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A NAMELESS BORDER TOWN IN CAVARIL HAS REPORTED A SUDDEN SPIKE IN THE NUMBER OF NIGHTLY ABDUCTIONS, CITING A SUDDEN RISE FROM 70 TO 73. THE TOWN SHERIFF, ACTING DECISIVELY AND RESPONSIBLY, IMMEDIATELY RECALLED THE ENTIRE ARMY OF CAVARIL, DECLARED WAR ON EVERY NEIGHBORING STATE, AUTHORIZED TWENTY HIT TEAMS, TATTLED TO HIS MOTHER AND CALLED FOR THE IMPEACHMENT OF THE COUNTRY'S MONARCH. LIBERAL ACTIVIST JUDGES HAVE SINCE ANNOUNCED THAT HE LACKS THE AUTHORITY TO DO ANY OF THAT, IMPERILING OUR NATION. THREE PEOPLE ARE IN CRITICAL CONDITION IN GROMSKAL'S ST. TUTENKHAMUN MERCY HOSPITAL AFTER A RUN IN WITH WHAT WAS DESCRIBED AS 'A GIGANTIC DEATH PUMPKIN, RAMPAGING ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE AND SURMOUNTED BY A FLESHLESS DEMON'. THIS IS WHAT ATHEISTS ACTUALLY BELIEVE. TONERD FLINTBREAKER, BROTHER OF THE RECENTLY-DECEASED PRESIDENT OF THE NRA, WAS FOUND DEAD TODAY, APPARENTLY DURING A STRUGGLE WITH INTRUDERS IN HIS HOMESTEAD. UNBIASED REPORTS FROM EXPERTS WHO JUST HAPPEN TO BE OLD HUNTING BUDDIES OPINE THAT IT IS ALMOST CERTAINLY THE WORK OF THE SAME HUSSIE WHO KILLED HOLEN. IT IS SUSPECTED THAT SHE IS AN AGENT OF THE ANTI-GUN MOVEMENT, COME TO TAKE ALL OF OUR GUNS. DO NOT. INVADING JIHADISTS HAVE BEEN SIGHTED LEAVING THE KRELL DESERT, PUTTING PRESSURE ON THE UPRIGHT CIVILIZATION OF THE STRAGEURE TO THE NORTH. OFFICIALS FROM THE STRAGEURE SAY THAT THEY HAVE NO INFORMATION REGARDING THE KRELL THAT THEY CAN SHARE AT THIS TIME, WHILE OFFICIALS IN CAVARIL RESPONDED MUCH THE SAME, SAYING 'THE KRELL? I'UNNO. WEIRD FELLAS. WANT SOMETHING TO EAT?' REPORTS FROM THE GREAT NORTHERN OCEAN INDICATE A RAPID INCREASE IN UNDEAD PIRATE INCIDENTS. OFFICIALS WITH THE ORDER OF LIGHT ADVISE ALL SAILORS TO EQUIP THEIR SHIPS WITH GIANT FANS TO REPEL THE PIRATES AND PREVENT THEM FROM GETTING CLOSE ENOUGH TO BOARD. ARCHPROLATE DEVON, SEVENTH ULTRAPOPE OF THE ORDER OF LAMASHTU MADE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO HIS FAITHFUL, SAYING "THE STARS FALL FROM THE SKY IN THE NIGHT, CHILDREN ARE RUDE AND IMPETUOUS TO THEIR ELDERS AND THE UNDERDEACON OF THOR NEVER RETURNED MY GOOD SHAVING RAZOR. IT IS CLEAR THAT MEN ARE IMPIOUS, AND THE GODS HAVE DECREED GOTTERNEROKERDAMMERUNGPOCALYPSE." WHILE THE MAJORITY OF THE CHURCH DOES NOT SUPPORT THE ULTRAPOPE'S INTERPERTATION OF RECENT COSMOLOGICAL SIGNS, HIS FAITHFUL HAVE BEGUN PREPARATIONS FOR THE END OF DAYS, PROMINENTLY INVOLVING THE CONSTRUCTION OF A GIGANTIC WOODEN RABBIT TO BE BURNED IN EFFIGY FOR REASONS UNCLEAR AT THIS TIME. STOCKS ROSE 5% TODAY ON NEWS THAT THE FIRST BANK OF NEARNO WAS CONSIDERING FINALLY LETTING PEOPLE HAVE SOME OF THEIR MONEY BACK IN RESPONSE TO 'OCCUPY WHEREVER THE FUCK THAT IS', A PROTEST MOVEMENT ORGANIZED BY NOTED ACTIVIST JACK BOWER, WHO HAS NO ULTERIOR MOTIVES. EXPERTS AGREE THAT WHILE THIS MIGHT IMPROVE THE MARKET IN THE SHORT-TERM, THIS SORT OF CLASS WARFARE WILL ONLY LEAD TO COMMUNISM IN THE END. A MAN IDENTIFIED AS ASHER 'DEIN' MORITLES HAS BEEN FOUND DEAD TODAY, CORPSE MOLDERING INSIDE A BUILDING WHICH HAD BEEN DESTROYED BY SOME SORT OF TYPEWRITER EXPLOSION. MORTICIANS ON THE SCENE PROCLAIMED THE CAUSE OF DEATH TO BE 'TYPING SO FAST HE DIED FROM IT'. THE SUMMIT BETWEEN THE ANTI-TRADITIONAL FACTION OF THE GESEGNET AND A ROYAL EMBASSY LED BY NUADHA NUNGALPIRRIGGALDIM MAZDA CONCLUDED TODAY AS LORD MAZDA OBLITERATED THE DIPLOMATIC ATTACHE IN A VIOLENT HELLSTORM. IN A LATER INTERVIEW, HE STATED 'GWARSH, THAT'S HERESY!' UP NEXT; OUR DOCUMENTARY OF THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL, FEATURING EXPERTS, RUMORS, WRITINGS AND OTHER SECOND-HAND SOURCES BECAUSE NOBODY HAS EVER GODDAMN EMERGED ALIVE FROM THE PLACE. OUR OWN ANCHORS WILL DISCUSS WHETHER THE HOUSE, THE MYTHS AND ULTIMATELY THE INEVITABILITY OF DEATH ITSELF COULD BE EUROPEAN-SOCIALIST PLOTS INTENDED TO DILUTE THE EXCEPTIONALISM OF OUR GREAT NATION.
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The House on Haunted Hill; Hardy Boys Mysteries #38
Topic Started: Dec 6 2011, 12:27 AM (755 Views)
Rimbad
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LORD HIGH EXECUTIONER
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In the darkest corner of the Principality of Gromstradt, it stands.

Listen well, children, and heed my tale. It was a dark and stormy night when three young men came up from Gromkurst, bold and brave and foolish by turn. They had made boasts to their ladyloves that they should return to them with legend and treasure to their names, that the girls' fathers would consent to marriage.

"I shall hunt afield, in the Thundergard," one said, "And return with the golden eggs laid by the Againhawk."

"I will go to the sea," claimed a second, "And return with Poseidon's trident, to become a great man."

"I shall hunt in the burning woods," the third decided, "And what I find there must suffice."

That, children, shows that he has reasonable expectations and an estimable equanimity, if rather a dearth of creativity.

Still, the three men were just leaving the Municipality when a great storm struck, filled with flashing lightning and great tornadoes. The men pressed on as long as they could, but their horses grew more and more tired by the passing minute, and they saw red eyes following in the darkness alongside. The men grew desperate, for they knew that their horses would give out to the cold and the rain soon enough, and there seemed to be no dwellings in sight.

