[IC] The Night Watch 1913

[Dolerman]

It was an odd sight for sure, in the middle of a old beaten path, there was a large campfire, but with no camp around it. Why would someone light such a big fire only to abandon it? Why was now suddenly the only source of light on the way to the tomb?

These are questions that a few members of the Night watch had to consider, they were all heading in the same direction, but had approached the destination from different angles. One from the center of the road, one from the nearby woods, another from a dried out river walkway, but they all were too curious to not approach the fire, as members of the night watch it was their innate instinct to investigate what seemed to be strange., fully prepared for any danger that may come their way.

[Bazmund]

Frowning, Michael peered through the scope at the fire. No signs of major enchantment - so it probably wasn't a firetrap - and at the same time, an apparent complete lack of life nearby. It was, as far as things were, rather strange. Watching from the forest, his hood pulled up and his green cloak on, he lay in wait, beginning the drill all military men are well acquainted with - the one where they sit there, and wait. For as long as waiting takes.

It was, of course, really sodding boring.

As he sat in his position, deep within the woods, his rifle trained expertly on the spot they'd been told to meet at, it began to rain gently. Not a drizzle, too heavy for that, with droplets large enough to make your skin notice them, but also far too light to be considered proper rain. That kind of sweet spot for rain. It wasn't even terribly cold - the sniper in him made Michael feel like it might even be, under the correct set of circumstances, rather pleasant.

He peeked around the scope, adjusting his field of view, to see if there might be anything else around the fire he'd failed to notice - though that was as unlikely as he was old, which is to say, quite unlikely.

Michael glanced down at his watch.

The meeting was due to begin soon.

Hm. Give it another half hour, then bugger off. That's a safe margin.

[frapet]

---
Grenn Blackthorne

Grenn Blackthorne

Name: Grenn Blackthorne
Age:32
Height:5’6”
Weight: 190
Appearance: The words “ugly bugger” have been used to describe Grenn more often than not. With deepset eyes, a constantly weary look and a face that seems to have been abused by storm for that last hour(s). Aside from that there is a cruelty about his eyes that co-operates with a general joylessness and lifelessness that makes Grenn involuntarily celibate if he doesn’t pay for it. His raspy voice helps little in that regard either.

Melee Weapon:
-On his left fist he has a full-plate gauntlet that is plated on the inside as well, connected to a heavy vambrace to protect his forearm. While the plating allows only minor movement of the finger (roughly enough to grab an arm) Grenn is trained with the weapon so that he can also lock smaller objects like sticks or blades with it. Usually he keeps it wrapped in a dirty white oilcloth that is secured with leather straps to keep it well maintained and hidden from cursory glances.
-A set of two silver tipped hatchets that Grenn likes to call them the Silver Sisters.

Silver Sisters

-He also carries around a silver tipped rondel dagger usually used to stab into the heart of whatever he is hunting.

Firearm/Ranged Weapon:
A heavy rifle that Grenn carries around on his back. The weapon needs to be bolt loaded for every shot but has a magazine of 10 shots. Furthermore it has an underslung “shotgun” that fires Grenn’s favourite sub-munition, a cloud of mountain ash and silver particles, that can enter the bloodstream of a lycanthrope over time through a wound or inhalation, it can also fire regular shotgun shells with a variance of contents. He has named it Sturdy.

Sturdy

Secondly Grenn is carrying around a set of grenades that contain all kinds of concoctions to combat monsters.

Other Equipment: A rugged coat that hides most of his equipment, safe for the rifle when he has it with him. It also hides his vambraces. A red scarf is used to hide the gorget he wears to prevent neck bites.

Hunting Specialty: Werewolfs.
Bio: Growing up on a small farm in the marshes near Naveroth wasn’t the easiest live for Grenn, his parents had a small farm there while his dad functioned as a courier for merchants in Naveroth. Due to that Grenn’s father spend a lot of time on the road and always came home with stories he had heard. The townspeople always gathered when he was back in town to hear his stories and latest news. News that became increasingly more worrisome with the inclusion of monsters like vampires, zombies, demons and werewolves. That last monster appeared in Grenn’s village shortly before his sixteenth birthday, when his father was in town again. The attacks continued for a two years or so, but were always centered around Grenn’s father returning. Townspeople started seeing his coming as a bad omen and him as a bringer of bad news. Grenn, like most marshpeople worked as a Peat-Cutter, and in those marshes they encountered beasts and monsters fairly often. He had gained a reputation as somewhat of a brawler and often brought home “trophies” that disgusted his mother. People tried to get him to actively pursue the werewolf but Grenn knew he stood no chance, some boasts here, watches there, but nothing helped against the menace. It eventually claimed his mother as well. He was glad dad was home when it happened, he couldn’t have pulled through on his own. When he was seventeen a Monster Hunter was hired by the townspeople, Grenn also pitched in, to slay the werewolf that had been terrorizing the village. That was when what Grenn feared became reality. His father had been the terror of his village and the Hunter was kind enough to let Grenn in on this before he would set his ambush. That very night Grenn decided he would be the one to set things right.
The hunter, his father and the werewolf were never seen in the village again. Grenn only stayed for a week and disappeared the day a fire consumed his parental home.

