(Side Story: TC) Some Folk Will Believe Any Old Shite!

[Mordechai]

Mordechai was quietly nestled deep in a corner of the top floor of Foucault Castle. The shadows wrapped around him hiding the massive killer from a cursory search, while his decoy sat off to the end of the room, all the more to draw in the inexperienced hunter. Silently his hand ran over the pistol in his lap, long skilled fingers deftly stripping the weapon into its 3 primary parts. A quick glance of an experienced obsidian eye, and the killer turned gunsmith set the two better parts in his pack, and tossed the other aside, to be found by less discerning practitioners of his trade. He had found fifteen of the prized Psylens in his hunt this day. They were a top notch weapon, one of the best commercially available 10mm’s. They were accurate, reliable, and packed more punch than the venerable .45acp…. But they were nothing compared to the weapons he could make from their parts. The best mass produced item, always had room for improvement, and in his hands, these discarded remnants of his war on the lionelli would become masterpieces. The familiar movements of his fingers needed no supervision from his eyes, and as the next in the pile began to separate in his lap, his mind wandered.

Wendigos. The demon spawn of the fae were drawing closer. He knew little about them, their history, their powers…. That needed to change. Twice, hives of them had been discovered in the city, and he had moved on them with others, to protect the denizens of the city. These times, even the humans had come out to help. It seemed the spawn of the fae instilled a fear in the human populace as well. It was just as well though. Mordechai feared no man, demon, nor creature from any abyss that walked the streets of Harper Rock city, but consistently, to consistently for his tastes, some of the wendigo had been able to fight him to a draw, some even forcing the brobdingnagian killer into a fight retreat. Asymmetrical warfare was necessary. Just standing up and going toe to toe, was not an option. There was even a.. ‘Breed’? “Subspecies”? That weapons just bounced off of, almost as if they had been infused with revenant ashes. A quick glance as he separated another set of parts, and picked up the next, and he was back on task. Better weapons were the answer. Better weapons for him, better weapons for those that fought with him, and these Psylens were the starting point to the answer.

Mordechai slipped the last set of parts into his pack, and straightened to his full height, then ducking as his stetson grazed the ceiling. It was a good haul, soon he would have a stack of great custom weapons for his friends, and they could bring the war to the Fae properly. Slipping to a nearby window Mordechai gracefully stepped out landing lightly on the ground, a small shake of his head as he once more noted how well these powers he now carried so nonchalantly would have made his past vocation as a human. His head cocked, as a signal slipped through his mind alerting him to a new text. A text from Pru. The message scrolled through his mind as he turned to a new direction and slung his pack over one shoulder. The killer slipped into an easy lope, until he was sure he was clear of prying eyes, and then the massive thighs began to really pump as he disappeared in a blur of dust and flying leaves. His mind reached out to the titian haired killer as he reached terminal velocity, she needed him in ‘ten’ and it sounded like she was once more about to step into the thick of something “Ten seconds is achievable, incoming”. Eight seconds later the Newborough station was in sight. Nine seconds his preternatural sight watched as Prudence crossed towards two men in the parking lot. Ten seconds found him standing behind the two males, a Fairbairn-Sykes in each hand. Neither were familiar. The Fairbairn-Sykes twirled thru his fingers into matching underhand grips, the blades concealed along his forearms as he once more reached out to the ginger whispering delicately in her mind, “I will take the one to your left”

[Whit]

Whitaker did not often resort to violence as a first measure, however 'life' as a vampire had taught him the hard way that a person unwilling to fight for survival was doomed to die. He had, in short order, thought up possible solutions to the wendigo problem, each answer having its own numerous issues. Perhaps the greatest contender was to expose the demi-fae. After all, vampires were real – so why couldn't magical fairy creatures be? A vampire could even summon certain demi-fae to do their will, so demonstrating the existence wasn't a difficult concept. And yet the vampire populace of Harper Rock knew very little about how well organized the demi-fae were. Did they work in cohesion? Was there a greater power they answered collectively to? Would they, if faced with danger on the whole, act to protect themselves. He was, of course, considering the Hebigumo Foundation. Attempt to expose the demi-fae and there was no telling how Hebigumo would respond. Would they combat efforts? How far reaching was their power?

Information was sorely lacking, and the demi-fae themselves were so varied and diverse in population that addressing all of them seemed impossible. How did one identify a demi-fae? They weren't all serpentine. Weren't all arachnid. Weren't all necromantic wolves. Did one just say 'Everything you have ever feared is real, and walks the earth, and hungers for you.'? One thing Whitaker could do was throw in his resources in the fight against the newest threat.

