# A Touch of Evil- A Supernatural RP (Action)



## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

" Unfortunately it seems that I was right. Throughout the long years of my quest, throughout the endless months and weeks wandering the face of this wretched Earth, I have learned the truth. Tidbits of lore, eye witness accounts, and a personal experience that has shaken me to the very core have left no other viable conclusion. They exist and they have awakened...."

Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
March 19th, 1577​
Robin (Bane_of_Kings): It took you almost 3 months to get from your stomping grounds in central England to the mighty city of Rome. Along the way you have fought off bandits and cutthroats, assisted a small village inn keeper in northern France with a haunting, and even the encountered an odd vampire. It was this experience that troubled you. This vampire came upon your campsite in the beginning hours of twilight, enough sun shining just over the horizon that you would have thought yourself safe. Its behavior was brazen, careless, and totally out of character for a Vampire of the Black Court. As you journeyed onward, growing ever closer to the Holy City, you have noticed more an more signs of the presence of the supernatural, much more then you would have thought normal. Faerie rings, Troll footprints, and even an clump of Laran La Rusan fur, freshly pulled 6 nights before the full moon. All the signs you are seeing put you on edge and you feel that something is brewing. You have now been in Rome for almost 2 weeks and every inquiry you have made about Vladamir Prokofski has been a dead end. You find yourself sitting in the common room of the inn you have taken up residence in, frustration fueling the anxiety you are feeling. You wonder what to do next and you think it odd that such a man would summon other Hunters to this city and then leave no avenue of contact. As you sit brooding, scowling into the mug of mead that you have been nursing, a woman enters the common room. She wears simple clothing, but her stance and the odd staff that she carries catch your eye. It doesn't surprise you that her eyes scan the common room, coming to rest on you. She makes her way in your direction, clearly intent on speaking with you.

Freja (Karak the Unfaithful): Your journeys had taken you to the small town of Vilijandi in northern Lithuania, where you had been talking to a small group of pagans hidden within the society there. You found that this group were decendents of a viking raiding party that had made land on the coast and had some how become stranded there. They kept the old ways alive in their homes, but feared prosecution by the ever expanding reach of the Catholic Church. You had been in the town for about 3 weeks, before you heard mention of the name Vladamir Prokofski. A fellow Hunter and his wife, were passing through, tracking a pack of Lycanthropes responsible for several murders and massacres between here and a small village in northern Germany. This man, Heinrick Geunter, told you of Prokofski gathering Hunters in Rome. Bidding your good byes to the people you had met here, you packed your belongings and undertook the grueling 1700 mile journey to Rome. 2 and a half months later, tired and weary you found yourself in the beautiful city of Rome. Despite the grandeur around you you are a woman on a mission and you began to seek out this Vladamir. Your inquiries have all been met with no success. After a week in the city your are about to give up hope, but you find an apothecary, an out of the way, unmarked shop, deep within the city. She tells you that she has heard the name Vladamir Prokofski, but that she believed him to be dead. However, your first true lead materializes when she tells you that about a week before you came in, a young English man was in her shop, asking the same questions and gives you the name of the inn he had mentioned during his conversation with her. Making your way across the city, you find the inn and enter the common room. Taking in the handful of people eating and drinkin there you see a young man, dressed in a green shirt and a leather jerkin, he wears a longsword on his hip, and watches the room with a wary air. This must be the young man the apothecary mentioned. Approach him and see if he has found out anything about Prokofski.

Dragomir (yoyoyo12365): It has been two months since you heard the name Vladamir Prokofski mentioned in that small tavern in Nordenham, Germany. Over the course of your 1000 mile trek you have come across several villages that have needed your help. In Ingolstad you took the head of a rampaging adolescent troll that had been plaguing the outlying farms of the city. Outside of Mantua, Italy, you captured a single Vampire of the White Court, before killing it it told you that supernatural activity in its feeding grounds had increased. This confirmed the observations that you made during the course of your journey. Tracks and signs of the supernatural predators you Hunt had been increasing in frequency as you moved closer to your destination. Obviously whatever Prokofski has gotten involved in it is a storm brewing the likes of which you have never seen. As you enter into the great city of Rome you head directly to the house of Giovanni Mancinni, an old family friend, as well as being from an old Hunting family, he has word of Vladamir. He knows that he is in the city but he does not know where. It seems that you are going to have to do a little digging. After dropping your belongings and stabling your horse in Mancinni's saddle, you head out into the city. 

Sebastian (Tyranno the Destroyer): Your dedication to the Church and your responsibilities as a Paladin have taken you far afield from that fateful little village a decade ago. As you sit in a chapel in a little village, nestled in the foot hills of the Ural mountains, you find yourself deep in prayer. The last few weeks have been hellish for you as you toiled to track and kill the monster that threatened this village. Its movements continued to elude you, but in the end you found it. One night as you stood watch over the sleepy village you heard a voice, calling out the name of the inn keepers wife and you watched her, as she wandered out into the surrounding forrest, as if in a trance. You caught up, found her kneeling in a clearing with a knife in her hand, the blade pressed against her breast. Standing over her you saw the form of a man, though wreathed in the shadow of the forrest. Watching in horror you saw the man speak, the innkeepers voice coming from its distended throat, its jaw unhinging to several times its normal size, razor sharp teeth lining the gaping maw. Roaring a challenge you rushed forward, blades flashing. In a fight that left you wounded, left arm hanging useless at your side, you defeated the beast, though its name or what manner of creature it was you never learned, your sword protruding from its back, its spine severed. As you reflected upon this event, lost deep in the meditation of prayer, you find yourself disturbed, another presence with you in the Chapel. You find that it is the village priest, Maron, with a letter clutched in his hand. The letter is for you, somehow, the sender knew of your presence in this backwater village. The letter was sealed with the symbol of the Eye of Thoth, the penmanship one that you recognize. Quickly you pack your belongings and set out on horse back. In a torturous journey that takes you the better part of 6 months, you find yourself entering the City of Rome on a direct path to the Il Gesu, home of the Jesuits, and your contact, Brother Benetio Giordano. 

Eira (Lord Ramo): Word came as your family sat down to dinner. Father Benedict, your parish priest came calling, a letter clutched in his fist. You watched as your father was taken aback by the symbol that sealed the letter, you barely had the opportunity to glimpse it as your father clutched it in his powerful fist, before he stood and left the table. For almost an hour he and Father Benedict sat locked in his study, slightly raised voices coming from behind its oaken surface, before you were summoned to his side. He told that one of his contacts, a Jesuit monk in Rome, had notified him that the notorious Hunter, Vladamir Prokofski, had resurfaced after being missing for close to 20 years. He also told you that despite his better judgement, he was sending you to answer Prokofski's call for assistance. Satified with the result Father Benedict left the room to return to his chapel, but as you turned to leave your father caought you by the arm. Turning to face him, you find his steely grey eyes full of a mixture of worry and anger, "My daughter. Though I send you to aid the man claiming to be Vladamir, I have doubts that this man is who he claims to be. Be wary daughter, find out the truth. Go to Rome, meet with Brother Benetio Giordano at the Il Gesu, find out what he knows and meet with the man claiming to be Prokofski if you can." With that you packed a bag and spent the next month traveling the Holy City. Along the way you have seen signs of increased supernatural activity, the predatory beasts of the unnatural world more evident, their tracks and signs more numerous. You can tell that something is stirring these beasts to increased activity, the very air causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up even in the strongest daylight. Making all haste you find yourself entering the City or Rome, its grandeur lost on you in the face of your driven purpose, and without stopping to find food or rest or even to wipe the dust of travel from your boots and cloak you seek out the Il Gesu, mounting the stairs that lead to the stout oaken door at the front you wonder what this Brother Giordano has to tell you. 

Bishop Sunesen (Anilar): It is through your contacts in the King's Court that you heard of Prokofski's return to the scene. What you have heard of the man is legendary, but according to everything you have heard he is supposed to be dead. Despite the fact that you have your reservations about the validity of the claim, you pack your bags and head off across land to the great city of Rome. Over the course of the three month journey that takes you from Copenhagen to Rome you can't help but pick up signs of increased superanatural and this is the reason that your journey took you a full month longer than it should have. You passed through several towns and villages, plagued by supernatural threats and it is not in your nature to turn aside from those who need aid. In Harburg, a small hamlet outside the city of Hamburg, you assisted a local priest in the excommunication of a Wraith that had taken possession of a 12 year old girl. In the City of Jenbach in Austira, you waylaid to wipe out a nest of Fir Darrig, a particularly nasty malicious Fae, that kills through pracitcal jokes and accidents, delighting in the pain and suffering they cause. In the Village of Carpi, Italy, you came across several Wardens of the Mage's Council hunting a human Sorcerer that had taken over the minds of over a dozen of the village's young people, turning them into a cult that served his every twisted desire. Despite the tension between the groups, the Wardens recognized the need for assistance. Your Healing abilities crucial in turning the thralls away from their master. All of these experiences, all so close together has put you on edge. You feel a storm is brewing and can't help but thing that Prokofski has stumbled upon something of grave importance. You have now been in Rome for 3 days, all your inquiries into Vladamir's location have met with little success. It is as if by chance or divine providence that you have come to the Northwest side of the city, to the massive edifice that is the Il Gesu. As you take in the imposing structure you watch as a man, resplendant in fine clothes of blue and white, symbols of the Catholic faith adorning his cloak and gloves, simple twin blades strapped to his back mounts the stairs into the Cathedral. Something about his appearance and posture calls to you. Curiosity piqued you move to follow.

Edward (Santaire): Your quest, whether it be for justice or vengence, lead you deep into the highlands of Scotland, to the small village of Thruso on the very Northern tip of the British Isles. Here with the help of a local contact, and old family friend, Carson Macpherson, you finally manage to track down and kill one of the last three remaining Vampires of the Coven that masacared your family. As you sit in the small out of the way pub that Macphereson owns, you two get to talking about old tales, hunts that both went well and that ended in tragedy. It is from Macpherson that you hear of Vladamir's return. Well into his 6th ale, Macpherson, unsteady on his feet, his speech a bit slurred, relates that he had recieved a message from a friend of his in Wales. Macpherson laughs about it and says that the message contained the most unbelievable news. He laughs, his disbelief evident, and tells you that his friend said that Vladamir had returned to the stage looking for Hunters to assist him in Rome. After 20 years of silence, 20 years of being missing, Macpherson raves that it is impossible. He is certain that Vladamir is dead and that some kook is trying to cash in on the mans name and legend. Though you laugh, more than a few ales passed your lips as well, you can't help but continue to think on the news, however unbelievable it might be. Even the next morning you cannot shake the feeling that you get when you think on Prokofski's return. You resolve to undertake the great journey to Rome to see for yourself. The journey takes you the better part of three months and along the way you can't help but notice that the supernatural is more active, the closer you get to rome. Though few things hinder your journey, every village you pass though has tales of the strange and inexplicable. Though no deaths have occured, the reports you here indicate Fae activity, a passing pair of hunting Vetala, a Spirit Manifestions in numbers that you have a hard time believing. Each months old by the time you pass through, so you need not pause in your journey, but it all puts you on edge. The beasts of the unnatural world are not acting in the way you are used to, it seems that Prokofski may have stumbled onto something, and your desire to speak with the legendary hunter causes you to move ever faster toward Rome. You have know been in the city for 1 week, staying in the home of one of your Grandfather's old friends, Abramo De Luca, and though he has heard that Vladamir is supposed to be in the city he does not know where. All of your questions meet with the same answer, that no one knows anything about Vladamir's plans or location. Your frustration is mounting and as you sit in a cafe, just down from De Luca's home, brooding into your glass of wine, you can't help but think that this was a fools errand. 

Šimon (Jackinator): Your wanderings have taken you around most of Europe, but by some strange coincidence it is in your homeland that you here of Prokofski's return. Your wanderlust, a deep engrained need to keep moving, found itself stilled and the desire to return to the place of your birth and former life became a notion you could not resist. As you traversed the streets of your childhood home, you found that it did not hold the same vibrancy that it did for you in your former life, every familiar place a harsh reminder of what you have lost. The more you walk, the more you notice that things are out of place. Goosebumps raise on your arms, a chill runs up and down your spine, and you can't shake the feeling that you are being watched. Feeling it best you get off the street before full dark, you take a room at a near by inn. It is in the common room of that inn that you come across a fellow Hunter who recognizes you for what you are. Taking a seat across from you he will tell you of the increased amount of supernatural activity. Swapping stories it will immediately become evident that things are definitely becoming more dangerous, the beasts of the night seemingly having gone into overdrive. He will tell you that he heard a rumor, something that has passed from mouth to ear for sometime, so he does not know the validity of it, but he tells you that he has heard that the great Hunter Vladamir Prokofski has popped back up and despite rumors that he was dead, he is gathering Hunters in Rome. Why Vladamir was gathering Hunters, the man could not say, but he tells you that he wants nothing to do with it. You know that Quinn often spoke of other Hunters and that that name Vladamir Prokofski was one that he mentioned often, sometimes bordering on reverence. Despite the fact that he is calling for the gathering in the seat of the Holy Church, you put aside your reservations and set out for Rome the next morning, the chance to meet this Vladamir one you cannot pass up. You have been in Rome now for 4 days and most of your inquires have been met with little information. You happened to wander into an out of the way rare book shop, its owner rumored to be knowledgeable in the occult, and in speaking to him, though your Italian is a bit rusty, you are able to discern that Vladamir is in the city, but that he does not know where. He tells you to go speak with a man by the name of Abramo De Luca, a local contact for Hunters passing through Rome, that perhaps he would be able to tell you more. You are beginning to get frustrated, annoyed at the fact that this man claiming to be Vladamir would call Hunters to this City, then remain elusive. Head toward the address the book shop owner gave you, seeing that this is your only lead. 

Henry (HOGGLORD): Your journeys, like most Hunters, have taken you far from home and it is in the City of Aitoliko, Greece that you first heard whisperings that the great Vladamir Prokofski had resurfaced. Just about anywhere a Hunter roams there are those that know of their calling, and for you it was no different. You had taken up residence in a small room over a friendly apothecaries shop, a man named Abiron, you had spent 6 weeks tracking and hunting a Gorgon. Unlike the mythlogical creatures of the past these vicious monsters can take human form, their magic worked through the use of snake's blood and skin, some of the more powerful ones can shape shift into giant snakes, giving rise to the ancient myths of Medusa and her sisters. They kill by turning their victim to stone, then sapping their life force for close to a decade, creating an eerie garden of 10-12 statues from which it will feed slowly. Unfortunately they only come out to hunt and capture their victims once every 25 to 30 years and all indications are that this particular beast has finished its hunt, as there are a total of 11 people missing from the area. Anger slowly consumes you as the days go by without a trace of your quarry and you are forced to relent, forced to admit the fact that this time the monster got away. As you ate supper with Abiron one evening he tells you that he recieved a letter from a friend of his in Rome. He hands you the scrap of parchement, on the back of which is embossed the Eye of Thoth. As you read, your heavy heart lightens, Abiron's friend, Vincenzo Skilini, indicates that he is now working closely with the organization housing Vladamir and that the venerated Hunter is calling those of the trade to meet him in Rome. Wishing to forget your experiences here and clutching to the thought that you will get to meet and work with the Hunter that trained your father and your uncle, you charter a ship to Italy. You have now been in the City of Rome for three weeks and the address that Vincenzo provided in the letter is a vacant warehouse on the river Tiber. All your inquiries have been met with the same lack of knowledge. Those you speak to either have never heard of Vladamir or have heard nothing save the fact that he is supposed to be somewhere in the city. As you return to the inn in which you have taken up lodging, you pass by a small restaraunt. Your belly rumbling in hunger you go in. As you take in the mostly empty room, you see that in one corner sits a brooding man, wearing huntsmans clothing of deep greens and browns, a longsword strapped to his left thigh, and if you didn't know better he looked like an Irishman. There is something familiar in the way he holds himself, eyes constantly darting around the room, the makes you think that he might be a Hunter himself, as you found out in your search that there seem to be many Hunter's in the city at the moment. Perhaps this lone stranger may have information that may be helpful. 

Livoc (Romero's Own): It was in the City of Mertola, Portugal, you and another Hunter, Javier Borbinhas, a local man, had been Hunting a pair of rogue Hexenwulf. This pair, lovers, had gone mad with the feeling of power that their transformation afforded them and had found that hunting men much better sport than any of the local game. You and Borbinhas managed to track the Hexenwulf to their layer deep in the Guadiana forrest. Unfortunately the preternatural senses of your prey meant that they knew of your presence well before you knew of theirs and as dusk began to fall in the forrest they attacked. Borbinhas was killed instantly, his throat ripped out by a pair of powerful jaws. In an instant, your spell was cast, a dozen coproreal copies of yourself appearing to confuse the enemy allowing you to stab one through the spine with your silver dagger. In your triumph though your concentration wavered and the beast's mate rushed you, jaws clamping onto your leg, pulling you to the ground. The last thing you remember before you fall to blackness was an arrow erupting from the side of the beasts head and its dead weight falling ontop of you. You awoke in an unfamiliar room, noise in the corner of the room catching your attention. A young woman, folding clean bandages turns and catches your eye and in response to your question tells you that a man, dressed in woodland garb, carrying a bow of curious make, dropped you off on the door step of the abby you now rest in. She also tells you that he left a cryptic message, something about a man named Vladamir Prokofski calling for aid in the city of Rome. This news catches you by surprise, for you believed the man dead. It takes several weeks for your leg to heal properly, but as soon as it does you undertake the journey to the Holy City. You have just arrived in the city and have decided to head toward the home of a local contact for the Mage's Council, an Ectomancer by the name of Noemi Moretti, hoping that she may have information on Vladamir's location. 

Cormac (Serpion5): Your travels have taken you to across the mediteranean researching a new beast that you encountered in the very southern reaches of Spain. You were assisting a village that you had taken notice of after hearing reports that people were going missing in the night and other people changing personalities completely, becoming violent or just taking off into the night. Taking up residence in a tall bell tower so that you could get a good view of the surrounding village, you watched as what appeared to be a firefly flit in through an open window across the street. It only caught your attention because it was the only moving thing in the deep hours of the night. Nothing else happened so as the hours passed your eyes grew heavy and you began to doze at your post. It was at daybreak that a commotion caught your attention. The man of the house, crashed through the front door of his home, intent on walking to the docks. His wife, in her confusion begged him to stop, but he refused. Stoicly walking on as if he did not hear her. Rushing to follow you booked passage on the same boat as the man and as you set sail you learned that the ship was heading across the Alboran Sea to Algiers. Your curiosity piqued you spent the two day journey watching the man that had so inexplicably left Torrevieja. In the two days that you watched him his condition deteriorated rapidly. The crew of the ship feared an illness, but to you he showed all the signs of being fed on by a vampire. Ashen skin, blood shot eyes, emaciated appearance. Despite your subtle investigation you found no signs of a vampire on board. Pulling into the busy port city of Algiers, you watched as the man stumbled down the gangplank of the ship, only to collapse at the bottom. Rushing to his side you arrive just in time to watch a large firefly shaped insect fly out of his mouth. You track it with your eyes as it disappears into an alley. The man, obviously dead, no longer catches your curiosity, but this wierd insect does. Rushing down the alley you find no insect, but in searching the tracks on the dusty ground you find a set of mansized footprints, bare footed in contrast to all the shoeprints, that seemingly started as if the person they belonged to suddenly appeared out of thin air. Shaken by the experience, but more than a little curious, you search out a nearby healer, a man named Mulogo, who thankfully speaks a bit of french. In asking about local lore, explaining the experience you just had, Mulogo tells you of the Adze. He tells you that they are a vampiric race that in their insect form have the power to possess a man's soul, feeding off his life blood even as they use his body. He says that when strong enough they are able to take human form to walk among their prey at will. Of course you ask him how to kill such a beast and Mugolo tells you that the only way to kill an Adze is to starve it to death. He says they can be lured in with coconut water and palm oil, things it finds a delicacy, and trapped in a jar or vial. The Adze will slowly waste away. Thanking Mugolo for his information you turn to leave, but he stops you. He asks you if you are heading to Rome and dismissing your answer he hands you a small pouch tied with a silver string. He tells you that the pouch is for his friend, a man named Vladamir Prokofski. He tells you that he would answer Prokofski's summons himself, but he fears to make the journey at his age. He asks you to give the pouch to Prokofski if you make it to the Holy City. You accede to his request and intrigued by the notion of meeting the famous Hunter you book purchase on the next ship to italy. You have just arrived in Rome, weary from your travels you decide to head to the home of a local contact for the Mage's Council, an Ectomancer by the name of Noemi Moretti, thinking her home is as good a place to start as any. 

Alexander (Lord of the Night): Counting the coin from your most recent adventure you ride out of the town of Pila, Poland. Having succesfully rid the village of a Bas Celik, a powerful Fae of the Unseelie court, the Bas Celik has found that he can gain much veneration from the superstitious as his appearance closely resembles that of the Angels spoken about in the Christian Bible. He appears as a winged man, but he feeds off of the adulation he recieves, slowly sapping away the lifeforce of those venerating him. The town had experienced 10 deaths, people just dropping dead at the man's feet as he used his powerful Fae magic to heal the sick and preform 'miracles' for his congregation. The local priest, powerless to intervene sent out a plee for help through the channels of the church, one that you happened to hear about in passing. Making your way to the village, you consulted with the priest, who thankfully asked few questions of your background. He told you that the 'Angel' had demanded that anything made of iron be removed from the church and he would drink nothing but plain water given to him by those that came to petition him. Knowing that the detestation of iron pointed to the creature being one of the fae, you snuck into the back of the church as the 'angel' spoke to his people. You watched as the congregation seemed to age the more he spoke. Rushing forward, Tulwar in hand, you attacked before the creature could react, one of its wings dropping to the ground, severed from its body by the magical touch of your blade. In its pain its visage changed from the angelic beauty it once displayed to one sinister and feral. Thought it tried to retreat it was cornered by the priest who valiantly rushed forward and iron candlestick in his hands. At the touch of iron the beasts flesh erupted into red welts and white flame, cornered between the two of you it did not last long. As it died, those on the verge of death regained their color, the sapping presence of the Fae lifted from them. Enduring the babbling and adulation that the townspeople lavished on you, you gladly collected the purse of coin that they shoved into your hands. It would be more than enough to fund the remainder of your journey towards Rome, for you too had heard whispers in taverns about the return of Vladamir Prokofski and his call for Hunters to join him in Rome. Weather worn and weary you finally made your way into the City of Rome and have now been there for 6 days. Your inquires in the local places Hunters are known to congregate, apothecaries, out of the way taverns, and old bookstores have yeilded no results, the most you have learned is that there are apparently many other Hunters in the city, all looking for Prokofski. Agitation is starting to grip you and you are wondering if this journey was worth your time. 

Pieter (deathbringer): You have spent the last three months in the Maroilles Abbey in Northern France. You felt compelled to come here, but once you arrived, it seemed that your services as a Knight were not required. You knew that your journey here was somehow influenced and for several weeks you were at the ready, a sense of foreboding haunting your steps around the hallowed ground around you. But as the time passed, the quiet atmosphere, and the sense of peace that you began to feel put you at ease. Giving into it you spent a week in quiet reflection, turning your mind inward. It was then that the muse took you, the urge to paint, to pick your brushes and work color on the canvas became an longing deep that you returned to your spartan room from the small chapel in the beautiful garden the monks kept on the grounds. For four days you painted, the image of a face and a skyline emerging from the blank canvas like watching the scene emerge out of a deep fog, your hand guided by a force outside yourself. Setting your brush to oneside, you stared in shock at the face that was on the canvas. Though much older, it could have been no other man but Vladamir Prokofski, a man he had met once, decades ago but a legend among those who stood against the forces of darkness. The scene behind the man you also recognize, the Via della Conciliazione, a familiar street, in the far distance he could make out the Holy Basillica. Not seconds after you finished did the urge to begin travelling take you. Donning your armor, taking up the mighty blade Ammorochious from the stand where it rested, you bid farewell to the monks of the abbey. A little over a month later you find yourself entering the northern part of the City of Rome. There is something about being in this city that rejuvenates you, a presence, a warm glow just on the edge of your vision, as if something or someone watched over you. You are not suprised when a man, dressed in the simple brown habit of a friar appears at your stirrup, keeping pace with your slowly walking horse. He says nothing at first but hands you a small card on the back of which is the symbol for the Knights of Pythias, the Eye of Thoth. A slow smile creeps across your face. It appears that the servants of the vatican were awaiting your arrival. The friar looks up at you and with a simple request that you follow, heads of into the crowd. 

Johan (Rems): You have spent most of the last year hiking your way through the Swiss Alps. Your desire to increase your knowledge of the workings of gun powder and its uses in Alchemy have compelled you to seek out the originators of the magical practice, the elusive Seelie Fae the Gnomes. Though you know that interaction with the Fae of any ilk is dangerous, the Gnomes are the most likely to work with a human mage as they find humans and their reckless ingenuity facinating. It takes you the better part of 3 months to track down a small village of the diminutive creatures and another 3 weeks to earn their trust. But finally, their leader, Egan Del, decides that you are worth keeping around, and in a display of force that almost makes you laugh they tiny leader declares that they will not kill you and eat your ears. Over the next 4 months, you exchange ideas with the highly intelligent creatures and your knowledge of the mechanics of Alchemy expands by leaps and bounds, though in the way of the fae little practical application is passed on. It is hard to follow Egan's double speak at time, and though your knowledge base has increased you will find that you will need to take sometime in your own laboratory putting the theories you have been taught into practice. Though this fact frustrates you, you find it difficult to be mad at these creatures that seem to be an incarnation of creativity made flesh. Everything they do fascinates you, despite the fact that you feel that they are just using you for your supply of honey and sugar, something that these little Fae crave but are by some strange law of their nature unable to get for themselves. In the last week of your fourth month among them, you have realized that they will tell you nothing else of their strange brand of magic and you tell Egan of your intention to leave. He shakes his head, mumbling something about the impatience of human kind, and in an offhanded remark he says something about a gathering of your kind in the City of Rome. Why he would know, or why he would care you have no clue, but he says a name, Vladamir Prokofski. You get the impression, despite the fact it is almost impossible to get a straigh answer out of the Fae, that Egan knows Vladamir personally and there is strange grudging air of respect in the way he says Vladamir's name. You of course know the name well, a legend among those who stand against the forces of darkness. Thanking your strange hosts you set off for Rome, questions burning in your breast. You have just entered the city after a grueling trek out of the mountains and a comparatively easy journey down through central Italy. You don't know where to begin, but you know of a local contact of the Mage's Council here in Rome, an Ectomancer by the name of Noemi Moretti. You figure her house is as good a place to start looking for information as any other. 

[So folks in this update I want you to get a feel for how your characters think and feel and how they react to the lack of information about Prokofski despite his call for aid. With the events that occured before you arrived in Rome you can address those as events in real time before moving onto coming into Rome, or you can deal with them as a flashback, however you desire. I have for your ease color coded descriptions of characters to the color used for their name. If you find that you are pushed into an interaction with another player character you need simply compare the colors to see who that person is. If you have any questions what so ever don't hesitate to hit me up via PM, on MSN, Skype, or Facebook chat whatever you desire. I hope you all enjoy the RP!]


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## tyranno the destroyer (Nov 23, 2010)

_The beast roared it's challange and sebastian accepted. Charging forward the whole world felt as if it was going in slow-motion. The creature's mouth opened wide. Very wide. This creature was one sebastian had never encountered and had to be carful around it. The beast lunged and sebastian twirled around and brought his steel sword down onto the beast arm. The nameless creature grunted as the blade bit into his flesh and then howled when the holy water and pope's touch finally kicked in. Snarling the beast brought round his other arm and smacked sebastian's left arm with such fource it broke the bone and made it hand limply from his side. Sebastian jumped back as the beast pulled out his sword and threw it on the floor. Sebastian had observed and brought his silver sword up with his right hand and tensed his legs. The beast obviously didn't know what the paladin was planning and charged seeing that he was handicapped. Just before the creature got to him sebastain ran forward and jumped up and caught hold of a hanging branch and swung over the monster and before it could react turn around and thrust his sliver sword starit through the middle of the foul beast spine making it howl with pain and thrash around wildly. Sebastian stood there triumphant and then the adrenaline wore off and the sudden pain of his left arm kicked in and it all went black_

Sebastian's eyes opened and he groaned slightly as he got up and walked the ache in his legs. That had happened six months ago and he can still remeber it which was quite odd the only monster fighht he could remember was the fight against his friend turned were-wolf and that he didn't mind because it proved to him that he could trust very few people. His legs had finally got the ache out of them and he went to the river. His camp site wasn't much just a tent with a campfire That was on the side of the road next to a river. A bandit had tried to rob him but he easily beat him and turned him away. Regular humans could deal with those soughts his job was to get those they couldn't.

The river was a natural beuty around here as he went to get water he saw a family on the other side of the river having a day out. The water over by sebastian glistned in the sun and the ripples from the familys kids just faintly reached him. His canteen filled he stood up and turned towards his horse which saw him coming and beagn to walk towards him. He had a certain way with animals Faromir being an example. He could leave him untied and the next morning he would go to the nearset water spot to find him. He never ran away and if about noon sebastain couldn't find him he would be at his camp ready to go. Sebastian patted Faromir on the neck as he finally got their and pulled out a carrot from last nights meal. The horse happily accepted and Sebastain grabbed the brush from his pack and brushed the Stallions mane. He didn't know what breed his horse was but he was white with black eyes and a grey mane and from the information he got when he got him was around about seven. His face had a black mark coming down between his eyes but over then that he was exactly how he described him.

Faromir returned to his camp and saw a small bird near his tent. Sebastian smiled as he packed up his stuff as the bird went towards the pile of food he had left it. This bird was a baby when he found it and he had raised it up until it was strong enough to go by itself. And know it followed him where ever it could. The campsite was packed up and Sebastain got on to Faromirs saddle and began to carry on riding. He was about to hit Rome where he would meet his contact and get the information he required.

He finally got to the Il Gesu, home of the Jesuits, and approached the door his horse at the street nieghing happily as kids petted him. He approached the door and entered the doors creaking open as the head of this building approached him asking how he could help. "Take me to brother Benetio Giordano" He asked with a tone that demanded that the priest take him to his informant and with out another word said he began to go deeper into the chapel.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The golden coins falling through his fingers and into the small leather purse that he kept at his belt Alexander inhaled the scent of liquor, blood and other bodily fluids that pervaded the tavern on the outskirts of Rome. Places like this were like poison to the clergy, they never came in unless they needed something, and they provided cheap rooms and did not ask questions as the people who tended to rent their rooms did not answer questions well. Alexander's gaze and weapon both kept any unwelcome visitors away, and any who were too stupid to see his raptor-glare or obviously enchanted blade were immediately put off by the aura he gave off, one of hostility and barely-restrained killing-lust. There was always something else to hunt, another monster preying on the innocent, not that the plight of the innocent moved him at all. Rather it was hatred of the supernatural that moved him to murder any magical creature that crossed his path, hostile or no. Monsters were monsters, and all were either dangerous or would become dangerous given the chance.

The memory of his last hunt was still fresh, he could remember every hunt he'd ever been on in stark detail. The Bas Celik creature that had infiltrated a town and posed as an Angel to dupe the stupid into serving it. Alexander had heard about it through church channels, he normally avoided anything to do with the weak-willed Church that brought fanaticism and religion into the hunt, but this hunt had sounded interesting. An Angel apparantely killing people in Poland, a chance to kill an Angel had been too good to pass up, even with the risk of Church interferance. After days of travel on his Horse, he had not bothered to name the mount as most of his mounts tended to die quickly, he had arrived in the town of Pila. Keeping out of sight for the most part, the townspeople were convinced of the Angel and he was well known enough to monsters that if the Angel saw him or heard about the armoured man with tattoos he might send his ignorant followers after him.

The priest who had put out the call for help was an overweight, bald and weak-chinned man, yet he was solid enough that he had stayed rather than flee like most priests would. Alexander had listened as the priest described the ten deaths that had already occured, his lack of empathy must have shown on his face or in his eyes as the priest became uncomfortable around him after that and made no attempt to ingratiate himself with the Hunter, which was a smart move on his part. Alexander had quickly identified the creature as a Bas Celik from the description of a winged man who disdained iron and made sure to carefully regulate what he ate and drank, an Unseelie Fae that was visually close enough to an Angel that they could pass for them to those who didn't know better. A sufficiently religious person would probably be able to tell the difference, which was probably why the priest had not been fooled.

He had quickly devised a plan, setting himself up in the rafters of the Church building and waiting for the Bas Celik to begin a sermon. He had to make sure that the townspeople saw the true face of the monster in their midst, otherwise once it was dead the people would assume the heathen mage had killed their beloved angel and attack him. Alexander would have had no problem with cutting his way out of the town and through anyone stupid enough to attack him, but such a thing would draw the attention of the Mage's Council to him and he had no desire to be on their radar again. Sure enough after four hours of waiting the Bas Celik arrived, it fit the description of their subspecies to a T. A tall handsomely chiseled man with bright wings made of light wearing a suit of armor that seemed to be made of glass, but it was not glass to one who knew what to look for. It was made of ice. A definite Unseelie Fae, those aligned closer to evil deeds and maliciousness. Alexander had scoffed then and he scoffed once more, the Seelie Court were just as bad, the only difference was they put on a better public face and tricked more fools into dealing with them.

As soon as the Bas Celik had started speaking Alexander had dropped from the rafters, his Tulwar blade in hand and sliced through the monster's right wing. His sword's glowing-blue blade crackled with electricity as it carved through the wing, severing it with ease. The creature howled as its wound spurted blood, blood was that a bluish-black and crystallised soon after hitting the ground. It had turned around and revealed its true face, the etheric human visage changing into that of a snarling beast that appeared almost reptillian. And the people had seen it too. What few were not in the creature's thrall screamed and began to flee in terror, their illusion shattered after witnessing their Angel's true face. But too many were linked to the creature and were slowly losing their life-force, their essence's feeding the monster's hunger. Alexander had parried the return blow, a claw turned to pure ice, and made a riposte that sliced open the creature's stomach. Its blood was soaking the floor and had splattered all over his chestplate.

The Bas Celik howled and turned to flee, only to scream even louder as an iron candlestick was stabbed into his body by the priest. He had more bravery than Alexander had credited him earlier, though his fear was apparant in his bulging eyes and sweat-stained robes. The creature had cursed in the Fae language and turned only to see Alexander swinging the Tulwar in a two-handed grip. That had been the last thing it saw as its head flew across the room. As its final spark gutted out the creature's icy body melted into water, its death-scream seemed to return the life to the townspeople who stood there, frozen through fear and shock. Alexander had swung his sword to remove the tainted blood and turned to the priest, requiring his agreed-upon payment. The priest had stuttered a bit but had handed over the purse quickly enough, Alexander felt the weight and judged it sufficient. He did not bother to check whether or not it was genuine, nobody was stupid enough to dare to cheat him.

The townspeople had been very quick to declare him a hero, their adulation and praise had worn thin the very second it began. Had it not been for the the aura of magic that flowed around Alexander he suspected they would have been clamoring around him, trying to touch his sword and armor or asking him to bless them. Some fools even said they would pray for him and wished him well with God's grace, Alexander had actually looked at them. His glare must have been withering because nobody said those things twice. As soon as he had received the payment he quickly left the town of Pila behind, the cheers from behind and praises in his and God's names were just annoying, especially as none of them knew his name. He was well known to monsters but humans, not so much. The purse was good enough to see him to Rome, and he would have enough left for bribes and entry fees into the darker parts of the Holy City. 

After ten days of riding he had finally arrived at the gates of Rome, none had barred his way as he entered the city and had immediately begun the hunt for information. Alexander had heard the call of the great Vladamir Prokofski, one of the greatest Hunters to ever live, and was determined to join whatever great hunt that Prokofski was planning. But the search had turned up dry. Nobody had heard of any hunt being called, and nobody had heard anything about Vladamir Prokofski being in Rome. After eight hours of searching Alexander had tired from the last few days with no sleep and had rented a room in a small tavern with broken windows and the sounds of unending revelry coming from within. He had slept for six hours, twice the amount of time he normally spent sleeping, and had been sitting in the tavern in a corner booth for the last hour, delving through his thoughts in an attempt to find another source of information or another area to try. Alexander was starting to feel like the entire trip had been a waste of time, but he decided to try a few other areas and spend at least two more days in Rome. The chance of joining Vladamir Prokofski on a Hunt was too great to pass up due to mere boredom.


LotN


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

“Have we met?” The young man inquired earnestly.

“I just ask because you’re getting rather close and I noticed the look of surprise on your face when you saw me.”

“Us. Oh no we haven’t met. I believe you’ve met my friend though,” the grizzled man spoke with a smile and a nod over the man’s shoulder. “Who?” The man said, beginning to turn. The silver tip slammed into his midriff and he staggered back.

“Cursed fool,” I muttered as I sprang forward. “I had the perfect shot there.”

The pub owner went to stick a knife in the youth’s shoulder. The man spun with a snarl. His canines elongated and he batted the knife a way as his skin paled to an ashy grey. His brow distended, his jaw line became more visible and his eyes blackened. The Vampire pounced on the man and raised a hand, the nails turning into talons. The man didn’t shriek, a notable achievement when faced by a full on Vampire of the Black Court.

