“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.”

---

(Co-written by most of the cast)

As the show came to an end and the performers disappeared from the stage it seemed a good time to head towards the room to the left of the stage that the letter had indicated was where the 'Night Watch' was meeting. Smoke from the many patrons watching the show still hung over the dimly lit room, even after they had mostly filed out or made their way to the bar for a nightcap hoping, perhaps, to forget many of the problems facing the country at this time. A lone bouncer stood guard by the door. He was broad shouldered, heavyset with a scar on his left cheek which was almost certainly the result of shrapnel during the great war. He did not look like the type to be trifled with.

Charlotte Treich approached the bouncer, and the small woman made an almost comical contrast compared to the larger man. With a confidence slightly plied by drink, she produced her letter with a slight flourish. "The Night's Watch meets through there, correct, sir?"
The bouncer put his hand out for the letter, took a cursory look at it then handed it back, "It does," he confirmed with a slight nod of the head as he pushed the door open to a dark corridor beyond, "Keep your letter on you."

As she did another man approached as well, taking a sip from a hip flask as he did. He produced a similar letter, "I believe I am here for the same reason she is." The accent was British of some description. What he was doing in Germany at this time was anyone’s guess. These were not happy times.

He was followed moments later by a man dressed in distinct clerical garb. He coughed genteelly, blinking against the smoky haze of the club. The man stood out like a sore thumb, “Blessings of the Lord to you all this evening, it appears that we all have been contacted by the same individual.”

"Your Grace," the bouncer greeted the bishop respectfully, tugging at his forelock in lieu of a hat before glancing between the three of them, making sure they knew what he said was for them all, "Take the corridor to the end. You will find the door."

‘Your Grace’… so a Bishop… no… an Archbishop. Presumably that made the man Viktor Ulrich, Charlotte guessed.

Followed by the two men, Charlotte steeped into the corridor the bouncer had pointed them to. It was a wood panelled affair, dimly lit that ran under the stairs and seemed to lead to a dead end, though as the group approached the end, they came to a point, perhaps four feet from the far wall, where the side of the corridor to their left was marked with a prominent hexafoil, carefully drawn in white paint. A burn mark on the floor seemed to denote some kind of threshold. As they drew closer to the burn, the suggestion of strange whispers seemed to linger in the air, just on the cusp of Charlotte’s hearing.

"Well, gentlemen, this is certainly a little queer even for me,” Charlotte commented. "Clandestine meetings in the backroom of a club are generally havens for gambling. I can't say I have run into any Orders operating like this."

"I have to agree but perhaps this one is different. If they are worth our time is the better question." The British man replied to her, studying the hexafoil symbol for a few moments. Could he hear the sound as well? Something had caused him to stop, "Well, It is time to see what this order is all about and I am Aleyn by the way."

Before they had decided whether the step across the threshold or not, there was the sound of footsteps from behind them. Charlotte turned to meet the eye of a tall, haggard, blonde man, “Good evening father. How do you do?” he greeted Viktor, though his eyes lingered on Charlotte.

Aleyn gave a nod by way of greeting then stepped across the threshold and, seeing that no hard had come to him, Charlotte followed as did Viktor and the haggard man, one-by-one stepping over the scorch mark. As Charlotte stepped across, a door appeared within the far wall, jumping into existence as if it has been there all along, unseen in the dim light.

Aleyn, apparently the bold one of their little group, pulled the door open to reveal a room that appeared to be barrel vaulted cellar though someone had taken the time to add a few decorations. Electric lights, for a start, along with elegant wooden tables and chairs, enough to seat a good two dozen people. On a sideboard, a decanter of port had been left out for people to enjoy, and it looked like at least a couple of the other people in the room had poured themselves a glass.

In one of the chairs away from the table sat a man of seemingly short stature that, while apparently idly toying with his cane, was keenly watching every person that came into the room.

There were a couple at another one of the tables. A young woman and a man in a white button up shirt was seated opposite a young woman whom he seemed to be in conversation with. Dark suspenders strung over his shoulders supporting a pair of clean pressed black dress pants, and black shoes shined to a fine polish. On the table next to him a dark homburg hat rested. He seemed to be talking low, if animatedly to the woman across from him. "... easily done. A hidden phonograph above the threshold, back in Vienna I attended a seance where..." The man went on, largely oblivious to the new arrivals filtering in.

The young woman, however, was not oblivious of the new arrivals. She shot up to her feet, looking slightly flustered, apparently having spotted one particular newcomer, "Your Grace," she said, looking a bit like a small animal caught in the headlights of a motor vehicle.
She was fairly tall and clearly one of the Catholic faithful, dressed in a pair of jodhpurs and a vest that, while increasingly fashionably, probably wouldn't be worn to church.

Viktor, however, gave a chuckle, making an effort to put the young woman at ease, “Non curarum my child, we are all of equal status here. You needn’t stand on ceremony here.”

She looked relieved at the response, if a little surprised.

At the next table across, clearly separate from the conversation the man and woman were having, sat a form hunched forward over a pair of matching matchboxes and her own open envelope. It was hard to tell their gender underneath the grime that clung to them, but it was either a young boy, or a scrawny woman. His (she decided) gaze was piercing, flitting between them, noting the envelopes in each of their hands. His eyes eventually went still on Charlotte, narrowing. Her gaze was unsettlingly analytical, akin to being put under a microscope.
Charlotte met the stare of the individual scanning her from the moment she stepped into the room. The young boy glaring at her certainly wasn't familiar to her, and her brow rose in befuddlement at such a young boy being present, "Pardon, young man," she offered them quick, momentary smile, "I don't believe I know you. Do you know me, by chance?

The dirty stranger was quiet for a good few seconds after Charlotte's greeting, chewing at the inside of their cheek. They stack their matchboxes one atop the other, before dropping them into the hat perched on their lap, "You dance," they replied bluntly, offering little else in the way of greeting. Their accent was foreign, though it was hard to pin down with those two words alone. "Seen ya."

"Yes... many have seen me on stage, at least in Berlin," Charlotte replied. It was not the context she’d have expected it, but it was nice to know her reputation was travelling South.

"And I get cut in half with a saw," the tall woman chipped in, "It's not quite as exciting as it looks," she paused before introducing herself, "Nicola Hoffman, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The scruffy boy’s eyes drifted to Nicloa’s midsection as she spoke as if trying to puzzle that one out before concluding with a nod, “Magic Act,” he concluded under his breath.

"Ah, but the spectacle doesn't care. Ms. Hoffmann. The acts are very fascinating to watch," Charlotte replied warmly, "Oh," she laughed, "I am Charlotte Treich, for those unaware."

"I have already said it to a few but I am Aleyn Deyne," the Englishman said, adding his introduction to Nicola.

"Nelly," the person Charlotte had assumed to be a scruffy boy, put in by way of introduction.

“Helmut Kurten,” the tall blonde man supplied quietly. He glanced around the room, seemingly checking for others he might know. His eyes lingered a little on Nicola as well, which also wasn’t surprising. Magicians tended to choose their assistants for their looks and Nicola was no exception in that regard.

Charlotte finally took in the whole room. It was frankly impressive to her that this Night's Watch had assembled the group around her, “Well, this is an odd bunch our mysterious hosts have assembled. Soldiers and performers. Bishops and beggars. Germans and foreigners." She paused, as a confused look briefly crossed her face. She banished it with another laugh before continuing, "Though I don't know what we all might have in common for them to do so, and Lord only knows what they could want from us."

The man who'd been chatting with Nicola, who'd sat back watching affairs seemed to choose that moment to pick up his hat, folding it under his arm and approach the group then assembled around Charlotte. "Now it's possible, a diversity of skillsets is precisely what was intended." His was the confident, annunciate voice of a performer. "Rudy Rudeanu. Illusionist." He made a gesture like he was about to perform a trick but then just blatantly palmed a glass of spirits from his left hand and took a sip. "I think you've met my partner in crime, Fraulen Hoffman. A pleasure meeting you all," he gave genteel nods all around the gathering to those present from over the rim of his glass.