Grant was, if anything, opposite the emotionless Necromancer. It seemed the Allurist was illuminated and animated, where Whitaker remained largely silent, unmoving, like some sort of living statue. His voice lacked inflection, and was essentially monotone after the style of university history professors. He spoke in observations, facts, and his humor itself was usually both dry and sardonic, which made it difficult to detect. "Good evening, Grant." He greeted. "Bad news seems to be an accurate assessment. From what I have gathered, through admittedly superficial but good meaning research, everything the Administrator said is true. At the very least, the mythos backs up the idea that wendigos eat human flesh, which serves to act as impetus for us to act." He adjusted the duffel bag from hanging from his hand to pressed against his back, arm through the two hand holds, entire thing over a shoulder. "What I could not find was reliable information about how to destroy them. One source claimed that a wendigo must be shot with a silver bullet or stabbed with a silver blade through its heart, then the heart removed, placed in a silver box and buried on church soil, then the body dismembered via silver axe, burned, ashes scattered." He paused. "That seems a bit theatrical to me."

It was as Grant was introducing the idea of someone new arriving that a red head approached, and a glance towards the Allurist confirmed that she was to be part of the group. Then she greeted both of them. "Whitaker." He corrected politely, as a form of greeting, though he made no effort to reach a hand out for a shake. He just wasn't tactile when it came to his social norms, preferring cold exchange of information as opposed to affectionate salutation. "A pleasure to meet you. As I was saying to Grant, I'm not sure if there's a key way to kill these things. We may just need to beat on them until they drop over, and hope that works." Which wasn't really as well researched an idea as he would have liked, but the Administrator, despite his affection for 'call to arms' type posts, seemed to be equally fond of not giving out important details which could be used to dispose of the problem demi-fae.

A shockwave of rippling air hit Whitaker, and he realized they had gone from three to four, and he glanced up and back to take in the sight of what appeared to be a giant wielding a weapon in either hand. Right.

[Stonehouse]

Stonehouse liked the fact that Whitaker didn’t beat around the bush. Small talk was a valuable tool to break the ice or dispel an awkward silence, but sometimes it was better to cut straight to the chase, especially when matters of extreme importance were being discussed. A threat to the fragile peace between vampires and humans certainly seemed like a major incident to the ever-alert businessman, so when his pale-faced acquaintance smashed through the casual hello barrier and rushed headlong into the details of his findings, it definitely brought a smile to Stonehouse’s cheeks.

The tall Englishman listened attentively to the information his friend was disseminating. The disappointing thing was that Whitaker didn’t seem to possess a wealth of knowledge about the mysterious wendigos, but this revelation hardly came as any surprise to Stonehouse. Nobody appeared to be an authority on these strange demi-fae creatures. That worried Stonehouse. What, precisely, were the group about to get themselves into; a landscape of gently rolling hills, or a thick jungle filled with deadly swamps? The uncertainty was rather unnerving to a control freak like Stonehouse.

The conversation between Stonehouse and his colleague had barely got out of first gear when Pru arrived, bang on schedule. A point for punctuality was duly noted. If her aim was as impressive as her timing, then perhaps this little escapade could end up being like shooting fish in a barrel?

Stonehouse politely did the whole “hello” ritual before quickly addressing the redhead’s question about “shooting things”, adding to Whitaker’s brief comments on the matter of how killing the wendigos may prove to be difficult.

“It’s great to see you again, Pru,” said Stonehouse. “Thanks for coming along for the ride. As Whitaker just mentioned, we don’t really know if these beasties are easy to kill. Apparently, there are rumours that we may need silver bullets!”

The athletic entrepreneur smiled, as if someone had just whispered a joke into his ear.

“Maybe these things are like werewolves,” added Stonehouse. “There’s not a full moon tonight, is there?”

Although any talk of silver weapons, lycanthropes, or shimmering moons may well have sounded like stuff and nonsense to most people, so would any discussions about vampires, or anything else that went bump in the night, but Stonehouse was obviously incredibly aware that such creatures of folklore and nightmares most definitely existed.

“The problem we have,” continued Stonehouse, a more serious tone to his voice slowly returning as the grin vanished from his chiselled face, “is that we don’t really know anything much about the wendigos, other than they are supposedly bad news for us all.”

He paused, contemplating the blank canvas that lay ahead of them. This wasn’t so much going to be a seek and destroy mission, but more of an intelligence gathering expedition, a foray into unknown territory that could, in all fairness, potentially lead to a lot of gunfire and slashing, if the encounter with the sirens related to the Hebigumo Foundation was anything to go by.

