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

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Mid-morning - Nave, near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

I pause and look toward where almost everyone is still occupied with their food. No sign of Kevin or the young man moving toward me yet, so I feel I've time to expound a little on my weapons.

"One doesn't usually think of Gauntlets being weapons"' I resume, "but a bang on the snout, a punch to the gut or one to the groin area with these should bring a tear or two to a Beast's eyes, much like if I was wearing knuckledusters! Then there's this, my Misericorde", as I draw it from behind my back, "the name translates as 'Mercy-giver'. It's long and thin to fit through any convenient gap in a suit of armour and slide into either the brain or the heart for an instant kill.

Back in the day, they were used to euthanize battlefield casualties too badly injured for the surgeons to treat, but who were still alive, and sometimes even still conscious. Finishing them off, quickly and painlessly, was seen as far preferable to leaving them for the battlefield scavengers. Their only interest was collecting casualties' weapons and armour for their own profit and, dead or alive, they'd strip a fallen fighter naked and not be at all gentle about it! This Misericorde's actually brass, with a coating of silver electroplated onto the blade."

I put the Misericorde away and part-draw my sword. "No silver anywhere in this! Also no Fullered groove on the blade. It's really designed as a slashing weapon for dismembering an opponent, but can be turned into a stabbing weapon by grabbing the blade with the left hand, that's why my left Gauntlet's palm is protected with a small patch of Mail. Can be very effective when it's whirled around at head height, which is why I didn't want the weight reduction a Fullered groove would offer. Similar swords were used as executioners' weapons in France up to the invention of the Guillotine. Doubt I'll be using it today, though, not with friendlies close about me!

Which brings me to this," I say, as I slide my sword back into its scabbard and take my axe from my belt; "a crescent, almost half-moon, shaped blade, seven inches across and fairly heavy without being too much so. Should take a Beast's head, or anything else, clean off with one blow. The originals - slightly smaller, slightly lighter versions - were used to cut off horses' hooves after they'd been badly injured or killed in battle and the injured ones had had to be put down; so the army had proof the horses were actually dead and hadn't just been sold! I've also modified this one slightly...."

I unscrew what looks to be the poll-axe spike, but is actually just a protective cover, to reveal the three-sided, triple-edged blade underneath and show it to her. "Got this idea from an axe in a very old work of fiction, one of the Allan Quatermain books - though both axe and wielder seem to have been based on a real-life weapon and a real person. The fictional character that used it nicknamed himself 'The Woodpecker', because all that's needed is a peck with this spike at an opponent's head - the weight of the axehead sends it into the opponent's brain; takes less effort than a full strike too. As you can see, there are exposed silver ridges in the gutters between each of the spike's edges; so it should be effective against the Beasts!

Still, you're the expert; what do you think?"


TAG CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Christmas Day

Nodding Kevin had to hand it to the girl, whether by osmosis or a studious demeanor the girl had hit a fair cord for such a situation. Then he nearly gagged on a potato as he heard Gustavo add onto the questions. Meaning that he was moving the carrot farther afield without warning after nearly promising to let her in after the first question that he admitted was a good answer.

As for firing a weapon he had no doubt that the girl might of been shown how but with ammo and other resources at a premium he doubted the girl had ever been able to do so herself. Still he held his comments for now as he waited to see how the girl would answer, that and Gustavo was pointedly not looking at him. Either a way of cutting him out of the conversation or focusing on the girls next final answer.

TAG: CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, greyjedi125

 

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Josephus Carter

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

The Nave near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

“Me an expert?” Karen scoffed at Joph's words and shook her head. She gestured at his period piece gear and armament. “I dunno about the armor. Might protect you from an initial attack, but they ain't stupid and their fingers are nimble and slim enough to slip under the armor and rip it off you once they realize they can't just rip through it. Might buy you a few seconds in a grapple.”​

​

She shrugged a little and then held up her assault rifle. It was an XM43 rifle that looked like one solid piece but could be disassembled and reassembled easily. The weapon was also lightweight and coated in a black and gray paint job, though it's original coloring was most likely black with a gray paint sprayed on. The weapon was a descendant of the XM8 prototype rifle that never got to see field use in the U.S. Army, having been scrapped back in the early 21st century for more ideal weapons. “This beauty doesn't look like much, but does pack quite a punch. Lightweight with a forty round 45mm magazine and an under slung grenade launcher. I can kill a lycan before it can even get to me, provided the cartridges are silver.”​

​

Karen reaches back to a knife holster at her hip and slips it out to show him. Joph would be able to see a fine coating of silver along the sharp edge. “Hardened steel, standard issue Army knife I lifted off a dead soldier back in the beginning.” She handed it to him to examine if he wanted while she continued explain it's origins.​

​

“It originally didn't have the silver edge. We added that later since it was easier to just coat them rather than make crude ones that break easily. We learned that silver doesn't actually kill them cause some have survived a silver bullet before. No, silver just makes it easier to kill the bastards. Father Minghan says it poisons their healing or something like that. Cause a wound with a bit of silver and the wound doesn't close up immediately like it would for plain steel. Gives them time to bleed out, you know?”​

​

She took the knife back and replaced it in the holster before looking up at him again. “So... got any questions about them or do you feel confident on what the military brass might've told you about them?”​

TAG: @Tim Battershell​

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Katia, Zeeza N'dori

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

North Transept Common Room, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Sister Tala lifted up one of the gold crucifixes and carefully examined it. She ran her thumb over the blood stained pendant and flipped it over. “These are simply crucifixes. They must have taken them from the dead or looted a church's gift shop for them.” Although she didn't show it, her voice suggested concern at the idea of the beasts wearing them.​

​

“They normally don't wear anything while in their wolf form, so you might be on to something, my dear.” The Sister tucked the three crosses into a pocket and frowned a little. “After ten years of fighting, why now? Why try and get into the cathedral now?”​

TAG: @Ktala Heavy Isotope

Gustavo Guerrero, Kevin O'Brian

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

The Nave near North Transept, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Angela frowned at Guts question and looked down at her hands in her lap. “No,” was her answer. “I was shown how to handle one but never got to fire it since ammunition isn't easy to come by.” Both men would remember that the young don't get to join the adults on expeditions out into the city or stand guard outside until they reached at least their sixteenth year or showed the maturity. Angela was at least a good six years younger than Guts when the war had broken out and only until the last few years would she have been allowed to join them.​

​

But apparently she hadn't been given the opportunity for some reason.​

​

“I am a quick learner and I promise I won't get in the way or do anything stupid.”​

TAG: @greyjedi125 Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Katia
St Patrick's Cathedral

Sister Tala lifted up one of the gold crucifixes and carefully examined it. She ran her thumb over the blood stained pendant and flipped it over. “These are simply crucifixes. They must have taken them from the dead or looted a church's gift shop for them.” Although she didn't show it, her voice suggested concern at the idea of the beasts wearing them.