Finally, as they crested I Love Lucy Lane, they came upon an ancient manor, standing seven stories tall. It was built of old stone and older wood, and bore six chimineys from its towers. Only one window, at the very top, glowed with comforting light, and the whole building creaked and shivered in the driving wind. It seemed a place of ill omen, but the men had no better place to go.

After they stabled their horses, the first man knocked upon the door. Bang! Bang! Bang! He knocked three times! As he pulled back for a fourth blow, the doors drew open, revealing an ancient, dusty greeting hall, and an elderly man in a servant's clothing. Surely here was the majordomo, come to investigate the noise.

"Yes?" asked the servant, his voice as old and creaking as the house itself. "How may I help you?"

"We have traveled through this storm for some hours now," one of the men explained, "And our horses grow weary, and the storm grows worse. We would ask that your master take some pity upon us, and let us stay the night."

"This is a poor night." the servant agreed, his face betraying neither sympathy nor sneer, "But you will find it no better here. This is an unhappy house, and my master would not see his misery inflicted upon others. You should go."

"Please!" another begged, "Our horses will die, and we with them!" They did not cease their pleas, and the servant relented, letting them into the ancient manor. He led them up the stairs and showed them to adjoining rooms, but protested when they asked to be allowed to thank the house's master in person and refused to show them the way.

"This is an old house," the servant said to them, "And you may hear many strange noises in the night. Be not alarmed, but for no cause leave your rooms." He bid them good morrow, and then left.

Now, the first man was an arrogant man, and he was too proud to listen to the words of servants. As he lay restlessly abed, he heard some strange commotion without his door- a sound like footsteps, then a dragging noise, and the rattle of chains. Curious, he opened the door and set off down the hallway, knocking upon the doors of his fellows to rouse them. Though they were reluctant to go, he made light of their cowardice such that they were moved to follow.

The men crept down the stairs and through the house, and down into the manor's cellars, searching for the source of the sound. Growing frustrated, they resolved to split up in the hope of finding their object faster.

The first man traveled deep downward, and found an adjoining tunnel which took him to the crypts. There he walked among the ancient sepulchers of the dead, until he heard a skittering in the darkness. Intrigued, he pursued it into a tunnel deeper still. Only his scream, cut short, returned to his fellows.

The second man returned to the ground floor and wandered about for a time, lost. As he wandered, he began to smell the aroma of warm meat, and the wafting temptation of fine seasoning. Intrigued, he made his way to the kitchen, where a great fire was alight in the pit. Thinking nothing of the lack of a chef, he opened the pot, only to find the boiled corpse of the first man, wearing a rictus grin. Though he tried to stumble away, the arms of that man had somehow fallen upon him from the pot, and he tripped, toppling into the fire. It is said that though that fire burned him, it never sufficed to consume, and he burns to this day.

The final man, recognizing the curse of the gods, fled. The door was locked and barred from without, so he sought some safe place within the dark rooms. Upward he ran, up the stairs, and shadows pursued, confident of victory with his fellows dispatched. They clutched at his hands, his feet, his hair, and he wept bitter tears of terror. At last, he came to the top of the winding tower stairs and burst into a well-lit room.

In that room he found the Master of the manor, lying asleep upon the bed. The man came to wake him, but discovered the Master lay without pulse, without breath, dead. Behind him, the servant burst from the shadows, armed with a wicked knife- he was the one who had killed his companions! The man wrestled with the servant, but finally took the knife and stuck the servant in the head, slaying him. As he rose, he found the Master awake, watching him.

"You have killed my good servant" said the Master, his voice dark and sad, "And so you must replace him."

And that is why you should never go into the house of a strange man.



"Wait." said the little girl sitting at the Director's feet, listening, "If none of them came back, how do you know the story?"

"Ah." the banker said, glibly, "I heard it from a man, who heard it from a man, who heard it from an oracle."

It was a sunny, beautiful day, and Bower sat on a soft wooden bench at the side of a square, watching the people pass through the pagodas and prayer gates set bizarrely in the open-air market. A group of children had gathered near him, attracted possibly by his natural charm and possibly by the dozens of cages full of cats he'd purchased, loaded on the wagon behind him. He had taken to telling them stories while he waited.

"That was a lazy story." she said, voice full of reproach, "I think you just don't care about us."

"Nonsense!" said Bower, his voice full of surprise, "I cannot begin to tell you how hurt I am. Still, I shall make do. Watch this. Ho! Alemonger!"

A man hauling a cart of barrels paused as he trudged toward the market and turned. "Sir?"

"I will buy five casks from you, here and now."

"Yes, of course."

Bower spread his arms magnanimously as the man began to roll casks off the cart toward the children. "You see? You each get a full cask to drink, and never again will you accuse me of disliking children!"

As the children scrambled over their sudden gift, the Director of the First Bank leaned back, content to wait.
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“-and so the noble knight left on his steed to fight injustice elsewhere, confident in his companions ability to handle the generous and welcoming Hawkborn’s bandit problem. Oh how right he was! After traveling through the life infused swamps our intrepid adventurers, myself included of course, gazed upon the lair of these vile fiends. I-“

Spade sat crouched in a flower filled field, untouched by the eternal fires of the land that he was actively avoiding. Before him was a child he had come across, listening intently to the tales spun by the weird looking stranger before her. Watching as well: the story was accompanied by crudely drawn images on what was otherwise very nice parchment. Spade was glad to have found someone to share stories with, the few people he had ran into in this land had immediately ran away or chased him with weapons for some reason he couldn’t comprehend. He had asked and the child did not know the reason either.

Spade had, as he does, gotten lost in the Ba’al lands when he finally stumbled upon a little girl, a paragon of the goodness and innocence hero’s dedicate themselves to defend. She did not run and Spades bravado quickly erased her shyness. They had spent a few hours now exchanging stories; she had mostly been speaking about her family or what she liked to eat but a few of her stories intrigued Spade. Tales of a demon who spouted flame and consumed entire villages near the border, legends explaining the land’s fires, and most curious: a nearby haunted mansion. A real one! She could even point in the direction of where it was! Spade could barely contain his excitement, being an engaging storyteller of his most heroic personal tale was the least he could do in exchange.

“-thus the day was saved! Our heroes paid their farewells not in sadness, but with the expectation that one day they would surely meet again to fight evil wherev-“

THUD, a crossbow bolt embedded itself in the ground nearby Spade. Spade quickly stood and turned around, ready for battle. A heavy voice rang out as Spade readied his retort.

“How could you MISS?!”

“You will never overcome the forces of good, foul monster! How dare you attack a child!?”

Before him was a very sweaty man in overalls, face full of rage but pale and shaking like he had seen a ghost. With him were three armed men, one of which held a crossbow and also looked terrified.

“Is that some kind of sick attempt at humor!? Get- GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER.”

The men charged Spade but ultimately could not keep up with his endurance as he ran, awkwardly placing his self-made heroic literature back into his backpack as he did so. It seemed like this was just another misunderstanding. That ended with being attacked. Spade hated those. Before getting out of earshot the heavy voiced man said one more thing to Spade.

“Sto- stop guys, he’s just trying to wear us out; I ain’t gonna fall for it. We have to tell the nearby villages that he’s this deep in our lands, heck tell everyone. You hear that you monster!? We’re going to be on guard now! Just run back to where you came! Demon!”

~-~-~

“It’s better than I could have hoped!”

