Utterly Mad

(( Written with Wilson. ))

Timeline: 12 years before the cataclysm.

Characters involved: Abraham, Sofia McKinnon, Sigmund

---

A small group of men and women rested by a campfire, in view of a river a few miles away from a small town. They rather clearly weren't campers out enjoying the scenery, but it was clear they came prepared for whatever they were here for. Weapons were neatly resting on a log laid out nearby, cloaks with metal scales hanging up from tree branches, and each had a metal mask either worn or nearby.

A woman, notably keeping her mask nearby but wearing plain clothes rather than the peculiar mix of modern clothing and medieval armor others had, turned to look at one of the men seemingly sitting there, glowering into the campfire. He'd insisted on retaining his armor, the only one there wearing a full suit of it. Leather of some sort, though extensively up-armored with assorted splints, scales, and lames variously laced or riveted into place. He had a spangenhelm with a mail aventail, and was the only one whose mask was built into the helm rather than open-faced helms the others had.

One of the younger men there glanced other at the figure, then at the woman. "That another Odin's Oath founder, Thane McKinnon?" the man asked. She was about to speak up when the armored man interrupted, not even looking their way. "No. Recruit, but I honor the gods all the same. Don't rely on them though." he answered. Only then did he look back, at the woman. "Sofia, correct? You're not a combatant. Why are you here?"

Sofia looked the man over, before giving a nod. "It was asked that someone experienced in seidr be available due to the nature of the artifact suspected to be in their possession. One that's not something small enough to take with us." she answered, and the armored man just scoffed. "Think you can handle a few rats, lass?"

"Act in unison, harry them at all turns..." Sofia answered, and the man smiled under his mask before adding to that. "Always advance in groups, stay in each others' mask range, and do not underestimate them. Not the magi, not the apprentices, not even the children they snatch away and corrupt." He then looked over to the other people. "Any other intel?"

One of them spoke up at that. "No known shrikes suspected to be there." he said, prompting a scoff from the armored mage hunter, before he continued. "Local area is also known to be an occasional spot for homeless to camp out, on the way between the two closest towns." At that the hunter seemed to perk up. "Odds of them working with the blood mages?" he asked, and the other promptly facepalmed. "Non-existent. If anything it seems the sanguinists periodically prey upon traveling vagrants here." At that, the armored mage hunter turned his attention back to the fire, seeming thoroughly uninterested.

"So what's your name then?" Sofia asked, and the man again didn't bother to look towards her. "Sigmund." he said. "Getting late. I'll take first wat-" It was then the distant sound of gunfire interrupted him, Sigmund immediately standing up and activating his mask. "...shrike." he said coldly, one of the others speaking up. "Not in mask range yet. Assume nothing, Brother." he said, only to be given a blunt rebuttal. "And expect anything."

Immediately the group gathered their weapons and cloaks, Sofia taking up a simple quarterstaff, others grabbing hammers, swords, and their peculiar crossbows. Sigmund took up his own cloak with fur decorations covering the scales on the shoulders, short sword and a small round shield at the ready. The gunfire resounded again, along with shouting, closer as they came upon the scene ahead.

There was a man, utterly haggard and practically destitute in appearance, with clothing that'd look like something out of a western film if not for how worn it looked. From the look of him, the only possession that stood out, the only thing in even half-decent condition was a short lever-action rifle, leaving plumes of black-powder smoke with each shot. “That poor vagrant...” Sofia said, only for Sigmund to glower at the group the stranger was trying to avoid being surrounded by. “...no. Something else.”

The vagrant shouted, “Fuck off! I’m not with ‘im anymore!” He said as a robed cultist snuck close to his side, as the gunslinger drew a worn but well oiled and maintained Schofield and shot him in the gut. One of the mage hunters as about to raise his hammer only for Sigmund to raise a hand, gesturing to more figures sensed on the edges of their vision. Instead he gestured for half the group to move one way, wraithslayers leveled as they covered a cautious advance by the others.