"It would seem likely," Nicola agreed, "Though what exactly they think we all bring to this endeavour... well, who's to say at this stage? I believe they said there was an Englishman who was coming to speak to us."

---

Running a bit late...

After this first group passed the bouncer, another young woman—one who had seemingly either waited or taken some time to get up and go over—approached the bouncer. This woman—Masako Yamamoto—fumbled with her purse for a moment, before producing a letter much like the others before her.

“Got it!” she exclaimed in German as she pulled the folded letter out, in a shockingly Bavarian accent.

“Here it is—this is for the entrance for the Night’s Watch, right?” she asked, before handing the letter over to the bouncer.

Masako was just in time, in happened, to hear the Englishman explain their reason for being here. He was a middle aged man, not especially tall, nor particularly short, with a smattering of grey in his well combed black hair. He nodded politely to her as she entered, "Miss Yamamoto, welcome, please have a seat. I am very glad to see so many of you here. My name is Adam Temple and, I suppose, I am now the Night Watch Captain for this fair city."

Were it not for the obviously English name it would be hard to tell Temple was a foreigner, his German was perfectly fluent. He looked across the group, giving the uncanny impression he knew exactly who each of them was, "How many of you have read the news today? A 100-trillion mark note from the Reichsbank. That would have bought you quite a bit two years ago. Well the good news is that I have the pleasure of offering you a job. It will pay well and it will pay in Swiss Francs."

"Now as for what the job is," he added, "You may not have noticed the news about the death of a gravedigger at the Old South Cemetery two weeks ago? Apparently eaten by stray dogs. You may not have realised that there have been another five people disappear since then, potentially more since most of the ones who have disappeared have been people who have reasons to be out well outside of normal hours, which is to say people with no homes and ladies of the night. One, a prostitute named Liane Schlosser was found a week ago inside the graveyard. Also apparently eaten by dogs. And that was when the Night Watch was contacted due to our... unique skill set in solving some of the more complicated cases. Since arriving in Munich this morning, I have discovered there were another two bodies found yesterday. No identification yet. Also, officially speaking, eaten by dogs, though no stray dogs have been sighted in the area."

"As for why you have been selected, I can tell you there is no Watch Chapter in this city, but as for why it was you specifically?" he gave a small, apologetic shrug, "I cannot say. The workings of this organisation are mysterious, even to me. But I can tell you why we are looking into this case specifically and that may give you an inkling of your purpose within this society - it is believed that there is the potentially something unnatural," he turned to look at Victor before adding, "Ungodly, at work in Munich. This may be true, or it may not be. Some of you will be inclined to believe this. Some of you will be inclined to be skeptical," he held his hands out, miming scales, "You will provide balance for one another and we will do our best to get to the bottom of what is happening around the Old South Cemetery. We may find nothing untoward, or you might find yourself pulling at the strings of something truly terrible."

"You are of course free to leave now," he added, "Help yourself to glass of port, enjoy the evening with a few colourful people, then leave this place and never look back. That is your choice. I am going to have a glass of port and do exactly that. But if you are interested in finding out more, talk to me and come back here tomorrow at eight in the morning. That is when the real work will begin."

He smiled, then made his way over to the table to pour himself a glass of port, letting the others talk amongst themselves... or approach Temple if they wanted to do that.

After Temple said his piece and he went to drink some port. Aleyn could not help but feel interested in what Temple said. Perhaps they could help him with his problem. He wondered what the others thought of this as he looked around. There is quite an assortment of characters here, and how many will stick around, he thought. Still, they were brought here for a reason, and if he was summoned here because of his problem, then he was curious how the others here were selected as well.

This did not stop him from reaching down to his flask, and he took a large sip before returning it to its place on his person. As he looked around, one person stood out from him—a young woman by the looks of it, but smaller than most women he had met. Charlotte was her name. To him, she stood out the most, and she was the same woman he talked to earlier at the door. Why was she invited here, and maybe he could find out?

So Aleyn hoping he does not make a bad impression on Charlotte. He walked towards her and started talking in a friendly tone. "Hello, Charlotte, and do you mind if we talk for a bit? I am just seeing how some of the others feel about this. My mind is made up, but I wonder who will show up tomorrow."

Helmut Kürten & Nicola Hoffman

While the others were busy talking about why they had been chosen for this particular task, Nicola, the one who had told everyone she was 'cut in half with a saw,' sidled over to where Helmut was seated, sitting down opposite him without waiting for an invitation, "Mister Kurten, if I heard your introduction correctly," she greeted him, "I had been going to ask what you make of Temple and his implied stories, but I figure that it would first be polite first to say it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance properly."

The man looked quite uncomfortable as the woman sat across from him, wiggling his body and eyes as he stared at the table below. "It is nice to meet you, miss. I believe some of his stories, as I have had similar experiences.”

"I'm inclined to believe there is more to this world than we would like to believe." She nodded in acceptance of what Helmut had said; she paused for a moment, cocking her head to one side as she studied him, "Is something the matter?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned despite having only met Helmut a few minutes ago.

It was as if when she addressed her concern, he clenched his fist. An image flashed in his head. This image was of something attacking his regime. Big puddles of blood. Loud screaming echoed in his head. His brothers were in arms, crying for their mothers. The men crawling, trying to escape. And finally, the image of himself covered in blood clenched in his hands was his trench knives. Killing the turned soldiers that wanted to attack him. Clenching his hand hard enough that a trickle of blood flowed down her hand. His sharp eyes moved towards Nicola. "It's nothing. I do agree that there are many things out there besides man." Smiling softly and unclenching his hand. Using a handkerchief to wipe the blood.

"It is something." Nicola said with a reassuring smile. "But I also realize I am a stranger. So, what do you bring to our little group? You are a soldier, so you can handle a weapon, I imagine, but most of the men in Germany can handle it. You aren't one of those Freikorps boys, are you?" She asked. Her tone hint suggested that the paramilitary groups made her nervous.

"I have firearms, hand-to-hand combat skills, and survival skills that could prove useful in the wild. As well as being a skilled tactician in combat." While rattling on about what skills he brings to the team, he forgot to mention his skill in handling a flamethrower. He didn't want to say it, as the image of him setting fire to British soldiers and their screams was something he wanted to forget. He hoped one day, he could forget their screams and the smell of burnt flesh. "No, I was in the 54th Infantry Division." Once again, his hand clenched into a fist. Feeling anxious that somehow she knew about his killing during the war.

"So you didn't sign up with one after the war?" she asked rhetorically, as she didn't give time for a reply, "Well, that's good." she gave a relieved sigh, "I feel like I need to keep my head down whenever you see them around."

"No, I did not." He responded before continuing to speak. "I am a painter." Once again, he relaxed his hand but was now staring at the table before him.

Nicola looked a little surprised at that, "An artist or a house painter?" she asked.

"An artist." He responded while staring at the table. Some of his work has not been made public because of the disturbing nature of his drawings.

"Interesting." this seemed to have piqued Nicola's curiosity. She leaned forward, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, "Mind if I ask what you paint?"

Again, he clenched his fist tightly. He didn't want to disturb her with the subject of his paintings. "I mostly paint whatever I am dreaming about, or occasionally I will try portraits of people." The money got from portraits was standard and paid quite well. The ones from his dreams, however, were very violent and horrific.

Nicola laughed. "Well, if Mr Temple pays us enough, maybe you can paint mine... or half of it at any rate, as I doubt I can afford the full fee!" She grinned, placing her horizontally across her face on the bridge of her nose. "What do you think? Should I get the top half or the bottom half painted?"

