Wasted

Seems pretty clear to me that the locking content away was a troll response to the criticism he received for chapter 39. He even mentions CureTc by name who made a comment about the scan's quality.

http://vatoto.com/reader#16dc05fba91da073_38

Their response to criticism was to make the manga even more unreadable on purpose knowing that it would provoke this kind of reaction. Like CureTc has mentioned already Subby-D does not upload often and does not work with other groups. It is likely the only thing they get out of uploading scans is posting meme jokes and provoking people who read the manga.

The link to FA scans is probably just a comment on the fact FA is still going to be busy on ch.40 for a long time. Kind like he's saying 'well if I'm so bad then why was I able to get this scan out before FA?'. Personally I'd rather read a well translated, cancer free scan.

I also really hope that people can rub enough brain cells together to realize that it's a joke and don't try donate in hopes of "unlocking the manga". It's not going to happen. Donate to FA if you want but don't do it expecting to receive the unlocked manga.

I don't particularly mind the odd t/l note or joke in the margins or credits page which edits an earlier page that appeared in the manga (though Grand Blue is funny enough that it hardly needs any additions. Distractions just detract from a gag manga at the top of it's game if you ask me). Can be funny or cringy, but what matters is that it doesn't impact the experience or reading the manga. This is different than what happened with Rapeman scans whether they were dmca'd or not. The comments here aren't degenerating into a political shouting match, just criticisms of the scan's quality against those defending it. It's important to let these conversations play out even if it breaks out into arguments. It may give a lot of negativity to the manga by association, but it also lets people understand exactly what is going on rather than being extremely confused when the latest chapter is full of censorship and no-one seems to be commenting on it. It isn't obvious that the comment section is locked until you scroll right down to the bottom.

Yvette van Rooyen

White Rabbit

Yvette might have been able to understand the creature's indignation at being likened to a hobbit if it had not admitted to be Tolkien's inspiration half a breath later. And now Baggins was crying its eyes out, mourning the loss of its friend, this Criamon. Whoever he had been it seemed that he had met his end as a result of the twisted, glowing tree that had caused her and her compatriot, who had yet to introduce himself (rather rude if she did say so herself, especially considering he was partly to blame for the mess they were now in), such soul-crushing heartache.

It seemed that whatever the man's name was he appeared to sympathize with Baggins to an extent, offering the creature a shoulder to cry on. The display was off-putting, especially since the man had been so cold to her earlier. Although the idea of being complicit in rape had made him uncomfortable he had displayed no qualms with asking his partner to hurry along with her execution. Yvette fixed him with a glare, how dare he act with compassion now after being so calm and disconnected before? Did bawling rabbit creatures appeal to his humanity when a woman in distress did not? In any case although she was no psychiatrist and Baggin's pouring out his feelings to someone who would listen might be therapeutic it would waste time and likely get the rabbit bawling even harder as painful memories were dredged up from the past. Yvette sighed as she strode forward to address the pair.

"Listen...Baggins...I'm sorry to hear about your friend, I really am, but we need your help here," she said kneeling down so that she was at eye level with the rabbit, locking him with an intense gaze.

"How about a trade?" she asked, "I'm a fair hand at cooking, my ouma (grandmother) taught me quite a few recipes, though carrot cake is bit beyond me I do know a few which happen to involve carrots and sweet breads."

"Why there's curried carrot salad and boiled sugar carrots, I could make a carrot stew with vegetable stock and potatoes, maybe a carrot salad with honey dressing and hazelnuts. Of course if you wanted something sweet you'd have to try Malva or Bread and Butter pudding, I'd recommend the first one though, it's one of my favourites."

Yvette cocked her head to gauge Baggins's reaction before she continued with a mournful sigh and hung head.

"Of course all the ingredients and utensils are back at my apartment. Such a pity we don't know how to get home or where we even are at the moment. Why if we could find our way back I'd cook up a feast as thanks."

