Owen knew that he had to be swift in grabbing the essentials before heading back in. If he took too long, someone might get suspicious. Going by the fact the staff expected them and referred to them as being employed by Hartmann, it was clear that Hartmann had the people working there on his dime. So he had to be sure. Let alone his suspicions over Lucky and Scottie - and the bizarre, horrifying murmurings in Lucky's sleep. He didn't seem to be acting off so far in his waking moments - but Owen couldn't trust that. He couldn't afford to let his guard down at all during this. The ominous atmosphere of the town, the strange atmosphere, and the looming shape of that castle hanging over like a malevolent presence...
As Owen opened up the back of the van, checking around before he did so, he immediately went for their emergency supplies. As per what one might expect from people who did this for a job, there were supplies here just in case someone got hurt or needed assistance and professional help was too far away. Bandages, gauze, disinfectants, so on. Owen went ahead and packed a tangible number of these items into his backpack... and wondered when this got so far along that he was doing this.
Something just told him as he got ready that nothing would be the same again once they got up to the castle Drosstein. That something waited for them up there. It reverberated down from the castle through Owen's bones - a sense of dreadful resonance. Something he would need to be prepared for in some sense. Would that be some sort of fight? Honestly, after everything that happened last night, a fight would be almost catharsis - a simple, easy solution that would bring an end to a hanging atmosphere of ambiguity.
No time to question if he was the one going crazy during all of this, not when he was if anything the only one not enthusiastically endorsing retrogressing his body backwards through time. He knew there'd be some sort of mental effect going by what happened with Martin, but actually hearing that sort of uncanny chant coming from Lucky had him feeling both validated and realizing he needed to make some kind of substantive move in regards to the Eon Chronicle.
Everything rotten that sprung from this originated in that device.
And so as Owen contemplated that, he found the machete in their supplies. Holding the broad blade's handle in one hand, the item most often used for clearing underbrush and cutting vines, Owen drew the blade and heard the fine whistle of steel being drawn. It was of course kept in the best possible shape, a keen edge and a reflective surface showing Owen's grim determination in its flat side... and he just as quickly sheathed the blade and put it in one of the first interior pockets of his backpack. He couldn't take much more time than this. Not when he was expected back in.
He swung the doors to the van shut as quietly as possible. A quick few breaths in relief as he headed back inside, no hint that anyone cottoned on that he was preparing for any eventualities. The others were still sitting there at the table in the dining hall of the inn - eating large quantities of food likely intended to buy favorable opinions of their adventure in this quarter. But as Owen calmly sat back down and picked out some light food items - more or less choosing whatever wouldn't bloat him up and inhibit his ability to move, he saw Lucky glancing somewhat curiously and somewhat suspiciously at him.
Owen was not the kind of guy to back down from that. Even though Lucky was being more bold now, Owen had grown up in a violent street gang, so he returned such an intense glare that eventually Lucky just had to turn his gaze away. No words were exchanged during the meal between the two - but then, in such a moment words weren't always needed. Lucky's gaze had been half on the curiously absent Owen and half on his backpack.
But Owen for his part didn't back down, or let it be made clear at all that he was insecure about the items inside there. He knew if he gave people reason to be suspicious about what he was bringing, they would probably cotton on. And probably in the interest of group cohesion and keeping things moving smoothly, Martin wouldn't make a favorable decision. Owen knew from back on the road he was on thin ice as it was. He couldn't---
"Alright..." Martin spoke up, the Roman getting up once he was done with his own meal, "I'm ready to head up if you guys are. Finish up your meals as you want. I'll be out there, making sure we have the Eon Chronicle in good condition for handing it over to Mr. Hartmann." And with that, Martin walked out, and left Owen sitting there awkwardly picking at the last few morsels of food on his plate amidst Lucky and Scottie.
Owen maintained his poker face.
He slowly finished eating what food he had picked out, glancing occasionally up at the two. He betrayed no indication he had heard the profane whisperings that Lucky made last night, nor did he make any move to say such.