“They normally don't wear anything while in their wolf form, so you might be on to something, my dear.” The Sister tucked the three crosses into a pocket and frowned a little. “After ten years of fighting, why now? Why try and get into the cathedral now?”

"What other reason would there be?" Katia responded, "It's been that way ever since -- " she tried to remember, " -- well it's been like that for ten years." Everything was blurry for her and it seemed delving too far into the past caused her physical pain. Standing up and taking her dishes she spoke to Zeeza, "If you need me I'll be over there," she said pointing with her thumb to her newly established area next to Zeeza's. Taking her dishes to the deep rectangular trays they had set out and collecting her now dry clothes she made for the pews. Someone was kind enough to bring a pillow and an old wool blanket for her. Folding her trousers and jacket she sat on the floor using the pews to conceal the parts of her weapon.

Removing the bolt was a struggle, the thing really had frozen in there. The combination of cold and residue of the normal lubricant mixing with the cold weather lubricant created a greyish-yellow mixture akin to glue. This was going to take time... Katia sighed and put her gloves on, taking her cleaning gear pouch off of her belt and placing it in front of her. Some copper brushes, cleaning rods, and a plastic bristle brush were inside with three bottles. One full of the regular lubricant, one half empty was the cold weather lubricant, the cleaner was also half empty. The cleaner was somewhat volatile, it would cause extreme skin irritation and the smell was nearly intoxicating. She covered her nose with part of her balaclava and set to work disassembling and cleaning the individual parts of the bolt.

The cleaner ate away at the hardened chunks of lubricant. Cleaning the chamber and upper receiver would be the most lengthy, or so she thought. Fortunately there wasn't much more there than there was on the outside of the bolt. Most of the 'glue' fell to the ground when she yanked the bolt from the receiver. Katia must have been careless last time she was servicing her weapon. For it to jam up like it had, for this reason? She wiped her forehead on her sleeve. Speading a few drops of cold weather lubricant around the bolt and it's parts, as well as the chamber, she then looked through the barrel.

Katia let out a heavy breath, some of the 'glue' got into the barrel too. Taking out the bore snake, she dropped some cleaner into the barrel, it was almost gone now. Probably only enough to clean the bolt next time. She dropped the snake through, pulling it from the muzzle and all the hardened lubricant with it. She'd probably have to find another cache next month, you could clean the weapon with the normal lubricant, but not the cold one; and as was obvious now, mixing them was no good.

Putting the rifle back together, stowing her cleaning gear; Katia glanced around no one was looking over to her at the moment, they wouldn't have been able to see the assembly of the weapon even if they were looking at her. Going through the standard functions checks, satisfied with her work. placing her balaclava around her neck again, she then put on her camouflage trousers and grey jacket, she felt better. Safer even. Everything she had, she carried with her. Putting on her LBV, taking out a magazine and loading it into the lower receiver, she covered herself with the blanket and kept her weapon close. Laying her head down on the pillow, her back to the backrest of the pew, she could see everyone out in the church. Children playing with toys, parents talking and smiling at the happiness of their sons and daughters, some young people holding hands as they sat together on the pews.

Life finds a way... Katia thought as she closed her eyes, drifting into a deeper sleep than she had in a very long time.

TAGS: CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, Ktala

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Mid-morning - Nave, near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

I look at the lady's weapons with interest. Though I grant that a force able to rip through hardened steel could extract me from my armour, it would, in my opinion, be a much longer process than she seems to think; the back and breastplates are hinged together down my right side and secured with patent self-locking catches down my left. Also, the straps used to secure everything else are a sandwich; leather on the outsides, a flat-braided steel-wire core in the middle.

The knife is interesting for a different reason. Silvering on the edge of the blade indicates that its main intended use is slashing, whereas my Misericorde is purely a thrust-only weapon.

"Nice!", I say to her about the rifle, "They did offer me a firearm, but unfortunately 'His Majesty's Governments' - successive ones, going back for about a hundred years now - have been rather against 'His Majesty's Subjects' owning, carrying or using guns; so I rather doubt that I'd be able to hit much of anything with one. Possibly their thinking is that 'His Majesty's Subjects' might one day decide that 'His Majesty's Government of the Day' is too incompetent to hold Office, and eject it! You are lucky to have a written Constitution and a very influential pressure-group to defend your Constitution's Second Amendment; we have none of those protections!

Not just guns, either. If I was to walk down an English street with these hanging from my belt, I'd likely be arrested - unless the street was part of a re-enactment area or a pageant was taking place, and even then, the weapons have to be blunt. Normally, I have to carry them about in locked cases. Modern crossbows, particularly the 'pistol' type, are either banned or heavily restricted to members of crossbow clubs, for target shooting only. Period-style Arbalests are looked on with a rather jaundiced eye by the Authorities and even our traditional 'longbow' archers are somewhat worried - despite 'longbows' having been part of English life for centuries.

In any case; as I told Kevin a few minutes ago, firearms become oddly-shaped and ill-adapted clubs when their ammunition runs out. A sword or an axe, on the other hand, will keep on being deadly for ever, provided it's kept sharp; and I know from personal experience that Beasts don't function well without a head - plain steel blade or no! Nor do they seem to be able to re-grow lopped-off body parts, not quickly enough to make a difference in combat at any rate!

The silver bullets that some survived - did they pierce heart or brain, do you know? Enough Beasts have been dissected for me to know exactly where the heart is located inside them, so I'm confident that I can skewer one's heart with my Misericorde if required - if only 'to make sure' of it. A blade through something's 'ticker' has always proved fatal in the past - death by heart failure - hopefully that still holds true for a Beast, if the blade is silvered.

Also, will we be likely to encounter any in their Beast forms on our excursion, if we're back before moonrise; and just how hard a kill are they when they're in human form?"


TAG CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Gustavo’Guts’ Guerrero
Dec. 25 2065, The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

Guts nodded in sympathy as Angela admitted to not having had the experience of actually discharging a weapon due to the shortage of ammunition, which was quite understandable. She looked a bit dejected, but only for a moment.

“I am a quick learner and I promise I won’t get in the way or do anything stupid.” She said, sounding hopeful once again.

“That’s the spirit!” Guts said, glad to see she possessed perseverance. That’s what survival was all about.

“There’s always a first time for these things. Sounds to me like you have the right mind for it and you can act as our look out. If Father Minghan agrees to it, then both you and Joph, our resident knight in shining armor….”

Guts looked about as he tried to point out the armored newcomer to Angela. It wasn’t hard to visually find a man clad entirely in metal. Once Guts found him, he pointed him out to Angela. Interestingly enough, Joph was having a conversation with Karen.

“…and yourself, will be authorized to go scavenging with us. What’d ya think Kevin?”

The young watcher turned his gaze toward the older man, opening that portion of the conversation for him to share his thoughts and opinions. Around them, a good portion of the gathered folks were finishing up their Christmas Breakfast and socialized in earnest. It wouldn’t be long before their small group finally embarked on their small expedition.