Yvette van Rooyen

Oddweird

Whatever turn the story was bound to take after she and her new companion had jumped the window of the building nothing could have prepared Yvette for where they ended up after landing in the dumpster. Her expectations would have certainly contained such a fresh piney fragrance for one. Being displaced from the center of Johannesburg to the middle of some kind of enchanted forest was also far from anything she could have imagined. Although there was a chance that the forest itself wasn't it enchanted, but Yvette felt it was safe to assume based on the talking rabbit creature.

Yvette prided herself on her quick thinking and ability to adapt to changes, but the feeling of displacement took some time for her to acclimate. This was further exacerbated by the feeling of depression that had come over her ever since they had woken to find themselves in the forest. For some reason she blamed the twisted glowing true for her misfortune as she sunk into crippling despair. Yvette did not know whether she or the man would have been able to leave had the rabbit not saved them, such was the oppressive nature surrounding the tree.

The haasie (Rabbit) was actually kind of cute, but extremely surreal.

“I wouldn't go near that thing if I were you – it drove Mister Criamon mad after he tried to examine it – we faeries call it the Idea of Sorrow, and we like to steer clear from it. Oh, right, where’s my manners! My name is Baggins the Faerie Rabbit, and welcome to the Faerie Realm!”

It was a lot to take in and Yvette wasn't sure what the rabbit was on about other than that the glowing tree was dangerous so she latched onto the one familiar aspect of his introduction.

"A Baggins huh? Yvette van Rooyen, pleased to meet you. You don't look much like a hobbit though...is this Middle Earth? I mean I know Tolkien was born in SA, but this seems a little too...far removed from what I'm used. Down the rabbit hole if you'll excuse the pun."

She was rambling she realized, but it helped her work through the situation and come to terms with it. She was conversing with a rabbit that seemed to have human level intelligence so why not simply treat it the same. Yvette wondered if this rabbit...Baggins, had any connection to the thugs that had kidnapped her. It had mentioned something about fairies. Is that were they were then? Some kind of magical realm? It seemed the man with her had similar questions.

"Realms and Faeries? Are you telling me these things actually exist? And what or who in the world is Criamon?"

"Criamon sounds like a person from his explanation, perhaps someone of import since he is well known," reasoned Yvette, "but I'm more concerned with why we are, and not in an existential way, more in a how the fuck we came to this location and for what reason kind of way."

Yvette van Rooyen

Breakout

Yvette watched curiously as the man died. Shock, fear, confusion and anger passed his features in succession as he realized his partner had shot him. Eventually the emotions intermingled as he bled out, grip and strength failing him, until one by one the emotions left him. First shock passed, then anger, then confusion. The man who had intended to rape her died with fear painting his features. His he breathed his last breath fear finally left and all that remained was despair. If one went in for an afterlife, and Yvette did, she imagined that nothing good would be waiting for him on the other side.

She looked over to the man who, although being a part of her detainment and possible murder, had just saved her. Up until now she had not paid all that much attention to him, being more preoccupied with the man intent on raping and murdering her. He looked to be slightly younger if not her own age, but he had a solemn air about him. Of course it was possible that was more cheerful when he hadn't been shot in both shoulders, been part of aiding a rapist and murder and killing his partner.

”I’m probably the last person you’d want to talk to after what had happened,” he said as he struggled to regain himself.

That was the question wasn't it? This man had been party to her kidnapping and had seemed perfectly alright with the other man killing her. He'd only seemed to become squeamish when dead man had intended to rape, probably because it had been unnecessary. Could she trust him then? Perhaps he felt there was a reason she should be dead. 

”But if you want to live, then I suggest you follow me.”

The man proceed to a window where he looked down into a dumpster below. It appeared he intended for them to escape by jumping out the window and break their fall in trash below. A bit dangerous and foolhardy, but it appeared they had limited time what with the noise coming from upstairs reacting to the gun shots.

”I know this doesn’t seem like a good plan, but anything’s better that sticking around here.”

True enough. The man was already half-way out the window, looking back at her expectantly. There was still unfinished business in the room however. She gave her would be rapist's dead corpse a vicious kick in the head before walking over to where the man had dropped the gun. It's clip may be spent, but it might still come in handy. Besides even if whoever had kidnapped her knew both pf her name and the man now accompanying her it would not do to leave evidence for the authorities behind. She made sure she had the ropes that had been used to restrain her and checked to make sure the clip of the gun was indeed spent before joining the man by the window.