Sigmund himself led the group advancing, split off with one swordsman directly behind him, the rest circling to another position. There was a streak of flame searing its way across the underbrush, from a staff clutched by one of the robed men. The vagrant backed away as flames lapped at his duster, firing another shot at the closest man only to turn towards several knife-wielding figures that had circled around to his left. Next thing he knew, brilliant green bolts of light shot through the forest, tearing into the flanking men, and a figure lunged from the underbrush, singling out and hacking open the staff-wielding man.

“Wot’n’tarnation...” One knife-wielding cultist lunged at him, taking a bullet to the chest only to bowl Abraham over, before the robed figure’s head was staved in by a warhammer. As he fumbled to get back up, a masked woman offered him a hand. “Easy. We’re not here to hurt you.” The gunslinger looked the woman in the eye, before knee-capping a mage that was sneaking behind Sofia. “Keep yer head on a swivel! I’m fine!” The Gunslinger barked at her as he finished off the cultist.

Sofia nodded at that, raising her staff and following behind. The purpose of this became clear as a hatchet was slung their way, engraved markings glowing a peculiar red. She simply raised the staff only for it to explode in midair, sweeping flames and a spray of putrid blood swirling around, leaving a pristine circle in the ground around them. She then pointed to the direction the weapon was thrown from, taking advantage of the fact he whirled around to put a bullet through the man’s chest, so that he was facing away when a cacophony of brilliant flashes and thunderous sound erupted just ahead.

“What in th’ hell was that?” Abraham practically shouted, turning to see several figures in their cloaks of metal scales, or in armor, driving back the remainder of the group. He continued to look around them only for Sofia to speak up. “No more behind us. Trust me.” she said, and he warily chambered another couple rounds into the old mare’s leg before picking off a straggler among the group of now-fleeing cultists, seeing strange bolts of light likewise striking down figures one by one.

By now the remainder were being picked apart, but just when things seemed to calm down, Sigmund stepped up, glancing over Sofia and Abraham. “They’ll have a lair. Somewhere to snatch up their victims, likely not far. You...I know not what you are, nor do I care. Do you know this area?” Sofia meanwhile sighed, giving a polite nod. “Apologies for his attitude, he’s a bit...forward. Are you hurt?” she asked, only for the mage hunter to grumble. “If he is, can your miracles even treat him?”

“Yeah, I know th’ area. Trail runs up ‘round th’ bend an’ off the river half-a-mile north.” Abraham answered, and Sigmund nodded. “Good. We’ll start with just past the bend, head directly away from the river. Any place they can easily see this trail is likely where they are.” he answered, leading the way. Sofia perked up a bit at that. “Gods, I think this is...not more than a few miles south of...just 100 yards northeast of where we’re head is a path leading to an old spot we used to tend to, think it was an old plantation house before the woods grew over the fields. Good view of the river, don’t think I’ve heard of a blót being held there in a decade...” At that, Sigmund nodded. “Ideal place and former holy ground for them to defile? There’s our mark.”

Abraham gave Sigmund a look, “Y’remind me of someone, but that can wait. What’s yer plan once y’get there?” He drawled as he stared the mage hunter in the eye. Sigmund smiled under the mask. “Old building, grown over with vines, overrun by a cult that bleeds people dry and burns the mutilated corpses? A trifling mote of flame, and order Sofia here to use her little protective trick on the entrances. You don’t go in after them without numbers AND experience, and we’ve only six of us.” he said, gesturing to the other five. Sofia seemed a bit stunned at that. “Sigmund, that’s...for one overkill, and second I count seven.” Sigmund just scoffed at that. “Even with the revenant that’s not a full hunting party.”

The gunslinger had already walked off, to a white, skinny horse. He pulled several revolvers and a sawn-off double barrel out from the saddlebags, “Ah ain’t doin’ this yer way, ahm doin’ it mine. Y’all can join in, but if y’all wanna go with fuckin’-” He gesticulated at Sigmund, “Boone Helm’s idea y’all can go fuck off straight t’hell.” The Gunfighter said, as he clipped two more holsters to his belt and strapped a back holster onto himself.