Blushing on what she said. He shook his head, smiling at her. "I can halve my price so it can be affordable. What you want to be painted is up to you." Again, relaxing his hand before feeling a tinge of pain running through his amputated leg. Gritting his teeth, trying to ignore the pain.

She gave a small smile, the playfulness tinged with a hint of melancholy for a moment: "My father would have loved me to sit for a portrait. Sadly, there wasn't much left after 1918. " She gave Helmut a thoughtful look though there was a sparkle of mischief in her dark eyes. She'd noticed the blush: "I think it's over to the artist to decide how to get the best out of a muse. I'd be entirely in your hands!"

Cowritten with @Dyelli Beybi

Aleyn Deyne

After Temple said his piece and he went to drink some port. Aleyn could not help but feel interested in what Temple said. Perhaps they could help him with his problem. He wondered what the others thought of this as he looked around. There is quite an assortment of characters here, and how many will stick around, he thought. Still, they were brought here for a reason, and if he was summoned here because of his problem, then he was curious how the others here were selected as well.

This did not stop him from reaching down to his flask, and he took a large sip before returning it to its place on his person. As he looked around, one person stood out from him—a young woman by the looks of it, but smaller than most women he had met. Charlotte was her name. To him, she stood out the most, and she was the same woman he talked to earlier at the door. Why was she invited here, and maybe he could find out?

So Aleyn hoping he does not make a bad impression on Charlotte. He walked towards her and started talking in a friendly tone. "Hello, Charlotte, and do you mind if we talk for a bit? I am just seeing how some of the others feel about this. My mind is made up, but I wonder who will show up tomorrow."

Charlotte glanced up up at the taller man from her glass of port and offered Aleyn a small grin behind the rim. The Briton's presence was a puzzling one to her, although he was far from the foreigner who stood out the most in the funny little group that their benefactors had assembled for this evening. They, whoever they were, surely had their reasons. Reasons that were irrelevant to her in this current moment.

"Take a seat, Englishman," she gestured across from her own. Even if she didn't know the man, it would at least keep her out of the crossfire from the rather loud and angry American squaring off with the Romanian magician. It was an unpleasant altercation, and still demanded the occasional glance even if it had yet come to blows at this point.

"And do take the chance to enjoy the port. I'm sure it's far better than whatever swill you have in that flask." She met his eyes for before continuing, "Though, to answer your question, I certainly plan on returning. This is very interesting, but I cannot ignore payment in Swiss Francs eithers. Now, if you would indulge me, what brings you to Bavaria?"

Cowritten by @Tesserach, Dyelli Beybi & @enmuni

---

"Ungoldly things in Munich you say?" the man, Rudeanu replied as he set his glass aside to the gentle clanking of ice. His tone suggested faux scandal at the prospect. "I wager I can solve this mystery right now." Rudeanu stood up, addressing those assembled, gesturing dramatically. It was evident this man was something of a showman. "Let us examine the facts of the situation. First, we have a sudden escalation in attacks by dogs. The frequency is beyond normal experience, so, it serves to reason there must be an extraordinary explanation. On this I think there can be no disagreement. Certainly, some supernatural explanation could be considered. But are there other, more natural - if less extraordinary - changes that would suggest why feral dog attacks have suddenly begun?

"Let us consider the present economic situation. An ungodly situation indeed! How many people here, most I notice seem a more genteel disposition than the average worker, find food even remotely affordable? How many people, do you suppose, are being forced to do without? Perhaps even abandoning family pets to the charity of the streets? Indeed, given the extraordinary circumstances, I would go so far as to say it would be extraordinarily unlikely that we not witness a rise in both ravenous strays, and attacks on people and pets. And who could these animals most easily approach? Why the very sort of victims here described. Indeed, with recent issues distracting Münchener Polizei, I'd be surprised if animal control hadn't been somewhat lax recently.

"Of course, I could be wrong but asks yourselves this: 'which explanation is more likely to be the truth? That the presence of strays went unnoticed, or unreported? Or that something supernatural, which - as it were - looks like a dog, barks like a dog and hunts like a dog.' There are two things I am certain of though. First: there is only one way to prove our hypothesis. Second, in this economy, I for one cannot afford to turn down Swiss francs."

"Well, I'm glad you don't want to turn down the francs," Temple remarked affably, from where he was standing by the port, "If you can find a feral dog in the area, you will have more than earned your pay. That is why the Night Watch were called after all. Tomorrow, however, I am going to see what kind of bite marks there are on the victims," he took a sip from his port, "I hope it is dogs. A pistol will put a dog down permanently... most of the time. It might also be worth finding out a bit more about the cemetery. I am sure there are records somewhere in the city."

"All attacks in, or around, the same cemetery?" Rudeanu ventured to Temple, as though he suspected the answer and were considering the implications of an affirmative response.

"All attacks in or around the cemetery," Temple confirmed.

Finally Rudeanu turned to Nicola. "The evening is yet young, Nicola, you ready for an easy job?"

Nicola gave Rudeanu a slight smile, "Oh, I'm definitely happy for an easy job that pays in Swiss Francs," she gave a small laugh, "I'm not exactly qualified for this, but I'll help as best I can. The people being taken... well... that could very easily have been me after I was deported from Mulhouse. I am just lucky."

“Excuse me,” Masako interjected, approaching the group of men quickly, “I am a trained nurse, and I have seen many animal bites from my time in the…the…the Siberian Intervention! May I offer to help in looking at these bites? If it is an animal, I can surely tell you.”

"That would be most helpful," Temple replied to Masako, "I prefer it when our own people can find clues rather than needing to pry them from suspicious individuals."

Masako turned her attention to Rudeanu and the older man, and smiled brightly at the scene. She delivered a small golf clap, and commented to Temple, “Ah, a sceptic-magician! So we do have a diverse group here, then? Do you have any idea why we are gathered here, Sir?”

"Why we, specifically we, I assume you mean," Nicola chipped in, "Because the purpose is to destroy whatever or whoever it is that is taking these poor souls."

Masako froze for a second. Her eyes darted around, as if to indicate that she was thinking of what the other woman could have meant.

“Yes, yes, that is right. That is what I mean, anoooo, why…it is…us rather than some other people. After all, there are surely other nurses who will be less noticeable for such a secretive organization than myself, for example? This is why I wonder, because surely a local “chapter” should have more locals in it—who are more knowledgeable of their home?”

"It's a good point, even I'm not quite a local, nor are you, Mister Temple," Nicola put in.

"Locals aren't necessary," Temple gave a small shrug, "I do not send the invitations, my duty is just receive those who have been sent one. Ours is not to reason why."

With a quiet nod, Aleyn went to sit down in the chair Charlotte gestured to, ignoring the angry American and the Romanian magician. If they were to quarrel more, then it would be something, but Aleyn prefers some peace right now, so they will be ignored unless physical blows come about.

"Though I am not English, I am Manx, but I doubt you have heard of that or my home in the British Isles, so I will just remain quiet on the subject unless you wish to know." He grabbed a bottle of port and poured himself a glass, taking a sip of it with a soft smile. "It is better than my gin, yes, my lady, but I think I should limit myself today. I do not wish to overdo it."

"Okay, I also plan on returning here and seeing where this goes. Plus, being paid in Swiss Francs is not bad, but I do not know how much that is in Pounds." Aleyn taking another sip of port, and his eyes locked on Charlotte's eyes. Then, his tone shifted from friendly to hesitant. "The reason I am in Bavaria is a.... personal matter. I would say more, but you would probably not believe it. Most do not, but all I am going to say is that I am here for a reason, and who knows? Night Watch might just be the break I am looking for if they can help me with my... business."

Charlotte maybe could tell that Aleyn was trying to hide a hint of sadness in his eyes for a moment before taking a long sip of port and the sadness going away. "So, if I might ask, why do you think the Night Watch invited you here? Just curious since I have an idea why they invited me, and I can only guess about the others."

