"Now why do they call themselves the Fifty-Eighters?"
"'Cause it all started in '58, ya bloke. Same year as the War of Supremacy."
"Yes, but how?"
"Albert Lammond. He was a farmer, and a part-time monster hunter. Eventually, part-time became all-out. He rallied lots of common folks who weren't faithful enough for the Order or experienced enough for the Silvers. And it got real big, real fast. Man had a whole army of pissed off drunks, beggars, and even a few freelance hunters. They started calling themselves the Fifty-Eighters at the turn of the year to commemorate their formation. And Lammond's death in December."
"How did he die?"
"This fuckin' big red, fire-spewin bird flew over to his house and burned him to a crisp. And then his wife Ginny and the rest of the boys killed it right quick. Plucked its feathers and put 'em on hats and cloaks and stuff, for the seasoned members. Ginny took over after that. Things were pretty quiet for a while... until Maude Krecher came around. Then they were all more pissed off than ever."
"What did she do differently?"
"Imagine a fat, ugly woman with a shotgun and a butchering knife, who's had a fancy for killing monsters since she was a plump lil' gal. Now put her in charge of rallying fields full of blokes just as mad as her. Maude was the proper successor to Albert, but Ginny still technically leads. They're always by each other now, never seen apart. Ginny just sits in a rocking chair while Maude handles all the business. It's... kind of sad, when you look at it."
"But they're still pissed?"
"Definitely. They've lost some members over the past few years ever since the War was declared over, but they still keep their rounds up. Making sure nothing's left over. And they have a laugh and a drink doin' it too."