@Mitth_Fisto, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo ( any one else that hears or sees)

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Christmas Day after Breakfast

Kevin just had to take a deep breath at the young girls words. Sadly the way things were was the way they were. Gustavo was quick off the mark though and was quickly saying his own piece before Kevin could do more than open his mouth. Letting the lad say his piece he was at least pleasantly surprised when the kid remembered to ask what he thought.

"If your parents or the Father says you can ye'll come." he said with a grin. "Just remember to keep within a step of one of us at all the times we are out there. Now, go see once the music ends." he added with a wink. Ah what a wonder youth was. Just possibly he had contributed to that youth surviving by being here and helping to stop as many of the miserable cursed things as he had.

If he had his way that life would not be lost today.

TAG: greyjedi125, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Zeeza N'dori - 25 December, 2065 Mid-Morning
The Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral

Zeeza watched as Sister Tala looked over the gold crucifixes, examining them carefully. “These are simply crucifixes. They must have taken them from the dead or looted a church's gift shop for them.” Zeeza nodded in agreement. "Ya..I didnt see anything special." Sister Talya tucked the crosses into a pocket, frowning just a bit. “They normally don't wear anything while in their wolf form, so you might be on to something, my dear.” The Sister tucked the three crosses into a pocket and frowned a little. “After ten years of fighting, why now? Why try and get into the cathedral now?” Before Zeeza could respond, Katia chimed in.. "What other reason would there be?" Katia responded, "It's been that way ever since -- " she paused, making a face, " -- well it's been like that for ten years." There was that look again, Zeeza noted. Like when she saw Katia holding on to her head. Standing up and taking her dishes Katia spoke to Zeeza, "If you need me I'll be over there," she said pointing with her thumb to her newly established area next to Zeeza's. With a smile, Zeeza nodded, and watched as 'Delta' made her way to where the others had been putting their dishes. Zeeza looked over at Sister Tala once more. "She looked really tired. I think she's been on her own for a long time. This will probably be the most decent sleep she's had in a long time." Zeeza grinned. "But I got her to tell me her name." Zeeza lowered her voice, so that only Sister Tala could hear her. "It's Katia..but she likes her nickname, Delta, better. For now at least."

Zeeza dug thru her pack, pulling out the rest of the toys and things they had found on their shift. "Here. Im sure the Father will finish giving out more stuff later on. He can add those to the pile." she stated with a grin. Zeeza leaned back on the seat she was on, thinking about the wolvies. "Ya know...normally I would think the wolvies thought they might make it in, because ya know, its Christmas and all..and they thought our guard might be down. But only three came to the doorway. Like they were testing us or something." Zeeza gave a yawn, stretching her arms out a bit. "Dunno. Maybe its a special day or something. Not like we really pay much attention to a calendar nowadays..."

Zeeza looked up, as the pungent smell of chemicals hit her nose. She looked over to where Katia had moved to, and saw she was working on her weapon, doing something to it. Probably cleaning it. Zee shrugged. "Either way, something is up. So I guess we better increase our lookouts. Since they know they cant come in the front, they might try another way in." Zeeza gave another yarn, before she looked over with a curious glance. "Um..Wolvies cant dig, can they?" she suddenly asked. "I know, if I coudlnt come in the front way, underground sure would be a way to try. And we got train tunnels not too far away..." she added. Zeeza shook her head. "Maybe I just think too much. Or I'm tired. Either way, they are definitely up to something."

With that, Zeeza nodded. "Excuse me Sister Tala, but I think Im gonna go grab a quick nap, before they decided if they are going out to find something to secure the doors with." With a smile, Zeeza got up, and moved towards her area. She moved past, checking on Delta, who was not asleep, and moved to her little hammock. Zeeza preferred to sleep like she did back home. She laid down, but decided to just gently rock. Her mind was too busy now to sleep. The Sister's question was a good one. Why now? What was different? Zeeza looked down at Katia, and then over towards the metal guy. Ugh. The food she had eaten, was making her want to take a nap, while her head was busy asking questions. Maybe if she just stared up at the ceiling, that would do for now.



TAG: Heavy Isotope, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Robert Gruber
Gruber Mansion

They had been bitten. No reproduction. A smirk probably showed his relief for a moment, but he kept the gun pointed and the his on the family. Wolves after all. They always hunted in packs. How rare was the chance to have a whole pack in front of your gun?

With a sigh he stepped back and in his brain the poem began to whisper into his mind.

Remember us - if at all - not as lost
violent men, but only
as the hollow men

He could not promise that. His mind went through the options, as his brain stopped feeding on adrenaline. They had been bitten in some sort of headquarters. Very long ago, probably not any place the wolves gathered anymore. They had lived outside their circles, had hidden behind a faked veil of humanity. A cruel illusion of a family had allowed them to deny themselves the terrible truth. They were not human anymore.

"You are not the first family to live here. You know? I lived here once with my family. Over there that armchair? I was sitting in it, when a werewolf ripped apart my little girl. I was lucky. I did not have to live with hope they survived. My little one was the famous girl on TV. I could see her die. I had certainty. You know what that kinda certainty does to a man?" Gruber looked at the young one. "You probably do."

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams.
In death's dream kingdom

"So why my house?" That was the question, was it? Why had they chosen this house of all houses and thereby provoked fate to meet him.

Tag: Cmdr

 

OOC: Okay. I'm gonna fast forward us a bit since everything is winding down for everyone. Gonna borrow a few characters too so hopefully I won't butcher anyone.

Father Minghan MacCaffery, Sister Tala MacCaffery

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

Near St. Patrick's Statue, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

That Christmas morning was perhaps the most peaceful one the survivors of Manhattan ever had in a long while. The werewolves did not attack again that morning, leaving the humans to sleep and enjoy their precious holiday. Father Minghan would finish the Christmas hymn and quietly return to the others in a better mood than he had been before. Christopher Watkins, the young guard who had been on duty guarding the bronze door and who had died fighting, was taken into the crypt to be buried with the others that had perished over the years.​

​

Sister Tala took her brother aside near St. Patrick's statue and spoke to him quietly when he returned from the crypt. She showed him the crucifixes and gestured at the bronze door blocked only by a pew. “Zeeza may be right, Ming. What if they were testing these?”​

​

“Non-sense! This is holy ground,” the priest replied assuredly and closed his hands over her own holding the golden crosses, closing her fingers around them. “Only God can allow them inside. But... I will admit that I am concerned over the fact that they are trying. If Pierre DuMont believes they can get in...” He shook his head lightly at the thought. “However they can't.”​

​

“Could they though?” she asked of him and the Father glanced over all those who were enjoying the Christmas Day. He could see the children laughing and playing with the new toys they had been given that morning. Their parents and guardians watching over them, chatting away with each other and keeping themselves occupied with chores or some form of entertainment. It was an illusion and a spell he did not want to break with such worrying thoughts. Their way of life was so fragile and it was getting harder and harder each passing year to survive, if DuMont found a way inside...​

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“Minghan?” Tala prodded, bringing him out of his troubled thoughts.​

