These stories first appeared in Hunt's Book of Weapons, an in-game collection of found documents curated by an unknown researcher. They are replicated here in their original format. This means that many of the stories are not presented chronologically, or in one grouping, and it is left to the reader to put together the puzzle pieces and determine to what extent they contain fact, fiction, or fable.

Prior to the launch of Hunt: Showdown 1896, this weapon was named the Martini-Henry IC1. Our Variant terminology has since been simplified. We have updated the names where relevant, but you may still see the more period accurate names within the lore texts.

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Martini-Henry

MARTINI-HENRY IC1. (See also, CARBINES) The Martini-Henry IC1 is the carbine version of the workhorse rifle of the British Empire. First adopted in 1871, it was the first to be designed from the start as a metal cartridge-fed rifle. The falling block action was first developed by American Henry O. Peabody and then finessed with an internal coil-spring striker mechanism contributed by Swiss Friedrich von Martini. Scotsman Alexander Henry lent a polygonal barrel rifling design which further enhanced accuracy. The IC1 Carbine variant, finalized in 1877, was designed from the outset to be suitable as an armament for both cavalry and artillery crews.

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Recollections of Nadia Orville
Handwritten journal, 8 x 10 in.
1/5

It had been a set up. Trevors hadn't said where the case had come from, but that wasn't out the ordinary. A fresh initiate, a local boy, had worked the oars across moonlit Barataria Bay, pointing the spots where his father had taught him the Bisayan names for fish. He fell silent when I asked him where his father was now.

The oyster lugger was waiting. The captain seemed to be alone. I made him sure to see Night Terrors, to make him remember everything he'd been told about me. The hull stank of fresh catch. He dug through the fish and pulled out a wooden case. Stamped on the side, a coat of arms.

"Martini-Henry Carbines," he said, pulling one out. "Workhorse of the Empire," he added, handing one to me. On deck, I checked the rifle. I asked the captain what the smell of oil was.

"Cosmoline," he answered, "to protect them on the long and...perilous sea voyage." I worked the lever, and the block dropped. The hexagonal barrel was a black hole, a pit. A hand clamped round my mouth, the smell of chemicals overpowered the fish and Cosmoline. I tumbled into the black.

When I woke up, the sky was orange, the sun setting. Flashes of pain stabbed through my head. The reassuring shape of Night Terrors was out my grasp. I was lying on sand. My clothes were drenched. Not with water, I could smell, but gas.

"You're awake," said the boy. He stood up from the grass. I asked him what happened. He thought long, then answered "You were drugged. They, I don't know how many, dragged us here."

I looked around, a small island, one of a thousand that dotted the bay. A pyre had been built. The boy then continued. "They covered us in gasoline. To burn us. But the dead attacked. Too many. Forced them back to the boat, forced them onto the water."

Lying in the sand were a few of the rifles, abandoned in the fight. "We clean those up," I commanded. "They'll be back soon."

"The dead, or the men?"

"Both."

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Recollections of Nadia Orville
Handwritten journal, 8 x 10 in.
2/5

I knew something wasn't right with the boy's story, but that would have to wait. We needed guns. We stripped down two of the rifles. The Cosmoline had built up a waxy residue. I bunched up my cloak and squeezed out the gas. Using a scrap of cloth and the rod, we cleaned the barrel, then brushed up the receiver and action the best we could. By the time we were finished, the sun was almost down. I realized then I was starving.

"The lugger's coming back," the boy said, looking across the water.

Its light was in the distance. We reassembled the rifles. I worked the lever, and the action was smooth. Pulling the trigger, the striker struck home with a smooth click. The catch on the side flicked too. It seemed to be in working order, though there was no way to know for sure. I dropped a cartridge into the block and worked it home. We only had a handful.

The lugger pulled into earshot of the island, its light reflecting the glossy surface of the water. "Nadia," a voice called out. "You proved yourself as capable as I expected." It wasn't the captain, but someone else. I didn't recognize the accent. Someone not from here. But familiar.

"What do you want with us?" I replied, sighting the length of the rifle. I couldn't make out a clear silhouette on the boat.

"To send a message," he said. "To Isaac. That's all I've ever wanted with you."

I wondered, was the man from the North? New England? His voice sounded like it came from money. "Tell me now, and I'll think on if it's worth passing on," I shouted back. A match sparked from beyond the searchlight. I squared the sights on it.

"You fire that, you'll go up like a match," the man called back. The way he said "match." The syllable atch. A memory took hold. Flooded my senses. My mother. A British soldier, talking, saying "watch."

I squeezed the trigger. The world burst into flames.

Martini-Henry Incendiary Ammo

RN: Isaac Powell's clandestine blood cult marked a period of darkness in the bayou. While they once worked with the AHA, it seems their cause branched away from ours. Nadia Orville, the eternal acolyte, was charged with securing their own supplies to carry on the fight on their terms.

