Thriller Blood Moon: Rise of the Lycans (A werewolf RPG)

Blood Moon: Rise of the Lycans​

From the private journal of Father Minghan MacCaffery​

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24th of December, 2065​

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It is Christmas Eve and wish I could say it were merry.​

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The world has been at war with the lycan for ten years today, ever since Pierre DuMont revealed his species to humanity by committing the Ash Wednesday Massacre here in New York the 3rd of March, 2055. I remember that day well, being a new Catholic priest myself and performing the rites at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Over two hundred humans; men, women and children slaughtered like cattle and devoured in one of the Orthodox churches as they performed the sacramental rite. It had outraged the human community world-wide and frightened the rest, for what had once been believed to be a myth had now become reality. How could we not be angry and frightened?​

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The Vatican was the first to condemn the actions of Pierre DuMont even as he declared to humanity that the lycan race would rise up and conquer their human oppressors. His Holiness Pope Peter II soon declared a holy war against DuMont and his kind, vowing that the victims of the Ash Wednesday Massacre would have justice and the creations of Satan would be exterminated. Soon after, the rest of the world religions and humanity followed the lead of the Catholic Church and the world was at war.​

​

Human retribution had been swift, a convent claimed to be DuMont's by the Federal government, had been located in Hell's Kitchen and mercilessly destroyed, but DuMont himself had supposedly escaped. Despite the loss of what was believed to be his pack, the werewolf managed to rally the remaining lycan in New York and retaliated. At least that is what the media had reported, though I have come to think that DuMont had planned this all along. Force the humans to slaughter an innocent convent and the rest of the lycan community would rally behind him.​

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An urban war soon broke out between lycan and human in New York which soon spread to the rest of the world as the media broadcast the events globally. By the end of the year, New York was under martial law by the human military and much of it in ruins from the fighting. Most of the human population fled the island, but in all honesty they really had no where to go that would be safe from the lycan. ​

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As the war escalated, more and more lycan began to appear all across the globe that it was estimated by some analyst that one-sixth of the human population were actually werewolves. No one really understood how so many lycan could have existed in such large numbers. But I, however, do understand how it is possible. ​

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It has to do with what the lycan call the Blood Moon, a lunar eclipse that turns the moon completely red and occurs thrice every ten to twenty years. However the one that which is most significant to the werewolves is the one that occurs during the rise of the Wolf Moon. This year we had a Blood Moon in January, the month the Wolf Moon rises in the night sky, and their numbers on the island had doubled. The next one occurs in eighteen days on the 11th of January, 2066. This event, through mystical means even I cannot fathom, allows them to create new lycan from humans.​

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I am uncertain as to whether there is some rite the lycan must perform or they can simply bite a human and a new lycan is born. With that unknown, I fear what DuMont has in mind when the second Blood Moon rises in less than a month from now.​

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Although my faith in the Lord is resolute and that He will provide, I worry for the humans I am sheltering in St. Patrick's and those that resist the lycan occupation of New York...​

The following excerpts are taken from “Werewolves Among Us” by Father Minghan MacCaffery, foremost expert on the lycan species.

Excerpt on PHYSIOLOGY

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(GM Note: Image Text Does Not Apply)​

The lycan, or Homo lupus, is a cursed human that can transform into a bipedal amalgamation of a wolf and human that is capable of traveling as a quadruped and perform great feats of strength and agility. Seen in the sketch done by Sister Tala, the lycan form is a lithe and tailless canine, vicious looking in appearance and very strong.​

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Their transformation is extremely painful and should a human have the misfortune of witnessing one, they cannot help but draw the conclusion that the madness comes from the torture of the change. The lycan can only transform with the rise of the moon regardless of its phase or whether its day or night. The transformation is not brought on by the moon against their will like most Hollywood films depict it, but rather it is an act of their will. Meaning that once the moon comes over the horizon, they have the ability to change and can revert back and forth for the duration of the moon's rise and set.​

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Their very existence seems to be tied with the moon and human zoologists are still puzzling over how Earth's satellite affects them. Otherwise they appear as aggressive and territorial humans with heightened senses and physiology, and a social hierarchy similar to wolves. That does not mean they are any less dangerous in this form than they are in their lycan forms. The human lycan travel in packs as much in daylight as they do at night with the rise of the moon. An uncursed human caught by one of these groups is likely to be dragged back to their lair for devouring.​

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The lycan are vulnerable to silver and wolfsbane, but I have found that silver weapons are more effective than the poison simply because it is rather difficult to get a werewolf to consume the poison rather than you. However wolfsbane has proven to be useful in identifying hidden lycan amidst human shelters, since contact upon the skin can cause a very terrible rash to form.​

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When they die, their bodies do not revert to their human forms...​

Excerpt on ORIGINS

There is little knowledge as to how the lycans came to be. None of their kind know how they came into existence though Pierre DuMont preaches that an ancient ancestor of theirs had actually been a creation of nature and not a human cursed by God, the Devil or some witch. That, later on, this ancestor would be cursed in becoming the savage beast human myth's told of. In truth, the lycan of today are indeed cursed humans and any relation to a natural ancestor has long since been diluted from their blood.​

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Though there is talk among the more peaceful werewolves that this breed of lycan still exists and something I intend to look into with great interest...​

Excerpt on PSYCHOLOGY

The lycan had been thought to be a mindless beast when they transform but the war has changed human preconceptions of the race. They are mostly vicious creatures driven by a bloodlust and malevolent hunger in which they hunt almost anything except their own. The violent clashes with the lycan packs throughout the world show that they can learn and adapt to a situation as well as any human. Simple gestures and expressions seem to be the only way they can communicate with each other, much like dogs and wolves do. Though I have personally experienced an encounter with one lycan able to form actual words, though his vocals were raspy and somewhat unclear.​

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There are a few lycan who are a bit more docile or peaceful in comparison to the rest of their race. These lycan are often shunned and killed by the more aggressive members. If such a lycan manages to survive their convent, they tend to be loners and wander the earth in search of a home where they can live in peace. In my travels I have come across some of these creatures and to my amazement they accepted me...​

THE GAME​

First off this is not an Underworld game. There are no vampires or other undead creatures. Only werewolves and humans.

You are a human trapped in New York by the lycan occupation for the last ten years. There are only a few hundred humans remaining in the city but twice that in werewolves. Every night is a struggle to gather resources and evade the hunting parties. The outside world is fairing no better than you are and the United States Government considers Manhattan Island a strategic location worth losing simply because it acts as a prison for the hundreds of lycan trapped there. The bridges have been destroyed and the ferries sunk. There is no way off the island until the Hudson freezes over solidly enough to walk on and even then the US Army see to it that is not even an option.

The people of New York are on their own.

Father Minghan MacCaffery leads the resistance group from St Patrick's Cathedral, the only place the lycan are unable to set foot in. Because of this it has become home to many human survivors and a fortress of hope to those within the rest of the city. An antiquated radio is their only means for outside news.

Pierre DuMont leads the lycan in New York and makes his lair somewhere in the Underground. He intends to wipe out the last of the humans on Manhattan Island. Although he has been unable to get past the ancient wards that protect St. Patrick's from his kind, he is determined to sink his fangs into Father Minghan's throat for reasons only he and Minghan know of. For this reason, the priest does not leave the Cathedral without escort.

Finally the technological level of the world is about on par with mid-21st century Star Trek: First Contact. Some laser technology, gadgets and other creative stuff but still mostly projectile weaponry, and grounded vehicles. So feel free to invent, just don't go over board. As for the magic just mentioned; it is ancient and holy, and only a very few religious figures know it.