@Bingelly

Cowritten by @Tesserach, @Demencia, @Framing A Moose and @Terrans

---

The short man on the room's edge tightened his grip on his cane. "You're saying you don't know who we are or why we were asked to come here." Quinn asked, leaning back in the chair. "Tell me, is there anything you do know besides the habits of stray dogs?"

Rudeanu seemed about to respond to Nicola while preparing to leave when his attention was diverted by the slight man with the cane. "Oh what do I know?" His eyes narrowed and he approached the young, pausing just short, looking the man up and down for dramatic effect before reaching tentatively in the man's direction. "What I know is how to... see the future, read minds, and of course... do magic!" With a sudden flick of his wrist the man produced a coin from the young Quinn's ear, holding it up for everyone to see even as he continued. This was clearly a familiar, rehearsed routine to him. "I know how to do that little trick with the door for instance. And I know you're American, but you spent time recently in France. I know you served in the war. A sapper maybe or... perhaps a tanker? You tell me, am I getting close?" He asked turning away, waiting for a response.

"You'll have to speak up, my hearing's not been the same ever since I did my civic duty." Quinn countered to the man that seemed to have some (very limited) knowledge of their purpose here. "To the United States. Not Germany, or whatever they're calling themselves these days." She took a cigarette case from one of the pockets of her suit, replacing it once she drew a cigarette from within. "And I wasn't talking to you." she said, lighting the cigarette with a small brass lighter, a trisected triangle engraved into the front. "But my special talent is being able to tell that you're a pain in the ass." She took a long drag of the cigarette and didn't make an effort to avoid the smoke from going near Rudeanu's face.

Rudeanu had already turned his back to Quinn, so the smoke had little effect, though he did turn turned back around at the end of Quinn's respose. For a moment he seemed to consider whether to say something or not but the last remark seemed to have cinched it. "There was a girl in France, wasn't there? A beau I think. Let me guess..." He proceeds list off a strikingly accurate description of a certain nurse of Quinn's acquaintance. "See? Not just a pain in the ass: I know magic."

He turned toward the door and made to walk away but then seemed to think better of it and stopped. "It's all less mysterious once you know the trick though." With that he tossed Quinn back the locket he'd swiped during the coin-trick misdirection.

Right then the slight wisp of a door marked the arrival, albeit a late one, of a tall man. His features carried the scars of the last war and his perfectly accented greeting told which side he had been on.

“Hallo, the Night Watch I presume?” His smile was awkward but genuine. Helped by the ill-fitting nature of his suit and the growing crew cut that gave him a disheveled appearance.

The arrival of the tall man drew the magician's attention away from the American. "Night Watch indeed." Rudeanu greeted the man, offering his hand. "Name's Rudeanu. We're off shortly to face entities from beyond the pale. Or man-eating feral dogs."

The new arrival seemed to take stock of that; his brow furrowing as he mulled over Rudeanu’s words.

“I see…. So are you by chance asylum escapees?”

"Interestingly, one time I did an exhibition performance in which I escaped from a straight jacket, suspended upside down from the roof of an abandoned asylum. But no. In this case, we have a string of 'unexplained' murders to solve. But probably just dogs."

“….Well… The man who gave me this invitation was trusted by me. My suit is borrowed and my ticket here the last of my funds…..” The new arrival gave a way sigh even as he formed a reluctant smile. “So I guess I’ll help with this so called murder.”

He shrugged his ill fitting coat off, revealing the white undershirt and suspenders underneath; as well as the Luger holstered under his left armpit.

“Call me Theo.”

"Nice to meet you Theo. Most people just call me Rudy. And if you're short cash, Temple, over there, is the man to see. Good man there: he pays in swiss francs."

Behind this the American, Quinn's, jaw clenched slightly. "People have been shot for less." She cautioned, her grip on her cane tightening. "I didn't see many women when I was in France, come to think of it I didn't see many French people either. Whole place seemed to be crawling with Germans." She knew she wasn't physically intimidating to anyone, so she had to rely on other factors instead.

Rudeanu turned back on the man, but then his expression softened a little as he looked at Quinn and seemed to think on what he'd done. "Apologies." He said after a moment, his previous stage voice sounding momentarily chastened. "I overstep. Hecklers can ruin a show. It's an occasionally ungraceful instinct of mine at this point. And I'm Hungarian."

Theo watched the rather unimpressive standoff with a confused frown on his face.

“Are you sure you’re not asylum escapees?”

"I'm afraid we're all in the asylum now. Best make peace with it." He called out to the rest of the bar. present. "Anyone care for an evening excursion? See if we can find any signs of these 'so-called' spectral hounds?"

From a distance another American, Nell, was for the most part quiet as the others prattled on. She lifted her chin almost imperceptibly, though, as Rudeanu teetered on the edge of crossing a line with Quinn. Nell never once considered herself to be particularly patriotic...but the young man's accent reminded her of home. That was something.

"D'y'know what we call magicians in New Orleans?" Nell asked - her first real engagement with the group that was more than two words. Her accent was thick, distinctly Southern American, but with hints of French, German, and Cajun sewn in.

"Failed pickpockets," her lips pulled into a smirk at her own joke. Her lips then straightened. "And d'y'know what I think? I think you tell yourself your skepticism comes from knowin' all the secrets of d'smoke and d'mirrors, but I do not believe this is true."

Rudeanu straightened and rounded again to face the next interlocutor. "Aha, Fraulen Hacke was it?" His expression thoughtful for a moment, though he smiled like a man who enjoyed a little challenge and being at the center of things as it were. "I like to imagine I've a healthy respect for what I do not know. But I've looked into people invoking all manner of supernatural explanations for things; offering to expel ghosts, contact the dead, exorcize demons..." He gestures around the bar. "...or hunt monsters. Every time though, it's come down to either some either grossly ignorant soul, or malicious persons separating elderly pensioners or desperate, grieving, fearful people from their money in exchange for - as you say - smoke and mirrors. Tell me - not that I can turn them down - but have you wondered where all these swiss francs we've been promised are coming from?"

Nell let her thought hang in the air, looking intently at the magician as he dove headfirst into another showy soliloquy, guiding the conversation away from the nature of his own skepticism. Nell's eyes, in their resting state, bulged from her head in an unsettling way that made her look half-deranged, but there was a keenness in them to match the magician's own. And they narrowed as Rudeanu broached the subject of con artists, but she remained quiet.

"Of course I've wondered - but not wondered hard. I do my best wonderin' with a full belly and full pockets," she replied. "I'd thought your government, maybe...Don't think that's right, though - doubt I'd be here if it was. Plus...well, look at this place," Her eyes flitted about the room, before going back to Rudeanu - and slipping down to his hand, eyeing the stumps of his two missing fingers. "You served. What'd'ya think? Feel like a governmental organization?"

"This ensemble of foreigners?" Rudeanu's tone implied skepticism though the man at least looked thoughtful, eventually shaking his head. "I have my doubts. The killings though? They seem real enough to me Fraulen Hacke. And there's a simple test for my hypothesis: Go to this cemetry, set some bait, and see if the feral mutts come calling. Anyone here's welcome to join me on a little walk!"

And with that Rudeanu slid his hat onto his head and made for the door.

Cowritten by @Tesserach, [@Framining A Moose]

---

The sounds of people still inside the venue could still be heard. Rudeanu was already at work, a locked wagon container's door was open, and Rudeanu was hunched over inside. Crates, mirrors, boxes were dimly visible inside under the gas lights in the street - there was also a small cot and judging by the way things were set this way or that, it seemed the man might actually have been sleeping about the back of the wagon.

The magician however seemed absorbed in keying open an old lockbox.

"Dog catchin' supplies?"

The voice called out behind the magician, newly familiar. Nelly stood at the base of the gas lamp that stood tall behind Rudeanu's wagon. She'd adopted an awkward stance - her left palm was raised to cover her left eye, while her hand was tucked underneath her jacket. Wearing her flat cap, it was even easier than before to mistake her for a boy in his early teens.

