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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:31 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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Another case file involving something that is based off a myth, or is it really a myth? The hellhound, as it is so lovingly named. Is a creature that well..is a hound of hell. A creature that will tear apart, and even take the soul of it’s victim. Now that I think about it. Why are we sending our Agents to handle this damn case? I mean as acting director of this agency. I would like to point out that we do not enjoy sending our teams to handle this crazy crap. It just our Agency is the only competent, and well the only people who can handle these cases.

Such is the case we are talking about today.

“The Wolf and the Herder”

It had been around 6pm when a woman dressed in a brown overcoat had stepped off a plane, and had strolled through a terminal gate among other passengers. Where they had arrived at was known as Heathrow London International Airport. The second largest international airport in all of England. The woman stood around 5’6, at 114 pounds, and to most was mildly attractive. Her long brown hair had reached just beneath her neck, and she smelled of sweet strawberries. Now, I am sure you are asking yourself who was this woman exactly. Well let us put this way. She was a “representative” of our organization. Alright...she is an Agent.

Like many Agents, she had been dressed like a normal civilian. Her clothes, the way she carried herself, and even the way she spoke had to keep up that cover. In all truth she even had to run through customs and even be subjected to the touchy feely that was airport security back in the day. After all it was 1976, and our agency had been still very young back then. Now that I think about it. The amount of hell our Agents had to deal with back then. I wish I could go back in time and buy them a damn beer. Alright, getting off topic.

Agent..was her code name...Lock? Agent Lock...that really sounds dumb. Did anyone ever hire an H.R person to handle these damn code names?...Anyone? Alright then. Agent Lock had been ordered to meet up with her partner, and the field team who had already been stationed over in England. Luckily for our Agency. The cold war had been going on since late 1940’s. Which means there had been “outposts” set up by MI6, C.I.A, and yes even the K.G.B. No we are not going to cover that type of intel do to the fact that well. The U.N has begged us to only concern ourselves with the supernatural. That is fine. The Cold War was boring anyway…

Later that night. Agent Lock had arrived at the meeting place with her team. The other Agents had already been set up, and prepared for her arrival. “Lock, good to see you!” Greeted one of the Agents as they swung open the apartment door. “We thought you be here earlier. Was your flight delayed?” Agent Lock nodded. “Yeah...I hate planes.” The Agent chuckled as they closed the door behind Lock. “We have already sent two pairs of Agents to gather some intel on our fury friend. Lock sighed. “Where is lou?” Asked Lock as she took off her coat. The Agent shrugged. “He in town somewhere I guess. Not sure.” Lock shook her head. “Typical.”

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 26, 2017 1:48 pm 
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In the early evening a young man walked one of the two roads out of a small village near London towards a large forest just outside of said village. Upon approaching the forest a small house could be seen. More than a house, calling it a hut would be more appropriate. It was made from a combination of stone and wood and was located at the very edge of the forest. At first sight it almost looked like the forest was about to swallow the hut in one big gulp. Even for those days it was a simple housing. For the young man it was enough. There was running water and electricity, which would seem unlikely at this location. He lived there alone and peacefully quiet. The young man entered his small home and put his bag on the kitchen table. Today he had bought fresh milk and some bread. Together with some cheese he still had, this would be his dinner. With his hand he stroked some of his brown hair out of his light brown eyes. And with his lean body he reached to the cupboard in his little kitchen for a plate and a cup. Nobody really questions why this young man named Christoph, Chris as he is called, Blake lived alone there, although various rumours are certainly circling around. But then again, who doesn’t have rumours about them circling around? After eating his light dinner, he enjoyed the rest of his evening by reading to the light of a light bulb, before going to bed.

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PostPosted: Sun Oct 01, 2017 8:59 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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Lou had been with a tour group down in the London dungeons. Why would he be with these tour groups you ask? Simple.. He was bored as hell and had nothing else to do. His partner was still a day away, or maybe shorter then that. The other field teams were out doing their jobs. Also MI6 were constantly on their coat tails. Following them around like some sick little puppy. Doesn't help that the British government wasn't exactly happy with their agency operating in their home territory. The U.N did approve their operations, but it didn't always mean that the nations under this were happy with C.U.L.T's freedom.