“Maybe we won’t need any silver,” said Stonehouse, “or stakes through the heart, or any other kind of mumbo-jumbo. Maybe we just have to say ‘Candyman’ three times, and the little buggers will appear behind us!”

Pru’s arrival may have been described as perfect timing, but the sudden gust of supernatural wind that followed Stonehouse’s Candyman quip was spookily unsettling. Spinning on the heels of his sturdy boots, Stonehouse spun around to be confronted by a giant of a man, his height exaggerated by some kind of hat, a Stetson by the look of it. The urban cowboy - probably more accustomed to riding a Harley-Davidson as opposed to a thoroughbred stallion, judging by his appearance - was an imposing figure. The new arrival’s face looked vaguely familiar, perhaps from one of the vampire auctions that were occasionally held around the city, but other than that, he remained a mystery.

“I hope that you are on our team?” said Stonehouse inquisitively.

It looked like the London buses really were all turning up at once.

[Prudence]

Whitaker. Whit.Take. R. Prudence was playing with the words in the other guy's name when Mordie showed up out of no where. She knew he was coming, but she hadn't expected him to be like Flash! At his suggestion, Prudence snorted and then cackled. "Didn't know ya went that way, Mordie." Prudence nudged him with the back of her hand, still laughing before Grant started talking. She just nodded, not real sure what it was they were planning on the *** kicking front, but was along for the ride.

"This is Mordie. He's with me. He's my friend." Prudence said after Grant stopped talking about something Prudence didn't know about. "Seems we're gonna kill some ****, Mordie. Well, prbably a lot of ****." Prudence said with a small cackle before looking at Whitaker and Grant. "I'm actually not sure what-or who our intended targets are? Might need to catch us both up to speed while we walk." She would need to know just want it was they were dealing with so they could talk tactics, before going in blindly. She did that every so often with the VD's; not knowing who was fighting for team lionelli, or team such and such until the night of. Maybe they'd flake out, or maybe there would be **** ton of them. It was usually the latter, which was exciting, but unpredictable. While the redhead liked living on the edge, she didn't like going in blind. Prudence shifted on her booted feet, allowing the weight to be displaced out of habit, and not out of comfort. Standing for too long without appearing to need to breath drew attention on a person, so Prudence retained human quirks, even if she hadn't been human in over a handful of years. It was just smarter in her mind.

"Can I call you Taker?" Whitaker sounded stuffy as **** and that attribute was reserved for Grant. Poor guy. She knew all about parent's and the craptastic names they gave their offspring. Luckily, she will never be in charge of screwing up a kid's name. Blue eyes bounced around to size up who or what they were dealing with in terms of who was in their little group of doom. "Shadow, if I remember right..." Prudence pointed to Grant, then pointed to Mordie. "Killer, but every ******* thing under the moon. Killer with a little bit of everything, minus telepath. Hate those fuckers...and I'm gonna go out on a limb and say because you look so ******* scary, dead and bad ***, ya must be a necro. Cross over to the shadow side of things yet?" Prudence asked, looking directly at 'Taker,' now. "Thinking if yes, than maybe we could do some recon on wherever it is we need to go and make a plan that way. It's good to plot and plan, but I've seen **** change and a new plan have to be made. Best not to over plan." She shrugged, then looked at Grant. "So where to? Lead the way, Shadow sleuth." Prudence extended a hand in Grant's direction, indicating that he was the defacto 'leader,' since he called them all here and she would follow and do some strategic planning later, when the time was right and more information was gathered.

[Mordechai]

The killer slowly nodded as he took in the titian haired killers words, the tension slipping from his muscles as he dipped to return the Fairbairns to their homes in the kydex sheaths within the upper shaft of the NewRocks that encased his feet. A low rumble came up from his diaphragm, “I am on her team… but it seem that targets and end goals, may coincide” A brief nod to each of the males was the final part of his greeting. Mordechai listened to Prudence giving her usual condensed explanation. Although she had become more… volatile… after repeatedly siring a clutch of allurists, she still fought, and wanted to fight, with single minded determination, seldom pay attention to detail or finesse, till it came to the beautiful custom guns she carried. Hopefully the males would come forward with more detail than ‘we are going to kill things’. More
information was needed to form concise rules of engagement, and the determination of the equipment need for the task at hands. The faces were recognizable, his missions and hunts over the past six years had taken him through every corner of the city, and he cataloged all that he met or saw. Although he had never been introduced he had had opportunity to ‘meet’ both of these males in the past. Reaching out instinctively with his mind as he did with every introduction, the taciturn killer lightly appraised each in turn, not probing in to their inner thoughts, but a light caress that showed their abilities and training, before stepping closer to the lone female. Looking down at the two unknown, he quietly queried, “What draws us to this conclave?”