My dagger, thrown with a flick of the wrist embedded itself in the Vampire’s leg. The creature spun away from the man and hurled itself at me. I drew my sword and my left hand slipped down to reach into the pouch at my left hip. The Vampire sprang and my left hand flicked out. The silver shards embedded in its flesh and it reeled back before launching itself into a mad charge.

I didn’t move, holding my sword low. It paused, cowed by the silver running the length of my sword’s blade.

“Recognize me,” I said softly as it circled.

“Should I,” it hissed.

“Yes, you should. You killed my entire family...” Suddenly I was moving, sword held straight like a lance. I could feel the hatred burning in my chest. This beast had been one of the ones that ended my family forever. One of the oldest hunting families in Ireland butchered. “...And now I’m going to kill you.” I lunged and the Vampire dodged back, cautious around the silver blade. “There are many of us, you kill me and the rest will kill you.”

I gave a short, hard laugh. “Rest? There are only three of you left. Two when I kill you.”

My sword flickered out and plunged deep into the Vampire’s wrist. It shrieked as the silver burnt its flesh. “You will pay for that mortal,” it snarled and hurled itself forward.

I met it with sword in hand.

I knocked the first swipe away, stepped in and punched the Vampire in the face. It staggered back and I lashed out. It threw up an arm reflexively and the sword chopped deep into the muscle. The Vampire shrieked and I kicked it. It jerked its arm away, taking my sword with it and began to pounce.

“Catch,” the man yelled. I raised a hand and caught the wooden stake in my right hand.

Twisting I plunged the spike deep into the Vampire’s chest. It stared at me, pure astonishment on its face that a mere human had killed it. Paralysed, it slumped on the spike impaling its heart. I leant in close and whispered in its ear. “Don’t worry; the remainder of your miserable coven will be joining you soon.” I tore the stake free and dropped it. As the Vampire began to fall I slid my sword free of its arm.

With a cry, I spun and delivered the coup de grace. The creature collapsed and its head rolled free from its shoulder, a look of utter astonishment frozen eternally on its face.

I walked over to the innkeeper.

“I thought I told you to keep him still you old fool,” I scolded but after a moment stuck out a hand. He clasped it and we shook. “But well done all the same. It is the rare man who can resist screaming when a Black Court Vampire has them pinned.”

“Anything for Solin’s son lad,” Carson Macpherson said with a grin. “Anyway,” he said, voice and face darkening. “I couldn’t let it hurt anyone else without at least trying to stop the damned thing. Right now I’m just glad the thing is dead and I’m looking forward to sleeping in a warm bed.” I nodded agreement. “Bring me oil and a lantern. I must ensure the taint of this creature is expunged forever.”

He did so and I poured out the oil over the creature’s body. With a muttered prayer to the three Celtic goddesses of war I burnt the body to a crisp. The head I kept. Vengeance aside there was a bounty for the Vampire and I intended to hand in the head, even though I was going to refuse the reward. This was vengeance. To accept money for avenging loved ones made you a traitor. Walking to the town hall I opened the door and tossed the head on the rushes. With a curt nod I left and made my way to Carson’s pub.

There we sat and tossed back ale as he had once done with my father. We got into talking. I told him of my hunts over the eight years since my family died. At times I was affected by the melancholy that sometimes curses drunken men but at other times we were roaring with laughter.

Then, well into the sixth ale Carson stood, swaying slightly. With his speech slightly slurred he relayed to me a message from a contact of his in Wales. “The moron tells me Vladamir Prokofski is in Rome and is looking for Hunters to join him. Doesn’t the fool know that he’s been missing for twenty years? He must be long dead.” And he continued with a colourful tirade of cursing. I laughed and smiled but inside my mind was working. Vladamir? I had seen him, just a passing glance what must have been twenty two years before when I was only six. He had been talking with my father and then he left. What could have brought him back?

I left the next day, mounting my father’s horse Arturus and riding hard for the coast. The big stallion didn’t let me down and we reached the coast within a day. I got passage on a ship with a bag of coins. A small fortune. But I was impatient and it was the only boat on the coast for miles.

While at sea I contemplated the journey to the coast. There had been more supernatural activity than there had been for as long as could be remembered by the elders of the Celtic tribe I passed on the journey. I had ridden across country and encountered them in a cave in the side of a cliff. The eldest there was a mage who had lived for over two hundred years. It was he who told me that. Other than that it was uneventful. I heard stories of a werewolf coven in a small village I passed but the rumours stemmed from a dead forester who had been savaged. It was a Luop Garou. The fool had gone too deep into the forests, an area beneath the shade of a mountain, he had gone into the centre of the forest and there he had been hounded until he was torn apart on the outskirts. A Laran la Rusan or Lycanthrope would have killed indiscriminately and a Hexenwulf would have killed in a different manner therefore it had to be a Luop Garou.

To chase such a creature would have meant my death and it had done nothing but protect the borders of its territory so I moved on.

The boat arrived in France. I offered the man a pouch of silver to sail to Italy but he refused so I led Arturus from the boat’s hold and rode for Rome. Again, I heard of more supernatural activity. There was no death but reports I collected on the way spoke of increasing Fae activity, a pair of hunting Vetela and an unprecedented amount of Spirit manifestations. It was unnerving. All of these reports were a month late by the time I passed through so there was no need for me to investigate these things myself but it put me on edge. I could not feel comfortable without my hand on my sword hilt.

Vladamir suddenly appearing in Rome must have been connected to the increase in supernatural events.

I felt my inclination to see the legendary hunter escalate into a fixation. I had to find out what was causing this. It only grew as I approached Rome. I finally saw the walls of the famous city. Entering the city was simple and I quickly went to the house of one of my grandfather’s old friends, Abramo De Luca and though he had heard Vladamir was in the city he did not know where. I was there for a week and no matter whom I asked no one had a clue where Vladamir was or what he was planning.

Frustration mounting to a huge level I took to spending the day wandering the streets and the nights in the streets or on the rooftops, very little time given over to sleeping on most nights, although the latter was much rarer, being the centre of the Catholic faith Rome had guards and though most were lazy idiots there was almost always one man in the patrols who was doing what he was supposed to, scanning the city for any suspicious activities and a lone man standing, sitting or lying on rooftops definitely counted as suspicious.

I sat in the cafe just down from De Luca’s home and stared into the glass of red wine sitting on the table in front of me. As I gazed into the swirling red I could not help but think that this was turning into a fool’s errand and right now, I was the fool.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

After three months of hard travelling on the road, Robin had finally arrived in Rome, the glorious city that had seen the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, the reign of the Borgia dynasty, and now it would play host to hunter Robin Blake as he arrived in the town. During his travels, he not only had to deal with bandits and cutthroats by the dozen, each thinking that they could get rich by looting him only to be disposed, and sooner or later they had finally got the message - If you wanted to live, you would stay away from Robin Blake. They had got that message, at least in England anyway.

It was a similar problem in France, and Italy before he arrived in Rome. He was finally glad that he would be able to get some decent sleep for a change when he arrived in Rome, as he often went long periods without sleeping on journeys.

The first thing that Robin had done when he had arrived in France was protect a Village from a haunting, gaining the population's respect despite his young age, and an even greater respect when he refused the reward that they were going to give him. He was not like that. The villagers were poor, and he did not want to take what was left of their money, no matter how much they pressured him. 

And there was one thing on the journey that troubled him. He had encountered a Vampire. And it wasn't just any creature of the night, mused Robin. It had come across his camp in the beginning of twilight, a time that had enough sun shining over his head for him to be viewed as safe. behavior was brazen, careless, and totally out of character for a Vampire of the Black Court, for that were clearly its markings. However, Robin had managed to put an end to it, and had removed its head just to make sure that it wouldn't rise again. That had to be done with several creatures of the night, Vampires especially. In his travels, he'd encountered terrifying things that rose from the grave, mindless beasts that wouldn't stop no matter how many arrows he wasted, and the only way to stop them was decapitation. 

And the encounter with the odd vampire was just the beginning. As he grew closer and closer to the Holy City, Robin observed that there was more and more signs of that supernatural creatures had visited Italy recently, which was odd as he'd been informed that they often avoided Rome, due to the large amount of hunters that had been collected around that area to ensure that the Pope, Gregory XIII - remained safe from supernatural threat. He wasn't a religious man, after all - he reasoned why would God sit by and watch when people were starving, and not interfere when the rich got richer and the poor got poorer?

The list of supernatural sightings that he'd seen on his way to Rome was endless. Faerie rings, Troll Footpits and Laran La Rusan fur, freshly pulled 6 nights before the full moon. All these signs backed up his belief that trouble was brewing. Something was happening in the supernatural world, and it was Robin Blake's job to find out what. After all, he hadn't encountered any Hunters yet - although he knew that he would meet some in Rome for sure.

Two weeks after Robin first arrived in Rome, he realised that every inquiry he made about Vladamir Prokofski, the reason for his travel to the Holy City, had been a dead end. Finding himself sat in the common room of one of many of Rome's inns, frustration fueled the anxiety that he regrettably had, no matter how many times he had tried to find a lead, it had gone cold. What man would call Robin on a three month journey to a city and then just leave him there?

Well, Vladamir Prokofski, of course. It helped that Robin knew enough French and Italian to survive in the city, and he spent his free time researching the languages to gain more understanding of them. 

The teenager gained a few odd looks in the inn, as people wondered why an Eighteen year old could remain silent for so long. He'd been here for a few hours now, brooding silently. That was when he caught a glimpse of a woman entering the room, wielding a staff, earning a few looks from the others in the common room. Her eyes scanned the room, clearly searching for someone. Robin grimaced when she sought him out, and began walking towards him. _'Doesn't look like she's Vladamir Prokofski, but she could know about him. She'd better know more than I do. I'd rather not have another Hunter with me though. The sooner I get to Prokofski the better.'_


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## Karak The Unfaithful (Feb 13, 2011)

_Location: Vilijandi, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth_

Freja Asmund stood on the hillside over looking the small Norse village Vilijandi. She let out and sigh of relief. In this strictly christian country, these Norse people had managed to survive, although it had been difficult for them they were still here.

Freja had been here once before, over a year ago. When she had first arrived the village had been in a terrible state, but she had taught them how to survive in this new world. She had taught them; that they needed more than weapons and old Norse brawn to survive now, they had to be clever.

With her stood Heinrick Geunter, a fellow hunter. She prefered to be in the company of other Hunters, they were the only ones who could truly understand her.

"You've done alot of good for this village Freja" He said to her, observing the landscape before them.

"I was tasked to do it" she replied.

"And what now? where will you go next? he asked her.

Freja thought for a moment "Denmark, possibly" She said "I once met a Norse community there, the christians there have been moving against Pagans recently, I want to check if their alright. But, I doubt it"

Henrick looked at her, a look of sorrow. "well, If you want to spare yourself the pain I've heard rumors that Vladamir Prokofski is gathering all Hunters to him"

"Prokofski? I thought he was dead?"

Henrick shrugged his shoulders "It is only rumours. But..."

"But what Henrick?"

"Freja, times are changing. The creatures we Hunt are getting bolder, stronger. I've been tracking a pack of Lycanthropes that have been rampaging in the Commonwealth and Prussia, I haven't seen anything like this in years! You should go to Prokofski"

Freja nodded, what Henrick said is true, that have been getting stronger. "where will i find him?"

"I hear he is currently in Rome"

"Rome?" Rome was the last place a Pagan should go, it was the centre of Christianity in Europe "you know I can't go to Rome"

Henrick grinned "they won't look for you in Rome"

Freja couldn't help grinning back "very true, will you and your wife be coming?"

"If we get the mess here cleared up, maybe" he replied

Freja shook his hand "I'll see you in Rome"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​
Location: Rome, Papal States. Two Months later

Freja had never been to Rome before, and despite her people's dark history with the place, it was rather stunning.

She had been here a week now, and had heard nothing of Vladamir Prokofski, absolutely nothing. Freja was quite good a tracking people and beast when she put her mind to it, but here it was almost impossible. The city had alot of life and movement in it, everyday was different, the streets were a maze of old Roman buildings, shops and people. Freja was starting to feel down, that long journey from the Commonwealth to Rome had been pointless. 

However, she finally had some luck. Freja had came across an unmarked shop where the woman behind the counter had told her a young English man had also been searching for Prokofski, and even provided her with the name of the Inn he was staying at.

Freja had found the Innwith little difficulty. She entered the common room and scanned the room. Sitting at one of the tables, by himself was a young man wearing a green shirt and leather jerkin. He wore a longsword at his hip giving him away as some kind of warrior, but not quite Military. He couldn't have been anymore than 20 years old, not quite a boy but not quite a man either. She knew this was the man she'd been searching for.

Freja walked briskly to the table and sat down opposite him:

"Are you the English man searching for Prokofski?" she asked


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

Damn this was tedious. Cormac was not impatient by any means but the lack of any commotion at all during his watch here had been disappointing and extremely boring at the same time. Hardly the riveting experience a hunter's life was reputed for. Then again, nothing about being a hunter had even come close to what he had been expecting at all. 

Here in this tower, chosen because it was the most convenient place to keep a watchful eye, Cormac had stationed himself to keep a vigilant eye open for whatever it was his quarry turned out to be. Thus far, he had observed sweet nothing and had to fight for minute at this stage simply to stay awake. A flickering light caught his attention, but whatever excitement it may have caused was quashed almost instantly. It was a firefly. Just a lost firefly flittering away in the wee hours of the morning. Before being aware that he was even dozing off, Cormac had fallen into a deep sleep. 



A commotion in the street below woke the mage up as the man of the building he was staying in threw the door heavily open and began walking directly towards the docks. Despite the pleading from his wife, the man continued onward in a rather unco-ordinated fashion. Well, it wasn't the monster he had been expecting but it was certainly odd behavior. Without further delay Cormac stood himself up, taking a few moments to stretch his weary limbs before retrieving his belt, cloak and staff and rushing downstairs to see what this was all about. He exited the building and approached the sobbing woman with the best look of concern he could muster. It seemed his behavior had been like this only recently, and as such foul play was likely at hand. With nothing else to go on at this stage, he resolved to follow the man and see where this lead took him. 

* * *

The target had made a beeline for the docks, and Cormac hurriedly booked himself passage on the same ship. For the next two days Cormac scrutinized every passenger and the man himself as the telltale signs of a vampire seemed to wrack the man's body. Despite the mage's suspicions, there was no sign of such a creature anywhere on board. With a mix of frustration and exasperation, Cormac spent the last few hours of the trip thrumming his fingers on a table impatiently. Maybe the man's destination would yield more answers? 

* * *

The ship docked at the port city of its destination Algiers without trouble, and Cormac's mark was one of the first to shamble his way down the ramp. As Cormac made to leave after him the sounds of gasps and concerned shouts could be heard. Pushing his way through the crowd, it became apparent that the man had collapsed no sooner than taking his first step on solid ground. 

'Move aside!' Cormac shouted. He rushed to the man's side and rolled him over onto his back. No sooner had he shuffled the corpse than an insect of no sort Cormac had seen crawled from the man's dead lips and took to the air. At a glimpse it resembled a firefly of sorts and quickly disappeared down a nearby alleyway. 

Cormac stood and dashed after the insect, ignoring the confused protests of the people who had expected him to offer some form of help to the unfortunate soul. He felt a slight twinge of regret, not being able to spare the time to offer the people even a half-hearted explanation. In the alleyway, Cormac found no sign of the creature, but did find a set of human sized footprints that seemed to begin from nowhere and lead out of the alley. Cormac was visibly shaken by this, his hand unconsciously tightening on the grip of his staff. 


Seeking to find some more concrete information on this matter, Cormac sought out the shop of a local healer named Mulogo, with whom he was fortunate enough to share a grasp of the french language. A quick discussion and interview with the man revealed the being of Cormac's interest to be an Adze, an insectoid vampire like creature able to take human form when at sufficient strength until it finds new prey. Feeding on human souls, the adze could only be killed by starving it to death. 

Cormac thanked the man for his information and was about to set out once again before Mulugo stopped him. 

'Have you come here because of the summons?' The elder man asked. 

'Excuse me?' Cormac replied. 'I am not familiar with any summons.' 

'Well regardless, may I ask a favor of you?' Mulogo continued. 'Would you take this to my friend, Vladamir Prokofski please?' 

Cormac accepted the item, a small pouch with a silver string, with a stunned silence. The name of Vladamir Prokofski was legendary among hunters, one of the greatest of their kind. The man had long been thought dead, but if he had issued a summons then Cormac would answer, even in he had only learned of it indirectly. 

'I will do this.' Cormac said, and bade the healer farewell. 

* * *

One long ship passage later saw the elementalist arriving in Rome. Weary of travelling with limited success at his hunt, he resolved to look up a familiar friendly face and seek accommodation. A brisk walk saw him at the home of the ectomancer Noemi Moretti, a fellow hunter with whom he had crossed paths before. 

Smiling with thoughts of old memories, he reached out and knocked on the door.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Livoc dropped quickly and motioned for his companion to follow suit. He looked across and saw an olive skinned man that he knew as Javier Borbinhas, a hunter like him. Livoc turned back to the road after smiling at Javier in a slightly manic way. Javier returned the smile and, once Livoc was sure the danger was past, they moved onwards, taking great care about where they stepped. The forest floor was littered with dry leaves and twigs that could so easily give away their presence. Especially the kind of prey they were hunting. For Livoc and Javier were not hunters of any normal kind. Their targets were a pair of powerful magic users who had grown hungry for power. And thus they had both transformed themselves into great wolves and found that they loved the new power the transformation granted them. And to make matters worse the pair discovered that the hunting of men was much better than that of any local game. 

And so it was that Livoc found himself in the deep Guadiana forest, just outside the City of Mertola in Portugal with a stranger, hunting highly dangerous and intelligent wolves. But Livoc was trained for this and so too was Javier. They had made quick progress through the trees and Livoc suspected that they were nearing the air of the wolves. It was just as the sun began to fall behind the horizon that the pair entered a clearing that contained a cluster of rocks that had been serving as a lair for the rouge pair of Hexenwulf. But Livoc had been stupid, he had not been concentrating and neither had Javier. For long before they reached the clearing the Hexenwulf had known of their presence and as the pair of hunters entered the clearing one of the wolves, a mighty black haired male, launched itself at Javier and ripped his throat in an instance. The red blood spilling upon the forest floor distracted the wolf for a second and Livoc reacted in a flash.

Within an instant he had the parchment in hand. He threw it to the floor and it erupted into flames and quickly burned up. With a strange bending of light Livoc seemed to multiply over and over till over a dozen copies of himself stood before the wolf. The wolf was stunned; this magic was new and unknown. That pause was all that Livoc needed. With a quick movement Livoc stepped forward and, with a flash of metal, drove his silver dagger into the spine of the Hexunwulf. With a grunt the wolf fell down dead. Livoc wiped his blade and turned to Javier’s corpse before remembering the second Hexunwulf. He turned but it was too late. With a snarl the wolf pounced and Livoc felt white-hot pain as fangs sank deep into his leg. The momentum of the wolf sent the pair flying backwards and landing in the dirt. Livoc’s vision faded slowly into black. The last thing he remembered before he fell to blackness was an arrow erupting from the side of the beasts head and its dead weight falling on top of him.

Livoc awoke in a strange room. A noise in the corner of the room drew his attention and he saw a young woman, folding clean bandages. She turns and catches his eye. Livoc tried to speak but found himself unable. He tried again and the girl quickly moved to his size. He finally managed to speak, but only in a low whisper.

“Where am I? What happened? Who brought me here?”

The girl replied as she set about replacing the bandages covering Livoc’s leg.

“This is the Northanger Abbey. I know not what happened to you. All I know is that a man, dressed in woodland garb, carrying a bow of curious make, dropped you off on the door step of the abbey you now rest in. he left a cryptic message, something about a man named Vladamir Prokofski calling for aid in 
the city of Rome.”

Livoc smiled at the girl as she left the room, no doubt to get her superior. The mention of Vladamir shocked Livoc for he was certain that the man was dead. But if Prokofski wanted help then Livoc would be happy to do it. And even if it was just rumours, he had always wanted to visit Rome, even if he was likely to get burnt at the stake. Livoc smiled again before swinging his legs round and pulling himself up. The religious inhabitants of the Abbey had done an impressive job of healing his leg and he could support himself and walk at a slow pace. He found his pack and daggers lying nearby and picked them up before moving to the window and dropping down. He had one last look at the Abbey before turning and setting off into the forest.

When Livoc arrived at the Holy City he quickly made his way to the home of a local contact for the Mage's Council, an Ectomancer by the name of Noemi Moretti, hoping that she may have information on Vladamir's location.


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

I sat glumly at Abiron's dining table, chewing listlessly on a Loukoumade, a ball of dough dipped in honey and cinnamon. _Failure, failure, failure._ The words echoed around my skull. I stared vacantly at the table, the bustle of the city outside seeming distant and irrelevant. After a time, Abiron entered, his face was very pleased. "Henry my friend, I have very good news for you!" He cried, waving a small piece of paper at me.

"What-" I began, but Abiron answered my unfinished question. 

"A letter, it is from my good friend, Vincenzo Skilini, he is in Italy. He has written a letter to me. I asked him about your hunters, because he is a hunter, aah," He clicked his fingers stumbling through english, trying to find the proper word. "A person who gives information."

"An informant?" I put forwards.

"Yes, this!" Abiron said exuberantly. He pushed forwards the letter and I drew my knife, slitting the paper open with practiced ease. I flicked open the letter, taking in the scrawling, italian text.

_Al mio caro amico Abiron,

Io spero che Lei sia bene. Io sto scrivendo in risposta a Lei è richiesta per alcune informazioni riguardo a cacciatori o le loro ricerche e ha trovato molti pezzi di informazioni. 

C'è prima, un numero crescente di 'innaturale' esseri a Roma, i loro attacchi stanno divenendo più frequenti.
Secondo, io ho sentito diceria del ritorno di Vladamir Prokofski, un nome che la maggior parte di cacciatori saprà bene. Terzo, Prokofski sta chiamando in causa tanti cacciatori quanto lui. Questa è l'opportunità che il Suo ragazzo sta aspettando, nella mia opinione. Prokofski è uno dei cacciatori più rinomati in storia, la sua abilità e secondo di dedicazione a nessuno. Il Suo ragazzo dovrebbe andare là subito, per una citazione da Vladamir Prokofski non è declinato leggermente.

Se Lei desidera spedirlo là, io posso sistemare per trasporto a Roma fra alcune settimane. 

La buon fortuna e Dio sono con Lei il mio amico,
Vincenzo Skilini_

Though my Italian was patchy at best, I could work out that Vladamir Prokofski was in Rome and he was calling for hunters! Bubbling with excitement I gave Abiron a beaming smile, embraced him, then shot upstairs to get my things in order. Within a few days of receiving the letter, I was leaving Greece and heading off to Rome. 

When I first reached the place, it astounded me with the several towering buildings within it's confines, the Colosseum and the Vatican were just two major eye-openers. I immediately began searching for Prokofski, thinking of all the glowing words my father and uncle had imparted to me about the legendary man. 
_"Never seen such a skilled hunter.", "His wits were the only thing quicker than his blade."_ Spurred by the burning desire to finally meet this iconic hunter, I searched Rome, asking anyone and everyone who might know of his whereabouts, to be greeted with continual disappointment. Everywhere I turned, everyone I asked, nothing and no one could impart any useful knowledge of his location. The best I got was the location of an abandoned warehouse which was supposedly where he was to be. 

Burning with annoyance, I lodged myself in Rome, setting out every day and late into the night, learning my way around the city. After three weeks, I knew everything within a ten mile radius of my lodging and could direct myself from as far as twenty miles of my lodging with reasonable success. One day, as I searched through more fruitless leads, I happened upon a cafe, which seemed as good a place as any to satisfy my hunger and find a new source of information.

I lowered my hood as I entered the cafe, my eyes flickered across all of it's inhabitants. Finally, they rested on a dour looking man, a longsword at his side. He was staring grimly into a glass of wine, obviously deep in thought. I ordered some food from the waitress, my hunger gnawing at my insides. Whilst I ate I looked at the swordsman again. He was sitting comfortably in a state of readiness that I'd come to recognize in my years of training. I could tell when one person was subtly battle ready and the next was completely oblivious to a potential threat. 

This man was either a sell sword, an off duty guard or soldier, a criminal or a supernatural creature, hidden in the guise of humanity. Henry's instincts told him that this last option was unlikely and the man seemed a little too young to be a guard or soldier with that degree of self-preparedness, though it wasn't impossible. This left two probable options, a mercenary or a hunter. Either way he may have knowledge on the whereabouts of Vladamir Prokofski, who had proved so illusive up until now.

The man, though how I could surmise this I do not know, appeared to be Irish. I approached him silently, subconsciously sliding my hands over my many concealed weapons, checking each one was in place, in case this person turned out to be hostile. Now I was closer, I could see his features more clearly, tall, dark haired and lean, this man looked a little under 30. He had high cheekbones, deep green eyes that were partially shadowed by the shadow that I cast over him, clearing my throat, I said tentatively.
"Excuse me, I'm Henry Cross, you wouldn't know anything about a Vladamir Prokofski, would you?"

I stood with baited breath, excitement welling up as it always did when I asked the question. I waited eagerly for his response.


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

Four days, four days he had been wandering through the streets of Rome, centre of the Church, one of the greatest powers in the world, even with the extra knowledge his true nature granted him Šimon knew this. Never before had one religion, one organisation, one man commanded such loyalty from those afraid of the eternal perdition they were threatened with. Hypocrisy, all of it. Never was a place of supposed purity so corrupt, even since Luther and the great Schism they hadn't learnt from their own sins. He'd already spotted four or five priests evidently planning to take advantage of the numerous whores in the streets. With every sight his lips had pursed with evident displeasure.

Never. He would never sink to such a level. He rubbed his hand reflexively, before looking down, he bit his lip and hesitated a moment before separating his hands. Thrusting them back inside his cloak, letting it fall down in front of him once again, concealing his robes from the rather less than watchful eyes of the armoured men wandering through the street. He just looked like any other traveller in the city, as long as he didn't look to furtive or attempted to look inconspicuous. There were more than enough Priests already pulling that one.

It was still here, the alleyway was small, shady and empty of people, doors lined it, though one was propped open. Šimon ducked under the lintel of the door. He'd heard about the shop, whose owner was rumoured to be knowledgable on the occult, hopefully these rumours might prove to be more concrete than those about Prokofski.

They were, barely had he cleared the stacks of musty yelowing pages than the man had greeted him, ushering him further into the shop. His quickfire Italian was hard to follow, Šimon hadn't visited Italy for many years, but he found that now he had to use it that it was returning gradually. Like riding a horse, you never forgot quite how to do it though it took a while to get back into the motions.

He was able to discern some sense from the man however, with some careful negotiation he discovered the man was in fact a dealer in the occult, it was a miracle he'd managed to survive in Rome. Unfortunately, the man didn't know of Prokofski, hadn't heard even a rumour of him, but he did have an address for someone who might. Frustrated, Šimon nonetheless thanked him and left with the small scrap of paper. After a few moments he tore it up and dropped it into a puddle at edge of the alley. He'd memorised the address in those few moments. It paid to have a good memory as a mage, getting a spell wrong in a dangerous situation was dangerous and often fatal.


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

Il Gesu, a monument of Catholic faith and wealth, a monument in honour of god and christian faith. Rome was filled with buildings and monuments, that were magnitudes larger and more intricate than anything that was in Denmark, but Bishop Anders Sunesen a lutheran christian couldn't help feel the money spent on these buildings could have been used differently. But still he couldn't help himself admire the architecture and decoration of Rome's buildings, and the achievements of the ancient roman empire that had built the citys aquaducts and colleseum.

Sitting on a bench just in simple priest ropes, Anders didn't stand out that much, thou people recognized him as a foreigner and possible not a catholic. Rome was still a city that many devout people travelled to on pilgrimages and spiritual journeys. He had been in the city for several days, looking for the fabled hunter Vladamir Prokofski, that allegedly had summoned hunters for aid. But none Bishop Anders had asked had known anything, apart from a few ruffians, that had seen him as a easy picking, leading him into a dark alley. Quickly learning that a simple priest rope was a excellent hiding place for a mace.

Anders was beginning to be a bit frustrated, the journey to the city had taken 88 days, a full month longer that it should have only to see him confounded by the lack of clues and knowledge in Rome. And Anders was beginning to believe that the whole Vladamir thing was a hoax, thou who would do such a thing, he couldn't imagine. The sources at the danish court hadn't been that specific either on reasons or accounts of Vladamir's where abouts, other than Rome, so it was likely they had been misinformed, which didn't surprise Bishop Anders that much. 

But Anders was not ready to travel back to Denmark quite yet, there was still something he needed to investigate, a city rumoured to have a small army of hunters keeping the pope safe, there had been a suspicious increasingly amount of clues of supernatural events and creatures as Anders had travelled from Denmark to Rome. 

There had been several small villages and hamlets on his travel, that have had need for his aid mostly hauntings and spirit possesions. Some troubles just being the events of insane and godless people. A particular sinister wraith had proven difficult to banish, in Harburg outside Hamburg, it had posessed a 12 year old girl only a day before Anders had rode into the hamlet. The girl had killed several villagers including her parents and siblings, and the rest of the hamlet had captured the girl and was about to burn her. It had taken hours before Anders had been able to calm down the villagers, convincing them that the girl was posessed by a evil entity, and that the girl was innocent. And the banishment of the creature had taken a long time too, since the impatient villagers had a tendency to interupt the proceedings. What had taken even longer was to nurse and heal the child back to health, and her mind had taken more damage than her body. Memories of the atrocities she had done still fresh. Taking her away from the hamlet where she would always be looked upon with suspicion and fear. Anders taught her a lot about the supernatural creatures, before they came upon a family of hunters. Which took in the child, the girl smart enough to know it would be better for her, than travelling with a warrior priest across europe.

In the city of Jenbach Austria a nest of Fir Darig, malicious fae causing destruction, mayhem and death through practical jokes. Tracking down the source of the practical jokes, Anders engaged the fae, that was not prepared for a man of faith in heavy armour and a shield. There practical jokes hardly delaying the rampaging warrior priest, that they had angered.

In Italy outside the village of Carpi bishop Anders Sunesen had encountered a group of wardens from the mage's council. The Wardens were hunting a human sorcerer, that had turned the village into a blasphemous cult. Anders had suspected such events from the rumours he had heard from neighbouring villages, that had seen the people of Carpi change behaviour. The Wardens was sensible enough to accept help, thou they had there reservations to let a priest see there abilities and strategies. But Anders knew his obligations was to the safety of people of the village, not his disdain for there mages pratices and beliefs. Anders let the mages get the benefit of the doubt, and when it came down to it, they didn't have a choice Anders would have meddled in the fight nomatter what. 

The battle moved across the entire village, the sorcerer using his thralls to waylay and fight the Wardens and Anders, who did what he could to protect the people from the harmful spells of the Wardens, standing in the way for several spells that would have killed unarmed lesser men. Using his faith healing abilities and prayers, Anders being the symbol of the merciful god, the villagers began to resist and break the spells they were under that had turned them into thralls. Weakening the power of the sorcerer which finally was brought down and killed by the wardens. Bishop Anders still have his reservations about mages, believing they control too much power, than anyone human being should be able to do.

Sitting on the bench across from the Il Gesu, Anders didn't quite knew what to do, his travels clearly indicated that something was brewing, but the lack of evidence that Vladimir Prokofski was around somehow troubled the bishop even more. Looking around trying to decide where to go next, Anders notices a man walking with the poise of a warrior, dressed in fine blue and white clothes with symbols of the catholic faith, two swords strapped to his back. The stranger was approaching the entrance of Il Gesu. It was clear to Anders that the man was no ordinary catholic, he was not dressed like a officer of the city guards or the papal guard. He had the poise of a warrior, not a spoiled nobleman on his way to confession, which meant Anders could really only make one conclusion that the man was a hunter. Standing up Anders quickly crossed over to the Il Gesu, going inside just looking like a foreign priest there to admire Il Gesu, Anders followed the well dressed man at a respectful distance, as he was led somewhere.


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## yoyoyo12365 (Dec 6, 2010)

Dragomir sat in the corner of a dark tavern, the only parts of his weaponry visible being the hilt of his sword protruding from his cloak above his left shoulder. He stared off into the distance, half listening for any mention of Prokofski, and half reflecting on his journey to Rome. It had been a long one, and much had transpired. He still had yet to fully consider what some of it might mean.

In Ingolstad, a village had asked that he stop a rampaging troll. He had, of course, agreed to do so. It had taken him a day and a half to find the place where the young troll had finally taken to resting, and by then the thing was back up, and ready for a fight. Just his luck. The fight was mostly the Hawk avoiding wild rushes, while trying to get as many arrows into the thing's legs as possible. Finally, the troll could bear its own weight no longer, and collapsed to the ground, where the Hawk took its head.

The supplies from the thankful villagers held him over until his next large stop, which was at the edge of Italy. Dragomir stopped in a small town at the edge of Italy, where he caught wind of a vampire terrorizing the townspeople. From what he gathered, it had to be one of the White Court.

The Hawk favored hunting vampires, as they were so near to humans that the challenge was even greater, and it tested his skills as an information gatherer. He preferred to hunt those of the Black court over the rest, but those of the White were a close second, and challenged him more as an information gatherer, and as a swordsman.

The hunt was longer here, but he finally caught the single vampire, and interrogated him before his death. The only useful information was a simple confirmation that supernatural activities were becoming more commonplace the closer to Rome he got. This information disturbed Dragomir, and he still needed to look into it a bit more.

In exchange for this information, the vampire died quickly, and with little pain.

After another few weeks of trekking, Dragomir finally came to Rome. The city was impressive. The most impressive he had ever seen. Though he had never seen the city before, he still had contacts. Giovanni Mancinni was an old friend of the family, and had always been kind do Dragomir. Not only that, but the man was from a hunting family as well. Knowing that he had allies in the city put Dragomir at ease.

Giovanni had word of Vladamir, as well. He knew that he was in the city. He did not know where in the city. That was reason enough for Dragomir to drop his bags and supplies, stable his horse, and head out into the city to gather information. He did not leave his weapons or his hunting gear. That always stayed with him.

And so, he found himself in this shady tavern. Staring at his mug of ale, and listening for word of a legendary hunter.
He chuckled at the odd circumstances of this day, before focusing on listening again. This would be a long night.


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Johan arrived at the _Porta Pia_, the newest of Rome’s city gates to split the Aurelian Walls, considerably later than he had intended. The amber glow of dusk bathed the cities’ walls and Johan, caked in the dust and grit of the road, was in no mood to deal with truculent gate guards or the crush of human traffic he found himself amongst. Atop his palfrey, Antimony, he could see over the great mass of people trying to enter the Eternal City. 

He was surrounded by a jostling mass of humanity; rough, dirty and weary. Farmers, tinkers, pilgrims, charlatans and the opportunistic churned together, loud and abrasive. It was his lot in life to protect them from the horrors they knew not existed. A solitary guardian who stood removed from that which he stood vigil over. He was not feeling particularly charitable or paternal though, as he found himself jostled about whilst trying to keep one eye open for light hands trying to slide into his saddle bags.

No, as far as Johan was concerned they could all hang if it meant the grungy alchemist getting to an inn and its attendant bathing facilities faster. Biting back a particularly vicious retort as one oafish lad walked straight into his mare, coarse hands marring her coat, Johan cast his mind back to the previous year spent amongst alpine gnomes, and pondered once more what he had, if anything learnt. 

The gnomes he had found more than lived up to their reputation as maddeningly difficult to work with. Vague and obfuscating in their language, the capricious creatures also possessed a streak of kleptomania and greed. Thoroughly trying to deal with, there were times, when he was snowed in amongst them; unable to leave their warrens, that he thought he would go mad. More than once he had idly entertained the thought of suicide via snow, indeed he had come up with a remarkable variety of methods. 

After he had established himself as non-hostile his presence had slowly been accepted. The older gnomes began to acknowledge his existence whilst the young babes seemed to view his person and Antimony as sentient play structures with a great potential for climbing, jumping off of and other, more unpleasant tactile interactions. To then engage in scientific dialogue however required some bribery. He had been able to confirm the folklore of the gnomes’ predilection for sweet substances, and found in them a ravenous appetite for honey and sugar. Soon a pattern of habit developed, Johan would be eclectically lectured by the village’s elder Egan throughout the day, whilst putting up with various disparaging remarks on the dull minds and inadequacies of humans. In return he would provide a small pot of honey or sugar or put his use his greater stature and strength. 

His perseverance paid off as despite their faults the diminutive fae were the embodiment of creativity and possessed an almost instinctual affinity for Alchemy. In truth he had found some of the more esoteric concepts, such as Egan’s theory on the ‘relative nature of perpetual and uniform motion’, the ‘dilation of time’ and something he termed ‘electrodynamics’ went over his head completely. There were, Johan though, some things the human mind was not yet ready to process. 

Then there was the matter of decoding everything the gnomes said. Not content to speak in simple German, French or Italain, the fae folk of this village often preferred a pidgin of classical Greek and Latin. What’s more they deliberately clouded their language. It was not enough to ‘observe the reaction’. No one had to ‘direct one’s ocular receptors to precipitous scrutiny of the minutia unfolding expeditiously’. It was torturous. 