Spade had found the mansion, without getting lost again, in due time. He mourned how incomplete his collection was however. He had a few pieces of literature that made reference to haunted houses, even one that had a preview image of one for the next issue, but not a single one that actually took place in one. With the gifts the Hawkborn had bestowed upon him however, he would soon make that change. But alas! He knew that investigating haunted places fell firmly under the purview of what adventurers did, but he was pretty sure you needed a group for it. Otherwise how would the audience be amused by the separate reactions of the clashing personalities to ghosts? How could a single person bump into themselves after being chased? Spade was filled with a deep dread at this thought.

“No. An ally of justice does not let a lack of numbers deter him! I just have to believe that everything will work out.”

Spade raises his chin high, rests his spade on his shoulder, and confidently strolls towards the entrance to the mansion.
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Rhaide
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It was a normal day in the market that rested in the outskirts of Gromkurst, with the usual chaotic mass of citizens swarming between the shops that lined the streets. Amidst the hustle, one figure clearly stood out from the crowd. The man was dressed almost entirely in black, and was stopping anyone he passed, showing them a worn-looking piece of paper before moving on to the next. After each conversation he looked a little more annoyed, cursing to himself under his breath. He'd spent most of the morning in the same manner, and it had gotten him nowhere. Still, it wasn't like he had any other options. He'd tracked the bastard this far, he certainly wasn't going to stop now. Sighing, the man resigned himself to continue his search, showing the paper to anyone he crossed.

Two weeks. He'd been hunting that man for two weeks now. The chase, like most of them, started out in the Krell lands. Among the numerous wanted posters in the bounty office, his had stood out from the rest. A killer, Simon Baldwin had definitely murdered at least three people, and was suspected in the deaths of many more. He preferred women, it seemed, apparently disfiguring them horribly with a knife before finally ending their misery. Exactly the type of scum Gideon liked to hunt.

Gideon adjusted his glasses as he continued to show the wanted poster to the locals, cursing the weather. It was a vibrant, sunny day, the type which bathed everything in painful, blinding light, barely tolerable due to his sunglasses. As he continued to roam the market, his thoughts went to Simon's escape from the desert. The bastard was fast, but he must have been tipped off. By the time Gideon had kicked in the door to his room at that inn, he'd been long gone. Still, Simon was sloppy, leaving a trail of witnesses in his wake as he fled. It hadn't been hard to follow him this far, and with any luck, it wouldn't be too difficult to track him down now. He'd been gaining on the killer over the past few days, and was certain that his prey had entered this town the previous evening. If he stuck to his pattern, he'd rest through the day and move when night fell. Gideon just needed to find someone who'd caught a glimpse of the fugitive...

An hour passed before he finally found what he was looking for. After showing the picture to at least fifty of the locals, he'd managed to come across someone who'd seen the man, one of the shopkeepers.

"You've seen him!?" Gideon's voice was stern, demanding. "When? Where?"

"Well..." The woman was clearly taken back by the his tone, but decided against mentioning that. "It was last night. I was heading home you see, it was quite late... I saw that man skulking around the edge of town. He looked rather unsavory, and I was by myself, so I kept my distance... But before I lost sight of him, I saw him go into that old mansion. If he hadn't looked the way he did, if he hadn't scared me, I certainly would've stopped him... warned him at least."

"Mansion? Where is it? I have to find him, it's very important."

The woman told Gideon where to find the place, clearly not wanting to annoy someone so imposing. As he turned to leave however, she called out to him. "You can't go there!"

"And why, exactly, is that?"

"That place is cursed! Haunted, some say. I don't pretend to know the truth about that miserable house, but I know one thing. A lot of people have entered that place over the years... None have come back out."

Beneath his glasses, Gideon couldn't help but roll his eyes. Haunted? The things people believed never ceased to amaze him. Like he was going to let some local superstition get in the way of a job. Still, even if it was bullshit, the woman clearly believed it enough to fear the place. He turned back towards the woman and gave her the slightest of smiles.

