Who: Huntress and The Question NPCs:: The Sacred Order of Saint Dumas When:: August 29th, 2012 (BACKDATED!) Where: The southern border of Germany. What:: Huntress uses information left to her by The Question to track him down. She meets more than a little resistance on the way.
The forest was the same as he remembered it in the early hours before sunrise. Fog hung thick between the trees and obscured the trail before him. Richard had made him run it every day and though the rehabilitation of his body was now over, Vic found himself falling back on routine. The physical exertion of muscles stretching during the run was far more effective that the strongest cup of coffee. The trail took a turn through the forest and just before he could account for the change a boot hit him in the stomach.
Reality snapped back into focus as The Question was kicked again. He lay on the the floor, bound by blood encrusted ropes. A bear of a man towered over him, the serene nature of his voice now gone. “This is your final chance.”
The cobwebs in his head made it difficult to think so instead he fell back on physicality to clear his mind. Question curled his legs up and knocked the weight bearing leg out from under his captor. With a twist of his body he rolled from under the templar and struggled to his feet. Question had managed to make it into a standing position when the blow from the hilt of a sword struck him across the face. Once again the faceless man found himself on the ground, a trio of Templar’s standing above him. “It seems he has chosen death, Brother.”
“That it does. Take him before the master.” The leader of this little troupe ordered before he took his leave. A pair of men hefted Question from the ground with ease and carried him from the room.
“Foolish man.” They spoke as Q was hauled from the room. “He does not understand with whom he is dealing.”
“The Sacred Order of St. Dumas.” Question replied, albeit rather thickly. The last blow had split open old wounds and he swallowed blood to keep from choking on the stuff. “Founded two-thirds of a millennia ago. You have several factions. Fortunately for me, your sect is not as good at keeping secrets as the others.”
“I knew we should have gagged him.”
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This had to be the stupidest thing she had ever done, which was saying something in light of recent events. She had joined not one, but two teams, even reached out to them for a minute moment of help, and now she here, in Germany, tracking a blip on her GPS that would take her to where Q was. At least it better. He had questions to answer and she had anger that needed to be relieved.
Curiosity was what had brought her out here and it only grew as she had trekked her way through the Southern reaches of the country, first by a borrowed, off-road vehicle and now by foot. Helena had left her usual garb back in Gotham, too dangerous to travel internationally with such valuable (and condemning) pieces of clothing and weaponry. Instead, she had picked up a black kevlar suit and a simple costume. The utility belt from her Huntress costume had made it through customs, holding all her gadgets and pointy-free gear. Her high-tech binoculars had also made the leg and now offered the most surprising view of all.
“A monastery?” she whispered to herself. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” A look down to the GPS told her that this was, in fact, not a joke. She tucked both pieces of equipment away and moved in closer, using the shadows as sanctuary.
From the outside, the monastery appeared to be little more than a haven for a forgotten order, but as she took to the walls and rafters, she noticed the strange happenings within. Ancient chants, youthful yet scarred faces, and ancient weaponry secured beneath many of the old robes. She had just walked into a bad action movie.
The woman avoided detection, removing those in her way with surprising grace and accuracy. Any hooded figures she encountered were knocked out cold and dragged from sight before she continued further into the old place of worship. There were whispers now, eager and excited, and swarms of robed figures making their way to a centralized location. Helena followed, sticking to the high ground..
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The pair of men moved swiftly and despite their cargo nary a sound was made. These were no ordinary priests. In fact, Question knew most of them were former soldiers and guns for hire. Minds easily swayed by the Order and their beliefs. Whatever their original goals had been, they’d lost sight and now worked as a part of something larger. There were answers here. Unfortunately Vic Sage was in no position to go hunting for them.
The darkness of the hallway grew lighter and nearly vanished as Question was hoisted up a flight of stairs. An open doorway flooded the landing with light from hundreds of candles. A low steady chant comprised of sounds rather than actual words formed the background noise. Unseen eyes narrowed at the stabbing pain of the candlelight. He’d been kept underground for too long.
The prisoner was taken to the front and placed unceremoniously on a long stone table seated before the pulpit. The men here all wore robes nearly identical and this so called leader stood out in part to a stole he wore about his neck. Questions’ arms were pulled up over his head and his legs stretched out toward the bottom of the table.
In a booming voice this leader spoke. “The prisoner has refused our generous offer of cooperation.” And from there he let loose with the monologue.
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It had been easy to sneak in, using the shadows as her guide. The men were preoccupied with something else. Q’s incessant chatter, Helena thought wryly. She made it to the main chamber, climbing along the old, wooden rafters. Her eyes peered down, examining the pulpit and the man behind it. Obviously the leader and he was waiting for something.