Martini-Henry Deadeye

MARTINI-HENRY IC1 DEADEYE. (See also, MARTINI-HENRY CARBINE, SCOPES) The Martini-Henry IC1, being a single-shot rifle, was capable of chambering an extremely powerful, and unusually large, black powder cartridge. Despite its low muzzle velocity it had tremendous stopping power and could be used as a sharpshooter's rifle.

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Recollections of Nadia Orville
Handwritten journal, 8 x 10 in.
4/5

By the morning light two things were clear. The lugger was adrift in the sound, and there was a storm approaching from the south that would drown us on this strip of land. There was no way the boy could swim, missing an arm. I would have to swim out and bring the boat back.

We took stock of what we had. Two clean rifles, one with a telescopic sight, four bayonets, and the rest of the crate of preserved rifles. The boy would do what he could to cover me from the shore. I loaded the rifles for him. We both knew it was unlikely he could reload them. I took a bayonet and stripped off the cloak. "Bill" said the boy, telling me his name. I nodded, replied in kind, and set into the water.

Aboard the vessel was a corpse. I rolled it off the deck with my boot. I jammed the bayonet through the hatch handles, securing it. I raised the sail and turned the rudder, drifting us away from the island. Bill would have been a better sailor. I darted to the sail, to try to catch the wind right.

The storm had moved off the horizon. Its wind snapped the sail, lurching the boat. I grabbed the mainsheet to hold the sail. Another gust tore it from my grip. The bayonet clattered at my feet. I looked up to the captain emerging through hatch, leveling a six-shooter at me. There was a distant gunshot, and a shower of splinters from the mast. The captain shot. A thudding pain blossomed then spread from my gut. He cocked the hammer a second time.

Doubled over with pain, I imagined the boy now readying the second rifle. He would have one chance. To grit through the pain of his arm, line up the captain in the sights, and take the shot. The wind had pulled the sail taught, a spray was rising above the bow. The captain snarled something, lost on a west wind that carried the sound of a Martini-Henry firing a second time.

Martini-Henry FMJ Ammo

RN: Not much is known about the cult, except that Orville was Powell's close second. The initiates that followed never lasted long. Shedding their old lives seemed a prerequisite of initiation, and those who survived took similar titles, e.g. The Night Speaker and The Night Listener.

Martini-Henry Riposte

MARTINI-HENRY IC1 RIPOSTE. (See also, MARTINI-HENRY CARBINE, BAYONETS) This variant of the Martini-Henry IC1 is further outfitted with a long-bladed saber bayonet that makes it a competent weapon in melee combat. While the weighting of the bayonet means it no longer suits as a bludgeoning weapon, the blade more than compensates when used to slash or pierce. The need for a bayonet variant of the carbine was articulated by artillery crews and is the major difference from carbines issued to cavalry divisions

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Recollections of Nadia Orville
Handwritten journal, 8 x 10 in.
3/5

I pulled myself out the water. My white robes were blackened where they'd been engulfed. I tipped water out the rifle. That wouldn't fire again.

"I think I got the captain, too," the initiate said. "Either way, the lugger's pulling away again. Why'd you shoot?"

"Bad blood," I replied. The firefight had been short. Before I knew if my shot had struck true, I had dived in the water. The boy must have finished the job. I went over to him. "You're hurt. Shot?" I asked, noting the way he held his arm.

"Not exactly. Last night, when the dead attacked. I fought them off, but..." he showed me his arm. A wound, a bite mark on the forearm. It had turned black and festered. "Do you think I'll turn?"

"Into one of them?" I replied. I wish I knew. I think we all wish. No one knew for certain, is why all we had was superstition. "No. But only if we act quick."

"What do we do?"

"The arm's going to come off," I replied. All that we had available were Martini-Henry bayonets. Long sabers that would be good enough for the operation. But not for the first time in my life, I wished I had a bone saw. I sparked the pyre alight, when it was hot, I would sterilize the blade. "It might stop the infection."

"Does it work like that?"

"Are you going to take your chances?" The fire crackled. He would have to make the choice quickly. Before the fire went out, or before it spread. I added, gently, "I'll do it for you."

He bit down on a piece of Cypress root. I marked a place below his elbow. When the blade was heated, I began sawing. His screams must have carried far across the water, the splatter of arterial blood decorating my robes with a new set of markings.

Martini-Henry Marksman

MARTINI-HENRY IC1 MARKSMAN. (See also, MARTINI-HENRY CARBINE, SCOPES) The Martini-Henry IC1, when utilized as a Sharpshooters rifle, had a reasonable performance. The usage of a more powerful telescopic sight allowed cavalry or artillery regiments to use it proficiently in a support capacity.

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Recollections of Nadia Orville
Handwritten journal, 8 x 10 in.
5/5

There're stories like that you don't forget. Stories you do. I don't know yet what's important and what's not. Every word I commit to the page means another slips my grasp. I recount what I can, direct as I can. So that before the night is over, any indication of the dawn's arrival is not lost to us. The dawn Isaac never believed in.

