Fantasy The Order of Seven - accepting

[SilverFlight]

The Order of Seven
OOC
Lore & Overview
Characters

Story update​

Queen Victoria sits on England’s throne; the Prussian empire is strong and France is embroiled in political turmoil. The industrial age creeps up upon the unsuspecting, pushed forward by opportunists and those who barely understand the power they are beginning to command. Poverty is rife, as is the golden spectacular that is the aristocracy. This is a world of smoke, steam and electricity, of new machines and old traditions but most importantly, it is a world of change.

Strange happenings have always occurred: unexplained things, mysterious things. A set of hauntings, a string of murders, a series of disappearances. Not many pay them much mind…except a select few. There are some who can read the messages written in blood, or ghostly tales or the footprints of the unseen, some who can feel the waking of ancient slumbering things or sense a disturbance on the ethereal planes. Trouble is brewing, trouble of a supernatural character.

There is a single organization that is tasked with controlling these phenomena, to protect the unknowing and quell the angry thrashes of the unknown. These are the ghost hunters, the vampire slayers and demon killers. Those of mankind who delve into the darkness, and some who are even of the darkness themselves…

With the growing unease among the members of this group it was unanimously decided to create a task force, one that would investigate the elevated levels of supernatural events, silence the most harmful and track their source. The best and the brightest were called from all around the world to join forces and put a stop to the writhing evil that is beginning to wake.

~*~*~




Chapter One
The Last Hound of London

​

The street around Piccadilly Circus was bustling with the tepid grayness of London's daily life. The clouds were light grey, the stones were dark grey, the buildings, soot-stained and looming stood like sentries about the activity of the circle. It was drizzling and the horses drew their carriages and carts with their heads down against it, their hooves chiming out a steady beat on the cobbles. Somewhere nearby a clock tower tolled out the time on its great iron bell. As Thaddeus watched however he noted some things that were not grey: The people.
Some tried very hard to look grey, dawning slate-coloured cloaks or dirty ash-coloured rags, but their faces held life, and the colour that belonged to life.

Some hawked goods about the open space in the Circus' center, others carried walking sticks and held their heads high. Children wove in and about of self-important adults, the world to them as fresh and opportunity-filled as it could be.
Thaddeus heard them, and smelled them and with smile, slipped by them unnoticed.

His destination was down a small back alley not far off from Piccadilly, in an old medieval house wedged between a seamstress' business and a brewery. The house was tall and narrow, as if it had been squashed between the two sooty constructs that pressed against it, the sulky younger child between two burly brothers. It sported an old coat of what was once white paint, the wooden beams crossing over it's front stained with deep brown varnish and age.
Thaddeus smelt the blood before he was ten feet from the door, and a slender man with an irritated expression and a silk top hat stood tapping his foot just by it.

He barely acknowledged Thaddeus as he arrived, he simple said:
"Where are the others? I asked for the full team."
He didn't really expect Thaddeus to know, but his attention kept getting taken by another, smaller man with a brown, patchy coat and a brown, patchy beard.
"P-please sir! You gotta help us. There's a murderer out there an' he's killing our people."
The man in the top hat was trying his best to ignore the shabby character begging for his help, but at this statement he turned.
"One of our inspectors had a look into it and we could find nothing of any supernatural nature connected to the murders, it is not our jurisdiction I'm afraid, surely Scotland Yard can handle your affair."

An untrained eye (or nose) would not be able to recognize the distinct patterns Thaddeus sensed. The patchy man was a werewolf.
"I'm telling you sir, these are hate crimes, someone who knows how te find us is picking us off! There've been eight murders in a week there have!"
Thaddeus knew there were a few were-beasts living in London, and as long as they kept themselves under control the order stayed out of their business. The Order of Seven was not about to hunt down those who made an effort to fit in and had committed no offense, though they did keep tabs on them in the form of a registry.
The top hat man was clearly losing his patience now.
"My dear boy! I simply do not have the time nor the inclination to deal with this matter now! I have three bodies just on the other side of that door! You may try making a formal request at our headquarters at Westminster. Now good day to you!"

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Karma200 Yarrow ByTheChesapeake
Vampunk

 

[Baconhands]

London, England. The heart of the British Empire was hardly something to marvel at, at least in Sylvia's view. It had very little class and no heart... there was little sun and thus little colour, and very few awe inspiring sights, at least for her. Perhaps for her father but not for her - she was sure this was an industrialist's paradise but this certainly wasn't her description of such a place. Sylvia did appreciate the light rain that drizzled onto the streets, and the occasional landmark she passed by, but ultimately London was hardly a place she'd want to willingly stay at for too long.
Piccadilly Circus did little to elevate her opinion of the city; it looked the same, it had the same dodgy peddlers, the same carriages and the same mixtures of people.

Her wandering appeared aimless - a gentle meander through the streets of a foreign city before she took a turn down an alley not too far from Piccadilly proper. The building she was heading towards appeared old, very old, maybe over five centuries old; an patch of history surrounded by buildings that had kept up with the rapidly industrializing city. She could hear the people talking outside of the house as she approached the house - two members of the order had already arrived.

She stood to Thaddeus' right once she'd approached, minding her step as she walked, "Gentlemen, there is no need for confrontation here. God-willing, this investigation will be wrapped up in no time without the most unfortunate deaths of any more... contandini... the word escapes me, my apologies." Sylvia offered a gentle smile to the patchy man. She took a glance at the man in a top hat, "Perhaps this would be a good time to fill me in on what has occurred. May I have a look around the property?"
Sylvia shot her eyes in Thaddeus' direction and gave him the slightest of inclinations of her head as a greeting. Her attention quickly returned to the other member of the Order.
SilverFlight

 

[BloodThunder27]

As a child, Luna barely got to go to London, especially since her Father retired and decided to set up a Family Farm. However, after her Father's horrendous murder, the young woman found herself visiting London more often then not. So much has changed over the past several years. Looking around, it was not the London she knew in her years as a little girl. To Luna, the city itself was barely recognizable anymore save a few landmarks that she had visited shortly before her Family's move to the Countryside. No use in wondering around though. She also had work to do. As a Member of the Order, the young woman was a renowned Vampire Hunter. Outside of the Order, she was just another woman. She could only hope that her Father was watching, proud of what she became. But she wasn't entirely sure. Seeing a Woman clad in armor was unheard of, though she found that Archery was a favorite pass-time among noble women.

However, nostalgia wasn't the reason she had come to London. The real reason was because of recent supernatural occurrences, which ordinary people weren't really able to handle, not that city authorities knew what they were doing when it came to these things. Her Brother may be a Soldier, but she doubted that he knew how to handle a Vampire, Werewolf or otherwise. After several more minutes, she had reached her destination. Seems that three other members of the Order have beaten her here. Per usual, being a woman of few words, she allowed her comrades to do the talking. A woman of action, she preferred to just point her bow and shoot. When her eyes had met Thaddeus', she simply nodded as a greeting. Seems like an investigation was about to begin. A string of some grizzly murders have occurred. Speaking of which, where was Iona? "I hope I'm not late to the party." She said, her voice emotionless.
SilverFlight Baconhands

 

[Castello]

The sounds of the church bells brought the attention of the aged hunter, Oskar. He let out a sigh, flipping through an old book he had read countless times. Oskar hadn't much else to do, his wife often busy at her workplace or practicing botany, leaving Oskar alone to his boredom when he had no work to do. His move to England was not one he wished to partake in, he quite missed the marshlands of Belgium or the countryside of Prussia. London bored him: the aristocrats, peasants and the beggars quickly outstayed their welcome in Oskar's eyes, though he was not very patient to begin with, nor very excited for any company of English ilk. They often mistook him for a Dutchman, humoring him as a greedy and pompous individual; this definitely touched the Belgian man who did not appreciate their assumption. Aside from his misgivings, he was here for a reason that made it all worth it. The Order called him to do some dirty work and dirty work was what he lived to do. He had not much else.

With the bells, signaled his departure to a little meeting he was told to partake in. He was not terribly excited or looking forward to being introduced to the people who would be his new partners, but at least it was something to do. He got on his hunter clothing, weapon and in his right holster, his signature fire arm. Oskar was sure to cover most of it with his garb, the edge of his hammer sticking out but he did happen to have a permit should a guard get a little suspicious. He reached for the knob to his small medieval house before catching glimpse of his daughter playing with a small doll, the young girl cooing at the glass green eyes it had.