In the end, it was Lucky that made the first move, rather than Owen starting shit as he usually did; "Alright, Nazi Boy, I know you're on some shit. There has to be something. Did you monkey with---did you fuck up our Eon Chronicle or something?"
"Martin had it the whole while." Owen calmly stated, "I didn't touch it. I'm not up to or doing anything." He wanted to say so much more, but there was a limit right now about how much he could really get away with. And given the changes to, and behavior of, Lucky, he didn't quite feel as much sting in Lucky's statements. He didn't let it push him into a reaction that could've resulted in suspicion directed at him by Martin and - potentially - getting his backpack looked through.
"...Sure. Sure, Owen, sure. Mr. Toxic Macho here..." Scottie derisively snorted and said, "Declines to go along with us and get laid, and now he excuses himself to...what? Contemplate his navel like a bitch?"
"I'm free to do what I want with my time. Aren't I?" Owen responded, glancing over at Scottie, "Now. I'm gonna go join Martin. If you guys wanna snipe at me and bicker, maybe do it on the way up to getting paid." Owen got up, pushed his chair back in, and headed out. As he left the room, he swore he heard the duo still sitting there whispering amongst themselves.
One thing he definitely heard in their conversation on his way out the door was "I know he doesn't trust us now...he might be dangerous."
--------------
"Just remember, don't start anything with anyone here, mm, Owen?" Martin reminded Owen as the group rejoined on the way up the hill and toward the castle. This time the creepy guardsmen of the castle were not on the prowl - and Owen distinctly hoped that crackpot woman didn't end up captured or otherwise roughed up by the guards. Usually he would've not cared... but something about just how earnest she was made a slight smile tug at his lips even now. Psychic...pfft, sure, but she was obviously here for good reasons, and she pushed him toward getting ready in case something happened.
Though what she said about the guys was...well, in light of what he heard it made him honestly question himself - and whether it might have more truth to it than what he'd assumed.
As they headed up the road by foot toward the castle, the looming figure becoming larger and more omnipresent, Owen glanced over his shoulder at Lucky and Scottie, who had kept quiet and rejoined them without much in the way of verbal bickering with or about Owen's presence. But now, Owen didn't need any such indication to know that Lucky was glaring at him. The newly minted Viking was crossing his arms, quietly glaring at the skinhead. Obviously he figured something was up - but he made no move to search Owen's backpack.
Such a patently paranoid move risked shifting the suspicions and dislike from Owen back over toward Lucky.
Owen didn't know how Martin viewed the sudden change in Lucky since last night, but he didn't really want to push his luck in that department...
A quick glance at the sack that Martin used to carry the Eon Chronicle. Honestly, Owen felt like trying to tackle Martin and then toss that damn cursed thing out into the ocean, like the woman had said - something about the ocean? Things that came from the ocean that shouldn't be here? Did he have that right?
A quick breath and Owen started to observe the decoration of the castle - which was starting to look distinctly familiar to him as they got closer to the place. While the more overt symbols of the old regime were avoided due to their charged nature, Owen gripped his necklace in one hand as he recognized a similar pattern on some walls and stained glass portrayals, among other things. Statuettes and such that bore images and runes that a man familiar with such things would recognize.
Prominent in one of the lower floor windows was the emblazoned image - much like Owen's necklace - of a black sun, its spiked rays casting down harshly. The rest of the stained glass seemed to suggest some kind of humanoid figures underneath the auspices of the black sun. But he couldn't from this perspective see whether it was supposed to be people or...something else. Sonnenrads, Othala and Life Runes...Wolfsangel, Eagles done in that specific style. An Odin's Cross or three... I see that Mr. Hartmann is someone I might've, at some point in the not so distant past, called "based".
Owen said nothing - and let the others keep walking. Nobody recognized the symbols being displayed, even with a smaller example around Owen's neck. Even with Odin's symbol on Owen's bicep.