Or someone. Helena’s eyes narrowed as the doors opened and a set of man dragged in her faceless consort. Her fist clenched at the ragged sight of him, but she waited. She was outnumbered and his precarious position meant she had to be patient.
They would be doomed, had the leader not begun his dissertation. He had but few moments to speak before the soft thwip of an arrow embedded itself in the lectern. Two more followed suit, but these embedded themselves swiftly in the backs of the knees of the two who had tied the Question in his place.
There was a shout, an order to attack as the Huntress dove from the ceiling and used one of the clergymen as a landing pad. A swift hit saw the man unconscious and the Huntress spared no time in taking on her next target. A flurry of robes and weapons was all that could be seen as the masked vigilante struck from the middle of the attackers. There were shouts, cries of pain (not all masculine), and the clattering of blades as she took them down one by one.
The room was clear save for the leader, but it would not last long. The Huntress turned her glare on the man at the lead and rushed forward, knocking him down before he could even attempt escape. “Stay,” she ordered, punching him hard in the kidney to ensure he could not recover in a swift manner. She then turned and went to cut the Question free.
“Stay with me, baby doll. We’ll get you out of here,” she assured softly. Using the sharp tip of a crossbow arrow, she had him freed in just a few moments. “What am I doing with the Preacher of the Damned?”
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The group of guards held him down as if they expected at any moment the faceless vigilante would leap up with the strength of ten men. But the truth was that days of bound captivity and repeated escape attempts had left him unable to barely function. His chest muscles screamed at him as they stretched his body back. At this angle it would take minimal strength to cut out his heart. And given the way this was ramping up, he wouldn’t put human sacrifice passed these guys.
The monologue droned on and the prisoner groaned a sound that was a mixture of pain and annoyance. He wasn’t the type to beg for death, in fact he railed against it as hard as possible, but this was ridiculous. Wasn’t this guy done yet? Vic had read thesis’ shorter than this.
Just as soon as Q had begun contemplating slamming his head against the stone table, something caught his eye. There was a glimmer in the rafters above. It didn’t mesh well with the shadows. From behind the mask he watched and waited for it. The thwip brought forth a smirk that his captors did not see. The sound of combat did not last long and when all was said and done he was grateful to see Huntress. He’d been right in picking her for the job.
“Babydoll?” The question was asked in that typical wry tone of voice that she knew. Though it seemed he’d been mocking her, he was grateful and it showed in the way he squeezed her shoulder as he stood. Q’s balance was precarious and he relied too heavily on the table before him to keep himself upright.
“A key.” Question said, hand pressed to his side. The waistcoat he wore was saturated with blood. “Worn around his neck. With that, we can go.”
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“It’s a working title,” Helena excused with a roll of her eyes. Her arm moved around his waist to give him the stability he needed and she waited just a moment to ensure he had his balance before parting from him.
The woman stalked over to the downed clergyman, crouching over his simpering form. Her hand grasped the old piece of leather around his neck and she pulled it hard enough to break it. The key went swiftly to a pouch around her waist before she used the same hand to knock the man’s head back against the floor, rendering him unconscious. A precautionary measure. Really.
It was only on her reapproach that Helena noticed the blood and her form went rigid. It was fortunate for the keyholder that she only just noticed the real damage done. “I’m not going to have to carry you, am I?” Though she attempted to hide it, there was a tinge of concern in her tone. Without another word, she hefted his right arm over her shoulder and started walking.
Her vehicle wasn’t far, but given his injury and the uneven terrain it took some time to get him into the passenger seat safely. She drove at full speed towards the closest village and prayed that they would find a helping hand to tend his wounds.
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"Well as long as there is a chance for revisions." The mockery didn't have the same edge to it now. The pseudoderm he wore concealed his face, hiding the pallor of his skin. While Helena fetched the key, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, swaying dangerously. "Cold. Too much blood lost." He commented idly as the faceless man staggered toward the front of the church. At her question he let loose with a snort.
"Don't think so." Boots dragged across the stonework and he busied himself by slicking the hair from his face. His body was slipping precariously close to decompensated shock and he knew it. "Shock's not too far gone." Was all he managed to mutter when Helena slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Try not too get too fresh." The warning came with a laugh that turned into a very wet cough.
Despite the extent of his injuries, Question managed to keep pace with her. Vic Sage was a fighter and would continually come back for more punishment even if it meant death. There was no way he was going to allow something as insignificant as a gushing abdominal wound keep him from getting the hell out of there.
"Good work." He mumbled from his seat on the passenger side. For the majority of the ride he'd been quiet but now his words were starting to slur and emphasis was being placed on the wrong syllable. Q was becoming very delirious. "Cracking the encryption."