"Goodbye."

The young girl looked up and frowned, she raised her saddened eyes. "Papa, where are you--" And the door was slammed closed.

Oskar felt a little shame, but he knew if he kept the door open for nothing more than a few seconds, he would have to explain a million things to the young child and he did not quite have the time or patience. Anyhow, his older sister Johanna, who had accompanied them as a makeshift warden would be home soon, it was probably better she dealt with the whining child. His boots clicked across the street, some pedestrians eyeing the unusually dressed man and a group of younger girls giggling along as their carriage passed him. He was not particularly focused, so the looks did not phase him and most people were frightened enough by his piercing glare that they kept distance anyway. The walk was long, but he had been sure to try and memorize streets so he would not get lost. Piccadilly Circus, he thought, trying to remember the exact location. Oskar was not too worried, he left in an hours advance just in case he got lost in the concrete maze.

It took him a little over an hour, but Oskar arrived in what he felt was decent timing, he was not the first nor the last to show up. This gave him time to observe who he would be working with and he was evidentally surprised at how young everyone was. He grit his teeth with a hefty sigh, walking towards the group.

"Bloody hell... Was I hired as a babysitter or a hunter?" He remarked with a thick Belgian accent, specifically eyeing Sylvia.
Baconhands (And basically everyone else)

 

[SilverFlight]

The top hat man's expression lit up slightly when he beheld some of the hunters approaching. The patchy man shied away instinctively from Sylvia as she approached, taking off his hat in a hurried but gentlemanly fashion.
"Ah, miss Genovesi, miss Lockhart, Oh! And there is Mister de Vries. I can't tell you how opportune it was that the Order's high commission sent the elite team to meet here in London. As you can see we have our work cut out for us, you've come in the nick of time. In case you require refreshment: my name is Sir Frederick Amberdale, but please, you may call me Sir Frederick."
"So informal Sir?" The delicate voice of a lady sounded as Iona stepped up to them, dressed in a dark gown and matching hat, the very picture of a wealthy young aristocrat.
"Hello." Iona bowed her head in greeting to those gathered, her eyes betraying interest and little else. His accent was undeniably Scottish though not so thick as to be misunderstood.
"Well why not? After all we're to become good friends I think. I've heard of your skills, all of you. Most promising indeed."
Amderdale eyed Oskar as the burly man grumbled. "Now now Mister de Vries, everyone here is of a very high skill, if Miss Genovesi seems young it is only because she has achieved a very good reputation at that age. I highly doubt anyone here needs a 'babysitter'." He said it, though his eyes flicked critically to Thaddeus as he did.

Thaddeus listened to all of it absently. Iona barely gave him a nod in greeting as well, but he was used to this. Some more masochistic part of himself believed he deserved it, though the logical side of his mind refuted that strongly. He spent his attention instead on the nervous-looking man in the brown coat.
"Tell me about these murders," He prompted the man carefully. The patchy man looked grateful, then, with another nervous glance towards the hunters he began to speak:
"Not a month has gone by since the first, an' there've been fifteen since. They attacks've mostly happened at night...I don't need to tell you lot that people like us are...hard to surprise."
Thaddeus knew full well, the heightened hearing and sense of smell werewolves possessed made them extremely hard to catch unawares.
"How were the victims killed?" Thaddeus asked quietly.
"They was all slashed across the throat. One cut, no struggles. It's beyond my ken. I dunno how they did it."
It looked as if Amberdale was ready to let them enter the crime scene so Thaddeus bid the man goodbye.

The room was plainly furnished, lit only by the light pouring in through the doorway. The victims had not been moved, and were all gentlemen, their dark coats clean and crisp save for the blood that pooled about their upper bodies.
"All three members of the Order. This is one of our safehouses in London. Very few people know about them."

The bodies were of varying heights and ages, nothing outward he saw connected them. The scents in the room were peculiar however in that he could smell only the three men lying dead on the ground, and the living of course who had just entered the room.

"I should be able to smell the killer." Thaddeus remarked, "I can't."
Iona raised an eyebrow at that. If a werewolf couldn't smell the killer's trail then the killer did not leave a scent. She examined the door, "no sign of forced entrance."
She moved further into the room and with Sir Frederick's permission, shifted one of the bodies. The throat was slashed, one clean stroke, done without hesitation.
"The killer knows their way around knives, but look here," She pulled back the skin gingerly to reveal slight puckering were the cut was.
"These are silver burn marks, they're only left on tainted."
"That is correct Miss Grey, the three men you see here...were all werewolves."

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Karma200 Yarrow ByTheChesapeake
Vampunk

 

[Baconhands]

Two more members of the Order arrived shortly after Sylvia, the first was wondering if they were late to the party, the second had a much more annoying introduction. As he spoke, the aristocrat raised an eyebrow at his statement, a mental sigh passing through her mind before her attention was snapped back to the man wearing a top hat, who was now named Sir Frederick. A Scottish voice announced itself - another member of the Order, Sylvia assumed. The patchy man gave a few details about the murders, and a few moments after he stopped, Sylvia entered the property, watching her step as she did so. When her vision landed on the bodies, she crossed herself, before she approached them. Indeed, their throats had been slashed, as the man mentioned, and other than the blood on the floor and their suits, there was no sign of violence.
"One of our safe houses?" Sylvia repeated.
"I should be able to smell the killer." She heard Thaddeus say, "I can't."
"No sign of forced entrance." The Scottish woman observed.
Silver weapons had been used, and the victims were all tainted, were the final observations. Sylvia stood, holding her silver cross in her hand, "So either this was an act from the inside or we're looking at something that can walk through walls. Or maybe both." Glancing at the others, she sighed, "I don't know how infallible everyone in the British branch is, but my first suggestion is that we must entertain the possibility that somebody on the inside of the Order did this."
She took a look around the room, "Of course," she paused, shooting a look at Oskar, "the input of the more experienced members should be taken before any conclusions are drawn."
Stepping to the back of the room and looked at Thaddeus: based on what he'd said, she assumed he was a werewolf. She looked him up and down, taking in his form, his features and his clothing - he didn't look inhuman, as with most tainted. Her eyes looked across the rest of the members, each one a noticeably shorter time than when she looked at Thaddeus.
Castello SilverFlight BloodThunder27

 

[Karma200]

London... how depressing. Nayara walked down the gray street she remembered her tourist bringing her down. As this is the first time she's ever been to London before, Nayara had hoped not to get lost on the way. Unfortunately, every street to the woman looked the same. Gloomy and dead. Already she disliked it. Though it was something she'd have to put up with, which is fine with her. Naya is good at adapting. Reaching back to make sure every piece of long red hair was placed in the braid down her back, save for the short pieces that just flopped out. It would have to do.

Then Nayara made it to a street that looked familiar so she stopped and then took a look around as carried her closer and closer to the source until she stopped in front of a large old building. Just like everything around it, it was depressing.There were a few Order members around outside which told her this was the place. Nayara entered the building and hesitated when a man appeared and showed her the way to her new team. It smelled of death before she walked in. She paused to listen to the conversation, her curiosity caused Naya to move forward.

"I apologize for being late but I got a tad lost," She spoke in a soft yet firm voice so that everyone that didn't see her walk in could hear her.

It only took a second to take everyone in. They each looked different in their own way and most definitely had their own style, her pale green blue eyes took everyone in. Their last destination were dead bodies. Nayara took it all in, zoning in on the details that everyone had pointed out, tilting her head a bit at the sight of the burn marks on the victims.

"The other victims... does anyone know if they were all werewolves as well? If so, perhaps this could be a hate crime," The question slipped from her mind as Nayara examined the scene before her. It unsettled her how the deaths here looked so easy. If it was from someone within the Order, just how comfortable had they been in the presence of their killer? And how quick would you have to be to kill three werewolves without one of them managing to shift? Nayara began to look around the crime scene.