Marching up through the courtyard, all that Owen heard from Lucky and Scottie was a few whistles and murmuring about the distinctly "odd" as they put it sense of decoration that Mr. Hartmann had. But it seemed being that the two weren't distant that Martin started to realize something was up due to the many arcane symbols on display. Or at least, he connected Owen's tattoo with one of the things on display. A quick glance Owen's way - which was returned with a nod and a serious stare back.
Owen didn't need to say anything. A nonverbal "are you sure THIS is who you want to do business with?" was given, and a quick shake of Martin's head. They already took the job. Best to see it through to the end, at least as far as Martin was concerned.
As the doors, emblazoned with Life Runes, swung open, the quartet was welcomed in by guards - whose outfits, consisting of longcoats, black leather pants, black boots, and insignia-less headgear all made Owen even further convinced there was something distinctly sinister going on with this man. You don't grow to adulthood in hate and violence without learning to recognize when it's thick in those around you.
One of the guards smirked and glanced at Owen as if trying for "like recognizes like", but Owen kept his eyes forward. That might have been the case before, but now - now Owen was not quite so sure any more.
But every step inside this place, this labyrinthine construct on the top of that distant hill - it was like walking beneath waves and oceans that existed only in ephemera. There was an unspoken, unfelt pressure that it seemed like only Owen really felt. It was as if being submerged in the energy of the Eon Chronicle made the others numb to the feeling. A sinister undulation that beat at the walls and lapped at his ankles... this was not a place built with good intentions.
Martin kept walking, while Lucky and Scottie glanced around at the finery. The interior of the castle was...pristine. Spotless. The floor was of an almost marble consistency, not a hint of imperfection. It was constructed with the intention of being pleasing to the eye of the inhabitant and technically without any problem. The entrance was more like a grand hall. Numerous passages heading up and out into other wings of the castle. Gothic period armor arrayed in the path up a staircase, each suit maintained and carrying a halberd, the armor emblazoned with emblems of older figures. Owen recognized insignia associated with Heinrich the Fowler, Frederick the Great, among others.
A passion for Germanic history that would've been good if it was not for the atmosphere and the other regalia. Instead, it came off as deliberately pandering to past glories in a distinctly familiar way.
Swinging from the ceiling was an enormous chandelier, bound by a single rope. Ornate, arrayed with numerous candles and hanging blade-like sharp ornaments, the center having a singular larger hanging ornament. The whole hanging array was alternating silver and bronze. Owen could almost hear the distant sound of a pipe organ issuing from deeper within the castle. Distinct but unrecognizable (at least to Owen) runes decorated the long carpet running along the floor and up the grand staircase.
As they walked, Owen swore he could almost feel a gaze on him from somewhere. He looked everywhere, even including into one of the suits of armor - a sense of decoration he had never liked. It almost felt like these things could watch him. Like there was something in there.
As they walked just about on to the staircase, a deep, somewhat raspy voice called out from the main hallway at the top of the staircase. "Ahh, welcome, welcome to my humble abode, my friends. I see you brought me what I requested - and not a moment too soon." Hartmann entered - an older man, dressed in a black suit and tie ensemble, an ornate gold lined gun at his waist. His greying black hair was combed back in a distinctive style, and his facial hair amounted to a long mustache extending down to his jowls.
He seemed to be a man naturally inclined toward a smirking presentation. His icy blue eyes glanced over the quartet, and he evaluated them for a moment before saying, "I would like to meet with you, Martin, to discuss payment and perhaps...further opportunities in my office further up in my castle. I'd like it if the item of interest could be stored in my reliquary in the west wing of the castle. You boys..." A quick glance at Lucky and Scottie from Hartmann followed by a dark grin, "Can likewise find your rooms in the west wing."
One of the guards took the Eon Chronicle from Martin's hand, holding the sack gingerly as he walked off in the direction of the west wing of the castle. A knowing glance from both Lucky and Scottie, and it seemed they either hoped that Hartmann didn't notice or else hoped they were able to escape his notice. Not that they considered the location was selected very specifically - or the reason Hartmann left it quite so open anticipated some certain behavior.