Sigmund glowered at Abraham, taking a step forward only for Sofia to step in between. “Enough, both of you. We can handle this, but only if we work together.” she said, only for Sigmund to sigh. “Alright. When we get there, need eyes on any exit the rats might crawl out of. They might have captives anyway, but usually it’s a lost cause.” he said coldly.

He reluctantly followed along as the group made their way out into the area that had once been fields and farmland, now itself just as overgrown with trees and shrubs, in an elevated area overlooking the river. There was an area however where the trees had thinned though, and as the group came upon it, Sofia went a bit pale under her mask at the sight. Trees here and there had been cut down and burnt, underbrush stripped clean rather than trimmed, further sowed with ash. The source of that ash was apparent, a sizable pit filled with charred human bones.

“Oh...oh gods...” Sofia muttered, only for Sigmund to smirk under the mask. “Only just now getting squeamish, Sister?” She shook her head at that. “No, it’s not that. Just, I remember what the place used to be like. The hörgr used to be right there.” she said, pointing to the pit. “Th’ what now?” the gunslinger asked, and Sigmund sighed. “An altar. The sanguinists put this charnel pit here on purpose.”

Abraham ignored the burnpit, and made his way to the front door of the plantation house. He had several different revolvers on his person, ranging from different eras and times. The newest being a snub-nosed Model 29 clutched in his teeth, the oldest being a worn Colt Walker in his off hand, along side with his Model 3 Schofield. He knocked the grip of his schofield against the door.

Sigmund watched, stunned and profoundly irritated as he gestured for the others to take positions. There was no answer from the door at first, only for the door to seemingly open itself. Sigmund waved, holding up three fingers before pointing at a direction each time, hoping that Abraham understand the intent or perhaps figured out what the masks revealed.

A blood mage took a step backwards, opening the door before Abraham rose the schofield and planted a silver slug into her chest. She stumbled backwards into the main room, and Abe promptly dove into her, he flicked his wrist and domed another bloodmage with the colt walker.

Abraham saw first one then another fall, gesturing at one of the two carrying those odd crossbows. Abraham turned, about to fire on the third person in the room when a green bolt ripped through the decaying wood and tore through the man’s torso. Almost immediately he was followed in by Sigmund, shield at the ready as he pointed at a doorway, the man behind him raising a hammer as it gave off an odd glow. Abraham’s ears rung as the hammer’s glow gave off a loud bang.

The flash it gave off likewise stunned the people in the next room, Sigmund lunging in and stabbing at the cultist’s throat. “Watch for their axes...” Sofia said as she brought up the rear behind them. A pair of double doors were burst open, and Abraham fanned the hammer and dropped three of the five cultists. He dropped the spent colt walker and snatched the model 29 from his teeth, “Eleven shots.” Abe muttered, pulling back the hammer on the Smith and Wesson.

One of the mage hunters stepped in, holding a peculiar crossbow, a strange energy swirling about it. They advanced deeper into the decaying halls, Sigmund pointing out a separate hall to two of them venture down, to avoid being flanked. “If they’d had a shrike he likely would attack just as we split up, after we’ve expended effort on these weaker foes...” he said, looking back towards the faint auras of the two that ventured through the hall, hearing the bang of a hammer again as they stormed into the room they neared. “Hmmph.” He kicked in the opposite door, leading the way in.

Abraham had followed in right behind, grimacing a bit at the scene laid out before them. There were stripped, flayed bodies of stretched out across a long table, some of which were people he vaguely recognized. Now merely the subject of grisly rituals attended to by men and woman in those strange robes, a few with peculiar leather armor. And at the end of the table was the centerpiece of the morbid great hall, a massive stone block etched with countless strange symbols and ornate designs. One of the robed figures stood atop the monolith that seemed to take up a full third of the hall’s floor space, and the ceiling would’ve offered barely enough room to stand if not for the massive hole in it, as though the block had been carved from a meteorite that landed there.