 

[BloodThunder27]

As they had investigated. Since she had lacked experience in hunting werewolves, she didn't know how to track them or anything. Worst of all, Luna was a bit clueless. To her, it looked like a cold blooded chain of murders. While listening to conversations between her fellow members, she took note that there were Silver burns on the murder victims. That wouldn't be on any regular human beings. Tainted Members within the Order wouldn't have been able to commit such a crime, since they were all harmed by Silver. There were no signs of forced entry from what she heard. From what Luna gathered, the murder victims were members of the Order and were most likely murdered by another member. Looking around, there were no signs of struggles. Could it have been an inside job? No ordinary human had the training necessary to wield a Silver Weapon...It had to be! She turned to Iona's direction upon hearing another member say that there should be input from more experienced members. "I have reason to believe that this was an inside job."

She walked over to the dead bodies before kneeling down to take a close look at the slit throats. "If these were inflicted by Silver Weapons, I would like to think such an act would be committed by one of our own. No ordinary human can handle a silver weapon." Luna stated as she continued to look at the slain victims.

 

[The Gunrunner]

Prenkus Lohmeyer

"Hurry /up/ now, driver!" The helm of the carriage was hard-pressed by its passenger now, and the driver was sweating profusely into the collar of his shirt; he was more than late. The carriage raced quickly through the cobblestone streets, nearly tilting with every turn it takes. One common citizen is nearly pushed aside in the rush, but not lucky enough to avoid a spray of mud bucked up from the heavy wooden wheel. "Sorry!" he yells back, answered back by a flurry of insults. The carriage's reigns are pulled back a block away from the safehouse, the horses neighing with the abrupt halt. The wheels screech and skirt against the road in the rough stop, and the passenger kicks the door open. A short man, dressed well with a large and bushy brown beard clearly tended to with care. His hair is combed back revealing chiseled features, marred by wrinkles to show his age... Though far more drawing was how red his face had managed to become. He rushes to the front, smacking the driver furiously with his tophat - He yells furiously. "You daft idiot! Are you trying to kill me!? Why yo-" he looks to the buildings on the block in disbelief, shielding his eyes from the sun to gaze to the next over "You're even a block off!?" The helm doesn't dare to ask for payment. Before the passenger can utter his next condemnation the reigns crack and the carriage thunders off, in much the same way it came in. The man sighs, dusting off his top-hat as he steps over to the back alley leading to the meetup.


By now the man could certainly consider himself late - Not a good first impression to make on what would, if luck would have it, be his partners. Just around the corner of the safehouse one could hear the angry mutterings of something in german. To one able to translate, the insults given to no one in particular were certainly not something to be repeated by a respectable British citizen. When it ends, Prenkus finally turns the corner. He nods to the slender man at the entrance, and steps to the side of the doorway to peer inside. He watches silently from his spot, taking in the information from their investigation. He watches throughout the room himself - Nothing out of place, at least not that he could see. The gentlemen themselves didn't seem to have been killed during a fight - Their coats were still clean and pressed, aside from the blood of course. He strokes his beard from his position, brow furrowing. One hand instinctively went to his coat for the tobacco case kept in the left pocket, but stops at the comment from Thaddeus. He sighs, knowing full-well what one would have to be for that ability. The expression of disappointment was quite plain. He watches for just a few more moments before entering and making his own contribution to the search

"Prenkus Lohmeyer," he states, his accent thick in its german accent. "I must apologize on someone's behalf for my late arrival; a poor transport, you see." He finds a table to place his tophat, immediately after clearing his throat and stepping over to one of the bodies, theorizing - "I must disagree with the growing conclusion of the room; there are other ways this murder could have taken place, and there's more to it than merely a member of the order. It is most curious for there to be no scent, yet silver was still used." Prenkus strokes his beard curiously, searching one of the bodies' pockets, from the coat to the pants.

 

[SilverFlight]

Iona began to examine the room. She checked upstairs, on all floors but there was no sign of a break in anywhere.
She came back down and examined the bodies once more, more carefully this time.
The cuts made were deep and controlled, likely not made by anything longer than a dagger. The angles were different, but all had been made with the same left to right stroke. The fact that there was no sign of struggle bothered her, even if the killer was someone trusted, surely after the first man fell the others would react...All of their eyes were open, fixed in a horror-filled stare from the moment they died. The entire affair was puzzling and gruesome.

"Inside the--My dear lady..." Amberdale seemed flustered at the mere notion of someone from the Order being responsible, but he took another look down at the bodies. "I can see at a glance this could look quite apparent, but we mustn't be hasty."
A new lady stepped into the room and Amberdale seemed to recognize her for he smiled politely and tipped his hat.
"Lady Nayara Sonia Amsel, South America division. Quite pleased to finally meet you in person."
Thaddeus gave her a warm smile, knowing the others may not.
"There were no other murders." Amberdale answered her.
"Not of Order members." Thaddeus interjected, "but there have been a series of murders in a low-town community. The victims were also werewolves. There was a gentleman outside who could tell us more."
He knew that Nayara had been thinking exactly what the patchy man had told him. Someone was targeting werewolves specifically.
"I agree, they could be connected, we'll have to question Scotland Yard for the details on the other cases though. There was nothing supernatural about the murders by the docks so the Order did not become involved."
Luna too seemed to lean towards an inside effort. Amberdale regarded her and Sylvia carefully.
"I will admit it is not impossible, but why would one of our own members murder people within the Order? It can't be as simple as a hate crime. We've had to deal with overzealous hunters before. They've never targeted order members, it's too risky. Not only are you imprisoned by the judicial system of England, but you are banned from the order permanently."
"We haven't considered all the evidence here yet either." Iona spoke as she stood up from examining one of the bodies.
"Its true silver weapons are rare but there are quite a few independent hunters out there that use them. We could be dealing with an extremist from the outside."
"It doesn't explain how they got in without breaking anything." Thaddeus added. "The doors were likely warded too."
"Or the fact they can hide their scent." Iona finished, "so it may be someone who is quite well-versed in magic, but I've never encountered a spell that can stop you from smelling." She looked to the others questioningly.
Thaddeus suddenly looked like he remembered something.
"There's a man I know, he keeps tabs on all the under the table sales of items the Order has access to. He might know who has recently been purchasing silver blades, or magical items that could help someone do this."
"Mr Prenkus Lohmeyer!" Amberdale said happily as the new man appeared. "Nevermind about lateness, I well know its absolutely impossible with the roads as clogged they are, especially in this part of town. Think nothing of it dear boy."
He listened to Prenkus' counter-argument. "I agree, accusing a member of the order is no light matter. I'm afraid I can't even consider it until you find me absolutely irrefutable evidence of the involvement. So, given what we know we should proceed with the next step of the investigation. I am open to suggestions as to our next move."

Amberdale stepped back,
"Before that however, now that a good number of you are here I think its time I gave the formal introductions." Amberdale said formally.
"As you may have read in the report handed to you about this case, I am Sir Frederick Amberdale, senior hunter in the London chapter of the European Branch of the Order of Seven. Current Lord of Amberdale Hall and knight to her majesty Queen Victoria," he gave a bow.
"This is Iona Grey, my protege and accomplished hunter in her own right. She has been with us for just under ten years, first as a trainee and then an official member. Iona is a rune specialist and she can tell you more about that. She is also quite well-versed in the details of werewolves."
Iona nodded her head to them, giving them a polite smile. "I've read about you all, I have to say I'm delighted."
Amberdale continued, "Thaddeus Grey is cousin to Iona here and no doubt several of you have already picked up on his condition. Nevertheless Thaddeus has spent a nine years without incident and has always demonstrated the highest level of control. He has recently been working with Scotland Yard learning techniques of deduction used by our more plain members of society. I've no doubt he will be a helpful addition."
Thaddeus bowed to them formally. "I am technically not an Order member yet. My file is still under review."
Amberdale gestured to the others, prompting them to introduce themselves.

Now that you have gathered some information about the Order murders its time to move to the next stage. You have several options but will pursue only one of them at a time as a group. 1. Uncover more about the murders of the common folk werewolves, speak to the man waiting outside and/or pay a visit to Scotland Yard for the details of the case. 2. Track down Thaddeus' underworld informant to learn more about who might have acquired silver weapons in recent weeks. 3. Whatever else you suggest, I will adapt the story and happenings to whatever the consensus in the group is.

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Karma200 Yarrow The Gunrunner

 

[The Gunrunner]

Prenkus Lohmeyer

Prenkus furrows his brow with an accompanying frown, standing from the body. He pulls a hankerchief from a pant pocket, wiping away some small smudges of blood on the fingers. He takes hold of his tophat and gives a polite smile to Iona and Thaddeus. A perceptive eye may see that the smile is at least a little forced. "Very polite," he notes aloud. "I haven't had the opportunity to read on you all, so this will be a learning experience for me. Though for myself, I am Prenkus Lohmeyer."

