England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St. George, edge of woods / House of the Jäger family
5 November 1898, 3:18 pm

As they left the village, there was a rumble in the distance, and dark storm clouds hung in the sky. The black cloud front pushed closer and the wind smelled of gathering rain. The sun disappeared behind the sluggish clouds that gathered more densely in the sky and the grass bent under the increasing gusts that pressed them down as if to take a bow. They walked along the paths between the farms for a bit and then followed a narrow trail to the left as it had been described to them.

On either side of the path were fields and at first a few peat pits, but soon only flat pasture and marshland opened up. A dark green band of forest edge then drew irregularly around the village, stretching out its fingers with pines more and more often and making the foothills confusing. In contrast, the deciduous trees, in their motley dress, dabbed color into the dark green. If the searchers hadn't known about the horror that was hiding here, it could have been perceived as tranquil and idyllic. They walked for quite a while, then the Jägers' family hut finally came into view.

There, where the last homesteads already lay further back behind field and meadow, the small building was easy to miss. If Kyle had not known that the home of the village hunters, the Walsh family, was to be found on the outskirts of the village of St George, he would have suspected a hunting lodge in the wooden structure so close to the edge of the forest.

Hovering in uncertainty, their footsteps were tense and heavy as they approached the hut that stood out on the edge of the forest. A small paddock with three sheep was surrounded by a half-height wooden fence and was to the left of the house. A wall of greyish stone lay circularly like a protective wall around the small estate, whose reed-covered roof was overgrown with green mosses and vines. A somewhat slanted chimney breathed black clouds of soot into the wind, which looked like writhing shadows.

The hut was apparently made of thick wood and not stone, unlike the rest of the village or the farms that surrounded it. In a small garden, a few pumpkins could be seen and long sticks used as climbing aids for fruit or vegetables adorned small beds next to fragrant herbs. On a thick stick, a sinister scarecrow raised its long, gnarled branch arms in the air with a wry grimace. Almost as if it wanted to drive away unwanted guests as well as ravenous birds. A tattered shirt fluttered in the shallow wind and a collar of straw protruded from the neck of the sack with the crudely embroidered face. On the scarecrow's head, sat a weathered straw hat with a band of wilted wildflowers around it. The eerie thing could already be seen from a distance, but from close up it looked even more sinister.

When they reached the wooden garden gate, it was already evening. Autumn was driving the sun towards the horizon, in keeping with its short days. It slowly but surely sank behind the dense rows of trees and even now the spearheads of needle firs drew long shadows. A window with a wooden pane cross stood ajar, letting in some fresh air, while they detected a faint flicker of light from outside: The fireplace inside the parlor.

Kyle and Dr. Archer exchanged a look. They were both tense. How did a practitioner of the arcane arts react when she realized she was being found out? They had to expect anything and watch out for small clues. Kyle knew about inconspicuous signs of Dark Arts that others might miss. So it was up to him to look for such clues and up to Dr. Archer to keep a close eye on the old woman's behavior. All this with the certainty in his mind that behind these murders was someone ruthless. Someone with magical abilities.

Kyle adjusted his scarf a little and tugged at it. An offshoot of his nervousness, even if he tried not to show it behind his soaring self-confidence.

Dr. Archer seemed no different. He retired his boots and checked their fit. Fumbling under his coat, he checked the position of his weapons and the full ammunition. He let the hammer slide back but then secured the trigger again. The doctor had spent a lot of time in target practice and tried to stay in shape physically. He hoped that this and his more subtle skills could help them enough to put an end to this horror here. It was the excitement that the pressure of success put on their shoulders, mixed with the warning stench of danger. They were both experienced in their field, but green behind the ears compared to other seekers.

But the Hermetic Order of Seekers only trained the basics. After that, one had to grow oneself. A plant survived hail, summer heat, and winter cold - or it died. It was the same in the Order of Seekers. They had to gain their own experience and this here - St George and his terrors - was their first test. This thought fired them up and drew the two men's eyes to each other as if they had followed the same thread through a maze. Then they nodded to each other and Dr. Archer raised his hand. The dull thump banged against the wooden door and echoed inside. It took a moment, then footsteps approached from inside.

"Who is it?" came a voice sternly from inside the hut. It sounded brash and for a moment both men wondered where the strange sound in their pronunciation came from. An accent wrapped itself around the words, making them plumper and harder in some indefinable way. They kept their shape, but the edges and corners seemed more prominent on their tongues. Shortly afterward, both seekers recalled that Elly and Baltimore had mentioned that the Jäger family, according to their name, had originally come to England from the German Empire. Now, this accent came through the thick wood and although the searchers were sure that the old woman was already at the door, it did not open.