"Thanks for the warning."

~~~

It wasn't long before Gideon was approaching the 'haunted' mansion, eyeing a curiously dressed man walk towards it's entrance. As he drew near, it became apparent that it wasn't a man at all. It's features and skin gave it away as a biocon, one of the labor models if he had to guess. Gideon's hand rested on the handle of his pistol as he reviewed the information he'd obtained on the fugitive in his head. Once he was certain there'd never been a mention of a biocon accomplice in Simon's file, he relaxed. He walked up to it, holding up a hand, motioning for him to stop.

"Wait a moment, if you would. There's something I need to ask you. I'll return shortly."

The bounty hunter quickly dashed around to the back of the mansion, checking for any exits aside from the front door. Once he was satisfied that there weren't any, he returned to the biocon, drawing the wanted poster out of his pocket.

"Have you seen anyone leave this house? Particularly this man?"

The words 'wanted' and 'murder' were in rather bold script on the poster, along with a sketch of the man. Even if he'd never seen a wanted poster before, it would likely be obvious to Spade that the man depicted was a criminal...
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Dranz
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YISSS
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“Jace, tell your rakkie to shut his mouth.”
“Shut my mouth?! Slam it, you drek-spewing fuck! I know what I'm talking about!”
“Do you? A mudboy down in the pits doing trash-runs for food knows more than me about guns, huh? Do you know who I am, chum? You're spare parts waiting to happen, I was a gunsmiths son!”
“Diligaf, puerco!
“Rakking scum is what you are! No scratch, no class, just hot air, a bakebrained wormboy!”
“Oh, you wanna' talk, huh? Slammit on then, fraggin' asshole!”

The pickup-truck rumbled over a hill before slowing down. At the wheel, a heavily clothed man sat, no skin showing through all of the layers, even covering his eyes with goggles. None could see it, but he glanced in the rear-view, catching a glance at the two men in the back yelling at one-another. He slowed the vehicle as one of them moved to stand up. The terrain made for an uneven ride, since they had yet to reach the paved roads of the Principality proper.

Both men were now standing in the bed of the truck, having to make a focused effort to maintain balance. Thankfully they weren't moving too fast. One of them, obviously very young, was dressed in a tattered leather jacket, metal studs and patches all over it. He wore a bandana about his head to keep his hair in place during the ride, and leather biking chaps as well. He sneered at the other man, who looked much older, more experienced. The youth would have none of his attitude today, though. After having to share space with the guy for so long, he had grown annoyed with his standoffish disposition and silent air of superiority.

The man driving the truck grunted before turning his head back a bit and yelling back at the two.
“Jus' fuckin' fight and get it over with!”
It was with those words that the young man threw a punch. Landing a right hook while standing on the bed of a moving truck wasn't the easiest thing, and he found himself fighting to regain his balance after the punch went wide.

“Just sit down and we'll settle this when we stop.”
The older man insisted. It did nothing to calm the enraged thug.
“Frag you, old man!”
The boy drew a knife, but quickly found it tumbling out over the edge of the truck as the man he was fighting disarmed him by grabbing the wrist and twisting. The young man struggled, but couldn't wrench his hand away. His free arm went to his side and pulled his pistol from the holster.

In a split second, the two were wrestling over the gun. Both men tried to pry it from the others' grip, to avoid being shot, or to shoot, either way. The two struggled for only a moment before the truck hit another bump, and their balance was lost. The older man held on to the pistol as he lost footing, lifting from the bed of the truck. The vehicle left him, and he went tumbling through the air. He could feel something catch on his ankle as he fell from the back.

The ground was grassy, soft, and their speed was low. The man tucked and rolled as the thug fell face-first into the bed of the truck, still on board. The older man hit the ground, thankfully at an angle he could manage, and at the top of a small hill. He rolled, absorbing the shock along his entire body rather than just slamming against the earth. He could feel a weight on his leg as he did so, which caused his ankle some pain as it twisted. Eventually he came to a stop. The truck kept going.

He pushed himself up, sitting now on the ground as he watched the truck drive away.
“And nobody uses frag anymore you bit-brained pig!”

Malloc sat in the grass, trying to see where he was, if he was injured, if he had lost anything, and a number of other things. He was so caught up in checking over himself and his belongings that he hadn't even noticed that there were others nearby, at the large house he had conveniently rolled up near. He seemed to be okay, physically. It turned out that his backpack and tool kits came with him, as what had snatched his ankle was the silver chain of a locket that was, for some reason, wrapped around a strap on his pack, which his kits were attached to.

He lifted his arm, looking at the gun he had managed to wrestle away from Jace's thug. A Hammer Arms 620S. That much he could tell at a glance. A common light pistol he used to run repairs on all the time when he was younger. Small weapon, but accurate, and enough power to down a man, just like any gun really. 'Least with enough lead. He wasn't expecting to come away with a weapon he could use. Then again, he hadn't expected to fall from the back of a truck when he got up this morning, either.

Reid put the pistol away, storing it in a pocked on the interior of his coat. He retrieved from his backpack his hat, which he fixed the shape of before donning. He stood up, wiping the grass off of his clothes and arm before looking at the locket that had saved his gear. The same one he had thrown away just the other day. He didn't know if he should be annoyed that it was back, or thankful that it had brought his gear with him. He pocketed the silver chain and locket

Finally having a moment to get a look at his surroundings, he noticed the other few people nearby. He hadn't realized they were there before, and in the back of his head he now wondered just how much they had heard and seen of his little fight and tumble. They must be the ones that own the mansion if they're standing right outside the front of it. Though they didn't look the type.

Hadn't there been stories of an indestructible murder house or something in the last town? A place that'd been burnt or town down before, but always came back. Apparently ghosts, or something. Treasure, too. The prospect wasn't exactly one Reid had considered before. But if this was that fabled house...

Malloc gathered up his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulders, and taking up a toolkit in each hand. He grunted a bit as he found his ankle to be grieving him somewhat from the strain of the fall, but otherwise he felt fine as he moved toward the front door, and the others gathered around it. His thoughts returned to wondering about what they must have seen, and how they'd react to him just kind of falling off of a truck and waltzing up to them.
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Rimbad
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LORD HIGH EXECUTIONER
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As the Director approached the apex of the haunted hill with his wheelbarrow full of cats, he couldn't suppress a slight smile. There was a great deal of movement and light about the manor's entrance, and he reasoned that several people or groups thereof. He'd been returning to the door of this manor at twilight for the past two weeks, merely awaiting a convergence like this; he'd started to fear that he'd need to set agents to get it into motion.

Nearing the door, Bower took note of a motor vehicle speeding off, apparently of its own volition. A rare, toothy grin touched his face. Certainly it had not broken down in front of the ancient house, but the situation seemed close enough. His sources were to be commended, and an opportunity was to be seized.

Soon, the figures resolved themselves- three people, clearly not joined into a group, but moving to make contact. The Director mulled that over; all to the good, perhaps. No women, unfortunately, but no situation was ever entirely perfect. He watched the mansion, tense. Would four men in the dark of night suffice?

There was a roll of thunder in the distance, and at the top of the mansion, a light slowly flickered on, dim and glowing within a dark window. Jack relaxed, and made a mental note to assign a large donation to the temple of a particularly talkative and superstitious clergyman in Gromkurst proper. His information was proving to be far better than Bower might have suspected.