Parting from Lucky and Scottie, who marched off eagerly toward their rooms in the west wing, Martin and Owen followed Hartmann up the staircase, and then up other flights of stairs. Owen found himself noticing as they walked that the poorer and less well equipped working staff quietly did their duties here, keeping to themselves and not even discussing amongst themselves when Hartmann was in view. They were seen and never heard.
The further Owen went up in the castle, the worse the feeling was. The feeling of somehow being deep beneath fathomless, cruel waves even though he was getting further and further from the ocean. Owen's fist clenched, sweat beaded at his brow, and he grit his teeth - anticipating something around every twist and turn - even when that something failed to materialize. There was an implicit horror to the Castle Drosstein, one that lingered around the periphery and clung to just outside the untainted observer's perception.
Something was going on here - something that had no ready explanation, something that lacked context or sense. And it made Owen both feel validated in his choice of items to take up with him - and nervous beyond belief.
As they went up and into another long corridor, lined with portraits, crossed swords and insignia, and other items, Hartmann walked into a large office at the middle of the corridor. But Owen's eyes were on a further door down - where he saw one of the guards walk in and out, and then down a flight of stairs heading down into the castle. An armory it seemed like, with big, thick doors and a card swipe to get in.
An armory.
Right by the man himself's office.
At the pinnacle of this unsettling feeling.
As Martin and Owen walked into the office of Bruno Hartmann, Owen was confronted by the strongest evidence yet. The office wall, surrounding the swinging doors, was full of regalia and weaponry of past regimes. East German Armed Forces, Nazi German Armed Forces, Imperial German Armed Forces... it was all here. Lined up and arrayed on the walls in a vain display. A love for even the darkest of history. Owen's mouth hung open as he looked at the items, and Bruno chuckled as he took his seat; "Ahh, admiring my Wall of Histories, little Owen Bolton?"
"...Yeah, yeah you could say that." Owen bit his lip and looked away, at the figure of Hartmann, sitting there by his windows overlooking both the all too small and distant township - and the waves and crushing tide of the ocean. This place seemed to be a momentary abode away from the strange pressure that clouded the rest of the castle, a place that afforded an almost god-like perspective to the one that lived and worked here. Bruno Hartmann... was a man who liked to pretend to be a god. It was clear enough from the curiously powerfully armed guards despite German law and even a little extreme by an American standard...something was afoot here. But Owen was nowhere near able to do anything about it thus far. Thus far.
Keep your eyes and ears open, and don't make him wary. Owen told himself.
"I must thank you for retrieving that device for me so expediently," Hartmann started, looking at the two of them. Owen distracted, Martin standing there with a militaristic focus usual to him due to his transformation. "You don't disappoint, History Hunters."
"Thank you, sir," Martin said cordially though in a distinctly business-like sensibility, "We're just glad to have such a high paying sponsor."
"And believe me, you'll be compensated very accordingly for your adept work." Hartmann smirked, his wide grimace almost seeming to reach both ends of his face. "You have no idea how very...important the Eon Chronicle device is for the good of humanity and the future of Germany as a nation."
"...Certainly, sir. Now if you don't mind..." Martin was obviously - though not rude - distinctly not here for such grandstanding.
"...Mm, yes, feel free to go and enjoy a stay in the west wing for the day and night. After all, you've done me a great service." As Martin and Owen moved to leave, however, Hartmann gestured and looked at Owen, "I would however like to talk to you before you go, Owen."
Owen paused and watched Martin leave in quick order, not even glancing back at him. A quick exhalation from Owen and then a glance at Hartmann. He restrained himself from demanding anything, and asked in a quiet tone, "...Yes, sir? What is this uhh, about?"
Bruno Hartmann stood from his chair and walked to the front of his desk, "You have a most interesting upbringing, Owen Bolton. A tragic one, to be sure, highlighting the leftist hypocrisy and two-faced nature. Your father...oh, what a man. A talented film-maker to be sure, but no sense for children. You're very brave, you know. Very brave indeed for stepping out and pushing against his...agendas, harmful anti-human agendas..." Hartmann watched the stony faced Owen closely...