[Stonehouse]

Stonehouse was a tall man, his athletic frame stretching to a height of 6’ 2”, slightly more on nights like tonight when sturdy boots were the footwear of choice. However, the new arrival to the group, Mordie, was a true gargantuan figure of a fellow. He must have been around 7’ tall, and looked to be built like a tank. The Stetson that sat snuggly on his head added an additional slice of intimidation to what was an already imposing dish. Mordie was the kind of guy that one wouldn’t want to meet while alone in a dark alley. Maybe it was a small wave of relief that brushed across Stonehouse’s body when Pru announced that the man-mountain was with her, or perhaps it was merely the cool night breeze. Either way, Stonehouse was delighted to have another member joining the team.

“It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Mordie,” said Stonehouse, offering his hand in the customary way.

Mordie: the name buzzed around Stonehouse’s mind like a busy bee. It reminded the Englishman of “mortician”, conjuring up images of the hat-wearing giant slashing up bodies, probably with his powerful-looking bare hands. The dark-haired businessman regained his focus, addressing his three companions.

“Ok, so why are we all here?” said Stonehouse, readying himself to answer his own question. “We’re here to find out as much as we can about the wendigos.”

Stonehouse raised his right arm, turned slightly away from the group, and pointed a finger in a southerly direction.

“I don’t know much about these particular demi-fae, but they seem to be springing up in the forests to the south of the city. The word on the street is that these bad boys are causing a whole heap of trouble, trouble that could have a really nasty effect on all of us.”

Lowering his arm, and re-establishing eye contact with his colleagues, Stonehouse continued his monologue.

“I don’t know about you chaps, but I’m not much of a happy camper, so the wilderness isn’t my specialist subject. Have any of you explored that area?”

Stonehouse allowed his eyes to drift gently around his three counterparts like a feather caught on a breeze. Whit had always struck Stonehouse as fairly clean-cut, more of a city boy than a country bumpkin. Trekking in the woods may well not have been his thing. Although he’d seen Pru in action, and was fully aware that the redhead didn’t mind getting her hands dirty if the situation called for it, Stonehouse thought that she might also not be one for wilderness camping trips in the spring. So what of Mordie? What would he know? He did look like he could skin a racoon with his thumbs, and light a campfire by simply growling at it.

“Any information on these creatures would be invaluable,” continued Stonehouse. “My plan is simple: we scope out their habitat, dig up as much dirt as possible, and shoot the **** out of them if we have to.”

He paused, watching for a reaction, hoping that some intelligence on the mysterious wendigos would be forthcoming. Charging blindly into the lair of the beasts with little or no knowledge, except for the fact that the wendigos were bad news, was a pretty poor plan. Failure to prepare was preparing to fail. The problem that Stonehouse the control freak had was that he knew virtually nothing about his quarry. But wasn’t that also the perfect reason to investigate, so that some light could be shed on these creatures?

“I’m convinced,” concluded Stonehouse, “that the demi-fae, all of them, jorogumo, encantado, these wendigo things, are planning something big… something juicy. Ready to go for a walk?”

[Prudence]

When Mordie said he was on 'her' team, Prudence tapped his side with a quick flick of her wrist and then nudged him with an elbow. She smiled at him and then looked at the other two, letting that sink in. While Prudence knew Grant-Mordie didn't. And neither one of them knew who the new face was, other than his name. In essence, Mordie just basically laid out on the table how things might go down if things got bad. And while Prudence might try and help the other two...Mordie would be her first priority too. If he needed any help, but she knew if anyone needed help between the two of them-it was gonna be her.

"Ya think they're all connected?" Prudence asked, somewhat skeptically. Just because they all seemed to stem from the same place, didn't mean they were up in each other's business. That would be like saying she knew what Mortll or Mordie was up to half the time, or anyone in her small lineage, just because she was a vampire and so were they. Prudence shrugged, deciding she didn't really care in the end. Something MIGHT be going on, and it might be something big, or something small, but it could be SOMETHING. And what the **** else was she doing tonight anyways?

"Okay. I'm down for some snooping and some shooting. Preferably the latter part.." Prudence said with a small cackle before she grinned over at Mordie again and shrugged her shoulders, silently asking him 'you game?'