Nelly's approach clearly startled the man. Rudeanu turned over his shoulder abruptly before seeing who it was. "In a manner of speaking." He produced a pistol against the light so Nelly could see it before feeding the magazine charger into the weapon, working the mechanism with a metallic click as it snapped into place. "They recruit you all the way from America Hocke?" He asked, fastening a leather belt around his waist and reaching for a dark capelet to drape over his shoulders.

Nelly lifted her chin as she saw the gun, her one visible eyebrow popping up ever so slightly. Her eyes remained on the weapon even as Rudeanu asked his question. Nelly responded with a shake of her head.

"No," she replied, before going quiet for a beat. It almost seemed as though she was going to leave it at that - such blatant disinterest for the question behind the question asked was not uncommon for the girl - but after a moment she continued. "My Gigi left me a path to Germany when she was taken. Someone dropped d'letter in my hat - didn't see who."

Rudy holstered the weapon, retrieving a few other items from the back of the wagon before closing it up and locking it. He pauses then, regarding Nelly while waiting to see who else joins them for the little excursion. "Taken you say?" He raised an eyebrow at that.

Nelly's head bobbed in a slight nod, her lips not breaking from the stern frown she wore. As she spoke, her voice was grim and flat. "You heard. By those things you're so quick to hash up to bein' smoke and mirrors, grifters and conmen."

Rudy stood still a moment, faintly illuminated in the street, seeming to take his time before answering. "I'm sorry to hear that. My own Bibi used to tell stories too when I was young. Do this, do that, or the spirits will get you. My mother still gets after me to be mindful of where I'm walking." He smiled wistfully in recollection as his breath rose in whispy threads of mist against the gaslight. "One time, before the war an evil spirit, the beng, came for a cousin of mine. That's what everybody said. Said he'd brought the Beng on himself by living a lifestyle of vice and licentiousness. Just disappeared one night. I am sorry to hear about your Gigi."

Nelly watched Rudy as he spoke with her one uncovered eye - it was still piercingly analytical, but as he spoke, sympathy began to trickle in to accompany it. She nodded along with it, letting out a sigh from her nose. She turned her back to Rudy's car as he stepped out from it, giving a nod.

"What do you think happened to him? Your cousin." she asked. "Figure you don't think it was a spirit. Fell into the wrong crowd? Debts came up due?"

"Oh, I know what happened. When you're young you don't question stuff, I wasn't super close to that end of the family so I didn't know details but the Beng story never sat right with me. During the war though, I ran into the girl my cousin had been sweet on. Met her while I was convalescing with Russian shrapnel at a nursing station in the Carpathians. Nurse from the same area. We got talking. Knew some of the same people. Turns she and my cousin had been fixing to run away together. Elope. Night they were supposed to meet up he never shows though. Years later one of her brothers got drunk and confessed what had really happened. They got drinking, killed him, rolled his body into some bog somewhere and just let her think he'd run off without her."

After a good few moments of silence, Nelly turned her eye inquisitively to the magician. "You say you know what happened to him, but that's not quite true, is it?" she prodded, lips puckered in thought. "You were offered two stories. You picked the one you deemed most reasonable. Or maybe the one you wanted to believe? The senseless violence of men is kinder than the thought of malicious hands reaching from Beyond, no?" She was quiet for a beat more, before, "did you ever tell your family?"

"Maybe so." Rudeanu chuckled before he shrugged looking tired and indifferent. "As for telling, what good would it do to dig such things up now? You think the elders didn't know he'd been fooling around with a local girl and put two-and-two together? Of course they did. If locals killed the lad, well, then there'd have to have been a response, and those things have never gone The Travellers' way. There's been enough death in Hungary, people here learned nothing from us. Best let the dead rest and give the Beng his due."

"I'd have done d'same, I think," Nelly replied after a moment. "Though...think I'd want to know, f'it was me. N'case I wanted a little skepticism - catch a break from 'em hands comin' out of graves f'I wanted one."

Rudy nodded, and seemed inclined to say more, but the others chose that moment to begin spilling out of the venue, and soon enough the pair were swept up in the rest of the group coming out into the darkened streets.

---

Cowritten by @Tesserach, [@Framining A Moose], Dyelli Beybi, @Terrans, @Eviledd1984 & @enmuni

---

This time of night the cobbled street and slabbed sidewalk of Thalkirchner Straße heading south from central Munich grew less crowded.

The odd carriage rattled down the cobbled street, cast in warm yellow light by the dark cast-iron streetlamps lining the boulevard like sentries. It wasn't unusual for Munichers were still about, coming or going, or loitering in conversation.

Ahead a boisterous group of rough looking young men, veterans by their age, fell silent as a Münchener Polizei carriage clattered past.

Rudeanu had insisted on walking. Dangling from his wrist by a small chain was a currently unlit kerosene lantern. He'd supplemented his earlier ensemble with a pistol - to those with an eye for such things, a military issue Steyr M1912 - he'd retrieved from a parked carriage outside a nearby hotel, along with a dark capelet to protect against the cool night air of Munich in autumn.

The sky above was full of stars, the shadowy outlines of darkened shops and houses visible in the light of a full moon.

Theo for his part had redonned his jacket and a dark hat retrieved from a stand on the way out. The Luger hidden along with the trench knife he had stuffed down the back of his trousers in a display of caution.

He gave a nod as they approached the group of men. Perhaps, they had bled on the same field; but Germany was not a land of brothers these days.

"I don't like it out this late," Nicola whispered timidly, "The nights aren't safe. There's so many NSDAP thugs around these days." She skipped to keen up with Rudy, who seemed to give her a sense of security.

“Least they aren’t the communists.” Theo countered, watching the group, wondering which faction they belonged to. There were too many for disillusioned veterans these days.

“Does it really matter, though?” Masako suggested, “Communist or the other ones—both kinds fight too much, I think.” Masako pulled closer to the core of the group as she spoke, looking suspiciously ahead at the men.

"They've no reason to trouble us." Rudeanu's voice retained some of his showmanship bravado as he cast a glance at Nicola as she caught up to his side, he cast another at Masako looking contemplative a moment before turning his attention on Theo and changing the subject. "You served, didn't you Theo. Which outfit?"

Theo gave a shrug as he flexed the hand missing a few appendages.

“27th brigade in Belgian then 23rd Assault detachment after….” He lifted his wounded hand at that and wiggled the stumps. “…Stormtroopers needed bodies.”

Masako nodded sympathetically when the conversation shifted to warfare. “Did you make it the whole war?” she asked.

“I did.” Theo cast a glance at the woman. He looked apologetic and slightly saddened as he gazed at a rather faded poster still clinging to a wall. “Posters looked fun and the pay was decent.”

Helmut joined the others towards the graveyard. Wearing his soldier's uniform and gas mask, giving him quite an inhuman appearance. Hidden in underneath his coat was his duel Steyr M1912. A relic from his past time in the war. Breathing heavily while staying close towards the others. His eyes shifting side to side in case someone or something tried to ambush them.

The former veterans staring at Helmut wondering why he was wearing his uniform since the war has been over for a long time. Nevertheless they nodded at him and he returned the favor with one of his own. Limping along with the group he didn't seem to be listening to the conversation. He was more focused on his surroundings. His combat memories coming back to him straight away.

Rudeanu actually did a double-take when he saw Helmut trailing behind them, wearing the gas mask. The man looked genuinely startled for a moment. "Bibakht te nashel" He muttered in an eastern dialect some might recognize as neither German nor Hungarian but Romani. "I don't know how you can stand to wear that thing." He shook his head, sounding tired and older at the same time. "I'd die happily never seeing one again."

“I would think discretion would be the better part of this…excursion.” Theo found the other man’s choice of attire rather wrapped in the past.