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“I don't know.”​

TAG: No one

Everyone in the Cathedral​

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25 December, 2065 – Just After Noon​

The Nave near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Father Minghan gathered several people near the Narthex, momentarily commandeering Joph's chosen space. He had the satellite radio with him as he sat on the arm rest of a pew in the aisle. He held it up to show those gathered. “Our new friend here comes from the outside world and gave us perhaps the best gift any of us could ask for on this day. A way to communicate with those in the rest of the country.” No one spoke, but all curious eyes turned to the man in armor for a moment before facing the Father again.​

​

“Does it work?” Karen asked. She had spent the last hour talking to the Englishman, telling him everything she knew about the lycans. I know he hadn't been hit in the head with the bullet, but I did see him again after I had shot him the night before. I know cause he had a scar over his eye. I don't understand how it affects them, but only the moon can allow them to change. If she's out before darkness, then we can encounter them in their beast forms in daylight hours. But we usually see them as humans during the day, picking the city clean. Don't trust any humans you see out there, Joph. Ever been picked up and thrown by someone? Still need silver to kill them, even human, unless you lob off the head of course.​

​

Leaning against a nearby pillar, Josephus answered her, “I do not believe the government would send me here with a radio that didn't work. They want to contact the survivors for reasons unknown to me.”​

​

“What are we waiting for then,” John impatiently demanded from his pew.​

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“Patience.” Father Minghan flipped the radio over in his hands. He thumbed it on and listened to the crackling sound of static. “I hate to be pessimistic, but let us not put too much hope on this. For the last ten years we survived without them and we'll continue to do so. I do not expect them to send in an army to come and save us or a helicopter to ferry us out of here to a place that may be no more safer than the streets of this city. St. Patrick's is our home and so far it has protected us. We are family and let us not forget that in light of this gift. We come first and foremost and no matter what they want, do not place them before each other.”​

​

The priest glanced around at everyone gathered and when he saw that everyone understood the gravity of what the radio could bring to them, for better or worse, he pressed the transmit switch. The crackling stopped and he brought it closer to his mouth before speaking. “Hello? This is Father Minghan MacCaffery of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Is anyone there?”​

​

The static returned when he released the switch and a silence fell upon the cathedral as everyone waited for a response. Those that were not a part of the gathering had also fallen quiet, having heard the Father give his small speech and hearing the static. Someone in the background coughed and just as Minghan was about to try again, the static cleared.​

​

“This is Camelot,” came a male voice. The man's accent sounded British and Minghan quirked an eyebrow at that curiously. He probably had been expecting Americans. “We read you loud and clear. I can then confirm Faramir has made contact with the Manhattan survivors?”​

​

“Faramir?” Gustavo blinked and then looked over at Joph disbelieving. “Your code name is after Denethor's son in Lord of the Rings?”​

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“I wanted Sir Percival, but all the Knights' names were already taken.”​

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“Quiet you two and let the Father talk to them,” hissed Kevin and the Father nodded his thanks.​

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“Who am I speaking to?” the priest inquired.​

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“You'll know me as King Arthur for security reasons, Father,” there was a snicker from someone which was abruptly stopped by an elbow to the ribs. “May I inquire as to the status of the survivors and how many there are?”​

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“Should we trust them?” John brought up from his pew. He was still suspicious of the two newcomers.​

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“Nyet,” Katia answered. “I do not believe them to be lycans, but they are military and whatever they want could kill us. To trust them explicitly will result in our deaths.”​

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“And where does that belief come from, my dear?” Minghan asked of her.​

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“I... do not know. It is instinct.”​

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“Father?”​

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“We are alive and there are about two hundred of us taking refuge in St. Patrick's,” the priest answered after a moment. “May I ask why you are now taking an interest in Manhattan after all these years?”​

​

“You may. When we heard there were survivors, it was decided to try and get in contact to ascertain their situation and see what we can do to help. I cannot promise much at this time, but whatever you need we can try and get it to you.”​

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“We need food, medicine and ammunition mostly. DuMont has nearly hunted the wild life to non-existence and we're low on atropine and other essential medicines. We've had a recent attack on the cathedral that has put a strain on an already low supply of ammunition.”​

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“I think we can arrange for a drop in a couple days near Central Park. Anything else?”​

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“Yes, news on the war?”​

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“All I can tell you is that we haven't given up any more ground in the last three years. The lycans haven't tried a major push since the fall of Charleston, South Carolina and we don't know why. They have the numbers to take the entirety of the Eastern seaboard but they aren't. Since you're the first person to be considered an expert on them, any ideas as to why?”​

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The priest was quiet and then shook his head before realizing the man couldn't see his answer. “No, afraid not. However I'll be sure to ask DuMont the next time I see him, provided he doesn't rip out my larynx first and you lot actually listen to me this time.”​

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“I assure you tha..t... will...” the radio suddenly cut out and Minghan stared at it before looking up at Joph.​

​

“What happened?”​

​

“The satellite went out of range,” Benjamin provided and held out a hand for the radio. He turned it over in his calloused hands before adjusting dials. After a couple minutes he shook his head. “Normally the signal would be bounced off of towers to any number of military com satellites, but without power for those towers this thing is only as good as long as the satellites are above us. We're lucky we even got through.”​

​

“So now what?” Angela asked from beside Guts and Kevin.​

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“Now... we get that door fixed.” Minghan set the radio down and gestured to the bronze doors. “Two groups. Zeeza, Benjamin, Karen and Delta is it? Good. You four head north. Kevin, Gustavo, Josephus and Angela will head south. We need something stronger than wood this time, but wood will do if that's all you can get. Stay in contact and return before moonrise. Godspeed to all of you.”​

TAG: @Ktala Saintheart Heavy Isotope Mitth_Fisto greyjedi125 HanSolo29 Tim Battershell

Robert Gruber

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

Gruber Estates, Manhattan​

​

“We were only scavenging, looking for food and perhaps a place to hide. We didn't know that it was occupied still,” the father answered him. He seemed to sense the threat in Robert as his eyes darted for a way out or at least for a way for his son to escape. “Please, we're not like the others. We didn't ask for this like the ones that took us do.”​

​

The boy scooted to hide behind his father's leg. Sunbeams burned between curtains, the dust motes dancing within. The sun had finally risen high enough to illuminate the room, which meant the moon had finally set. The two lycans were weaker without the moon but still were quite capable of defending themselves if given the chance.​

​

TAG: @DarkLordoftheFins

 

IC: Katia
St. Patrick's Cathedral

Katia was roused from her sleep by a small commotion from the group gathering around Father Minghan, deciding it was best to join them she sat up and unloaded the magazine from her weapon, placing the it into her LBV. Stretching out her back arms and legs, she let out a big but quiet yawn; which would be a bit embarrassing if not for her balaclava covering her features. Lowering her balaclava around her neck and taking her gloves off, putting them in her pocket, she remarked at how comfortable clean clothes were as she walked on to join the group.