"Alright," she said, "But let me go first. You're still injured and you might end up worse if I crash down on top of you. We'll talk after we get to a safe distance."

Not giving him a chance to argue she pushed past him to drop out of the window.

Yvette van Rooyen

Joburg Jam

Honestly Yvette didn't really see the appeal of Joburg. As a city the place was pumping sure, but as soon as you put foot outside the city limits it turned so flat and dull with the only mountains being the piles of dirt dug up by the mines. That was what Johannesburg was really, a glorified mining town that had somehow become the commercial center of South Africa. It certainly wasn't a tourist destination, but it was certainly where the money was and so it was where Yvette was as well. Cape Town may look a good sight better, but it was where the rich and successful went to retire...after making it big in Joburg. Not that there weren't pretty parts of Joburg, if you had the cash Sandton could be a little kilometer by kilometer box of heaven.

One day perhaps, although if she had that much cash to blow Yvette might as well move back to Cape Town. The day was muggy, a prelude to one of the infamous flash thunderstorms native to Gauteng, and she'd just washed her car the other day. Not wanting to get wet Yvette was busy hurrying back to her office, skipping across the streets, dodging traffic.

All Yvette needed was for it to start pouring with rain before she got back to the office. As if the news she'd gotten from her contact wasn't bad enough already. The info "Johnny" or whatever the mamparra's name was had given her was sketchy at best and Yvette was starting to have a bit of a bad feeling about this whole "shadow cabal of lawyers" thing she'd stumbled onto. Yvette felt she was too far out to swim back to shore however, she'd have to see this through. Besides there seemed to be a kak ton of cash involved which is always good.

Cikizwa would have a cup of coffee ready for her. Yvette had called ahead to make sure, it would be the suggestive coffee mug Ciki had gotten her that with "Blow me, I'm hot" and pair of rid parted lips printed on the side of course. Not the most particularly clever pun, but finding coffee mugs with bad jokes printed on them was an art form and Ciki was Rembrandt when it came to uselessly witty novelty items. She certainly made a better assistant than that bimbo Tanya that had manned the desk before her. A regte little Afrikaanse meisie, not too bright, but sweet and eager to please. Cikizwa was more her own women with an agenda. She was going to go places that one.

Oh she was still enthusiastic in bed and she had an absolutely delightful naughty side to her, but she was one of the cleverer ones. Smart enough to use Yvette while she used her. Most expected good things to somehow magically come their way if they kissed the right ass, as if it relied on some kind of karmic bullshit. Why would a boss promote an asskisser or even feel obligated to do anything for them? Better to keep them where they are otherwise there'd be no-one to brown nose.

Lost in though Yvette's guard was not nearly raised enough, in Joburg of all places, when a group of masked men jumped her, shoving a sack over her head before she could scream and tossing her into the back of a bakkie. Terror pumped adrenaline through her veins as she struggled against her captors to no avail. This wasn't supposed to happen to people like her. Stuff like this happened in Johannesburg on an almost daily basis, but why her? And why the elaboration? Couldn't they just rob her and be done with it? Trying to calm herself Yvette tried to take stock and gather as much information as possible.

The drive was relatively short so Yvette surmised that they hadn't left the city. The sack smelled like it had been marinating in a pile of sewage before being thrown over her head so all that did was distract her. As they left the bakkie the man guiding her was rough and about her height.

She was bound to a chair before the bag was finally removed and she could see her captors. There were only two of them in the room with her although Yvette was sure that there had been more than just them. The one was a middle-aged white man dressed like a gigolo and the other was a rather dour looking young man perhaps a little younger than her. All things considered it could have been worse.

“So this here is that lawyer from Cape Town, investigating shit in Johannesburg. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re reaching some dark, dark stuff that I wouldn’t want your pretty little fingers to be touching. Ain’t that right, Lee? asked the gigolo looking back at his companion.

The man proceeded to poke and prod her in places she would have rather not be involuntarily prodded and poked. She squirmed trying to put as much distance between herself and his oily fingers. He seemed to enjoy that.