Director Bower made a quick inventory of his cats, all of whom seemed ruffled by the bumpy barrow-ride but none the worse for wear. There would be a sufficiency. His briefcase was safely tucked into the bottom of the conveyance, and all else seemed in order. It was time to get the ball rolling. With renewed resolve and in good spirits, the Director cupped hand to his mouth and shouted towards the house. "Hallo the wayfarers!"
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Grey
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Spade was not able to complete his trek, for the better, when a suspiciously dressed man approached him. The man seemed nice enough, although telling a person to wait and then immediately running away did not seem like the proper order of actions. Regardless, Spade obeyed the command and took the time to spruce up some of the sickly looking surrounding vegetation. Soon afterword the trenchcoat wearing man returned carrying a piece of paper. Happy to meet a man of his word Spade stopped watering the shrubs around the area he was standing in to stare intently at the picture offered.

“Regretfully I have never actually been here before but perhaps during my travels I may have ran into-“

Spade did not recognize the man on the poster, but that was not important. This man was chasing a criminal! Not a mere thief or jaywalker either, but a dangerous murderer! Running into a fellow pursuer of justice that intended to enter the same mansion could not be coincidence. They just HAD to fight crime together on this day. But an arrest of a criminal that resided in a haunted house? Spade did not know what sort of genre this would be, but he liked it. His face was twisted into a look of glee for a moment before returning to “normal” and clearing his voice.

“I know not the face of this vile fiend you seek, friend. But a criminal such as he should not be allowed to take root, haunted mansion or not.”

Spade places his free hand on his hip and pivots towards the mansion while extending the hand holding his shovel upwards, cape billowing. Practice pays off, it seems.

“I shall join you in your quest , together we-we… what was that?”

Another stranger had apparently fallen off a truck from the nearby road. Spade wished to continue his speech but ultimately, he realized with a sigh, it just would not be the same. It simply could not be helped. But not all was bad, where before there was just Spade now there were three: a group. A group of intrepid strangers ready to explore the haunted house. Perfect. It took the second stranger a while but he eventually began walking towards Spade. Spade was inclined to wave at him wholeheartedly, ignoring the trenchcoat man.

“Greetings strange truck person! Care to explore this mansion with us? Perhaps..we can…”

Interrupted for the second time, Spade marveled at the din of thunder accompanied by the single window of the building lighting up faintly. And just when it could not be better a shout of greeting rang out. A third stranger stood a ways away from the group, surrounded by… cages? Regardless, everything DID work out after all! Spade was overwhelmed with joy; he took a moment to settle his four eyes on each of the strangers gathered before continuing with exaggerated and, thanks to always carrying around a full sized spade, slightly dangerous gestures.

“Haha! A fourth person to join our sprouting group. Greetings yourself! Now we are set to continue forward, let us find out what inner rot corrupts this place while simultaneously avenging the deaths of the innocent. Won’t that be grand? Oh, please forgive my rudeness. You can all call me Spade, what are your names!?”

His words were loud enough to reach even the third stranger, Spade merely had to wait for what would surely be even more friends of his to agree with his entirely reasonable proposition. Perhaps he was finally getting the hang of this social interaction stuff, Spade thought.
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Gideon eyed the biocon cautiously as it glanced over the wanted poster, only to be slightly unnerved by the twisted (Gleeful? Hard to tell with artificial faces, at least the cheap-looking ones...) expression that took hold of it's face. Curious. When he'd returned to show the poster to the biocon, he could've sworn that it had been tending to the obviously dead plants that dotted the mansion's entrance. And then, when it spoke, it rose a massive shovel into the air and just stopped (Posed? Why would it be posing?) with one hand on it's hip, as if for dramatic effect. This, combined with the cape flapping in the wind presented a very comical, if not slightly disturbing image. Doing his best to resist the urge to chuckle madly, Gideon remained stoic as he listened to what it had to say.

Join him!? Was it mad? While Gideon had encountered too few of the biocons in his travels to claim to know what was normal behavior for them, this one seemed... (Deranged? Delusional?) odd. It spoke of joining his 'quest' like it was some glorious affair. The gardener wouldn't be so eager if it had seen some of that bastard's victims... Still, it might be worth considering. Though the gardener did seem a bit off, that shovel could be a fearsome weapon in the right hands, and the labor-model biocons were usually insanely strong. Of course, that assumed that it was trustworthy, something that could not be guaranteed. Even if it was, there was always the chance that Gideon would simply be bringing his prey one last victim. That wouldn't do.

"I don't think that's a good..." Gideon had started to politely decline the biocon's offer when a man fell from the back of some strange-looking vehicle nearby. He heard the man cursing at someone inside the vehicle (likely the one responsible for ejecting him), and then watched him get back on his feet after a moment. He didn't seem to be severely injured, which was good, if not slightly shocking. For a moment, Gideon was worried that he'd have to go and help the man, but since he was seemingly alright, he returned his attention to the biocon issue at hand.

It had now begun to wave eagerly at the new arrival, calling out and inviting him to join their 'group'. Well, if he had to deal with a potentially crazy biocon, at least it was a good-natured type of madness.

"Look, I don't..." He was cut off again as he tried to speak with the biocon by yet another newcomer. What the hell? He didn't want to bring one potential victim along with him during his hunt, and yet more people kept showing up, only to be invited to take part in some 'quest' by a slightly deranged biocon gardener. Gideon swore under his breath as he narrowly dodged one of the grand gestures made by the biocon's shovel, stepping slightly to the side and waiting for it to calm before he tried to speak again. When it introduced itself, he had to stifle the urge to laugh once more. The name, while obviously referencing his skills, was about as comical as the biocon itself. Once Spade had stopped talking (and gesturing wildly...), Gideon waited for a moment, almost certain that any moment yet another traveler would wander in. Once he was certain that there wouldn't be any more surprises, he addressed Spade once more, hoping that he could manage to get a full sentence out this time.

"Black. Gideon Black. Now look... Spade, is it? I'm hunting a very dangerous man here. I'm not embarking on some grand adventure like you seem to think. For your own safety, don't follow me. I work alone."

With that, Gideon drew his pistol, placing his free hand on the door and opening it cautiously. He didn't bother to turn around and see what the others would do before he entered the house, weapon raised. If they wanted to be foolish and follow, so be it. Though he hoped it wouldn't come to it, he'd simply have to try and keep any of them from getting killed if they chose to enter the mansion as well...

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Reid was quiet, observant. The others revealed that they had no prior contact with one-another. An interesting coincidence, then. A group of complete strangers turning up at the same place, at the same time, and from what it looked like, for mostly different reasons. Especially the one dressed in a suit carting cats around. Best to ignore him for the moment, Malloc reckoned. There were a few types in this world that one would be better off staying clear of. Typically someone with a wheelbarrow of cats could be counted among them.

The Biocon, tall and powerful looking, did nothing to hide his presence. Reid had not come across many of them in his travels, and the ones he had tended to be workers through and through, or crazy. Crazy might describe this one. He was loud, boisterous, dramatic. Overly-excitable, perhaps. The thing looked like it could take the head off a man with its hands alone, much less the shovel it was waving around. Spade would be another wild card, or at least Reid thought as much.

Most 'normal' had to be the bounty hunter. He wore practical clothing, spoke simply enough, and had clear motives. If not normal, he was at least comprehensible. His actions a bit more predictable than the other two, at least in theory. Between the barrow of cats and swinging of spades, someone that appeared a bit more grounded in reality was refreshing. Seeing him draw a gun was even better. Shovels and felines he was a bit unfamiliar with, but Malloc understood pistols well enough.