"And here my dear audience is the end of tour! I hope you had a rather..interesting journey through the dark underbelly of Victorian London!"

Said the tour guide as they waved their hand towards the edge of the tunnel. "Oh! Also please do not be too afraid to visit our gift shop for some even more frightful souvenirs of our little journey!" Lou couldn't help but let out a snicker at the tour guide's words. Always willing to sell the obscure and strange to poor tourists. These people around Lou were ignorant to the real world around them. All too happy to laugh, take pictures of the dead and forgotten. Killers, monsters, mysterious figureheads that stalked the streets of the past. Lou just shook his head. His long dark hair covering a rather pale white complexion. Only if they really knew what things stalked the streets above their very heads. Maybe even the gravel beneath the cobblestones under their shoes.

A hour later he had arrived back at the london flat that the team had been stationed. He was surprised to see his partner seated in a chair by the fireplace. A cup of tea in one hand, and a book in the other. "Paradise lost?" He inquired as he took off his jacket and scarf. She smirked and nodded. "How did you know?" He chuckled and took a seat across from her. "You always had a love for that religious stuff." She giggled, and took a sip of her tea. "True." Another team member walked in. A vanilla folder held in their hand. "Good, you both are here." The teams had returned from their field work, and came up with some interesting details.

"So do we have a creature, or some false witnesses?"

Asked lou as he looked up towards the agent.

Locked too looked up, interested in the details.

"Well from the sounds of it. We may have ourselves something canine in form, but the clues are rather obscure."

Lou glared at Lock.

"Sounds like we have some work ahead of us."

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PostPosted: Wed Oct 11, 2017 2:02 pm 
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The next morning the sun was shedding its first few rays on the village of Baskerville. Even this early in the morning there were already people up and working. The bakery was just putting its freshly baked bread in the window. The milkman was out to make his deliveries. The newspaper boy just came back from his rounds. The first farmers got ready to set out for a day in the fields. It would still take a few little hours before the school bell would ring, beckoning all the children to come like a certain piper did in a different country, for a different purpose. All in all the village did a good job trying to survive. Comparing it to a city would make it obvious that ‘modern’ times were not quite there yet, but except for the price of the milk it didn’t matter much. Sure, there were a few business man who took it upon themselves to travel to the city to work. They, of course, needed to talk about politics, economics and other difficult words that not even their wives cared about. All could be so well in Baskerville. The friendly butcher would even take care of your chicken in case you would want to eat it. It could all be so nice. It could be.
Sadly such a thing as reality exists. In a village were except for the daily work and chores there isn’t much to do, people will look for something to do. Especially housewives, they don’t seem to have anything else to do as to gather in small groups and make up stories and spread them around. Did you see miss Anderson’s new dress? Isn’t that way too short? I heard she went shopping in London. She isn’t married yet, so how did she get the money to buy something so expensive? Maybe she does some “extra work” on the streets of London for it... Still, life would be great if gossiping housewives were the only matter at hand in Baskerville. After all, you got those everywhere. However what you don’t get everywhere is the subject that the men are talking about in the evenings in the village’s only bar. Just like they did the evening before.
“I thank God for every night that it doesn’t appear,” a farmer lamented. “That night last year where it ripped all my sheep apart had cost me a fortune.”
“Don’t be so disrespectful,” the baker said. He would be the first one to leave the round as he had to get up early to bake bread. “Think about the child of the Johnsons. Losing a few sheep is nothing against losing your child.” The baker as well as the farmer both had children of their own.
“I wonder why that beast is going after our village,” the bartender thought aloud before he shrugged. “I guess we can be happy that it only appeared four times since last year and it doesn’t haunt us every night. That beast. That Hellhound.”
The other man could only nod in consent. As always their discussion never resulted in anything, but men also needed to be able to talk and exchange stories just like women did. After the first few attacks, they did gather and tried to hunt the Hellhound, but they didn’t even find a trace. After a few tries they were forced to give up since their normal jobs required their energy. The last attack was one months ago. No human was harmed this time but a cow was ripped apart and half eaten. Four months ago nobody was harmed but the Hellhound was seen in the moonlight close to the village. Six months ago was the time that the child of the Johnson family was killed by the beast. The time before that, about a year ago, was the first time that the Hellhound appeared, the first deed was ripping about six sheep apart in a big massacre. During the day nobody seemed to even lose a word about the Hellhound as if they were afraid that it would hear them and come after them.
With the first rays of the sun, Chris also woke up. It has been more than a year already since he had moved to Baskerville. One year two months and a few days to be more precise. Indeed, he was not a ‘native’ to the village and the villagers didn’t like outsiders that much. But by now they were getting used to him. He was also quite helpful in his ‘job’. Chris didn’t have a fixed job, instead he could be hired for £0,50 per hour for just about anything. He didn’t charge extra for harder jobs, nor did he give a discount for easy stuff. The villagers have already accepted this, those that didn’t just wouldn’t hire him. It was enough to keep him over water. Today he already had a task to do. He quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. After just a small breakfast he went on his way to the house of an old lady. She was called Marian and after her husband had died a few years ago she lived alone. Together with her neighbour, Chris would help fix her roof which seemed to be leaking.