CHARACTER SHEET​

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If you desperately want to be a werewolf, I need some serious convincing as to why you should be. There are only two possible places to stick you: a) with DuMont or b) somehow undetected in MacCaffery's lot which will not end well for you.​

Name:
Gender:
Race: Human (unless I say otherwise)
Nationality: (NYC is a tourist site, so you don't have to be American)
Age:


Appearance: (Describe or provide a picture)

Where Were You: (explain a memory of where you were when Ash Wed Massacre occurred and war was declared in 2055, assuming you are old enough to remember)

Brief Background: (optional; remember at the start of this game you have been surviving for 10 years, so you probably picked up some new skills along the way)

RULES​

1: Obey the ToS.
2: Submit CS to GM for approval via PM.
3: No God Moding.
4: If you are unable to post please inform us, don't just leave us hanging.
5: You have 48 Hrs to post after each GM update unless I'm notified (in which you get an additional 48 Hrs to post) or I place your character in limbo and move the game along.
6: GM word is law. If I say no to something, I mean it. First time you ignore me, I'll let it slide. Second time results in expulsion from the game and your character's death.
7: Spellchecker and grammar is a god-send! But not necessary! Well grammar is, but you get the point.
8: Have fun, it's why we're here!


Whew!

 

**Received CmdrMitth's Big 'ole STAMP of approval!**
W00T!

CHARACTER SHEET

Name: Zeeza (Zee) N'dori
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Age: 20

Appearance: Dark skinned, with brown eyes, and shoulder-length brown hair, that she usually keeps braided. Athletic with a slender build. About 5'6". Usually wears sneakers, but has some tall brown boots on her. Prefers camouflaged ponchos with a fur hood, and any type of clothing she can scrounge. She tends to wear pants and over-sized shirts, which she ties down. If its cold, she also has some gloves, and a ski-mask. All dark colors. Thank you army-navy stores.

Where Were You: It was bad. She had never seen that look on her parents face before. They were scared. They had come to visit other family that lived in the city. Her parents wanted her to visit the place she had been born. It had been a lovely trip. They had taken a ferry across. Zeeza peered out over the water. And the big bridge. All the tall buildings. But then something happened. It wasnt the Television or the radios, or the millions of billboards that blared all over that told them something was wrong. It was the sounds of screams. Zeeza heard them. And another sound. Like the sounds of a wild pack of dogs. Or maybe like a pride of lions which had gone mad. But mostly, it was the screaming, she heard. Her family tried to leave then. Make it for the bridge or the ferry. But so many people had the same thought, and it was impossible. Heading for the outlining areas was insane. With people going mad, and buildings burning, it was safer to stay close. Later pm. Zeeza thought she heard gunfire. It sounded like it would never stop. But when it did, the quiet was even scarier. And a crunching noise. Like a hundred feet stomping on dried branches. Her father went to check it out, but when he came back, his face looked so strange. He didnt say a word, but just led them away, going deeper within the city. They never went back to their relatives home again either. Zeeza wanted to ask why, but the look she got, just made her stay silent. But she saw the shadows. Always the moving shadows. Things simply got weird after that. It was two weeks after that, before she finally got a look at - them.

Brief Background: Zeeza was born in Brooklyn. Her parent were US citizens, who had worked in the Peace Corps. Zeeza early childhood was to grow up in the African plains, learning quickly how to be self sufficient at an early age. Hunting with primitive weapons (Bow, arrow, spear and bolas) while tending to other duties as cooking, making shelters and other things. Her dad even let her borrow the rifle on several occasions, when she was left behind for extended periods of time. But she was never bored, always out and exploring. Her parents also kept her up on her schooling as well, homeschooling was very big, as her mother was a Doctor, and her father an architect. She even had access to modern things like computers and cell phones, but Zeeza preferred the more 'simpler' way of things. When Zeeza was ten, her family came back to the states, to visit other family members whom she had not seen since she was a baby. At first, Zeeza didnt like it there. She wasnt sure how long her parents had planned to stay during the visit, but the city was a busy place. Full of funny places and smells. When the outbreak happened, Zeeza found her skills useful. She managed for 5 years to keep her family away from the demons. Every day, they had tried to find a way off the island. Every day they hunted for food, always moving. Then one day, she came back from her scavenging, to find their little hide away torn apart, and no trace of her parents. Her father she found a few blocks away, dead. She never did see her mother again.

Zeeza found an old crystal type radio kit from a radio shack, that she keeps on her, to try to hear anything useful. Thats how she found out about the church. Safety in numbers and all that stuff. In the ten years since the outbreak, she stalks the old stores for anything useful. Her favorite item now is two pistol crossbows. While bullets are hard to find for the rifle and pistol she has, she finds it is much easier to make stuff to shoot for the crossbow. And its quiet. She has a regular bow too, in case anything edible wanders by. And she is always on the hunt for stuff, especially anything silver. She dosent go into the major department stores or grocery stores. Those are death traps. Like the subways. Or gun shops. She prefers going into abandoned homes, especially those more wealthy homes. Easier to find more silver there. Pawn shops also make a good quick stop, for other stuff like batteries, camping supplies, and other essentials. Jewelry stores too. She has several knives as well, always within reach. Silver spoons, forks, knives, anything is useful. She has heard there is anything thing that kills em, but she dosent know much about that. So far, silver has always worked for her. As does running. She can run pretty fast.

 

I've gotten no more bites from other players, which is disappointing. Although I can run it with just the two of you, I'd like to have at least two more players. Not sure what to do to get more attention to this game.

 

Run screaming thru the bar?...

Could have someone streak past....

 

GM APPROVED

Michaela Welch

Gender: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: Irish-American
Age: 32

Appearance:

(Before her scar)

While her icy blue eyes are captivating, Michaela's most apparent feature is the scar that spans from one cheek to the other. Faded freckles splay from beneath it like speckles of blood, comparing well with her bronze-auburn hair that is always pulled back from her face. She is a slim girl, but holds a sort of inner strength to her. Her clothing varies, though all of it appears to be name-brand, or what was name-brand, when name-brand actually mattered. Hanging from her neck is a small cross penchant that she frequently rubs between her fingers. In addition to the necklace, she always keeps with her a small pistol. She keeps it tucked it her pocket, making it apparent to everyone.

Where Were You: Performing. Like she had always done.

Brief Biography: She was an international singer.

That's pretty much all everyone knows about her, that and her name.

While kind and compassionate to those with her in the church, she keeps quiet as she can. When she does speak, her Irish twinge becomes evident. Those few people who recognized her as a star begged her to sing, but she always refused. If asked about the scar on her face, she remained even quieter.

Her one show of weakness is children. She holds a special place for them, and some even say they hear her murmuring soft sing-a-longs to the babies as she rocks them to sleep.

Over the years, people have learned not to ask her questions. Especially with the side-glance she gives her pistol whenever someone asks of her past. Quick, but not quick enough to escape notice. She's helpful enough in things and does what needs to be done, but rarely converses with others.

Whatever her past was, it matters little now. All that matters is survival.

 

GM Approves

CHARACTER SHEET

Name: Kevin O'Brian
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: Irish-American (NYC is a tourist site, so you don't have to be American)
Age: 38


Appearance:

6'3" with a large stocky build.

Where Were You: He was in town when it happened, sleeping in a nice hotel on the east side. Whilst his parents were attending church, the church.(explain a memory of where you were when Ash Wed Massacre occurred and war was declared in 2055)

Brief Background: His family for the past two generations had been partnered to the Cloona Cool fishery. Which was expanding once more, though now to add a fishery location in the USA to accommodate the growing demand for Cloona Cool, Arctic Char fish to the foreigners. Truly it was a wonderful fresh water fish that was meaty like the halibut with a nice natural cream but grew like a trout.

With the operation expanding his younger brother had taken to representing the company in New York, while Kevin would be at the new fishery being built in northern Minnesota, and his parents had come with him in tow on his 28th birthday to celebrate and have another ta-ta-rah before he and his brother was separated from the family by such a big sea. Being he was born during his parents fishery summits in the US he was the logical choice to represent the companies interests in America due to his dual citizenship.