And then continued, "A number of good folk were lost due to that obscene virus three years ago. People whose messaging promoted healthy values. I'm hoping to cultivate powerful, good values in prospective influencers. And honestly, Owen, I see you fulfilling a niche in our market of ideas. Extreme, to be sure. But you would present a handsome, muscular and edgy face for the ideas I hope to see. People are willing to platform and give credence when the face is handsome. With the Eon Chronicle and progress on that regard very obvious already, we could use one of your capacity."
Hartmann grinned darkly and took out a laptop from the shelf at the front of his desk, "You could very well leave those daredevils and adrenaline addicts, and find a more...rewarding path as an influencer. A talking man. Someone who presents the news in a certain way."
Owen kept his reaction to himself, but by this point, faced with irrefutable evidence and hearing something like this... Owen had a number of questions, thoughts about what he was hearing... but he could not say all of them. Not if he wanted to do anything about this. It seemed for some reason that Lucky and Scottie's, and even to a degree Martin's use of the Eon Chronicle had been anticipated. That he would term it progress - they had retrieved that thing, according to Hartmann's plan. And then they used it, again according to Hartmann's plan.
Where do they go from here?
"My loyalties..." Owen murmured at first, lips feeling dry and mouth likewise, "My loyalties are to my friends in the History Hunters. I can't leave them as of now to become an influencer. My apologies, Herr Hartmann. Perhaps I might take that offer up when my finances are---"
"Yes. Yes. Your struggling finances..." Hartmann waved his hands in the air and chuckled, "Yes, you would like to have a stronger personal finance before committing to content creation full time, yes? Yes. I hope that you come around to my idea quickly...after all, the world is a fast changing place. Feel free to enjoy my castle's food and accommodations tonight, and I hope that convinces you of my ability to provide a comfortable life for you, my prospective influencer."
Owen nodded, and said flatly, "Thank you." And with that, Owen left the room, eyes wide and thoughts focused. Hartmann was at the center of whatever was rotting this castle and batting at it from the outside and licking at the floors. Maybe Martin was too focused on going forward and getting paid, and maybe Lucky and Scottie were too lost to the Eon Chronicle...but he could still investigate. Still find some way to do something about this.
It seemed Hartmann trusted him for the time being. There was much that could be done with that. He just hoped that whatever happened from here, it wasn't too late.
-------------------
Lucky and Scottie stood in the doorway to the reliquary, neither young man thinking much of the fact that the door had been left deliberately ajar, the lock set in place but ineffective due to the gap. The two of them stood there, both excited and both sporting distinct impressions in their pants from the anticipation. Not a single guard in sight here, not a single one to stop them from going in and playing with the Eon Chronicle some more before they said goodbye to it forever. Scottie knew that he should at least be more concerned due to the technical...the technical whatever of this, but his Viking sensibilities were telling him to take what he wanted when he wanted it.
Meanwhile, Lucky was just observing the device from the door, sitting on a pedestal at the center of the room. Being a Greek Athlete of the Hellenic Period now, thoughts leaked through to his "self" - thoughts that this thing somehow enabled conversation with the most glorious gods of his people. Somehow he could hear Zeus from his interaction with it - unbeknownst to him, Scottie likewise thought the same about it allowing him to hear the voice of Odin.
"How...how much further...?" Scottie murmured, a rough, thick hand gripping the front of his pants. Awkwardly pumping his hips into the thick callouses of said hand, Scottie asked, "How much further back do you want to go...?" A chuckle from Scottie, "...I swear, if we go back far enough I might just cum from the idea alone."
"Let's see the limits of it, my friend." Lucky said with a smirk. Eros would smile on him for his daring in following this desire.
"The limits...?" Scottie contemplated aloud, starting to take a step forward.
"...Sumerians? Maybe Hunter-Gatherers. Maybe even Cavemen..." Lucky said breathily as he approached the device, eagerness overriding any of his considerations. He barely heard Scottie moaning and grunting, fighting off his hormonal response and starting to move in closer to the device. Eager to experience its touch again...