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PostPosted: Wed Oct 25, 2017 2:25 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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It had been around 3am when Lock found herself awake, very awake, in her bed. Her body had been drenched in a cold sweat. A constant build up of pressure inside her skull caused her to fear that it could explode at any moment. "Damn it." Were the words which had parted from between lips. This was no ordinary pain. No this was the sort of pain which required her to take a set of pills. Pills which when introduced into her body. Broke down and circulated into her bloodstream, and up into her brain. The affects of these drugs were to ease her "gift". Lock had reluctantly rose from her bed. Her bare chest exposed. Through out her years as an agent. Lock developed a habit of sleeping nude. This was mainly brought on by the severity of her dreams, and the violent way her body reacted to said dreams. After one extreme night of tossing and turning. Locked had found herself being almost strangled by said clothes as she tried to breath. Since that night. The agent has made it a point to sleep naked just in case.

She reached over towards her nightstand, and turned on the lamp. A cup of water had already been placed on the stand for her. The pills were placed on a paper towel next to the cup. She reached for the pills with her right hand, and took hold of the glass with the left. She popped the pills in her mouth, and gulped down the water. They tasted horrible, always have. Yet they did the trick,and with the pills in her system. Lock forced herself to fall back to sleep. Yet sleep would not come. She cursed underneath her breath, and decided to forfeit the fight for sleep.

With that notion in her head. Locked stood up out of bed, and approached her bathroom. The sight of her sleep deprived self in the bathroom mirror caused her to wince. She disliked herself in the morning. The frizzled look of her hair. The pale red blotchy spots that marked her skin. Add the constant mental strain of her migraine. Even once cured. Made her hate mornings, and preferred the comforts of the night. Though there were some things about the mornings she did enjoy. One of those things being her morning tea. She reached for her bathrobe, and covered her pale, blouchy, nude self.

Her tea was the first thing that she went for in the kitchen. You see for Lock, tea was one of those things that seemed to sooth her weary mind. It didn't matter the type of flavor tea that she preferred. It was something about the leaves, and the texture of tea that brought to her troubled mind some peace. "Hello old friend." She whispered with smirk as she had already prepared her tea kettle the night before. All she had to do was turn on the stove. Place the kettle on top, and waited for faithful sound of the kettle's whistle. Which didn't take long at all. Soon she had herself a warm cup of tea, a seat by the fireplace, and a good book in her hands.

By the time Lock was dressed in a sweater and a pair of blue jeans. The rest of the team was wide awake. Lou noticed the teapot on the stove, and knew that Lock had another rough night. "What was this one about?" Inquired Lou as he took a seat across from her, a cup freshly brewed coffee in his hand. She smirked, and took a sip of her tea. Lou knew this had to probably be her 3rd or 4th cup. When she had nights like these. She always had more then one cup. "I am not sure how to describe this one." Lou shook his head with a chuckle, and pointed towards the fireplace. "Then show me." Lock took one last sip of her tea. She knew what he meant as he gestured towards the fireplace. For Lock was one of C.U.L.T.'s "Special" agents. Which simply meant she was better then other agents, and they knew it.