They had partied hard, perhaps taken a bit more stout then was proper, and he and his brother both had been worse for the hair of the dog Sunday morning and so their parents had gone on without them. They had both promised they would go to evening mass, even midnight mass if one was available to make up for it before the family parted ways on the next day. Despite being at the Waldorf Hotel his parents had walked the several blocks to St. Patricks. When the massacre happened his brother and he slept. After waking his brother made to leave as he had urged him to, and he became lost in the city. The world had gone mad, his reservations were up and he dared not ask for more and instead sought something he knew his parents would not approve. He sought revenge.

Due to this he found his way to all the churches, dojo's or what have you, and all the seediest contacts he could make to prepare and deal revenge. One such stop at a church found him at St. Patrick's and lending his might to those there. Defending what he can, and avenging what he can't as the world becomes bleak.

 

I got one more player to post his CS and then Monday I'll get the opening post up for all of you. Of course sign ups will still be open for any future players.

 

Approved by our mighty GM!

Name: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: American
Age: 26

Appearance:


Over the years, Gustavo has put together a decent set of gear. He’s scavenged a protective vest, elbow and knee pads, heavy gloves, shin guards, insulated boots and weather proof garments. His leather duster and bandoleer for his silvered blades are a staple. He carries a silvered spear with a shaft banded in leather and steel rings. And his luckiest find, ‘Madame X’, which is the nickname for a still functional, albeit depleted laser weapon he recovered from the corpse of a dead MP.



Where Were You: He was 16 years old when it happened. Gustavo lived in the L.E.S, Lower East Side in New York City. Third Street and avenue A to be exact. It was just another day as he was coming home from school. He was rushing home as he had to go to the dojo after school and had forgotten his gear at home. Mom would be at Church, getting her ashes.

As planned, he grabbed a bite to eat from the fridge, read Mom’s note and headed to the dojo. On his way, his Samsung Galaxy Omega was beeping with multiple messages from friends and news feeds, even a local alert had gone off. There was some kind of riot going on in the city. Gus reached the dojo, where everyone was looking at the news. Their faces….haunted. Curious, he walked over to the plasma screen, and what he saw would not only blow his mind, it would change his life forever.

After the Ash Wednesday Massacre, ( that’s what the media outlets were calling that terrible incident) the entire city was in the grip of fear. Everything had changed in a blink of an eye. No one felt safe. And thus, it wasn’t long before terror struck again. Several weeks later, there was another Lykan incident, unknown to most, this was spill-over from the Hell’s Kitchen reprisal. On this particular day, there was a sudden commotion outside the dojo…and it grew louder as it got closer. The sound of fighting became more intense. There were grunts of pain, animal snarling, then screams. Everyone rushed into the sparring room and grabbed weapons. Gus followed suit, his heart racing….fear began to challenge his disciplined mind. Training to win a street brawl was one thing….but…werewolves? His mind could not wrap itself around it. These creatures belonged in anime, in D&D games and fiction stories. They weren’t real. That’s when the room burst into chaos and the snarling fury of a wounded lykan was made a reality. Someone had shot the creature, but it was not nearly enough to bring it down.

The carnage at the dojo was something he would never forget. Punches and kicks were ineffective against the thing. Only those with weapons training seemed to have a little hope. Gus had only begun weapons training in January. Still, the thing cut down through many students and elder brothers with frightening ease, for the creature was both strong and fast. They were all yelling and KIAYING at the top of their lungs, swept up by the frenzied moment. Two brothers proficient with the staff engaged the creature, but wood against claws was a poor match-up, which fared the same as claws against flesh. Gus managed to stab the creature where he thought a kidney should be, thankfully he was far enough not to be shredded open by the back-swipe from the creature, though his spear was now shattered. The thing turned to him, and surely he knew he would be dead, but Sifu, who had not died from an earlier wound, drove his sword clean through the creature…with every erg his last breath could muster.

It was over, and nearly everyone was dead. Mom never came home that night. Gus….he knew why, even before he was called to identify the body. Ever since that day…he knew….he knew what he had to do and how he would die.

Brief Background:Ironically enough, the little Gus had learned about fighting werewolves came from stories, and they happened to be true. Silver was fatal to them and wolfsbane an irritant. Gus, now known as ‘Guts’, allied himself with other werewolf survivors from young, training and learning how to hunt them in groups and how to best flee from a pack and throw off their tracking senses. In time, Guts found his way to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and became completely loyal to Father MacCaffery.

To his last breath, Guts has vowed to put and end to the threat of the Lycans and exact his long awaited revenge.


***********************

 

Okay! Here we go! Like to welcome everyone who signed up and got their CSs approved and posted. Welcome! Welcome! Hope you guys will have fun. I'll try to update as regularly as possible and do my best to keep you excited! Those of you who have seen my writings will know it'll be worth the read at least.

Now on with the slaughter... err I mean show!

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Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori, John Garrett, Michaela Welch

25 December, 2065​

The Nave - St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York City​

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Candlelight illuminated the interior of the cathedral's nave, casting a warm glow upon the statuary and altars that lined the nave of the great house. Only the High Altar and the Lady Chapel were illuminated with luminescent wall scones and lamps, a feint hum of a generator vibrating somewhere within the stone walls of the centuries old building. The thick pillars in the nave were decorated with green wreaths tied with red bows that had seen better years. The quite murmur of whispered voices and suppressed coughs echoed in the massive chamber while the miserable humans found comfort and warmth amongst the pews, beneath thick blankets and coats, and upsetting the tranquil ambiance of the cathedral.​

​

There were about a hundred people laying or sitting about, all varying in ages and nationality. Some were pacing with weapons of many types that they had either scavenged or made themselves. Some had families, children as young as a newborn, as they huddled together for warmth. Despite the bleakness of their situation they still managed to find happiness and miracles in the darkness. A child's laughter rang out from near the right altar of St. Rose of Lima where a mother and her child sat beneath the comforting presence of the Saint. Kneeling in front of them was a man dressed in the frock of a priest, his black hair groomed back neatly and his young face smiling at the child even though his blue eyes spoke of sadness. He whispered something to the little girl and she giggled before he handed her a small gift, a worn brown teddy bear with a red ribbon tied into a pretty bow on its head. The girl squealed in delight at the gift and hugged it for all the world before giving the priest a hug around his neck in thanks.​

​

Slowly he stood and whispered a word of prayer over the small family before moving to the next person in his flock. Following him was a young nun with similar sharp blue eyes and sharp cheekbones as the priest that one could say they were siblings. She was of the same age as he and also carried the same sadness in her eyes as the Father. In her arms were a few toys waiting to be given out to the few children the church sheltered, each one decorated with a red ribbon and looking just as worn as the teddy bear.​

​

Finding anything new and pristine in the war torn city was nigh impossible, anything and everything of use having been looted by vandals and survivors long ago. But some things were still found if one knew where to look and was willing to brave the empty streets for them. The toys were a commodity that the survivors were willing to scavenge just so that the children could have a Christmas again.​

​

A loud shriek of the great bronze doors drew the attention of all within and the priest straightened from his task to see what would interrupt the tranquility of this Christmas morning while those armed held their breathes in anticipation of trouble. The tension was easily felt amongst the humans as a quietness settled upon the nave. Somewhere a radio spoke softly through the occasional static, the accented words of an Englishman reaching across the room as he conveyed to the world his annual Christmas address. “... it is the twenty-fifth of December in the year of our Lord, twenty sixty-five and I, King Henry IX, bid all humans across the world a Merry Christmas even as our brothers and sisters continue to make the world a safer place for us all from the foul darkness...”​