Minghan spoke of the armored man's presence and displayed a radio he had brought with him, Katia was unfamiliar with this Faramir the young man and the Brit on the radio spoke of, she couldn't recall reading any fiction growing up. Concluding they meant Joph, she listened on. The Brit asked about the survivors, John bringing up an all too important question: “Should we trust them?” he asked from his pew. “Nyet,” Katia answered, realizing too late she had just spoken Russian out loud, “I do not believe them to be lycans, but they are military and whatever they want could kill us. To trust them explicitly will result in our deaths.” Maybe they'd think she's Ukrainian... “And where does that belief come from, my dear?” Minghan asked of her.

“I... do not know. Is instinct,” she avoided thinking about it, not wanting to invite any pain after such a glorious few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Minghan continued to talk to the Brit, seemingly deciding it was alright to trust them. Then, the radio cut out. In the confusion one of the survivors Katia observed in the months prior to coming to the Cathedral spoke up; “The satellite went out of range,” Benjamin provided and held out a hand for the radio. He turned it over in his calloused hands before adjusting dials. After a couple minutes he shook his head. “Normally the signal would be bounced off of towers to any number of military com satellites, but without power for those towers this thing is only as good as long as the satellites are above us. We're lucky we even got through.”

Maybe that's what happened to.... Katia thought, her thinking cut short as Minghan began to speak again: “Two groups. Zeeza, Benjamin, Karen and Delta is it?" Katia nodded and shrugged, "Good. You four head north. Kevin, Gustavo, Josephus and Angela will head south. We need something stronger than wood this time, but wood will do if that's all you can get. Stay in contact and return before moonrise. Godspeed to all of you.”

Delta...

Katia approached the father as the group began to disperse, placing her right hand on his right shoulder she briefly leaned in, looking past him, and spoke a low voice to his ear, "If you can talk to them again, ask if other countries have this problem," she paused, not used to saying this word and gripped his shoulder tighter, "please." Walking past him to join Zeeza. Time to see what they can do, she thought, giving Zeeza a confident glance then doing a functions check on her weapon. Katia would know what to do should things get bad, helping them seemed to align with her mission, but if they couldn't handle themselves in the open....

TAGS: CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, Ktala, Saintheart, anyone else that wants to interact with Katia

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral- Early after noon

Everyone was gathered to hear Father Minghan speak, which was a welcomed event. The good father had a unique ability to lift everyones spirit and inspire them to brave their challenges, to see the worth in hoping for a better future. Guts believed in Father Minghan’s mission for them, so he listened in earnest whenever the priest spoke.

It was immediately revealed that Joph had brought a radio that would allow them to communicate with the outside world. Guts glanced over at the metal clad man, then back to the radio in the father’s hand. It was quite amazing that this was happening, and in front of everyone at that. And why not? Joph had been straight forward since he stepped inside the cathedral. His gift was for the benefit of all present.

As usual, Karen served as the voice of all skeptics. Guts smiled and peeked at her from where he stood. Good ole Karen. Don’t ever change.

Well, of course the radio worked, but before he made the call, Father Minghan made a compelling speech. Guts was in complete agreement with the man. He was no fan of the military himself, since they’d proven over the long years to have the interests of the rich and powerful at heart, while everyone else was just considered collateral. Still, making contact with anyone outside the island after 10 long years would be mind blowing either way.

Incidentally, up until now, Guts realized he hadn’t quite considered that Joph was ‘truly’from outside the island of Manhattan and not just a colorful traveler. That was a strangely sobering thought.

Within moments, Father Minghan made the call and spoke into the radio, introducing himself and his location. The scene seemed surreal. All gathered fell silent, and some even held their breaths. Guts being one of them. For a moment, there was only static. Then finally a voice.

“This is Camelot…"

A british voice.

What in?

Guts saw the Father’s perplexed expression and felt the same. Who were they calling. Despite that, they all continued to listen.

“We read you loud and clear. I can then confirm Faramir has made contact with the Manhattan survivors?”

Guts could not help himself as he near automatically looked over to Joph.

“Faramir?” he asked in disbelief, eyebrow raised in his bemused expression. “ Your code name is after Denethor’s son in Lord of the Rings?”

This was not a bad thing at all mind you, as his inner geek jumped for joy at this, despite his initial puzzlement.

“I wanted Sir Percival, but all the Knights’ names were already taken.” Joph explained.

Well, that made sense then.

Kevin was quick to shush them before anything else was said.

The speaker on the other end of the radio went on to identify as ‘King Arthur’. No surprise there, especially after revealing they’d called ‘Camelot’.

The question of trust was raised. ( Really, John? ) It was a good question just the same. They were military after all.

Delta was quick to answer, much to Guts’ surprise. Wait! did she just say “nyet”?

Her words were quite chilling. For someone who wore a great deal of military gear, she was not giving them a pass. She warned them not to trust them. Guts believed her words. She knew something about the military, that much became apparent. Especially if your 'instincts' told you so.

Father Minghan continued his conversation with ‘King Arthur’. As he listened, Guts couldn’t stop wondering what had taken them so long to contact the survivors. Why now? No answers would come immediately, that much he knew. At least arrangements were made for supplies and ammunition. Central Park in a few days? That was better than never.

Then there was the question concerning the war.

That particular bit left Guts asking a long series of questions in his own mind. ‘At least they hadn’t given up ground in the last three years?' What the heck was going on out there? Lycans could take over the entire Eastern seaboard??

Guts looked around just to see if anyone else was thinking what he was thinking. For a moment, he looked a bit paler than usual. The thought that St. Patrick’s was possibly the safest place on the planet seemed to be not so farfetched. And why would anyone think that Father Minghan knew what the lycans were planning? Was that a trick question?

Guts almost choked on himself as he tried not to laugh at the priest’s witty rebuttal.

That’s telling them Father.

But before more could be revealed, the radio lost signal. Something about satellites.

*Sigh……*

Well, at least they made contact and were getting supplies. That was something to be glad about.

Angela asked what was next on the agenda and Father Minghan assigned two groups foraging missions. A replacement beam was needed for the door. Guts stood up straight and waited to be counted. Father Minghan rattled off the two teams.

Zeeza, Benjamin, Karen and Delta. They were to head north. Kevin, Joph, Angela and himself (Guts), were to head south. The instructions were simple and straight forward. Find what was needed, return before moonrise. Stay alive.

Guts was about to give a playful salute when something struck him as a bit odd.

Team one was comprised of three females and one male. Team two was comprised of three males and one female. This was nothing that would usually raise any concern in the watcher, except that…what if team one was encumbered by something heavy? Would they manage?

Guts nodded solemnly towards Father Minghan before moving on to his assigned teammates. He rubbed his chin as he approached Kevin, Joph and Angela.

“I guess south it is.” he said, a hint of a smile appearing on his face.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @Tim Battershell, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo (yeah, yet another sleepy post....meh.)

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Just gone Noon - Nave, near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

I spent a most enlightening time talking to the lady, becoming so engrossed in what she was telling me that I completely forget to ask her name. Then Father Minghan, carrying the Satellite Radio, and others join us. The Father puts rather too much importance on my role, I feel; I'm just the delivery-boy, after all.