“C’mon, squeal for me. I like to have some fun, squeal!”

The whole situation was getting a bit much for Yvette. She was thankful that she had not been killed outright, but this raised questions as to what exactly she had been investigating. Was this cabal of lawyers criminal in nature? It appeared so. In any case bound as she was she would have to play her cards carefully in order to get a good shot in on this sleazeball, oh how she wanted to deck him in the jaw. Too bad they'd taken away her handbag in which she usually carried pepper spray and a taser. She decided drawing him in was the best tactic.

"I don't squeal for scum like you..." she spoke as softly as possible hoping he would lean in to hear her better, "You're such a dumb fucking naaier that you'll let me do it to you jou poes.." 

 

p.s. what's with everyone and making the dad the bad guy.

Daddy issues obviously. Roleplaying is a good way to deal with deep-seated psychological issues. Also helps us deal with our inferiority complexes at not being accepted to Hogwarts.

Poverty is also a pretty prevalent theme. Everyone likes a good old dash of hardship and adversity. 

So I've wanted to make a lawyer/demon summoner character to exploit contracts in something for a while now and this seemed like a good opportunity. Especially seeing as the particular house involved has a head office in my home country.

Spoiler

Theme: Our Demons

Name: Yvette van Rooyen

Nicknames: Ivy, Vet, Vettie (Only if you're very close to her or if you aren't partial to having your insides on the inside), HBIC

Gender: Female

Age: 28

 

House: Tremere

 

Biography: Yvette grew up in one of the richest neighborhoods in Cape Town, South Africa; Clifton. This was not to say that her family was necessarily rich, in fact it often seemed that her father, Christiaan van Rooyen struggled to keep afloat of the ocean of debt he was accruing. They had been well-off at one stage Yvette understood, before she was born her father had landed a top job at a newly established asset management firm in South Africa. Christiaan marrying Yvette's mother, Inge van Rooyen (nee Versfeld) whose father, Henrik Versfeld, owned the company had had a lot to do with the appointment. During this time Christiaan, while the lacking the necessary skills involved in managing funds other than feeling quite at ease spending other people's money, marketed himself as an entrepreneur.

 

The luck of the van Rooyen's took a turn when a full investigation and audit was conducted when the South African Revenue Service was tipped off to the less than savory business practices of the management firm. The auditors had marched in and torn the place apart, poring through the books until they had dug up enough dirt to fill the metaphoric financial grave of everyone in a management position upwards. This meant that Christiaan and Henrik were both left near destitute after reparations had been made to clients. While Henrik had become a pariah in the financial world with whom nobody wanted to work he at least had the credentials to take on an advisory role at a small private bank so long as he stayed well clear of any client's money, Christiaan on the other hand had nothing to fall back on.

 

He resorted to cajoling old friends he had made during the few golden years into investing into sure thing business ventures from which he took 'commissions' even if the deal never came to fruition. In other words he introduced hopeful idiots to each other then promptly turned around and demanded they pay him for the pleasure of meeting each other. That was the general problem with commission based jobs, it left so many avenues open for dishonesty and Christiaan knew his way down them all. The bigger the supposed payout of these deals, the larger his commission. This was how he supported our decadent lifestyle that he and my mother had grown accustomed to. That and a string of debt that never seemed to get completely payed off.

 

Yvette and her elder brother, Pieter, were put through one of the most expensive schools in the area with the money the Christiaan also seemed able to make magically appear when it was needed. It wasn't until her later high school years when she finally caught wise to the fact that her family was essentially penniless. Her father in the mean time had made connections with her and her brother's school friends' parents in order to continue his desperate ploys to keep their family afloat. The money however was just not there and shortly after Yvette graduated high school, obtaining a bursary to go study in Johannesburg, Inge left her father, satisfied that the children had at least gotten an education.

 

She didn't know why her father had insisted on living such a hopelessly lavish lifestyle despite their means. Everything had to be the best. Te cars, clothes...the food even, so often payed for by whichever poor sod her father had been buttering up for 'the deal of a lifetime'. It had something to do with appearances she had gathered not only did both her father and mother feel intense embarrassment about their situation, but her father would not have been able to swim in the waters he did if he did not keep up appearances. No-one would deal with someone living in a ramshackle apartment near the Cape Flats, but if one gave off the appearance of wealth it lent more credence to any story they happened to tell. 