Though the sanguinists were thrown into a panic by the intrusion and flash of hammers, he seemed unfazed by the interruption, and Abraham saw him standing over a second figure, forced to kneel with arms raised and bound to chains leading up into the rafters. He saw the glint of a knife, poised to stab into the man, and realized the soon-to-be victim was another vagabond he met occasionally in the next town. “Stop ‘em!” the gunslinger shouted, raising the older revolver as the robed man brought the knife down.

He saw only that the knife seemed to bounce off something, the robed man committing his full weight into the stab such that he smacked into whatever force halted the attempted execution, and the spray of blood from a bullet ripping through his throat revealed the outline of a bubble cast around the chained man. Sofia’s work.

Ten shots left. Abraham thought, surveying the morbid scene unfolding, watching as a bolt of green light struck down a man who was reaching for a hatchet embedded in the table. An’ just about twice that to deal with. He raised the Model 29 and calmly plugged a man in the chest, watching as Sigmund leapt over the table before him and took another’s head off, the gunslinger turning his efforts to braining someone who was about to lunge at the hunter. “Head on a swivel, boy!” he shouted with a little smile. Sigmund smiled under his mask, only to gesture in one direction without even turning to face him, prompting the gunslinger to whirl around and discharge the old Schofield into a charging cultist’s face. “Mask does well enough for me, you do the same.”

Another careful shot sent one of the cultists in armor staggering, finished off by a mage hunter kicking her knee out of place and staving their head in, only to see a man raise one of the strange axes high, about to charge towards them. “Ma’am, do that thing!” Abraham shouted, and Sofia grimaced a bit under her mask as she raised the staff, the axe-wielding cultist bouncing off a forcefield, trapped with two other sanguinists in the ensuing explosion.

It was soon however that the advance faltered, a spray of strange acrid mist flowing from the palm of another sanguinist, sending a mage hunter tumbling to the ground in agony, and the one behind him pulling back, a strange glow surrounding him as he cried out, seemingly in reaction to the cloak rather than the splash that caught his legs. Seeing this Abraham fired on the man, watching as one round went through the shoulder, another catching his gut, the sanguinist stumbling only to stagger across the lingering, fuming puddle of acid unharmed, dropping only to plunge a dagger into the body of the woman he caught in the vile spray, before the floorboards gave out from under the two.

It wasn’t long before only one remained, a single cultist backed up against the monolith, clutching a long staff adorned with a round red gem. Neither thinking nor caring about the consequences, flames erupted from the gem, sweeping across the hall and halting the advance of the others. Abraham tensed up a bit, stumbling backwards as a gout of fire caught his coat, momentarily losing his composure. Despite his he didn’t fall back, instead fanning the hammer of his Schofield, dumping the remaining three rounds into the cultist’s chest. He saw Sofia rushing to his side, her staff seeming to part the flames that swirled around him, and as she set a hand on his shoulder he felt a strange sensation. The pain dulled to a faint ache as smoldering fabric died down, and the fire threatening to engulf the wooden building steadily burnt down to the dim glow of faltering embers.

Abraham gave a little groan of pain when things at last seemed to calm down, sitting down in a chair despite the horrid scene laid out on the nearby table. Sofia was there helping another mage hunter unchain the captive and calm him down, a third was recovering what was left of the hunter who’d fallen prey to the sanguinst’s wyrmskin armor. Sigmund had gone from calmly beheading every slain cultist in the room, to searching what remained of the building with the other remaining mage hunter.

Sofia soon turned her attention to the massive block of carved stone, one of the mage hunters stepping up. “Is that...heard about some rumored artifacts, one of the slabs...” he said in a hushed tone. Sofia shook her head, gesturing to the markings on it. “I’ve little experience with those, but I’ve heard the reports. All the ones they found were something you could practically carry, by two or three people at most. These markings are definitely sanguine in nature anyway.” she explained, gathering a few items. Salt, laid in a cautious circle around it, before gather herbs and a small clay bowl. “No mistletoe or verbena, but it’ll do...”