Lock glared intently into the flames of the fireplace. It was there in those flames that the scenes of what she had dreamed began to take form. Lou watched as obscure, and terrifying imagery crackled within the bright glow of the fire. She explained in detail the world which she had envisioned. "There was no real form of light there. Except maybe for some type of glow that shined down from a pale sky. It wasn't natural, but neither was this world." Lou continued to listen as his partner narrated this strange dream. "There were monuments to beings much..much older then anything we knew of. It was a wretched wasteland filled with jagged structures that jutted out of the ground. The whispers of a language familiar but unknown called out to me. A mammoth sized gate stood before me in the distance. One which when I approached it glowed an eerie yellowish glow. I wanted to run, but my legs would only lead one way. I found myself at the gates, and as i stood there. A chill struck me, and there it was...Those eyes..." The flames from the fireplace burned hotter and brighter until a explosion of flames flew out of the fireplace. Lou grabbed Lock's hands, and brought her back to reality. "Lock!" He yelled, which startled her. The flames died out completely and extinguished as her attention was now on him. "Thank you." She uttered in a hush whisper.

The rest of the morning was the team prepping for their op. The mission was simple. They were to meet a contact in the town of Baskerville. Where many of these sightings had taken place. "Do we have our badges?" Asked lock as she threw on her coat. Lou responded with a nod. "Yup." He too was dressed in his coat, and scarf. Which covered several of his old battle scars. The rest of the team were dressed in simple flannel shirts, pants, and caps. They were to look like locals, and even had adapted the accents of the local flavor. C.U.L.T Agents like many spies, specialists, and other "secretive" forces. Were well versed as bilingual and multi-skilled field operators who could easily hide in crowd. This is what allowed them to function on a global scale. In many ways. It proved them to be too skilled, and sometimes have thrown them into the line of friendly fire.

"Alright boys and girls." Lou called out as he placed his pistols in their respective holsters. Looks likes we are ready to head out. Let hunt ourselves a hell-hound!" So the teams were off to the races. Lock and Lou caught a taxi, and the rest of the team members rode off in pick up trucks. The team were to arrive first, and provide some recon of the area. While Lock and Lou were to arrive later. This was how the agency operated. One team went in first with some bigger guns. The next team were usually the gifted ones who went in second. As Lock and lou finally approach the town. They were greeted by the sounds and smells of sheep,pigs, cows, goats, and other simple farm life. The cab, which was paid some extra pounds for taking them there. Drove off faster then you could blink. They glared at the cab, and back towards each other. Lou smirked. "So..we aren't the only ones who heared of the beast then?"

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 13, 2017 9:10 am 
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The roads of Baskerville are pretty easy to describe. There is one main road, coincidently also called Main Road, which is the only way to and from the village. This means that those business men need to take the Main Road, which connects to other bigger roads, in order to get to the city. On the other hand, to get to the village one needs to take the Main Road as well. This road is the broadest of the village and leads up to the middle of it where it ends in a town square, any and all of Baskerville’s events take place here. Adjacent to this is the church, the villages’ graveyard is located slightly out of the village with a small chapel and not connected directly to the Main Road. Of course the Main Road is not the only road there is. Several other roads connect to this road, who in turn connect to other roads, and there the connecting ends because that’s where the fields start.
On the Main Road there are a few shops where the villagers can take care of their daily necessities. There is a bakery, a butcher, the one and only pub which even has two rooms for rent which rarely get rented. There is a corner shop that is not located at a corner, here are articles for sell that are not available at the various farmers. Mostly coffee, tea, tobacco, a small assortment of clothes, cloth and yarn, or other products from the city get sold here. In the past there was even a blacksmith but with less horses and more tractors being used, it was not possible to keep the business going anymore.
Chris was already busy on Marian’s roof. The house was located on one of the side roads and not on the Main Road. He did not see any of the cars coming into the village. However, other villagers did see them. In a village where everyone knew everyone at least by name, it was certainly unusual for a larger group of unknown people to show up that wasn’t family of anyone inside the village. It was also unusual for cars to come inside the village at this time of the day. By now all the workers and farmers had already left for work so the busiest traffic time was already over. Another unusual thing was that nobody recognised any of the cars as belonging to someone from the village. So indeed the incoming cars were viewed with suspicion from behind the curtains and the shop windows. Small rumours and suspicions were already slowly rising before the cars even came to a halt.