Still his practical knowledge of alchemy had advanced leaps and bounds. He was now convinced in fact that his private theory of the invalidity of the classic Alchemical model; comprising the three primes, the four basic elements and seven planetary metals was correct. He felt sure, and his experiments with the gnomes seemed to confirm, that there was more to it, that there was something else which underpinned matter. There were more elements to be found he was sure, fire, earth, water and air were simply too broad and simplistic categories. His journal now bulged with new formulae, recipes, ingredients and spells, as-well as his private notes on his new theories he would need to collate into an examinable whole. 

Most intriguing of all his time amongst the gnomes had thrown up a new mystery. Vladimir Prokofski, famed and nigh-legendary hunter assumed dead for years had returned and was apparently seeking out fellow hunters. Egan had further mentioned a gathering of Johan’s kind in Rome. Having originally planned to travel to Italy, it was a small matter of adjusting his plans in light of these revelations. A gathering of this sort was not to be missed. Indeed, mused Johan such an event was exceedingly rare; hunters were solitary by nature and trade. For such a gathering to be called, by the long dormant Prokofski spoke volumes of its significance. Johan had no doubt that this would be no congenial meeting, there was something momentous afoot. 

The alchemist was stirred from his reveries by the rough voice of a gate guard, Antimony had continued pressing forward through the press of people even as her rider sat reminiscing. The guard, halberd extended to block Johan’s path, spoke again. 

*“I said ‘Halt’ Signore”*. *“There is a special toll Signore, you must pay to pass”*. 

Johan’s earlier irritation returned again in full fury. He did not have times for such games. He shot the man a withering look of contempt. He knew full well what this ‘special toll’ was. The guard had chosen his mark well; Johan’s finery and horse marked him as a man of some means, and his lack of retainers meant his was not a noble and thus immune to the guard’s predations. 

Sighing heavily in frustration Johan asked, *“And how much is this toll?”*. He did not have then energy or inclination to argue with the greedy man.

The armoured man chewed his lip, obviously thinking of how much to gouge Johan. *“Ten Ducats Signore”*. It was an obscene amount of money for a simple gate bribe, this was evidently a very greedy man, perhaps he had some debts owed to dubious sources. 

A moment ago he would have been willing to pay one or two ducats to smooth his passage but the man’s greed now offended Johan. Dipping his fingers into his purse, he muttered the phrase _‘Plumbum et Aurum’_ whilst forming certain shapes with his other hand behind his back. With feigned politeness he handed over the coins fished from his purse. 

*“Certainly”* he said with false cheer, flicking the reigns to send Antimony past before the guard was further tempted. A wry smile caught purchase on his smooth face as he briefly considered what the man’s gambling fellows would do when they found their friend’s gold turned out to be common lead. Nothing pleasant he imagined with satisfaction. 

Shadow enveloped the alchemist as he rode into the Rome, the clip clop of hooves heralding his arrival. Soon he was amongst a twisting warren of narrow streets, surrounded by noise, smells and clashing architecture. Shacks of rotting wood abutted buildings of smooth marble from ancient Rome. With the fall of Byzantium a century ago, Rome truly was the sole centre of the Christian world. Not just Christians could be found in the Ancient City, Johan spied the dark faces of moors and turks amongst the crowds, tall turbans peaked above the mass. A dozen languages called out to one another as the varied mass of man went about the process of living.

Not an outdoorsman, and accustomed to his creature comforts, Johan was glad to be back amongst civilisation. The descent down the Alps had been harrowing at times, man did not belong atop icy cliffs and ravines he had decided. Though taking a glance at the shit stained streets ahead, drenched in effluence, dirt and the odd body, he was not sure city life was much safer. Still he yearned for some of that almost magical elixir from the New World, coffee. He had grown quite accustomed to the bitter taste and appreciative of its stimulatory properties. His own supply was months gone, used up over the long Alpine winter months. He decided to have the inn-keeper order some when he checked in. Where he would be staying the owner was used to it’s clientèles varied and often agonisingly specific tastes. 

Rounding a corner there it was, his port of call in the Italian hinterland. _The Golden Goose_ it was called, one of the finer inns in Rome and certainly one of the most discrete. Its owner, Marco, prided himself on his ability to both secure any item desired by his patrons and his absolute ignorance to their goings on. Strange bed-hours, companions or items were studiously ignored by the weasely man. Johan made sure to cultivate such establishments in the major cities of Europe. 
*
“Hail Pietro”*, Johan called as he clip-clopped into the walled courtyard of the establishment. At his words a scruffy young man ambled out of the stables, an apple in hand. 

*“Signore Wetter, welcome back. The usual?”* the lad enquired in good humour. Nodding his assent, Johan slip off Antimony and passed the reigns to the stableboy. Gathering his bags he headed inside, though not before pausing to flick the boy a coin. Catching it in one hand the grimy boy bit it and grinned leading Antimony off to the stable. Johan heard a crunch and a wicker of pleasure as Pietro gave the rest of the apple to the black mare. 

*“Welcome again good Signore, your usual rooms?”* inquired the Marco as Johan crossed the threshold. Small and wiry, Marco possessed a weasely face and a general air of dubiousness. Cunning and mercantile Johan knew the man had a knack for finding things, contacts throughout the city and no doubt a finger in many pies. He appreciated the value of discretion however and ran a damn fine inn. Just as the proprietor did not inquire into his dealings so Johan returned the favour. 

*“Indeed Marco”* replied Johan as he slipped his bags onto the counter. Within moments another boy appeared to spirit the items to a suite of rooms upstairs. That was another plus to _The Golden Goose_, the serving staff never stole. The few who tried found Marco possessed the uncanny ability to ferret out stolen goods. The lucky merely lost their jobs, the unlucky their hands. 

*“I will also be requiring a replenishment of coffee, sugar and honey. For now though i have matters that require my attention, i’ll be back later in the night.”* Marco bobbed his head as he wrote down the particulars of Johan’s needs. The items would be ready by morning. Johan had never asked whether they came bought honest from a store or where boosted from the docks. To be honest he did not care. 

Now established in Rome his search could begin. He knew Noemi Moretti, an agent of the Mage’s Council had quarters in the city, she would be a good place to start looking for further rumours on Prokofski and would be able to fill him in on recent happenings, both supernatural and mundane that occurred in his absence. Shrugging his coat more comfortably over his shoulders and checking his weapons were secured Johan once more ventured into the streets of Rome.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Eira sat on the back of Hydref, her brilliant white mare as she stared over at the large city that loomed in front of her. Hydref was the Gaeaf’s family’s horse, fast and loyal, it had been a perfect silent companion on the journey to the holiest city in the West, and was the only reason she had managed to get to the city as fast as she did. 

It had taken two months, two months of travelling through foreign territory, having to hide who she was, what she did and her weapons as she travelled through many villages. Most people did not look kindly upon a young woman riding by herself, especially when she was armed with a bow, arrows, shield and hatchet.

She tapped the flanks of Hydref, who began to trot forward to the city, her bow and shield packed away in her belongings so that she didn’t track too much attention, as well as her hachet. She had a long silver knife hidden in one of her boots, and if she ran into any trouble whilst in the Holy city then she would use that.

Eira brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before pulling the hood to her travelling cloak up. She needed to wash, to get rid of the dirt and grime that had plagued her since her journey had begun. She had stopped off in inns and washed where and when she could, but the journey was long and arduous, and sometimes she found herself with no place to wash. However it would have to wait. Eira needed to find her dad’s informant in the church, find out as much information as possible before deciding the best action to take towards 
Vladamir Prokofski.

Eira could remember clearly the night that Father Benedict, the local priest had come knocking on the door, even though he was aware how late it was. Eira, her father and her eldest brother had been sitting down to eat whilst her mother and other siblings hunted when the priest had come knocking. It had been most inconvenient, Eira sensing that her father would have sent him away had he not seen the symbol on the envelope the letter came in. Although Eira had not seen the emblem properly before her father had snatched the letter away, the raised voices in her fathers study for the next hour showed its importance. 

It took an hour of raised voices, not loud enough to hear every word, but loud enough to know that the two men were arguing before they left the room, Father Benedict immediately making his excuses and leaving. Eira stared at her father for a moment, before turning to head to her room. She was stopped by his voice however as he spoke up quickly, "My daughter. Though I send you to aid the man claiming to be Vladamir, I have doubts that this man is who he claims to be. Be wary daughter, find out the truth. Go to Rome, meet with Brother Benetio Giordano at the Il Gesu, find out what he knows and meet with the man claiming to be Prokofski if you can.”

She had simply nodded, knowing that she would not get anymore information out of her father as he could help her no more. She immediately started gathering supplies that she would need for the journey, as well as her usual hunting equipment, leaving that very evening as she made for the coast. 

Eira had been put off by her father’s warning about Vladamir, worried that a great hunter like Vladamir had been killed and replaced. Once on the road Eira was worried to see more and more signs of the monsters that lurked in people's nightmares, passing tracks and villages that had been plagued by them. She couldn't stop however, her mission was too important for her to dally around.

There was only one way to find out what evil was heading towards the civilized Western world, and the only way she would get the information she needed would be Il Gesu and Brother Giordano. She moved her horse through the crowded streets of Rome, ensuring that it was properly stabled and that her weapons and gear were safely kept with it, her knife still with her as she began to move to Il Gesu, getting directions off of the locals. It had not taken her long, and she quickly moved inside as she began her search for Brother Giordano, and the answers which she and her family sort.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

Flames flickered across the icy stone walls, their dead grey stone suddenly alive with shadows, undulating coils of smoke spiraling towards the ceiling with celestial grace. The first figure breathed deeply, inhaling the fragrant aroma, savoring the sudden feeling of lucid tranquility

The second figure leaned forward, a hesitant sniff causing him to step back warily, a tight cough as the smoke seered at his lungs

"What are they?" the curious intensity of a child rung in his voice even as he struggled to comprehend the new horizons

"A mix of jasmine and lavender,"

The first figure straightened, face alight in the flames, the shadows they cast lending a gravitas to the deep nobility of his features even as he began to unlace his jerkin.

"And their god appears in the smoke?" he said with mild curiosity mild distaste

"How very... primitive"

The shirt fell away to leave the first figure bare chested, the deep grooves of his abdoman marred by the ravages of age, scarred by a life at war, yet still powerful, defiant despite the onslaught.

"They do not worship as we know it, to a deity, more seek the innate purity within"

The second figures robe, a garment of rough sack cloth fell to the ground, milk white skin, left lean by sacrifice glittered in the smouldering embers.

"Do they not believe in God, the bible.."

The first figure held up a hand even as he slid to the ground, legs crossed and back straight, the second figure mimicing his movements, eyeing the first figure warily even as he settled himself upon the floor

"You asked me to tell you of the religions of the east. This is no heathen ritual, they evoke no daemons, no spirits. This is about inner peace, the purest tranquility when body and soul are released and the mind is set free"

the second figure seemed wary, eyeing the flames with suspicion

"Brother Jasper" whispered the first figure

"Yes my lord"

"Do you trust me?"

The young monk swallowed, yet he nodded gently as he met the elder mans gaze

"I am a good Christian, a servant of the Lord God upon his holy quest. I would not compromise your faith, any more than I would push Ammorochius through your chest. The door is open brother, any may leave and enter as they wish."

Hesitantly the monk stood, sliding his habit around his shoulders yet as he reached the door he turned back

"I sense no evil in you my Lord, you are a good man, yet to participate in such heathen rituals is a path to darkness. I will tell no one of what dark practices go on in this room, yet I fear for your soul"

Amusement twitched Pieter's cheeks though it never reached his eyes even as the door slid shut behind the young monk

"The incense is always the part that sends their imagination wild" he chuckled to the room at large, even as he settled himself into position.

For the first time in months he was truly alone, his body healed and healthy, his mind still stretched and strained. In the silence of the room he begun to chant, mantras echoing around his room. His mind was focused upon the words, driving away the emotions, the fatigue, sensations banished even as he begun to guide his body down a path, a path to inner peace, to oneness, to stillness, to....

_The urge to come here not coming through art but a nagging insight in his mind that hinted at trouble ahead. He had come with blade bared, and mind ready, expecting some daemon of the night to be lurking within the hallowed halls, some infernal darkness to be threatening the sanctity of the Abbey. To his surprise he found no evil, nothing lurking within the shadows, no immediate threat to warrant such an urgent call, such an irrefutable and undeniable sense of purpose.

A valiant sentry he strode through the gardens at the ready, armed and alert, certain that such an urgent call could not have been for naught, there must be a threat, something he had not seen. As days turned to weeks the threatening sensation at the back of his mind died away in the tranquility of the abbey. Perhaps another had defied the menace, perhaps misfortune had befallen the daemonic creature, rendering his services unnecessary, yet the longer he lingered within the picturesque scenes, the longer he felt that there had been another reason for his call. 

It had been 19 long months upon the road, battles with brigands and creatures of the night had taken his tole, leaving him with a haunted air, eyes that jumped suspiciously into cornors, a blade all too ready to leap from its scabbard. The longer he remained in silent reflection, sat within the gardens, rain washing away his tribulations, the sun warming the aching wounds of claw and fang. 

The Lord had seen his weary servant, will unbroken, yet his body splintered and fading and he had provided. He was ready, physically strong, refreshed...

Yet was he willing to do this again... did he truly want to tax his body to the limit, was he ready to fight once more. He remembered fair Elaine of Winchester, a distant memory repressed for over a decade, yet still he saw her fair features, remembered, the softness of her skin, the emotions that swelled in his breast as the very memory of her.

He could settle down, sell a few paintings and buy a farm, start a family, begin a life... a real life, with comfort and companionship rather than.... rather than what...

The Lords work, upholding a legacy that had travelled through the ages, that insured safety and sanctity from creatures of the night, horrors in the shadows. Ammorochius, the noble blade, that had never been sullied with an innocents blood... was he ready to give it up

No... he had more to give, more to fight for.. he was not ready... soon but not yet
_

He was torn back into his body by a desperate, irresistible urge, his very soul gripped by a need to express himself. He sprang to his feet even he felt the glorious essence of the Lord flooding his hands scrabbling for paper sweeping forcefully through the mass of scrambled, scrunched attempts.

Pots spilled even as he found a blank piece, paint tumbling over the unsullied parchment, yet it mattered not for his movements were at one with the Lord's desires, the splash of yellow becoming a sunset, the splodges of blue melding to a striking sun filled skyline. His mind was gripped by a vision he could not see, his hands scratching away the mist that clouded his purpose and he felt himself gasp, eyes widening even as his hands etched shops, familiar signs that seemed to move upon the parchment, figures in the background, upon their daily lives, a name coming to his lips

"La Via della Conciliazione"

The centre of the picture was blank, a backdrop of intrictate beauty and detail, colours melding into hues and shades beyond mortal comprehension, the sheer beauty of the Gods forming around a single blank square.

Be it a daemon, so close to the house of the Lord, be it a traitor, what message would this square import. Features appeared, a nose and eyes, grizzled stubble lining a chin that he recognized, a legend long thought dead.

Even as he made the final brush stroke, the sullied brush falling to the ground, the name burst from his lips

"Vladamir Prokofski," 

Though his lips screamed the name, his mind screamed madness, the legend long thought to be dead, missing for decades...

Yet it was there, god had placed those features before him.

Minutes later he burst from his quarters to find Brother Jasper and several of the others monks stood outside, concern turning to fearful horror upon there faces as he burst from within

"My Lord, You been in there for 7 nights.... we feared for your safety yet the door was locked and bolted"

Pieter smiled

"The Lord was with me, there was nothing to fear, yet your concern is appreciated as is your hospitality. Yet the Lord has called and I must leave, may his blessings rain down upon you, as yours have upon me"

He began to stride away before halting and turning back to Brother Jasper

"If you still fear as you did a week ago, enter my chambers and look upon my desk. I hope you find comfort there"
________________________________________________________

The city outskirt bustled with traffic, a months travel uneventful if fast paced, his eagerness to find the answers to his questions often pushing his horse to its limits, and he knew his mount would be as relieved as he to reach their destination.

Throughout the journey bewildered questions had buzzed like flies round his brain, irritating and confusing yet despite the questions, he had little plan to find the answers, yet the comforting swell in his stomach insisted the Lord was with him, had watched his travel and guided him still.

Aye this trip was the Lords will, he would not be deterred. A man he had not seen was at his stirrup, dressed in the sackcloth of a friar tied at the waist, a funny jovial looking fellow met his gaze with a twinkle in his eyes, reaching out to place a card in his hand.

The eye stared up from his palm and Pieter met the friars smile with a chuckle of his own, somewhat surprised to be accosted so soon, though such a thing was a regular occurance. The friar chuckled too, his voice surprisingly quiet for such a rotund figure

"If you'll follow me my Lord"

Sliding from his saddle and leading his horse,Pieter followed the friar into the crowd. A quick look up at the blazing sun in the sky, their path bathed in a rosy warm glow.

His Lord was with him, his will would be done.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Update #1*

"They slowly answer my call. The men and women of this world that stand against the darkness that threatens to enslave and destroy humanity. Little do they know how important they are. Little do the know that their skills will be tried to the utmost..... Little do they know that we have little chance of success."

Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
April 9th, 1578​




Sebastian (Tyranno the Destroyer): As you walk through the immense sanctuary of Il Gesu, you are humbled by its majesty and oppulence. Were some may see the its gilt and lavish decoration as gaudy and wasteful, you see nothing but a beautiful edifice dedicated to the Lord's work. The Priest you commandeered into your service, looks a bit put out, but taking in your garb, he stifles any comments that might be on his tongue and quickly leads you out of the sanctuary into the halls of the monastary. Here the decoration is more spartan and functional, a definite change from the array of color in the church itself. He leads you to an unadorned stout wooden door and with a raised hand says, "Si tratta di signore sale Fratello Giordano. Dio sia con voi." Whether you thank the priest or not is up to you, but he will turn and walk away before you are able to finish speaking. Knocking on the door you will hear movement inside and a deep voice calls out, "Entare." Entering the room you will find it in a state of controlled chaos. Manuscripts, books, scrolls, and maps litter the few surface areas available. One whole wall is dedicated to a massive bookshelf that strains under the weight of the written works on its shelves. It is the same as it was three years ago when you were last in Rome. Brother Giordano himself looks the same. A large man, despite his advancing age, he still moves with a confidence and grace that belies his past as a Hunter. He is well into his 60's, a well kept beard, more white now than brown, frames his round face. He looks up and smiles as he sees you, dropping into rapid English," Ah, Sebastian my boy, you have made it at last. Come, come, there is very little that I can tell you, but I will lead you to Vladamir, for that is why you are here isn't it." As Giordano leads you from his rooms, back toward the sanctuary he asks you of your recent exploits and will answer what questions you have if he can. [Tyrrano if you have questions for Giordano PM me or hit me up on messenger and we can work out the conversation, if not he will listen to whatever you have to say]. You are thankful that you are finally going to meet Prokofski, but as you move into the Sanctuary Brother Giordano turns towards the rear of the large room and as you follow his gaze you see a brown haired woman, wearing a deep green dress speaking with a man in simple white priests robes. Upon seeing the woman, Giordano shouts out excitedly,"Eira! you made it as well." You have no choice but to follow as Giordano rushes to the back of the church and the two strangers who, by the Monk's reaction, must be Hunters as well.

Bishop Sunesen (Anilar): Though you felt that you were right behind the armed warrior, by the time you enter the the front doors of the Church the warrior is nowhere to be seen. Likewise the church itself is mostly empty, save for a few petitioners in prayer near the front of the church. The oppulence of the edifice both amazes and disgusts you. It is hard for you to look on the gilt and riches adorning the walls, without thinking that perhaps they could have been used in a better manner for the good of all. Yet deep down, there is a feeling of awe at the beauty displayed. As you sit in one of the rearmost pews, thinking on the building itself, you hear the main doors of the church open and close behind you. Turning slightly in your seat you see that a woman has entered the church. The dust of travel clings to her dark cloak and on the hem of her deep green dress. You aren't completely sure but you think that you catch a glimpse of leather armor and the glint of something silver before she settles her cloak back around herself. Intrigued you rise and introduce yourself. Perhaps you can ask some questions of this woman who seems driven with purpose? As you and the woman talk [whether she identifies herself immediately is up to Ramo] you are quickly interrupted by a voice that rings out from the front of the church. A large monk, accompanied by the warrior you had seen before, has shouted out at the woman, "Eira! you made it as well." The amiable monk approaches quickly, the warrior in tow, introduces himself as Brother Giordano as he reaches you, and greets Eira by kissing her on both cheeks. He will ramble on to her about letters and expecting her, before turning to you and asking your name. After introducing yourself, he will forestall any questions that you might have by saying, "Come along all of you. I assume Bishop, that you are also here to see Prokofski. I will show you the way." Thanking the Lord for this stroke of luck, you fall in behind Giordano as he leaves through a side door of the church.

Eira (Lord Ramo): Moving into the massive edifice that is Il Gesu you are immediately assailed by the oppulance of the church within. Candle light glints of of thousands of gilded surfaces. Tiled mosaics, loving crafted, depict scenes from the bible. All around stand magnificiently carved statues depicting the saints, the Holy Mother, and Jesus. To your chagrin the church is mostly empty, only a few petitioners praying in the front of the church. But none that appear to be clergy. Frustrated you begin to move forward down the center aisle, only to be forstalled by a man in simple priest robes of white as he stands and introduces himself as Bishop Anders Sunseen. [For this convo Ramo and Anilar work out between the two fo you what you are going to say. I know you are both on MSN.] As you converse with Anders, you hear your name shouted from the front of the church. You look past Anders and to your relief you see the man that must be Brother Giordano based your father's description. Following a few paces behind Giordano, is a tall man, resplendant in fine clothes of blue and white, symbols of the Catholic faith adorning his cloak and gloves, simple twin blades strapped to his back. As Brother Giordano reaches you he greets you warmly, kissing you on each cheek. "I received a letter from your father several days ago, saying that you would be arriving soon. It is most fortuitous that you arrived when you did. I was just speaking to young Sebastian here," he waves a hand in the warrior's direction," about Prokofski's summons." Before continuing Giordano turns to Bishop Anders, asking his name, and guessing his business, "Come along all of you. I assume Bishop, that you are also here to see Prokofski. I will show you the way." As Giordano bustles out of the church, you follow, Glad that you will be able to get to the bottom of this mystery without delay. 

[Tyrrano, Anilar, and Ramo. You all can converse as much or as little as you want as you follow Giordano. If you need to PM or MSN each other to work out the conversations. As always hit me up if you need to.]

Alexander (Lord of the Night): As you sit in the tavern, another mug of your drink of choice in front of you, you try and listen to everything going on in the room around you. Snippets of conversation reach your ears, rumors and gossip flowing from the lips of the tavern patrons, the volume increasing in the room around you as another hour passes. Despite the free wagging tongues that surround you, nothing of any real interest catches your attention. You are just about to stand to leave, frustration etched on every line of your face, when the door to the tavern opens and in walks a man in the traditional brown habit of a Catholic Monk. Now this catches your eye. The tavern you are in, while not the worst in the city, is not a place where one usually finds a man of the cloth. Your appearance, your blade, and your general demeanor have left you with a sizeable space around you that has been avoided by the other patrons in the bar, and to your surprise the monk keys in on this. His eyes traveling the room before alighting on you. As soon as he sees you he moves in your direction. As he reaches your table you watch as his eyes travel up and down you, taking in your weapon and equipment. A knowing smile flits across his face and he pulls up the long sleeve of his habit, to show you a small tattoo on his wrist. You recognize the symbol as the Eye of Thoth, but the strange actions of the monk spur more questions than answers. The monk sits down at the table across from you and says," I know why you are here Hunter." The emphasis on the title is plain, despite his hushed tone. "If you would follow me, I will take you to the man you seek." Wondering what this is all about has piqued your curiousity. At the best you are led to Prokofski, at the worst you will have found yourself ensnared in some sort of intrigue that may be worth your investigation. Should you decide to follow the monk, he will quickly stand from the table and lead you out into the streets of Rome where dusk is quickly turning to night.abeab

[LotN if you want to ask the monk any questions hit me up via PM or MSN with them and we can work out that conversation.]

Robin (Bane_of_Kings): As the woman sits down at the table across from you, the straightfoward question rolling from her lips you cant help but be concerned as to how much you trust this stranger. Eevrything about her is strange to you from her dress to her thick accent. However, this time, your need for information wins out and you begin to talk with her. As the conversation rolls on though, however guarded you may or may not be, you find that she knows as little about Prokofski's whereabouts as you do. Growing ever more frustrated, you stand to excuse yourself form the table, taking her by surprise as you do so in the middle of something she was saying. However, as you stand the front door to the inn's common room opens and a young man, dressed in the simple brown habit of a monk, enters from the street beyond. This in and of itself is not what catches your attention, but the fact that the young man of the cloth locks eyes on you and your strange companion. Hurrying over to your table, the monk sits, raises the long sleeve of his habit to reveal a small tattoo. You recognize the symbol but have a hard time placing it, especially in this context. He starts off speaking to you in hushed, but rapid Italian. Seeing both your and the strange woman's lack of understanding he takes a deep breath and continues in very broken English," Looking for you." he says pointing at you,"Talked to same people as you. Found you here." Swallowing he finishes, "Come. To Prokofski." He motions to the door, clearly indicating that he wishes you to follow him. Regardless of the strange monks actions, this is the first solid lead you have on Prokofski. It is up to you to choose whether to follow this monk or not. 

Freja (Karak the Unfaithful): As you sit across the table from the young Englishman, you can't help but get the feeling that he is holding back, uncomfortable to be talking to you. From the small amount of information that he provides you get the impression that he knows as little about Prokofski's where abouts as you do. You continue to ask questions of him, like who he has talked to and where he has looked, but his answers get more evasive. Suddenly in the midst of you asking yet another question the young man stands and starts to excuse himself before stopping in his tracks, his eyes locked on the door of the inn's common room. Follow his gaze you see that a monk, wearing a simple brown habit has entered the room and is making his way to your table. As he approaches and sits down, the monk lifts the voluminous right sleeve of his habit to display a small tattoo, the Eye of Thoth, on his right wrist. He starts off speaking to you in hushed, but rapid Italian. Seeing both your and the strange woman's lack of understanding he takes a deep breath and continues in very broken English," Looking for you." he says pointing at the Englishman,"Talked to same people as you. Found you here." Swallowing he finishes, "Come. To Prokofski." He motions to the door, clearly indicating that he wishes you to follow him. Regardless of the strange monks actions, this is the first solid lead you have on Prokofski. It is up to you to choose whether to follow this monk or not. 

[B_o_K and Karak you will need to work out your conversation in some manner. It doesn't need to be long.]

Dragomir (yoyoyo12365):: Staring into your mug of ale, you try and keep your attention on all the other tavern goers, but your patience is frayed. You have been sitting here, wasting your money on watered ale for several hours, but no useful or interesting information has met your ear. Drivel..... All drivel. Local gossip, rumors, tall tales told by those to loose in the lips from too much shitty beer. Sneering in contempt, you stand, clearly it is time to move on to another place. As you walk out of the tavern into the gathering night, being to make your way down the street where the inn was located, intending on returning to Mancinni's home, resolved to start your search again in the morning. As you turn down a side street, barely more than an alley way, pointing yourself in the direction of your bed, the hairs on the back of your next stand up, and the overwhelming sensation that you are being followed overtakes you. Glancing around sureptitiously, you see no one evident, all the same your hand closes around the hilt of the silver dagger concealed in your traveling cloak and taking advantage of an area of deep shadows, you turn off the beaten path hoping to take your tail by surprise. Sure enough, your instincts once again proving correct, a shadowed figure, wearing a long robe, passes by your place of concealment. Lunging out of your hiding place, you spin the figure by its shoulder, slamming it into the wall opposite you, the blade of your dagger pressed against its throat. As a cloud moves away from the moon, bathing the alley in soft pale light, you see that your follower wears the simple brown habit of monk, his eyes wide with surprise and fear. "Apologies seniore." He says raising his hands in surrender. He shakes his right hand, allowing the large sleeve of his habit to fall down past his wrist, revealing a small tattoo, the Eye of Thoth. "I have been looking for those of your kind," he says eyeing the point of the silver dagger at his throat. "I can take you to Prokofski." Where you go from here is up to you. Do you Follow the monk or not?

[yoyoyo if you wish to ask any questions of the monk hit me up via PM and we can work that out.]

Šimon (Jackinator):Following the directions given to you by the apothecary, you quickly find the street where De Luca lives. Sweeping down the street you come to the address you were given, finding a decent sized dwelling, obviously showing that De Luca had some wealth. Knocking at the door, you find that De Luca is not at home, but after inquiring of the servant that answered the door, doing a bit of digging through the man's cryptic responses, and with a bit of coin to ease the answers, you learn that another young man, who is apparently staying with De Luca, is also looking for the man Prokofski. The servant indicated that this man, a Master Edward Dacre, frequents the cafe just down the street on a regular basis. Making haste to the cafe, you seek out a man fitting the description given to you by the servant. You find the man brooding at a corner table, wearing huntsmans clothing of deep greens and browns, a longsword strapped to his left thigh, but to your surprise he is already engaged in conversation with another gentleman, wearing a fine white silk shirt, a doublet of red and grey, and high quality leather boots and gloves, he face obscured by a white hood since you are approaching him from behind. You can't tell the specifics of their conversation, but you definitely heard the name Prokofski mentioned as you approach. The two men's eyes flit in your direction as you join them, and you can feel the tension between the three of you radiate in the air. You are about to suggest that the three of you go somewhere a bit more private to converse, as the three of you together are starting to draw some attention, but before you can, you are joined by an older gentleman, his full black beard cascading down over a simple brown habit. Before any of you can question him he raises the sleeve of his habit to show the three of you a small tattoo on his right wrist. You recognize it immediately as the Eye of Thoth, but you wonder what it could mean in this instance as it is definitely an occult symbol, startling out of place on a christian monk. "I have the answers you seek seniores, follow me. I will take you to Prokofski," he says quietly. Sharing a sideways glance with the other two men, you must decide whether or not you are going to follow this strange monk. 

Edward (Santaire): You are slightly started as a gentleman, wearing a fine white silk shirt, a doublet of red and grey, and high quality leather boots and gloves, his head covered in a strange white leather hood, approaches you and asks if you have any knowledge of Prokofski. How you answer the man is up to you, but the demeanor of this stranger screams that he is a hunter. You can almost feel his readiness as he waits for your answer. As you and this man converse you both notice that another man joins you at your table. He is dressed in non-descript clothing, but wears silver glasses, and maintains a fastidiously groomed grey mustache and goatee. As he joins you, he opens his mouth to speak but before he can you are joined by an older gentleman, his full black beard cascading down over a simple brown habit. Before any of you can question him he raises the sleeve of his habit to show the three of you a small tattoo on his right wrist. You recognize it immediately as the Eye of Thoth, but you wonder what it could mean in this instance as it is definitely an occult symbol, startling out of place on a christian monk. "I have the answers you seek seniores, follow me. I will take you to Prokofski," he says quietly. Sharing a sideways glance with the other two men, you must decide whether or not you are going to follow this strange monk. 

Henry (HOGGLORD): As you stand waiting for the Irishman to answer your questions, you start to take in the scene around you. You start to feel that it may have been a bit foolish to ask of Prokofski in such an open exposed place, but the excitement at meeting someone who actually might have information on the famous Hunter got the better of your discretion. You can tell that the man is reluctant to answer, but you soon learn that he knows as little about Prokofski's where abouts as you do. As you and this man converse you both notice that another man joins you at your table. He is dressed in non-descript clothing, but wears silver glasses, and maintains a fastidiously groomed grey mustache and goatee. As he joins you, he opens his mouth to speak but before he can you are joined by an older gentleman, his full black beard cascading down over a simple brown habit. Before any of you can question him he raises the sleeve of his habit to show the three of you a small tattoo on his right wrist. You recognize it immediately as the Eye of Thoth, but you wonder what it could mean in this instance as it is definitely an occult symbol, startling out of place on a christian monk. "I have the answers you seek seniores, follow me. I will take you to Prokofski," he says quietly. Sharing a sideways glance with the other two men, you must decide whether or not you are going to follow this strange monk. 

[Santaire and HOGGLORD what ever small bit of conversation you want to have you will need to work out via PM or something. Jackinator, you have complete control of the conversation between you and De Luca's servant just remember that he is not very forthcoming before you slide him a bribe. As always questions get with me]

Cormac (Serpion5):As you wrap your fist across the surface of the door, the tingle of magic meets your touch. Placing an open palm on the surface of the door, you can feel the defensive wards, protective magic designed to keep out evil, flowing across its surface. Your smile deepens as the door opens and framed in the flickering firelight from the room beyond, is the stunningly beautiful Noemi. Raven black hair falls to the middle of her back, a well made crimson dress framing her ample bosom and shapely hips, the blood colored fabric falling the floor, underneath which the toes of silk slippers protrude. Her almond shaped, hazel eyes take you in, before she gives you a hug, kissing both of your cheeks in welcome. "Come in Cormac," she purrs, " it has been too long my friend." You are tempted to ask the question that burns on your tongue, you long to know what she knows of Prokofski, but a simple shake of her head forstalls you. "There are others coming that desire the same knowledge you do Cormac. Go wash the dirt of travel, rest in the guest room. When they arrive I shall summon you." Remembering your manners, you incline your head slightly, acquiescing to her demand. You clean up, washing your face and hands, and brushing the dirt from your cloak when there is a knock at the door and Noemi's voice beckons you to join her in the study. As you walk into the room you notice two men have joined her in the room. One, dressed in all black, accented by a deep red silk shirt, his raven black hair greying at the temples, is seated in a large overstuffed armchair near the roaring fire, the other wears a black doublet, slashed to reveal the white linen shirt beneath, a large overcoat, silk stockings and knee high boots. Both are still travel worn, the dirt of the road still clinging to sole of boot and hem of cloak. Around them stirs the subtle tingle of magic, you can feel it as you reach out with your senses, and you can tell that they are doing the same. Noemi, taking in all three of you says, "I know why you have come, once you are ready I will take you to him. Prokofski awaits his army." 

Livoc (Romero's Own): As you approach the home that you know to be Noemi's the door opens before you can reach up to knock. before you stands a beautiful woman, clad in a simple yet elegant crimson gown. "Welcome Magus," she intones, "I have been awaiting your arrival." The foreknowledge she has puts you slightly on edge. You have had very few dealings with Ectomancers, their practices, where not banned by the Laws of Magic, come very close to toeing the line in your opinion. Despite your trepidation Noemi is friendly and open, offering you a glass of warn spiced wine to take the chill from your journey away. "There is another mage already here, he is taking an opportunity to refresh himself. I await another. Once he has arrived I will give you the information you have come for." She leaves you to sit by the roaring fire in her study and a glass of delicious spiced wine for company. Soon enough you see her sweep through the entry hall, answering her door after the first knock. She leads into the study a man dressed in a black doublet, slashed to reveal the white linen shirt beneath, a large overcoat, silk stockings and knee high boots. He is travel worn like yourself and around him tingles the an air of magic. Before you and the new arrival are able to speak to one another, save a hasty introduction should you desire, Noemi leads a third man, a mage by the look of his strangle shaped staff, who is dressed in loose fitting comfortable clothing,into the room. Noemi, taking in all three of you with a piercing gaze says, "I know why you have come, once you are ready I will take you to him. Prokofski awaits his army." 

Johan (Rems): You make your way quickly to Noemi's home and as with the first time you visited her, nearly 5 years ago, you are barely able to knock once before the alluring Ectomancer opened the door and greeted you, a simple kiss on each cheek. "Welcome back to Rome Johan, it has been to long." A small smile passed across her face, "It is good that you have all come. If things are as grave as they appear to be, Prokofski will need everyone willing to help." The mention of Prokofski's name definitely perks your interest, but infuriatingly Noemi says no more, even if pushed, as she leads you back to her study. In the small but comfortable room you find that a roaring fire takes the slight chill of the night are away, warming your travel weary bones. Seated in an overstuffed armchair, clasping a goblet of what smells like spiced wine is a man dressed in all black, accented by a deep red silk shirt, his raven black hair greying at the temples, Like you the dust and grime of the road covers his boots, pants, and cloak and around him tingles an air of magic. Before you and the other man are able to speak to one another, save a hasty introduction should you desire, Noemi leads a third man, a mage by the look of his strangle shaped staff, who is dressed in loose fitting comfortable clothing, into the room. Noemi, taking in all three of you with a piercing gaze says, "I know why you have come, once you are ready I will take you to him. Prokofski awaits his army." 