He looked at both of them, scolding them underneath his mask. "I feel more comfortable in my uniform then in anything else. Judgement for what someone wears isn't relevant to this mission."

“It’s rather the timing of your current outfit. Some would not take kindly to it.” He gestured at a scar on his neck. Something he had gotten after his demobilization.

"Mmm perhaps so." Thinking for a moment of what else he could say. Even though he didn't like being a solider, he had to admit it was apart of his life. And was not something he could get rid of so easily. "However they can see i'm a former soldier, so they could empathize with the strife I and many others had been though. But i do agree it could riffle some feathers so to speak."

“Besides,” Masako added, “I am a nurse. I served the whole war and then in the…
etooo…the thing Japan did in Siberia. If there is trouble, I’ll have you fixed up in short order. There shouldn’t be any gas in the city, anyway. There were no trenches in Munich, were there?”

“No, the front never reached here. Though there was a bit of a problem with secession after the war.” Theo frowned at that thought.

"See now?" Rudeanu, uncomfortable with the turn the conversatiion had taken turned to Nicola, trying to lighten the mood. "We're in capable enough company. If we're lucky, we deal with some unfortunate mutts and be back before the port is gone."

"Port does sound really good right about now." Helmut said with a sheepish chuckle. Not liking where the conversation is going either. "We should focus on the mission at hand." His mindset was back to when he was a soldier.

"And there is an advantage to Mr Kürten looking like one of the Freikorps," Nicola added, "one hopes the NSDAP brownshirts will give us less trouble. I would not like to be out alone at this time... though it must be hard to breathe in that."

"Not really i have become quite use to breathing using this gas mask." He said now staring at the stars. Enjoying the sight of the many stars in the night's sky.

"As to our mission, we should stick to groups. Even dogs can be dangerous in a pack, but I was thinking we could cover more ground if we split up. Helmut, Theo and Masako could investigate the north side of the cemetery, while and Nicola and Nelly and I could check the south end." Rudeanu suggested, gesturing ahead through the darkened streets to where the lights faded on one side, replaced instead by the shadowy silhouette of black trees that marked where houses gave way to the forested cemetery.

"Remind me again why we are in a cemetary at night?" Nicola sounded nervous which wasn't overly surprising.

"Swiss francs. Sell out shows and we've barely enough to cover expenses; my last letter from home told me to stop bothering sending useless money." Rudeanu gave a weary chuckle at that. "And to see what sort of scam The Watch is running here."

Helmut looked over at Theo and then Maskao. He wouldn't mind being in the woman's group, she seemed more reasonable then Theo. Although he kinda hoped he would be paired with Nicola. "Hopefully the swiss francs will be worth it being in this graveyard. Although personally the residents in a graveyard are more pleasant company then the living." He chuckled softly.

"Do we have any electric torches or lanterns for this search?" Theo touched his Luger and spare magazines as if to ensure they were still their. A night among the dead in low lights with death prowling around any corner? Sounded like he was back in Flanders.

"I was hoping someone else came prepared." Rudy offered, holding up his own unlit lantern. Bracing against one of the gas-lights he opened the glass door with and lit a small wick of paper that he used to set the lantern aglow.

“The letter did not specify jaunts at night through a cemetery.” Theo defended himself as shrugged off his coat and hat; folding the garment and stowing it in the shadows of a wall. He wanted to be unimpeded for whatever might occur.

"Well i might have something in my coat." He took a moment to look around inside of his coat. After a moment of searching he pulled out an electrical torch. It was well worn because it was something he used during night raids back in the war. "Should i take point since i have the flashlight?"

“I don’t have one,” Masako acknowledged, “So it will be three of us, and one light, then?”

“Might be for the best. There will only be one light for whoever’s lurking to target.” Theo let out a chuckle as he made sure to keep his eyes turned away from the light. Acclimating to the dark; a habit his time of raiding trenches taught.

Cowritten by @Dyelli Beybi & @enmuni

---

Masako furrowed her brow for a moment, and then sighed, seemingly accepting that Temple knew little more than she did on the nature of the choices for who was to be here. After her pause, she looked him in the eyes again.

“Then, you receive groups often, do you?” she asked, “Have you received people for this “Night Watch” in Munich before?”

"Not in Munich, no," Temple shook his head, "Nor have I ever received a group quite of this size. I was based in Oxford. Occasionally there would be one new person. They would enter a little like this and be welcomed by a seasoned organisation. Unfortunately, our Chapter in Munich was destroyed during the civil war. Many of our German chapters have been weakened or destroyed in recent years so I was asked to step in and reform this one. Having so many new members at once is... unprecedented."

Masako seemed surprised at first, and then grim in her expression.

“Unprecedented…” she slowly repeated, trailing off before responding, “But you will remain here for a time, to help us prepare, then? Do you just host, or do you also work in the field?”

"I am more familiar with the field work," Temple assured her, "I am here to take you through this first incident. Probably the one beyond that and after that. You will not be left out of your depth."

“Then, even though there are some here who do not believe anything odd happened in this case,” Masako asked, cocking her head in curiosity, “You have seen such supernatural things, Mr. Temple?”

Temple gave a grave inclination of the head, "Yes, Miss Yamamoto, I have. There are, more things under heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies and it is only a fool who would dismiss the accumulated knowledge of all who came before and label it mere superstition. The cynic is necessary for balance... but I do not believe we are dealing with a pack of hungry hounds."

Masako nodded gravely, and looked over at Rudeanu and Quinn,

“So it is. But I am curious, with how there seems to already be an argument. Is there any sort of leadership structure that we can know about—someone we can look to when we disagree?”

"I am the Night Watch Captain," Temple repeated, "If there is a serious disagreement or one which endangers people, I will step in. At the moment," he nodded in the direction of Quinn and Rudeanu, "I am inclined to allow the churls to sort out their own troubles."

Masako nodded again, as if everything worked in her head now.

“So then…are we paid upon the completion of a task, or before?”

"Weekly, starting today," Temple replied, nodding towards Nelly, "It would not be fair on all to expect that you self-fund."

“How nice! I look forward to buying some new clothes!” Masako remarked. Looking towards some of the others, she then clasped her hands together, “But please excuse me—it seems some of us are already beginning our work—and I wish to join!”

Charlotte Treich and Aleyn Deyne
Cowritten by Bingellia and Theyra

---

"Oh, I couldn't wager on why the Night's Watch would have invited me." Charlotte replied. She paused and looked into the man's eyes knowlingly as she took another a drink of her own port.

She offered Aleyn a sympathic nod before continuing, "Although, I too have experienced the unbelievable, and, if Mr. Temple's story is true, that may just be why."

"I see, then that is could be the common thread that got us invited here." Aleyn at first went to take another sip of port but decided halfway not to and put his glass back on the table.

"More so when we find the culprit who killed those poor souls and it turns out to be something not mundane. Aleyn took a long pause as he eyed his port before continuing. "As long it is not like my encounter.... then I suppose it will be fine."

"And what if it is, Mister Deyne," Charlotte asked with a raised eyebrow. "What are we in for then?"

Aleyn gave Charlotte a long emotionless stare before taking another long sip from his port and talking in a cautious tone. "My encounter left me barely alive and...." Charlotte could feel the pain in his voice. "Well, people I knew died that day and I still have the scars to remember it. If we face the same level of brutish force then I would carry a weapon on you and listen to what Temple says. Since I feel he has more experience and may know what to do once we find who or what is killing people."

Charlotte looked away from the man for a moment. "My God," she answered, "Such a tragedy. Forgive me, I did not know."

Aleyn took a long sigh before looking at Charlotte in the eyes. "You were not meant to know so I do not blame you. It is not like I spoke about it before and do not worry about that. Just remember that we should be.... careful so to not lose anyone."