"Mrs. Jäger? Mr. Crowford and Mr. Archer. We would like to speak with you for a moment, if I may?"

There was silence behind the door. As if they might miss something or see through it, the two men stared tensely at the wood of the gate. Dr. Archer was already considering whether he would be forced to kick them in in a moment. Then, what felt like eternal moments later, the scraping of a larger bolt finally sounded, then another, and only then did it click. The door swung open, first just a crack, then finally a little wider.

In front of them stood an elderly woman with grey-white hair that she had braided into a chignon at the top of her head. The signs of age were unmistakable on her, digging visible wrinkles into the once-pretty features of a face now hardened by austerity. Moss green eyes peered up at the two gentlemen, for the old woman was even shorter than Crowford. She appeared slim and slight, but to judge from the calloused hands and her clothes, she looked after the house and yard alone. She stood upright, not at all stooped, and carried an aura on her shoulders that made it clear to everyone, even without having exchanged a word with her, that she was no mouse in a village full of cats. An apron with embroidered flowers was slung around her waist, she sat a little askew and a small wooden-handled knife hung at an angle in her slightly frayed pocket. Even on a quick look, it was noticeable that the stitches of the embroidery were rough and the flowers a little askew. More the work of a child than an old lady skilled in housekeeping.

Her eyes flitted as scrutinizingly and skeptically over the two strangers at her gate and vice versa. Kyle couldn't help but notice that her hands were barely perceptibly shaking as she wiped them on her apron. "How can I help you?" she asked, making no effort to let them indirectly. "A clever woman," Kyle thought. If he lived here on the edge of the forest and had something to hide, he wouldn't let strangers in either. In general, you should always be careful who you let into your home. You never knew who or what you were opening the door to so lightly.

Kyle put on a polite smile so as not to appear directly intimidating or aggressive. After all, they had no evidence of anything and first had to see if they could find more circumstantial evidence. If this woman was responsible for the murders, for whatever reason, she would have to answer to a different court than Exeter's.

"Constable Baltimore sent us. There have been a few incidents in the village that we'd like to talk to you about." Executed Kyle the half-truth.

"Constable Baltimore sent you?" The elderly lady paused in the motion of cleaning her fingers on her apron. No sooner had he mentioned the constable's name than her eyes, amid the wrinkles, first widened, then narrowed like the pupils of a cat fixing on its prey. Now she eyed the two men in front of her house even more closely. Kyle didn't need to be a mind reader to know that she was wondering what two such licked city folk wanted from her. And on behalf of the constable at that. Finally, however, she clicked her tongue, bowed her head in approval, and stepped back out of the door to let the gentlemen in.

Kyle took off the top hat he was wearing, as a proper gentleman would, but then let Dr. Archer go first. He took the time to look unobtrusively at the doorframe, letting his eyes fly over the grain and wood. Sometimes magicians carved spells of some kind into the frames of their doors. But in this case, he found nothing that could indicate any kind of sorcery. Only a sun had been immortalized on the door frame with a chalk pencil.

Inside the hut, it was dim and somewhat clammy. The wood of the walls did not seem to seal completely, for here and there the few lit lights of the candles and oil lamps flickered in the whispering draughts. Directly in front of them opened a small living room with an old stone fireplace. A fire crackled in its belly, but it failed to heat the room completely. Next to it lay gathered wood and brushwood, roughly cut and piled on top of each other. In a small basket lay peeled bark, so that the fire did not smoke so much. A pot blackened by soot hung on a strong iron hook over flames and embers.

Some very old, worn furniture stood around the heat source of a crackling fire, and on a line of thick rope, a pair of children's socks had been hung to dry. In one corner of the living room, large bushes of various bundles of plants tied together hung from the ceiling above a small work table full of jars and vessels. Everything here looked old and used. Polish pieces of furniture had peeled off or faded and on one of the windows, some fabric had been stuck into a larger crack in the wood.

"Winter must be hard in this cabin," Kyle said. His gaze roamed over the two doors to the right and left on the short sides of the house, which probably led to other rooms. One of the doors was closed, the other to the left was open a crack and a pair of curious eyes of an intense, bright green color flashed out of the darkness.