He craddles his hat under an arm, raking gloves fingers through his hair "I've been with the order for a while now, as you may notice, working in America and the German region. If miss Iona has become as talented as she is in such short time, I certainly hope that speaks doubly well for me. I've been in America for quite a few years now, so coming back to see Europe again is quite nice." He pauses for a moment, patting the top of his hat off and placing it on his head - "My area of expertise is used to being outside of urban areas, tracking with not many, ehm... convenient resources; there are not many trees willing to speak, you understand. Of course, monsters-" He stops, his eyes slowly going to Thaddeus "... That is, tainted ones, who tend to live out there are quite a bit more aggressive than those able to hide in cities." His eyes go back to a general view of the group, finishing "I'm sure there are more than a few scars to show. Anyway, my point with its mention is to say that I will be able to provide quite a bit of support in the area of more 'heated,' or 'direct' fights. You English use the words this way, yes?" At answer to his question, he carefully adjusts his coat and steps back to signify that he is finished with his introduction. He holds his wrist infront of him, keeping straight while the others go through their introductions. His posture is just a little hunched at the neck, one of the suggestions that the city gentleman may not suit him too well.

He silently listens to the others introduce themselves, reaching into his coat once the last has finished to retrieve his pipe and tobacco case. The case is flipped open, and he bites down on the inhaling end of the pipe. Quickly packed with tobacco, a smooth motion lights a match flicked from his coat and brought to the end. "Well, now that we are introduced..." he begins, afterwards waving away the match and spitting out a torn off inch of the smoking end - "- It is time to decide our next place of investigation. I suggest speaking to the man outside, then seeing to that informant about silver weapons and magical objects." Prenkus takes the cigar from his mouth, blowing a thick cloud of smoke, "Scotland Yard should come third, unless something immediate deserves taking its place."

 

[SirGrey]

In a small apartment in London, just near Westminster, slept Briar Jason Churrliaa. He slept at his desk, as he often, with said desk adorned with many objects. Vials, paper and quills, books of varying design and quality, as well as an etched circle of chalk with what seems like burn marks. The room itself is a basic bed set, small bed with small bedside table, small table and two chairs, wardrobe, the aforementioned desk and chair and on suite bathroom. Overall not a bad place to have a gift to you by an aunt. The door to this petite land of luxury was opened by a petite young maid of the place. "Master Churrliaa, Master Churrliaa," she said softly while shaking the young American equally as soft. "Oh what yes yes, Ann I thought I told you not to disturbed me while I work," Briar asked as he darted awake, hurrying to tidy up his work from the night before. "Well I do think you spend a little too much time in here, it seems you hardly gone out in the past few weeks" the young maid insists while moving to tidy up the rest of the room, as Briar goes to the bathroom to clean himself up. Sleeping on desks rarely does your beard or hair and good. "Well Ann my study rarely allows me to go outside but I tell you I feel I am closer now than ever," he says from the bathroom, over the sounds of water running. "Hmm still I do wish you would go outside more often it can't do you any good, oh speaking of that seems you will have a reason to, murder in Piccadilly Circus," she says handing him a newspaper. Ater quickly reading it Jason sighs heavily while wondering what deity he annoyed this time.

After a brief episode of getting into a new suit, this one of a green tint without hat. Briar never took to things, made his head itch. He also made sure to grab a leather medical bag filled with basic equipment needed for circles, rituals and other magical practices. He also made sure to grab a quick bit of toast, tea and newspaper before heading outside his apartment and into the bustling streets of London. Briar had been in the city for close to a year now. He could see why his aunt, and by extent the rest of the order, sent him here. This area seemed to be teeming with supernatural creatures of all kind. Still, there was one other reason he was here, a reason that was forcing him to study night and day. Though that would have to be put on the back burner for now as the house where the murder took place is one of Order said he should of meet up a lot earlier than it was now. Yelling down a carriage, Briar sat back and read his newspaper to fill himself in on the events, trying to think of a good joke to get him out of the monumental amount of trouble. As he arrived he released there would be no way out of this one.

Getting out of the carriage and making his way through Piccadilly Circus, Jason arrives near the house. Seeing several other members the now fairly exhausted Jason makes introduction saying "Sorry I just received news myself, got down here as soon as I could" he said in between gasps of breath.

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Karma200 Yarrow The Gunrunner

 

[GoldenAgeBoredom]

"Get off my deck Injun," said the white face as shoved a harpoon at the colored man that lay on the dock's lower levels. The stench of the river wafted up into their noses, distracting the people from the nauseating flavors of London's garbage filled streets. Weathered hands of a Native man only brushed off the pale visage before him, and he stood, his knees cracking as he picked up his cane to leave. His name was Kajika, not that anybody cared, as he hobbled off the dock and his way through the dying streets of London. This vast civilization was simply a cancerous blemish on what was once a proud part of the Great Spirit's wild land. Gray layered with light gray layered with dark gray layered with silver layered with Gainsborough. Still, what else could he expect from the white man's world; they poison all that they have been gifted without care for the beauty that once prowled this great land. He didn't waste his time attempting to get a carriage: drivers don't exactly take quite kindly to "timber-I'm uncultured" in London. His feet carried him at a high pace throughout the city, the rich chestnut furs that he bore contrasted against the shades of the city that painted London nothing but a dolled up prostitute. Passing through the streets, he heard the Englishmen calling at him.
"Brownie!"

"Buck!"

"Redskin!"
To the seasoned native warrior, the dull people and their insults became another statue in the whorish landscape of London. He was late. Very late and his presence had been called. Thoughts roamed through his mind about what to expect. People killing members? Rape? What sort of violence would call him all the way from the Americas? What fun case does the Order have for him now? The thoughts made him chuckle in anticipation as he verged on an hour of walking since he had left the docks. The circus entered his sights as he began to approach an hour since he started his trek. He began to walk towards the ancient house with dead eyes glazing over the titan slab of colorlessness that laid before him. No attention was paid to the man at the entrance as he heard people talking inside, one man began his sentence with the word, "sorry." Kajika walked in without a sound, without speaking and wandered to the dead bodies immediately. He crouched down and began investigating, paying no attention to the room around him. The smell of death and decay radiated off of his body as he traced his fingers over the throats. His eyes gazed into that of the dead, choosing to focus on what would be his case rather than his pitiful surroundings.

 

[BloodThunder27]

While speaking with the other members, despite having a firm belief that it was an inside job, Luna did not rule out the possibility of there being Independent Hunters. However, she did want to protest because of such rarity. During her travels, not once did she hear of them. However, she was at quite a disadvantage because her expertise rested in the Vampires, or what she'd like to call 'bloodsuckers'. "Unfortunately, I am at quite a disadvantage. My expertise rests within the bloodsuckers, not the children of the moon." She spoke out before getting back up to her feet. "I will not rule out the possibility of this being the doing of Independent Hunters, its just not often I hear about them. They're just so...Rare." Luna frowned before looking over at Iona.

Next, she looked over at the rest of the group that had congregated. "My apologies, where are my manners? I'm Luna Lockhart. I've been hunting with the Order for...four years now. I come from a Family of Rangers, so I'm an Archer. I prefer to take down my adversaries before they have a chance to get close. Speaking of which, my knowledge is most extensive with the bloodsuckers. I do look forward to working with the rest of you." She smiled curtly.