 

Yvette had been angry at her father. For living so far above their means that they would be buried in debt, but she at least conceded that they had gotten a damn good education. She went on to study law, specializing as a contract lawyer as well as a minor in business law and joining a practice, Opperman & Associates before finally taking a partnership position at the tender age of 28 (she was still contesting changing it to Opperman & van Rooyen). Pieter unfortunately had been taken under her father's wing and had begun learning the family tradition of fleecing people out of their money and staying ahead of debt collectors. For her part she threw herself whole-heartedly into her work. Some might find contract law boring, but for her it was exhilarating knowing the kind of power a properly binding contract could enforce.

 

There was always a higher mountain to climb however and she had recently caught the eye of some specialized group in Johannesburg, as far as Yvette understood they were lawyers who only catered to a special list of clients and kept their activities were under wraps. If the research she had conducted was anything to go on however it pointed to this secretive cabal of lawyers being rolling in unseemly amounts of money. She hoped to hear from them soon.

 

Other:

• Although she judges her father harshly she is still a lawyer and not above engaging in unscrupulous acts of her own.
• Gets off on control. Likes to have her house in order with her as top dog.
• Forceful, sometimes abrasive personality although very able to play a role if it fits her purpose.
• Likes cute, ditzy assistants who are eager to please.
• Still keeps in contact with her family, despite her sentiment towards them. Even Oupa Henrik gets a call now and then.
• Speaks fluent English and Afrikaans while competent in Xhosa; also knows a few phrases of Zulu.

No problems from my side. Might have made a few enemies in Old Washstone however.

Hmm well New Bedlam is unaffected by the Weird for the most part so you wouldn't see fish floating around and the orange sky could just be the sun setting. Also the Weird doesn't really cause reality to bend. Its more of the long the lines of the landscape and wildlife taking on unusual qualities. In the Weird Bowl it could feel like an MC Escher painting, but that's an extreme example.

Anyway New Bedlam isn't the starting point. Its the Plateau.

Also I'll be sure to provide as accurate a description as I can according to where you guys are.

RP thread is up. Go check it out you mugs.

WEST OF WEIRD

-THE BEGINNING IS JUST ABOUT TO END-

“The undertaker raises no hand, but I’ll fear him just the same. His presence for tells both blood and death yet he shoulders not the blame. Like the shadow of the vultures circling blackly overhead. The Undertaker is drawn to death like the knife is drawn to red.”- Sons of Perdition

----

Something dark

Backwater dozed in the afternoon heat, its occupants staying cool in the shade, napping through the hottest part of the day. Nat was running to the general store to pick up some salt and butter when he heard the croaking of a crow from the low roof of the Jefferson place. He stopped in his tracks to glare at it, cocking his head to check if there was anything Weird about it first. The crow looked rather scrawny really, with unkempt feathers that were askew in many places. It hopped to and fro restlessly, cocking its head and squawking at Nat.

Satisfied that it probably wouldn't start spitting fire at him and it was just an ordinary crow Nat crouched down to scoop up a rock. His da had taught him that crows were bad luck and it was best to chase them off before they settled in. They were just scavengers after all. Nothing good comes from crows. Nat hurled his rock at the crow causing it jump up from its perch in a startle of flapping and lost feathers. Instead of being scared off however it settled back down and three more crows flew in to join it. And then ten more. And then the entire roof was covered in crows regarding him steadily. Looking around him Nat was horrified to see that all the town roofs were blanketed in crows.

Nat scrambled back and ran shouting, "Undertaker's crows! He's coming! Undertakers on his way!"

The town burst into motion with everyone running out to take in the sight of the crows glaring down at them. Some broke down in tears while others ran around frantically trying to gather up their families. Some even began packing their things and started saddling their iron horses, planning to flee the town that had been their home for so long. In the cacophony that had resulted from the news Jesse Alwyn almost didn't hear it.