Reid had heard his share of stories from the surrounding areas. Among them were tales of a 'ghost house', which would raise up if destroyed, and contained within it the souls of the damned which would torment and consume any that ventured inside. Isolated and ominous, filled with dark power. If he had ever seen a place match that description, it was this. Of course, it could be any old mansion, but what were the chances? At any rate it didn't look like anybody here owned it, and the door was unlocked as evidenced by Gideon's entry. What the hell, Malloc thought to himself. Why not.

The cyborg stepped forward and stopped the door with his foot as it started to swing closed behind Gideon. He adjusted the weight of his two maintenance kits and the pack hanging from his shoulder, glancing over his shoulder at the Biocon who had requested the names of those gathered there.
“Malloc. Just Malloc.”

Reid made his way through the doorway, following behind Gideon. The door swung closed behind him, but he was sure the Biocon would follow anyway. The interior of the building made sure to show off its grand nature. The floor was hardwood, red carpets strewn about. The walls were a subdued tan color, and the ceiling was very high. It looked even bigger than it had from the outside. The entrance led into a short hallway with a door on the left, the path ahead opening up into a large living room, fully furnished and, oddly enough, with a roaring fire in the brick fireplace. Was there even a chimney outside? He couldn't recall. It didn't matter now.

“Well Mister Black. You might want to go in nukegake style , but I've heard a thing or two about this place, and have been on the edgezone around here long enough to bleed any gon-”
Reid caught himself. Those outside the Megatropolis, from outside the Tribes, wouldn't follow any cityspeak he slung around. He coughed and made sure to stick to what was more common around the area in terms of speech.
“What I mean to say is I can handle myself, and going in without someone to watch your back is a deathwish.”

Malloc stepped further in, setting his two kits down beside a chaise lounge in the living room. He rolled his shoulders and slid the pack off of his arm, setting it between his two cases. He took a look around the room, noting the multitude of hallways and doors, even a staircase leading to a second floor, and one leading into a sublevel of some sort. This place was huge. Someone hiding out here could manage to stay hidden for a long time if only one person was looking for them. One thing did strike him, though. For a supposed haunted mansion, the place was pretty warm in its décor. The place was pretty impressive, really.



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"Extremely dramatic." Director Bower said, apparently to Spade, as he approached with his feline companions. "I'm really rather amazed at the circumstances which gathered two such disreputable-looking fellows upon this juncture. I wonder, would you care to help me unload these cats into the house?"

Jack reached the door and removed several of the cages, pushing them in before unlatching the doors and letting one, then another cat scurry into the darkness. He stood, cracked his neck and held a hand out to Spade. "I'm Director Bower of Nearno, my good Spade. I have been waiting for the past week for ideal conditions for entry of the house to present themselves, and I am quite pleased at the timeliness of it all. It's nearly enough to make one a convert of the Church, I should say. I gather that you are a treasure hunter of some provenance?"

The banker picked up a small, shiny black briefcase from the cart and opened it just long enough to retrieve a single page of rough printing paper and a strange adhesive strip. Carefully, Bower attached it to the upper half of the door and pressed it flat.

"As it happens, I'm also here looking for treasure of a peculiar nature. Certainly, I would be much obliged if you gentlemen would let me poke about inside a bit. There are, after all, unequaled treasures of the heroic ages past in this dusty old house."
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Spade's heart practically skipped a beat when he heard the words “I work alone” outside works of fiction. Gideon’s exit into the mansion was itself perfect for the role. He must practice being edgy, Spade marveled. Gideon was followed shortly after by Malloc; the stoic of the group it seemed, and a cyborg at that. What luck, Spade thought, he could not have wished for a better group to investigate his first haunted house, though it could use a catgirl or three. Fortunately such a deficiency could be compensated for by animal companions, which the third stranger brought plenty of. More than plenty. Was there such a thing as too many animal companions and mascot characters? This was a question that would have to wait for later, when more experience and time to study his texts was acquired. Being addressed knocked Spade out of his contemplative state.

“But of course I would!”

Spade began unloading and carrying cages into the house at his very best rate, despite the protests of the felines. These cats were much louder than expected but the end result would surely be worth it.

“Full of energy aren’t they? At least they will have plenty of room to spend it. I haven’t been in a home this large since...uh, hmmm… “

Spade struggled to put a number to it, a general range even. After he sat down the last cage he looked to the air and scratched the back of his head. He had mostly been outdoors during his travels, and any place this big typically had guards that did not like him going near it. Or climbing it. Definitely not climbing it. His owner had a home like this, bigger though and with more than one window. Had he ever been in it? He must have, right? Spade was pretty sure there was more buildings of this size back then anyways. Had he been in one of those? He realized shortly that every second he spent thinking about something so trivial was one more second the group was not on wacky adventures.

“Regardless, I don’t think you have mentioned your name.”

Bower of Nearno seemed to not be as fortunate as Spade, having to actually wait for intrepid strangers to meet before the house. It had to be admitted, however, that choosing to wait was a wise decision for this sort of payoff. Did he wait with the cats the entire time too? Why so many of them? For better or for worse such a train of thought was ultimately derailed by the subject matter.

“Treasure? HEROIC treasure, in this house? That’s just…just.. magnificent! That makes this a treasure hunt as well doesn’t it? Doesn’t it!?”

Spade never expected for the situation to become even better, it could bring a biocon to tears. If any of his eyes actually worked that way, of course.

“Well? What are we waiting for!? Adventure awaits, split up!”

Unable to contain himself, Spade began marching down the largest hallway.
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As Gideon entered the mansion and eyed the entryway, he couldn't help but think something was odd about this place. The bounty hunter had learned to trust his instincts long ago, so he paused, trying to figure it out before delving further into the house. He looked around the room, taking note of the furnishings and state of the place as he heard the others introduce themselves just outside (someone must have kept the door from closing behind him...). It wasn't long before Gideon realized what had been bothering him. As he glanced over the furnishings in the living room, he recalled the woman's warning in the market. She'd claimed that for as long as she could remember, anyone who entered this place never returned, that nobody lived here. If that was the case, why was the place in such a fine condition? There wasn't even a speck of dust anywhere to be seen, it looked perfect in an unsettling type of way. Even though he didn't believe her about the place being cursed, she had no reason to lie about it being occupied. Strange.

His thoughts were cut short as a man spoke behind him. Judging from the voice, he was the one who introduced himself as 'Malloc' to the mad gardener. Gideon turned to size the man up as he spoke, while still careful to listen for any sounds of his murderous prey from within the mansion. Malloc turned out to be the one who fell off the truck, and like the others who'd gathered outside, rather odd. His initial words were confusing and nonsensical (nukegake? edgezone?), but he thankfully fell into normal speech after a moment.

Even though he could now understand the man, Gideon was still confused. Why would this stranger offer his assistance? Why the hell were any of these people even here? As far as Gideon could tell, he was the only one with a real reason to be here. Of course, that simply meant that he didn't know their motives yet, which did not bode well. Still... Baldwin was dangerous, and Gideon would prefer not to be stabbed in the back. Of course, taking Malloc up on his offer would mean having to watch out for the stranger, and hoping that he'd do the same. After pondering this for a moment, Gideon decided to accept. After all, if Malloc was going to be roaming this place anyway, he'd rather keep an eye on the odd man.

He watched as Malloc set down his toolkits and backpack (perhaps he was a mechanic?), noting the man's arm. Gideon hadn't taken notice of it when he'd fallen from the truck, but now that he was close, it was impossible to miss. The limb was obviously artificial, but it was rather unlike anything he'd seen before. Clearly, the man wasn't from around these parts.