 

[Baconhands]

Five more arrivals made their presences known over the next couple of minutes as one of the other members, a woman with a British accent and dark hair, agreed that this could be an inside job. Amberdale, of course, insisted that this wasn't the case: though the way he delivered this information made Sylvia smile. A Prussian gentleman made an effort to disagree with her though he provided no evidence to suggest otherwise.
"The door wasn't forced open, the bodies appear surprised at the time of death and silver weapons were used. Now I'm sure God is keeping a close watch on these creatures but I'm certain He's not the one that smote them... though, and I mean this with respect," she paused, glancing at Thaddeus and Nayara woth only sincerity in her eyes, "it would be a mercy."
Amberdale took the opportunity to introduce himself, the Scottish woman and the werewolf, and of course mentioning his service of the British monarch Victoria. Prenkus, the Prussian, introduced himself next. The British woman who'd agreed with her said her name was Luna.
"I guess I better make an introduction as well," she said, bowing her head slightly, "My name is Sylvia Genovesi, no doubt you've heard of my family's reputation. I've been with the Order for four years though I was a trainee for a significant portion of that time. Though vampires are certainly the most common creature in my home area," she stopped and looked at Thaddeus and Nayara again, "werecreatures have piqued my interest more recently." Sylvia turned her attention back to the group in general, "God willing, I'm sure we'll get along very well in times to come. Now, concerning the investigation, I'd personally like to speak to some of your hunters based around the London area. Perhaps there's one who's become a bit... what did you say? Oversealous."
SilverFlight BloodThunder27 GoldenAgeBoredom SirGrey The Gunrunner Karma200

 

[SilverFlight]

"Mr. Churliaa, we were just introducing ourselves. I have a man writing up a report on the murders, he'll give it to you the moment it is finished." Amberdale bowed his head to the new hunter. He caught sight of Kajika and his lips tightened. "Mr. Adahy." He said shortly.
Amberdale did not seem happy to see the Wendigo but Thaddeus looked up at the Native American man with intense curiosity. He had clearly never met any tainted originating on the continent across the sea and was holding back his questions only with great effort.
"Thaddeus Grey." He dipped his head and offered Kajika his hand. "It's a pleasure sir."
Iona greeted Jason warmly. "Welcome to Britain Mr Churliaa, and I suppose it is your first time here as well Mr. Adahy, welcome."
When Luna introduced herself Thaddeus began to look uncomfortable with her wording.
"I invite you to remember Ms. Lockhart, that vampires are still people, and it is unkind to use such derogatory terms to describe them."
Thaddeus began to wonder what had happened in Luna's past, which vampire had hurt her and driven her to the point of un-blanketed hatred for them.
He sighed at Sylvia's passing remark. Relinquishing the little righteousness he was beginning to develop. Tainted clearly weren't going to win any battles here, but then that was the point of it wasn't it. Thaddeus would be the first to admit his turning had been horrible, but he found himself frequently asking if he truly regretted it...or not.

Amberdale answered her second comment. "Those who kill without valid reason break the code of the Order and are thereby stripped of their titles and their membership. They are also handed over to the country's court of law and are tried as murderers. I can tell you they are treated just as any other criminal. There are no zealots in the order if we can avoid it. They tend to be dangerous to more than just rogue tainted. However if you would like to speak to some of the other hunters I can arrange it. Not sure what they can tell you however, this is the very first incident where the order will be directly involved." Amberdale paused here, as if he had just thought of something, but was debating on whether to share it. "There is one man. He broke the code of the Order but the courts couldn't put him away. I might be able to arrange a meeting if it would suit."

"For now though, I believe we should investigate the source that is standing just outside Mr. Amberdale," Thaddeus pressed him.
"Its 'Sir' Amberdale if you don't mind, and very well, I see your point."

The werewolf was still waiting for them outside the house. He wrung his hands nervously and was constantly looking over one shoulder, as if he expected an attack. He looked a little relieved when the Order members began to filter out of the house.
"Will you listen to me now?" He asked, searching their eyes for a shred of kindness.

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Karma200 Yarrow The Gunrunner CNHart

 

[CNHart]

A man, average height if one could tell such while he was sat in a finely made chestnut chair; his legs shrouded by the subtle, similarly crafted desk that held a plethora of things. Parchment, three inkwells, a towering stack of four hardcover books that were without titles, and of course an assortment of stamps that garnered different insignias to indicate different houses; one had a peculiar, yet easily missed growth that was actually a switch to expose the true emblem representing the Order. The man himself was not so mysterious, he wore a beige vest and white undershirt; rather lax under current circumstances. Hair dapper, mustache and goatee combo: well-trimmed. Piercing blue hues skimmed line after line of scripture; the creases of the parchment indicated what he was reading might be a letter recently unfolded. A series of hums and groans leave his chest as he looks on with unbreakable neutrality in his expression. The room he was located had a quaint appearance, balanced in color and beauty. The door was left open, outside was a hall that went on for a good ten to twelve feet before turning to cascading stairs.

At these stairs a trample of steps could be heard, each one louder than the last; with a sigh the man in his chair set down the parchment, clasped his hands together, and gazed at the open doorway to his office. The rain of boots got closer as the culprit of this noisy intrusion appeared; a stout, middle-aged commoner with only a marginally better sense of hygiene about him than the average folk, “M’Lord Cheyne, letter from ‘You Know Who’ for ye, urgent they says; forgive me, M’Lord.” The older man steps forth without permission, hastily handing Bradford his intended letter. Any other day he might receive a brash statement or reminder of his post, but the man meant well so Lord Cheyne simply nods at the mention of ‘You Know Who’, “Good work, Mr. Heriot.” In record time three pennies were out of a right hand drawer and on the desk for ‘Mr. Heriots’ messenger services. The man was gone as soon as he scooped up the payment. Bradford wasted less time eyeing the Order’s wax stamp and opened the envelop; as he pulled the letter from its’ home and read it his eyes widened, then narrowed as he looked at where Mr. Heriot had been standing, “Blast…”

He stands, neglecting to push his chair in or clean up his desk before heading out of his office; even the lanterns received no treatment. He was down the hall and too the front door at an instant. His coat and trillby donned as nicely as possible in the short amount of time he allowed himself to get ready. A simple cane beside his door the last bit of personal effects, before he was out the door. He made sure to lock it behind him before he set down the street towards wherever his destination was. He actually wasn’t that far from Piccadilly Circus, sparing but a split second to choose the correct alleyway to go down; between the seamstress’ business and a brewery, luckily the young man knew London like the back of his hand. As he trekked down the filthy backstreet he adopted a sincere look of self-dejectedness as he saw what he could only assume were the other members of the ‘taskforce’ mentioned in the letter he received. “Sir Amberdale. My Lady Grey-“ His eyes shifted to the both of them, if only lingering on Iona for a moment before tipping his trillby politely. He does the same to Thaddeus, albeit voiceless; if there was distaste for the individual Bradford didn’t show it, instead, there was a softness to his gaze.

“My apologies, for the lateness; those that I employ aren’t always… Swift. At least not when it is most needed.” He spares the other individuals respectful glances and nods, “A fair, London day, to all of you; I am Bradford Cheyne, your discretion as to how you address me-“ He notices a familiar man, clad in a patchy garb; the sight actually stunned him quiet for a moment before he continued, “Pardon me, I hope I can be of assistance; though it would seem you’ve all, already investigated the crime scene.” His focus was assigned to Amberdale, “I don’t mean to hold everyone up, I’ll make it quick.” With that he actually entered the premises of the recently deceased, without so much as three glances; one to each corpse he brings a hand to his chin, the other resting on the cane, “All of them, throats slit by a silver blade,” He states aloud as he gazes at the cadavers, “Have you checked any of them for signs of paralysis remedies? Especially effective towards Werewolves? Consumed or otherwise?” He asked questions that he was trying to answer with his eyes, “I’m late arriving, saying there was no forced entry nor signs of a struggle would fall upon knowing ears I assume?”

His eyes swept about the interior for platters with tea cups or a pot, “Perhaps they knew the suspect or were swayed by identification; forged or real, doesn’t matter. Unless they brought in a stray.” At the mention of this he glanced at each of the waistbands of their trousers, for reasons unclear; a few hums resound from his chest as he turns and steps outside, “Apologies, again.” He realized just then that he went into a different mode of living as he inspected the scene, his eyes traveled towards the less fortunate werewolf standing and waiting for help. Bradford took the initiative and beckoned him closer, “Sir, I should have afforded you my ear sooner; if you would, I’d like to speak with you somewhere…-“ He takes a few observatory glances around, “Perhaps later, at my office?" Once he was finished with the man he looks to the group, "I've been working with Scotland Yard, investigating eight other cases of Werewolf cullings; all akin to this scene-" He gestures to the home adjacent to them, "Throats slit with a silver blade, while this one happens to be more alarming; thus far it has only been one werewolf somewhere on dead streets or alleyways, there's also only been one other that happened inside of a building-" He looks away for a moment, reading his expression would show a deep thinking, "A warehouse, silver powder on the scene; I was going to head over there to give it a second look." He was at their whim, waiting to take his leave for their input.