This time Aleyn went for his port and took another long sip. "Again, just be careful and do not get cocky."

"I see. We should certainly try our best to stay rational." Charlotte said. "Do you plan on joining Mister Rudeanu's little outing?"

"I do not think so, I would rather begin this investigation with everyone else since I am not used to these sorts of things." Aleyn raised his brow, "What about you?"

"I am not joining him tonight either," Charlotte replied. "There are too many NSDAP and Freikorp thugs for me to be out at night hunting for God knows what in small groups."

As a large portion of the group took off, Temple sat down at one of the tables, his glass of port before him, reaching into his jacket pocket for a silver cigarillo case, plucking one of the slender brown stems from the case and lighting it up. He took a puff, "Well, I hope our intrepid friends do not run into any difficulties at the graveyard. Regardless of who or what may be hunting people in the vicinity, the streets are not the safest at the moment."

He paused, taking another puff from his cigarillo before asking the assembled group, "Well since we are still here, who would care to hear a story?"

---

Ernst had been sitting quietly, observing the room and its occupants with a mix of skepticism and intrigue. His eyes remained sharp beneath his furrowed brow as he listened to the idle conversations, all while nursing a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily upward, adding to the haze that already cloaked the dimly lit cellar. This meeting, with its strange symbols, unusual characters, and cryptic promises, felt almost absurd. Yet, there was a sense of purpose here—a whisper of something meaningful, buried beneath the eccentricity.

As his gaze drifted across the faces in the room, he couldn’t help but notice the diversity among them: a British man, a Japanese woman, and even an archbishop. It was unusual, to say the least, to see foreigners involved in a matter supposedly aimed at confronting the enemies of Germany. Ernst was not particularly fond of the idea of outsiders playing any role in such affairs, but he also recognized that his was not the time to draw attention to this discomfort. If the Nachtwache truly held answers that could serve his broader goals, he would tolerate their presence—for now.

The uncertainty gnawed at him. He knew his comrades had been murmuring about something big, something imminent. He didn’t know the details, but he understood that he was meant to play a part. The idea of leaving now, returning to his fellow patriots, and taking his place in Germany’s resurgence was tempting. After all, Germany’s redemption required action, not idle talk in a cellar.

Still, the allure of the Nachtwache lingered. There was something about this “Night Watch” that beckoned, a sense that it might align with his cause more closely than it appeared. Ernst couldn’t help but wonder if these people held answers he hadn't even considered yet, answers that could prove useful in a fight against the nation’s enemies—both human and otherwise.

Adam Temple

As a large portion of the group took off, Temple sat down at one of the tables, his glass of port before him, reaching into his jacket pocket for a silver cigarillo case, plucking one of the slender brown stems from the case and lighting it up. He took a puff, "Well, I hope our intrepid friends do not run into any difficulties at the graveyard. Regardless of who or what may be hunting people in the vicinity, the streets are not the safest at the moment."

He paused, taking another puff from his cigarillo before asking the assembled group, "Well since we are still here, who would care to hear a story?"

He reached a decision. Stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, he stood, adjusted his coat, and made his way toward Temple with calm teps. Reaching the table, he ordered a glass of schnapps from a passing server, as the glass was placed before him, he glanced at Temple’s cigarillo and the calm but calculating look in the Englishman’s eyes. Ernst finally spoke.

"Captain Temple, you mentioned a story," he said, his tone steady, almost neutral. "I’d be interested to hear it," He lifted his glass, as if signaling his commitment not just to the drink, but perhaps to whatever came next.

Temple paused for a moment, to take a puff from a cigarillo, "It was many years ago, that a man named Thomas Vaughan was killed at the Battle of Banbury. 1469, to be precise, whilst supporting the Yorkist cause in the War of the Roses. Legend says that he was an incredibly evil man, although I suspect that tradition relates me to what happened later than before. He was named 'Black Vaughan' in any case, though I rather suspect that was for his hair."

Temple paused, taking another puff and he looked between the group to see who was paying attention, "Whatever his state before life, it is believed his restless spirit, sometimes appearing in the form of a large black bull would torment the town of Kington, where his body was buried. Sometimes, it is reported, his dog would appear as well."

"Eventually, many centuries later, 12 local clergymen along with a number of lay members of the Night Watch came together to put an end to the terror. There were difficulties. The spirit was violent. People were flung across the room causing injuries though thankfully no deaths. Eventually though the spirit was imprisoned in a silver snuff box. From there the procession left for Hergest Court, the ancestral hall of the man himself - it is a rather drab and dreary building I must say - and the box was cast into the pond out the back - Hergest pool."

"And for many years, people say the spirit was quiet. Though of late there has been a story of the bull reappearing. Perhaps the box was found by an unwary angler and opened -" he opened his own cigarillo case with a snap, "- Or perhaps it was the result of an overactive imagination and too much cider. Who is to say?"

"Keep an open mind always," he finished, "The world has many strange and frightening legends. Many are pure fancy.... but some are rooted in terrible truths that sit uneasily with polite and rational society. When you hear a noise in the dark, make sure you look carefully into the shadows, don't pull your bedclothes over your head and hope it is all in your mind."

Quinn scoffed at Temple's story. "One man who died in a battle five hundred years ago became a restless spirit?" She crushed out her cigarette. "Well good thing we don't have to worry about anyone becoming restless from the Argonne or the Somme then." She took a sip of her drink. "By now France should be mostly populated by ghosts." She leaned slightly forward in her chair. "Tell me Mr. Temple, man to man, do you actually believe this stuff, or are you just here to collect the money and move on like I imagine most of the people here?"

"Yes," Temple agreed, "Yes, it should be. Perhaps it is. There are more ghost stories from that war than I could recount in an afternoon. Soldiers returning to their units after death is common."

"However, that isn't your main question Sir. I'm a writer by trade," he said with a shrug, "I write stories, people enjoy them. Whether what we find here or any other day is true or not as interesting to me as the stories that come along with them. Stories speak to truths in the human heart that we find difficult to articulate otherwise. Dracula is a book about a vampire, but it is as much about lust, modernity and fear of the outsider."

Helmut Kürten, Theo, and Masako.

Helmut was in front of the group, his electric torch attached to his coat. He pulled out his twin pistols, equally well used as the torch. His eyes darted quickly back and forth, scanning the area for anything that would try to attack them. Theo walked with his hands empty but ready to draw if need be. His eyes scanned methodically in the murkiness of the cemetery as he moved off Helmut’s flank. Masako is in his peripherals. Helmut assumed Theo was another soldier like himself, which was somewhat relief since they had a similar mindset. "Halten Sie nach Tommy’s Ausschau. (Eyes peeled for Tommy's.)" He spoke, but it sounded like he was whispering this to himself.

“I doubt Tommies are lurking through the night here.” Theo’s response was low but not a whisper.

“I hope there are no wild dogs with guns!” Masako offered in a sort of lighthearted mumble.

“Just these stray dogs.” Theo flashed a tight grin as he stepped around a headstone.

"A shame sometimes stray dogs make for good companions. But if we keep together, we can see what's coming." His eyes peered at a tree, thinking he had seen a large shadow. "You mentioned you had seen combat before; what was your role?" He said to Masako. Wondering what side she fought for. And if she saw death and suffering like he did.

“I worked for the Japanese Red Cross. Because my father is a schoolteacher who is very interested in his work, I got to learn English much better than most others, anyway. England asked for Japanese nurses during the Great War, so I was part of that group that went to Southampton even though I was inexperienced.” Masako recalled. She looked sympathetically to the men alongside her, quickly adding, “I learned German there, as we treated many captured soldiers there, and some of them I found to be good friends. Of course, on that island, there was no combat, but I still started to feel very strongly about the well-being of soldiers. So, when the war ended, I decided to serve in the Siberian Intervention since I felt that way about my work. There are no trenches in Siberia, but I saw the front lines several times and their survivors. I did shoot a few times, but I think it would be unfair to say I did the same things that you did, as I have heard terrible things about the actual trenches.” Masako offered them both a soft, solemn, sympathetic smile as she squinted at the darkness, trying to ensure she kept to the task while speaking.