Dr. Archer had also spotted the child. "Now there's a curious little kitten!" he thought, and his lips instantly twisted into a slight smirk that softened his features somewhat from the dogged expression. However, when the child saw two strangers enter her home, she closed the door extremely hastily and noisily. The clatter of wood made the lady turned her head briefly, but then she turned her attention back to the guests.

"Excuse me. My granddaughter is very shy." She explained and led the men to a dining table to their left. There the old woman had been kneading bread, for the bead of dough lay with silent reproach on a wooden board amidst some scattered flour. The seekers took seats at the two vacant chairs. The old wood complained under the weight of the two gentlemen. For a second Kyle feared the poor thing might break under Dr. Archer, but fortunately, the brave piece of furniture held firm with trembling legs.

"I'm sorry, I can't offer you much." Said the elderly lady and her lips formed a regretful curve. Though not as regretful as one might otherwise have expected either. "Would you care for some tea?"

It seemed less sincere, more a forced gesture of politeness that she would have preferred to spare herself. That she didn't trust you she hid only moderately, and perhaps she didn't want to. At least the feeling was mutual. Kyle, however, had no intention of letting them see their cards so quickly. If you wanted to play and win, you had to bluff. And he was pretty good at such tricks."Thanks, we don't need anything." Kyle quickly conceded. Until they knew for sure that she was a bloodthirsty murderer and that this family had as little as it appeared, he didn't want to consume any extra food for them. Patiently, Dr Archer and he waited until the old lady had sat down.

"What do you want from me? Has something happened?" the old lady finally asked in a noticeably strained voice. Kyle felt the bubbling beneath the surface and saw the warning fires in the green expanses of meadow in her eyes. "No matter what has happened, she is not to blame." Her voice was cutting. Like she was trying to get a weed out of her garden before it ruined her vegetables.

Kyle frowned, and Dr. Archer raised both brows questioningly at the crown of his head. He didn't seem to notice the dangerous sparks just outside the powder keg. Perhaps he didn't care either. Kyle was never sure if Dr. Archer was really so oblivious to people and their emotions, or was deliberately turning a deaf ear.

"What do you mean?" Kyle picked up the ball immediately, for there were more interesting flashpoints and secrets hiding here. Buried under countless leaves of gossip and chatter, perhaps burning coals. But he was ready to reach in and see if he burned his curious fingers.

"I know what people say." Sat the lady all at once, her eyes glued to the lump of dough. Her eyes narrowed and fixed on it so hot and blazing it could have baked right on. Her fingers in her lap rumpled the fabric of the apron until old wrinkled fingers fumbled over the embroidery. Her lips formed a thin, bitter line. "We were whimsical, she said. Or worse. They call us names and treat us like vermin." Her voice trembled. But none of the seekers interrupted her. "They claim Anna only causes trouble and we are only a burden to the community. Bringing nothing to the community and being godless. Devil brats and witches." she spat out, curling her lips now so much it looked like she was baring her teeth.

Kyle's gaze was inquiringly on her facial expressions, listening closely to the sound of her voice. If you were treated badly for long enough, it sometimes killed any leniency."Then why are you still here?" Dr. Archer once again managed to will his head right through the wall. "Wouldn't it be better to start over somewhere else?"

Why was this man so insensitive? Kyle gave him an annoyed sideways glance, which Dr. Archer didn't understand because he looked back with an uncomprehending blink. Kyle rolled his eyes and turned back to the old woman.

She seemed equally taken aback by Dr. Archer's directness but quickly regained her composure. Aged hands were now stroking the rough fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles she had dug into it herself.

"This is our home. This is where my son and his wife were buried and Annabeth was born. And where would we go? There is nowhere to go and we own nothing but this puny roof over our heads." The old woman's eyelids sank a little lower in undisguised pain, then she clenched her hand into a fist. "Anna doesn't have it easy. Children can be cruel, especially to a half-German with..." her gaze slid briefly to the door, then she lowered her voice a little, "... such a disfigurement. Anna lost her parents and is reminded of it every time she looks in the mirror. All she wants and deserves is a home and to be accepted." She opined, anger grinding her voice sharper. Kyle could imaginarily hear the rope on which this woman's emotions were balanced groaning.

But there was something else. Something no one here dared to say. An unasked question stood in the room and just wouldn't break out of the shell. Perhaps because the villagers were just as afraid of the answer as this woman was.

But Kyle was no villager in this backwoods backwater. He was a seeker. And so he now fixed the old lady closely, taking in her every reaction.

"Please forgive Mrs. Jäger, but we have to ask this. What exactly happened to your son and his wife?"