​

Father Minghan visibly relaxed as the intruders entered and he handed the small toy to the boy he had about to give to, the quiet murmur of voices filling the atmosphere once again and the guardians returning to their pacing. He gave a quick prayer and spoke to Sister Tala to finish for him while he headed to greet the small returning band of fighters and scavengers. The cold of the bitter December winter blew into the cathedral through the partially opened door, dumping flakes of snow upon the marbled floor. The dark skinned Zeeza N'dori dusted clusters of snow from her dark locks as she passed through the portal and accepted Minghan's warm greeting. Accompanying her was John Garrett, the former police officer from Pennsylvania that had found himself stuck on the island after doing his duty. He too was covered in snow and glancing out the door, Minghan could see the beginnings of a snow storm blowing outside and was pleased that they had returned before it could get too worse.​

​

“Welcome home, Zee, John,” he greeted while the rest of their party filed in and the great door finally closed with an echoing, metallic clang. “You can tell me all about your venture beside the fire and some hot tea in your hands. I do hope it was fruitful.” He led the returning survivors through the nave's center aisle before turning down the left transept where a makeshift fireplace had been erected into the north wing to provide some warmth during the harsh winters. Sitting with some of the children who had grown to like her, was the Irish accented singer, Michaela Welch. Father Minghan had heard her singing earlier to them when he had given them their Christmas morning gifts and although he knew she was quiet most of the time for reasons he did not know but had once asked about and had been given no answer, he was pleased that she had taken to the church's children.​

​

An old iron kettle rested in the fireplace and with the help of a poker, he brought it forward and started preparing the offered tea. Once he handed John and Zee ceramic mugs that displayed “I Jesus!” or a picture of the great cathedral and its name on the sides, luxuries they had been fortunate to have from the now empty gift shop, Minghan gestured for his wards to make themselves comfortable and relay their morning to him.​

TAG: @Ktala, spycoder9, HanSolo29

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Kevin O'Brian, Gustavo 'Guts' Guerrero

25 December, 2065​

The North Tower, St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York City​

​

The left spire, or North Tower, loomed over the wide street of Fifth Avenue. Its great windows and height gave quite the view to the two observers that sat perched within the stone masonry of the cathedral. Adjacent to the north was West 51st Street and a skyrise with many of its windows blown out from the Battle of New York and the many skirmishes since then. Along the southern side of the cathedral was West 50th Street and a shorter building that also had seen better days and probably just as old as St. Patrick's. Buildings, debris and burnt out vehicles lined Fifth Avenue across the wide roadway and provided quite the cover for snipers and other assailants and although the lycans had never bothered with such covert tactics, it did not mean they wouldn't.​

​

From Gustavo 'Guts' Guerrero and Kevin O'Brian's experiences with the werewolves, the monsters seemed to prefer to attack in numbers and with the savagery of beasts rather than with the advanced weaponry man had created in the last two centuries. At least at night they did. They never seemed to encounter them during the day even though the monsters could travel while the sun warmed the city. They were not vampires after all but it was Kevin's opinion that the animals simply preferred to use the strength of their ferocious forms more than their inferior human shapes.​

​

Though Guts knew, even human, the things were strong. He had fought one during the Hell's Kitchen incident back when the world just discovered the monsters. He knew how strong in either form they could be. And yet the lycans never bothered to use weapons. Perhaps it was because they felt invincible because silver was a rare commodity to come by and although steel bullets were painful to suffer, it would not kill them. Or perhaps the beasts were simply too stupid to know how to utilize the weapons while they were shifted.​

​

Minghan had once expressed that they simply wanted to show their superiority over men and therefore did not need to use such conventional means to fight mankind. Regardless for their reasons, neither men who sat in the tower stood guard because they may have felt the monsters could change tactics one day. No, they stood guard to protect the cathedral and those within. Armed with military grade assault rifles a group had salvaged from an ambushed Army caravan some years ago and one laser rifle, the two stood vigil even as the returning scavengers crossed the expansive street and were granted entry by the guards outside. The wide streets made it perfect for them to spot any approaching lycans.​

​

Snow had begun falling on the city again some hours ago, adding more inches to the fallen piles already. The window's stone sill in which they looked out from was covered in the white stuff, icicles dripping slowly from the arches above and creating jagged teeth of ice. It was cold in the tower despite the small fire grille of burning coals behind them and the layers of winter clothing they wore.​

​

The sound of soft feet climbing the wooden staircase were heard and taking a glance Sister Tala emerged through the wooden doorway with two ceramic mugs of steaming hot tea. “I thought you boys could use something to warm you up,” she greeted and handed them the drinks and set a thermal container beside the grille for them. “John and Zee's group has returned, but you two knew that already didn't you?” She waited by the door for a moment before asking, “No trouble this Christmas morning, I hope?”​

​

They had seen nothing out of the ordinary all morning since they started their shift at dawn. Aside from a few stray animals that belonged in the zoo that quickly scampered away and out of sight, the streets were unusually quiet.​

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto greyjedi125

 

Oh yeah. Ktala spycoder9 feel free to make up your morning venture.

Also you all are encouraged to knock heads together and make up a history for yourselves for the last 10 years. Also gonna see about getting an OOC thread started for this so I can provide information, such as a floor plan of the cathedral, for all of you and a place to discuss your characters and the plot.

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
The North Tower, St. Patrick's Cathedral, NYC on 12-25-65'

Looking out upon the streets of 5th and 51st he could not help but occasionally take a somber slow breath through clenched teeth. It was not the cold chilling him that made him breath his heavy breath, it was rather merely the same site seen one too many times without knowing how the rest of the world, his isle of it at least, was faring. The old adage that 'No news was good news' did nothing for him, not when he looked out upon this broken city scape.

Still he breathed and shifted, keeping his eyes scanning for damnation by taking his own revenge, instead of letting the good Lord work His in His own time. Only so far nothing but a traveling had passed by his eyes or his scope. He lifted the rifle to check the shattered windows of the tower across one way from them, working his way down with both eyes open to eventually scan the row of cars on that side of the street. A dangerous spot to be in, but if experience showed one thing it was that they likely would have a very boring shift. . .except it was quiet. Even with the spotting of the returning group he had simply grunted to the lad that was working with him, automatically he hastened his sweep of the cars before shifting quickly, left, right, center, and back again. Making sure those returning hadn't picked up any sort of tail, in the literal sense in some ways, still it was quiet and nothing came of it.

He was itching for something to happen, but all that did was the Sister coming up the stairs to share a couple cups of tea with them, that and the snow was falling harder now. His first winter here he had found it cold and unrelenting, but then he had been just learning, the war just starting, and his hate not yet a match for the cold winds and harsh damp snow. Now he merely tugged at his winter coat and suffered the cold in silence, wasting his breath about it would do no one any good.

"Thank ye from the bottom of my frozen fingers." with another heavy breath and forced toothy smile he slung his procured military rifle over a shoulder as he set about getting the tea properly set for himself and his fellow watcher, "Hmm, a bit too quiet, but maybe that is merely a sign we are starting to make headway after all these years." he didn't believe it for a second. But sometimes an encouraging word, even without conviction would go further than a disparaging one to keep them all going.

TAG: greyjedi125, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Here is the OOC thread. St. Patrick's Cathedral. A little bit more information has been added via that thread that your characters would have learned over the last decade. I'll be adding to it as the game progresses and let you know when new stuff is added.

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
25 December, 2065- St.Patrick’s, NYC, North Tower

His expression was the same as it had always been. Stone faced and frowning, like that of someone who had just lost an argument and preferred to be left alone. Behind that mask, Gus felt internally relieved when he and Kevin finally spotted the scouts returning to the cathedral. Kevin was able to confirm that Zeeza and John were neither injured or being followed. They had not encountered any other survivors either…and they seemed unburdened by newfound supplies. But they were alive an well,albeit could from the looks of it. He would never admit it openly, but Gus always worried for any who ventured out of the cathedral, with the exception of himself and some of the more experienced survivors.