“I owe the Red Cross.” He held up his maimed hand and waggled the stumps. “Caught a nasty infection from this. Nurses help keep me out of a grave. Can’t say I had any that looked like you, though.” He added the last part after giving Masako a more detailed glance. Theo had never encountered anyone from the Far East before.

Listening to Masako's story, he took in every bit of information. Finding her life to be quite fascinating. However, he was pretty perturbed by mentioning that she worked for the English during the war. But he didn't hold a grudge for participating in the war. "And you mentioned before you were from Japan. What is it like? I have only really travelled during the war. Other than this, I have lived in Germany for most of my life.”

He looked over towards Theo, looking quite sympathetic towards him. He felt angry that the war had disfigured many men like himself. "Unfortunately, I was not so lucky. I lost my leg in combat and had to drag myself to safety. Luckily, I was saved by and tended to by a Romani woman." He stopped walking and gently leaned down to grip his knuckles against his wooden leg. It let out a hollowed sound.

“Yes, Japan—it is different and similar to here.” she began. Masako took a moment to think and then continued. “I told you my father was a schoolteacher. Our schooling system follows the Prussian example. The Meiji Emperor and the Genrō may have befriended the English, but our country preferred to follow Chancellor Bismarck’s example on many things. As we modernize, we have often admired you for your military wisdom and discipline. We have done our best but are still poorer than most of Europe. I heard that Japan made money for the first time in many years during the Great War. I think that Germany and Japan have many problems in common. This country may be Western and had an earlier start in becoming modern than Japan, but you were looking for space to breathe in the world, too, right? But perhaps even though Germany has lost a leg like you have, it will walk again, just like you. I think you have the spirit to do this. It is just a shame that Germany does not have a nurse.”

“Our generation was one of war. Hopefully, this… chaos and turmoil will bring peace to our children.” Theo said the last part was about the conviction one had when grasping onto a lifeline.

Helmut agreed that many issues are going on in the different countries, most of which are exasperated by the war. "Hopefully, peace will be in the coming years." he said, but he had an odd feeling that something terrible would happen. This feeling made him quite sick to his stomach. "Do any of you see anything?" he asked, now changing his focus to hunting those "dogs."

“If I did, I would have said something.” Theo scrutinized a headstone in the gloom.

While speaking to the others, he noticed something in the distance. He pointed his finger toward the object that caught his eye and said, "I see something over there." He couldn't tell what it was but felt it was worth investigating.

“See what? That mask is horrible for your vision.” Theo responded as he glanced at the direction. It was just a headstone in the murky darkness, barely illuminated by the weak beam of the torch.

"Maybe, even with my mask on and the deep darkness around us, I feel it's not tree branches." He said, now glaring at Theo before looking back at the shape. Walking over towards the figure, noticing that it was a dead woman. His assumption was correct. It was a dead body. Her body was mutilated. Helmut crouched down, saddened that someone could have gotten through such a horrible demise. But he was used to this dreadful fact. Looking at the woman's body, looking for any clues. While he was doing this, he made the sign of the cross.

Masako squatted before the body with a grave expression on her face. She stayed practically frozen for perhaps a minute, saying nothing as she looked it over. “Maybe a dog could have done this…” she said, “But I do not know of any kind that would do something so horrifying…”

Co-Written with @Terrans @enmuni

Charlotte Treich

---

Charlotte hid a little chuckle as Mr. Temple told his story to those who remained at the club. Truth be told, she could understand the American's skepticism as this just sounded like a common ghost story to her. Poltergeists and malevolent spirits were a common feature of the ghost stories and legends told in her youth, and to her, this "Black Vaughan" sounded familiar if more extreme.

"Like the ghost of Anna Sydow becoming a portent of death for the royal Hohenzollerns after her terrible death in Spandau, your story is rather simple Mr. Temple," Charlotte interjected after finishing her port. "Do you have any proof of this or other occurrences, or is this an oral tale from the Night's Watch in England? Producing some dusty old tome of lore might sway some of the more skeptical among us."

"Everything is documented and there are those living who were present to witness the event," Temple didn't confirm or deny if he were one, but did blow a thoughtful smoke ring, taking a few moments to let it drift towards the ceiling.

"Miss Treich," he said after a moment, "there is no end to the dusty old tomes the night watch has! And if that interests you I can arrange for you to see some. But if someone does not wish to believe they will treat them as every bit as fictitious as one of my novels. A medieval bestiary full of superstitious nonsense.

"I do not aim to move anyone with words, written or spoken," he added, "The proof, as they say in England, is in the pudding. We may find some terrifying hell spawn in this city. Or we may find a murderer akin to the one in Whitechapel when I was a teenager. Or we might simply find rabid, neglected hounds. I would be most surprised if it were the latter, but I will keep an open mind. All I ask of our skeptics is that, for now, they do also."

---

It wasn't the sort of place Sonja would typically put herself. Though that could be said of most places she found herself lately. Her path followed that of information, or justice, on days she was trying to convince herself of virtue. The cabaret bar filled with smoke, music, and the light sounds of dancer's shoes on the stage was not an environment made for the likes of Sonja to enjoy. Perhaps when she was younger the dancers wouldn't have sounded so needlessly risque, the whispered conversations less vacuous, the drinks worth buying. But she had become an old woman, an unpleasant reminder of time’s effect in places of the young living fast in a perpetual present. She kept herself small, waiting at the far side of the bar, ridged and ignored well past the show's end. From there she remained watching as a handful of guests made their way to a side door, easy to miss but for the muscle guarding it. Only when the disorganized queue had all but disappeared did Sonja stand, invitation in hand, and followed suit.

She still wasn't the last to enter. A youthful eastern woman stumbled in just as Sonja had divested herself of gloves and overcoat, and folded them over the back of her chosen seat. The majority of the diverse group were quite young. A handful looked barely more than children; the easterner, a wisp of a soldier, two small girls, and a foreign urchin. Sonja's frown deepened; attempting to puzzle out some unseen commonality amongst the invitees before the Englishman began speaking.

More of their group made their introductions after the welcoming. Some to the room, others to neighbours. Sonja simply watched, attempting to commit faces to memory. At least three performers among them. A good number of soldier's too, she suspected. The urchin spoke in an accent impossible to place, and the holy man remained as reserved as Sonja. Her right hand itched to find her journal and mark observations down, but she was reluctant to bring any attention to herself. Instead she accepted an offered drink of port, only to spin the glass between her fingers. It didn't take long for their group to divide, a handful choosing to take the initiative to investigate the graveyard that very night. Sonja only waved a hand in goodbye at their parting. The only mysteries she cared for remained in the small smoking room.

It eventually quieted again for Temple's story. Further fanciful nonsense, but Sonja listened attentively all the same, eyes distant as she searched for some hidden metaphor that might infer the “Night Watch's” alignment or ambitions. Ungodliness, ghosts, demons, and priests. Metaphors or no, there was a commonality there at least. Though it seemed unlikely for Catholic propagandists to select an Englishman as their spokesperson.

Eventually, when it became clear no further light would be shed on the invitations' backers, Sonja stopped spinning her untouched drink and stood. "I thank you for a most interesting evening Mr. Temple," She began with the up-most politeness as she tugged her gloves and coat back on. "and greatly look forward to what the light of day sheds on your peculiar investigation."

Her smile was tight, but genuine enough from curiosity if nothing else. She gave a final nod to the others that remained "Adieu, until the morning." A knock on the door, and it was opened by the bouncer on the other side, allowing Sonja to pass towards the exit and Munich streets.

Reservation for cowrite, pending collation... that I accidentally posted later. D'oh