Pieter (deathbringer): Picking your way through the crowded streets becomes easier as dusk truely decends and the people lining the main streets disappear indoors. Walking next to the bouyant Friar, who identifies himself as Friar Donovan Giuseppe, you can not help but be infected by his positive attitude. He babbles onto you about the city, the things you need to see, the sights that the Holy See has to offer, all filler, nothing of any real import. Taking in his expression, you can tell however that he is biding his time, wondering if what questions you will ask, wondering what information that you desire and how long you will follow him before you question his intentions. If you choose to ask him of Prokofski, he will tell you all he knows, leaving out only the things he is not aware of. As you speak, he leads you even further into the vast City of Rome. You find yourself hopelessly lost in the warrens of the inner city, but something about the garrulous Friar instills trust. He leads you to a small shabby, run down church in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city. Despite the fact that the front doors of the church loom straight ahead of you, the Friar Giuseppe veers off to the left, following the wall of the church down a narrow alley. There you find a small stable, and a small urchin boy tending an aged mare and a cranky old donkey. Though you are skeptical, Giuseppe says that Tion is one of the finest stable hands in the city, lighting the boys face with a proud smile. Smiling at the lad and tossing him a coin you continue to follow Giuseppe further into the alley way. The Friar suddenly stops, throws aside a piece of spare cloth on the ground to reveal two torches. Lighting both, he steps up to the wall, plants his meaty fingers in a crack between several of the stones, and pushes. To your surprise the wall swings inward witha small click, revealing a set of stairs that lead down underground. "Mind your torch my Lord," He says with a smile, "The catacombs can be an eerie place at night, and you don't want to get lost in the dark... believe me." Without a backwards glance he disappears down into the gloom, the light of his torch casting a small ring of light. Hurrying to catch up you follow him into the twisting labyrinth of the under city. [deathbringer we will work out the convo between Pieter and Giuseppe over MSN]


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

As soon as Bishop Anders Sunesen entered the Il Gesu he was hit with the oppulence of the church. Which was a true wonder of architecture and art, anyone with there sight intact could not help but be amazed. But Anders couldn't help to think that much of the wealth spent on decorating the church, could have been better spent on the less fortunate. It wasn't that danish churches and cathedrals wasn't decorated, but it was not to such a degree as this.

Looking around Anders realised he had lost sight of the warrior that had entered Il Gesu just shortly before him, no priests around all he could see was a few petitioners. Sitting down on one of the rearmost pews, Anders decided to wait for a bit, hoping the warrior would show himself again. He had to leave the church again, and hopefully he would use the front door, Anders was thinking to himself. Spending a little more time admire and despise the building, the feeling of awe keep creeping up to the surface.

A few minutes later a lady entered the church. Easy to see she had been on the road for a while, the dust clinging to her green dress and cloak. Anders could swear he saw the edges of some leather armour beneath her dress, and something silver, but before he could be sure she had wrapped her cloak around her, disguising herself as a ordinary woman.

The woman started to walk towards the pews, clearly in search of someone to talk to. Anders decided to intercept her, as she approaches he stood up and asked her in rough italian.

_"Scusi, posso disturbare un attimo."_

The girl looked back with a raised eyebrow before she responded.

_"I'm sorry but I do not speak Italian, only English. Do you speak english?"_

Answering back in english with a clear danish accent. 

_"Sure do, was just asking if I could bother you for a moment. You looking like a traveller with a purpose and a mission. And was wondering if it had something to do with a certain individual named Vladamir Prokofski."_

The girl narrowed her eyes slightly as the name Vladamir Prokofski was mentioned, Anders reckoning that if the name meant something to her, she would know that he was also a hunter, something that Anders was convinced the girl also was.

_"I do search for a man named Vladamir Prokofski. Shall I assume that you either know him, or that you are in search for him as well and in the same profession as I am?"_

A reassuring smile came over Anders lips. _"Don't know him but searching for him, and I saw a man enter a moment ago who was clearly of our profession. Some could argue that every priest is in the profession of banishing evil. Oh sorry where is my manners, My name is Anders Sunesen, Bishop and hunter from denmark."_

Nodding at the Bishops reply, she didn't seem that surprised that another hunter from another nation than italy would have made his way to Rome. She introduced herself. 
_
"Eira Graeaf, hunter from the Graeaf family in Wales. I’m actually looking for a brother Giordano, one of my fathers contacts who, I have been told can lead me to Vladamir Prokofski. Though it appears that there are few priests in this church that can direct me to him."_

Anders was relieved, it was the closets to a lead he had been, since he had left copenhagen, three months ago. He had to stay with the girl, at least for now, so he put forth a question.
_
"That sounds interesting, if you don't mind i would like to be introduced to this Giordano"_
_
"As would I if we can find him, it has been a long few months travelling to talk to him and would love to find him sooner so I can find out what this Vladamir wants us hunters for."_ 

Eira responded, Anders could only agree with her, what was so dangerous and huge that he needed so many hunters to gather at a place allready known to be home to a small army of hunters.

Suddenly an outburst across the church, where someone called out for Eira.

_"Eira! you made it as well."_ 

An amiable monk approacing with quick strides, Anders recognising the warrior from outside behind the monk. The monk introducing himself as Brother Giordano, and greets Eira by kissing her on both cheeks. Anders can't help believe that the monk clearly have history with the girl or her family, as he started to ramble on about how a letter had arrived, telling him to expect her. No one would have been able to interupt the monks ramblings, and Anders was taken back a bit, as he was suddenly addressed by the monk asking for his name. Anders introduced himself as Bishop Anders Sunesen of Denmark, full name seemed to be in order. Anders was about to open his mouth to ask a question, but was forestalled by the monk.

_"Come along all of you. I assume Bishop, that you are also here to see Prokofski. I will show you the way."_

Anders sent a little prayer of thanks and gratitude to the Lord, as he was guided out side through a side entrance.


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Gently pushing his way past a stumbling drunk, Johan arrived outside his contact’s dwelling. Unassuming and featureless, to the outside world it was the home of a modest woman, who provoked some notoriety with her neighbours from the frequent gentleman callers she seemed to entertain. 

Extending a gloved hand Johan rapped once against the heavy wooden door, before it swung open, revealing Noemi Moretti’s smiling face. As always the coquettish ectomancer seemed preternaturally aware of his arrival. Beckoning the alchemist inside, the striking woman brushed her lips against his cheeks, greeting him fondly. 

"Welcome back to Rome Johan, it has been too long."

The scent and closeness of a woman was heady to Johan’s alpine deprived senses and he felt a slight heat rise within him. Steadying himself Johan returned her greeting with a smile of his own. Their exchanges were always a highlight for him when he stayed in Rome. 

“Indeed it has Noemi, though as one gazes upon your beauty the months seem to slip away.”

“Ah, your tongue remains silver i see, Johan, even if new lines grace your brow!”, she shot back with a wry smile and arch of one delicate eyebrow.

Frowning in mock consternation, Johan patted his face in exaggerated pantomime, eliciting a smile from the alluring Italian. The smile fades however as she continues, her tone sombre.

"It is good that you have all come. If things are as grave as they appear to be, Prokofski will need everyone willing to help."

So the rumours were true, mused Johan. Prokofski had indeed surfaced. But what was this talk of ‘you all’? Were other practitioners of the art here? Had the council sent more agents, did Prokofski himself summon them? Johan was more willing than most hunters to collaborate with others but he did not appreciate surprises sprung upon him, nor others encroaching upon his perceived jurisdiction without even deigning to notify him. 

“We all Noemi?” quizzed Johan, probing deeper. The ectomancer could not be coaxed further however. Placing a hand upon his elbow she only drew him deeper into the house, the cold marble of the atrium giving way to dark wood and plush rugs. 

Lit by gently burning candle Johan was led into her study, a richly appointed room of warm oak, deep shadows and reams of scrolls and books. The air was musty, heavy with years of accumulated secrets and lore largely lost to man. There was a faint resonance to the room, the legacy of years of speller and incantation. A fire burns steadily under the mantle, throwing the room into fitful illumination. Assorted nick-knacks and esoteric items grace the shelves, drawing the eye. Most interesting of all however is the room’s occupant. Johan has not been the only one to seek out Ms Moretti. 

Stepping into the warm room Johan locks eyes with the seated man, dressed in sombre black, stained from travel. Black seems to suit the man, black hair, black clothes and dark eyes. Like the _Scarramuccia _from an _intermedio _production thought Johan with amusement. Inhaling deeply, head cocked, Johan’s suspicions were confirmed. There was magic in the air.

“Buon giorno Signore Scarramuccii” , spoke Johan grandly as he bowed low, in the courtly style, a smile across his face. Continuing in Italian, for he assumed the man, if not Italian at least spoke the language, he introduced himself.

“I am Johan Wetter and it seems the lovely Signorina Moretti and our mutual friend Prokofski has brought us together.”

Before he could continue however Noemi swept back into the room, a short statured man in tow. The new arrival carried a staff and by Johan’s reckoning it was no mere walking aid. With the three men gathered the ectomancer wasted no time in addressing them. 

“I know why you have come” she begins, solemnly “Once you are ready i shall take you to him. Prokofski awaits his army”. 

An army? That was an ominous declaration indeed. 

“With so few words, you raise so many questions Noemi. What is your involvement with Prokofski and is the council aware of your dealings with him? A legend he may be but he is not one of the brotherhood. You know the value our masters place on secrecy.”

Johan knew not which was worse, that Noemi had divulged secrets best left unknown to those not of the art and could face the rack or that she may be acting with the Council’s full authority. Such a show of unity was nigh unheard of and heralded a most grave threat. Concerned he continued.

“Why did you say nothing of this before? I had thought us friends. News of Prokofski gathering some secret army, and your involvement in it, is not something to keep to yourself. You navigate treacherous waters unaided and i would have no more secrets, i can not abide them. I had come expecting to have foot set along path, not to find dear friend in the hornets’ nest”


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## Serpion5 (Mar 19, 2010)

*Cormac*

The door had a feel to it that the elemental mage had not felt for some time. Magical wards were not beyond his experience of course, but those left by Noemi always had a distinct energy signature. Or perhaps it was all in his mind. In any case the feeling of being here brought a smile to the deceptively old man's face, which only broadened as the door opened and he laid eyes on the woman for the first time in years. 

Her hazel eyes met his and her crimson dress rippled as she stepped forward to embrace him. Cormac held himself steady as she kissed him on both cheeks and bade him enter the house. The mage wanted to ask several questions at once, but her shaking head forestalled him. 

*'There are others coming that desire the same knowledge you do Cormac. Go wash the dirt of travel, rest in the guest room. When they arrive I shall summon you.'*

'As you wish.' Cormac replied curtly. 'I imagine I am not best fragrance right now.' With no further delays but for a brief smile and nod, he made his way upstairs whereupon he entered the guest room and began to undress. He cleaned the sweat of travel from his skin in the tub and wrung the dirt from his clothes as he went. There was little to muse upon besides the details of his new found mission and pleasant memories of this area from trips past. 

At length, he was clean and ready and it was a short time later that a knock came to his door. Agreeing to the summons Cormac made his way back downstairs, meeting with a brief glance and nod each of the newcomers to Noemi's home. 

One was dressed entirely in black except for a silken red shirt. He sat upon a large overstuffed chair near the fireplace. The other was wearing a slashed doublet, the black fabric bearing cuts that revealed the shirt of white linen underneath. Over these he wore a large overcoat while silk stockings and knee high boots adorned his legs. Magic tingled in the air between the two of them and Cormac himself. The elementalist could sense it, and he knew these men could as well. They were definitely mages, wizards of some sort but Cormac could not yet identify their exact nature. 

Noemi met all their gazes before speaking. *'I know why you have come, once you are ready I will take you to him. Prokofski awaits his army.' *

'Army?' Cormac questioned. 'This will indeed be quite a gathering if we are the caliber of soldier he requires.'


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## yoyoyo12365 (Dec 6, 2010)

Dragomir stared into his mug of ale, trying to listen to everything around him. Nothing comes up, nobody speaks a word of what he wants to hear, and he is done. No good came of this trip, and the worst of it was the watery ale. What he would give for a proper pint. The day was coming to a close, and it was time to return to his lodgings.

Dragomir stood, wearing a sour expression, and strode out of the dingy tavern. He set his path back toward Mancinni's home, striding quickly, hoping to get a proper supper before going to sleep. As he swept down a side street, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he couldn't help but feel he was being followed.

Glancing around, Dragomir saw nobody, but his hand still closed around the hilt of the silver dagger concealed under his cloak. Taking advantage of the deep shadows growing in the failing light, Dragomir put himself off the path in the hopes of taking whomever dared tail him by surprise. Sure enough, a few moments after taking to the shadows, a dark figure, wearing a long robe, passed by the alcove where he had taken cover.

Dragomir lunged out of the alcove, grabbed the figure by the shoulder, and slammed him against the wall, pressing the blade of his silver dagger to the fool's throat. As the clouds shifted, and the moon once again gave light to the alleyway, Dragomir was surprised to see that his captive wore the simple clothes of a monk, with shock apparent on his face. "Apologies seniore." He says raising his hands in surrender.

The monk shook his right hand, shifting the sleeve of his habit down past his wrist, revealing a small tattoo, the Eye of Thoth. "I have been looking for those of your kind," he says eyeing the point of the silver dagger at his throat. "I can take you to Prokofski."

Dragomir absently pressed the dagger harder, a bead of blood appearing at the tip. It was his only lead. Nobody had so much as mentioned the name inside of the tavern. Dragomir was a man of action, and he needed closure on this matter. If this monk could give him that, then he would take it.

Dragomir took the blade of his dagger off of the monk's throat, but did not sheathe it. He instead pushed the monk harder into the wall, and growled "Then take me to him. But know this: if you make one wrong move, you will be dead on the ground and I will be home safe, before you can so much as apologize." With that, he released the monk, prepared to follow him.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Livoc moved quickly along the streets till he stood outside the door of the house of his informant. From what he had been told his informant was a Ectromancer, that fact alone worried him, for he had had very few dealings with Ectromancers. In Livoc’s opinion their practices, although not banned by the Laws of Magic, came very close to toeing the line. He reached up to knock, but before he could the door opened to reveal, to Livoc, an angel. She was beautiful in every way and Livoc froze. She wore a simple, yet elegant gown the colour of blood. She spoke softly.

“Welcome Magus, I have been awaiting your arrival.”

Livoc was pulled back into reality, or rather the place he called reality. He smiled widely but her obvious foreknowledge put him on edge. But none the less Livoc followed her into the house. He smiled at her and she returned his smile, her beauty growing as she smiled. Livoc sighed, it was not often he found a woman this beautiful. But Livoc had to remind himself that with magic users you could never tell age. I mean just look at him, 137 years old yet he looked no older than 30. He looked suspiciously at Noemi, trying to work out her age, as she handed him a glass of warm spiced wine. She spoke again as she led him through her house.

. "There is another mage already here, he is taking an opportunity to refresh himself. I await another. Once he has arrived I will give you the information you have come for."

With that they arrived in her study and left Livoc to sit in a large armchair by the fire. Livoc sipped slowly at his drink while he awaited Noemi’s return. A knock rang out and he saw Noemi move gracefully to the door and open it, leading in another man. The man was dressed in a black doublet, slashed to reveal the white linen shirt beneath, a large overcoat, silk stockings and knee high boots. He was travel worn like Livoc and around him tingled an air of magic. The man spoke to Livoc, in Italian.

“Buon giorno Signore Scarramuccii”

Livoc smiled at this as the man continued, still speaking Italian.

“Sono Johan Wetter e sembra che la bella signorina Moretti e il nostro comune amico Prokofski ci ha riuniti.”

Livoc nodded and replied, speaking in English.

“And I am Livoc Turnblad. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

But before more detailed introductions could be made Noemi returned, followed by another man. Again the air tingled with magic around this new entry. The man carried a strangly shaped staff, he wass dressed in loose fitting comfortable clothing. Livoc nodded to him in greeting as Noemi spoke to all of them.

"I know why you have come, once you are ready I will take you to him. Prokofski awaits his army."

Livoc’s head instantly filled with questions, but the other mages beat him to it. 

'Army?' The stranger questioned 'This will indeed be quite a gathering if we are the caliber of soldier he requires.'

“With so few words, you raise so many questions Noemi. What is your involvement with Prokofski and is the council aware of your dealings with him? A legend he may be but he is not one of the brotherhood. You know the value our masters place on secrecy. Why did you say nothing of this before? I had thought us friends. News of Prokofski gathering some secret army, and your involvement in it, is not something to keep to yourself. You navigate treacherous waters unaided and i would have no more secrets, i can not abide them. I had come expecting to have foot set along path, not to find dear friend in the hornets’ nest” said the man who Livoc now knew to be Johan Wetter.

Livoc looked at Johan in shock before politly speaking to Noemi.

“If i may be so bold ma’am, i would say that we are ready to meet with Prokofski”


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

As Alexander sat in the corner booth, the haze of smoke seeming to flow around him and avoid his path, he took a sip of the vintage liqeur that sat before him. His engraved silver flask contained fine alcohol distilled several centuries ago, and preserved using light magic. He had no intention of paying for or drinking the stale urine that, possibly literally, was served here. He had been here for hours trying to snatch conversations out of the air and find what he had been searching for, the elusive Prokofski but so far nothing had been yielded from the raucous crowd. He was about to leave, finally allowing some frustration to show on his strong features, when something finally caught his eye and brought the hope that the few hours of his life spent in this dive had not been wasted.

The man that strode into the tavern wore the brown habit of a Catholic monk, which both surprised and annoyed Alexander. The surprise that a church-man would walk into this place for a reason besides preaching of the evils of the flesh and ale to an uncaring crowd. The annoyance because the church was not something Alexander supported or even liked. Collaborators and fanatics, believing in hunting down those who consorted with monsters while making deals with them on their own. Alexander tolerated none who would dare become allies with a monster, not even the mighty Catholic Church. The fact that they hated him for no other reason than being an Alchemist was more reason to disdain them, he was human and hated monsters. That was enough for Alexander whenever he dealt with someone, and it should be enough for them.

The monk's eyes scanned the crowd briefly before reaching the small island of space that surrounded Alexander, even the tavern whores that were normally clingy and intruding steered clear of him and that suited him perfectly. He had no time to waste dealing with the ignorant and the foolish while he could be hunting monsters, and more importantly at this moment Vladimir Prokofski and whatever it was that he was hunting and was so afraid of. As the Catholic began to approach Alexander he himself began to examine the man that seemed to eager to meet him. He was tall and wore the tonsure haircut of the church, yet unlike most in the church he did not look weak or frail, rather he had a strong build and could have passed for a Templar knight if he had to. Amusingly the monk was doing the same to him, taking in the black iron breastplate that Alexander wore, the tattoos that covered his exposed arms and the enchanted Tulwar blade that hung in the scabbard attached to his hip.

Before Alexander could speak a word the Monk raised his right hand in a deliberately slow motion so as not to convey the idea of an imminent attack. Removing his sleeve a tattoo was revealed in black ink against the pale skin, an eye with a curved line above it and several protrusions. The Eye of Thoth. Now that was interesting, though Alexander was careful not to show it, why would a Catholic man have an Egyptian symbol tattooed onto his wrist. The Church didn't put much stock in ancient Egyptian symbols of protection and good health. The smile on the Monk's face was even curioser, did he know of Alexander? Many in the Church did though few of them had anything good to say about him, and none said only good things about him. Before Alexander could ask the key question, what was this about, the monk sat down and made Alexander's time worthwhile with one sentence.

_"I know why you are here Hunter," The emphasis on the title was plain, despite his hushed tone. "If you would follow me, I will take you to the man you seek."_

Alexander was surprised once more, this time he allowed his right eyebrow to raise a fraction and his head to tilt to the left slightly. Could this monk really know where Prokofski was? The chances were slim, but on the other hand sitting in this tavern would not gain him anything more. Alexander had been aware of that for hours, and even if this monk was a fraud or some fanatic seeking to lure him into a trap so he could rob him or burn him or both, Alexander judged he could easily kill him if necessary. He disdained killing humans but if he had to do so, he would. Standing up Alexander nodded to the monk and whispered his reply,

_"Lead on."_

The monk nodded in turn and quickly rose, heading in a straight line towards the exit. The noise had died down briefly as the Alchemist and the Monk, an unlikely pairing, walked out of the building and into the streets of Rome. The sun was beginning to set and the dark was approaching steadily, and Alexander really hoped that this Monk was not wasting his time.


LotN


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

"Excuse me, I'm Henry Cross, you wouldn't know anything about a Vladamir Prokofski, would you?"

I looked up from the glass of wine. I acted as if he’d surprised me but it was not so, I’d been listening to his footsteps getting louder for the last ten seconds and watching his shadow loom over me for the last five. He was wearing a fine white silk shirt, a doublet of red and grey, and high quality leather boots and gloves, his head covered in a strange white leather hood. He was, judging by his accent, English. I took in his demeanour and I recognized it.

“You’re a hunter,” I said calmly but quietly, ensuring my voice did not carry to those who might report us to the church. It was not a question, it was a statement of fact.

He responded. “That I am,” he said quietly, the excitement in his voice growing.

"I suppose you've guessed that I am too if you're asking about Prokofski. I have had no more luck than you I'm afraid. He was, and probably still is, the best in the business and event the worst of us knows how to keep a low profile." I said simply, getting it all out quick.

He sighed with disappointment before speaking again. "You're right, searching for him is a rather fruitless exercise."

I nodded at the English hunter just as a man dressed in non-descript clothing, but wearing conspicuous silver glasses, and maintaining a fastidiously groomed grey moustache and goatee. I stayed sitting calmly in my chair and took in his appearance. A mage I guessed almost immediately. The glasses were probably a focus for one of his spells more than a sight aid; they were too expensive looking to be simply for normal purposes. A thief would have taken them long ago had he not been able to defend himself. I contemplated doing it myself; just to prove that I could. I pushed that thought aside; I was beyond those childish games now.

Just before he could speak we were joined by an older looking gentleman, his black beard falling over a brown habit. I raised one eyebrow. Such a basic habit and yet such a finely combed beard? He was certainly full of contradictions, and yet another one presents itself when he raised a sleeve to still words, presenting a small symbol on his wrist. It took me a moment to place the symbol but when I settled on the answer there was no doubt in my mind. It was the Eye of Thoth symbol, an occult ancient Egyptian. What was it doing on the arm of a monk of the Catholic Church? "I have the answers you seek seniores, follow me. I will take you to Prokofski," he said quietly.

I shared a glance with the two other men around my table. I stood, my chair sliding backwards. I picked up the glass and drained it.

Now, looking back, I know that I should have waited, should have been more cautious in trusting a stranger. But despite my world weariness then I was ever impetuous and so I followed the monk, not caring whether the other two were as trusting...


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

Henry watched the men enter into his peripheral vision, his footsteps had alerted him to their presence as soon as they entered the building. He was rather taken aback however when he found one of the men to be a priest. Something about the priest looked out of place, he had a certain air about him, as if he was used to much finer trappings than the monk's habit he currently donned. 

The other man was less conspicuous, his clothes were plain and his only really memorable feature was his silver glasses, a very finely crafted pair. Henry couldn't place the feeling, but something about those glasses made him feel uneasy.

The priest displayed a curious symbol on his wrist to Henry and the other man he'd spoken to earlier. Henry's heart skipped a beat when he recognised it as the Eye of Thoth. 

"I have the answers you seek seniores, follow me. I will take you to Prokofski," The priest said, almost murmuring. 

Henry had a moment of pause, considering the various possibilities. It could be a trap, He and the other man had been talking far too loudly. If Henry had been outside the shop he would have heard the conversation, he had no doubt that these two new men could have easily been eavesdropping. On the other hand, it was too good an opportunity to miss. 

Henry rose and followed, slipping silently from his seat and walking behind the man he'd met earlier. Conscious of the possibility of a trap, he subtly slide a blade, hilt first, up his sleeve, attaching it to the sheath he kept there. If things went wrong, the blade would slip into his hand before anyone could draw a sword.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The monk burbled happily, his lips like the opening to a spring seeming to unleash a tirade of words with the eagerness of one that had sat in silence too long. As they walked through the streets old landmarks were given twisted tales of past wanderings, new buildings given names and local stories, the whole city cast through the doubting eyes of a local.

He smiled and nodded, casting his eyes round a city he had not seen in years, following a guide he had never met for a purpose he did not know in a location he could not fathom. He sometimes wondered if he was very stupid or very brave, yet his faith soothed his doubts. He was needed here and whether the monk was true or trickster better he be ensnared in some pickpockets trap then a helpless mother or an innocent bairn.

The further they worked, the more infectious the monks charisma became, his smiling face and increasingly witty anecdotes carrying him through the crowds with hearty guffaws.

Soon the streets became crowded, rising higher, their walls coming closer forcing him to skirt puddles of rancid excrement tossed carelessly from windows above. Shadows flickered around him, the darkness seeming to scatter around figures he could barely see, the cloying depths glittering with menacing eyes. Despite the threat his hands never moved toward the hilt of his blade, better a pickpocket claimed his money than he claimed the life of an innocent.

A dilapidated church seemed to be the friars intention and his eyes narrowed as they skirted the crumbling spire and boarded windows, the connection between this house of the Lord to Profolski making his eyes twitch to the friar, though the portly mans stride never broke, his footsteps carrying him down the side of the church to a small stable, the alley seeming to run further into the blackness, the very ground beneath his feet seeming to fade away into nothingness.

Wearily, he turned to remove saddlebags yet a clap of the friar's sweaty palm brought a small boy rushing from the interior with a smile and a wave. Even as his hands reached for the reigns he found his tiny wrist gripped in Pieter's iron fist.

The friars words were calm and friendly though the boy looked startled and a little hurt

"Tion is one of the best stable hands in the city my lord, the horse will be well cared for I assure you"

Pieter cast a long glance at the beast behind them. He was unremarkable, indeed looking as if he had been sired by a carthorse rather than a warriors steed, yet if that had been true it had been a most unusual coupling with a lion. Despite the stout barrel like chest and dull chestnut coat he had proven himself to have the heart of a lion and the stomach of an elephant, their union not one he would eagerly part with.

His gaze became warm, as he held out the reigns, pressing a coin into the startled boys palm, smiling at the small piece of carrot he found clutched in his tiny fist.

"He is a good steed, Purete is his name, for pure is his heart, he rides with me without fear. Return him to me safely and you will find another in your palm"

The boy nodded and smiled determined moving to the horse, the piece of carrot disappearing down Purete's throat almost as quickly as the coin was stashed in his grubby pocket.

The friar lead him on down the alley, pausing only to light two braziers, their flickering flames casting light upon a thick cloth hung aimless over the wall. A sure motion swept the cloth aside before some fumbling and a sharp click sent it swinging inwards to reveal steep stone steps lead down and away into the catacombs of Rome.

Curiosity bugged at him, the menaces that could linger in the dark below the Holy city a worrying prospect, he was unprepared, had no concept of what he may face.

His voice was hesitant cutting through the silence as he lingered upon the top step

"Will I find what I seek below the holy city Brother Friar, or does a greater menace twist mortal minds"

The monk paused, his eyes becoming solemn 

"If what you seek is a meeting with Prokofski, then yes you will find it below. As far as a greater menace.... well, Vlad says that there are things stirring in the wilds and in the ground beneath your feet. He says ancient things, long slumbering, have started to awake. I can't make heads or tails of it, but he seems convinced."

Pieter nodded following him down the steps and into the darkness within

"The supernatural is more active Brother, bar your doors and lock your windows for Prokofski is not a living legend for no reason,"

Pieter frowned, his mind upon the last months, what he had seen and what he may not have seen

"If he says the night stirs, then we should all tremble."

"Eye, Master Knight," Giuseppe quipped "That is why the Order has gathered here. The Seeker has tasked all the Knights of Pythia to assist Prokofski in his endeavor."

He smiled turning to stare at Pieter 

I must say though, that coming to retreive you is a welcome respite from the books that have been my life for the last month." He will say with a grin

"And what of my brothers, what news of them, do they come to aid Profolski, or does he deem ammorochius's unbending will enough to stem this tide?"

"I cannot say my Lord," Giuseppe will frown, "We have had word from Uval Berezhnoy, who currently wields Fidelacchius. He does not answer the summons at this time, the Lord has work for him in southeast asia."

The knight paused, his next words seemingly dragged from the very depths of despair, his cheery voice morose

"But of Esperacchius and its wielder, we have had no sign.... The Sword of Hope is lost to our eyes and ears.We can only pray that Seniore Morgan is well."

Pieter's eyes fell as, eyes upon the ground. Gabriel Morgan was an Englishman, prim, proper, resolute and unshakeable, a good man, a loyal man, one he met and fought with before... a loss

"Grave tidings indeed Brother, yet as we both know there are areas in the asian subcontinent where even the Knights all seeing eyes struggle to reach."

His eyes swing up with an accusing stare. He knew why they could not reach, the tendancy of Christian envoys to act more as missionaries to heathen countries than friends of the Lord. Blind fools, a good person is a good person be he.... no matter

The nights solemn expression led him to speak once more

"brother morgan was unshakeable in his faith, naught could deter him from his path"

"The Lord will protect him, Sir Knight, of that I have no doubt."

If there was a man to perish with blade in hand it was Gabriel Morgan, despite the possibility that he was merely in contactable...

"be it in this life or the next Brother Guiseppe"

Concern lined the Friar's face and Pieter over rode him

"Fear not Brother. I have met Brother Morgan, such a dutiful man would have found his keeper long before any harm could befall him, the blade will resurface be it in his hand or those of another. Till then all we can do is pray"

"Does Profolski know I am coming?"

"I cannot say my Lord," he muttered his voice bemused

"I just had a feeling, a compulsion to come to the city gates. As if I was destined to meet some one there. So I came. He will no doubt be pleased that one in such a position as yourself has been sent to aid the call. I know that Vladamir respects the Knights greatly."

"Then how do you know it is truly he within the crypts?"

The beaming smile flashed again

"It is from the crypts, researching at his side that I arose to meet you," 

"And what does he have you researching?"

"Lilith,my Lord..... The mother of all the things your blade seeks to end."


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Eira entered the church, closing the giant wooden doors behind her. She quickly gathered her travelling cloak around her dress and armour, concealing the dagger that she carried into the church. She looked around at the beautiful building but was frustrated to see only people praying in the pews, and that there were no clergy men around that she could ask about Brother Giordano.

She started to walk down the centre aisle, determined to get to the back of the church and see if she could rouse one of the brothers to come out of the monks quarters and take her to Giordano when a man stood from the pews in front of her, looking down on her as he spoke in quick Italian. “Scusi, posso disturbare un attimo.”

Eira looked at the man, who seemed to be wearing priest like robes, but did not appear to be a member of this church with a raised eyebrow before she responded to the question. “I’m sorry but I do not speak Italian, only English. Do you speak English?” 

"Sure do, was just asking if I could bother you for a moment. You look like a traveller with a purpose and a mission, and I was wondering if it had something to do with a certain individual named Vladamir Prokofski." He replied, the Danish accent clear for Eira to hear.

Eira narrowed her eyes slightly at the name Vladamir Prokofski, she did not think this man was Giordano, and had to be on her guard. She bet that this man was a hunter, or at the very least knew something about Vladamir Prokofski. “I do search for a man named Vladamir Prokofski. Shall I assume that you either know him, or that you are in search for him as well and in the same profession as I am?”

A reassuring smile came over the mans lips, though it did not help Eira who felt herself reaching down slowly under her cloak towards her hidden knife. 
"Don't know him but searching for him, and I saw a man enter a moment ago who was clearly of our profession. Some could argue that every priest is in the profession of banishing evil. Oh sorry where is my manners, My name is Anders, Bishop and hunter from denmark."

Eira nodded at the Bishops reply, hand removed from her knife. If he was a hunter then that would help, but she remembered her fathers words. “Trust no-one except for Giordano and yourself.” She would stick to that but there was no reason why she couldn’t be friendly, and besides whatever was going down was big. Big enough so that hunters from all over the place came to see this Vladamir Prokofski. “Eira Graeaf, hunter from the Graeaf family in Wales. I’m actually looking for a brother Giordano, one of my father’s contacts who, I have been told can lead me to Vladamir Prokofski. Though it appears that there are few priests in this church that can direct me to him.”

“That sounds interesting, if you don't mind I would like to be introduced to this Giordano." Anders replied and for a second Eira thought she saw relief pass over his face though she wasn’t sure.

"As would I if we can find him, it has been a long few months travelling to talk to him and I would love to find him sooner so I can find out what this Vladamir wants us hunters for." She said before she heard a booming voice echo around the church calling out her name.

She turned to see a large man, moving quickly over to them, with a grace that seem to belittle both his age and his frame. She knew from her fathers description of the man that this was Giordano. The fact that he knew her name allowed her to think that he was as well. He had a well kept beard, which seemed to be more white than it was brown, unlike her fathers description. It much have been a time since the two had met but she decided it mattered not. The fact that he knew her by name meant it must be him, no one else knew her by name, and he must have gotten a letter from her father about her arriving.

As he moved over towards her and the bishop, she noticed that there was another man with him, one with two blades strapped across his back and wearing symbols of the catholic faith on his cloak and gloves. It was possible that he was a paladin, she remembered her father telling her about them, men of the cross like this Bishop Anders that she had just met who were hunters as well.

Giordano reached her, kissing her on both cheeks "I received a letter from your father several days ago, saying that you would be arriving soon. It is most fortuitous that you arrived when you did. I was just speaking to young Sebastian here," he waves a hand in the warrior's direction," about Prokofski's summons."

“It is nice to finally meet you Brother Giordano. My father talks of his time with you very fondly.” She said with a smile on her face before Anders and Giordano introduced themselves to each other. "Come along all of you. I assume Bishop, that you are also here to see Prokofski. I will show you the way."

Eira was very glad that she had managed to meet brother Giordano and so quickly after her travels, and walked alongside him as they headed out of the church.“So brother Giordano, if you don’t mind my asking how do you know my father?”

"Ah, child, your father and I go way back," he says with fondness that surprised Eira, whilst her father appeared to be fond of him, she couldn’t imagine anyone would be fond of her father, the man was far too cantankerous. "He saved my then scrawny hide, from a werewolf, near on 30 years ago."

"We Hunted together for some time after that, of course, until I felt my calling in the fields of research and history," he moves in closer, whispering conspiratorially, "I dare say that the bum knee, years without a good meal, or a constant roof over my head, may have played a role in that decision as well."

Eira flashed a smile at the priest and let out a light laugh at it, "What was he like when you hunted with him? His strict self he is now, or was he a little more carefree than he is now?"

Giordano paused, silent for a few seconds as if he was pondering his answer, "Your father has never been carefree child, events in his life, things that happened well before I met him saw to that. He was precise, careful, thorough. Not the most talkative men I have ever met, but loyal and focused."

Eira bit her lip as she nodded at his words. She had hoped to glean a bit more information about her fathers beginnings as a hunter as he never told anyone anything about his past except for her mother who wouldn’t say a thing. 

"Thank you brother Giordano, he never speaks of his past to me, I'm glad to get some measure of him rather than what I know."

"As well he shouldn't speak of the past, some memories are better buried," the portly monk says with certainty. "This life changes you Eira. It is unavoidable." He said slowly but almost caringly. 

Eira’s eyes locked onto the crowd in front of her as she felt tears start to burn at her eyes. She knew that the life changed people. She had learnt the hard way what happens when you hunt then try and settle down. She had tried to change herself and failed. "Believe me Brother Giordano, I know it does, I have changed a lot since I started hunting again, since... I know." Even now she couldn’t bear to say his name. It was her fault. Her guilt to live with.
His eyes, locked onto Eira convey a knowing sadness, an empathy that Eira found a little comforting as he puts a hand on her shoulder, nodding in agreement as they walked away.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

"The Knights of Pythia have their work cut out for them. Hunters from all corners of the globe have assembled and are entering the city. These humble brother's from an order as old as the church itself have done all that they can to keep these men and women out of view, away from the prying eyes of the Holy See. Theses so called leaders of the church are blind and ignorant. Thinking themselves untouchable, indispensible. They do not know what lurks outside of their domain, salivating, lips quivering over fanged maws, waiting to destroy what they have so carefully maintained. These Hunters, will they believe me? Will they see the signs for what they are? I hate to think what would happen if I fail......"



Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
April 11th, 1578​

Sebastian (Tyranno the Destroyer):, Bishop Sunesen (Anilar):, & Eira (Lord Ramo): As Brother Giordano stoops slightly to get his large frame out of the small side door of the massive cathedral, he draws the hood of his habit up over his face. He holds a finger up to his lips indicating that silence would be prudent now that full night has fallen on the Holy City. Despite the creatures of the night that are sure to start making their presence known, the heart of the Catholic Chuch is not the friendliest place in the world for Hunters not connected with the Church itself and prying eyes are everywhere. Giordano leads you all down a series of narrow alley ways leading west away from Il Jesu further into the heart of the city. Despite the fact that you are heading closer to St. Peter's Basillica, the streets that Giordano leads you down are cramped and dirty. You hear silent footsteps approach, then retreat. Whether it is Giordano's presence or the menacing air that clings to your party or the blades visible on Sebastian's back, cut-purses and strong-arms shy away from you. As you approach the great Tiber river, Giordano cuts down a series of stairs leading down to the bank of the river. He follows the river for a few moments and brings the group to a stop just underneath one of the colossal bridges that spans across the swift flowing waterway. Leading you back up the slope of the bank to just under the beginnig of the bridge he halts in front of a large round drainage gate. Fishin in his pockts, you hear the jangling of keys, Giordano produces a small ring and selects one before unlocking the pad lock on the grate itself. After ushering you all inside, he roots around in a small alcove to his left and produces three torches. Lighting them from a small ember box he motions for you to follow. Regardless of your feelings, trepidation, distrust, or excitement you follow and soon the passages show you where you are really heading, the endless labyrinth of passage ways and chambers that span the undercity of Rome, The Catacombs.

