Highly Exothermic
The Nameless indirectly cause the destruction of a business vital to the economic and literal survival of Duskvol, and Arkin’s conscience is now trapped in a bottle.
The Duskvol Ironworks is/was a substantial part of the industrial and civic apparatus that allows Leviathan hunting (and thus, the electricity that powers Duskvol and keeps it safe from the Deathlands). Its destruction is a BIG DEAL.
We have a perfect corpse facsimile of Katya lying around now.
And Arcade is now known to university workers (and the university President) as a man of extremely cool understated hypercompetence, like how Vin Diesel wishes everyone thought of him.
COMPLETELY UNRELATED: The V-Sea-W locker room is full of dissent and irritability, doubtless compounded by poor gate numbers and a lackluster response to the Dwayne’s championship run. While there are a few factors at play, one Christopher Canaan is smugly stoking the fires of revolt. The Dwayne is done with V-Sea-W.
Sabotage!
Slane Stabbed, Shot, Shown Supernatural in Shop Struggle!
The DUSKVOL IRONWORKS has been BURNED TO THE GROUND as the result of a confrontation between foreman SLANE KARLESTADT and THE NOTORIOUS NAMELESS GANG OF THIEVES.
KARLESTADT, a known SADIST in the employ of the Ironworks, has been known to BEAT EMPLOYEES HALF TO DEATH for perceived infractions or failures. At the behest of reporter HARLOW SLANK at the DUSKVOL INDEPENDENT, the GANG OF THIEVES sought to frame Karlestadt for MANSLAUGHTER and INCOMPETENCE by means of a PLANTED CORPSE in a SABOTAGED FURNACE.
While the corpse was successfully planted during work hours, Karlestadt discovered the culprit and demonstrated FLESH-WARPING ABILITIES and UNHOLY STRENGTH in pursuing vengeance. During a fracas involving TRICK ARROWS, A FILING CABINET, and SUNDRY CHEMICALS, the planted corpse IGNITED and began a CHAIN REACTION that ended in a DESTRUCTIVE CONFLAGRATION.
Karlestadt is presumed dead. The link between his supernatural abilities and CORPSE WITCH ELIA WICKHAMM is unknown to all non-supernatural parties.
As the old woman finishes writing her missive, Scurlock comes striding into the room. In his hand, he clutches a bottle. The bottle is screaming faintly.
“Seven, is it?” asks the old woman, looking up from her work.
“Seven, your ladyship. With Lugos’ assistance, of course.”
“Very good, Scurlock. We had best begin preparations. It may be time to begin outfitting a naval expedition soon. I imagine your meat suit might be useful there. Oh, and put that man’s tender conscience in the liquor cabinet, will you? I like a jigger of it in my whiskey from time to time.”
Nodding obligingly, Scurlock places the bottle in the nearby liquor cabinet and closes the door. Within, the sound of Arkin Wollenstonecraft’s screaming is nearly entirely muffled.