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PostPosted: Sun Dec 03, 2017 8:58 pm 

If I die...Make sure you don't burry me in a damn pet cemetary.

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The two agents had became aware of their situation the very moment they had stepped out of that taxi. They were in the middle of a small town outside of London. A town where strangers as themselves were probably unwelcome. In truth they couldn't blame the villagers. Yet, like or not. This was one of those operations that required subtle above all. That and this particular pair of agents were specialists when it came to dealing with small tribes. In fact both agents had been fresh off a op over in Africa. They had spent about a month tracking down an elusive tribe of cannibalistic "head hunters" who were terrorizing an archaeological dig site. A very complicated and sensitive case file. Lucky for the crew at those dig sites. Lock had been able to convince to the head hunters tribe leader to remove themselves from the area.

Lou turned towards his partner. "Do you think we have been made?" She smirked, and turned with a quick wink. "Only for strangers my dear friend." What she had indicated towards was the fact that they had in their possessions a set of genuine Scotland yard badges. That was one of the perks of being a c.u.l.t agent. No matter where they were in the world. Any form of local law enforcement, government official, or even high ranking military personal. Were theirs to impersonate by simply making a call, and picking up whatever their heart desired for the operation.

Lock glared up around the roofs of the houses, and down at the old fashion shutters that had been kept close. "Lou, I have a strange feeling this is going to be rather difficult." Lou replied with a snide remark. "Backwards people living in a village where probably the local women are all blood relatives. Yup, just a normal day at the office." With that they decided to press on into the town. Where in which they soon discovered their first place to investigate. " A pub?" Commented lou. " Well I would guess we could have a drink or two as the other teams are gathering info.." Lock giggled and pushed open the door to the pub. " Haven't you learned anything from our prior ops Lou? Bars and pubs are always the best place for gossip." Both Agents had entered into the bar. Their long coats and scarves had covered most if not all of their facial features.

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 13, 2017 1:34 pm 
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The pub owner was present, just like most days he used the midday when nobody came by to clean and do inventory and stuff like that. At the moment that the strangers entered the closed but not locked door he was sweeping the wooden floor. The wooden chairs were put upside down on the few tables. Even though this was just a village pub, it was remarkably clean. The pub owner did everything himself. His wife was a seamstress and busy enough as it is with the kids. The village people knew better than to dare and put down a glass somewhere without a coaster underneath. The atmosphere in the pub was a little dark but cosy. During the day the sun lit up the shiny wood and all the ornaments and usual stuff that you find in a typical pub. In the evenings various dimmed lamps caused the familiar atmosphere that made you want to stay just a little longer.
The little golden bell above the door tingled with a clear sound as the door opened. The owner looked up from his cleaning at the strangers with the covered faces. Having lived in Baskerville for all his live, he could recognise everyone even with their faces covered. Thus, it was immediately clear to him that the two that had just entered his pub were by no means anyone he has ever met before. Normally if one of the villagers came by during the day he would put away the broom before saying anything. Now, he kept a loose grip on it.
“How can I help you?” he asked in a calm friendly tone, yet a clear distance could also be heard that certainly wouldn’t have been there in a conversation with a villager.

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2017 2:34 pm 

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The pub owner's friendly greetings to the pair of Agents had been noted down by Lock. She could already tell by how the man stood and by the expression on his face. That he was somewhat weary of them, but at the same time would probably be a good start to the case. Lou, who had stood beside his partner, studied some of the layout of the pub. From his experiences of living in rural areas similar to baskerville. He could tell that this place probably served as the main "meeting" hall and probably place of sociability of the residents. Lock had waited no time though as she started to speak in a somewhat rough, but coherent form of a British accent. "Morning sir, me and my partner here two detectives from Scotland yard." She reaches for her badge from her coat pocket, and flips it open to show the pub owner. Lou follows suit and shows his as well.