Edward (Santaire) & Henry (HOGGLORD):: You two share a look, before setting off with the plain habitted monk. Despite his earlier interest the mage who was with you has disappeared into the gloom of the gathering night. Apparently dealing directly with an arm of the Catholic Church was not what he had in mind. Perhaps you are relieved not to be in the presence of a mage? Perhaps your feelings and thoughts toward him are ambivalent, the monk's destination foremost in your thoughts. Keeping the monk's back in clear view, you follow him down several side streets, before leaving the main roads all together. You are beginning to think that this can be nothing more than a trap, your hands floating towards hidden weapons when the monk stops. Looking around you can't help but think that this is would be a poorly selected site for an ambush. You are standing in a main intersection of what appear to be merchant footpaths. The monk, quickly moves toward a set of stairs that lead below street level, stopping at a door that appears to lead into the basement of a run down bookstore. Digging into the inside of his habit, you both flinch at his sudden movement, blades coming halfway out of sheathes before he holds up his hands in a show of submission, showing you a large metal key. He points to the lock securing the door, before sliding around you, calm despite the danger he knows he is in, and unlocks the stout iron bound oaken door. Ushering you inside, still showing a complete disregard for your weapons should you still have them drawn, he will lock the door behind him. Despite the fact that building above you is quite large, the room you have entered is small, a mere ten by ten room of stone blocks, unadorned save a small chest next to the door and a set of stairs that lead down into shadow. Opening the chest he hands Edward a torch, taking a second for himself before wordlessly lighting them and heading down the stairs into the gloomy darkness. You follow and soon the passages show you where you are really heading, the endless labyrinth of passage ways and chambers that span the undercity of Rome, The Catacombs.

Dragomir (yoyoyo12365):: The monk, despite being pressed against the wall, a dagger at his back, suddenly pushes up from the wall with surprising strength. As he moves, despite your attempt to stop him, spinning into you, the voluminous sleeve of his habit snapping around the blade of our dagger with a flick of his wrist as he moves. With a sharp jerk he snaps your arm rigid, putting reverse pressure on your elbow, tearing the dagger from your grip while simultaneously pushing you away to create distance between the two of you. He calmly drops your dagger to the ground, eyes locked on your face, hands out to his sides gesturing that he means no harm, but ready in the event you charge him once more. "Seniore," he says slowly, "It is you who have come seeking information and a meeting with Prokofski, not I. I will not be threatened, if you wish to follow you may do so, but if you do sheathe your weapon for I am no threat to you. If not, God be with you my son." He turns down an alley, swiftly travelling away from you. You have a decision to make: Do you follow the monk who clearly is more than he seems? Do you try and find another lead to Prokofski's whereabouts? Or do you write the whole thing off as a waste of time and go back to what you were doing before you heard of the summons? The choice is yours. [Yoyoyo hit me up via PM with your choice and I will give you the rest of your update depending on what you decide to do.]

Alexander (Lord of the Night):By the time you make it a hundred feet from the tavern full night has fallen. The monk ahead of you shudders slightly, something causing a chill in the man that you either do not feel or choose to ignore. He pulls the cowl of his habit over his bald pate, settling the shoulders of the heavy brown cloth into a more comfortable position. If you didn't know any better, you would think that he was settling the leather of a weapons belt into a better settling ride. Something about this Brother screams that there is something more to him, beyond his appearance as a devout Catholic. Gazing around, taking in your surroundings as the monk leads you into a warren of twisting alleys and rarely traveled footpaths. Oddly the monk leads you through the open gateway of a cemetery and quickly winds his way among the headstones, statuary, and grave markers to a large mausoleum in a far removed corner. You are intrigued by this man, the swiftness of his stride and the surety of his movements tell of a life as a soldier, not a peaceful monk. You can't help but think that you may be walking into an ambush as the man disappears into the darkness of the ornate stone building. As you enter you see him in a rear corner, standing near an ornately carved sarcophagus, something about the way he touches the features of the woman carved in marble speaks of personal loss, but without further pause he depresses a stone in the floor that seems to sit a bit higher than the rest, but only by the barest of margins. slowly with the grating rasp of stone on stone, the heavy crypt slides back revealing a set of stairs down into a shadowed hallway. Grasping one of the torches set in a brazier on the wall, the monk gestures for you to follow before disappearing into the darkness below. Soon the passages show you where you are really heading, the endless labyrinth of passage ways and chambers that span the undercity of Rome, The Catacombs.

Pieter(deathbringer):Your earlier trepidation at entering this underground realm is soon banished by the aura of peace and comfort that falls upon your shoulders. The area that Friar Giuseppe leads you through are truly works of art. The crypts and mausoleums adorned with protective symbols, both modern and those older than time. You find it odd, that here in the heart of Christendom, that the old rites, the pagan rituals still hold sway. Friar Giuseppe for once is quiet, even the boisterous man feeling the presence of the contented dead all around him. Giuseppe slows, randomly in the middle of the hallway, as if he is deciding something before he blurts out, "I think there is something you may want to see my lord. I was unsure whether we would have time to visit the Chapel, but I brought you this way on the off chance." He slides down a passage that until you were upon it you didn't even see. At first you are impatient at the interruption of the seemingly unfocused Friar, but as your steps follow in his path, a feeling of rightness, of purpose and understanding fills your mind and heart. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are going in the direction you are meant to. You can see up ahead that the narrow tunnel you are in opens up into a larger room, but you cannot see more than that beyond Giuseppe's bulk. You are first met with confusion as you see excavating equipment, brushes, shovels, and scaffolding dominating the south end of the room. It looks as though the people working on restoring and clearing the room of the rubble of a fallen ceiling, have uncovered a forge in the rear of the room. You have no idea what a forge would be doing in a realm dedicated to the dead, but turning your attention to the front of the room you are met with a sight that fills your eyes with tears of joy. In the front of the room are three kneeling figures, dressed in flowing robes covering armor all carved from the finest gold veined marble. Their hands are out stretched, held out to a figure carved from the same marble of a regal papal figure standing in front of a cross that is conspicuously missing the form of Christ, where the nails would have been, empty holes. You approach the kneeling figure on the very end of the line and looking at his hand, if you drew Ammorochius your blade would fit perfectly into the grove in his outstretched palms. Dumbfounded you turn to Giuseppe his face beaming, your unasked question plastered on your face, "yes my lord, this is where your blade was forged."

Cormac (Serpion5), Livoc (Romero's Own), & Johan (Rems): Noemi slowly turns to face you Johan, in her eyes the pain caused by your distrust. "You think me naive Johan? I have been practicing my craft since before your father's father was born." The room cools, the shadows around you taking on a menacing air. The feeling of the presence of thousands of other souls suddenly descending upon the room, the ectomancer's ire drawing the shades of dead closer, more visible. Your magical senses are on fire, the power the mage in front of you wields surprising all of you. As soon as it begins the feeling lifts, the light in the room returning to normal. Looking at Noemi she seems composed, no sign that anything had just occured. "I act under the authority of the council young mage, think you that we would sit in our towers while the some power beyond our understanding seeks to end life as we know it. The things of which Prokofski speaks are of great import to the White Council.." She takes a deep breath, as if trying to convince herself of the truth of her next statement. "Signs indicate that someone seeks to pierce the veil. To reach beyond the Outer Gates. I need not tell you what that would mean for the world around us." She fixes her glare on you once more Johan, "Do you seek to question me further? Or are you satisfied that this is indeed the business of the Council." Turning to Cormac she says, "Indeed, those that Prokofski gather's are from all walks of life. Warrior, scholar, rouge, and mage. The matter is serious, we will need the best to deal with it." Finally turning her gaze to you Livoc she says, " I agree, it is time to go. Follow if you want, stay if you want. The decision is yours." [Rems, Serpion, and Romero- PM me what your character is going to do. Do you follow Noemi or does your character decide to stay behind? Based on your PM I will provide you with the rest of your update.]

Robin (Bane_of_Kings) & Freja (Karak the Unfaithful):I will need to see a post for last update before I can move you along. If you get to the point that you have stuff for last update, send me a PM and I can get you the rest of your update.


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

Rome capital of italy and the home of the vatican, seat of the Catholic church. And still it was a city filled with narrow streets and alley ways filled with poverty, filth and cut-purses.

Brother Giordano and Eira conversing as the party made its way from the Il Gesu closer towards St. Peter's Basilica. It was not long before they were travelling through the more dubious streets of Rome, Giordano beckoned them all to stay quiet. Anders heard several time during there travel people following them, but there pursuers quickly disappearing again. Anders knowing that the weapons of the knight, the towering presence of the large monk and the general air of confidence the four of them exuded, would scare away most low lifes in any city.

After a while the party reached the tiber river, Giordano leading them down to the bank and up to one of the bridges that spans the river. Stopping at a large drainage gate, which Giordano unlocks. It wasn't long the monk and the three hunters was heading into the deep of the undercity of rome, the mysterious catacombs. Anders couldn't help be a little excited, as he had read and heard so many stories of this place, and now he got a chance to see for himself. And he could understand why someone like Prokofski would choose such a place for his hiding place.


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## tyranno the destroyer (Nov 23, 2010)

Sebastian walked quietly behind his informant and the other two hunters that had joined them unexpectedly. He didn't trust that he did not know of and these two are exactly like that. The female hunter and brother Giordano conversed about things but he didn't listen that stuff didn't concern him so he kept walking in time the partys feet echoing around the alley.

He was suprised that they hadn't been robbed the others looked raged and poor but his clothes are bright and well made it obvious that he had money but it didn't really matter it made the trip quite pleasent as he walked along the alleyways allowing him to think. Why would Prokofski need more hunters to his cause it only meant that he had stumbled on something big.

Giordano cut down some small stairs and produced a small ring with a key on it, put it in a lock, and openned the door in front of them. The rusty door creaked ipen revealing the catacombs a place for the dead. Muttering a quick prayer for forgivness Sebastian entered the catacombs proceeding deeper into the cold dark of the dead.

OOC: Sorry I didn't post last update had to do a bunch of stuff for colledge


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Noemi slowly turned to face Johan, in her eyes the pain caused by his distrust. 

"You think me naive Johan? I have been practicing my craft since before your father's father was born."

The room cooled, the shadows around Livoc took on a menacing air. The feeling of the presence of thousands of other souls suddenly descended upon the room, the ectomancer's ire drew the shades of dead closer, more visible. 

Livoc’s magical senses were on fire, the power the mage in front of him wielded surprising him. As soon as it began the feeling lifted, the light in the room returned to normal. Livoc looked at Noemi, she seemed composed, no sign that anything had just occurred. 

"I act under the authority of the council young mage, think you that we would sit in our towers while the some power beyond our understanding seeks to end life as we know it. The things of which Prokofski speaks are of great import to the White Council."

She took a deep breath, as if trying to convince herself of the truth of her next statement. 

"Signs indicate that someone seeks to pierce the veil. To reach beyond the Outer Gates. I need not tell you what that would mean for the world around us."

She fixed her glare once more on Johan, 

"Do you seek to question me further? Or are you satisfied that this is indeed the business of the Council."

Turning to the other mage she said,

"Indeed, those that Prokofski gathers are from all walks of life. Warrior, scholar, rouge, and mage. The matter is serious; we will need the best to deal with it." 

Finally turning her gaze to Livoc she said,

"I agree, it is time to go. Follow if you want, stay if you want. The decision is yours."

Livoc paused before responding.

“I’ll come with you Noemi, if Profoski calls for an army then I will be happy to respond”

Noemi smiled at Livoc he smiled meekly back. Johan also agreed to follow Noemi and again she smiled at him. Then the other Magi declared that he would not be following her or the rest of you. After receiving his answer Noemi nodded, resolutely, clearly pleased that at least the two of you have come to the decision that she hoped you would make. 

Noemi led Livoc and Johan through her home, where Livoc couldn’t help but gawk at the lavish features, priceless treasures, and odd curiosities. Noemi arrived at a door at the end of a dead end hallway. Reaching out with a longs slender finger, she stroked the end of the digit down the centre of the door. 

Livoc could feel the magic at work; Noemi was disabling the protective wards 
that had been laid into the door itself. The door swung open of its own accord and as Livoc passed he was taken a back at the complexity of the spell work that was laid, barely visible in the hard oaken surface of the portal. Livoc had visited Noemi on half a dozen occasions, but each time, whether it was that she was a woman or that she was a practitioner of one of the more reclusive forms of magic, he had always seemed to place her power level well below his own. Nothing could be further from the truth, a fact which evidences itself as they strolled into her lab, the room beyond the ensorcelled entryway. Rows upon rows of carefully labelled and stored potions, foci in various forms of completion, a summoning circle made of pure gold attached the floor of the far side of the room with silver stakes. The woman Livoc had thought nothing more than a peddler of information for the Council is far more than that. 

Noemi walked to the back wall of the laboratory. She approached a large bookshelf full of ledger books. A neat script labelled them by date, carefully ordered, ranging back to the late 1200's. Despite the fact that Noemi mentioned her age in the confrontation mere minutes ago, Livoc was taken aback by the physical proof of her longevity. She reached into a small gap, almost invisible to the prying eye, behind the massive shelf. Livoc heard an audible click and the shelf swings forward, sliding effortlessly across the stone floor. Just beyond the shelf was a small entry way that turned to the right and led down an ancient looking set of stairs. With a flourish of her delicate hand Noemi brought forth a glowing orb of crystalline blue light and wordlessly led the way down into the gloom. Following Livoc soon realized the passages showed where they were really heading, the endless labyrinth of passage ways and chambers that span the undercity of Rome, The Catacombs.

Whispering quietly to Johan Livoc shivered.

“I hate this place”


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

As Alexander and the mysterious monk walked through the streets of roam night began to fall. Alexander turned his gaze towards the setting sun and smiled slightly, the first sign of emotion he had shown in days. He always felt more comfortable at night, when monsters lurked and the battle for survival became much more perilous. Suppressing the smile and reforming his mask of neutrality Alexander observed the monk subtly, watching his movements and mannerisms. The monk shivered in the cold air of the night, as he pulled his hood up Alexander noted the efficiency of his movements. This man was a warrior, or had been one at one point. As the two continued to travel through the backalleys and narrow streets of the Holy City Alexander noted the odd location ahead of them, a graveyard. Alexander had spent much time in graveyards, hunting revenants, spirits, vampires and the undead but this Monk did not seem the type. He lacked the air of a hunter, or at least the air of one who has actually hunted long enough to be good at it.

For a moment Alexander considered the possibility that he could be walking into an ambush, and then discounted it. He doubted the monk had the spine, and if he did he'd soon die with it wrapped around his neck. Alexander blinked as he looked and saw the monk disappear into the darkness under an ornate stone structure, he moved closer and saw his companion standing by an even more ornately carved sarcophagus, it's front was designed to look like a fair woman with her eyes closed. As the monk ran his fingers over the metal face gently Alexander suspected that he had known the woman in the carving, and mourned her death. He stored that information away for later, anything that told him more about this monk and whomever he served would be of help.

The monk pressed his right foot down, the indent in the floor now very clear as the wall moved back and to the side, revealing a set of stairs leading into a pitch black darkness. The monk took a torch from the wall, the orange light bathing him and casting a dark glow to his features, and gestured for Alexander to follow as he walked into the gloom. Alexander followed without hesitation, and as his eyes shifted and he began to see through the darkness he realised where he was. The byzantine labyrinths that were built underneath the city of Rome, known to its people as The Catacombs.


LotN


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

Henry and the other man shared a look, before setting off with the mysterious monk. Despite his earlier interest, the mage who had caused Henry much disquiet had disappeared into the night. Apparently the mage was understandibly reluctant to work alongside an arm of the notoriously mistrustful Catholic Church. 

Finding the presence of any magic users somewhat disquieting, Henry was rather pleased that the mage had gone. He snapped his thoughts back to the winding path on which the monk was taking them. Keeping the monk in clear view, Henry followed him down several dark side streets, before branching off and leaving the main roads entirely. 

_This is a trap_ Thought Henry, eying the monk suspiciously. He was already considering where and how to strike the unassuming figure. _Aim for the arms with knife. Draw sword to block any incoming attacks. Kick legs, slash at thighs, incapacitate and interrogate. Prepare for additional hostilities._ The monk stopped and Henry braced himself, his hands clamped on his weapons. Looking around his assumptions were brought into question. They were standing in a main intersection of what appeared to be merchant footpaths. The monk suddenly darted toward a set of stairs that led below street level, stopping at an ancient looking door that appears to lead into the basement of a run down book vendor's. The monk's hands flashed into his pocket and Henry's sword was drawn, but the monk held up his hands in a show of submission, showing you a large metal key. 

Henry sighed in relief and sheathed his blade. The monk pointed to the lock securing the door, before sliding around Henry. The monk displayed extraordinary calm considering the the danger he knew he was in, and unlocks the old oak door. Waving Henry and the other hunter inside, still showing a complete disinterest in the sheathed blade that was still in Henry's vice like grip. They walked in and he locked the door behind them. Despite the fact that building above was massive, the room that they had just entered was a mere ten by ten room of stone blocks, unadorned save a small chest next to the door and a set of stairs that lead down into shadow. _Two known routes of entry, greatest potential for an ambush lies directly ahead._ Henry thought, going through his honed training. The monk opened the chest he handed the other Hunter a torch, taking a second for himself before wordlessly lighting them and heading down the stairs into the impenetrable blackness. Henry suspiciously followed and soon the passages laid bare the true path that the trio was taking, the expansive maze that made up the Catacombs of Rome...


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Freja*

POSTED FOR KARAK THE UNFAITHFUL:

Karak The Unfaithful	09-28-12 11:17 AM
________________________________________
Freja sat sat and watched the Englishman for a bit, neither spoke, they simply took this time to observe one another which Freja was thankful for. Although she doubted he was an enemy she also doubted he was an ally too, but he might be the only way to get to Profoski.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A hunter" he replied quickly. Great, she though. just by the one reply she could getting hold of an information would be like getting blood out of a stone.

"You look like an Englishman, why so far from home?"

"My duty"

Another helpful answer, this guy wasn't giving anything away. "and what is your duty?"

"The duty of a hunter, you know that. you're one" he replied, in the same quick and quite emotionless manner.

"okay then, do you know a man called Profoski?" Freja asked.

"I'd hoped you'd know something about that"

Well, it was quite obvious that this man knew very little and what he did know; he refused to give away. Freja had decided that this was hopeless, so she stood to leave and made for the door.

But just then a Italian monk came through the tavern door, barring he way. She was going to move out of the way but it became clear she was headed straight for Her and the Englishman. he stopped in front of them and began speaking in very rapid Italian, Freja was lost by it very early on. When it became clear to the monk that neither she nor he could understand he had another go in English:

"looking for you. talk to people same as you. come. to Profoski"

Despite the slightly patchy English the monk seemed to be very anxious to get them to follow. She looked down at the Englishman.

"This man could lead us to Profoski, I am going to follow him, but you can make your own choices"

Freja turned away from him and headed towards the tavern door.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Edward*

POSTED FOR SANTAIRE:

Santaire	09-28-12 11:26 AM
________________________________________
I shared a glance with my fellow Hunter as the monk walked on. The mage had disappeared.

I frowned slightly. I had great respect for those who practiced magic, even if they’re otherworldly demeanour could sometimes be unsettling. But he evidently wasn’t willing to trust the monk who led me and the other Hunter deeper into the city. Nevertheless I continued following the monk though my arms were crossed over my chest, my hands hovering near the hilts of the daggers concealed within my vambraces.

As we left the main roads and started taking back alleys my fingers curled around the leather grips of the knives, my eyes narrowed and I tensed. The monk suddenly stopped and my fingers reflexively tightened on the hilts of the blades, I crouched slightly and analysed the surrounding area. It was a terrible place for an ambush I must admit. It was a merchant’s footpath intersection. The monk moved quickly down a flight of stairs and I tensed, my grip tightening and as he reached into his robes my knives slid out of their sheaths with a rasp of metal on metal. He pulled a key from his robes and held his arms up in a gesture of submission. I relaxed slightly and rammed my knife back into its sheath but before I sheathed my stiletto I saw what was past the door he had opened.

I flipped the stiletto into my right hand.

I wasn’t entering a dark room without a blade in my hand. As we walked in I saw that it was small, a mere ten by ten and the only furnishings were a small chest and a second doorway. The monk moved to the chest and handed me a torch, taking one for himself. We moved through the second door and I held up the torch. The blank passageway soon revealed our destination and I realised keeping the knife in my hand had been a wise decision. I held up the torch and followed behind the monk and the other hunter as we descended.

Into the Catacombs...


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Pieter*

POSTED FOR DEATHBRINGER:

deathbringer	10-02-12 07:09 AM
________________________________________
Lilith- the name was enough to chill the breath in his lungs and he bowed his head in silent contemplation, his questions stilled in his throats by a looming sense of foreboding, such a quest, to do battle against the satanic mother of evil herself.... if it was true... no wonder the Lord had called a blade to his side, none other than Ammorochius, the unbroken blade of purest heart.

No sooner did his head rise, tranquility set in, the very air around him infused with a sensation of peace and harmony, of the contented departed, safe within their tombs. His eyes fell upon markings, primitive etchings in the wall surrounded by elegantly molded ceramics depicting markings he recognized and other pagan scrawls that left him gazing in a mysterious sense of wonder.

Each symbol, however basic or primitive, in shape or design left him at peace, contented by the sudden belief that the dead were protected by more than wood and stone, that some greater power guarded the departed souls deep beneath the earth.

He sidestepped quickly as the rotund monk slowed, eyes upon the floor, lips working silently and for a moment Pieter feared he had lost his bearings, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness ahead for some obstacle that blocked their path.

"I think there is something you may want to see my lord. I was unsure whether we would have time to visit the Chapel, but I brought you this way on the off chance."

He moved off down a passage that seemed to bloom from the darkness and Pieter was forced to follow, numbly following him into the blackness, his ears straining as he struggled to follow the footsteps of the Friar in front of him even as the tunnel closed in around him.

He opened his mouth to question the wisdom of the move, yet his voice was stilled by a new sensation, a holy sense of purpose, the feeling that this was correct and thus he silenced his doubts and continued walking, a building sense of excitement rising in him as he strode through the narrow passageway.

As they emerged, passing excavation equipment, tools and piles of rubble his eyes fell upon a sight that make his heart skip a beat, every breath suddenly becoming like a knife edge.

4 figures stood before a crucifix, empty of form, somehow beyond ceremony or architecture, a sense of age and importance in its thick bows, the blood stains surrounding empty holes and he felt his knees buckle as he saw a regal papal figure standing arms outstretched before an anvil.

He hit the ground, flurries of dust rising from round his knees even as he stared in wonder at the 3 figures before him, hands outstretched, fingers curling upon empty air in a grip that was unmistakable, the grip of practiced fingers upon the hilt of a blade.

Tears flooded his eyes even as he turned too the friar, eyes shining even as the Friar beamed, his very soul praying his assumption was correct

"yes my lord, this is where your blade was forged."


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Robin*

POSTED FOR BANE_OF_KINGS:

Bane_of_Kings	10-02-12 01:10 PM
________________________________________
Robin knew he was being observed by this female, who was clearly older than he was. She didn't speak, something that irritated him - he would have got up and left then, but he presumed she knew something about Profoski. That was the only reason that kept him on the table right now, for the Englishman had far better things to do, he thought - then sit and stare at women in pubs. Not that he didn't mind starring at women of course, but that was a different matter entirely.

Eventually, the silence shared between the two was broken, and it was the woman that spoke, with a blunt, "Who Are you," directed at him.

Still not knowing what her intentions were yet, Robin took a moment to respond, before saying, "A Hunter." 'Next question, please.'

Judging by the obvious lack of questioning about what a Hunter was, Robin deduced that she was one. Refraining from speaking, he watched her ask him another question, "You look like an Englishman. Why so far from home?"

"My Duty."

"And what is your duty?" she questioned, clearly being disappointed with the lack of information that she was getting from the Hunter counterpart. 

"The Duty of a Hunter," replied Robin, not seeing the point in responding to questions that she already knew but chose to respond anyway. "You should know that - you're one."

"Okay then, do you know a man called Profoski?" the woman asked, and Robin knew when she spoke that sentence that she was as clueless about their target as he was. 

"I'd hoped you knew something about that," Robin replied, grimacing slightly. 'Back to Square One', he thought in his head. But just as she was about to climb to her feet and leave, beating the Englishman to it, the Tavern door opened and in swept a Monk, clearly Italian and clearly looking for someone. It was almost comical when he started speaking in rapid Italian when he saw the woman's clueless expression, but Robin knew about as much Italian as she did. He could count up to ten, but that wouldn't be a lot of use here. 

That was when the Monk finally got the message that neither of them understood his native language, and switched to a crude English. "Looking For You. Talk to people the same as you. Come. To Profoski."

The woman informed Robin that she was going after Profoski, which earned one simple sentence from him, "Do what you want - I don't care," but his thoughts were different, 'Stupid. Could be a trap. If it is a trap, how about you spring it, and I'll follow?' Maybe the Hunter was being too paranoid as he watched the Monk leave with the nameless woman, but Robin thought it might be wise just to linger in the Tavern a little longer. He'd been into traps like this before, the one on the South Coast of France was still fresh in his mind. When the woman was about to close the door behind her, Robin got out, and departed through a back exit, looping round the Tavern - and just catching sight of the Monk and the female Hunter in the distance.


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

At Naomi’s ire and demonstration of power Johan raised his hands in conciliation. 

“Forgive me, i spoke in haste and without thought.” He said in supplication. Inwardly he reminded himself to never make an enemy of the ectomancer, she was powerful indeed, for more so than he had suspected. It was a reminder that there was always more to learn and to never take things at face value, even a beautiful sorceress. 

Still her words, if not their delivery, soothed Johan’s nerves. It was good to know the Council did indeed know of, and approve of the situation. 

“I will come” he continued, “Let us see what Prokofski has to say”.

With the group’s assent Naomi led them deeper into her house, and what a house it was! Arcane treasures and knick-knacks crowded the walls and shelves groaned with texts. As they ventured into the Italian’s laboratory Johan’s interest peaked further. Rows of potions, tonics and all manner of arcana jostled for space. Johan would have given much to examine them in further detail, his curiosity aroused with the new understanding of Naomi’s abilities. He would have to take care to place himself into her affections again. Perhaps some kind of alchemical gift, roses preserved or gold or some such. 

Johan was soon pulled from such idle musings as the ectomancer opened a hidden doorway and led them inside. Once some ways in the temperature dropped noticeably as the texture of the walls changed. Smooth marble and polished oak gave way to rough hewn stone, cold and damp. Enveloped in darkness, their passage fitfully illuminated by Naomi’s soflty glowing orb they descended further.

It was apparent they were being led underneath the city, into Rome’s warren of catacombs. Livoc, the black clad mage walking beside Johan muttered “I hate this place”. 

Looking to the younger man Johan smiled speaking in English this time, “Ah but Scarramuccii, the bowels of the earth are the perfect place for a mysterious meeting with a man returned from the dead”.


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## yoyoyo12365 (Dec 6, 2010)

Dragomir was surprised when the monk shoved off from the wall with great strength. As he moved, the monk spun into Dragomir, his large sleeve snapping out and wrapping around Dragomir's wrist. The monk gave a sharp pull to the sleeve, snapping Dragomir's arm rigid, at the same time the monk grabbed the dagger and spun Dragomir away. As Dragomir begins to recover, reaching over his shoulder to the hilt of his family sword, the monk stares him in the eye, gesturing that he meant no real harm, and dropped the dagger to the ground.

"Seniore," he said slowly, "It is you who have come seeking information and a meeting with Prokofski, not I. I will not be threatened, if you wish to follow you may do so, but if you do sheathe your weapon for I am no threat to you. If not, God be with you my son."

The monk turned down another side alley, and began quickly striding away from Dragomir. Dragomir's face flushed red in embarrassment as he swooped down to grab his dropped dagger and sheathed it. Whoever this monk was, he was not to be trifled with, and Dragomir had no doubt about what would happen if it came to a fight.

But, though he was more than a little embarrassed about letting his anger get the best of him, Dragomir was resolved to have this crazy journey end tonight. He took another moment to gather his wits, then strode quickly after fading monk.

Dragomir observed the monk as he began to gain ground again, noticing that he was entirely inconspicuous. It was hard to believe that so peaceful a figure could hide such danger just beneath the surface. As Dragomir began to level with the monk, the monk turned his head slightly and pressed a finger lightly to his lips, indicating that they need not speak of what had happened in that dark alley, and that they need not speak at all until they were in a secure area.

The monk quickly led Dragomir toward the Tiber river, then turned to follow its banks. The feeling of standing in the open, striding at a seemingly endlessly slow pace, made Dragomir more than a little bit uncomfortable. Thankfully, after a period of about ten minutes, the monk crossed the street, and quickly entered a small building that turned out to be a small prayer chapel, empty save for a few sheltering birds.

Dragomir felt better being in the closed space, and being able to see all of the shadows. The monk crossed the room, gesturing for him to follow. Opening a door, the monk strode into what appeared to be a study, and immediately tossed the floor rug up to reveal a sturdy looking trap door. With a silver key and a grunt of effort, the monk opened the hatch to reveal a stone stairwell, descending into darkness.

The monk handed the Hawk a torch, lit from a small candle, and ushered him into the gaping maw of the earth. After Dragomir had stepped far enough in, the monk followed, paused to close and lock the hatch, and then pushed out in front.

After a short walk, it became apparent where they were. The Catacombs that run the entirety of Rome. Dragomir became uneasy, knowing that there could be any number of dark things waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting fool.

He put on the face of the Hawk, his hunter's countenance, and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger. He hoped to be ready for anything.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Brother Giordano, stopping to stoop quickly to move his large body out of the small side door pulled the hood on his habit to cover his face. Eira wrapped her cloak around herself, pulling her travelling hood up as well as he held up a finger to indicate that they should be silent on the walk. That was fine by Eira, it was dark out, and even though it was unlikely that there would be any creatures that meant them harm, especially in a holy place like this, it was still unfriendly to some.

Giordano led the small group through a series of connected alleyways, staying away from the main roads as he lead the group west away from Il Jesu and further into the heart of the city. Eira thought Rome would have been cleaner, they were headed to St. Peter's Basilica the way the were going, the streets were still dirty and damp though. 

As the group walked Eira could hear footsteps approach then dissapear, and due to how serious brother Giordano was acting, and the fact that she was out after dark in an unfamiliar place one hand slipped inside her cloak, resting on the dagger that was there. She wished she had her weapons with her properly, instead of leaving them with her horse. She knew that most petty thieves would stay away, seeing how one of the group was carrying a sword clearly on his back as they walked.

Once they reached the river, Giordano moved down a series of stairs leading down to the bank of the river. Bringing the group to underneath one of the bridge he led the group back up the bank before arriving at a drainage gate. Opening it with a small ring he heads inside the group following to whatever awaited.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Update #3*

"They are here.... the largest gathering of Hunters in centuries, perhaps milennia. They are all here to listen to what I have to say, to answer the summons that I put forth. Will they listen? will they hear without judgement? Will we survive the coming months? Will humanity survive the coming year? I am fearful. Fearful like I have never been before." 

Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
April 11th, 1578​ 

All: Slowly but surely each of your groups makes their way through the forbidding atmosphere of the ancient tunnels that compose the Catacombs, until your guides finally slow their paces, leading you into a vast cavern. As you take in the surroundings you are all amazed at the room that you find yourself in, thinking that it would fit perfectly into a church resting above your heads on the surface streets. The floors here are inlaid marble, the ceiling is painted with motifs depicting the early life of Christ as estimated by scholar's, and there are carved archways that lead into other hallways and rooms beyond this central chamber. As you enter the chamber properly, finally able to take it in in its entirety, you see that at the far north end is what at one time served as a place of worship, a small amphitheatre carved into the bedrock. It is towards this end of the room and down the steps into the theatre proper that your guides lead you and direct you to take seats. 

Looking around you find that the seats are slowly being filled in by other monk's leading groups of mismatched people into the theatre from side passage ways. You can't tell much about the people from their appearance, but several are obviously armed, and the whole room bristles with unbridled tension. Most around you look skeptically and suspiciously at their neighbors. A shouting match between a man that is obviously a paladin, his white robes so startlingly bright that he could be nothing else, and a robed mage begin shouting at each other until some of the monks intercede. Calming the situation with a sure hand. All in all you estimate that there are a little over a hundred men and women in the room. A startling congregation of Hunters, assuming all in attendance share your profession. 

You take a seat, whether by the people you came with or by yourself is your choice, but you barely have sat down when a hush comes over the assembled crowd, a steady hollow thumping noise coming from one of the side passages that lead to the stage of the amphitheatre silencing the tongues of all present. Everyone in the crowded space, waiting with baited breath to have the question poised on everyone's lips answered. Is this man truely the great Vladamir Prokofski? and if it is, what would prompt him to summon so many to him?

The thumping noise draws closer and you finally get a glimpse of a shadowed form, emerging from the gloom of the passage. As the man finally walks out of the shadows, there is a collective gasp from many of the assembled and you can hear several of the older folks dispersed through the crowd say things like, "my god it is him." Most of you are unable to recognize him as you have never met Prokofski personally, but it is almost hard for you to believe that this aged many is the same legendary Hunter you grew up hearing about. His is missing his right leg, the sturdy oaken crutch that supports his weight accounting for the thumping as he approached, his skin is leathery and worn, weathered to the point that it looks as though it would crack like aged parchment. The unruly shock of white hair that stands up from his head, the the spots of age, tell the tell of a life long lived. However, despite his obvious great age, he stands with back straight, shoulders and head held high, and the sparkle of vitality and intelligence still shines from startling blue eyes that flit over the assembled crowd, a genuine smile creasing his wizened face as he takes in the numbers before him. 

"Welcome commrades. I am so pleased that you could come," Vladamir begins, his words bearing a thick russian accent, but his deep rumbling voice captivating your attention. "I am sure that you all are wondering why it is I have called this unprecedented assembly and I promise that I will tell you. However, I must ask that you first indulge me in a short history lesson and I must ask that you keep an open mind to what I am about to say."

He clears his throat and takes a large pull from a glass of water provided to him by one of the monks. Smacking his lips in exaggerated fashion, Prokofski continues, his voice carrying easily to the back corners of the room with ease. "For many years I have been captivated by a story I heard in passing from a traveling hunter. A tale of beasts so powerful that they spawned a race of monsters from their own flesh. Some have heard their names mentioned in legend, The originators, the Alphas, a race of pre-diluvian beings that have lived on since the beginning of creation. I have chosen to call them the Lelani, the first evils, the son's and daughters of the Demoness Lilith."

A round of chuckles goes through the assembled hunters, some of the older members openly showing their incredulity. It was common knowledge that demons did not exist, that they stories from the Christian bible were nothing but stories to scare congregations into compliance. 

Instead of getting angry, Prokofski chuckles right along with them, raising his hands in supplication, "I know my friends, I know. The demons do not exist, we know this, none of us have ever met one, none of us have ever tangled with a being from beyond the realm of this reality. I know this, you know this.... But what if we were wrong?" The question, its sincerity striking the smiles from laughing faces. "We believed these legends just stories that explained the rise of the monsters of this world. Allegories to explain the wickedness that runs rampant across the earth. I stand before you, to tell you that these Lelani are no myth. They are real, they do exist, and that they are awakening." 

The stunned silence that meets this proclamation hands like a heavy fog over the assembled hunters, until it is broken by an older gentleman, a heavy broadsword strapped to his back, a small crossbow hanging from his belt, as he stands and says, "Rubbish.... You are addled Vladamir," his scathing voice heightened by his scottish accent, thick and nasal. "Stories, stories told to frighten barrins, and women. You speak of demons and the fathers of monsters, you have lost your mind rotting in these catacombs." Several others, of the same age group, rally around this older hunter, nodding their heads in agreement. " You have no proof ."

Prokofski sighs, it is obvious from the way that he sets his shoulders, that he was prepared for this confrontation. His glare taking in the hunter before him, he bites back, "Elgain McGregor, you wouldn't be convinced unless one of them bit you in the ass and sent you home to your mother. Fortunately for you, I have saved you the trouble, one has jumped up and ravaged me instead. Tell me Elgain, what would you say if a vampire refused to die, even with a silver stake in its heart and its head lying feet from its body? Hmm? You would piss yourself and crawl to the safety of holy ground just like I did." McGregor's eyes narrow, his supporters backing away from him definitely catches his attention as Prokofski continues, "Why would I lie old friend. Just because we don't want to believe it, does not make it less true. Things that have not walked the world for milennia now do so, called from their eternal slumber by someone or something that seeks to gain great power. The Gatekeeper of the mages brings me troubling news, some one has tried to reach Beyong the Outer Gates. Some one is trying to bind one of the old ones to them. Someone is trying to control Lilith, to bring her into this world with the assistance of her children. I assure you my commrades, that this is real, the endtimes may be upon us, and if we don't act I fear that those Demons that we don't believe exist may once more walk among us." 

Prokofski opens his mouth to continue, but before his words can begin to flow, an unearthly shriek reverberates around the cavern, chilling the blood in your viens. It is accompanied by the ringing of steel as the hunters, already tense, draw their weapons.

"We are discovered!," Prokofski roars, his odd silhoutte a becrutched man, short sword in hand, radiates a strange power as he stands at the head of the room, "Defend yourselves!" 

All: As you leap to obey, from every concievable opening into the room pour shadowed shapes, about 4 feet tall. They appear to be humanoid, but their fingers are longer than the should be and are tipped with vicious looking claws. Their childlike faces split by vicious maws of needle like teeth, and from the creases of their bluish grey skin, smoke rises to hang like a shroud around their bodies. You have the presence of mind to remark that you have never faced a being like this and you barely have a chance to plant your feet before the things rush at you. 