"Interesting offer. Since you heard my name, I'm guessing you know why I'm here? I'd normally turn you down, but in a place this size it couldn't hurt to have someone backing me up. So, you watch my back, I watch yours. Be careful, the bastard I'm tracking likes to use a knife. Don't let him get close, or you won't live to regret it."

Gideon motioned for Malloc to follow as he moved deeper into the mansion, passing the stairs for the moment.

"We'll sweep the first floor, then move on to the others."

The bounty hunter moved slowly through a hallway to the right of the living room, pausing to open any doors he came across, entering the rooms with his pistol drawn and his back to the wall. No signs of his prey, or anything out of the ordinary. It seemed to be a normal mansion, or it would've been if luxuriously furnished uninhabited 'cursed' mansions were normal at all. As they delved further into the estate, Gideon could hear the sound of loud meowing alongside the gardener's banter. Apparently he'd decided to help the suited fellow haul in all those cats for reasons Gideon couldn't fathom. He rolled his eyes at the thought of those two lunatics roaming the house (though to be fair, the biocon seemed at least good-natured, if insane). He sighed quietly and adjusted his glasses, speaking to Malloc, though he was careful to stay focused on the job.

"So...", he began, speaking softly so as not to be heard by anyone other than the mechanic. "The gardener seems to be here in search of some grand adventure, we both know why I'm here, and I don't even want to fathom what the madman with the cats is doing... That just leaves you. What are you doing here, Malloc? You didn't plan on coming, unless your ejection from the vehicle was an elaborate hoax, but still, it's curious. Why stop here, instead of..."

Gideon cut himself off as he turned a corner and noticed a large bloodstain on the wall. It was a sight the hunter was too familiar with, one that put him on edge. It was arced, the spray pattern likely the result of a slash. Baldwin was here, or at least he had been. Of course, if there was blood on the wall, why was there none on the floor? Even if he'd drug the body off to mutilate (as the monster was so fond of...), there'd be stains on the floor, drag marks. It didn't make sense, and it put Gideon on edge. He continued, not wanting to stand there long if his target was indeed nearby. Still, there was something truly disturbing about this place, aside from the killer he was chasing...

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Gideon reacted better than Reid had expected, especially after his insistence on going it alone. He seemed agreeable, focused. It was refreshing after working with outcast scavengers and looters for so long. Less yelling, more getting shit done. Malloc gave a nod in agreement and confirmation, both to the plan to sweep the first floor, and to the information about the mark they would be after, that would be creeping about the mansion. Knives? Reid could handle knives.

Reid checked his coat pocket, feeling the grip of the pistol. The safety was on, it was probably loaded, but it was also a little beat up. He thought for a moment before releasing his grip on the gun, thinking it better not to risk firing a shoddy weapon. He followed Gideon through the hall, into another well-decorated room. The place looked pristine, barely even lived in. Malloc tightened the straps on his coat, wishing now that he had been wearing something else. The heavy coat and boots weren't making him stealthy at all.

The room they had come to was a study of sorts. Gideon began talking as Reid's eyes scanned the room. Shelves of books, bound in red, green, brown and black leather, gold titles running along their spines. Ornate bookends and shelves, large wall-covering paintings, comfortable-looking chairs and masterfully crafted end tables, some with lamps upon them, all on. A ceiling fan whirred above head, moving the air around gently, the low hum adding a bit of background noise to Gideon's questions.

They moved through the room, which had a couple of exits like all of the mansion seemed to. Gideon was cut off suddenly when they turned to head into another room, spotting a particularly nasty blood spray on the wall. Only on the wall, strangely enough. Reid was no expert, but he knew for a fact that corpses didn't tend to stop bleeding when being moved.

About to answer Gideon after a short pause, Malloc was interrupted when he caught something in his peripheral vision. He turned to face where he had seen the movement and stepped from around the corner to be greeted with only a fleeting glimpse of the shoulder and back of something hulking, tall and heavy. Spade? He was the only one here big enough for that to have been, but he was headed towards where Reid and Gideon had come from. How did Spade get ahead of them? Malloc narrowed his eyes, taking another look around the room. Shelves, tables, all undisturbed. Paintings of boats and lighthouses, one of a boat captain dressed in bright yellow, standing in the rain on the deck of his ship. That one seemed off, but Reid had to get back to the business at hand, turning his attention away from the room and back to Gideon.

“A bounty hunter, an adventurer, and a madman in a suit-jacket. That is quite the group.”
Reid waved at Gideon to follow as he stepped in front of him, making his way to the next room for them to clear.
“That fall was no hoax. Ankle still kind of stings, actually.”
He mumbled his next sentence, as if cursing under his breath.
“Damned wormboy, if he weren't in the salvager bloc I'd take my chrome right to his worthless head.”
He turned the handle to an ornate wood door, stepping carefully into the room, after noting it was clear, at least it seemed to be, he got to actually answering Gideon's question.

“Scratch I guess. See if I can find anything useful, either to offload on someone else or put to use. Might be I wasn't thinking right. Takes a while to gather yourself after falling off a truck, you know? Might be I just like to help people. Then again, might just be creds. Whichever you think more likely.”
Malloc motioned for Gideon to enter and clear the room ahead of him. After all, he was the one with the gun.

Back in the study, the portrait of the captain continued to stare forward, unmoving. The eyes all too real, too detailed. The sound of doors creaking open and closing could be heard from nearby, the timing almost consistent. Heavy steps lightly shook the wooden flooring, be they from the massive Spade, Malloc's heavy steps, or something else roaming the mansion, intent unknown.
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For a moment, it seemed as though the biocon would be the perfect aid for exploring the house- then, abruptly, Spade cried out something about splitting up and charged away from the other two. Precisely what the usurer's sources had strongly advised against.

"Oh." Jack said, "Well bugger."

Director bower fumbled with the cages, quickly unlatching them and shaking the terrified felines free. The cats hissed and spat as they sped into the shadows and down the halls, presumably seeking shelter. With a sigh of relief, the banker removed a long pink strip from his cart and laid it at the foot of the door outside the house.

"Hey, Spade! Wait a minute, my good man!"

There was no use trying to convince a Hephaestus to stop, but it was very important that the large gardener did not turn a corner or enter a room alone. It was also, Jack realized, that he would be the one abandoned. Bugger that for a lark. The banker scooped up the last cage and tore the spitting cat from it, wincing as it dug claws into his forearm. With the other hand, he snatched up his briefcase and hurried after the hulking biocon.

"It is imperative that we proceed together, sir! Who can say what scoundrels would chance upon us with only a single set of eyes watching?"

As Jack started down the hallway, a dramatic gust of wind cut through the room behind him, and the large doorway creaked loudly, the ancient wooden doors swinging closed. The banker's gooseflesh prickled uncomfortably; he'd expected as much, certainly. It still sounded like the footsteps of Death.

Director Bower caught up with the biocon quickly, as the latter was moving with an enthusiastic military stride rather than any real haste. The walls of this hallway were adorned with peeling green wallpaper, marked with cracks and spiderwebs but notably lacking any water damage. It seemed that the manor, for all its run-down exterior, was cunningly-constructed. The oil-and-canvas paintings of elderly men in uniforms looking constipated were in absolute mint condition, despite the large number of fires which had destroyed the house before.

Jack looked at the paintings, forlorn. They'd be worth quite a bit more than money to the right collector, but he knew he'd have no time to smuggle any out. There were bigger fish to-

As the Director glanced back at a painting of a portly man with a huge mustache, his heart stopped cold. He'd taken note of the painting because of the layered jowls and artistic sheen on the man's bald pate. He was fairly sure that the shadowed figure behind it, holding the knife, was new.

