gave him a rugged and roguish charm.
A wooden wheel hung down from the ceiling as if an earthed bolt of lightning diving from the heavens, carrying several lit candles that illuminated the interior of the bar with a fiery, dancing yellow glow. In the corners of the bar brass candle holders held onto four additional candles each, their wax slowly melting away as it dripped slowly down the metal frame and hardened on its surface. The candlefire crackled as softly as a whisper while it burned with welcoming warmth. The bartender stood behind the bar and he danced from left to right and again from right to left, perpetually serving drinks in waves. He strode through the slim pathway between the wooden counter of the bar and the towering, glimmering shelf of liquored bottles toward the man, wiping a beer glass with a handkerchief as he steadily approached. The man had lazily slumbed over the bar countertop and slid several coins (four copper gulden) across its smooth, sanded surface toward the waiting bartender.
"...can I have a Nevinian beer, I'll take the ogre glass" spoke the man, his frame still wearily slummed against the countertop as he rest his head on his folded left arm.
The bartender looked down at the counter, counting the sum in total in a mere flash with his aged and seasoned gaze. "You're a copper gulden short" he said.
"..Five copper gulden for a single ogre glass of beer?"
"Five copper gulden for a single ogre glass of beer I had to get from Nevin. It's not right around the corner, you know?"
The man gestured with a flicking motion of his right hand in swift response, breathing a heavy sigh outward. "Nevermind, I'll take the dry rum instead" he concluded as he gestured toward a rectangular glass bottle that lay motionless on the shelf behind the counter, its surface glossy and glimmering under the dancing candlelight. Prismatic rays of colden light curved and danced freely within the bottle, thus passing through the brown, caramel-tinted liquid with effortless elegance.
The bartender nodded, not in approval, but as a gesture of understanding the man's request before he took the copper coins from the countertop and left to get a more suitable and appropriate glass for the rum. As he poured the rum in the small glass, the background enlarged through the scope of its frame, it made a gushing and bubbling sound. An almost rhythmic tune of aged alcohol and roguish nature. A song the man was all too familiar with.
"Hey, did'ya hear 'bout that new policy?" the voice was neither that of the man nor that of the bartender.
"Tjah!—that new Vadimatican law, ya' mean? It's a bloody scam!" yet another voice, and it spoke in response to the first with a tone of familiarity.
"New policy, what new policy?"
"Heard the Vadimatican is increasin' the charge for wonadem Odom apples from twenty silver gulden to twenty-five silver a piece"
(A single silver gulden is equal to an exact amount of twenty-five copper gulden. So the price of an Odom apple is five-hundred copper gulden or an exact amount of twenty silver gulden. According to that statement, the new price should be six hundred and twenty-five copper gulden)
"Hawaaa!? Da's nearly six hundred gulden a piece now!"
"It's more, ya idiot!"
The five voices collided in a marriage of conversation spoken in a way that brought their companionship to light. The man, still wearily slummed against the wooden frame of the countertop, could hear every word uttered between the circle of friends – or rather it was that everyone in the bar could hear the topic of conversation between them, the bartender included. The thunderous volume of their heavy voices spared no privacy for the matter.
The bartender placed a liquor-filled glass directly in the man's clear line of sight. A strong aroma wafted in the air from the rising fumes of the dry alcohol. The scent was sharp. As the man looked through the glass, the image of the background was enlarged as if gazing through a binocular and the soft brown tint from the alcohol made it somewhat more photogenic.
"Why'd in Grainne's bloody name they go and do that!? Not like the reigning religion in Einar needed more money"
"Oswald, that pig! Grainne created the apples for the fairness of the world—this is injustice!"
The man at the left of the table struck down with a bulging fist. His forearms had a layer of black body-hair and like an anchor it held strongly to his scent. The table rocked in place like a ship on water and the glasses on its surface danced in fear.
*BAM!!*
"Oh calm yerself, ya old goat. Ya know how's those nobles do" calmed another voice.
"And them aristocrats to!" the fifth added.
"It's cuz of that young boy that got killed the other day, sad fate really"
"Oh yeah, that one kid from the library, wassit?"