It was Christmas, but Gus never celebrated. He had not celebrated for ten years now, not since that day.

After the scavenger party arrived, Gus utilized the thermal scope in the Laser Rifle to do his hourly recon check - which lasted for a few minutes. He was very conscientious that the Laser Rifle’s power supply was not infinite. It was bound to run out eventually. Hopefully later rather than sooner,but there was no way to be certain, since the LED was broken. Furthermore, and to his continued dismay, no one had been able to find a replacement power pack, or a suitable match.

So far, there was no sing of Lykans. Everything was blanketed in white snow, it was Christmas…and quiet.Too quiet. He would not admit it openly,but it was almost unnerving. Like the still before a storm. His guts told him as much.

Either way, Gus wanted nothing better than to go back to his own copy of “Werewolves Among Us.” He’d read it over for what was quite likely a hundred and fifty times, at the very least. He’d memorized most of it, in the hopes of discovering some elusive secret about the Lykans. Father MacCaffery had armed them with great knowledge, which until this very day, was the only thing keeping them alive…despite his own personal feelings about the war and their future. There was only one other name which held great significance to him besides Father Minghan, and that was Pierre DuMont.

The sound of footsteps caught his attention, and Gus turned before Sister Tala emerged through the wooden doorway with two ceramic mugs of steaming hot tea.

“I thought you boys could use something to warm you up.” the sister said as she greeted them and handed them their drinks.

“Thank you,Sister.” Gus managed to say as he offered a solid nod and accepted the steaming mug in both hands. The warmth of the mug alone brought an indescribably pleasant relief to his chilled hands, he almost could not wait to imbibe the hot liquid.

“Thank ye from the bottom of my frozen fingers.” Kevin said chiming in as only Kevin would.

“John and Zee’s group has returned, but you two knew that already didn’t you?”

Gus only nodded as he was already gulping down the mug’s content, the liquid warming his digestive tract and radiating much needed relief through him. He wanted to ask if the scouts brought any news, but figured that Sister Tala would have said as much if it had been urgent. Anything else they could learn in due time.

“No trouble this Christmas morning, I hope?” the Sister inquired, still holding her position at the door. Gus admired her kindness and perseverance. Certainly she was getting cold as well. As for an answer, Kevin managed a response before he could form one.

“Hmm, a bit too quiet, but maybe that is merely a sign we are starting to make headway after all these years.”

Gus gave Kevin a disbelieving side glance but held his peace for a beat.

“Thanks again for the tea Sister Tala, we truly appreciate the gesture and do not wish to keep you out here longer than it’s needed.”

Gus offered an awkward smile and waited after the sister was gone before saying anything else.

“Thank ye…?” He said to Kevin as he put down his now empty mug, rubbed his hands together, tightened his winter gear around him,and picked up his assault rifle. “Don’t tell me you’ve been reading the KJV of late…”

Gus shook his head. “Anyway…I agree with the part about it being too quiet out here. Dunno about no headway, since I haven’t seen no Lykan bearing no white flag, have you?”

Gus took position against a wall and looked through the scope of his assault rifle, doing another sweep of the area.

“Yeah, too quiet…don’t like it…” he murmured.

Ten years and he still felt no peace in his heart. He hated lykans when he was awake, for all the suffering they had visited upon the world for no apparent reason or provocation. He had no dreams when he slept, only nightmares of killing lykans or being killed by them, so he only slept for four hours at most. The worst was when he dreamt about them killing his mother. Michaela reminded him so much of her.

No. No one was ever allowed to call him anything other than ‘Guts’. If anyone should ever call him ‘Gus’, he would only hear her name…and that he would never allow. So, it was best just to hunt, and kill those beats. Protecting the cathedral was only going to be effective for so long.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
The North Tower, St. Patrick's Cathedral, NYC on 12-25-65'

The young showed some manners from his hardened facade, and Kevin was glad of it. Hate to the lycan was one thing, but not showing common courtesy to your human hosts was another entirely. The boy was polite and the Sister finally left them to their elevated retreat, well as elevated as this building allowed, compared to the others around them it was nearly scraping the earth. Something the high Olympic Tower attested to.

The boy ribbed him on his use of words, but for some things he just shook his head. The boy was quick with the tongue and he let him know it, after he had a deep drink from his hot tea, nearly burning it wormed it's way past hardened lips and soft pallet to descend into his guts, where the warmth of it all seemed to radiate out, and flow so he could almost imagine he could trace his own innards. Something he had seen far too often of others as the battle with lycans had raged on these past ten years.

"Now I know ye are not about to shame me for being a Connaught man are ye? And don't be draggin' the good Lord into this for me liking the good Book on occasion either." Shifting he sniffed deeply at his tea mug, reluctant to drink the last so deeply and be so soon devoid of its presence.

"It's the least we can do, seeings how the good Lord shelters us here, not to mention the Father and Sister here." With a sharp nod he looked out, "But ye be right, I merely was trying to spare our host some fear. No harm in enjoying a Christmas without worrying of something you cannot prove. After all, they might just be busy someplace else today."

Lifting his cup he drank the last, then scooping up some fresh fallen snow he filled the cup before setting it in front of the heater. Better to get what free water they could and make the supplies last a little longer, though he did not look forward to drinking the cold water later. Taking up his rifle he once more resumed his scans after looking back to make sure the other lookouts hadn't spotted anything whilst he and the lad had been distracted by their tea.

TAG: @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo , greyjedi125

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
25 December, 2065 - St. Patrick’s, NYC, North Tower

He heard himself chuckling despite himself, which made him chuckle some more. It wasn’t an unwelcome sound. There wasn’t much to smile or laugh about, so he didn’t mind it much whenever it happened. Kevin was a good watcher. He was attentive, had an easy enough disposition and didn’t mince words. The man knew how to speak to others without being condescending. That was a big plus in Gus’s book.

Having a good disposition was key to surviving the cramped living arrangements within the cathedral. Disputes were unwelcome, but not inevitable. Gus knew he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, so he did count his blessings now and again.

“You keep reading the good book my friend. I might need you to recite a verse or two from time to time…”

Gus glanced over at Kevin and offered a faint smile and a respectful nod.

The man was right. At least they had shelter so far. A haven for survivors…

The lycans. They’d launched their initial attack during Ash Wednesday ten years ago. They clearly had no respect for Holy Days. Why should anyone assume they wouldn’t attack during Christmas. It was foolish to think that. Be that as it may, they wouldn’t be catching him by surprise, not if he could help it. That didn’t mean he had to go around dampening other folks spirits - especially that of the children. Let them enjoy what little childhood they had left. It’s what his mother would have wanted.

“Ultimate Fantasy….” Gus said aloud all of a sudden, while still scoping the area with his assault rifle.

“It was some mmorpg I got. It boasted over two million subscribers, and I had just become one of them. That was the last christmas gift I ever got. You could play as a human, an elf, a dwarf…even a werewolf.”

Gus shook his head, a wry smile briefly gracing his face. “Three months later, the fantasy became a nightmarish reality…..” He let out a sigh, his breath forming a whitish mist before him.

“That’s my enduring memory of Christmas.”

Perhaps it was best not to make idle conversation. It’s not like he had anything cheerful to share anyway. For him, it was always best to focus on survival.

“We should do a roll-call and check-in on all the other watchers. Just to be sure.”

He tried to sound nonchalant about it as he began to look about.

Where did they put down the radio anyway?


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori, 25 December, 2065
Manhattan, New York City


Christmas.