"We were lookin to see if we could ask you a few questions about the area, and about some reports we have been receiving." Lock was a classically trained bullshitter, who had learned from her years serving multiple "Private contractors". She knew how to describe things, and better yet how to make very convincing. That and her "gifts" allowed her to see things in a way that others could not. Lou on the opposite end was a former MI6 agent who was recruited thanks to the gift of stupidity on his part. Asked too many questions, kind got himself into hot water, and almost got killed for it. Though this was why C.U.L.T recruited him in the first place. Asking dumb questions, and handling bad situations were some of the best traits an agent could have.

Meanwhile the strike team that had arrive before the two agents had been positioned out in the woods beyond the town. Dressed in light kevler, and armed with suppressed firearms. These teams were on a recon only op as ordered. Their goal was to discover the lair, or maybe some type of path this "hell hound" took. All in all it was mainly a simple op, and they didn't plan on starting a fire fight.

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PostPosted: Thu Jan 18, 2018 9:24 am 
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Once the two strangers had revealed their faces, the pub owner could see that they were just normal people. In other words, they became less suspicious. Could these two be tourists that had taken a wrong turn somewhere? When the woman started to speak it sounded polite enough as well. The possibility of them being tourists was quickly dispersed. The slightly chubby pub owner with the big moustache was surprised to have detectives from Scotland yard in front of him. “Did something happen?” he asked while trying to think if he had done something against the law and whom of the villagers might have a skeleton or two hidden in their cupboard. Not that he would sell anyone out. That would be bad for his business. Maybe if someone was dangerous, then it would be for the good of everyone. While these kinds of thoughts were running through his head in just a few seconds, he also made the choice to wait and see what the answer of the detectives would be before worrying any further.
Mysterious people in uniform started to spread. Here and there the sight of a weapon glistered in the sunlight. Suspicious whispers began to arise thorough the Main Street. Housewives loved nothing more than to gossip after all. Could these people be from the government and they have found a major criminal in their little village? Could it be that annoying neighbour that always had their curtains shut? Oh, who could they be looking for and what would that person have done? The excitement of trying to come up with a great story, cough, I mean a good reason, was almost as if there was an upcoming party. They were not particularly scared, they had done nothing wrong and were pretty sure that their husbands and kids had been good too. But what about this and that husband? Hasn’t he been drinking a little too much lately? Maybe in a drunken stupor ... For now the excitement seemed to be concentrated on the Main Street. It was difficult to get wind of the situation in the side streets or on the fields outside the village. Thus, people like Chris for example, who was working on the roof of miss Marian, still had no clue what was going on. Not that those gossiping housewives on the Main Street had any clue.
To get to the forest, there was only one road. Well, there was always the option of trespassing through the fields. It would be foolish to belief that the farmers would appreciate that though. This road led to Chris’ little hut. Nobody was home right now, because he was working and the door was closed. It was possible to enter the forest behind the hut without much difficulty. Despite being quite large it seemed like a ordinary forest. Big trees with their leafy crowns quickly stopped the rays of the sun from being able to touch the ground underneath them. The cool fresh air that smelled like a healthy green forest was a delight to breath in this shaded place. Birds were peacefully singing and all seemed to be alright. The intruders seemed to be able to pass and investigate without any problems. What they would find was up to them. Somewhere near the entrance of the forest, buried a few centimetres beneath the soil, there was a forgotten sign. When cleaning off the dirt and guessing a little, one could read that this forest was owned by someone named Blakesley and that trespassing was prohibited. The sign had probably been buried for so long that rarely anyone in the village would even remember it, so old and rusty has it become. But then again, who would happen to just dig at that particular place and find that sign? It was more likely that the intruders would walk further into the forest. Experienced trackers would be able to identify all the typical forest inhabitants, from squirrels to deer. Even human tracks can be found, although that is not something unusual since hunting and gathering is something that is still being executed. Upon traversing deeper into the forest different tracks could also be possibly found. Bearing some similarity with the tracks of a wolf, yet still being different. Something left by a much bigger and heavier animal. Not only footprints but also scratches in trees and remains of several different animals are spread over the forest. Surely it was possible that some of these tracks were from normal forest inhabitants, however not all of them. Some of the tracks lead inside the forest, some to outside, some left, some right, but none of them seemed to lead to anywhere straight.

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