"Yee~da's him, poor bastard" the voice spoke with genuine pity. "Had a huge hole drilled right through his chest 'n all"
The man threw a lazy glance over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the third's comment. He then sat straight and in one fell swoop rushed the alcohol down the furthest reaches of his throat. Groaning softly, he returned the glass to the countertop.
"Yo'r kidding!!?"
"Apparently the attacker done killed him in his own home, completely shattering the wooden door!"
"Bloody hell! The church oughtta do sum'in–at this rate, how can they be so sure a celestine worthy won't break in my house and try to rob me, or even kill me!?"
The men each made a sound of sort, a hum or a groan, each nodding in agreement.
"There's nothing really you can do as a normal person against a celestine worthy, even of the fifteenth rank"
"Less you have a relic, that is. You'll find plenty cheaper than dem apples"
"Yer don't say~ Just yesterday I got one from this runt down the harbor, payed good money for it"
"Oh?" that reaction was more or less that of the entire bar. Sudden changes in facial expressions made it evident that the attentive listeners wished to know more, but said nothing of the sort seeing as they are not part of the conversation. Even the man at the bar contorted his face in confusion, lowering his eyebrows.
"Eyy, wait a minute!" shouted the bartender from behind the counter. "How much ya paid for it, what does it do?"
Murmers of agreement sounded throughout the bar in an indistinguishable marriage from the many present. The man at the counter, whom had regained his straight posture on his stool, turned halfway as if to look at the second man in the circle.
"Fifty copper gulden for a way-findin' dagger. It guides my hand for the best method of attack. Don't use it though, might just kill an unlucky bastard. It's the real deal, I dunno where he finds the stuff but he has new relics ev'ry day. If ya want one, I suggest you look for Mousse at the harbor, heard he's homeless and sleeps in a small boat they call Old Bessie"
The bartender, satisfied with the information that he was able to gain, smiled at the man and said "I'll pay him a visit in my free time". Though he didn't seem the wonder why a pauper-vagabond would have that many relics.
"Why not get yaself an apple, ya can lose loose twenty-five big ones, can't ya?"
"If I spend that kind of money I can forget about resupplying for the month. Ye ever paid a fair for an import of Nevinian beer? T'will hurt ya pockets for the next eight weeks!"
The crowd in the bar bursted out in an uncontained and uncontrollable, yet genuine laughter and the bartender could not help but laugh alongside his customers. Their smiles were warm and genuine, adding a cozy atmosphere to the bar in the middle of the harsh winter. The bartender then turned to the man, the smile on his weathered face still lingering.
"What of you, newcomer? Are you gonna get a relic or an apple?"
"Isn't an apple also a relic?" The man responded, swiftly countering the question with one of his own.
"Hahaaa!! Well, he's not wrong there, is he?" shouted another and once again laughter erupted in a blooming wave, bringing the freshness of live with a likable chaos.
"What's yer name, newcomer?" asked the second.
"....." he paused, as if in deep thought and his eyes wandered aimlessly through the space as if in search for the appropriate word to speak in response. "My name's Lychipher Klein, but I'd honestly prefer it if you called me Whiskey" he finally replied with a gentle nod.
"Whiskey!?" barked another in question. "Ahh~you must be a heavy drinker if you have Whiskey as a street name"
"Uh..~ye, I'd agree I'm a crippling alcoholic". Whiskey jokingly added.
A third, audibly evocative sequence of laughter erupted and from the perspective of an outsider not present in the bar the lively atmosphere seemed theatrical, as if in the act of a stunning play.
"So, Whiskey..if ya don't mind me askin', you chosing a relic or the apple?" the fourth pressed on, the others watching with intent as if not to miss a single moment, drinks still in hand almost as if everyone had frozen in place.
"The Odom apple, no question"
"Hah!!? Why, ya can't pick and choose what gift you get. It's completely random and ya can only ever eat one!" the man commented. His perplexed expression made his statement all the more genuine.