Zeeza looked out down the street. They had left the cathedral in the early morning hours, going to find stuff that they could use. It was snowing pretty good outside. She gave a slight smile, as the snow reminded her of some long gone lost memory. They had gotten up early, strapping on makeshift snowshoes, as they set out looking for supplies. Even if she didnt see Christmas the same way anymore, it was mostly for the kids in the church that she kept an eye out for stuff. She looked down from her perch, scanning the streets ahead. She and Garret, the guy she had gone out in search of stuff with was keeping watch. Zeeza quickly jumped down, strapping on her shoes, and pointing down a street. "That way looks clear." she told him with a grin. They had left early, so that they might have a chance to find something nice for the day. Also, Zeeza had talked to Garrett about going a bit farther than they normally would go. Supplies were dwindling near them. They had already been picked to death, in the many years people had been scavenging the area. To keep feeding people, it was becoming increasingly clear, that they would have to forage out further and further. Zeeza didnt like going into the major stores. Far too many wolvies used those places like their version of a watering hole. So she stayed away, when she could. Only some places she went to, because they were not prime spots. Like toy shops, jewelry stores, and other places.

They had decided to go to a library. It was a few blocks south of the cathedral. Zeeza and Garrett seemed to work pretty good together. She liked going out on supplies runs with him. He would watch her back, while she dove it, scrambling through areas that look promising, for anything that might be considered useful. And they had what Zee considered a pretty good haul. They had managed to find a can of pork and beans, and 3 entire cans of spam!! That would be a treat, as many had not seen real meat in a long time. Well, almost real meat. Either way, it would be welcomed. A good Christmas indeed! Bakery goods had long gone. If you were lucky, you might run into a Twinky or something, but that was rare indeed. But as they were rummaging through some abandoned cars, Zeeza ran into 2 candy bars, Hersheys! A half a pack of matches, 2 AA batteries. A good haul so far.

But they did have some excitement. They had just gotten within a few blocks of the library, when Garrett spotted something. They ducked down, hiding behind some junk, when he pointed. People. In the beginning, finding other people was considered a good thing. But, unless you had anything that could tell you if they were human or other, you learned quick to not take stuff on face value. They might be in human form, but the wolvies were much more stronger. So they just stayed hidden, until the others had disappeared. They were bundled up pretty well. Zeeza couldnt even tale if they were male or female. Zeeza made a note where they had spotted them. Hopefully, there was not a lair nearby. The other time, while Zee was dumpster diving, when she thought she heard growling. Nearly had a heart attack! Roaming animals were dangerous, as they were usually hungry. And when she didnt see Garrett, her heart nearly dropped. But, she didnt see anything, and she hoped that whatever it was, he had scared it off.

But they finally made it to the library. But they didnt stay long. Place was too big, and since it was only the two of them, it was too many places for attacks. But Zeeza loved the library, she used to spend many hours there, in the not too distant past, so she decided to chance it. She ran in, grabbing a few books, before darting out once more, her few precious books tucked into her backpack. Two books from the kids section, one from medical, and one from fiction, plus a few magazines was all she could spare time for.

Zeeza kept an eye open for any small shops, tucked off to the side. She was always on a look out for seeds. Even old rotten vegetables were useful. Bad potatoes could be planted in the churches garden, in order to grow new potatoes. Also, some folks had tried growing stuff in patio gardens and other places around the city, so if one was lucky, vegetables could be had. Fruits were harder to locate. Sometimes, during the spring, the animals could show you places. The zoos sometimes had some stuff growing wild, but you had to deal with the other animals there too. But that was impossible during this snowy mess. Unless the stuff was canned. Zeeza had not seen canned fruit in ages.

On their way back, they passed another church that had not been as lucky as theirs. It had been ransacked, and the place torn apart. Zeeza didnt want to think of what had happened inside this place. But she did managed to find a few old half chunks of candles in the place, and some funky incense. She was hoping for more silver, but the place looked like it had been cleaned out pretty well. Zeeza moved through the place as fast as she could go. They had to get back soon. It was death, to be on the streets once the sun set. And they had a way to go, to get back to the safety of the church. She hoped Garrett got lucky, and found a few things as well. With that, they turned and headed back for the church.


The Nave - St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York City

Zeeza was always happy to see the archways of the old church. It was a comforting sight, better than all the old skyscrapers. Though she had to admit, when she first went inside of the church, all the statues creeped her out major. She had never been in a huge Catholic church before, so all the stuff inside, was like having folks staring at you. Constantly. But now, she had gotten used to them. Zeeza smiled, as the priest, Father Minghan greeted them as they walked in, the soft murmur of voices within the building was warm and inviting. Zeeza did her best to shake all the snow from herself, removing her hood. The wind was picking up outside. They made it back just in time.

“Welcome home, Zee, John,” he greeted. Zeeza smiled. "Hello, Father." chimed back in greeting as she shook her head. The Father continued, “You can tell me all about your venture beside the fire and some hot tea in your hands. I do hope it was fruitful.” OOh Hot tea sounded perfect right now, Zee thought to herself. She grinned. He led them down the center aisle of the church, to a makeshift fireplace. An old iron kettle rested in the fireplace and with the help of a poker, he brought it forward and started preparing the offered tea. Zeeza took the mug offered to her, and sat back enjoying the warmth of the mug against her fingers. She sat back, deciding to let Garrett go first on updating the father, while she sipped on her tea, enjoying the warmth inside.



TAG: HanSolo29, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

GM approved!

Name: Robert Gruber
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: German-American
Age: 52


Appearance:

Where Were You: At home. I was at home. The thing is, I should not have been. I should have been there. I should have been with my wife and my two kids and if I had been I would not have been forced into the hollow miserable existence I am now living. The girl you saw on TV, the one with half her face ripped of, that was my little girl. You remember it? I remember every detail of it, as if it was burned into my subconscious.

Brief Background: Gruber was once a successful industrialist with a chain of factories and a high profile contract for the US army to produce the one good that the world always needs more of. Ammo. 7.62. 45er. 9mm. Whatever it was, his firm had it. American Ammo Industries also developed secret ammunition for the US army. Stealth ammo. Smart ammo. Invisible ammo. Cheap ammo. Armor piercing ammo. There were so many types of ammo not even the CEO had any idea how many they build. The war changed all that, of course. The state took what they had in store and yet, it did not did them any good. A world of ammo was rendered useless against an enemy who was immune to it.

Gruber did not care. He did not care to be evacuated in a helicopter from his estate in Manhattan, either. He did not care at all to run away. That night, when he saw what happened to his family he took all the family silver . . . and rich New Yorkers like they had become had quite a bit of silver . . . and went to the cellar, where his old machines were stored away. Then he begun to built the only ammo the world would need. Silver bullets. He melted a fortune in silver and made bullets out of it, only emerging from work to get something to eat. That way he missed most of humanities little apocalypse. When he emerged the bridges were down and the tunnels sealed. The city lay in ruins. Yet, he had what he needed. He left the safety of his highly secured flat with his best rifle and his bullets and began to hunt.

He did little else for the last 10 years. By now he has found a new home in the new church, but that does not mean he spends a lot time there. Whenever he feels like it he leaves and hunts the hunters. Some think he is a revenge junkie. The few people who know him better know, that he truly is looking for death out there. Hoping every night, that he is killed, while feeling the obligation to do whatever he can to stay alive. Over the years he grew better. But he compensated this by taking greater risks. An expert marksman and skilled in stealth Robert nevertheless feels his age slowly demanding it’s tribute. It only fits him well. As long as he has his gun and bullets, he will keep on killing. And when he runs out of his precious silver ammo? Now there are only 32 of his original 300 bullets left. He also has created a silver knife and many say he will hunt with that one, once he runs out of bullets. Others say he saves the last bullet for himself. Time will show. For now he is the worst enemy the wolves can imagine. A man with nothing too loose.


The “Gruber” is a custom made prototype rifle for military use, having a five shot capacity and a remarkable precision. Laser-sight is integrated as an option. The gun is unusual silent and deadly. Gruber has no other ammo than his silver bullets.