Baconhands
Castello
BloodThunder27
SirGrey
GoldenAgeBoredom
Karma200
Yarrow
The Gunrunner
SilverFlight

 

[BloodThunder27]

Luna mainly had a blank-face when Thaddeus reminded her that Vampires were still people. Sadly, she didn't exactly agree with him. Underneath her rather emotionless exterior, the young huntress actually wanted to lash out at him for saying such a thing. However, she didn't want to be on Iona's bad side either, or the rest of the group for that matter. It was already enough that she didn't get along with any of the Vampire Members within the Order, and now a Werewolf -or Child of the Moon- was going to say such a thing. Last that Luna had checked, Vampires and Werewolves were age-old enemies and have been fighting for as long as history started being recorded. However, Vampires and Werewolves working together was not something unheard of either. Luna herself just hated Vampires, period. That will never change as far as she was concerned. 'How could he say that? Those bloodsuckers are just savage monsters...beasts...Nothing more. They're not people...They attack innocent people just to sustain themselves! Is there no better alternative?' she thought, still a little angry about what Thaddeus had said.

As far as the young huntress was concerned, he didn't understand the reason behind her strong hatred towards vampires. They killed her Father and then tried to kill her and her sister. If it were not for Hawksworth, both of them of them would be dead if not turned into vampires themselves. That memory still haunts her to this day. To watch her Father die in such a horrifying way and knowing that she could have been next if not for a Vampire Hunter, left that deep-seething anger and hatred within her heart towards them. She wasn't really intent on forgiving them because of what happened to her Father. She then glared at Thaddeus. "Tell that to my Father..." Luna said firmly, holding back tears.

Every time she thought back to the night she lost her Father, it choked her up because of how much she missed him.
SilverFlight

 

[The Gunrunner]

Prenkus Lohmeyer

Old Prenkus kept himself silent and still until the hunters were finished introducing themselves. A few new hunters made their arrival as the introductions were underway - A green-suited gentlemen, a young lord, and... Prenkus' eyed cautiously trailed the american native. Perhaps others weren't as perceptive to the smell that radiated from him, but to him it was terribly familiar. His hand twitched closer to his coat on instinct, his lips tightened back from the cigar against his teeth, and his smile slowly fell. He takes the cigar from his mouth, the frown and the look of his eyes quite clear on his feelings of the man - He mutters something to himself as he steps out of the house. He was out before the others, attempting to calm himself with the help of his cigar. Someone to his side introduces himself to Lady Grey and Amberdale, and he looks over to note the young lord. It's a mere nod of his head before stepping aside to let him enter the house. His ear perks once he gives his own introduction, noting the name.

"Will you listen to me now?" Prenkus looks to his side, finally remembering the nervous wolf. He puffs a few bouts of smoke as Mr. Cheyne invites the man to talk later, drawing a chuckle from the old hunter. Prenkus waits for him to finish before finally giving his word: "This could be a sign of growing ambitions, or perhaps sign of more than one killer." He turns to the werewolf then, taking the cigar with a little sigh - "And we should investigate that warehouse, but first I think this man has waited long enough to tell us what he has." He looks down to his suit again, taking one of the inner halves to adjust the sleeve. He furrows his brow, not quite able to find a comfortable way to wear the thing. As he tries to fix its positioning he gestures to the nervous man to go ahead and speak. The suit was well made enough that it wouldn't be seen on a poor man, though the tailoring was something to be brought into question; to those used to the urban areas and the proper dress, they may notice the bit of extra length over the shoes, the improper proportion of the shoulders, the minor - but noticeable - gap between the jacket and shirt collar. An eye could see it wasn't tailored properly, if it was tailored at all. Prenkus whispers a swear, giving up on the apparel to let it do as it will. He turns back to the man, expectant in the story.

 

[CNHart]

He looks to Mr. Lohmeyer as he suggests some things, "Ambitions, likely; I do say, but I threw my bets down on a grudge; maybe even a woman posing to be one of ill repute, judging from where all these fellows were killed. To go along with that, all of the victims up to this point, as far as I know, have been male. Hence my mention of a stray. As for more than one killer, it is another theory I've just now pondered, such would explain how three Order trained werewolves could be felled all at the same time if not with a clear paralytic remedy to aid in their murder." Once he was finished, he became silent, waiting for the frightened wolfman to speak his mind. He took note of features that caught his eye about each of his newfound comrades; the Native and man of lighter complexion from the Americas, the Prussian, the Genoan born noblewoman, and the Belgian all earned elongated stares, as if he knew each of them and their desires as a result of his prolonged ogling that was shy of being rude. “Mr. Adahy, a pleasure. I’ve heard of your exploits in the new world; some have even made it to parchment here in London.” His words were sincere, even if he looked upon the shifter with an ounce of ire; though the young lord was clearly trying to suppress it, to shift his expression he looks upon the other from the Americas, “And Mr. Churliaa, I believe you to be quite the knowing individual; two years and I’m not seeing you until now, a shame, really.” Those icy hues bounced to the Prussian, “Mr. Lohmeyer, same to yourself, your ways of trapping or ambushing the tainted are hard to teach here; I’m glad veterans of yours and Mr. de Vries' caliber have made it into this task force.”

With that he nodded once more to the both them, before finally paying notice to the last two foreigners, “Miss Amsel and My Lady Genovesi,-“ A polite bow of his head towards the latter individual, deeper and lower than the one he gave the others, “My sincerest apologies for not addressing you earlier, even if the circumstances might very well permit the rudeness, but it is good to be working alongside you once more.” His words more than likely hinted at a familiarity towards the noblewoman and huntress, if left unclear as to how deep with the neutrality staying everywhere but his eyes; which showed an unmistakable warmth, despite their chilly color. “Miss Lockhart, I do not address you last out of preference; having another individual of whom I am familiar with is a godsend, truly, a pleasure to have you here." He obviously hadn't noticed her fighting tears as he spoke, nevertheless with that he cleared his throat, despite his willingness to let the rest of the group choose he threw his money in with the Prussian's choice, "I agree with Mr. Lohmeyer; whether it was here or my office, I was planning on speaking to him; leaps and bounds better if we heard what he had to say, collectively."

The Gunrunner Baconhands SilverFlight SirGrey BloodThunder27 Karma200 Castello GoldenAgeBoredom

 

[SilverFlight]

Thaddeus looked at Luna sadly, regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said quietly, then let the matter drop. With a slight feeling of relief Thaddeus turned his attention to the new man arriving on the scene.
"Bradford my dear boy! I can't tell you how glad I am that you're here. Just in time you know. What have you found?" Amberdale listened intently to his grandson's findings.
"Silver powder. Of course. I wouldn't have smelled it, but inhaling it would have caused pain in the mildest case. It's possible silver powder could have induce some form of paralysis." Thaddeus had seen the man before, he worked with Scotland Yard just as Thaddeus did, though the werewolf tended to avoid members of the order for various reasons. He knew Bradford was some relation to Amberdale, and the Iona knew him too, but that was all.
Thaddeus dipped back through the door to check for traces of the powder.
Iona listened to Bradford's account and smiled at his careful attention to formalities. "Looks like you're into the thick of it already Bradford, I can't say I'm surprised."
Thaddeus returned to raise an eyebrow at the informal first name address but said nothing of it, instead reporting his findings:
"There are traces of silver powder. Very light, but present."
Thaddeus finally turned to the werewolf, now very ready to speak.
"Tell us everything you know."

The man drew in a breath, he seemed to become slightly more nervous as the number of Order members kept growing, but he steeled himself and began:
"Its jus' like the young man said, 'cept in total there've been fifteen. They usually go missing at night. At firs' it was jus' drunks not comin' home. Then regular folks, good hard working men an' women. Always at night, always alone. I seen the bodies o' the first few. Lots o' blood there was. Brutal murders. Then they clean up. Single slash across the throat. Tha's how the last eight happened."