"Shut it!" he screamed at the milling crowd who came to a startled silence, "Anyone else hear that?"

The townsfolk quietened to listen. In silence of even the crows remaining absolutely still they could hear a quiet creaking sound that somehow managed to carry throughout the town. Out over the horizon they saw a dark shape emerge, stretching its shadow towards the town. Like a cloud passing over the sun dark wings suddenly shot out of the shadow, embracing the town, vanishing in the next second.

"He's here," someone whispered despairingly. Everyone retreated into the buildings as on old man on a bicycle pedaled into town. Dressed from head to toe in a somber black his withered features betrayed no emotion as he took in the frightened folk from behind his opaque glasses. Keeping whatever judgement he had made to himself he turned his attention away from the people of the town to dismount his bike and lean it against the side of the courthouse. Carefully he extracted his umbrella and walked slowly over to one of the stools that had been set out near the saloon to sit down. From his perch he and his flock regarded the townsfolk silently.

The next few days consisted of the townsfolk railing at him, demanding to know who he was here for, but getting no answer from the implacable Undertaker. About half the town left while the others boarded their windows and stayed indoors, waiting for the death they knew would come soon. The question they were all asking however was "who was he here for?" and dreading that they were the answer to that question.

After four days had passed the townsfolk could take it no longer. They gathered outside to confront The Undertaker. One man, Thom Erikson, strode forward with his rifle held up and cocked.

"You just like any man Undertaker! We ain't gotta fear you. You can die just like any man!"

He shouldered the rifle and took aim. As his finger squeezed the trigger however a sudden furious flapping of darkness rushed by as the crows knocked the rifle up and away from their master. The gun went off and someone dropped to the ground. A man was screaming next to his wife's prone body. Another gun was drawn. Another gunshot. And then another. The town square suddenly became a roar of battle as neighbor turned on neighbor.

The frenzy lasted all of a minute before Sandra the Goodwife waded into the fray with a frying pan laying about with her Weird infused strength and yelling at them to come to their senses. After being beaten into submission the remaining townsfolk lay panting in the bloody aftermath. It had all happened in an instant, but nine townsfolk lay dead. They knew so because The Undertaker had finally moved to stand up and was counting off the dead bodies with one crooked finger.

The Goodwife stormed into one of the nearby houses and emerged moments later with a burlap sack which she tossed to The Undertaker in contempt. After inspecting its contents The Undertaker set to work burying the bodies and only after he was done did he open the bag to remove the Lightstones inside. He rolled them in his hands as if savoring the moment before swallowing each and every one in quick succession. Satisfied he turned his head and sniffed, scanning the horizon. Eventually he settled on a direction, mounted his bike and set off West.

Something Ominous

The last tremor was strong enough that it shook the dust from the roof beams in the Blue Moon Saloon. The patrons glanced up with worried expressions before turning back to stare at their reflections in their cups. The rumbling had started some time before noon and had been on going since, approximately one tremor per hour. It was damn unsettling and the whole of Marsha's Plateau was on edge.

"We're gonna have to check it out eventually." Barnes muttered into his cup.

The fissure had opened about a week ago, but none of the townspeople had made much of it as it hadn't been all that large at first, barely longer than two iron horses tail-to-nose. Now however it ran down the entire main road, splitting the town in two. That had been where the rumbling had started.

"I ain't goin' down there. There's a Weird stink about it."

"What then? Sitting here waiting for it to swallow the whole town any better?"

"Enough!" Lambert, the mayor stood up slamming his mug down, "We ain't gonna sit by and let the Weird take our homes right from under us. I'm going down with anyone brave enough to check it out. I'll pay well for each gun that comes along."

He turned to regard a cloaked duo that were seated in the corner and had been minding their own business till now.

"What of you Rangers? Will you do your duty?"

The man at the table looked up, but shook his head apologetically.

"Sorry mayor, but we can't pursue anything else till we bring in the gang hiding out below in the Wastes. Court orders. Pretty hefty bounty as well if anyone's interested in riding along."

SPY!!!!!!