Although I go with what I've been told and assure everyone that the radio will work, I can't help feeling a few moments of doubt when it is put to the test. I've grown so cynical over the years about the taint of Politics running through the American Legal System that I couldn't fully dismiss the possibility that the Mission was simply an exercise to get rid of an embarrassing mistake that would otherwise mar someone's future advancement.

I am keenly aware that, among the possessions the police seized after my arrest, there are letters signed 'Sir John de Binsted' on letter-headed paper, complete with a genuine Coat of Arms. No one outside our re-enactment group, certainly no one in America, would have realised that this was actually an in-joke that 'Sir John' (plain John Curr - farmer, builder and property developer in real life) had indulged in for re-enactment group news and business ever since he had obtained a personal Grant of Arms from the College of Heralds to display on his shield and surcoat. The politically inclined might have thought I had far more important connections than I actually do!

It's therefore a massive relief when, after a few tense seconds of static, the radio comes out with "This is Camelot.... We read you loud and clear. I can then confirm Faramir has made contact with the Manhattan survivors?" The voice has an English accent which, probably unlike everyone else, I am expecting.

The friendly and helpful young man seems nonplussed by my callsign, but correctly identifies where it comes from. I tell him that I really wanted Sir Percival, but all the Round Table Knights' names had already been assigned; before Kevin tells us to be quiet. Not only a friendly and helpful young man, then, it seems he also shares some of my tastes in fiction! Now if he has read anything by H Rider Haggard.... If not, then perhaps there are some books by that author somewhere on this island!

Father Minghan continues the conversation with 'Camelot' including a brief 'urgent-want' list, but I'm distracted by the now-confirmed-female, still-probable-newcomer using the word "Nyet". That word is Russian! Of course, the language spread during the Cold-War years to places as far west as Poland, but most of the former Communist Bloc states engaged in a fairly vigorous de-Russification programme, certainly as regards national language, as soon as the Berlin Wall fell and the Kremlin's influence waned.

My thinking is cut short by the signal breaking up, the explanation provided by Ben and the assignment of two teams to look for stronger materials to secure the doors. In course of this, I finally hear that the very informative lady's name is Karen, also that the young man's proper name seems to be Gustavo. Good. Angela is the previously unknown young lady who seems to be joining us. She looks very young, but who knows what skills she has; and an extra set of eyes and ears can't hurt.

After team assignments, Gustavo turns to us and says, "I guess south it is.", with the beginnings of a smile.

"Kevin." I say, "you're leading this expedition, but Karen over there mentioned a construction site somewhere on West 46th Street. If I remember the map right, that's South of here.... I told her I'd let you know, but it would be your decision to try for it or not".

I then turn to Gustavo and continue, "Out of respect, I can't really use the name you gave me when I came in. It may mean something complimentary in American, but in English-English it's almost like calling someone a glutton; so I'd feel like I was insulting you every time. Can't do that to someone who knows both Star Wars and Tolkien! So can I use 'Gustavo', which is a warrior's name - and royal with it, or simply call you 'G'?"


TAG: greyjedi125, Mitth_Fisto, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo - indirectly anyone else.

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral-Early Afternoon

For someone who’d recently arrived at the cathedral, Joph was a man who’d quickly connected to the pulse of things. It seemed his chat with Karen was quite useful as he reveals a possible location for them to search out, a construction site on West 46th Street. The metal man had people skills too, it seemed.

Guts gave a slight nod in acknowledgement as the englishman turned to the him.

“Out of respect, I can’t really use the name you gave me when I came in. It may mean something completely different in America, but in English-English it’s almost like calling someone a glutton…”

Say what!? Guts thought, a bit surprised by this. He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing at the moment. He didn’t know where this was going, but Joph had earned a great deal of respect in such a short time that the young watcher refrained from simply reacting defensively, and instead forced himself to hear the man out. This was a courtesy strangers never received, only folks he trusted. Guess Joph made it pretty far up the ladder in record time.

“…So, I’d feel like I was insulting you every time. Can’t do that to someone who knows both Star Wars and Tolkien!”

Guts hardened expression dissolved immediately at this and he smiled, feeling somewhat abashed by his initial reaction.

“So, Can I use Gustavo, which is a warrior’s name-and royal with it, or simply call you ‘G’?”

Smiling, Guts, shook his head. Leave it to the english to make something as simple as a name a complicated matter.

The warrior part was essentially true. Even from young, Guts fashioned himself as a warrior. In all the games he played, online and off, he always chose the warrior first. The same was true for the figures he admired in MMA, fiction, cinema, anime and literature. Best of all, his mom had given him his name. She was the only one who ever called him by his full name. Gustavo. The reason he had chosen ‘Guts’ was far more personal. It was a name that helped him conquer ‘fear’. His Sifu had spoken to him that time, so many years ago, when he'd gotten into a fight outside the dojo.

He had fought due to his fear of being bullied. A true warrior had the ‘Guts’ to turn away from a fight. He fought on his terms. He looked his fears square in the eyes and did not cower from it. He did what was right despite his fears, he dispelled such feelings by drawing COURAGE from his ‘Guts’, his core.

Guts smiled at the memory. This is why Sifu was able to attack the lycan without hesitation. Because he had the ‘Guts’ to do so. That was a lesson that would stay with him for the rest of his days. Perhaps one day, he would share this story with Joph, should the topic of names ever come up. However, for now….

“Nah, G is reserved for the big man upstairs, you know…GOD himself.”

Guts placed his hand on the Armored man’s metallic shoulder for a brief moment.

“So, call me Gus, unless that too has some unpleasant meaning as well.” That made him chuckle a bit.

“Only my mom calls me Gustavo….well, at least she did….”

A shadow passed over the young man’s eyes, but he quickly recovered as he forced himself not to think of events better left buried deep in the recesses of his mind.

“So, Kevin…I’m curious, what’s our first destination?” He said changing the subject back to their mission.

“Oh….and we’ll need to get Angela geared up as well. She’s gonna need some weapons…hehehe. Eat your heart out Lara Croft.”

It was best to head into possible danger with a positive attitude, he found it helped with alertness and reaction time a lot better than a defeatist frame of mind.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @Tim Battershell, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Zeeza N'dori - 25 December, 2065 Mid-Morning
The Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral


After her little nap, Zeeza felt much better now. She rolled over and looked out. The Father was calling everyone over for a meeting. Zeeza climbed out, and walked over, joining Katia and the others as he started talking. The news that the tin man had come from outside, and had brought a working radio with him, was causing quite a stir. Zeeza looked over towards him with a nod. 'Nice work, steel pants.' she thought to herself. Someone asked did it work. Zeeza shook her head, even as Sir ... responded, “I do not believe the government would send me here with a radio that didn't work. They want to contact the survivors for reasons unknown to me.”