 

I will update for everyone else either tomorrow evening or Thurs evening. For now, time to get Fins in on the hunt.

​

​

Robert Gruber​

​

25 December, 2065​

Gruber Estates, Manhattan​

"Are you certain about this, Robert?" Father Minghan had asked quietly of the former businessman early that Christmas morning. They stood near the statue of Saint Paul beneath the cathedral's main organ, he already dressed in his vestments and Robert Gruber clothed in layers of winter and military gear. His special rifle was slung over his shoulder and resting against his back. "You do not have to be alone on this day." It was a conversation they have had a thousand times since Minghan had learned of the fates of Gruber's family so many years ago. Every time the young priest would try to convince Gruber to stay when certain days of the year approached and they both knew that his pleas would be for naught once more.​

The man was insistent.​

"You know why," the German-American replied while adjusting the strap of a piece of gear. He gestured behind them at the sleeping humans in and around the pews. Light snores permeated the air and Minghan could hear the whispered giggles of a couple children that had woken early in anticipation of Christmas. "It's better that I am alone to..."​

Father Minghan placed a warm, gentle hand on Robert's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I know. You need not have to tell me again. As the Shepard of this flock, it is my duty to watch out for all who are my sheep. Including you." He lowered his hand and sighed sadly before adding. "If you must go then Godspeed to you, Robert. Just remember when you're ready, I am here." Robert nodded silently before turning on his feet and slipping out the entrance, the bronze door closing behind him with a metallic ring. The priest shook his head in silence before turning back to the rest of his slumbering flock. He gave a silent prayer for the vengeful man before making his rounds through the cathedral.​

The sun would be over the horizon by the time Robert reached his destination. The journey was uneventful and bitterly cold that perhaps the weather for a change kept the foul werewolves in whatever places they called home. Snow had begun to fall when the sun peaked over the cityscape. The only signs of life that Robert had seen were a couple scavenging humans back in the city and they had not been a part of St. Patrick's survivors and without getting closer he had no way of knowing if they were human or if they were lycans pretending to be human. Things were becoming scarce on the island and it would not be surprising if the werewolves resorted to scavenging too. It was only a matter of time before the monsters converged on the largest group of humans in the city.​

But that was a concern for tomorrow. The broken door of the mansion, on the other hand, was much more important. Someone or something had broken in since he had last been here.​

TAG: @DarkLordoftheFins​

 

Robert Gruber
Gruber Estates, Manhattan


The cold allowed him to stay focussed. Every breath he took came with a little pain and pain always helped him focus. He had been in pain for many, many years now. Returning to the root of all pain had allowed him to keep this pain alive. To grow it even. To domesticate it, until the pain itself became a tool. A way to understand himself, to be himself really. No, even more. He was this pain. It was what was left of him.

His pain had killed many, many Lycans over the year. One day the pain would kill him. This pain was almost a new life form. A necessary evolution of his old self, perfectly adapted to world filled with death. Silver and pain was all the once mighty Gruber Empire was good for now.

The door had been broken open. Broken. It had not been lock picked. They had not used the window. The door itself. Humans? Possible. Lycans? Statistically that was more likely. Robert did not decide to take his weapon of his back. His body knew what to do without his consciousness making decisions. The sleek rifle crawled into his arms, like a hungry pet begging to be feed. Ad like the snoring of a cat the snap of the safety button going down was . . . comforting.

Five bullets were in the rifle. More in the backpack, although the chance to reload was not a very realistic one. Slowly raising the gun he walked towards the door. There was no fear, nor was their anticipation. It was Christmas, he was at home. What better place to die was there?

In his mind he began to concentrate, allowing nothing but vigilance and perception to rule his gestures as he entered the house where in another life he had been . . . happy. A shade of an emotion even more alien to him than any Lycan by now.

To keep his mind from unnecessary thoughts he began to recite in his head the only poem he had read since the war began. T.S. Eliot was a perfect fit for this new world.

“We are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men. Leaning together, headpiece filled with straw. Alas!” He entered and just when he had silently slipped in he checked the room nearby. If it was empty he would kick the door and retreat to it, to wait for anyone to come and check for an intruder.

“Our tried voices, when we whisper together. Are quiet and meaningless. As wind in dry glass. Or rats feet over broken glass. In our dry cellar.”

He moved quickly with his gun as a natural extension of his sight now.

“Shade without form. Shade without colour.”

Something deep inside him knew why he quoted T.S. Eliot whenever he was out here. He was like the man in this poem. He was awaiting his death. Death had just kept him waiting for so very, very long.

So would this be his execution or the execution of the intruder today? The time would show. And if nobody else was here? What then?

Same question.

He was Robert Gruber. He was home. He smiled and felt his heartbeat.

“With direct eyes – to death’s other Kingdom. Remember us – if at all – not as lost.”

Not as lost.

Tag: Cmdr

 

The Cmdr has approved my presence here

Name: Benjamin Eshkol
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: Israeli
Age: 40

Appearance: Dark eyes, dark brown hair, greying at temples prematurely. Tanned complexion, in good physical condition for his age, long, delicate fingers.


Where Were You: Where I'd been ordered. Where I'd been for two years - in the protective escort of the Israeli Ambassador to the United Nations, who himself had been in New York when the Ash Wednesday Massacre hit, and the war, when what we called the Years of the Wolf began. I remember that day, in the UN Building. Everyone was rushing around, but the Ambassador - Solomon Ben Gurion - he was like a stone at the bottom of a whirlpool. He sat there, watching the screens. He didn't move. He just watched. And when the news channels started repeating the same bulletins, he whispered something. I wish I knew what it was.

Brief Background: Well, where do you start with a life. Especially when the past ten years feel like I never left home. Why not where I'm from. I was born in Israel, born one of the Chosen, went through the britz too young to remember it, thank God. There's some settler blood in me, apparently, but the family didn't talk much about it. They were always more interested in farming; none of that GM stuff they used to make the Arabian deserts green, back to good old dirt and dung and seeds and sun. I don't know whether it was my grandfather or my father who taught me more about that. But it must've got in there somewhere between them having me run up and down hills for them.

Then of course I did my two years in the IDF, and to my everlasting discredit I wasn't able to conceal I was better with my fingers than my eyesight. By then of course there was enough VR enhancement gear that glasses didn't preclude you from Special Forces anymore, so over I went to the School, and there they taught me an extra ten ways to kill someone, although truthfully I can't remember more than one or two now, and they're only from long range. They taught me to use electronic seeds there; all the seeds that go into bombs and listening devices and motion detectors and all the rest. And they taught me how to get in and out without being seen.

Why a bombs and burglaries man wound up on the retinue of an Ambassador to the United Nations I ascribe to bureaucratic mentality.
Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I do know why I wound up here: because when the Army lost control of Manhattan Island and it started to go bad, there was one less seat on the helicopter out than required. I am not bitter about that. To their credit they did what they could for me before flying off into the sunset. They left me with enough weapons -- pretty well all of them are gone now -- and enough ammo -- much of which is gone now -- to last a few years. And they also thoughtfully left behind my personal packages, which similarly has gone thin over the years but still has a few oddments left to it. It does not escape me that I might well be the last Jew in New York City. Given what the old reruns of Seinfeld used to suggest about the Big Apple it's about as not-funny as the show was.

That is not the only irony. More than anything else, the last ten years have been about being a farmer. There is the adrenalin-pumping, screaming terror of the prospect of being torn limb from limb by a Lycan, of course, but I've been a farmer first and foremost.