Gemstone: Onyx, a family heirloom called the "Blackthorne".

---

Grenn Blackthrone was early. It always paid to be early, gave one time to prepare. In this particular case it granted Grenn an access route he preferred; The dried up river. The riverbed would grant him an approach that was hard to see, keep him from casting a shadow till he emerged right next to the fire that was worth his attention tonight, and most of all it provided a silent walkway of rocks to traverse. Viewing Grenn wouldn’t give one the impression he was the silent type, not in moving at least. He had developed a small hunchback because of the heavy gauntlet on his left hand, that was now hanging almost limp on his side. His pace was steady and almost careless but no footfalls could be heard, no rustling of leaves or breaking of twigs. In his right hand he had “Sturdy”, the underslung shotgun-barrel resting on his shoulder. Every now and then he stopped to listen to a sound only to pick up the steady pace again afterwards. When approaching the fire his whole demeanour changed.

An almost predatory stalk took over. A low and purposeful crouch with “Sturdy” poised the way he was looking at all times, his gauntlet supporting the barrel of the rifle. He stopped when he had a full view of the fire, and the warmth on his face. clueless about the man looking through his scope he opened his pocket watch to check the time, a small flicker of the fire reflecting on it. 20 minutes till the meeting.

[LunarValkyria]

The night was colder than Straya had anticipated and she fought back a small shiver. The large bonfire that was sitting up ahead looked more and more inviting by the minute. Standing in the middle of the old dirt road, she scanned the area carefully. Nothing and no one could be seen near the fire, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still a trap. She grabbed the hilt of the sword on her back and unsheathed it, the metal singing in the quiet night.

Cursing under her breath, she decided that if this was a trap or a test of some kind, that there was no use just standing around like a tree. Best to spring it and pay the consequences. She gripped her sword tightly, and began walking toward the fire. Her eyes swept back and forth, searching for any signs of danger and her ears were perked back, listening for anything other than the crunching of dirt beneath her muddy boots. When she reached the circle of warmth from the blazing fire, she expected something to jump out and attack. Yet nothing did. Odd.

With her hand still gripping her sword, she pulled out her watch and looked at the time. “Hmm, only ten more minutes until the meeting.” she muttered under her breath. She turned her back to the fire and crouched down, still searching the darkness for anything out of place. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision.

“I’ll give it 15 minutes. If no one shows, then it’s back to the hunt for me.”

[Stitches]

The moon hung low over the canopy, plunging the forest into near-impenetrable darkness. They had been travelling for a very long time and conversation became less of a pass-time and more of a burden for the duo who crashed lazily through the brush, snapping twigs and kicking up dirt as they plodded across the damp and overgrown path. There were two - they both wore dark clothing but aside from that they made very little effort to hide themselves. Almost no effort at all, in fact. The smaller one at the front was using some sort of heavy metal apparatus to bash aside thin branches and leafy stems, carving a path for the taller, paler figure who sloped lazily behind her. They were headed towards the campfire.

The two figures hadn’t exchange much up until they approached the camp, not seemingly all too bothered if the fire was a trap or not. There wasn’t much need for it. Victor and Abigail approached the campfire slower once they spotted the woman crouched beside the flames. With raised hands, “Mind if I take a seat?” said Victor at the pale haired woman as the two neared and eventually stopped by the fire. Victor didn’t waste much more time idling around and gawking into the darkness. He shuffled around the campfire, finding a relatively clean spot beside it and squatting down before landing on his backside with a relieved groan.

Abigail remained standing. She gave the murky silhouettes of the trees a cursory glance and rolled her eyes, rubbing her nose on the back of her knuckles. “I thought we were going to the tomb…” she remarked despondently, rocking from the balls of her feet to her heels, “this pit-stop seems a bit pointless to me.” She hardly looked at the other woman as she absentmindedly pulled out a crumpled paper bag, plunging a hand into it and pulling out a small hard boiled sweet. She popped it into her mouth and looked down at Victor. “Need anything?”

Victor shook his head, wafting a hand in Abigail's direction. “We’re not stopping here long. Fire’s a fire, and I need a sit.” Abigail nodded again and shifted her weight ever-so-slightly, scuffing her boots against the undergrowth with an air of restlessness.