What could they want to know now? They already knew they had screwed them royal, when they had blown up all the bridges and tunnels making it impossible for anyone to leave the island. And why wait ten years after the fact. Course, Father Minghan, was playing it down, telling folks not to get their hopes up and all, when he tried the radio. The priest glanced around at everyone gathered and when he saw that everyone understood the gravity of what the radio could bring to them, for better or worse, he pressed the transmit switch. The crackling stopped and he brought it closer to his mouth before speaking. “Hello? This is Father Minghan MacCaffery of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Is anyone there?” There was a lot of static on the radio. So imagine the shock when a voice answered back.

“This is Camelot,” came a male voice. The man's accent sounded British and Zeeza found it hysterical. She didnt laugh though, she merely grinned. Camelot. Really? But she paid close attention as the conversation continued. Father Minghan asked who they were speaking to, and the answer made pefect sense.

“You'll know me as King Arthur for security reasons, Father,” there was a snicker from someone else, which was abruptly stopped by an elbow to the ribs. Zeeza coughed politely, putting her head down to keep from laughing aloud. Then the voice asked how many of them were there. Some asked should we trust em. Had to admit, it was a good question. Zeeza was surprised at the swift response from Katia. “Nyet,” Katia answered. “I do not believe them to be lycans, but they are military and whatever they want could kill us. To trust them explicitly will result in our deaths.”

Nyet. So Zeeza was right. Russian. Minghan asked her about why she thought that, but Katia could only come up with instinct as an answer. Zeeza coudlnt blame her. They all had been going on a bit of instinct for a long time. Conversation got really intersting however, when Father Minghan asked the same question that was rumbling around in Zeeza's mind. Why had they contacted them now?

“When we heard there were survivors, it was decided to try and get in contact to ascertain their situation and see what we can do to help. I cannot promise much at this time, but whatever you need we can try and get it to you.”

They HEARD there were survivors? From who? Zeeza ignored the question, when someone asked of news on the war.

“All I can tell you is that we haven't given up any more ground in the last three years. The lycans haven't tried a major push since the fall of Charleston, South Carolina and we don't know why. They have the numbers to take the entirety of the Eastern seaboard but they aren't. Since you're the first person to be considered an expert on them, any ideas as to why?”

The Father was quiet and then shook his head before replying, “No, afraid not. However I'll be sure to ask DuMont the next time I see him, provided he doesn't rip out my larynx first and you lot actually listen to me this time.”

“I assure you tha..t... will...” the radio suddenly cut out and Minghan stared at it before looking up at Joph. Well, the radio was out for now. But at least it was something. Zeeza looked over curious. Why was Father Minghan considered an expert? And WHY then would you leave your 'expert' over in the badlands? Course, she could guess that he woudlnt want to leave his church. that would make sense. Still, the radio caused more questions, instead of answers. A voice piped up, what they should do next. Father Minghan was quick to respond.

“Now... we get that door fixed.” Minghan set the radio down and gestured to the bronze doors. “Two groups. Zeeza, Benjamin, Karen and Delta is it? Good. You four head north. Kevin, Gustavo, Josephus and Angela will head south. We need something stronger than wood this time, but wood will do if that's all you can get. Stay in contact and return before moonrise. Godspeed to all of you.”

Zeeza smiled as she poped her head up. Delta? Well, guess she proved herself getting to the church in the first place. Karen was nice, but as far as Zee knew, she had never been out for any long missions. Benjamin... well, she had gone out a few times with him, but usually, he was the one guarding the church. She was sad she wasnt with her normal partner John, but it was not surprising. Zee turned, and looked over at Karen. "Better bundle up good. I dunno if the snow has stopped, but it was really going good out there when I was out earlier. Definitely will need the gear to keep warm. Zee then looked over at Katia. "Well, I guess we're gonna walk off some of our Christmas meal." Zeeza shrugged her shoulders, with a grin, and went back to her area. There she began to put on her heavier gear, snowshoes, and other equipment, checking her cross-bolts, and other gear. They would not have too much time out there. And off the top of her head, she could not think of anyplace to the north to gather anything useful. Mostly shops and such in that direction. Zeeza looked over at Benjamin. "Should we take some tools? Maybe we find a park bench or something, we can use, we're going to need some way to remove it." Zeeza had a thought. She looked up. "We need a sleigh. If we do find something big or heavy enough to use..no way we can just lug that sucker through the snow. Bet we can find a sleigh..or a old carriage out there, we can use, maybe."

With another shrug, Zeeza went back to gearing up.


TAGS: Heavy Isotope, Saintheart, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, anyone else.

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
The Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral - Early Afternoon

Listening he sat there. Listened as the Father spoke and tried the comm radio. Listened and hoped. He didn't know anything about his brother, about childhood friends, about those he loved across the waters. He wanted so deeply to know that when there was a break in the static and another voice answered he closed his eyes feeling tears building behind his eyes. The whole of life could pass but all he cared for now in this moment were those two voices of the Father and this one that called himself one from Camelot.

When Gustavo and Joph started chatting he could not help himself in stopping their nattering when such a thing as this was happening. Then it was over, all over, all too quickly and though he had no more answers, there was the possibility of answers. With that there was hope of them to come, and with that he rocked softly as he muttered a prayer under his breath to thank God. He was put on a team to the south by the Father and he merely nodded as he kept his eyes closed in prayer, thankful and tearful prayer.

The silence of prayer was intruded as it ended as Gustavo and Joph wrapped up talking about their mission and options.

"There's an auto shop on 47th a couple blocks over, but we can check the work site first on W 46th, and if that doesn't pan out we can swing by there on the way back. " he said as he shook his head, "Gus? Pick me up my stuff, could you? Go take care of the girls weapons and get her set with a quick dry run on each and then we'll go."

Waiting for Gustavo to leave he looked at Joph and motioned him to a corner for them to talk more privately at the blocked off south exit.

TAG: Tim Battershell, greyjedi125, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Just gone Noon - Nave, near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

"'Gus' it shall be, then!", I tell him, after he speaks to Kevin and talks about equipping Angela like Lara Croft from the 'Tomb Raider' franchise, "In case you're wondering, I was told that 'Camelot' is an old British nuclear-powered submarine. Soon as the Brass realised that land-based communication hubs were at risk, they sent her to a remote location - my guess is Scapa Flow, it served us well during two World Wars and there are very few people around to turn, or be turned into, Beasts - to plug some of the gaps.

If Angela needs to be 'cannoned-up', I'm thinking I'd better bring my bow along too, just to be on the safe side. I'm not up to anything like 'Robin Hood' standard with it, or with any ranged weapon really - when I chuck a Pilum or a Javelin around, the dratted thing always lands sideways! But a bow does reach out further than a sword!"

Kevin comes back with "There's an auto shop on 47th a couple blocks over, but we can check the work site first on W 46th, and if that doesn't pan out we can swing by there on the way back.... Gus? Pick me up my stuff, could you? Go take care of the girls weapons and get her set with a quick dry run on each and then we'll go.", then points to a corner over by the South exit. Seems he wants a private chat!

