With the odds becoming stacked against them, what is the Sisterhood to do?
Chapter Nine: Fimbulvetr
Winter had finally reared its sleepy head in Fusmouth, its streets dusted with snow and its high points becoming encased in ice. The snowfall occurred roughly a week after the Sorority of Violence and Fusmouth's Slaaneshi cult were exposed via two gruesome announcements of bounties on their heads.
Both the city police largely during the day and the street gangs mostly at night began walking around their beats and turf with weapons more openly brandished, an uneasy, unspoken truce of sorts forming between them as they both were more concerned with collecting a bounty.
Something like martial law was declared in Fusmouth, as PDF patrols became a sight around town, given extra instruction by Inquisitor Backett to better recognize cultist behaviors, and a curfew was enforced in an effort to catch any who tried escaping at night. Granted, if anyone caught outside was determined not to belong to either cult after checking for the Sorority's identifying signatures or a Mark of Slaanesh tattoo, they were allowed to remain out.
Although the whole city effectively mobilized itself to hunt the heretics, it did come with a price, as several cases of mistaken identity were made, killing seven women and five men, making some question the effectiveness of this action. Their doubt, however, was quickly dashed by a public address from the Planetary Governor himself, calling for closer citizen cooperation with law enforcement. Since then, the situation became a waiting game for the Khornates and Slaaneshi to make a move.
The Sorority had been moving, but not openly. Having studied the pattern of the PDF patrol routes in and around Phlegethon, it became apparent there was a gap of approximately fifteen minutes between the curfew enforcers returning to base and the morning shift arriving. That proved enough time for small numbers of the injured and the young to slip out of the city, Bonesaw leading the last group out, leaving behind the childless Sisters, those of initiatory age and their mothers, tradition being they fight the initiate's first battle together, and the oldest Sisters who had already raised a daughter to that age.
Because of the new situation unfolding, making the idea of hunting those Slaaneshi scum impossible, the original plan was changed. The Sisters who stayed planned, for all intents and purposes, to start a riot, fighting the Fusmouth underworld in the square displaying the bodies of Thrasher and the other cultist, then fleeing when the PDF mobilized enough men to crack down on them. The plan was meant to serve as the initiation of the newest Sisters, and as an opportunity for the experienced to do what they did best.
"They can't hide forever. Knowing this sort of heretic, they must be itching to kill something." Inquisitor Backett said as he stared out over a snowy Fusmouth, blowing lho smoke through his nose.
"This'd make a great holo-drama." Private Yarden mused as he read a slate. Turning with an arched brow, Graic asked, "What in the Warp are you talking about?"
"Just think, Inquisitor. A great city, filled with secrets. Secrets that will cost lives when revealed. Renegades and heretics hidden in part of it. Only one man knows who they are, and he'll stop at nothing to put them in their place. It's perfect."
"Yeah, and at the very end he gets the whole town to rise up against them and there's like a fucking massive battle in the streets. Shitloads of people are killed and the main guy squares off with the leader of the bad guys. Just when it looks like the antagonist is gonna win it all turns around somehow and the good guy wins. I'd pay top throne to see that." Malcaster joked, earning laughs from the rest of Zero-Six-Nineteen.
Even Backett stifled a chuckle. They're creative, I'll give 'em that. He thought, remembering that their skill at arms was more important than pitching stupid holo-dramas. "Oh yeah, that'll sell. But seriously, men, this isn't fiction. I expect you to be ready if your story does become reality." Graic then turned back to the window, knowing open hostilities with the enemy were a "when" and not an "if."
Fusmouth's biggest and most influential street gang was the Centaurs, a rough-and-tumble collection of urchins, thieves, thugs, and killers for hire whose turf was based primarily in Phlegethon. Word of the bounties for supposed heretics didn't take long to reach them, using their status in Fusmouth's underworld to effectively unite the lesser gangs with promises to split the rewards of every ten payments amongst them all.
One Centaur, a skinny, snaggle-toothed, greasy hoodlum known as "Varmint" Kagan was loitering around a common hangout of his gang one night, snarkily proving his noninvolvement with either Chaos cult when the PDF troopers questioned and searched him as they walked by.
Shortly after they left, what appeared to be a hooded "gutter kitten" walked up to him, making him smile maliciously, because he was fond of breaking them more than they already were.
"Hey there beautiful." Kagan greeted her, mind filled with obscene images.
"Evening." The girl, who was in fact Frostbite, answered.
"What's a little lady like you doing out here this time 'a night? Mom and Dad are probably worried, especially because they don't want to find out their baby girl got caught by the army."
"I actually have a message for your gang."
"Oh really?" Kagan's sickly grin widened, "Got a couple friends you wanna share with us? Maybe a couple sisters too if you're that much of a naughty girl?"
Frostbite nearly wanted to literally rip that look from his face, but she held back and answered,
"Actually…" she then stood very close to the young thug, then pulled back her hood, revealing her bloodied, platinum blonde braid and yellow eyes, making Kagan's eyes widen and an "oh shit!" escape his mouth as he tried to reach for a weapon, but Frostbite quickly pinned him to the wall he was leaning against, drawing Garmr's Fang, a large dagger carved from the rare Ymir crystal.
"My Sisterhood wants to fight you boys tomorrow morning at dawn. And by 'you boys' we mean you and the rest of the gangs. All weapons permitted. Square where the two bodies are strung up. Got it?"
"Y-yes." The criminal quivered, still shaken as the blonde Sister released him and disappeared back into the darkness.
Even with the tense atmosphere of being hunted, the remaining 750 Sisters were in a fairly good mood, mostly because they were getting to fight once more.
"I've been looking forward to wetting Garmr's Fang and Tyr's Fist again." said Frostbite to her younger redheaded sister Skadi, Tyr's Fist being a hybrid of clawed knuckleduster and vambrace also carved from Ymir crystal, native to the Ice World of Arendelle.
"Yeah, I think my chainsword's been whispering to me at night." Skadi replied, as she was about to drink from a bottle of whiskey, but her older sister snatched it from her and mockingly joked,
"It's because you've been drinking too much of this," then took a long swallow of her own from it.
"Seriously though," the redhead ripped the bottle back out of Frostbite's hands, "you ever wish we could just fight forever and come back to life every time we die?" she drank, then handed it over to her sibling,
"Yup."
"You think that's what the afterlife is like?" Skadi looked upwards, brows furrowed in thought.
"Hopefully, if we do a good enough job for Khorne." Frostbite's eyes wandered in the same direction, but turned them back to her sister, who smirked and said in return,
"Maybe tomorrow we can prove our devotion a little more."
I think the city's policies are better explained here, and the addition of a partial curfew is something I only recently realized would be a good measure to take. Plus, I gave Frostbite (whose confrontation with Kagan is a shade more realistic) and Skadi more dialogue.
Now then, get ready for Ragnarok. It's gonna be bloody.