Aconitum Ranunculaceae, known by the very goy name of Wolfsbane, you see, grows in mountainous regions in the northern hemisphere, a perennial poison, and does so in all seasons, providing of course you give it well-drained but moisture-holding soil. New York City lacks natural mountains of course, but the skyscrapers they'd built out here had been enough stories on them to simulate different atmospheres let alone different climates. I've got a decent number of window boxes out on Olympic Tower, next door to the Cathedral. The hardest part was finding the stuff in the wild to start with. I've kept the good stuff and the larger crops hidden sufficiently that I don't think I'll run out any time soon. That's been bitter experience; I had other crops on other skyscrapers but they've succumbed either to Lycans or worse still, other people. Soil's not simple to come by, but I suppose if forced I could set out with a spade for Central Park.
Not that I'd like to do that, mind.
Meanwhile, there's also been the bench-testing, trying to make little smoke bombs that the Lycans really don't terribly like one bit, and hand-throwing ammunition with aconitum coating ... motion sensors on the crops, IEDs ... all the usual things. Being a farmer. Growing death, if you will.

 

Michaela Welch
The Nave, St. Patrick's Cathedral, NYC

Another Christmas coming to pass inside the church walls.​

​

Michaela knew she should have come to expect to experience another Christmas beneath God’s eye, but for some crazy idea, she had harbored a private hope that this curse might be lifted from the world, and she could return home. Thoughts of home rose unbidden every holiday, thoughts of her parents and her homeland, thoughts of life before the world had changed forever. She forever pushed them away, as Riley showed her his little toy truck. The red ribbon on it signified its status as a gift, but without it, Michaela might have mistaken it for another used present. A wheel was missing, the front left, though the little boy took no notice as he drove it in circles on an invisible track. ​

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“Vroom, vroom!” The boy purred as he veered off the track and begun to run circles around Michaela. She smirked.​

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"Don’t run me over!” She threw her freckled hands up playfully.​

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"Ms. Michaela,” Little Camille looked up from her Barbie doll with the missing leg, “Can you sing again?”​

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“Again?” Michaela sighed. She had just finished a soft round of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. All of the children had leaned in to listen, and then peppered her with questions about stars. A true sadness that had came with these end days. The children were deprived of a truly carefree view of a beautiful night sky. Michaela had spent many of her childhood days stretched back on a countryside hill. ​

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“Pleeeeaasseee.” The little girl’s blonde curls bounced as she poked out her lower lip and cast her sky blue eyes up at Michaela. ​

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"Fine, fine.” Michaela ran an absent hand through her hair, “But I must be quiet about it. I wouldn’t want to disturb the others.”​

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The doors at the head of the church had opened, and even this far down Michaela could feel the icy breeze send goosebumps up and down her pale arms. It was just John and Zee, safely returning. She offered them all a pleasant smile as she passed them, including the priest. He was a kindhearted man, and wasn't as nosey as the others. He always gave thoughtful consideration to her. Never judgment. ​

​

“Ms. Michaela,” The African American boy, Elijah, gave her a look the explained it all.​

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Hesitantly, she cast a last glance around her before opening her lips. The tune of “Row Your Boat” clung to her mind.​

​

Her words came out slow, at an almost haunting height, though they had such an emotional depth to them that the silliness of the words was forgotten. Many of the children had crowded in then. Camille was holding her doll close to her body, stroking the ribbon as she listened. Michaela met the little girl’s eyes then, and she smiled. Smiles and laughter, they were all that mattered these days, weren’t they? These children, they were the only ones who realized this. They were oblivious to the complete and utter danger that awaited any of them outside of the church doors. Their lives revolved around entertainment and learning. Anyway Michaela could lift their spirits higher, she would. Even if that meant singing. . .​

​

"Gently down the stream. . .” Michaela ended softly. She blushed as the children clapped for her. “Now, get back to those toys of yours. It’s Christmas​

​

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TAG: Any in the church really, GM

 

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Kevin O'Brian, Gustavo “Guts” Guerrero, Benjamin Eshkol

25 December, 2065​

The North Tower, St. Patrick's Cathedral​

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The snow continued to fall all around the cathedral and gradually visibility dropped to a dozen meters as the storm picked up in strength. The hand-held radio crackled to life behind Gustavoas someone spoke on the closed channel. “...gonna get frostbite out in this @#$% weather!”​

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“Heh, at least the wolves won't eat you. I hear they like it when you're alive and blood runnin' hot,” someone else replied which was quickly followed by, “Cut the chatter. Ben, Kevin, you guys see anything from up there?”​

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“Loh.” An Israeli accent cut over the channel but paused before continuing, “Wait... I see something coming from the south near the plaza.”​

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The snowstorm made it impossible to visibly see anything from the North Tower. For Benjamin Eshkol in the South Tower, an Israeli who had been left behind by his government during the evacuation of the Israeli Embassy, he could barely make out half a dozen shapes approaching the cathedral from the Rockefeller Center. The way they moved told him everything he needed to know about their identity.​

​

Lycans.​

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With a quick sweep of the immediate area to the north using the infrared sensor of his laser rifle, Gustavo would notice another six heat signatures loping in the direction of the cathedral. He was right that the monsters had no respect for holy days.​

TAG: @Saintheart, greyjedi125, Mitth_Fisto

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Robert Gruber

25 December, 2065​

Gruber Estates​

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Upon entering the estate, the sounds of something rummaging through a room could be heard faintly heard. The room Robert entered was empty and it gave a good view of the foyer and staircases with only one other way in besides the door he was at. The estate was just as cold as it was outside but not as bright. With the power grid for Manhattan offline due to the lack of human maintenance more than anything else, the house was dimly lit by the morning sun shining through the windows and reflecting off the snow outside. The light grew dimmer as clouds moved in and a storm began to pick up outside.​

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After a few minutes of laying in wait for the intruder in his home, his patience was rewarded as something small sniffed its way back into the foyer. It looked like a lycan by the shape of its body and the fact that it had no fur except a small tuft of it at the nape of it's neck, it was unusually small for it's kind. On further examination as it drew unsuspectingly closer, what normally would have been prominent and sharp features on the beast seemed under developed and out of proportion. Kind of like you would expect to see on a growing puppy.​

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Yet if this was indeed a puppy version of a lycan, surely it could not have broken down the door? Right?​

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The warning growl from a full-sized lycan behind him and across the room said as much.​

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TAG: @DarkLordoftheFins

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Zeeza “Zee” N'dori, John Garrett, Michaela Welch

25 December, 2065​

Near the North Transept, St Patrick's Cathedral​

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Inside the Altar of Saint Joseph, Father Minghan listened to John as he told the priest what they had found. He smiled softly at the news of the toys that had been found. Not all of the children had been given their presents yet and the Father looked forward to passing out the rest. But his smile faded when the police officer mentioned the encounter. “Although a part of me wishes you had made contact to bring them here if they turned out to be human, I am glad you didn't.”​

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Minghan sipped his own tea for a moment before explaining in case his words were misunderstood, “You remember Andrew Coddler's party a few years back? They had encountered what had appeared to be humans but turned out to be lycans. Lindsey Adley was the only survivor to tell the tale.” He pursed his lips at the memory and how the woman hadn't lived long afterward, succumbing to her injuries. He tried protecting everyone he could. He tried saving them too but he was only mortal and therefore limited, but that did not make a loss any less painful.​

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Minghan's countenance changed to a more cheerful expression as he set his tea aside and stood. He clapped his hands together and gestured toward the bundle of toys. “Why don't you two help me...” He stopped speaking abruptly and turned his head slightly as if listening to something. Whatever had him stop mid-sentence became apparent a moment later as several echoing howls pierced through the thick, stone walls of the cathedral. “Curse those beasts to Hell, of all the days to make themselves known!”​

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He hurried out of the altar turned common room. The priest turned on the spot outside of the altar until he found the person he was looking for and having earlier seen sitting among the children and keeping them entertained. “Michaela, gather the children and take them into the crypt! Tala will take them off your hands.”​

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“What's happening?” Elijah asked of her, clearly just as scared as the other children with her.​

TAG: @Ktala, HanSolo29, spycoder9

OOC: Uh oh... ​