We'd been promised a crate of dependable rifles. We returned with just two, a severely injured Bill, and the knowledge of the loss of an ally. Our flatboat was long gone, and the lugger left torched in an inlet. Its hulk would rot.

The next move would be against Trevors. But we were unsure how to proceed. Was the smuggler working for someone else? Or had he moved straight up, establishing himself as a new force to be reckoned with? Who could be trusted? And who was moving against who?
He knew two associates of the Gunrunner were taking a shipment in that night. Isaac decided to move rashly. He ignored my pleas for sanity. A widow's upper story served as his perch. I held her at gunpoint. She was stoic, told me she'd seen worse in the war.

Was it for Bill's right arm that we retaliated? The associates' bodies fell among the cadavers. Isaac had purposely used the Martini-Henrys, with marksmen's sights. Trevors would find out, eventually. He'd recognized the cartridges used. Knew it was us. That the assassin had failed.

In the furor of the night, the dogs barking at the two shots that had broken the quiet, we stole out of the city. I hoped against all hope that a war hadn't started over a crate of guns. Or Bill's arm. That it wouldn't stop the gloaming from beginning.

Martini-Henry Explosive Ammo

RN: Jim Trevors wormed his way into everything. We thought him once to be no more than an arms dealer, but his association with The Night, the Salter brothers, and the AHA point to higher personal stakes. Most unnervingly for us is perhaps how little we really understand of his influence.

Martini-Henry Ironside

MARTINI-HENRY IC1. (See also, CARBINES, ATTACHMENTS) The Martini-Henry IC1 served the British Empire as service rifle for many years until it was outclassed by other modern rifles of the time due to its outdated cycling mechanism. Although it was still powerful enough to bring a target down even over long distances, reloading the rifle after each shot was considered burdensome. The owners of the rifle decided to take the matters in hand, and designed an external magazine that held five extra cartridges. In addition to the one in the chamber, it allowed the wielder to reload with one quick motion, turning Martini-Henry IC1 to a makeshift repeating rifle. But this invention had its own flaws too. Those who used the mechanism had to readjust their aiming, for the mechanism blocked some of their vision while aiming down sights.

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Pages Recovered from the Journal of Sister Sophie-Angeline
Found in the Ursuline Convent, New Orleans
Blood stained, handwritten, mostly indecipherable
2/2

July 8, 1895

I have been restless since he's been missing. I've been seeing him in my dreams, the false Bishop, and I kill him in hundreds of different ways, again and again. Lord, what is happening to me? Why am I not terrified but thrilled about my twisted dreams? Could it be that God demands blood? For me to darken my hands with red? I am sweating incessantly for the very thought of sinning again. I must leave and find the women who left the letter. I've never questioned my faith, nor am I willing to do that now. Prayers can't help, not until I find answers. I know only then can I be worthy of God's favor.

July 9, 1895

I found them. And I will prepare the convent for their final arrival before we all leave it to rot and burn.

I travelled to the bayou and found a woman near a cabin. Her face was hidden behind a veil, and she was sitting on the porch, tending to a rifle with a strange mechanism that looked out of place. She put it on her shoulder and menacingly watched me as I approached. How Menacing, yet I enjoyed her gaze upon me.

Another woman welcomed me in with determined eyes glowing in happiness. She opened the trapdoor and warmly told me to go down. I didn't question. Something felt right. I heard something—or someone—in the basement, and as I descended, I saw the bishop, lying on the floor, tied like a hog, crying, squeaking like a wounded rat. I could not help but smile. The veiled one approached and removed the gag from his mouth, revealing his filthy teeth. His face now white as milk. A nauseating smell covered the basement as he spoke—I enjoyed watching the woman break his teeth with her rifle's stock.

Then, I heard the other speak: "Sofia?" I looked at her, excited for being addressed by such a beautiful woman, but was disappointed when I noticed her eyes were fixed on the other woman instead. When she gently sat me in a chair, I understood that they wanted me to enjoy a spectacle.

Sofia, looking at the man now crying and begging for his pathetic life, handed the other woman a black knife, who then sat on the bishop's chest and pushed his chin up. With one smooth, quick motion, she slit open his throat. Sofia trembled in joy, and caressed the other woman's dark hair, as if to encourage her. The woman then teased the edges of the cut, letting her fingers frame the pooling blood. He bucked in pain when she plunged her fingers in and started stroking something deep inside. I watched and savored each moment.

Then, she giggled and spoke as crimson foam formed around his larynx. "It tickles," she said. "I can feel his screams on my fingertips."

Martini-Henry High Velocity Ammo

RN: The mysterious man who had a message for Isaac could have potentially known all sorts of secrets that would serve this investigation. Did Nadia ever find out who he was?

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