Thaddeus and Iona exchanged glances momentarily, both thinking of reasons behind the patterns.
"Is there anything else?"
The man nodded. "Not all the murders were in the same place, but most of 'em were in the shipping quarter. There's the most of us. Someone's killing werewolves."
Iona frowned, "And now someone has targeted the Hounds of God too."
"Different method...they might be unrelated, but I doubt it."
Thaddeus had left the door open as he'd come through and the man glanced inside.
"Oh!" He cried and stumbled back.
Amberdale gave Thaddeus a warning look and closed the door. "I'd rather this not go public yet Mr. Grey."
But it was too late, the man had seen the bodies, and seemed to recognize one.
"That's Mr. Mayhew!"
"You know one of the victims?" Thaddeus looked puzzled.
"Aye, we all do. Mr. Mayhew is one of us, and one of our best advocates. He's like a community leader. If word got out he was dead there'd be panic in the streets. All the werewolves in London."

"Ho there! Order!" Another man came running up from down the road. He was dressed similarly to the werewolf they were questioning, the same fearful look in his eyes, though he seemed to have been running a great distance at a great speed. He looked about ready to drop.
"You better get down to the docks! Quick! Its pandemonium! There's one riling a whole group up. It looks like a riot. If we don't stop 'em soon one or more is gonna loose it and go savage!"
Iona gave a worried glance to the other members of the task force.
"I'm afraid I must attend to other duties, I shouldn't even have met you all here." Amberdale said uncomfortably, looking very much as if he would rather accompany them.
"Please handle this...with care. The last thing we need is a bloodbath on our hands."
Before he left the senior order member ordered several coaches, Order-owned, black and regal, all drawn by four horses. The emblem of the order was carved in relief discretely on each side, just above the front wheels.
"These are the order's own private coaches. Do try to keep them in one piece eh?"

They were piled in without much ceremony. Thaddeus looking worried, Iona looking grim. She still wore her daytime attire, though she always kept at least one silver dagger with her, and her runes in a small leather pouch.
The trip did not take long, and Iona could hear the shouting well before she saw the small mob standing around a cart on top of which stood a single figure shouting to them in a heated voice. The smell of water and sewage permeated the wet air as rain continued to fall on the cobbles and the high warehouses and storage buildings that lined the little road. Above the waterfront buildings the masts of great tallships stuck up like naked trees, their sails tucked tightly against the wind. This part of town was much dirtier: litter collected in the streets, the remnants of old posters lined rotting wood fences and sheet metal side-paneling and soot stained nearly everything black, from roofs to faces. Beyond the group and the man on the cart the Thames slithered by from its stone-walled bed, looking as grey as the mood. Some of the mob looked over as the coaches arrived and their eyes widened.
"The order doesn't give a shit about us!" The man was yelling, "They'd rather we sit and cower and die by this murderer's hand like lambs at slaughter!"
This statement earned a few angry shouts from the crowd.
"Well we're not sheep are we?! ARE WE?!"
"No!" Came the collective answer. Some of the people gathered were not werewolves, some lived in the area none the wiser as to what they lived by, so the true meaning of the question was lost on them, they to however were scared, they didn't know who the killer was targeting and they were afraid to die. Thaddeus noted as the carriage rolled up that he could sincerely not tell the difference between them.
Thaddeus and Iona stepped down onto the street one after the other.
"We need to stop this." Iona said to the group once they arrived.

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Karma200 Yarrow The Gunrunner CNHart

 

[CNHart]

He donned a slight smile at Iona’s statement, though his expression shows surprise; eyes widened at the mention of a total of fifteen, “Seven more? Why was this not brought to my attention?” He shot a glance towards his grandfather, questioning at first, but he shook his head. “My theory of a woman of the night holds less weight.” At the raggedy man’s mention of how they were killed he looks as if he’s found buried treasure, “Then there’s more than one.” In case he was questioned on how sure he was of that statement he’d say, “No killer, not in my time, not before my time; has ever changed their methods during a spree. It’s either a partner, or someone picking up the pieces; someone who knows our ways of investigation. Someone who knew I’d be on the scene of the first of this string of eight.” His confidence fell short of arrogance due to his experience, he listens to the man cry, a hand coming to his shoulder as he stumbles back, “Calm yourself.” The name finally comes to him, “Mr. Mayhew?” He looks at the door, scolding himself silently that he wasn’t able to recognize a man he had spoken to a numerous occasions. “Sir, you cannot let this get out, then. Hold onto it until we uncover enough to have suspects. I know Mr. Mayhew to have two children, a widow now as well; let them know, but pass along what I’ve said.”


He snaps his attention towards the comparatively dressed man, one who had been running a great deal to reach them, “Then we must hurry.” He said at the end of the man’s alarm. He nods to Sir Amberdale, “We’ll see you with more information.” He told the elder, sincerely. With that he was in the coach, sparing little to no banter to anyone he may be riding with. Even before they stopped, Bradford saw the commotion and was out the door of the stage coach; he hardly heard Iona as he stepped towards the crowd. He passes through it if he must; his face was known, even by the rabble. He’d have passage. “Irwin Grain!” He shouts, to the top of his lungs; those that knew him would find this tone he used to be unfamiliar, “In all the years that I’ve known you, all the times you’ve come to me for help; AND I’ve answered! This is how you repay me?!” He went on, before he breached the front of the crowd; his steps were graceful, he spared no need to re-balance himself a she ascended the cart itself.

If there was silence, if the man he had called out by name hushed at his presence he would eye the crowd; his comrades had vanished in that moment, for in his eyes was a look of disappointment that a father might have towards their children. “Yes, a despicable, terrible being is afoot. The individual is murdering innocents. Hardworking men and women that go about their lives like you all do. Nae you are not sheep! But will you become wolves? Will you turn yourselves into that which is less than this scoundrel running around? Taking the lives of your friends, taking husbands from their wives, even mothers from their children?! This is exactly what this cruel, bastard wants. For you to start a war, to do their work for them! Is that what you want? To not only be slaughtered by sheep, but to be lead like them too?” He paused for a moment, not bothering to straighten his jacket or hat; for they were surely disheveled. “I will be the first to admit a prejudice towards you. One that has been deeply seeded. One that I’m afraid, will never, truly go away. BUT, something I can do in lue of this, something I have been doing for the past TEN YEARS, is smother it with your names, where you work, stories of your days, the happenings of your children.”

He raises an arm, finger pointed knowingly at a woman; red of hair, tanned complexion, or rather soot that has forced her skin color to seem different. “Meda Shorten! I held you when your mother passed and you told me the words she shared with you on her deathbed. ‘Meda Lucile Shorten, don’t be afraid of yourself or who you are; you are not that beast.’! And you-“ His finger sweeps the crowd to a burly, but still rather built man, cropped brown hair and a grizzled beard, “Mr. Bell, you were left alone with two little girls; widowed, but you met with me one day to help find one of your lost daughters. I did! Edna was her name; she ought to be five years old now!” He looks to Irwin, “When you were alone, on the streets; eighteen years old, I offered you room and board. For what your father did for me.” While he didn’t mention it outright, his eyes showed something deeper; hidden by a dead on stare. “I am not asking you to cease your displeasure with us,” He turns back to the crowd as he says it, “I am asking you to believe in me, as you always have; for have I not come through, every single time?” He turned to Irwin one last time, as if he were confident the crowd would either disperse or show him respect long enough to speak with the man who had started with gathering this crowd.

 

[The Gunrunner]

Prenkus Lohmeyer

Prenkus' beard earns a scratch as he listens to the fearful wolf's account of the prior cases. Strange indeed, though not unexplainable. It earned multiple theories, which was much the problem. Prenkus furrows his brow once he's finished, preparing to speak only to be surprised by the following information; It seems this 'Mr. Mayhew' had quite the significance to his life. Interesting. A series of gradually improving murders in areas around the area, but typically in the docks where the werewolves are known to be focused. Then there was the progression of the victim's social statuses. The motive was starting to form in his mind, hazy and admittedly with multiple branches involved, but it is enough for him to provide a disagreement with one of the hunter's theories - "No killer, not in my time, not before my time; has ever changed their methods during a spree. It’s either a partner, or someone picking up the pieces; someone who knows our ways of investigation. Someone who knew I’d be on the scene of the first of this string of eight." He piped in his own mind: "Unless they are improving themselves... The murders are gradually increasing in capability, from brutal slashings of common drunkards to well-performed murders of the common man. Though it could also be to throw us off - After all, Mr. Amberdale was close to dismissing this man-" he's cut off before he can finish his thought as someone runs up to the group, exhausted and panicked: "You better get down to the docks quick!" He sighs. The timing could have been worse, but also better. At least he knew to keep a few of his tools with him.

