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post #31 of 72 (permalink) Old 09-10-12, 06:09 PM
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As Alexander and the mysterious monk walked through the streets of roam night began to fall. Alexander turned his gaze towards the setting sun and smiled slightly, the first sign of emotion he had shown in days. He always felt more comfortable at night, when monsters lurked and the battle for survival became much more perilous. Suppressing the smile and reforming his mask of neutrality Alexander observed the monk subtly, watching his movements and mannerisms. The monk shivered in the cold air of the night, as he pulled his hood up Alexander noted the efficiency of his movements. This man was a warrior, or had been one at one point. As the two continued to travel through the backalleys and narrow streets of the Holy City Alexander noted the odd location ahead of them, a graveyard. Alexander had spent much time in graveyards, hunting revenants, spirits, vampires and the undead but this Monk did not seem the type. He lacked the air of a hunter, or at least the air of one who has actually hunted long enough to be good at it.

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

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


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post #32 of 72 (permalink) Old 09-11-12, 07:17 PM
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Henry and the other man shared a look, before setting off with the mysterious monk. Despite his earlier interest, the mage who had caused Henry much disquiet had disappeared into the night. Apparently the mage was understandibly reluctant to work alongside an arm of the notoriously mistrustful Catholic Church.

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

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

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

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post #33 of 72 (permalink) Old 10-28-12, 12:55 AM Thread Starter
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POSTED FOR KARAK THE UNFAITHFUL:

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

"Who are you?" she asked.

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

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

"My duty"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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post #34 of 72 (permalink) Old 10-28-12, 12:56 AM Thread Starter
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POSTED FOR SANTAIRE:

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

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

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

I flipped the stiletto into my right hand.

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

Into the Catacombs...

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post #35 of 72 (permalink) Old 10-28-12, 12:57 AM Thread Starter
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POSTED FOR DEATHBRINGER:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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post #36 of 72 (permalink) Old 10-28-12, 01:00 AM Thread Starter
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POSTED FOR BANE_OF_KINGS:

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

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

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

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

"My Duty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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post #37 of 72 (permalink) Old 11-01-12, 09:54 AM
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At Naomi’s ire and demonstration of power Johan raised his hands in conciliation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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post #38 of 72 (permalink) Old 11-02-12, 06:41 AM
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Dragomir was surprised when the monk shoved off from the wall with great strength. As he moved, the monk spun into Dragomir, his large sleeve snapping out and wrapping around Dragomir's wrist. The monk gave a sharp pull to the sleeve, snapping Dragomir's arm rigid, at the same time the monk grabbed the dagger and spun Dragomir away. As Dragomir begins to recover, reaching over his shoulder to the hilt of his family sword, the monk stares him in the eye, gesturing that he meant no real harm, and dropped the dagger to the ground.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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post #39 of 72 (permalink) Old 11-02-12, 08:13 AM
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Brother Giordano, stopping to stoop quickly to move his large body out of the small side door pulled the hood on his habit to cover his face. Eira wrapped her cloak around herself, pulling her travelling hood up as well as he held up a finger to indicate that they should be silent on the walk. That was fine by Eira, it was dark out, and even though it was unlikely that there would be any creatures that meant them harm, especially in a holy place like this, it was still unfriendly to some.

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

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

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

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post #40 of 72 (permalink) Old 11-02-12, 11:04 PM Thread Starter
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"They are here.... the largest gathering of Hunters in centuries, perhaps milennia. They are all here to listen to what I have to say, to answer the summons that I put forth. Will they listen? will they hear without judgement? Will we survive the coming months? Will humanity survive the coming year? I am fearful. Fearful like I have never been before."

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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