She walked in a circle around the monolithic centerpiece of the plantation dining hall, cedar-scented smoke drifting from smouldering herbs in the bowl, and as she calmly recited something in Old Norse, faint glowing runes appeared here and there on the stone surface, before she returned to the monolith’s front. She gestured to a mage hunter standing beside her, pointing to a single prominent glowing symbol. “Strike.” The hunter brought their hammer down on that exact spot, and flames erupted from cracks in the stone surface, lapping at the steel and silver decorations, tongues of fire seemingly lashing out only to halt at the circle of salt surrounding the structure. Then, all at once, the cracks propagated over every last engraved surface, carvings sloughing off in crumbling pieces, chunks of stone falling away and leaving an uneven boulder of meteoric stone.

Soon the group had finished securing various items and books within the building, along with supplies and clothes, a set offered to the vagabond who had nearly been executed, along with a spare set offered to Abraham. While the other had gone on his way, reluctant to stay after witnessing such a terrible spectacle, Abe followed the remaining five back to their hastily-made camp, Sofia offering to prepare a meal for him while they rested and sorted the items taken from the building.

Sofia breathed a sigh of relief, offering a bowl to Abraham, to his relief not the same one she’d been burning plants in earlier. “Thank you for the help with all this. An unexpected surprise to say the least. If there’s anything we can help with, or any questions to answer, we’ll do the best we can.” she offered. Sigmund looked up from his bowl, a simple stew Sofia had made, and glanced over at Abraham. “Said I reminded you of someone, revenant?” he asked, and Sofia sighed a bit. “He has a name, you know...”

Abe looked up after practically inhaling the stew, “Wha- Oh! Yeah, y’reminded me of someone I met way back. There was this kraut bounty hunter, an’ his n- Black friend.” He said, before catching himself. “He was very practical, an’ blunt at that.” Abraham continued, “The kraut was a fine fella, always bought the first round.” He finished, looking the Slayer in the eye.

Sofia gave Abraham a concerned look as he went on, one mage hunter noticeably glancing over before returning their attention to tending to their wounded comrade while they rested, Sigmund smiling under his mask. “Have to be practical when dealing with blood mages. Our gear may look flashy, but it has a purpose. If you aren’t...” As he said this, he picked up one of the books taken from the building, before nonchalantly tossing it into the campfire. “...you end up like so many others that have run into these rats.”

Abraham hmmed a bit, watching as the man tossed the book into the fire, seeing another working at taking apart one of those strange staffs, while Sofia picked a small glass orb that had been recovered among the minor artifacts. “I’d been tempted to ask about what did this to you, or the nature of the artifact I sensed in place of your right eye, but...” she said, examining the orb taken up. "To tell the truth we don't have a lot of time, as there was another thing we need to take care of soon."

One of the others spoke up. “What do you think, Thane McKinnon? Doesn’t look familiar, didn’t seem to be made from blood magic...” Sofia nodded. “Something likely taken by a stray practitioner of another discipline. Seems to be safe in fact. Nothing but some energy imbued in it and very basic enchantments, yet to be finalized...” she said, getting an idea. She focused her magic, sprinkling what seemed to be holy water on it, taking out a small charm carved out of bone before tossing the odd carved item into the fire. “Should be...perhaps if there’s nothing else we can do for you, this would be suitable? It may be more useful to you than to us, and it’s not worth destroying.” she explained.

Abraham hmmed a bit, carefully replacing his weathered golden eye with the glass one, glancing over the group and the peculiar spectacle of the magical items sensed through its sight, before replacing the fake eye again. The gunslinger and the group parted ways soon enough, both parties left with unanswered questions yet relieved that things had turned out less grim than it could’ve gone, despite the half-dozen losing one of their own...