He hurries to one of the coaches, leaving the door of one of the transports open for other members. Already he retrieves his revolver, popping the cylinder to check the chambers. He had cleaned his guns carefully just this morning, but there was no harm in another inspection - especially if combat could be an incoming reality. He presses on the ejection pin, removing the bullets into a palm. He takes the cylinder to his eye, looking through the multiple holes for signs of improper care. The light shined on the interior like glass, bringing a stern nod - The barrel was of similar care, smooth from hammer to end. He checks friction in the hammer, trigger, cylinder turn, etc. Nothing is left in contempt, and once finished he loads the bullets again in a flash. The weapon is put away quickly, for another revolver to replace it. Two revolvers, two sawn off shotguns, a leather pouch of some highly reflective heavy powder, rolls of twine, small and thin double-edged knives, an axe, and hand-held stitched bags of mixed leather and metal. He checks everything as the carriage kicks off to take them to where they need to be. He finishes before their arrival, remaining in personal silence.

The carriages slow to a halt, though he knew well enough they'd arrived beforehand; already the scent of the docks filled his nostrils, from water and sewage to abundant fish. His nose crinkles a bit as he pushes the door open and steps out, careful to take an exit opposite to the rally. He leaves his jacket and hat in the coach, making bare the leather holsters and pouches holding his tools and weapons - Multiple gun holsters aligned on the rib cage and one on the back, holding two revolvers on opposite sides of the ribcage, one sawn off on the left under the sidearm while the other takes the sheath on the back. A toolbelt, as it can most accurately be described, rings around he waist, and slightly up the back - Aligned with pouches, hoop sheaths, and other useful means of carrying supplies. Some are obviously empty, suggesting this is not his full equipment, though it still shows the daggers and axe - What is in the pouches, however, is for one to imagine. Odd, perhaps, that so much could be hidden under common clothes... even though the method is plain to see. Prenkus rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt to the elbows, non-chalantly nodding to the others once they've gathered around. The words of the speaker could be heard quite easily over the carriage, drawing a curious glance from him to look between the transports. A mob. "Scheibe," he whispers, forgetting himself.

"We need to stop this," Iona states. Indeed they did. Prenkus steps forward, sure to make his part known; "I'm a poor charismatic - I'll set myself up to keep the mob here if they can't be calmed down. There are plenty of tight spaces here that I can try to block of with obstacles and traps, and I've a few flashpowder bombs on me. Non-fatal, as long as they aren't aren't within ten inches. I can't provide a decent blockade alone though, so you'd best come with me if you won't try to talk them down." He'd guess there would be protest, and didn't care to wait to hear it. He turns away from the group, head swiveling this way and that. His mind ran like an engine, taking note of the environment - He didn't see it as others did; directions, temperature, comfort. It was tightness and usage of killzones, escape possibilities, needs of resources, the ability to hide, cracks in the walls, and other means of setting what he needed.

No time for rest. Cheyne clearly recognized that, as he makes his way to the crowd. Prenkus was on one of the clumped areas of alleys, a repetitive clang and ting as he hammered in one of his daggers to a crack in the wall, running twine from one point to the other. He wouldn't be able to cover every alley, but that wasn't the point; a riot worked together, as a horde. The tight alleys able to only fit a few individuals would have to be left alone, and he instead focused on the largest passages. Though it would take time, he was gregarious in his tasks and worked off of the blueprint in his mind, knowing exactly what needed to be done and how to do it - Already, he had finished splintering the wood of a barrel to attach a sawn-off into the hole, twine affixed to the triggers. Behind him, he could hear Cheyne's passionate speech to the crowd. It had him grin in mild amusement - he seemed an interesting lad - but he didn't let it distract him. The barrel is erected opposite to where the trip-wire is attached, turning the pathway into a killzone. The hole was easily visible walking towards the dock, but far less so when walking from it. He moves on to the next passage. "Scheitern Sie nicht, Cheyne," he whispers to himself. If diplomacy fails, this would certainly become a massacre.

 

[BloodThunder27]

After the little altercation with Thaddeus, Luna remained quiet for the remainder of the discussion. There was not really much for her to say. She didn't really talk much anyway. Luna did exert that 'Strong, Silent type' vibe. All she really needed was to aim her bow and shoot, otherwise, investigating wasn't really much of her thing. Now that she was part of this special task force that her superiors assembled, Luna had to learn more about Teamwork. So far there weren't any vampire members, but if that were to happen, Luna probably would not be very happy about it and would more then likely give said member a hard time, one way or another. Surely there was a way to do that without breaking any of the rules. Finally, when the Order's Coaches arrived, she boarded quietly and was just looking out the window as they traveled to their destination.

Upon arrival to their destination, they were met with what Luna thought was an angry mob. Without their weapons and armor, there was no telling how it was going to go. All she really had to defend herself was her silver dagger. Even that was not enough. As her companions were figuring out what to do, Prenkus sprang into action rather quickly, not that she was going to argue with that. Cheyne was attempting to quell the crowd. Hopefully that was working. Finally, she turned to Luna. "Alright, so what's the plan, hero?" She asked, looking to Iona.

 

[SilverFlight]

Irwin turned at the call of his name, his eyes filled with both fury and fear. His clothes were shabby and stained with ash and grime, a worker in one of the assembly lines beginning to crop up in the factories in the district. His lip curled but his eyes did not shift from Bradford for a moment. His stare was intense and predatory. He listened as did the others, some of whom seemed cowed by the young man's words. many stepped back or looked down, others looked to him and the Order members, desperation and fear in their eyes.

Thaddeus looked at Prenkus aghast. "Flash bombs?!" He hissed, "Traps?! Surely you can't be serious. We're part of the Order of Seven not a bloody brute squad."
Iona put a hand on his arm. 'That was enough' the gesture said. Thaddeus was taking the action personally, he well knew that with fear and anger thick in the air there was a risk of some of the werewolves losing their grip on humanity. If that happened they had to be contained and dealt with, and right now their resources were limited.
"Mr. Lohmeyer will not use extreme measures unless he's forced. We'll follow protocol on this." She caught Luna's eye as the other woman addressed her. "We're doing it by the book. Is that understood by everyone here?"
Thaddeus took a breath and with one more glance at Prenkus, he nodded.
They just had time after that to listen to Bradford sum up his speech. It seemed that his words had a profound effect on some of the people in the crowd. The man on the cart however, only looked all the more livid.

"Believe in you?..." Irwin looked down and shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. Thaddeus felt a chill run down his back.
When the man looked up again his eyes had begun to change colour, from a dull brown to a fiery yellow hue.
"Yes, by all means let's believe in you! You and your organization who tag and catalog us, treat us as little better than animals. You who for a month wouldn't even send one member to investigate the murders, leaving our people to die at the hands of a madman. You think that one or two gestures by one or two people is enough to redeem your order's indifference?" Irwin was beginning to slip. Thaddeus felt it even before his physical signs gave it away. The others however began to move away from him.
"You have no idea what you're asking Bradford. I'm done playing good dog to the order. Now...now I get justice."
Thaddeus was moving before Irwin had even reached into his pocket. He pushed past the others and leapt at Bradford just as the gunshot rang out.
Thaddeus felt a force, then a searing pain as the bullet caught him in the shoulder. He had hit Bradford full on, putting himself between the bullet and the other man. Point blank but a werewolf could not wield a silver-loaded weapon and so the bullet was not silver and thus not lethal. Is was stupidly painful however.
Thaddeus hit the cart floor with a cry and clutched his coat where dark blood began to seep through.
"He's turned!" Iona shouted, silver blade already in hand. "Take him down!"
Irwin had not shifted into his wolf shape, but there was no longer anything human in his eyes, only rage and hatred and fear. He'd given in to the beast, and would not stop until the blood-lust ran its course, or he was killed. Panic followed the shot as the crowd broke apart with screams, scrambling to escape Irwin and the loaded gun, but also not wanting to get close to the order members. The relationship was still one of hunter and hunted, and the werewolves of London were all too familiar with the cost that dynamic sometimes took. Irwin used the chaos to jump from the cart, he vanished into the fleeing crowd, ducking into one of the buildings at the last moment and sprinting up the stairs to line up a second shot.

Baconhands Castello BloodThunder27 SirGrey GoldenAgeBoredom Yarrow The Gunrunner CNHart