Spoiler

Small Hands

Small Hands fed Jezzie half a wedge of cheese for a job well done after transferring his consciousness back to himself. Idly nibbling the the half left over he sifted through the information he had gained. So they had been able to put aside their differences it seemed, though the presence of the cultists was troubling as he couldn't determine what their objective was. Perhaps they intended to set up a base of operations? A place between the borders for two notoriously bad neighbors might make dealing with them a bit of a diplomatic issue...or it might cause them to band together to stamp out a group that most sane people saw as an infestation.

He sighed as he gathered up his things and began moving through the crowd again. The festival day was nearing the end and the townsfolk had begun to light wicker men in preparation for the night's festivities. He was missing something. This sounded too large scale to be founded on some half-cooked scheme. The armies don't seem to care what the cultists are planning. Their existence and beliefs alone warrant their destruction.

But what if the tunnels and reports are just a distraction. The Followers of the Destroyer are always a threat, but they are no army. What usually concerns them is the mystical, their sick fucked up rites intending to bring back the Destroyer to kill everything. Death and destruction is what they feed on, could the attack be playing into their hands? Surely they would have been competent enough to discover that two armies were converging on their location and been able to escape. Unless they needed something to be done tonight, a ritual.

It started with one scream. A thin piercing wail, probably a woman, laced with pain and disbelief. The scream was joined by others and soon the town was boiling over with a frantic crowd, of both crazed lunatics attacking anyone in sight and their panicked families scrambling desperately away.

"Well now," said Small Hands, a bit bewildered by the sudden onslaught, "This is a right cluster fuck now isn't it?"

Before he could disengage himself from the crowd he found himself grappling with a man with a butcher's knife. He stood over the man's one foot to anchor him and brought his other foot down to break the man's leg at the knee. As the lunatic dropped Small Hands punched him in the temple to knock him out.

He pulled him a little out of the way to reduce the chance that the man would get trampled before legging it himself. Small Hands headed for his wagon first to retrieve his crossbow and bolts. He had left them there in order to be less conspicuous. There had been four more crazed villagers in the way but two now lay dead while the other two had enough appendages broken that they would have trouble moving for a while. As he ran a drop of rain fell, and then another and another, working up to a steady drizzle. Through the rain he thought he could hear a voice.

Get to the hill.

It seemed to be a rallying call of some kind. Something worth looking into at any rate. He started to make his way towards the hill. Before he could get there however something caught his attention. A man with a piece of bloodied wood was standing dazed over the body of a lifeless boy no more than ten. Beneath the body of the young boy was an even younger girl shivering uncontrollably. As if coming to his senses the man started to move again, slowly and deliberately drawing the stake back intending to impale the girl.

Small Hands was too far away to incapacitate the man. He wasn't a good enough shot to simply stop the man. His bolt took him through the side with force, launching him away. As Small Hands ran up to the figures his stomach roiled with acid as his mind caught up to what he had seen, putting the pieces together. He knelt by the man, but he could see that it was already too late. The bolt had gone right through his thigh and blood was pulsing out with the strength of a main artery hit.'

"Your father?" he asked quietly, digging his fingers painfully into his scalp.

The girl didn't respond, but he knew that he was right. Tears and snot were running freely down her face although her expression was one of frozen neutrality. She was still shaking uncontrollably. Small Hands grabbed hold of her. Pressing the shivers still, looking her dead in the eyes.

"What I did was wrong, but necessary. We need to get you to the hill, you'll be safe there," as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder he spoke in a much softer voice, "I'm so sorry."

@X - The Weird is unpredictable. You could have your power upgraded or you could get a completely new power or maybe you'll become psychotic or mutated. Though I will be reasonable in what happens to you. You might be able to prevent your Weird from activated so you can keep yourself from getting useless powers or keeping one you like, but I'm not willing to let you store Weirds to make your own personal arsenal. At least not until you're a deranged lunatic that needs to be put down like a rabid dog due to overexposure to the Weird. In other words another Ronnie Frown.

@Lilith - Yeah that sounds like a cool idea with the glass bullets, but on the flesh container front it won't work like that. Has to be a living body, its not like scraps of flesh have the ability to use the Weird.