"Ah, Spade, my boon companion. You are aware that these treasures are not, eh, that is to say... unguarded?"

"Yrowl!" the cat screamed in agreement, and bit Jack's thumb.
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“Hmmm? Oh, I assure you that would never be an issue in my own case.”

Spade winks in an exaggerated fashion at Bower with the two eyes on his left side before continuing.

“Although having another person to engage in mutual back-watching may be a good idea, if… untraditional considering our circumstances. Hmmmm.”

Spade took a moment to re-asses his new companion, idly twisting the air freshener around his neck . Unlike the other two Bower did not seem to be suited to jolly bouts of combat. That would be fine normally but based on what Black said this haunted house had taken a turn for something more dangerous than harmless screams and playful shenanigans. It shouldn’t be a problem though; protecting was what heroes did right? Not just heroes though, Spade supposed for a moment, anyone would protect what they care about; whether that be out of love or duty. Hero’s just did it with more flair, more purpose, more..success. Spade looks bower strait in the eyes after he was done talking, proceeding to pose dramatically with his shovel’s tip touching the ground and a mild billow from his cape.

“Of course! What kind of treasure does not have some sort of challenge preceding it? But don’t worry friend, I shall strike down any ghostly evils that guard this place. You have nothing to fear, I promise.”

As Spade ends his tirade he turns around to continue moving down the hallway, more of a walk than a march. For a brief moment his tone of voice changes, dropping the theatric for more soft and careful wording.

“No harm will befall you. “
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There was something definitely wrong with this place, aside from it's current murderous occupant. With each room the duo checked, Gideon's sense of unease gradually rose, and it was starting to gnaw at his nerves. What disturbed the bounty hunter the most was that he couldn't even describe why the mansion was bothering him so much. It wasn't the odd bloodstain, or his quarry, those things he'd grown accustomed to in his line of work. The house just seemed... off. The study they'd passed moments before finding the blood was a perfect example. If the same room were located in any other building, it might have seemed perfectly normal, but here... Even as he tried to focus on the task at hand, Gideon's thoughts kept returning to the study, trying to figure out what had unnerved him so.

He was so wrapped in thought that he almost missed the sound of footsteps, although Malloc apparently didn't. The mechanic (cyborg?) doubled back for a moment, glancing back into the study briefly before returning. It seemed that there had been nobody there, or at least nothing worth mentioning. Gideon couldn't help but think that it didn't bode well that they were both hearing things...

It wasn't long before the duo decided to press on, continuing to clear rooms in the same fashion as before. As they made their way into the next room, Malloc answered Gideon's question, sometimes slipping in words which struck Gideon as purely nonsense (wormboy...?). Despite the occasional odd phrase he was easy enough to understand, though Gideon only half-listened, still bent on figuring out what had bothered him in the study.

"Can't say I've ever fallen off a truck. If we weren't in the midst of tracking a killer I'd want to check for any injuries, but I don't have the equipment. Besides..."
He stopped mid-sentence as he finally realized what was so odd about the study. The painting.
"You seem to be fine, all things considered."
At that moment, Gideon wanted nothing more than to go back and check that painting again, maybe even rip it right off the wall. What made things worse was that he didn't even know why... the thing just bothered him. Still, it wouldn't do to double back now, it would only make his current state apparent to Malloc, something he preferred to avoid.

"In my experience, there aren't many who simply do things to help others, no offense. Can't say I blame you for trying to get money, though. I assume scratch means salvage, junk, that sort of thing? I can respect that, I suppose. Better than how most in these lawless days make their living."
They'd scanned this room, finding nothing. Gideon nodded as Malloc motioned for him to enter the next first, pausing for a moment before entering.
"Still, I can't imagine there's much profit in that line of work. If you're not opposed to more risk, hunting can be rather rewarding... After all, you seemed eager enough to join up with me."

Pistol raised, Gideon placed his free hand on the door knob, opening it swiftly. Just as he started to scan the room, his eyes met the cold lifeless glare of a white mask. Just as he prepared to shoot, the man rushed out the other exit, granting Gideon only the briefest of glances. Though he'd only had a few seconds to see the figure, it was enough to rule out his prey. Baldwin wasn't a small man, but this mysterious masked figure was easily as tall as the deranged biocon he'd met outside. The bounty hunter had been somewhat disturbed before, but now dread hung in the back of his mind. Nothing about this place made sense, and it was becoming apparent that this wasn't like any hunt Gideon had been on before...

"What the hell is going on here?"
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TONIGHT: LIVE FROM OUR NAMELESS-BORDER-TOWN-IN-CAVARIL HEADQUARTERS, FOOTAGE OF THE GRISLY INVESTIGATION INTO THE SUDDEN UPTICK OF VIOLENT KIDNAPPING VICTIMS. THE HARDY BOYS, A FAMOUS DETECTIVE AGENCY BASED OUT OF GROMSKAL, ARE LEADING THE INVESTIGATION. WHEN ASKED FOR AN INTERVIEW, THEY SAID "GOSH, THAT'D BE SWELL!" MOMENTS BEFORE BECOMING DISTRACTED BY A MYSTERIOUS CAVE RUMORED TO BE HAUNTED AND VANISHING. HOW WILL THIS AFFECT THE NEXT ELECTION? IT WON'T, CAVARIL IS A CONSTITUTIONAL MONARCHY. SCIENTISTS SAY THAT WHILE THE RECENT INCREASE IN VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER INCIDENTS IS UNFORTUNATE, IT MAY HERALD A NEW AGE OF MOTORIZED TRANSPORT. THEY DO NOT ENDORSE THE ODD PRACTICE OF SHOUTING "HEY RIMBLADE. YOU'RE GAY!" WHICH HAS PRECEDED EACH OF THESE INCIDENTS. HAWKBORN CORRESPONDANTS, REPORTING ANONYMOUSLY FOR FEAR OF BEING BEATEN, SAY THAT THE RECENT DEATHS OF THE FLINTBREAKER CLAN, COUPLED WITH THE CONTINUED FAILURE TO APPREHEND RATHOK FIREBRINGER HAS LED TO INSTITUTIONAL UNREST AMONG THE HAWKBORN, AS WELL AS INCREASED PRESSURE FROM THE CONSERVATIVE RIGHT TO FOCUS ON NATIONAL DEFENSE. AS THESE ARE THE HAWKBORN, THAT PRESSURE TAKES THE FORM OF VIOLENT SHOOT-OUTS. RUMORS OF MILITARY MOVEMENT AMONG THE KRELL HAVE NOT BEEN SUBSTANTIATED AS OF YET, BUT A NUMBER OF BORDER TOWNS (NOT INCLUDING 'NAMLESS CAVARIL BORDER TOWN', THE CENTER OF WORLD ECONOMICS AND POLITICS) HAVE INCREASED THE NUMBER OF AVAILIBLE SCOUTS AND SENT ENQUIRIES TO KRELL EMBASSIES. THE KRELL HAVE DECLINED TO COMMENT AT THIS TIME, CALLING IT 'A STRICTLY INTERNAL AFFAIR.' SCIENTISTS ADVISE THAT THE CLAIMS OF 'GHOST PIRATES' IN THE NORTHERN SEAS ARE PROBABLY AN EXAGGERATION- THE INTERNATIONAL LEAGUE OF MORAL SCIENCE HAS REMINDED ALL MEMBER STATES THAT GHOST PIRATES ARE NOT REAL, AND THAT THESE ARE PROBABLY JUST ZOMBIE PIRATES. ASTRONOMERS AT THE ROYAL ASTROLOGICAL COLLEGE IN ASCENDERE SAY THAT THEY HAVE COLLABORATED WITH THE OBSERVATORY IN CAVARIL AND HAVE DETERMINED THAT THE LARGE NUMBER OF STARFALL EVENTS LATELY ARE THE RESULT OF NATURAL FIRMAMENT DECAY, A COSMOLOGICAL EVENT CAUSED BY THE ASCENSION OF THE PLANET JANUS INTO THE CONSTELLATION OF THE WANDERER. OFFICIALS ADVISE CITIZENS NOT TO PANIC, WITH THE STRICT EXCEPTION OF PEOPLE WHO WERE BORN BETWEEN THIRTY-ONE AND THIRTY-TWO YEARS AGO, IN AUGUST. IN AN INTERVIEW, THE ROYAL ASTRONOMER SAID, "MAY EVERY ONE OF THE WALKING GODS BLESS THEIR POOR, DAMNED SOULS. THE STARS HAVE DECREED THEM ONLY DEATH. WE'LL BE FINE." ECONOMIC ADVISORS LOCATED IN KATANAVILLE SAY THAT THE FIRST BANK'S STRATEGY OF GIVING BACK SOME OF THE IMPOSSIBLY HUGE QUANTITY OF MONEY IT HAS AMASSED IS EXTREMELY WORRISOME. "WHO THE FUCK IS NEARNO?" ASKED ARON BERTHOLD, STILL MAKING A SANDWICH, "AND WHAT THE HELL ARE 'BANK NOTES'? WHY ARE THEY RELEASING THEM? I'M PRETTY SURE THIS IS ACTUALLY SOME KIND OF DECLARATIO OF WAR, JUST BADLY-TRANSLATED." FOLLOWING THE TRAGIC DEATH OF ASHER MORITLES, OR 'MORITLESGATE', AS THE PRESS ARE CALLING IT, THE GROMKURST TYPEWRITER LTD. ARE BEING REWRITTEN TO SUPPORT A FORMAT WHICH WILL FORCE TYPISTS TO SLOW DOWN, HOPEFULLY AVOIDING MORE TRAGIC AUTHORIAL INJURIES OR DEATHS. AS PROJECTED, 'THE HOLY AVATAR OF MAZDA IN THE WORLD' DID NOT REACT WELL TO THE DIPLOMATIC ENTREATIES OF REFORMERS IN THE CHURCH. DURING A SUMMIT TODAY, THE RECORDING SCRIBES REPORT THAT THE 'FIST OF THE GOD-KING' HAD ATTACKED AND KILLED THE DIPLOMATS AFTER THEY DISMISSED HERMES AS 'AN ANGEL'. UP NEXT; AN INFORMATIVE, IF BORING, DOCUMENTARY REGARDING RESEARCH ON THE PRE-CATACLYSMIC ORIGINS OF STRUCTURES AND ARCHETECTURAL TENDANCIES IN THE BA'AL-LANDS. WHILE THIS WILL INCLUDE THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL, IT WILL NOT BE LIMITED TO THAT BECAUSE THERE IS LITERALLY NO INFORMATION AVAILIBLE ON THE SUBJECT, AND SO A SPECIAL ON IT WOULD BE REALLY FUCKING DUMB.