To which the bartender added; "Ye, but ol' Whiskey here made the good bet you see. No matter what gift you get, if you cultivate it you might just become an occult god like that Beauchêne lady, Merlinette"
The man shook his head, unable to fully comprehend it.His partner to his right laughed ogreishly, as if bellowing like a wild boar and padded him softly on the right shoulder as he teared from the eyes. "If ya don't understand, don't worry about it. We all know you're the dullest tool in the shed" he calmed the other.
The others laughed alongside him in a consecutive fourth wave of tumultuous laughter and the man's face burned with embarrassment as he smiled awkwardly.
"If ye'r don't mind my askin', you gonna share what business brings you to Ridgemond, Whiskey?" enquired yet another voice from across the bar.
Lychipher Klein could not help but smile, faintly curling his thin lips upward in an arch. His eyes gleamed, reflecting the candlelight as he smiled. He had expected this question to arise at some point in the conversation. "Ahh~ I'm not here on any business gentlemen, just taking a stroll is all" he added.
He then nodded to the bartender and reclined from the wooden stool near the counter at the bar. Seeing this, the bartender nodded back with a smile.
"My bar's open any day of the week, Whiskey. So save up for that ogre glass of Nevinian beer next time"
"Will do" he swiftly responded with yet another nod to follow up the first. He then raised his hand, not waving, but signalled a form of greetings to the general audience.
"Good day, gentlemen. May the occult gods stand watch over the lot of you"
They raised their liquored glasses as a manner to accept and return his greetings, and did so with a warm smile. The wooden doors of the "Silver Viper" bar creaked sharply as it swung wide open, spilling candle-casted amber light onto the frost-kissed steps and the cobblestones of Ridgemond's main thoroughfare. Whiskey stepped out and in a motion of reflex pulled his woolen coat tighter around his frame to shield him against the bitter wind that howled through the narrow streets. Behind him the muffled din of laughter and clinking tankards continued and slowly faded as the door thudded shut. He then walked, stepping against the frosted stones of Ridgemond. Gas lamps casting flickering lights stood watch along the street edges in a straight line. A pale veil of cold mist clung close to the ground and dimmed the light somewhat. The cold air smelled of damp earth and horse ordure.
His breath fogged before him like puffing clouds formed from cotton. The rhythmic crunch of his boots against the thin layer of snow mixed with the distant clatter of hooves on cobblestone as a carriage rattled by. Its spinning wheels sprayed a slush of mud and snow onto the sides of buildings.
Whiskey kept walking, his arms buried deep in his coat that cocooned him. He saw a stray dog nosing through a pile of trash in a nearby alley. Its ribs were clearly visible beneath its matted fur. The dog paused to watch him with cautious eyes before sprinting deeper into the shadows of the alleyway.
Whiskey adjusted his crossed arms as the dog sprinted away. He turned to the aroma of roasted chestnuts from a vendor still tending their cart despite the late hour. He stood near the clock tower positioned in the town's square of Ridgemond. The tower's gothic spire reached toward the starless endday sky like a soaring eagle. Whiskey could not help but admire the architectural artwork and traced its form into the sky. Icicles hung like jagged teeth from the stone cherubs' mouths high atop the tower.
As he kept walking he eventually passed several shuttered shops with their signs swaying slightly on creaking chains. The milliner's window still displayed an array of elegant hats, although their colors were muted in the dim light. A cracked pane in the apothecary's door whistled faintly as wind slipped through. Whiskey kept walking. Each step following after the next in equal intervals. A church bell suddenly tolled loudly, it was that of the Vadimatican. Its deep and resonant chiming carried through the stillness with ease.
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
*TONG!!*
The bell chimed ten times in repetition, indicating the time was ten o'clock at night. The starless sky was a blueish-black canvas of empty space. He walked and turned onto a quieter street where the faint glow of his home came into view. He neared the door and called out by hammering against its frame with a fist three consecutive times. The faint noise of metallic clanging sounding as someone from the other end of the door unlocked it and pushed it open. A beautiful young woman, her brunette hair cascaded freely in twists and turns. She wore a western style culotte, brown in color and matched it with a white blouse