[You are able to kill three of the beasts, though their thick black blood clings to your weapons, making it more difficult to damage its fellows. Those of you that have silver weapons find that your strikes are more vicious as silver-blue fire erupts from the wounds that you cause, you folks are able to kill 4. Pieter, your sword cuts through them like a knife through hot butter, their forms melting into vapor at the mere touch of your blade, you are able to take 6. No one takes any wounds at this time.]


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

Alexander continued to follow the monk through the tunnels, each wall was non-descript and did not make easy to mentally map the passages, but Alexander was used to spending time underground and had developed a keen sense of direction in dark places. He was sure that if left alone he could find his way out and back here again. He was about to speak, his frustration at this long voyage finally reaching a point where he felt the need to demand an answer from the mysterious monk, but before he could voice his concern he found himself in a church altar room.

Or it looked like one. The floors were marble, depictions of Christ in what the scholars believed to be his life were displayed in frescos on the ceiling, and many other doors led to different sections of the complex. The fact that it was in a vast cavern only drove home how strange the scene was. Alexander followed the monk, who remained silent, through the northern door and into an amphithetre carved into the bedrock, overlooking a stage made from the same stone. Alexander took a seat in the back of the room in a corner, staying out of the sight of others who were already present and continued to file into the room. They were a motley group, no two looked alike, each one was armed in some fashion or another, either physically or magically. Alexander recognized Paladins, some other mages that served the Council directly, and common street hunters that possessed only their hard-earned knowledge and what little weapons they could scrounge together, he had always identified more with them but never enough to work with others of his own will.

Alexander kept a close eye on the stage and did not miss the first appearance of him. Alexander was certain of it even without seeing his face, this was Vladamir Prokofski. When he unveiled his face, revealing strong unbent shoulders, a shock of white hair and eyes that were anything but old, Alexander was impressed by his fortitude. Hunting was not kind to those who undertook it and most died young, that he had not was a testament to his skill and the fact that by Mage standards he was barely past youth at 125 years of age. As the hunter began to speak Alexander leaned forward slightly to better catch his words and to get a sense of the man's aura, while being careful not to take his face from the shadows. Prokofski was genuinely happy to see so many and his aura reflected it, the strength there was evident and Alexander was satisfied that this man was definitely someone worth following and respecting.

Or at least he was until Prokofski said the word demon. Alexander nearly got up out of his seat and walked away at that, only the fact that it was Vladamir Prokofski that said it stayed his hand. Demons were a laughable concept and any hunter worth his salt knew they were fake, made up by the Church to scare people into worshipping Christ out of fear that if they did not they would go to hell. Other hunters showed their discontent, and Alexander could not resist joining in,

_"I expected more from the great Vladamir Prokofski than churchly mutterings and superstition."_

Prokofski shook off the criticisms, placating the audience by trying to convince them of his sincerity. Alexander was still unconvinced, if demons existed somebody would have seen one by now, and yet he had never heard a single tale of demons or anything that could be identified as demons. Childish superstition made rampant by foolish priests. Alexander once again considered leaving but before he could a hunter with a strong scotch accent called out Prokofski as a fool. Alexander chuckled inwardly and nearly voiced his support of the hunter's insult, but Prokofski shot the scotchman down before he could. Prokofski continued to try and convince the audience but Alexander could see that many did not believe him, some appeared to but they were all pawns of the church. Paladins and priests that had no business bringing religion to the hunt, Alexander had nothing but contempt for them. He decided to leave, the old man's religious mutterings were unwelcome and he concluded he had mis-judged Prokofski, the hard life of hunting must have finally shattered his sanity.

As Alexander rose a hideous shriek resounded through the cavern which was immediately followed by the crackle of his tulwar being drawn from it's sheath, the sound of lightning echoed through the cavern. Prokofski called out for the hunters to defend themselves, which Alexander agreed vehemently with. Before Alexander could voice a demand of Prokofski to reveal what the enemy were, and that no mention of demons be made, he saw the enemy for the first time. It was shorter than he was, by at least two feet, and at a first glance appeared humanoid. Their fingers were as long as spider legs and were tipped with vicious claws that shone against the blue lighting his blade exuded. Their faces were child-like and would be considered eerily beautiful by any other than Alexander who only saw the face of a monster with a maw of teeth like needles and skin that was blue-grey. Smoke shrouded their bodies and lended them an ethereal look. The Alchemist realised something as he scanned them, he had never seen such creatures before or heard of anything that resembled them. Before he could take that line of thought further four of them converged on him, their maws howling an ear-splitting shriek that did nothing but annoy Alexander.

Swinging his tulwar defensively he parried the first three attackers, sending them to the sides with flat blows to their heads, and struck at the fourth. His blade crackled with lightning that discharged, blasting the creature in the chest. It appeared to hurt the creature but not mortally, the smoking wound giving off a dark black smoke that contrasted with the light grey that surrounded the creature. Not allowing it to gain the upper hand he lashed out with a series of short slashes that managed to inflict several bleeding wounds on it. His blade shone with an inner light as it cut, and the black blood that stuck to his blade evaporated instantly as the lightning danced over it. Ducking an overhead slash Alexander spun on his heel and delivered a powerful two-handed cut, slicing the creature from shoulder to groin, it fell with a tortured wail and bled both midnight-coloured blood and smoke.

Turning to face the other three and disregarding the dead foe Alexander noticed they were sticking together, having recovered from their dazed state they observed him hungrily. Neither of the three was prepared to make the first move which bought him a few moments, quickly he reached to his belt and removed a small vial of crimson red liquid that seemed to exude heat. Removing the stopper with his teeth he downed the potion, and dropped the vial. The change came instantly, his tattoos began to glow bright red and his eyes changed from their mis-matched blue and green into pure red lined with orange and flecked with yellow at their edges. He raised his left hand at the left-most creature, the wave of heat that spewed from his palm engulfed the creature and turned it into a smouldering corpse that bled only black smoke. The other two took the chance and leapt at him, blocking one blow and dodging another Alexander released a flurry of stabs at both, attempting to break their defense and strike at the neck. One brought down it's hand in an overarching swipe, Alexander reacted quickly and grabbed the creature's wrist. His hand burned like a forging tool and the creature's hand was severed, before it could so much as scream Alexander grabbed it's throat and squeezed. His red-hot appendage burned through the creature's neck and decapitated it cleanly, leaving a smoking stump of a neck behind as the creature collapsed. 

Hurling the head at the last remaining attacker Alexander charged forward, his blade practically covered in lightning and smoke from the evaporating blood. The creature sliced the head in half but in doing so left itself open to the tulwar that punched through it's neck and was ripped free, black blood spurting from the wound as the body twitched before falling with a thud. Alexander exhaled the breath he had been holding and readied himself as more enemies began to present themselves, all of them casting what appeared to be wary glances at his blade and eyes. The ghost of a smile passed across his mouth. They were smart enough to fear him at least.


LotN


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

"_I have arrived_." ~Excerpt from Personal Journal of Robin Blake, April 11th, 1578. 

Tailing the Monk and the woman from a safe distance, Robin eventually arrived at the forbidden atmosphere presented by the looming, ancient tunnels that composed of a catacomb, somewhere in the heart of one of the greatest cities of the current age - Rome. After weeks of searching for Profoski, Robin Blake was here. But he was still skeptical, and he didn't want to immediately enter after the Monk and the woman in case it was trap, he staked out at one of the entrances and waited. But as more and more people begun to arrive, fitting the definition for hunters, he decided that this must be the place and the Hunters seemed to be getting called en masse.

Nobody would attack them here, the young man thought, so raising his hood to cover his face, he entered the catacombs, fully armed with bow and arrow. Just in case. Broadsword attached as well as an array of daggers, the blonde-haired teenager followed the Hunters into the catacombs, making sure that he was not detected. He noticed that each hunter either came in groups or was alone, and were lead by some sort of guide. After a while of following men and women through the catacombs, Robin came across a large, vast and open cavern, which awed the nineteen year old as he entered it.

Doing his best to mask his emotions, he couldn't help think that a church would fit perfectly into this Cavern, resting above his head. The floors here were all inlaid marble, the ceiling decorated with extravagant motifs depicting the early life of Christ as believed by Scholars. As he looked around the cavern, Robin took in the fact that there were several carved archways that lead into other hallways and rooms beyond what must have been the central chamber.

It wasn't until that he entered the chamber properly that he was finally able to take it in in its entirety, as the far north end of the room was something that at one time did clearly serve as a place of worship, but was now a small amphitheatre carved into the bedrock. It was towards the end of the room, the ninteen year old Hunter noticed, and that was seemingly where all the guides were leading his fellow Hunters. As he had lost track of the woman and the guide long ago, he took a different path, choosing his own seat in the amhitheatre. 

Others were gathered there as well, and Robin couldn't help but get the feeling that despite the variety of ages and features, he was clearly one of the youngest people in the room and the older Hunters all seemed to be giving him a disapproving eye, as he clearly didn't have the experience that they did, therefore he clearly wasn't as good as them. _Well_, Robin thought. '_That's bollocks. Age Doesn't always equal experience and they should know that_.'

He ended up finding the empty seat next to him filled by a man who seemed fairly well built, but not overly muscular. He didn't take in the features of the man long as it did not concern him what his fellow Hunters looked like, and he resembled some sort of Alchemist, mainly due to the fact that what clear arms he could see were covered in a tattooed Alchemy script with golden writing font. His attention wavered when Profoski started speaking, and began to wonder if it was worth travelling all the way to Rome to listen to one person speak. _'Ah well, can't turn back now',_ he thought, and then caught the word Demon being uttered by the orator, which earned a few laughs from around the room. 

Rather than join in, Robin was smart enough to realise that the Man wouldn't have called all the Hunters from all across Europe to gather in the very city that belonged to the Pope, whose religion actively persecuted some members of his Order, and decided to continue to listen to Profoski until they were rudely interrupted. "We Are Discovered!" Profoski bellowed, shortly after an uneathly shriek echoed throughout the cavern, freezing the blood in the teenager's veins. Instantly alert and up on his feet, bow and arrow drawn, Robin wasn't even paying attention to Profoski anymore when he gave the order to Defend themselves.

They were Hunters. This was an attack, and they weren't going to sit there and do absolutely nothing. As the four-foot tall shadowed shapes appeared in the room from the entrance points and every other conceivable opening, Robin observed their inhuman appearance briefly for unleashing an arrow from his quiver, letting it fly towards its target with accuracy brought from years of practicing the tool. It struck true, hitting the head of one of the humanoid figures with a direct headshot. It dropped like a rock, but it was when that his second shot was diverted further off target, missing the head to harm what resembled to be a stomach, he realised that judging by the fact that the second target was still hurtling towards him, these things were tougher than normal.

'_So headshots only. Simple_,' Robin thought, and began a backward pedal away from the creature as it headed towards him. Once he was a safe distance away, he aimed his bow, and delivered another accurate headshot which brought the creature down. But then, he found himself hurled back across the seats as another one thrashed into him, and he managed to bring up his broadsword just in time to cover the fact that he had dropped his bow in the fall, managed to bring it with all his strength into the creature's left side. 

It wasn't a clean kill, but the harder he pushed the sword, the further it dug into the creature. It was split in two, and Robin's third kill of the day was achieved.


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Johan emerged into an underground amphitheatre, centuries old by the looks of it. A secret amphitheatre from the beginnings of Christianity for the largest meeting of hunters in living memory? Johan nearly laughed at the melodrama of it all. These moments seemed to come frequently to his profession. Smiling to himself, Johan was directed to seat by Naomi.

A sea of hunters surrounded him, more than he had ever seen in one place. He had thought a few dozen at most, not the scores present. Some he recognised, by face or reputation and a few he knew by name, those who had contributed to his great treatise on monsters. He called out greetings in a multitude of languages as he found his seat, catching sight of acquaintances from across the continent. 

Finding an empty seat between a burly Hungarian and ascetic Englishman, who at his presence grunted intelligibly and sniffed in pious martyrdom respectively, Johan carefully wiped the dust and dirt off the stone before sitting. Tucking his lace kerchief into a pocket the German alchemist settled down, awaiting the instigator of this historic conclave. 

He did not have to wait long. A rhythmic thumping echoed from one of the radial tunnels, heralding Prokofski’s arrival. Johan felt somehow cheated. The legendary hunter himself was nought but an old man, weathered by too many years of staring into the abyss. He was in fact depressingly normal looking, if more scarred than the average man had any right to be. 

Prokofski’s words did little to improve Johan’s opinion. Daemons, really. The man was actually trying to tell mages of all people that daemons existed. No matter that centuries of sorcerous endeavour had never discovered the merest hint of daemonic denizens. The old man continued however, ignoring the crowd. The man’s sincerity was disturbing thought Johan. He was either playing the most elaborate practical joke in history or had gone off the deep end entirely. Judging by the murmuring coming from the stands Johan was far from alone in that thought. 

Johan granted however that the concept was disturbing. The implications of daemonic entities that were actively trying to enter this world and tear the veils between realties were monstrous. Monsters that preyed upon man from the shadows were one thing, but organised, intelligent hell-spawn was another. 

As if to underscore Prokofski’s ominous words, wailing shrieks suddenly echoed around the cavern. “Defend Yourselve’s” cried Prkofski as a horde of strange creatures appeared. The room erupted in chaos as hunters drew their weapons and engaged the strange new foe. Men and women tripped over each other in the tight confines of the amphitheatre’s seatings and fought amongst one another to be free. Screams accompanied by jets of blood showed where hunter’s were overwhelmed. 

Two of the creatures came at Johan, their small forms scrabbling over the stone seating. The alchemist drew his pistols, lips curled in revulsion. Aiming quickly he fired the wheel-lock pistol in his left hand, a puff of acrid smoke appearing. The lead ball caught one of the creatures in the pelvis, sending it sprawling to the floor in a screech of rage and pain. 

His other gun was loaded with silver shot, which proved more effective. The small lump of precious metal taking the monster in the chest. The creature was flipped head over heels by the force of blow, its torso erupting in blue fire. Silver is their weakness thought Johan. 

Holstering his pistols Johan drew his poignard, vaulting over a row of seats to close with the one he had wounded. The alchemist desired a better look at this new foe. The creature’s legs useless he found it crawling towards him, malice etched into its disturbingly childlike face. Small with lithe limbs tipped with talons and seemingly emitting shadowy vapours it was like some twisted sprite or goblin. Having seen enough Johan embedded his knife in the creature skull, the monster’s brain boiling as it came into contact with the silver etched blade. 

Johan was suddenly knocked to the ground as an unexpected weight hit him from behind. The manic hissing in his ear and scrabbling of claws told Johan it was one of the shadow goblins. Writhing madly Johan rolled rapidly seeking to crush the horrid thing beneath his weight or dislodge it. Pushing his weight against a stone block he wedged it between his body and the stone. He raised his right arm, desperately warding the monster’s talons and snapping mouth. With his left he fumbled for a pistol. Shaking fingers found purchase on the handgun’s stock as he grasped it tight, bringing it behind his head. Feeling the steel press against flesh he pulled the trigger. At such close range the monster was near decapitated, he felt its body fall limp as the back of his head was showered in blood. Deafened by the pistols discharge and his eyes stung by smoke Johan groggily got to his feet, making for the wall of the cavern where he could not be caught from behind. These things would not catch Johan Wetter off guard again.


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## Karak The Unfaithful (Feb 13, 2011)

The catacombs were dark, the sort of dark which seems to squeeze away the light. The busy city of Rome was long gone now, just these ancient, musty catacombs now. As Freja moved with the monk and the Englishman more and more groups of hunters began to join them, all going the same way. Hunters have never liked to be in groups, perhaps they can cope with an apprentice or some followers but never with another hunter, putting so many in place was unthinkable.

The group moved into a small amphitheater, everyone found a seat, Freja was careful to stay away from the more zealous Christians. But, she was here for a reason, she was here to see Prokofski and perhaps she may get a chance to talk to him.

When everyone was settled the Legendary Hunter, Vladimir Prokofski finally entered: Nobody had seen this man in over 10 years, so it was shock for everyone when he entered: he was old, his hair white like parchment, his skin aged and losing colour and his right leg was gone, replaced by a wooden stump.

_"Welcome comrades. I am so pleased that you could come," Vladimir begins, his words bearing a thick Russian accent, but his deep rumbling voice captivating your attention. "I am sure that you all are wondering why it is I have called this unprecedented assembly and I promise that I will tell you. However, I must ask that you first indulge me in a short history lesson and I must ask that you keep an open mind to what I am about to say..."_

~~~~~~​"...I assure you my comrades, that this is real, the endtimes may be upon us, and if we don't act I fear that those Demons that we don't believe exist may once more walk among us."

Just then, as shriek echoed out from the dimly lit room, every hunter readied their weapons and Freja gripped her staff.

"We are discovered!"

Suddenly the room came alive and from ever entrance or exit came a beast of horrific proportions. They stood like humans but that where the similarities ended. They had long arms, the fingers were not fingers but crooked talons and there mouth was lined with hundreds of fangs.

One came right at Freja, it screamed like a demon from the darkest part of Hel, it's claws came down upon her, etching for Norse blood.

Freja raised her staff just in time to block the beast's attack, it clung onto the wood and reared it's ugly head closer, the hot breath falling against here face. She could have sworn it was laughing.

_"Ved magt af guderne, du vil brænde!"_

She took one hand off the staff and pressed it against the creature's body, a bright light erupted from her palm, the beast fell back, the skin burnt and the screams echoed around the hall.

Freja placed her hand back on her staff, the incantation appeared to have killed the beast, she had never seen that work so well before.

Now that her assailant was dead she could move on, she needed to make sure that Prokofski was fine, without him this would have all been a waste of time.

Freja steeled herself and dived into the melee.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Livoc followed Noemi through the dark corridors, shivering. Johan smiled and turned at his phrase.

“Ah but Scarramuccii, the bowels of the earth are the perfect place for a mysterious meeting with a man returned from the dead”. 

Livoc allowed himself a smile. What the older man said was true, everyone knew that Vladamir Profoski had disappeared years ago. Many had assumed him dead. Yet here they were, the little merry band of an Illusionist, an Ectromancer, an Alchemist and a Elementalist. Livoc wandered if there would be other mages flocking to Profoski’s call.

But soon enough the small group emerged into a breathtaking chamber. The floors were inlaid marble, the ceiling painted with motifs depicting the early life of Christ as estimated by scholar's, and carved archways that led into other hallways and rooms beyond the central chamber. As he entered the chamber properly, finally able to take it in in its entirety, he saw that at the far north end, was what at one time served as a place of worship, a small amphitheatre carved into the bedrock. 

Noemi led the group down to this amphitheatre and into a ring of chairs. Livoc saw monks leading other groups in and the chairs were slowly filling. Livoc moved to a empty chair that stood beside a young, blonde man who could be no older than 20 years. But judging by the bow slung across his back he had some skill and seeing as he was here then he must be a hunter. 

Livoc was about to engage in conversation when a steady hollow thumping noise coming from one of the side passages that lead to the stage of the amphitheatre silenced him and the tongues of all present. Livoc waited with baited breath to have the questionin his mind answered. Is this man truly the great Vladamir Prokofski? and if it is, what would prompt him to summon so many to him?

The thumping noise drew closer and Livoc finally get a glimpse of a shadowed form, emerging from the gloom of the passage. As the man finally walked out of the shadows, there was a collective gasp from many of the assembled and Livoc heard several of the older attendants dispersed through the crowd gasp and utter that the man was Prokofski. Livoc had never laid eyes upon the legendary hunter and so could not know if this man was who he claimed to be, and it was almost hard for him to believe that this aged many is the same legendary Hunter Livoc heard about. He right leg was missing, the sturdy oaken crutch that supported his weight accounting for the thumping as he approached, his skin was leathery and worn, weathered to the point that it looked as though it would crack like aged parchment. The unruly shock of white hair that stood up from his head, the spots of age, told the tale of a life long lived. However, despite his obvious great age, he stood with back straight, shoulders and head held high, and the sparkle of vitality and intelligence still shone from startling blue eyes that flitted over the assembled crowd, a genuine smile creased his wizened face as he took in the numbers before him.

Livoc almost laughed as the man began to speak in a strong Russian accent. Livoc loved Russian accents. 

"Welcome comrades. I am so pleased that you could come, I am sure that you all are wondering why it is I have called this unprecedented assembly and I promise that I will tell you. However, I must ask that you first indulge me in a short history lesson and I must ask that you keep an open mind to what I am about to say."

He cleared his throat and took a large pull from a glass of water provided to him by one of the monks. He smacked his lips in exaggerated fashion, before continuing.

"For many years I have been captivated by a story I heard in passing from a travelling hunter. A tale of beasts so powerful that they spawned a race of monsters from their own flesh. Some have heard their names mentioned in legend, The originators, the Alphas, a race of pre-diluvian beings that have lived on since the beginning of creation. I have chosen to call them the Lelani, the first evils, the son's and daughters of the Demoness Lilith."

Livoc was captivated but a round of chuckles burst out. Livoc knew that demons didn’t exist, tales from the Bible, but some of the older hunter laughed aloud. The old man rose his hands and laughed before continuing, his voice silencing the crowd again.

"I know my friends, I know. The demons do not exist, we know this, none of us have ever met one, none of us have ever tangled with a being from beyond the realm of this reality. I know this, you know this.... But what if we were wrong?" The question, its sincerity striking the smiles from laughing faces. "We believed these legends just stories that explained the rise of the monsters of this world. Allegories to explain the wickedness that runs rampant across the earth. I stand before you, to tell you that these Lelani are no myth. They are real, they do exist, and that they are awakening." 

Stunned silence filled the room until it was broken by an older man, a heavy broadsword strapped to his back, a small crossbow hanging from his belt,.

"Rubbish.... You are addled Vladamir, stories told to frighten barrins, and women. You speak of demons and the fathers of monsters, you have lost your mind rotting in these catacombs."

Others spoke up, denying what the old man said.

The old man sighed, it was obvious from the way that he set his shoulders, that he was prepared for this confrontation. His glare took in the hunter before him, speaking again, his voice sharp.

"Elgain McGregor, you wouldn't be convinced unless one of them bit you in the ass and sent you home to your mother. Fortunately for you, I have saved you the trouble, one has jumped up and ravaged me instead. Tell me Elgain, what would you say if a vampire refused to die, even with a silver stake in its heart and its head lying feet from its body? Hmm? You would piss yourself and crawl to the safety of holy ground just like I did." 

McGregor's eyes narrowed, his supporters backing away from him definitely caught his attention as the old man continued, 

"Why would I lie old friend. Just because we don't want to believe it, does not make it less true. Things that have not walked the world for millennia now do so, called from their eternal slumber by someone or something that seeks to gain great power. The Gatekeeper of the mages brings me troubling news, some one has tried to reach Beyond the Outer Gates. Some one is trying to bind one of the old ones to them. Someone is trying to control Lilith, to bring her into this world with the assistance of her children. I assure you my comrades, that this is real, the end times may be upon us, and if we don't act I fear that those Demons that we don't believe exist may once more walk among us." 

The old man opened his mouth to continue but a unearthly shriek reverberated around the cavern chilling the blood in Livoc’s veins. The ringing of steel filled the air as the gathered hunters drew their weapons. Livoc rose to his feet but his blades stayed in their sheaves

"We are discovered!," 

The old man roared, a short sword appearing in his hand, his presence giving off a strange feeling.

"Defend yourselves!"

From every conceivable opening into the room poured shadowed shapes, about 4 feet tall. They appeared to be humanoid, but their fingers were longer than the should be and were tipped with vicious looking claws. Their childlike faces were split by vicious maws of needle like teeth, and from the creases of their bluish grey skin, smoke rose to hang like a shroud around their bodies. Livoc spluttered.

“What the hell are those things”

Seconds later one of the figures barrelled into Livoc and sent him crashing to the floor, all the breath driven from him. Gasping for air Livoc’s hand plunged into his pockets and he withdrew a handful of ground crystal. Scattering it on the ground and covering his eyes he roared the word.

“Pluvia”

Blinding light flashed across the room and Livoc rose before the crystal had burned out. Pulling his twin blades from their sheaves he sliced at the creature at his feet. Blue fire erupted from the wound as the silver blade dug deep into the monstrosities back. 

Spinning Livoc saw another creature covering its eyes. Moving quickly he drove his other knife into the things throat and held as the black blood spilled out onto his hand.

Pulling the weapon free of the sticky blood Livoc turned to see another creature bounding towards him.

The creature roared and with a powerful swipe drove its claws up, where it dug deep into Livoc’s jugular. But in an instant the illusion was gone. Livoc stepped out of the shadows and with two swiped knocked the things head from it’s shoulders. Turning in time to see another creature charging towards a pale woman firing off arrows at the creatures. 

In an instant the pebble was in Livoc’s hand and he threw it across the room. In a hearbeat he was in the path of the charging creature. Driving his silver knife through the things chest he stopped it in it’s tracks. Using the silver blade to behead it he paused to pick up his pebble and slip it into his pocket before turning back to the fighting.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

They entered the cavern like bewildered babes, blinking in the dazzling light of such a profound discovery, the sheer weight of the relic they had prostrated themselves before mere minutes ago still staggering their minds.

The home of his blade, the home of the Knights of the Cross, before his eyes, something so profound it had never entered his wildest fantasies, yet now he had glimpsed its calming depths it lingered in the deepest depths of his eyes.

The cavern so at odds with the dark twisting tunnels they had passed through paused many a mind yet it barely halted the beaming friar as he turned his delighted gaze upon Pieter as he stared upon the mass before them, only to find the knights face robbed of its previous fervour replaced with thoughtful trepidation.

70 perhaps 80... their numbers swelling all the time as yet more monks seemed to spring from concealed alcoves and passages within the walls, taking their place upon benches and mismatched chairs, even those already seated seeming to bristle like wolves, hackles raised, hands surreptitiously drifting above blades and bows and Pieter placed a hand on the friars arm as he made to lead him to chair close to the front.

"No kind brother... you have given me more this day then I could have imagined... yet I ask you one final courtesy... allow me to stand and observe in seclusion rather than sit amidst lions with their claws unsheathed"

The friar, gave a smile clasping his arm in turn before moving away leaving Pieter alone at the back, eyes narrowing in the monks departure. That the Lord felt Pieter was needed.... even amongst this... a necessity despite the forces gathered against whatever darkness mustered.

No doubt, he had been called, to bolster such tremendous forces... could it truly be... could Lili.... no it must be folly yet as their numbers continued to swell he could not help but wonder.

The change came, the bustling noise suddenly silenced by a crack of solid oak upon stone, a shadow moving within a passage way, a hushed murmur bubbling up paused by a sudden interjection from one of the elder hunters, his words confirming what Pieter suspected as the wisened figure emerged into the light

"my god it is him." 

Their was an air of familiarity, something in the contours of his face, though ravage by age and wound from fang and claw, that stirred something he could not place in his memory, yet it was the likeness to his art that affirmed his beliefs, the grizzled warrior before him a perfect likeness of the person he had instilled upon canvas. This was no fake, Vladamir Profolski had indeed summoned a hunt...


"Welcome commrades. I am so pleased that you could come," 

The accent was thick and difficult to comprehend, his neck craning as he struggled to comprehend

"I am sure that you all are wondering why it is I have called this unprecedented assembly and I promise that I will tell you. However, I must ask that you first indulge me in a short history lesson and I must ask that you keep an open mind to what I am about to say."

The trepidation was building, the word of the monk echoing in his mind Lilith... Lilith.... mother of all evil...


"For many years I have been captivated by a story I heard in passing from a travelling hunter. A tale of beasts so powerful that they spawned a race of monsters from their own flesh. Some have heard their names mentioned in legend, The originators, the Alphas, a race of pre-diluvian beings that have lived on since the beginning of creation. I have chosen to call them the Lelani, the first evils, the son's and daughters of the Demoness Lilith."

Laughter rang out, guffaws and chuckles at a man addled yet the words he spoke, the tone... merged with the words of the monk and the creeping dread in his own stomach... the rising anxiety that choked the breath in his lungs even as profolski met the chuckles with his own

"I know my friends, I know. The demons do not exist, we know this, none of us have ever met one, none of us have ever tangled with a being from beyond the realm of this reality. I know this, you know this.... But what if we were wrong?" 

Faces dropped and Profolski followed up with a savage thrust designed to keep minds on their toes and Pieter felt his eyes rise to the heavens... searching for a sign a feeling that he should run the imposter down... yet the words kept coming and he believed them... believed that a such a great undertaking had dragged Ammorochius here... the strong blade... the broadsword unbroken come hell or high water.

"We believed these legends just stories that explained the rise of the monsters of this world. Allegories to explain the wickedness that runs rampant across the earth. I stand before you, to tell you that these Lelani are no myth. They are real, they do exist, and that they are awakening." 

Silence was broken by a thick accent as an wizened hunter rose up to reposte

"Rubbish.... You are addled Vladamir," his scathing voice heightened by his scottish accent, thick and nasal. "Stories, stories told to frighten barrins, and women. You speak of demons and the fathers of monsters, you have lost your mind rotting in these catacombs."

It was the elders that stood with him, those that bore the years not only in their stooping shoulders but in their eyes... years of hunting without a whiff of the supernatural... of daemonic spirits

" You have no proof ."

Profolski seemed resigned yet dissapointed to the confrontation

"Elgain McGregor, you wouldn't be convinced unless one of them bit you in the ass and sent you home to your mother. Fortunately for you, I have saved you the trouble, one has jumped up and ravaged me instead. Tell me Elgain, what would you say if a vampire refused to die, even with a silver stake in its heart and its head lying feet from its body? Hmm? You would piss yourself and crawl to the safety of holy ground just like I did."

Fear crept into many a gaze and Pieter felt his hand run over Ammorochius's broad blade... no such thing had happened when the blade of the cross took a head from its shoulders.... may it never happen.

Had that happened to Morgan.... Morgan would never have retreated... he would have burned the body, stuck it with his blade until the vampire fell or felled him... no me must not think of such things

"Why would I lie old friend. Just because we don't want to believe it, does not make it less true. Things that have not walked the world for milennia now do so, called from their eternal slumber by someone or something that seeks to gain great power. The Gatekeeper of the mages brings me troubling news, some one has tried to reach Beyong the Outer Gates. Some one is trying to bind one of the old ones to them. Someone is trying to control Lilith, to bring her into this world with the assistance of her children. I assure you my commrades, that this is real, the endtimes may be upon us, and if we don't act I fear that those Demons that we don't believe exist may once more walk among us." 

Prokofski's mouth opened wide only to be split by an unholy shriek, higher and more evil than a banshees death rattle and Pieter felt his hands begin to draw his blade, half convinced the unholy demon within the wizened form had finally revealed itself.

"We are discovered!," Prokofski roared and the hope vanished as he strong voice boomed over the shriek "Defend yourselves!" 

He was turning, blade clasped in one hand even as a mass of daemonic haemonculi poured through the entrances, the mass of hunters swelling from the seats blades in hand, halting, feet setting as they took in the tide.

Small beings with clawed fingers, features that bore the innocence of a child twisted by satanic forces, their tiny mouth vicious maws infested by sharp blackened teeth.. horrors... his mind struggled for a name, a species... something to identify them... a way to end their suffering... horrors was all that he could think of even as the onrushing tide broke upon the mass of steel and silver.

He stepped forward even as a hunter appeared upon his left and upon his right, the step denying him time to plan but widening his swing twisting his back to swing wildly, the force of his stroke enough to rend a mans head from his shoulders, the blade scything through the air to touch the skin of the fiend before him, the slightest resistance on its tought blue skin before its body melted away into blue mist and he steadied his stance, blade held out before him like a spear as he stepped forward to meet an onrushing beast, the blade pierced its breast, evaporating with a squeal as its skin melted upon his blade, form undone by the merest touch.

Be it enchantment or metal he did not know, yet he did not question as he waded into the melee, pushing forward another wild swing catching two in its arc, a fierce prod turning another beast to midst even as he checked his progress, swaying away from a wild slash of claw, to cut deep into the creatures leg, rejoining the line even as the creature melted away before his eyes. 

To his right an old timer hacked and slashed with desperate fervour, his strokes sluggish, both shorts blades slick with deep black ooze even as he struggled to rend the screaming beasts head from its shoulders. 

The beast collapsed, the man's wild white hair on end his eyes wide and his chest heaving as he turned to Pieter with weary resolution, eyes moving swiftly from his own blood sodden blade to the shining steel in Pieter's left hand.

Deep blue eyes stretched wide, long thin scar across his lip stretching as he spoke in a low guttaral voice filled with awe 

"Voi Luoja!" he took a step back shaking his head, eyes blinking as he switched languages

"Ammorochius... the blade that has not been broken..." to Pieter's left a tall debonair hunter in a impeccable dublet paused, his own long thin rapier of pure silver hovering brandished like a foil before him. His eyes raked along the blade with lazy interest his words seeming to ooze lazily off his well bred tongue.

"Bloody hell... a day of legends indeed"

The white haired mans tongue overrode him, a endless babble of words switching between his native scandanavian tongue and flawless english in his excitement and even amidst the slaughter Pieter felt laughter swell in his throat even as the well dressed man let out a polite chortle behind his hand. Together they laughed, the white haired man pausing with a toothless smile to let out his own throaty guffaw, weatherbeaten skin wrinkling in unconstrained mirth.

Beaming Pieter spoke

"Come humored hunters... take my flanks, what avoids Ammorochius turn back or send it to whatever hell it sprung from."

He turned to face the onrushing mash even as the pair stepped tight to him, a small triangle, Ammorochius its point.

"Let us pierce the heart of this darkness"



"


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Demons? The children of Lilith?

The Lelani?

I was thoughtful. Was Prokofski insane, or were we in greater danger than we had ever known. Only time would tell.

Then, as an echoing shriek rang through the chamber, I thought ruefully that she must have got tired of waiting to tell us and decided to give the whole tale a jumpstart. _Dragon Fang_ was in my hand before I even realised it. I was up and moving as quickly as some of the more experienced hunters, maybe even faster. I turned to see the creatures pouring into the room, seemingly formed of pure shadow.

I was running, moving fast with blade in hand but even so I had time to think about how I had never seen, never even heard of these creatures before. But all thought vanished as I reached the foe. These things happen so fast that afterwards, trying to remember the passages of a fight the mind cannot pin down every move and counter stroke. But I remember ducking beneath the swipe of shadowy claws. I remember _Dragon Fang_ cutting through a body of shadow and shearing it in half at what I presume was the waist.

Blue fire erupted from the cut and the dark figure fell.

I remember spinning, moving away as it was falling. I remember the lunge coming for me and _Dragon Fang_ intercepting it before it reached my heart. I remember the hand flying away, blue fire burning from its stump. I remember nothing of the creature’s death, only moving away to kill another. That one almost killed me.

It swept as I came for it and I couldn’t move fast enough. The claw cut a smoking gauge into my left hand, the only thing that had stopped it from plunging into my brain. But the thing recovered admirably fast and attacked again, driving me back on to the defensive. Every swipe it attempted made me increasingly angry until its claw scythed in past my sword hand

I couldn’t see as its claw swept past my face, missing by less than a centimetre. I instinctively hit the deck and it save my life.

I remember watching as the second claw swept over my head and rolling on my shoulder.

I remember coming up to one knee and lunging, driving _Dragon Fang_ clean through the shadow’s body. As I ripped it free, the blade seeming to be wreathed in blue flame as I swept it wide, spraying drops of sticky black blood.

I examined myself in the moment of peace. It seemed I had been hurt after all, several bad cuts on my back proved it. I was angry at myself for having not worn my full armour, thinking I’d just be gone for ten minutes to get a glass of wine. But my sword was even more worrying. As the blood of the creatures dried it made the blade heavier and more awkward to wield and more awkward meant harder.

This was not turning out to be a good day...


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

_"For many years I have been captivated by a story I heard in passing from a traveling hunter. A tale of beasts so powerful that they spawned a race of monsters from their own flesh. Some have heard their names mentioned in legend, The originators, the Alphas, a race of pre-diluvian beings that have lived on since the beginning of creation. I have chosen to call them the Lelani, the first evils, the son's and daughters of the Demoness Lilith."_

When Prokofski mentioned the Lelani, Henry immediately tried to remember everything he had learned from his father, uncle and the ancient tomes in his old home library. He knew little, the matter had not appeared in his studies often. The name Lilith enters into many ancient mythologies, which had been a part of Henry's education before and after his induction into the hunters. References and derivatives of the name Lilith such as Layil in Hebrew, layl in Arabic, meaning "night". Talmudic and Yiddish use Lilith in their mythologies also. In Akkadian the terms lili and līlītu mean spirits. The name arrived in a dozen other faiths and societies, Henry had occasionally wondered how such a name could exist in so many places and it remain mere coincidence.

So, when many of the assembled hunters mocked Prokofski's words, Henry sat quietly, waiting for the others to fall silent. As they did, Prokosfski continued to talk for a short time before a scream pierces the quiet cave. Hunters immediately began drawing their weapons. Henry released his knives and they slid down his sleeves into his hands. His seat was at the edge of the crowd so he prepared to throw them. THen he realised that they were far to close and spun the blades into a new position. In his left hand, he held one in reverse, his arm bent in a defensive position, guarding him against blows with the knife pointed towards his foes, in his right hand, the knife was poised for use. As the creatures struck the group of hunters, Henry jabbed with the knife in his left hand, connecting with the creature's face and tearing through it. The blade in his right lashed out and slit the next beast's throat. A third fell upon him and crushed him beneath it's surprising weight. It's claw like fingers scrabbled at his face and he twisted the arms, turning the blades away from him and head butting the thing's face. It recoiled enough for Henry to roll to the side and scramble to his feet. The dimwitted creature slowly began to rise and Henry drew his sword, puncturing the creature's back and impaling it to the floor. He looked around to see the other Hunters fighting off the rest of the beasts and stooped to gather his knives...


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

The vast cavern was magnificient, inlaid marble, painted motifs of christ early life on the ceilings and walls. A amphitheatre at one end, making it possible to address the entire cavern, without even the need to shout. It was incredible and ostentatious. But it was also Rome and Anders couldn't feel that surprised that there would be a hidden secrets in its depths. But what did surprise him was the amount of hunters. Close to a hundred from all over europe, Anders could hear on the myriad languages spoken. And it seemed even some from beyond Europes borders had come too. Young and old but all seemed capable in there own way, and all armed. There were mages, archers, paladins, priests, shamans, Anders could not help himself staring just observing. Following his guide he was seated roughly in the middle of the room.

Not long after came a rythmic thumping sound, which heralded Prokofski's arrival and the room grew quiet in anticipation, and as Prokofski showed himself, the anticipation was released in a gasp of wonder and awe. Anders could hear several old hunters recognising him right away, which was good enough for him. What was following made Anders completely forget where he was, stories of ancient evils, the manifestation of demons. Were they here, was this collection of hunters the ones that stood against the darkness, that the bible and many other religious text was warning about. Bishop Anders Sunesen couldn't believe what Prokofski said, but he knew he had to support Prokofski, help him overcome whatever evil he had clearly met. Even if it showed that it was all true. Anders was allready beginning to planning what he needed to prepare, what herbs he needed to buy, preparing holy water and blessing his weapons anew. 

But his thoughts was interupted by a chilling scream of many throats. Prokofski roared his warning, and every hunter jumped to the defense of themselves and others. Anders could not quite see what was attacking, as he was in the middle of the room, but what ever it was it was clearly more than they had bargained for. They had stormed into a room of a 100 hunters all armed, experienced and perpetually ready for anything. Thou they were not soldiers trained in fighting together, Anders could see the ranks was closing, hunters covering each other, and giving each other the space needed depending on how they were armed and fighting style. As Anders got closer to the fight, his mace at the ready, he could hear the yelling of warnings, the advice to use silver. The syllables of mages casting there spells, he even thought he heard a female voice call out for the powers of the gods to burn the creatures in danish.

The first good look of the creatures Anders got, was when a german looking hunter couldn't block the swipe of one of the demons claws, making deep gashes in the mans belly. But Anders did not have time to contemplate there short statured appearance of claws and childlike face with a horrific fang filled mouth. He simply swung his mace at the creature, before it could follow up on its attack on the german hunter. Its head carving in, screaming as thick black blood clinged to his mace. Anders almost cursing, reprimanding himself for not come better prepared. He could easily have had the heavy padding on, he used under his heavy armour, and he could have brought all his warheads for his mace, not just the one attached of steel. But who would have guessed that a large gathering of hunters in the middle of Rome would be attacked by unknown monsters.

But before Anders could get back into the fight, other hunters had closed the gap of the fallen german hunter, so Anders went over to the man, with the help of a female mage, dragged him a few metres away from the fight. Bishop Anders placed his hand over the mans bleeding stomach, starting to pray.

_"Merciful god, use me as a instrument to your divine will. Show your mercy and benevolence towards this soldier against darkness, that have been wounded in the fight against this unknown evil we are facing."_

Anders hand started to feel warm to the touch, as the wounded hunter stopped bleeding. Anders knew the man would survive, if the claws of the creatures wasn't filled with some exotic poison. 

A shouted warning from the female mage, Anders spotted one of the creatures that had slipped past the fight, and was charging straight at him and the still uncouncious german man. Anders simply counter charged, swinging his mace in a wild swing, that still connected the creature was throw back a few metres. But before it could rise, the female mage threw some vial that made the creature dissolve. Nodding a thanks at the girl, Anders started to take control over his little corner of the battle.

_"Form a line, don't let the creatures throu."_

Anders shouted in english and french, as he pushed some young french dressed warrior into a gap, between some burly east european woodsman, and what could only be a african tribal warrior.

_"Silver weapons to the fore, mages provide ranged support. Keep a line, protect the wounded."_

Shouting encouragement and orders all the while Anders pushed or pulled hunters into a rough fighting line, just hoping they would follow his directions, and that a little bit of fighting discipline would spread around the vast cavern, which was all he could hope for in a large group of men used to doing everything there way.
_
"Monks take care of the wounded, don't cover behind those chairs."_

Anders yelled at a couple of bewildered monks, of those that he had seen guide several of groups into the cavern, all the while he popped a dislocated shoulder in place, on the shield arm of a hunter who had been smart enough to come with his full complement of arms and armour. So he could rejoin the fight, all the while he had taken over Anders shouting about keeping the line.
Bishop Anders couldn't help smile, as he moved on yelling orders at his fellow hunters, the vast cavern being big enough for a true defensive action, if the fight would spread into all the tunnels and hallways, Anders truly feared for the wellbeing of them all.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Update #4*

"Things stir in the dark. Beasts of old take sides. Light against darkness, creation against destruction. Where will humanity be when the things beyond our comprehension wage war on one another?"

Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
June 15th, 1575​ 


Alexander (Lord of the Night), Edward (Santaire), Livoc (Romero's Own), Bishop Anders (Anilar), Robin (Bane_of_Kings), & Sebastian (Tyranno the Destroyer): All of hear and see a plainly mantled warrior, wielding a heavy mace, pulling hunters both young and old into a semblance of a defensive line. He seems to have combat experience, and migrating in his direction you join the group that once more engages a fresh wave of the beasts that suddenly assailed the meeting. Whether working in concert with others in the group (you can work something out via PM if you choose) or simply keeping the line at your back as you work individual, taking some comfort in the fact that your back is protected by others, is up to you but you are each able to kill three more of the beasts. During this fight Alexander you take a vicious gash to your upper thigh, the offending creature taking opportunity of an open flank to rake its claws across your leg, however for its trouble it found itself without a head (this will be a fourth kill for you). Robin, you are knocked from your feet as one of the creatures bowls into your knees from the side, there is a sharp pain in your knee but you don't think it is broken. You find yourself on your back, hand around the creatures throat as you try to keep its raking talons from your face (this will be after your three kills). 

Those of you able start to hear a gutteral voice, a chant coming from one fo the hallways beyond, and from behind a wave of the imp-like creatures steps a massive Ogre, each of you recognizing the Unseelie fae immediately. However, unlike the normal specimens this one carries a large staff topped with a human skull and is draped with the skins and pelts of many different animals. Small bones are woven into its matted hair and beard, and he rattles as he slowly steps forward, his chant mixing with the rattle of bones in a most ominous fashion. A blast of fire, conjured by a mage to his left engulfs the massive beast, but as the flames clear you find the Ogre untouched. 

Robin, you feel as though the creature is about to overpower you, its position giving it additional leverage and its strength more formidable than its small frame suggests. However, before the creature can succeed in gouging out your eyes you feel a blast of heat, accompanied by a swell of fresh air, a breeze that carries the hint of flowering plants and summer afternoons, and the creature above you is blasted from ontop of you by a lance of pure fire. You quickly roll to your feet, taking in the man that just saved your life. 

All of you are momentarily distracted by the blast of heat from the flames conjured by the young man that now strides into your midst. His hair is blonde, eyes green as new spring grass, adorned in fine clothes of green and brown, the tips of his ears ever so slightly pointed. He weilds a longsword that shines like the noonday sun and the beasts that were just attacking you shrink back from the nimbus of light that now encompasses the defensive line. 

In a sing song voice he calls out to the Ogre, whose chant momentarily stalls in the wake of this man's appearance, "Bellog, retreat now and I will spare you. We do not mettle in affairs such as this." 

A sickly smile crosses the Ogre's face as he suddenly begins his chant a new and flings his arm out in the direction of the Hunters arrayed in front of him. A sickly green-blue light surrounds the forms of several hunters, Alexander and Edward included. You hear the young man shout out something in a language you do not comprehend and a pale yellow light, like the rays of the dawning sun hits the two closest hunters to him affected by the spell, again Alexander and Edward, leaving you standing agape as those two men disappear in a clap of thunder.

Alexander (Lord of the Night) & Edward (Santaire): You stiffen, unable to move as the Ogre's spell envelopes you and pain like thousands of ice crystals forming in your viens rack your bodies. You hear but cannot see the new arrival shout a counterspell in a strange language before the feeling of cold lessens, but the light blinds you. You feel blackness taking your mind and weightlessness, the last thing you hear before you pass out is a peal of thunder.

Johan (Rems), Henry (HOGGLORD), Freja (Karak the Unfaithful), Pieter (deathbringer), Eira (Lord Ramo), & Dragomir (yoyoyo12365): Ammorochious, one of the Swords, shines brightly enough in the gloom that you immediately recognize it. Regardless of your stance on the Christian church, everyone of you have heard ot the Knights of the Cross and the blades that they wields. The man wielding it, an older man, hair flecked with grey, has begun to have otehr hunters moving to his side working in concert with several other hunters to try and turn back the tide of beasts that still rushes forth out of the main tunnel into the cavern. Seeing his intent you move to help him. Soon the fighting here is furious as more and more Hunters move to help. Each of you may kill 4 small beasts as you watch Elementalists from the Mage's Council cut huge swathes through the ocean of small bodies with blasts of flame and lightning. Henry, you are taken unawares by one of the smaller beasts as you turned to help an older hunter fend off a trio of creatures, as it jumps on your back, sharp teeth biting down on your shoulder easily piercing your leather armor. You are almost knocked over as an arrow rips the specimen from you, its temple pierced by the shot. You don't seem to be loosing too much blood, but the wound is painful and makes swinging your weapon cumbersome. 

As you fight you begin to feel that the amount of beasts has lessened until you hear heavy foot falls coming down the hallway behind the small imp-like creatures. With bellows of rage a score of stone trolls, Unseelie fae that you recognize immediately come barreling out of the tunnel, pushing the smaller creatures aside and crushing them underfoot. Caught by surprise the Hunters lose several of their number to the heavy claws of beasts. Engage one of the trolls as best you can, but you will not kill it this update. Make the battle almost evenly matched, both you and the troll trading a series of minor wounds. 

[Lord Ramo, Tyranno, and yoyoyo- you three still need to post for the last update. If I do not see a post for this update I will be moving your characters to an NPC status.]


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Livoc turned at the sound of a voice and saw a plainly mantled warrior, wielding a heavy mace, pulling hunters both young and old into a semblance of a defensive line. He seemed to have combat experience and Livoc moved towards him and joined the line before once more engaging a fresh wave of the beasts that suddenly assailed the meeting. A creature targetted Livoc but in a fluid movemembt he spun aside and muttered beneath his breath as he struck a match, the flame jumping into life. 

"Uro"

The creature was just turning to strike at Livoc went a look of horror crossed it's twisted face. It began to scream, it's shrill cries piercing Livoc's hearing. Livoc watched as the creature fell to the floor and began to writhe upon the floor, desperately brushing at flames only it could see. Livoc stepped forwards and pushed hs dagger down into the chest of the creature, cutting off the screams as the creature fell still.

Finding his dagger stuck by the thick black blood of the dead creature he ducked beneath the swipe of another before bringing his gloved fist into its gut. Finally pulling his dagger free he cut the creature from ear to ear as it writhed in pain.

Livoc turned at a cry of pain and saw a creature duck beneath the guard of a clean shaven man and slash his upper thigh. The man’s eyes opened wide in shock and Livoc saw that one was golden, the other grey. He stepped forward to help his fallen brother in the magical arts he saw the Alchemist behead the creature with a curved blade, inscribed with sprawled magical text. Livoc turned away just in time to see a creature break through the line of hunters and bound towards where a group of monks huddled around a wounded man. Without a second thought Livoc hefted his dagger and threw it across the room, watching it pierce the beats eye and knock it to the floor.

Livoc was running to retrieve his dagger when a guttural voice echoed around the room, a chant coming from one of the hallways beyond, and from behind a wave of the imp-like creatures stepped a massive Ogre. Livoc recognized the Unseelie Fae immediately and swore beneath is breath. However, unlike the others of its kind Livoc had seen this one carried a large staff, topped with a human skull and draped with the skins and pelts of many different animals. Small bones were woven into its matted hair and beard, and he rattled as he slowly stepped forward, his chant mixing with the rattle of bones in a most ominous fashion. A blast of fire, conjured by a mage Livoc’s left engulfed the massive beast, but as the flames cleared Livoc saw the Ogre was untouched. 

Livoc’s hand had just reached into his pockets to pull out one of his wooden carved skulls when he was momentarily distracted by a blast of heat from the flames conjured by a young man that now strode into their midst. His hair was blonde, eyes green as new spring grass. He was adorned in fine clothes of green and brown, the tips of his ears ever so slightly pointed. He wielded a long sword that shone like the noonday sun and the beasts that had been attacking the hunter’s only moments before shrunk back from the nimbus of light that now encompassed the defensive line. 

In a sing song voice he called out to the Ogre, whose chant momentarily stalled in the wake of this man's appearance. 

"Bellog, retreat now and I will spare you. We do not mettle in affairs such as this." 

A sickly smile crossed the Ogre's face as he suddenly begun his chant anew and flung his arms out in the direction of the Hunters arrayed in front of him. A sickly green-blue light surrounded the forms of several hunters. Livoc could hear the young man shout out something in a language he did not comprehend and a pale yellow light, like the rays of the dawning sun hits the two closest hunters to the man within the sickly light. Livoc could only watch as the men disappeared in a clap of thunder.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

Sweat ran unashamedly across the creases of his brow, Ammorochius a beacon of untainted light in the midst of the sea of dark sprites and they parted before his blade bodies cleft, evaporating like dust as he pushed on, eyes focusing upon the cleft in the rock face through which they poured a gap a sword swing wide, through which such a blade could stem the tide and turn the battle.

The pair at his side followed without question, his stabbing strokes becoming ragged sweeping arcs clefting through beasts as he grew in confidence, trusting the pair at his back, to cover him, to allow him to reach further and push deeper into the fray.

The numbers seemed to be thinning, then growing, waxing then waining, the fight seeming to undulate between victory and calamity and he turned his head, to find a sea of hunters at his back, the guiding light of the blade pulling them to his cause, summoning them to his side.

Flames flickered, conjured from staff end and proffered hand as mages enveloped the creatures, the remnants of the tide, decapitated by blade or shrouded by flickering blue flames as blades bit flesh. 

The tide was thinning and he felt himself give a grim smile even as more hunters joined the mass, a great sea of blades and staffs raised in weary triumph the tide thinning, and he turned with a smile to the two men alongside, the smile fading, head snapping back at the slapping sound of a heavy foot on stone.

The unseelie fae were screaming, the trickle becoming a panicked rush, screams interspersing their horrific yowling howl, a great shadow filling the tunnel even as it pushed into the light with a snarl. 

A sweeping strike flashed across his vision, and he swayed away from the great arcing stroke, a cumbersome forearm, bearing thick clawed fingers catching his eyes even as he brought the blade up, hearing screams and yells of agony as yet more trolls flowed from the passage into their midst, hunters spreading out to engage the new threats.

The first troll, dull eyes squinting into the light of Ammorochius seemed to register upon him and him alone, the great broadword in his hands lodging in its dull mind as a threat and it gave a great bellow, a head taller and 2 spans wider as it beat its chest, arms spread wide to invite Pieter inwards, the cry of beast to beast, an animalistic challenge, red rage rimming its deep black eyes.

Pieter did not retreat nor did he charge, alone against the troll he set his stance, don't bull rush a troll was rule number one. The beast twitched irritated at being ignored, the irritation soon turning into a lumbering strike which Pieter side stepped briskly, blade cutting down upon the outstretched forearm biting flesh, a flash of seering heat leaving the beasts skin oozing, fizzing and crackling and it recoiled with a grunt of pain.

It reeled slightly and Pieter resisted the urge to step in and cut at the beasts muscular foreleg holding his position even as the troll regained its poise, anger forcing it to lunge again, a confident sway, prompting a backhanded swipe at thin air, the other forearm, sliced by the blade, the concoction of holy metals seering at its skin, inches of fleshing melting away to leave a crevice instead of a cut.

The beast rocked backwards forearms raised high before beady bloodshot eyes as it stared in fearful wonder at the crevices in the thick slabs of muscle and Pieter stepped inward, blade flashing, towards the thick foreleg even as the beast brought its arms down to thump the ground in purest rage. 

The ground trembled and he felt his feet sliding backwards as he body weight through forward and he stumbled, stroke falling short, body hitting the dust with a great ringing thud upon his jerkin, instinctively throwing an arm out to turn the fall to a roll.

Upon his back he faced the being above him as it raised it's arm beady eyes triumphant. A descending fist crashed into stone as he rolled aside, a second inches from shattering his left knee, a trailing forefinger catching the bone with jarring force the bone locking, shooting pain rising through his body. 

Even as the beast raised its hands again and Pieter swiped, scoring a scraping impact across the midriff, the tip of Ammorochius barely nicking flesh, yet the beast howled in agony, solid flesh becoming a fizzing oozing mass across its breast and it staggered backwards clutching dazedly at its breast.

On his feet once more, Pieter tested the knee, a dull throbbing ache, stiffening the joint and he switched stance, leveling the blade as the troll regained its poise once more.


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

The fighting continued and Bishop Anders kept yelling, more and more hunters joining the line, there hard earned experience fighting telling them the need to stand together against this assault. A few fighters ranged ahead a metre or so, so they had more space for there particular fighting style, there backs still protected by the line. It also became more clear for everybody that silver weapons and magic, had the best effect against these creatures. Which meant the line soon developed into supporting those that did true damage to the creatures, even thou a powerful punch by the steelhead of a mace worked wonders too, which Anders had to show every know and then, when a creature was capable of breaching the line or went over it, by running over is fighting and dying comrades. Anders musing if the creatures even saw them as comrades, as he burst another skull filled with thick black ooze.

Anders was forced to dive for cover as another creature fell from the sky, a crossbow bolt through its heart, if it has one. A few hunters armed with bows and crossbows had made a podium from benches and chairs, so they could shoot over the head of the line into the advancing form of monsters.
Anders nodded a thanks to them, as he stood up. Getting back to the line that still needed encouragement, expecially when a huge creature a ogre by the looks of it stepped forth chanting. Seeing it was a disturbing sight, huge, muscled, dressed in pelts, carrying a staff with what could only be a human skull, and small bones woven into its hair. But it was the chanting that was most disturbing element, ogres wasn't known for there knowledge of magic and rituals they were brutes used for fighting.

A mage tried to incinerate the ogre in a massive blast fire, but the ogre just kept chanting, the fire just washing over him, like water around a stone. The distraction, even thou it was short made the line falter for a second, giving the creatures time to renew there attack, and before Anders or other could could steady the line, a few creatures broke through, one tackling a young hunter that by his stature looked like a man adept with the longbow.

Before Anders could move to help the fallen hunter, a bright lance of light, flame and heat burned the creature away, a smell of spring in the air and a young man stepped forth, blond, green eyes, silk like clothes in green and brown. What stood out the most was its ears, a lot more pointed than anything Anders had seen before. Thou his sudden appearance distracted most of the hunters fighting, his presence also had some effect on the ogre and the charging deamons. The ogre even stopped chanting for a short while as the new arrival spoke to it. Suddenly magic was exhanged between the two, and suddenly two hunters disappeared. Bishop Anders had never seen such effects by magic before, he could hardly believe his eyes, and could only pray that they would be okay. Before he returned to the fight with renewed vigour.

"GET BACK IN LINE MISERABLE BEINGS, YOU ALL LOOK LIKE YOU HAVEN'T SEEN A FAE FIGHT BEFORE. AND ITS NOT GOING TO STOP THOSE BLACK DEAMONS FROM EATING YOUR LIVER AND HEART, SO ITS GODS NAME OR WHAT EVER NAME IS HOLY FOR YOU FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT. AND JUST TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE THE NEW COLLECTION OF BONES IN THAT OGRES HAIR, ILL BASH YOUR HEAD AND WOVE THEM INTO ITS HAIR MYSELF."

The truth was that Anders had not really met fae and unseelie fae like this before, but god be cursed if he was going to die today, and to survive he needed all the hunters fighting.


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

A hunter was in danger. He was was a six and a half foot monster of a man, a full, grey beard hanging down on his chest and shoulders almost two feet in width, he was being attacked by seven of the ugly little creatures and , though he was doing admirably, swinging a twin bladed axe through the beasts, he was being overwhelmed. Running forwards, Henry pressed two knife blades into the chests of two of the fae and then brought his right hand in a swinging arc, slitting the last one's throat. The beast gagged and fell atop the old hunter, who pushed the thing off. Henry realised that, after the adrenaline rush had subsided a little, there was a foot long claw embedded in his shoulder. He winced and wrenched the bladed object out, a gush of blood following it.

"Obliged to you, lad." The old hunter said, reaching out his hand to shake. Henry took it, replying. 

"You seemed to be doing alright by yourself, really."
The man laughed good-naturedly and the world exploded. Henry found himself sprawled on the floor and saw the beast a meter away and looming over him. For a wild moment, Henry thought the cavern was collapsing, the beast's skin looked like huge chunks of rubble and stone, then he realised it had arms and legs and a very aggressive stance, so he decided that it was a monster, not an especially angry bit of ceiling. Henry slipped his two knives into his hand and hurled them at the monster's eyes. They struck and the beast flinched, much as someone might if they had dust thrown in their eyes, distracted, annoyed even, but not exactly harmed. The old hunter, dragging himself to his feet, stepped forwards and swung the axe at the monster, leaving a deep gouge in the thing's shin. The monster roared in anger at the wound and swatted away the hunter. The man flew like a rag doll through the air and collapsed, unconscious or dead, against the wall. Henry scrambled to his feet, one hand clutched to his shoulder, the other drawing his sword.

The monster lumbered forward and swung a massive fist at Henry, who ducked, then the next fist came up, revealing the simple feint. The fist nearly smashed into Henry's chest, but he curved away from it, robbing it of most of it's power. Though he was still sent flying by the punch and, as he rose weightlessly into the air, he felt several ribs crack.

He landed a couple of meters away from the monster and heard it roaring in anger. He looked at the thing and saw that when he had dodged, his sword had come out of his hand and embedded itself in the beast's eye. It was clutching it's eye in pain and then it saw Henry standing again. The beast bellowed in rage and charged.

"Bugger." Henry spat, his head throbbing and his vision swimming as the huge troll ran towards him. He braced himself to receive the charge.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

Alexander dodged the swipe of a claw and parried a second blow. The creatures did not stop coming. No matter how many of them died they seemed immune to shock or being fazed by their losses. Likely they did not care, Alexander had encountered very few supernatural races whose members actually cared about one-another. The creatures that attacked him still eluded his vast knowledge of creatures, some had called it encyclopedic. And yet he could not name these creatures who trailed smoke and had appeared from nowhere. It was beginning to agitate him.

One creature, taking advantage of the hunter's momentary distraction raked a claw across his leg from behind, ignoring the pain he spun on his heel and sliced the creature's head in half. It's eyes were shocked as the top half of it's head slid clear and it's body dropped. The others hissed and grew more energetic, shifting to try and gain an advantage. They could smell the blood that leaked from his thigh, it would only make them bolder but in exchange for being careless. Alexander grinned in his mind, he could use this to end the fight, or at least his part of it.

Before he could unleash another torrent of energy from the Tulwar a strange sound became apparant, the creatures stopped and began to regard the sound. Across from him a horde of imps scattered into the chamber, leading a massive brute of a creature into the stone chamber. It was immense, covered in a pelt of skin and bones matted into it's hair and beard and carried a staff topped with a human skull, but it was the eyes that gave it away. They were slit like a feline's, and marked the creature as an Unseelie Fae. And the only Unseelie that looked like that were ogres.

Alexander snarled and prepared to redirect his attack, only to pause as a wave of fire struck the ogre directly, and did nothing. Turning his gaze to the flame-wielder he barely suppressed a grimace. The newcomer's pointed ears were a dead give-away, and his use of fire marked him as a Seelie Fae. Now the Faeries were involved, Alexander would have been pleased at the amount of monsters to kill if he wasn't annoyed by the fact he could only recognise the Fae and not the smoke-creatures. Raising his blade to the Seelie, Alexander channelled the energy and prepared to unleash an immense torrent of lighting at the interloper. He could eradicate the Seelie Fae while it was distracted by conversation with the Unseelie and once it was dead he could focus on the ogre.

Before he could unleash the attack Alexander noticed that his body was surrounded by a blue glow, his tattoos began to glow in response to the use of magic. The ogre had cast some kind of hex! Alexander felt his body freeze physically, pain spread through his body as the spell took hold. The Alchemist fought against it with every ounce of his will and magic, but the spell was strong and it would take longer than he had in order to escape. He noticed the Seelie Fae shout something, likely an attack that would finish him and the other hunter he had noticed that was also caught in the light. The light that emerged from the Seelie was blinding and as Alexander passed out he swore to kill both of the Fae intruders for this humiliation.


LotN


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

_"There is an old saying that you learn new things every day. Today, I learned that Demons are real."_​~Personal Journal of Robin Blake.​
Recovering from the aftermath of his third kill, Robin reached for his bow and reloaded an arrow just as a plainly mantled warrior, boasting a heavy mace, forcing any and all Hunter that gathered to oppose him into a defensive line. the Hunter could evidently tell that he... it was a good fighter, and Robin himself was no brawler. He worked well from a distance at best, and and he realised that if he wanted to take on the warrior along with the fresh wave of beasts heading towards them, the nineteen year old would be most useful at a distance. Alerting the Hunter on his right, a grey-haired swordsman that he would be withdrawing to a safer distance to deliver his own arsenal, Robin watched the man cover his gap in the line as he pulled back.

He unleashed a couple more arrows at this new warrior, one grazed his shoulder guard but failed to do any serious impact, and the other fell wide in the carnage. However, before he could hoist a new arrow to fight, Robin found himself knocked from his feet by a beast that had somehow broken through the line that was steadily crumbling beneath this onslaught. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, but it could still be moved, it wasn't broken. There was some good news at least.

Robin found himself on his back, his hand being the only thing that prevented this new creature from its weapons meeting contact with his face. The teenager struggled against the beast, paying full attention to the gutteral chant coming from the hallways beyond. He couldn't see anything else without breaking his concentration and ending up dead or severely mauled, but guessed the inevitable reinforcements weren't friendly.

However, before the creature could succeed in gouging Robin's eyes out, he felt a blast of heat, accompanied by a swell of fresh air, a breeze that carried the hint of flowering plants and summer afternoons, before being brought back to reality to find the creature above him blasted off its stranglehold by a blast of pure fire. Immediately leaping to his feet and loading his arrow, the teenager turned to see the figure that had just saved his life.

But before he could do so, the teenager was distracted by the blast of heat from the flames conjured by the young man that now strided into their midst. His hair was blonde, eyes green as new spring grass, adorned in fine clothes of green and brown, the tips of his ears ever so slightly pointed. He boasted a longsword that shined like the noonday sun, and his aura was so powerful that the beasts attacking the defensive line were forced to fall back. Robin caught the sing-song voice of his words with that of a skeptic, but after all, he'd just been proven that demons were real by a mass invasion. Anything was probably possible now.

_"Bellog, retreat now and I will spare you. We do not mettle in affairs such as this."_ It was clear as he said that, the man was addressing the abomination that appeared to be the Ogre that had presumably been part of the reinforcements that Robin hadn't caught sight of. And he guessed that the Ogre was Bellog, and grimaced slightly when the beast didn't retreat - instead, a small smile formed on his lips as his chant began anew. 

And that was when Robin opened fire.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

I felt a hand grip my collar and I was yanked backwards. I saw the claw sweep through where my head had been and when the hand released its grip I rolled backwards. As I reached my knees I lunged, driving _Dragon Fang_ clean through the shadow’s chest and ripped it sideways, almost slicing the creature in half. I thanked my rescuer; a plainly mantled warrior who strode around the battlefield, bellowing as he wielded a heavy mace to deadly effect.

He had chivvied more than just myself and we found ourselves standing in a battle line. A sudden wave of creatures assailed us and I felt a savage pleasure. The first one to approach me took a silver tipped arrow through the throat. Its body continued towards me while its head flew backwards.

I smiled as I stepped forward and slammed my bow into another of the shadow’s. The horn-nocked tip of the bow into its stomach. The point plunged deep into the creature’s stomach and I ripped it free and whacked it round the head with the haft, knocking it clean over. I slung the bow over my shoulder as I twisted, drawing the _Dragon Fang_ with my right hand. I drove the sword blade downwards, plunging it clean through the shadow’s head. I saw the smoke rising from a shadow’s claw sweep for me and I raised my arm, catching the blow on my vambraces. The claws carved a smoking furrow in it, almost reaching the skin. That furrow stayed there.

I ripped my stiletto free of its sheath and drove it through the creature’s chest several times. I kicked it away from me before ripping my sword free of the shadow I had killed earlier and disembowelling the one stumbling away. Then I heard the guttural chanting, an ogre stepping out from the hallways ahead of us. A mage tried to kill it, but the Unseelie fae simply stepped through it.

A second fae appeared, this one of the Seelie court. "Bellog, retreat now and I will spare you. We do not mettle in affairs such as this," he called, stopping the ogre’s chant for a moment. But the ogre only smiled and continued his chant, flinging out an arm towards myself and several other Hunters. A greenish blue light surrounded me and I felt pain, pain like that of a thousand crystals of ice forming in my veins. I heard the Seelie fae shout a counter-spell, but the light of whatever spell he had cast blinded me. Darkness took me and as I fell into the cold embrace of unconsciousness the last sound I heard was a peal of thunder


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Eira followed behind the priest and the two other hunters quietly. She did not like the catacombs much, where the meeting was being held. It was dark dangerous, and easy to get lost if something went wrong with the meeting and she needed to make a quick getaway. Soon they entered a huge room, one which looked like a theatre of old that could house many people. Eira was drawn back by this, this was not what she was expecting. She was expecting a small room with very few hunters turning up but she was most definitely wrong.
Hunters from all over the known world were gathered inside the small theatre, sitting down on pews chatting and waiting to see if this was a hoax or not. Eira felt uncomfortable by this, there were far too many hunters here, it felt like it was a trap, that something was wrong. So many hunters in one place one would assume that it would be a safe place, though she had battled the creatures that plagued mankind, she knew that they were anything but sane and if they had the numbers would attack to wipe out humanities only chance of survival.

She took a seat fairly high up, giving her a commanding view as there was silence and the man they were all here to see stepped out of the darkness. He wasn’t what Eira expected, but then again she had been constantly thrown off throughout her journey to this place, something which she didn’t like. She payed attention as Vladamir talked to the hunters, listening in silence though when he started to lecture on about demons. She didn’t believe him, she had seen so many creatures but a demon? It was too much for her to believe in. 
She felt like getting up and walking out, this could have been a wasted journey. However she knew what her father would say if she did, his disappointment if she left. So she sat there in silence watching and listening.

Suddenly and unearthly scream erupted, hunters immediately grabbing hold of their weapons as Prokofoski bellowed at them to defend themselves as creatures, light and agile darted out of the darkness towards the hunters. Eira immediately drew her silver knife, rushing towards one of the creatures as it screamed and charged towards her. She ducked underneath its talons, before slicing its stomach with her knife. The creature, a grey skinned being with a child’s face screamed in pain as the silver cut into it, falling to its knees before Eira stabbed it in the throat.

She dispatched another two with this method, flowing from one to the other, disgusted by these smallish creatures. She leapt on the back of the fourth, plunging her silver knife into its back repeatedly as it screamed before leaping off of it.

She turned as she saw a blade shimmer, instantly recognising it to belong to one of the order of the cross. A knight of the church. He was trying to rally hunters to form lines to fight back and she moved over to help him, holding her dagger in a high defensive stance. She fell into line with the others, cutting any creature that came near to her or her fellows and gradually lessening their numbers.

As their numbers lessened Eira began to think that they had won, stabbing a creature in the back she kicked it to its knee’s before slicing open its throat and kicking it into the ground. As she straightened she heard a roar that stopped her dead in her tracks. It was the sound of a troll, how in the name of God had trolls managed to get underneath the city like this? How had they gotten to the meeting? How where they here. It made no sense to her. Maybe Prokofski was right.

A second later her fears were confirmed. A score of stone trolls burst through the creatures and charged into the startled hunters, instantly killing some as they were unaware of the danger and shocked by the appearance of these beasts.

Eira dove to one side as a troll swung a massive fist at her before righting herself. She had no choice, she couldn’t run and leave her fellows as the troll followed her, trying to press its attack on her. She wished she had her bow and her hatchet right now, they would have been bloody useful but she had let her guard down and now she was paying for it. She had no choice but to use her knife.

She rushed forward towards it, hoping that her small frame and speed would be able to help her in defeating the damnable troll. It swung a fist at her but she managed to duck underneath it, twisting to get around behind it. Confused the beast turned as Eira stayed underneath it for a moment before deciding that she best do some damage before it looked for a new target. She stabbed her knife into its foot, twisting her blade as much as possible and leaning in on the blade to force it deeper.

It roared in pain as she managed to wrench her knife free, smiling as it stepped back. She thought she would have a moments respite but her lack of experience fighting trolls took its toll as angered it lashed out, a fist smashing into her and knocking her off her feet and into a wall. Stunned she lay on the ground as she felt pain flow through her body, the sound of the trolls heavy feet getting closer as she slowly managed to roll onto all four.
She had been too cocky, she had sworn she would never do that again. She managed to get to her feet as the troll approached, holding her blade she wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, having bit her lip as she hit the wall.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Update #5*

"Reports reach me that it is not just the Hunters I have summoned that move. Factions, both good and evil, are stirring. They all feel the sense of impending doom that I feel. Though they cannont even begin to understand the true nature of the situation, for I myself only grasp a small fraction of it, they can feel that change is in the air. Lines are being drawn, sides are being chosen, and only time will tell which will be victorious."

Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
December 13th, 1577​ 
Pieter (deathbringer): The troll that has engaged you has shuffled backwards, hands clamped to its midsection, a roar of pain ripping from its tusked maw that hurts your ears due to the proximity. You have just a second to glance around you taking in the battle. Two of the Trolls lie dead, their flesh sizzling with mage fire, their bodies pierced by arrows, but around them lie the bodies of 6 Hunters. The rest of the trolls have been engaged, but its seems that the initial defense mustered by the cadre of Hunters is beginning to crumble. Your trolls heavy footfalls bring your attention back into the fight and though you are weary, a prayer of supplication rolls from your lips and you feel as though you are filled with renewed energy, Ammorochious glows more brightly in your grip, a flash of brilliance that causes the troll to skid to a halt, a massive arm flying up to shield its beady eyes. You take the opportunity to rush in, sword flashing. You are able to kill the troll, taking another clubbing blow to your left shoulder in the process, (this is still not an easy fight so make sure you describe it as such). Whatever satisfaction you felt as the beast falls is quickly brought to heel as several of the smaller creatures assail you from behind, taking you in the legs, and bearing you to the ground face first, your sword pinned beneath you. 

Henry (HOGGLORD): You are starting to feel a slight bit of lightheadedness as the blood from the wound in your shoulder continues to flow, combined with your difficulty in breathing due to the broken ribs you now have, you find it almost impossible to raise to your feet as the troll charges. Throwing yourself out of the way of the hulking beast, stars explode before your eyes as the pain of the motion threatens to send you into unconciousness. Hauling yourself up to one knee, you draw your crossbow, hoping that you you can get at least a couple more good shots off on the beast before it flattens you. Your shots find the mark, the first merely imbedding itself into the trolls chest, the creature ripping it out with merely a growl, the second howeverl embeds itself in the creatures throat, causing it to falter in its charge. Despite its offbalance approach it makes it to you. As you throw up your hands to shield yourself, a flash of color flies past your vision, accompanied by a wind heavy enough that you feel you should be in the midst of a storm. You see an azure robed man, a metallic staff clutched in his grip, has placed himself between you and the troll. Lightning snaps and cracks, echoed by the flaring him of the mans robes, as it engulfs the troll. For the moment you have hope that you will survive this fight, that is until you see that the display of sorcerery has drawn that attention of two more trolls. 

Eira (Lord Ramo): The troll stalks forward, a slight limp from the stab wound you dealth it causing it to limp, a growl of pain rumbling in its troat at each step it takes. You are set, the best you can hope for is that someone will come to your aid or barring that that you can keep this one occupied to keep the numbers of the beasts spread out. A cackling cry from your left snaps your attention that way just in time to see three more of teh smaller beasts rushing for you, the first on you just as you bring your dagger to bear, slashing its throat. You almost cry in surprise as your hair is ruffled by two objects streaking past your head as two arrows blossom from the each of the remaining beasts heads. Despite the fact that you have been saved from these small creatures, you cry out as a vice-like grip closes around your middle and you are lifted off the ground. The troll brings you close to its tusked maw, the stench of the orafice almost enough to make you retch, as its nostrils flare taking in your scent. You stab at the arm, furiously trying to get the beast to release you, but it seems that now that the troll has its prize it does not intend to let you go. 

Livoc (Romero's Own): You are momentarily stunned at the disappearance of the two hunters that seemed to be the focus of Bellog's magic. Bellog however screams in rage and something about the way he stares at the new comer makes you think that it is possible the young man managed to counteract whatever dastardly magic the Ogre Shaman tried to cast. These thoughts are shortlived however, as Bellog began to throw more of the small creatures around him back into the fight and faced with the option of being flattened by the maddened ogre or attacking the hunters, the creatures surged back into the fight. You have the option of bringing your skills to bear once more on the small creature who are still quite numerous despite the fact that a large number of them have retreated from the battle. If you choose this option you are able to kill 4 more of them, taking a vicious bite to your forearm in the midst of the battle. The second option is a bit riskier for you: You can follow the Young new comer as he streaks through the battle field on direct collision course with the Bellog. His sword flashes out and slays the smaller creatures with ease as he runs. If you choose this option get with me and I will fill you in on what happens. 

Bishop Anders (Anilar): The line of hunters seems to snap to its senses as you bellow, your eyes tracking the Young New comers path through the carnage to the Ogre, Bellog. From where you sit, you see that you could flank the Ogre easily as his attention is locked on the New Comer. You also have the option to stay in the fight with the smaller creatures whose numbers seem to be thinning or to jump into the fight with the Ogre, a potentially fatal encounter. If you choose to stay in the fight with the smaller creatures you are able to kill 4 more. Either way you choose to go, let me know as there are reprocussions to either decision. 

Robin (Bane_of_Kings): Knowing that if you dwell on the disappearance of the two hunters for long you will be overwhelmed by the mass of small creatures that rush at the line of Hunters anew at the Ogre's urging. Your loosed shaft, though hastily shot, finds its mark in the Ogre's shoulder, but if the beast even noticed the offending arrow it did not show. Moving back up the rows of seating, you try and get a better vangage point to fire over the head of the other hunters. It seems that you weren't the only one to get the same idea and soon you are joined by a contingent of Hunters bearing ranged weapons. As the arrows and stones and the occassional fire balls streaks down into the sea of creatures, you notice that despite their heavy losses the continue to come. You are afraid that your position is going to be overwhelmed, the creatures a mere 10 feet from the firing line, when the air around you begins to tingle. Looking quickly around you notice that four men, all dressed in matching grey cloaks, silver swords shining in the fire light that dots the amphitheatre have taken up positions around your firing line, two on each end. The beasts that swell forward seem to break on an invisible wall of force. You are taken a back for a moment, before one of them calls to the line to continue firing, laying into the beasts with his silver blade. To your surprise, your next shaft streaks through the barrier, as slight blue flare of light marking its passage, into an awaiting beast on the other side. You will continue firing until you are out of shafts, each arrow finding its mark. 

Alexander (Lord of the Night): You begin to come out of the haze of unconciousness that had gripped you and the first thing that assails your senses is the scent of springtime and the song of birds. Sitting up slowly, your head threatening to split in two, you take in your surroundings. You seem to be in some sort of glade, the trees here are greener than you could imagine, the scents fresher, the bubbling of the small brook that traverses near by almost musical. Getting to your feet you find that there is a single way out of this glade, save for if you decide to walk down the stream itself, and as you make your way towards that exit, apprehension gripping you, you find your way blocked, by a massive shadow. As the caster of that shadow emerges into the glade, you find that it is a massive brown bear, walking on its hind legs. You catch its eye and deep in those dark pools resides an intelligence that rattles you. Something about this beast speaks of great age and knowledge. Therefore you are little surprised that it begins to speak, "Welcome to the realm of Summer Wizard." Its voice is deep, but resonates with multiple tones as if it is more than one person speaking, yet it rings with power and surety, "I am Gaea and I have been tasked to bring you to the Summer Lady." You know for a fact that you will need to tread lightly. Encounters with the Fae are tricksome to begin with, but one of the Queens of the Summer court? What could she possibly have to speak to you about. Gaea turns its back on you, drops to all fours, and begins to lead the way out of the glade. How you react is up to you. 

Edward (Santaire): The blackness of unconciousness begins to fade and your awareness of your surroundings begins to stir your brain into a semblance of functionality. You awake to the scent of grass and trees, as they would smell just after the rain, the sounds of birds singing in the trees that are around you, and the chittering of small animals that rest in the branches that fill your vision. Sitting up slowly, your head pounding, your body still tingling with the presence of magic, you find that you sit in a glade of such beauty that your apprehension grows almost immediately. Nothing natural could be this beautiful, this vibrant. Taking in your surroundings, you find that there is only one way out of this glade, but before you can make your way in that direction the buzzing flutter of wings behind you takes your attention. Spinning around, you find that a faerie, about 3 and a half feet tall has come to rest on the soft grass, its large too black eyes fixed on you, its stare unnerving. It will not speak and after a few seconds you decide that perhaps it is just curious about you, so you decide to take your leave. However as you turn to make for the exit you had seen, you find that it no longer exists. How you react here is up to you, but if you decide to speak with the Fae get with me via PM and we will work out the conversation. 

Johan (Rems): Senses still reeling from the defeaning discharge of your pistols, you stumble a little off balance as you reach one of the walls of the chamber. The area you have made it too seems quieter than the rest of the battlefield, the heavy fighting located in the center of the large room and off to the west of where you are. You are able to see the massive Ogre to your left, surrounded by the Smaller Creatures that mill about its feet, and you see the vivid flashes of magic and sense its workings in the air, but you cannot see the effects such magic has. To your right you see that a large group of hunters is attempting to fend off a score of Stone trolls, many of the human warriors becoming overwhelmed by the monsterous beasts. You have a choice as to which battle you engage in. Please let me know which battle you decided to get in on and I will inform you of what happens based on your choice. 

[Karak, Rems, yoyoyo, and Tyranno- If you all are planning on continuing with the RP get with me and I will add an section for you in the update. If I do not hear from you I will not continue to include you in the updates.]


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Livoc staggered back, momentarily stunned at the disappearance of the two hunters that seemed to be the focus of the Ogre, called Bellog by the newcomer. However despite this apparent victory the Ogre screamed out in rage and something about the way he stared at the new comer made Livoc think that it is possible the young man managed to counteract whatever dastardly magic the Ogre Shaman tried to cast. However Livoc had little time for these thoughts as Bellog began to throw more of the small creatures around him back into the fight and, faced with the option of being flattened by the maddened ogre or attacking the hunters, the creatures surged back into the fight. 

Livoc knew he had an instance to make his decision. He could stay in the chamber and continue to fight the small creatures who were still quite numerous despite the fact that a large number of them have retreated from the battle or been slain by the other hunters. 

The second option was risky to say the least. He could follow the young new comer as he streaked through the battle field on direct collision course with the Bellog. Livoc watched the blonde warrior’s sword flash out and slay the smaller creatures with ease as he ran. Livoc knew full well he was no warrior and going head to head with an Ogre was suicide. But he was somehow drawn to this blonde new comer, a feeling of magic pulling him towards him. Livoc threw caution to the wind and set off at a run after the new comer.

Livoc fell quickly into the warriors wake, following the path cut by the shimmering blade. But as he ran Livoc felt a hand grasp at his ankle and he tumbled to the ground, his shoulder landing heavily on the cold stone floor of the chamber. Livoc pushed himself onto his back and looked in horror at the creature pulling itself towards him. With its legs missing below the knee nothing but tattered bloody remains were left. Yet this foul creature refused to die and using his long claws it slowly pulled itself towards the stricken Illusionist.

Livoc’s hand flew to his side and he scrambled for his iron dagger. Finally pulling it from its leather sheath he lashed out in a wild desperate swing. The beast pulled back and the blade swung past it by inches. The wide swing threw Livoc off balance and the creature took the chance to throw itself towards him. Livoc tried to pull the dagger before him but he was too slow. The creature hit him like a ton of bricks and he slid back across the floor, slippery with blood. 

Livoc stared up into the warped and twisted face of the creature, the dead eyes and the snarling mouth, filled with deadly fangs. He tried to swing his dagger but the creature lashed out and pinned his arm to the floor with its gnarled hand. As quick as he could manage Livoc reached for his other dagger, still sheathed at his thigh. But the creature saw his moment and with a simple flick of its wrist it sent the silver dagger spinning from his weak grasp, coming to a stop metres to the his right.

There was no way to cast a spell to save him and with both daggers gone he was defenceless. Livoc had almost given up when he felt the creature’s body stiffen and blood spray over his face. The beast slumped on top of the terrified Illusionist and Livoc saw the deep wound in its head. He felt the weight lifted and thrown aside and looked up into the warm face of another Hunter, a bloody axe clenched in his meaty fist. Livoc took the hand offered to him and was hauled to his feet like a rag doll. 

He opened his mouth to thank his unknown saviour only to see blood spilling from the man’s mouth and running down his chin. The axe man collapsed to the floor and Livoc cried out at the sight of another creature crouched behind him, blood running from its jaws. The creature looked up and its eyes focussed on the sight of the defenceless mage. What Livoc can only describe as a smile creased the beasts face. Livoc saw his dagger and dived for it even as the creature leapt towards him. His trembling fingers closed around the handle and he rolled onto his back just as the creature fell upon him. 

The creature began to spasm and Livoc felt warmth spreading over his hands and running down his arms. Finally the creature fell still and Livoc heaved with all his strength to roll it off him. He rose shakily to his feet and retrieved his two daggers, sheathing them once more. He turned in time to see the blonde warrior rushing to engage the Ogre in combat. Livoc fell back into automatic and in an instant the match was in his hand, flaming into his life as he was muttering the spell.

“Uro”

As the newcomer strikes the Ogre with flames and blows of his sword Livoc saw the Ogre shudder, as if shaking off a chill. Livoc watched in silent fear as the Ogre Shamin turned its piercing gaze upon him. It raised its staff to block the new comers blow, grabbed up a helpless creature from the ground and, before Livoc could react, heaved it bodily towards him.

Livoc had no time to think before the creature crashed into his legs, knocking him down to the ground once more. Almost as soon as he fell down two more creatures broke away from the swirling contact and fell upon him. Livoc felt his limbs pinned, his daggers out of reach. A hand grasped his throat and he felt his breath leaving him. He opened his hand and threw the small stone out of the scrum and across the floor. With his last breath he managed to gurgle the word.

“Commeatus”

In that instant Livoc was free, looking down upon the huddle where he had been just seconds ago. Livoc pulled both daggers free of their sheaths and in a mad fit of courage stabbed down with both. He felt the blades sink into flesh and opened his mouth to shout for joy only for the joyous cry to turn into one of pain as he felt a searing pain pierce his mind. Livoc could feel blood flowing from a wound in his face and he fell to his knees even as the creatures rose to attack him once more.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

"_All Roads Lead to Rome. Today, I wish they didn't. Not because I am afraid of war for I am no stranger to that, but because I am afraid of dying before my purpose is complete. Whatever my purpose in life may be._"​~The Personal Journal of Robin Blake​
If he swelled on the disappearance of the two hunters for longer, then Robin ran the risk of being overwhelmed by the massed assault. One of his arrows, even though it was hastily shot, found its mark in the Ogre's shoulder, but the creature paid no heed to whatever Robin could throw at it.

In danger of being overrun, Robin pulled back up the rows of seating in order to get a clear shot, and found that he was not alone. In this titanic battle, he had been joined by every long-rang specialized Hunter that had made the journey to Rome. Some were even using magic, and fireballs joined the arrows that he and his new-found companions loaded into the massed hordes below. 

For a second, Robin almost believed that the combined archery from the Hunters and the skill of the close-combatants, the creatures would be defeated especially after seeing their heavy losses. But, to his distaste, they kept coming. At this rate, they would overrun them, no matter whether Robin was sitting at the back of the building or on the front steps. Suddenly, he noticed with growing interest that the air around him began to tingle. Looking around him, he quickly noticed that four men, all dressed in matching grey cloaks sporting silver swords that shined in the firelight, had taken up positions around the firing line of the Hunter. They were split so that they were two on each end, and as the beasts swelled forward, they seemed to break on an invisible wall of force. Taken aback for a moment, Robin was forced back into action when one of them shouted, "Keep firing!"

He didn't want to think about what would happen if he disobeyed, after all - why would he? They were on the same side. Unleashing his bow, Robin was relieved to see that this this wall only worked one way - it kept out the monsters but allowed him to kill them. As his arrow pierced the wall, its passage was marked with a slight blue flare. But before it had even reached its target, the Hunter had unloaded his arrows once again, and kept firing until he could fire no more. He didn't have to aim that hard, only over the heads of those on his time fighting below, because due to the massed attack of the monsters, it wasn't that hard not to miss.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

Alexander's eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing as he leapt to his feet and drew the tulwar, both hands gripping the hilt as he scanned the area around him. He grimaced. He knew where he was immediately, as only one attuned to magic could. The glade that he was in was absolutely overflowing with magic, too much magic to be anything in the mortal realm of existance. This was a realm of monsters, and he knew which one. Summer. Where the Faeries of Summer lived, the ones that so many falsely assumed to be kind and friendly and good. The difference between a Summer and a Winter Sidhe was that the Winter would stab you in the front, while a Summer would stab you in the back, and were more aesthetically pleasing to fools who believed that monsters could be beautiful. Alexander was under no such illusions. The Summer Sidhe were dangerous, and he had killed more than a few over his century of life.

The glade was a perfect circle, except for one exit. A stream led out, passing through trees that were too green, sounds that were too musical to be natural animal sounds, and a sky that was too blue and too clear for his liking. Alexander preferred the drab grey of a cloudy sky or better yet pure night, both were times when monsters emerged to be killed by him and others like him. Alexander decided to wait no more, and began to walk in the direction of the stream. He sensed it before he saw it, the shadow that emerged to block his way. It was immense and would have unsettled anyone less experienced than Alexander, who stood his ground, unflinching and turned to the source of the shadow.

A brown bear entered the glade, Alexander narrowed his eyes and entered a combat stance. The fact that the bear walked on it's hind legs in a grotesque parody of a human being would have alerted anyone to it's otherwordly nature, but the fact that it exuded magic like a human did breath told Alexander so much more about it. The creature, whatever it was, was old, very old. It's gait was that of a being with great knowledge earned through centuries of life and experience. None of that dissuaded Alexander from the potential of killing it. When it spoke, it's voice was deep and sounded like multiple voices speaking simultaneously.

_*"Welcome to the realm of Summer Wizard. I am Gaea and I have been tasked to bring you to the Summer Lady."*_

Alexander did not allow his surprise to reach his face, remaining stony and silent. The Summer Lady was a very powerful monster, one of the most powerful alive. Killing her would be an incredible achievement, yet he might be able to do it. The Lady was strong, but weaker than her compatriots and with enough magic fuelling his attack he would be able to fend off whatever she sent after him long enough for the tulwar to pierce her heart. No magical armor, spell or defense could stand against the tulwar's arcane energies. Yet Alexander's innate sensibilities could not reconcile complying with this creature's request. Dealing with monsters was a slippery slope, and Alexander had never taken that first step that led one to consort with them, and he never would.

*"I am uninterested in dealing with monsters such as you and your master. I do not know how I have come to this place, but I will not tolerate being removed from the field when there are monsters that need to die. If it is within your power send me back, if not then begone from my sight creature."*


LotN


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

Bishop Anders Sunesen was relieved to see that his bellowing, continued to get the hunters fighting with everything they had. This was not the time to let go of everything everyone had fought for, for so many years. They might not believe in demons or other greater evils, but unseelie fae they understood and knew they could be defeated. 

Anders spotted the fae that had disrupted some of the ogres magical attacks, and he was moving towards the Bellog, easily defeating the black creatures. Some hunter a mage it seemed following him, providing some support to the fae.
It was clear that the Ogre Bellog perceived them as the greatest threat, as all his attention was on them. Bishop Sunesen spotted a chance, he could flank the ogre from the other side if he moved quickly. Yelling to the group of ranged hunters for some cover, Bishop Anders moved through the defensive line of hunters he had help create, bashing a demon creature away with his heavy mace, not looking to see if it was dead or incapitated.

Grasping his wooden necklace with a cross, Bishop Anders Sunesen started a prayer, all the while he defended himself against any attacking creature that got close, all the while he moved closer to the ogre Bellog.

_"Blessed be thee most holy of powers, God of the high heavens, master of the sky and this earth. Bless me with your powers to smite this creature, that is working to stop your servants from during there duty, to protect those that can not protect themselves, against the evils that plague this earth. Bless me with the holy powers of the elements to burn and smite this creature, to teach it its erroneous ways of paganism and heresy. Show it your wrath through me, your humble servant and willing subject. Amen"_

As Anders came closer to completing his prayer, electricity played up and down his left arm, focusing around his cross. His sleeves becoming singed at the hems, but Bishop Sunesen could feel both the wrath and love from his god, as his power manifested. Protected from any harmful effect of the holy lightning, that shot out and across the room, hitting the the Ogre Bellog with a loud crackling boom. The ogre screaming in pain and uncontained rage, as the powerful holy electric force of Anders smite played across the ogre, igniting his hair and clothes. And it was not a second after, another scream from the ogre sounded, as it clasped a hand to its stomach, where the other fae had slashed him with his sword.

Bishop Anders knew he could not call on another smite for some time, but they had wounded the ogre and now was the time to finish him off. Anders was certain this Ogre was too dangerous to let live, so he quickly kept on moving towards the Ogre, to engage him in melee supporting the fae that obviously had a weapon that could kill Bellog more easily than Anders mace would be able to do.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Eira was in a low crouch as the troll recovered and started to walk towards her, limping slightly due to the small wound that she had caused it. It growled as it moved towards her, its intention clear due to the wound that she had dealt it. She breathed heavily as it got closer, she was afraid she would freely admit, but fear could help her live. She had the desire to live, the desire to see her family again. The desire to fight the darkness and help Vladamir however she could. These beasts had proven his point to her, though she must admit if she were to die she would be able to see him once more, to apologize to him.
She hoped that someone would notice the slight women fighting against the huge troll and would be able to come over and help but she doubted it, there were so many of the beasts. 

Suddenly she heard a shriek from her left and turned as three of the smaller fiends rushed towards her. Swearing she barely had time to bring her dagger up to stop the first one, slashing its throat with her silver blade. It shrieked as it died, though she knew the next two would at least knock her to the floor as she wouldn’t have time to kill them before they leapt on her. 

As they were leaping she almost cried out in surprise as she two objects streak past her, ruffling her hair before they slammed into the creatures, killing them both instantly. She looked down to see the objects to be arrows, the archery skills matched her own. She had wished she had brought her weapons to fight, but she had been a fool. She suddenly felt herself lifted off the ground as a fist closed round her midriff and knocked the wind out of her. She cried out in pain as she was lifted up by the wounded troll as it brought her close to its face, stabbing its arms a few times on the way. It held her out of reach though she could smell its breath as it breathed on her, and even smelt her. 

She gagged as it breathed on her, its breath was foul and she would have been sick if she was facing this life or death situation. She felt her eyes watering before in a frenzy she started to stab its arm repeatedly with her dagger, hoping that either someone could come and help her, or she would cause enough damage to make it drop her.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Blackness faded, to be replaced by light. As consciousness returned, awareness of my surroundings came with it. I awoke to the scent of grass and trees, their scent that of such things soon after rain. The sound of birds singing, and the sight of small animals around me greeted me as I pushed myself onto all fours before standing. The grove was so beautiful that I instantly checked my side for my sword but found it missing. I looked around, seeing _Dragon Fang_ resting on the ground. Words cannot describe the relief I felt upon seeing that sword.

With it in my hand, I felt whole and ready to face the Fae who controlled the grove I was in. For I had no doubt that I was in the realm of the Seelie Fae. The place was too perfect, far too perfect to be wholly natural. No, magic was at work here. Fae Magic.

I relaxed my muscles, releasing the tension. But I did not truly relax, for to do so might be suicide. Looking around I saw that there was only one way to leave the grove and I made for it, holding _Dragon Fang_ tightly in both hands. I had only moved a few paces however when the buzzing flutter of wings behind me had me spinning with my blade in a guard position. It was a three and a half foot tall faerie that settled itself on the grass and gazed at me with black eyes that were too large. It’s stare was unnerving.

After a few seconds it still hadn’t spoken so I turned to leave. But the exit had vanished. I turned back to the faerie.

“I would know the name of my jailer,” I said calmly, sitting cross legged on the ground with my hand on _Dragon Fang’s_ hilt.

The fae grinned, his almond eyes sparkling like emeralds as he inclined his head and spoke. "Welcome to the land of summer Hunter, but sooth, I am no jailer. Guide, informer, purveyor of information yes, but jailer no. Nor is this a jail, you can leave whenever you wish, provided you meet certain conditions. I am Tulessantisidhe."

I felt my heart sink. I really was in the land of the Seelie fae. And I had never been in more danger in all my life...


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

*Update #6*

"It will take all that is good and right in this world to overcome the challenges that lie before us. Allies between peoples and nations that have long harbored dislike and hatred for one another must put aside the differences that continue to separate us. An evil is coming the likes of which have not been seen since the first days, since when the gods of old breathed life onto this world. If we stay divided, if those that treasure life and freedom refuse to work together, I fear that we already may be lost."

Exerpt from the personal journal of Vladamir Prokofski
December 14th, 1577​
Alexander (Lord of the Night): Gaea, its great beastial face turned towards you, grunts in surpise, "You would spurn an invitation from Lady Summer? Very well mage, I will take your rejection to my Lady, but be warned, in the coming conflict even you who wield the powers of the arcane will need allies. It is unwise, bordering on foolish to turn your back on those that would offer aid out of some misguided sense of human perception." 

Before you are even able to respond, a sudden heat fills your veins, as if fire was trying to consume you from the inside out permeates your body. Though it is uncomfortable, it is not painful. The glade around you disappears from view, the last thing you see is Gaea, walking from the glade, an unmistakeable look of saddness on his great face. 

Cold and dark assail you as the cavern you were once in materializes around you and you are dropped into the midst of the battle that continued on in your absence. 

Alexander (Lord of the Night) , Livoc (Romero's Own) , Robin (Bane_of_Kings), Bishop Anders (Anilar), & Henry (HOGGLORD): You all hear a thundering noise, as if a huge host of cavalry was bearing down on you. Ahead of the noise that seems to radiate from the back wall of the amphitheatre, behind where Prokofski had been speaking, the scent of wildflowers, fresh grass after a summer rain, and honey permeates the large room. With a blinding flash of light a opening, a working of magic far greater than you could imagine, slowly ripples open and through it come a host of centaur warriors. Great beast of the Summer Court that crash into the amphitheatre, the sound of their hooves on the stone echoing around the chamber. The small creatures, almost in unison shriek and flee. The ones closest to the opening get trampled as the Centaurs hack and slash their way to the trolls on the other side of the room. Putting aside whatever feelings you harbor toward the Fae, you can see that the arrival of these formidable warriors is a turning of the tide. The each bear a pair of long curved swords that they use in a whirling fashion that belies their size. In no time at all the Centaurs, working in pairs, have cut down 6 of the 12 remaining trolls. As the trolls fall, the small creatures all be vanish in their haste to flee. This doesn't happen quickly enough for all of them and each of you is able to kill another 2-3 as they try and run. 

Eira (Lord Ramo): The damage you are able to do to the trolls wrist barely annoys it and you can feel your ribs beginning to constrict, blackness flitting at the edges of your vision. You have enought time to think that this is the end, that your death will come at the hands of this raging beast, before you black out. Oddly you feel the sensation of falling, then a jarring impact at that snaps your eyes open. The cold stone beneath your cheek forces a ragged breath into sore lungs. As you blearily peer towards the troll, you see and older man, his sword shining like the noon day sun engage the beast. His swordsmanship beyond peer, a strange nimbus of light around him, he goads the beast into hasty strikes that fail to meet their mark. You see the trolls severed hand still clutched around you. You feel that you may be able to pry it off, but what do you do from there? You see a spear, excellently crafted, its blade etched with strange runes laying nearby, its owner still cluthing the haft, but his head is a mass of blood pulp, crushed by one of the massive trolls. Free yourself and take up the spear. 

Edward (Santaire): Tulessantisidhe takes flight, his wings buzzing in a steady hum as he raises himself up to stare into your face. "There is something odd about you mortal," he says almost matter of factly, like he can read something in the depths of your eyes, "Fate swirls around you in a strange way." Shaking himself, muttering to himself, "If you want to know more, payment must be made." Not letting you ask anything about what he is saying, he spins in mid-air, his pensive look replaced quickly by a knowing and mischieveous smile. "Come along fleshling, my Lady awaits." He leads you out of the garden glen, through natural places, the beauty of which almost drives other thoughts from your mind. Great distances seem to leap by in the blink of any eye as you walk behind the tiny fae. Though it is difficult to concentrate, the strangeness of the Tulesantiside and his strange pronouncement is foremost in your mind, as he leads you to a great wall of brambles. Interspaced between thorns that seem to grow to a foot long are the most beautiful roses you have ever laid eyes on. In the wall, two great doors made of still living oakwood bar your path. Uncertain as to what you will find on the other side you push on them and as they open a bright light blinds you and a voice musical, alluring, tempting calls out to you, "Welcome warrior, I am Aurora, Lady of Summer, Keeper of the Spring Flame, and Guardian of the West."

[For those of you that were signed up for this RP that do not have an update, it is because you have not posted for sometime and I am moving your characters to an NPC status. If you wish to rejoin the RP I am more than happy to have you, just get with me and I will get you an update.]


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

As the creature turned to face Alexander he stifled the urge to raise his blade and attack. He had not been paid to kill this creature, and it was not trying to kill him... yet. It almost seemed rejected as it spoke,

_*"You would spurn an invitation from Lady Summer? Very well mage, I will take your rejection to my Lady, but be warned, in the coming conflict even you who wield the powers of the arcane will need allies. It is unwise, bordering on foolish to turn your back on those that would offer aid out of some misguided sense of human perception." *_

Alexander would have laughed had the heat not begun to build up in his veins. For a moment he thought it treachery, but it was not pain he felt. Rather, power. The bear-thing, Gaea, actually seemed sad that his mistress's offer had been rejected. Alexander mentally scoffed, he would never accept an offer from the Fae. Those who did always regretted it in the end, no matter how small or harmless the offer seemed, the Fae always wanted something in return and it was never good. Only a fool would deal with creatures whose very nature was trickery and double-speak. And Alexander Valkium was no fool.

In an instant he was back in the battle, the smoke-demons scurrying about the battlefield. Several hunters were dead, and many were being forced back by the advance of the trolls. Alexander ripped the Tulwar free and struck at the nearest demon that had not seen him, the blade punched through it's open jaw and ripped clean through it's skull as he pulled it skywards. Before he could charge to another he felt the tremors, something was coming. Something big. And there were clearly a lot of them. He could smell the glade again, the scent of wild flowers and honey. And then he knew what was coming. Summer.

The centaur horde that charged from the portal were a force of mighty strength. Alexander had fought a centaur once and it had been a hard-fought battle, but he had prevailed in the end. The demons shrieked as they were trampled into the ground under the centaurs hooves, those further away fled in terror. Not one to let a monster escape Alexander lashed out, taking another two demons down at the legs and finishing them with swift strikes to the head. Taking a moment he looked at the group of hunters that were near him and noticed something, the one who had also been taken was not among them. Alexander cursed under his breath, clearly that hunter had accepted the invitation to the Summer Lady's court. Whomever he was, Alexander hoped he was not foolish enough to deal with the Fae.

It never ended well.


LotN


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## HOGGLORD (Jan 25, 2012)

Henry’s head began to buzz and his vision blurred as the blood from the wounded shoulder continued to flow. He was having difficulty in breathing due to the broken ribs he now had, each breath was a painful rasp. The mountainous troll began rumbling forwards, a deep, throaty growl building up inside it. Henry considered his options quickly. There were two standard mindsets: Fight or flight, fight was the option taken when his highest chance of success was overcoming his foe in combat. This was not one of those situations. 

Henry made a rather ungraceful movement, rolling bodily to his left to avoid the troll’s rampaging charge. Pain stabbed at him and his shoulder was beginning to feel increasingly slick with blood. Henry battled desperately with his body, forcing it to remain conscious. 

The troll rounded on him again and Henry saw no escape rout this time. He hauled himself up to one knee, drew his crossbow and, with a surprisingly steady hand, aimed it at the beast. _If I can’t beat this bastard,_ he thought, _ I can at least leave him something to remember me by._ He loosed his first shot, it struck true, puncturing the troll’s chest. The troll, however, did not seem to notice for a few moments. Then he pulled the bolt from his chest, still moving. The second bolt struck him in the throat. The speed at which the troll charged slowed from the speed of a frenzied horse to something more akin to a bear’s charge. Slower, but far from slow enough. As Henry threw up his hands to shield himself, a flash of color flew past his vision, accompanied by a wind that had only been rivaled in force by a storm upon a Scottish cliff. He saw an azure robed man, a metallic staff clutched in his grip, had placed himself between he and the troll. Lightning snapped and cracked, engulfing the troll. It took another five seconds for Henry to realize that he had a hope of surviving this fight. This was promptly dashed when he saw another pair off trolls.

“Merda.” He groaned in Italian, an odd habit he’d picked up, and unsteadily got to his feet. This wasn’t an amazing start to proving himself in front of the higher, more experienced echelons of the Hunters. He tried to raise his weapon, but before he could loose a shot, he heard a thundering noise, as if a huge host of cavalry was bearing down on him. Henry spun around, searching for the source of the sound. The noise that seemed to radiate from the back wall of the amphitheatre, behind where Prokofski had been speaking, the scent of wildflowers, fresh grass after a summer rain, and honey rushed into Henry. With a blinding flash of light an opening, evidently magical in origin, slowly rippled open and through it came a host of centaur warriors. They were lithe and graceful, yet equally terrifying t o behold. The great beasts of the Summer Court crashe into the amphitheatre, the sound of their hooves on the stone echoing around the chamber like gargantuan drums. The smaller creatures were trampled as the Centaurs rushed towards the trolls advancing upon Henry. 

Henry had always wanted to see a centaur, though he knew that they could well be a new foe. They each bore a pair of long curved swords that they use in a fluid whirling fashion. In a brief moment the Centaurs, working in pairs, cut down half of the trolls, including the two near Henry. As the trolls fell, the small creatures all began vanish in their haste to flee. Henry noticed that his crossbow was loaded, so he released a bolt into one, who tripped, bumping into one of it’s ugly kin, who fell on a discarded sword. 

Henry laughed softly to himself, then looked up at the centaurs, who were making such quick work of the trolls that one or two of the hunters seemed distinctly embarrassed. Henry tried his best to look as if he had been in complete control of the situation. He didn’t do so very well, it was difficult when you looked as if you’d just fallen off a building into a stampede of rhinos.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

"_Reinforcements can dictate the tide of the battle. If they had been on the enemy's side then I don't think any of us would have made it out alive, but luckily... The Centaurs seem to support the Hunters. At least... in this fight._" ~The Personal Journal of Robin Blake


The first thing that the thundering noise reminded Robin Blake of was as if a huge host of cavalry bearing down on the Englishman. Ahead of the noise that seemed to radiate from the back wall of the ampitheatre, behind where Prokofski had been speaking a blinding flash of light produced an opening, displaying a working of magic far greater than Robin could even hope to imagine. Slowly, it rippled open, and it wasn't long before the archer sighted a great host of Centaur warriors, great beasts of the Summer Court announcing their dramatic arrival as the crashed into the amphitheatre, the sound of hooves on stone echoing around the chamber. 

It didn't take long for the small creatures to loose their morale alltogether with this new unexpected arrival and flee. The ones closest to the opening were trampled by the Centaurs as they hacked and slashed their way through the melee, to the trolls on the other side of the room. Robin realised that he had been gawping all too long, and had to quickly but accurately launch his weapons into the air.

Putting aside his feelings of distrust towards the Fae, Robin could see that the arrival of these formidable warriors was well and truly turning the tide - for they each boasted a pair of long curved swords that reinforced their already deadly strength. Working in pairs and in no time at all, the Centaurs cut down six of the twelve remaining trolls, causing the morale of the enemy to collapse completely and what little brave and foolhardy fighters remained, they were quickly being trampled upon by their allies in their haste to flee. Adding another arrow to the already numerous horde that had been fired in the creatures direction, Robin was able to bring down one from a distance. Seconds later, another was brought down as well, increasing his kill count by two, before putting a wounded beast out of its misery with an arrow to the heart.

The tide had turned in the side of the Hunters, and there was no way it would be turning back.


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## Romero's Own (Apr 10, 2012)

Livoc could feel blood flowing from a wound in his face and he fell to his knees even as the creatures rose to attack him once more. Too weak to even raise his head Livoc let his eyes close and his brain slip away towards the darkness even as he felt claws tearing at his clothes and flesh. But the pain was distant, beyond his reach and unfelt. The scent of wildflowers, fresh grass after a summer rain, and honey flooded the Illusionists senses as he his grip on life weakened. But the peace he was feeling was shattered in a heartbeat.

A blinding flash of life and the sensation of magic in the air brought Livoc back from the brink and the thundering sound of hooves forced his eyes open. Livoc saw the small creatures that had been slashing at his motionless body only moments before shriek and flee, knocking aside their own kind in their desperation to escape.

Livoc turned his head to see a majestic sight riding towards him, Centaurs, hundreds of them, were storming across the amphitheatre. Their long curved swords slashing down all those that stood before them. The small creatures died in droves and Livoc could only watch with amazement as the Centaurs, working in perfect partnership with their kin, slew the trolls that had only moments before had full control of the battlefield.

Livoc allowed a smile to dance across his face as he saw the tide of the battle turn in the hunters favour. But a lance of pain reminded him of his wounds and once more his head slumped to the ground as darkness threatened to consume what life he had left.


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## Anilar (Aug 12, 2011)

Bishop Anders could hardly believe it. One moment the fighting line behind him had fought for there lives, against the small demonic creatures. While he had ranged ahead supported some mage and the strange fae creature against the massive and clearly intelligent Ogre. Then as Anders had prepared to reengage the smaller creatures, the ogre more occupied by the more direct threat to be of immediate danger to Anders. But suddenly a mysterious magical portal had opened, and together with the smell of spring, massive centaurs charged out immediately causing the smaller creatures to flee there screams and screeches changing tone, going from them trying to cause terror in there enemies, to themselves being terrified. Which to Anders sounded even more horrorfying.

Anders absent minded swung his mace into a fleeing demon spawn, while he watched the centaurs charging and concentrating on the trolls in the other end of the amphitheatre, where they quickly dispatched half a dozen or so creatures. Trolls Anders hadn't even been aware off, as he had been busy in his end of the fight. As a member of the church devoted to god, Anders knew he should scorn the centaurs, heathens all. But Anders couldn't help but be relieved by there appearance and help, it seemed for now they were trusthworthy. Anders had only had a few dealings with the summer court fae, and to him it seemed he had to judge them from event to event, if they were trustworthy or not.

Crushing another spawn, Anders shook himself out of his reverie, and started to take a look around, to see if anyone was wounded and needed his prayers. Not stopping any hunter that had the energy to hunt the creatures into the tunnel, Anders started to direct those he came into contact with that was exhausted but not injured or only had minor scrapes to find the wounded but living hunters, so he could start administering help and healing for those that needed it, just hoping there was other priests and mages with similar powers. To begin with Anders moved towards the mage, that had followed the stranger into battle with the ogre, as it seemed he had been wounded during the encounter, and he was still slumped down on the ground. Just hoping he would not be to late to help the couragous hunter, even thou he would probably hate being saved by someone from the church.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

I sat still, running a whetstone down Dragon Fang’s blade even though it needed no sharpening. But I needed something to take my mind off the danger of where I was.

Tulessantisidhe regarded me quizzically and took flight. His wings made a steady hum as he lifted himself till he could look me in the eyes. His voice when he spoke was matter of fact. "There is something odd about you mortal," he said and his voice was suddenly far away. He seemed to be reading from something deep within my soul. "Fate swirls around you in a strange way." I started, began to ask a question but he interrupted me by shaking himself and muttering. "If you want to know more, payment must be made."

Before I could ask him anything of what he had said he spun in the air and his pensive look becoming a knowing and mischievous smile that had my heart sinking. "Come along fleshling, my Lady awaits." Without another word he led me from the garden, through natural places of such beauty that I will never see their like again. Their beauty almost made me forget all else, seemingly great distances were seemingly crossed in the blink of an eye as I followed Tulessantisidhe.

It was exceedingly difficult to focus, but still Tulessantisidhe’s curious pronouncement was still foremost in my mind as he led me to a great wall of brambles. I raised an eyebrow but my breath was snatched from me as I saw the beautiful roses interspersed between the foot long thorns. In the wall, two great doors made of living wood barred my path.

I fought with myself as to what I should do. Part of me was screaming at me to run, to escape this place as fast as possible. But mostly I was incredibly curious; I wanted to know what Tulessantisidhe had meant, I wanted to know why I had been sent here and not someone else. I wanted to know if Prokofski had been right. So I put my hands to the great doors and pushed. As they swung open, a shining light blinded me and a musical, alluring voice called out to me. "Welcome warrior, I am Aurora, Lady of Summer, Keeper of the Spring Flame, and Guardian of the West."


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