I extract my hands from my Gauntlets as quickly as possible - not that difficult to do, the fun part comes in putting them back on over three layers of gloves, two silk and one wool - leaving them and the 'inners' on the pew's seat. Then I take what I need from my backpack, 'ready-use' quiver (one of two, holding twenty 'Bodkin Point' arrows each, which I have modified to be even more deadly - necessary given my poor accuracy),

bracer, bow components and a pair of close-fitting leather gloves; then empty the rest of the contents of my 'arrow bag' into my backpack. The arrow bag itself is fitted with a carry-strap for my shoulder, so can function as a 'gathering bag' and also has ties to hold the bow when it's assembled.

With that done, I follow after Kevin.


TAG: Mitth_Fisto, greyjedi125, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo - indirectly anyone else.

 

IC: Katia
St Patrick's Cathedral

"Well, I guess we're gonna walk off some of our Christmas meal," Zeeza said, Katia covered her mouth as if she was stifling a small cough, but really she was just hiding a small smirk. The meal was the most filling and delicious thing she had eaten in ages. Katia never considered the nutritional side of the food, most of what she ate was just to keep her going rather than to enjoy. "Should we take some tools? Maybe we find a park bench or something, we can use, we're going to need some way to remove it." Zeeza had a thought. She looked up. "We need a sleigh. If we do find something big or heavy enough to use..no way we can just lug that sucker through the snow. Bet we can find a sleigh..or a old carriage out there, we can use, maybe."

Katia searched her memory, there's really not much to go by other than methodically searching buildings which will get you killed... "Well... " three places came to mind, "We can search television and radio museum, modern art museum, and a little bit further is Lincoln performing art center... " Most places might have a good steel girder to brace the door with but the surest bet is probably, "I think we should try the art museum first, but if modern art is all projection and hologram.... then I don't know.

"However, a few blocks further from the Lincoln center is older art museum... " What was it called... "Folk art museum, might have metal sculptures in it. Though, these places might be cleaned out of anything immediately useful."

TAGS: CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, Ktala, Saintheart

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, South of Bronze Doors, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Early Afternoon Christmas Day

The medieval re-enactor finished prepping his bow before he came over, but Kevin was content to wait. It was not like he anything else to before the boy came back with his gear and a prepped lass for the mission. Still when the man finally walked over with metal noises, albeit softer than before, he could not stop a short shake of his head at the man. "Now why did ye have to go an' ruin the best private, and perhaps longest running inside joke I have here?" He responded with a harsh whisper before grinning hard at the man.

"Do you know how often just hearing someone else call the lad 'Guts' has made me smile over the last nine-ten year? Ah, I guess it couldn't be helped but still, I be missin' that one I will." Still grinning he stuck out his hand, "Give me ye'r paw. If we gonna go with you like that ye best know I got ye'r back but if ye trust in your armor enough I'll let you enter any buildings first. The kids good for a range shot or in close but doesn't transition worth a hogs spit with his bloody 'Madame', and ye know the lass is merely a loader for this one. So. If ye don't mind, keep in middle or rear fer travel, and point if we goin in a tight one?" he left his hand out there, an informal solidifying of their arrangement as the Knight was coming with. Yet also a good way to give him a better feel for the man. After all as his Da had said many a time, you can size a man up by how he shakes your hand, and were his eyes go while he is doing it.

TAG: Tim Battershell

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Just gone Noon - Narthex, South of Bronze Doors, St Patrick's Cathedral.

"Now why did ye have to go an' ruin the best private, and perhaps longest running inside joke I have here?", Kevin whispers to me in a harsh tone as I join him; but then takes the sting out of his comment with a broad grin.

"Do you know how often just hearing someone else call the lad 'Guts' has made me smile over the last nine-ten year? Ah, I guess it couldn't be helped but still, I be missin' that one I will." The grin stays on his lips as he sticks out his hand with the instruction; "Give me ye'r paw.".

I shake his hand, trying for 'firm' rather than 'crush' while looking full into his eyes and returning the grin. While I do so, he continues, "If we gonna go with you like that ye best know I got ye'r back but if ye trust in your armor enough I'll let you enter any buildings first. The kids good for a range shot or in close but doesn't transition worth a hogs spit with his bloody 'Madame', and ye know the lass is merely a loader for this one. So. If ye don't mind, keep in middle or rear fer travel, and point if we goin in a tight one?"

"Sorry about that!", I reply, "But young Gus showed me courtesy from the start and I had to show him honour in return - it's instinctive when one's got as deeply into the old ways as I have. Rearguard position for me on the march, I think, if Angela or Gus - whoever's right in front of me - can do a three-sixty every so often to scan our backtrail with sharp, young, eyes.

This suit's only really proof against teeth and claws, not bullets; but should give any enemy quite a shock, enough to gain a second or two of distraction; and this lady", I extract my Battleaxe and hold it out for appraisal, "is at her best in confined spaces. She's a bit heavier than she looks, and I could probably shave with her edge, so be careful with her.... And whatever you do, don't drop her on your foot; you'd likely loose toes! Yes, I'll do the room-to-room stuff if needed; another potential advantage being that nobody over here, possibly except you, will suspect just how acrobatic this suit will let me be.


TAG: Mitth_Fisto.

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, South of Bronze Doors, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Early Afternoon Christmas Day

Looking at the other man he felt the firm grip of the shake which he returned in good stand, and the steady eye which he held. Whether madman or a man of the ole' ways from the bogs, he was not about to stir anything against him and would give him the slack for now to prove himself. After all if madman he was still a man and so could be useful, if not as the portents that shown down upon them with that call seemed to say, then perhaps he was something he had not seen beyond a daily meal in a long time. A blessing.

"Sounds like a plan, the young whelps have to be good for something." he winked in return to the kiddos keeping a sharp eye out around them on the trip. In this snow covered land it was a hard task, only moderated by the usually dark color of a lycans coat. Putting out his hands he hefted the axe, "I see what you mean. We'll have to see about silver tipping it, but it is a beaut with the heft." Smiling he handed it back.

"Once had a hand at an old period sword in a mall, amazing how hard things were to heft alone." he nodded. This mans weapons were more modern, but still it was nice in a reassuring way to him to think that with the call and this man before him the world might be merely going back to a simpler way to survive this trial. "As fer' yer speed. Well, you won't be beating the kiddos but I bet you can pace me fine if we get into it out there."

TAG: Tim Battershell

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Just gone Noon - Narthex, South of Bronze Doors, St Patrick's Cathedral.

I smile and chuckle at his "Sounds like a plan, the young whelps have to be good for something.", then he goes on, "I see what you mean. We'll have to see about silver tipping it, but it is a beaut with the heft.... Once had a hand at an old period sword in a mall, amazing how hard things were to heft alone.... As fer' yer speed. Well, you won't be beating the kiddos but I bet you can pace me fine if we get into it out there."

"The poll-axe spike already has silver inserts in each gully." I tell him and point them out; "As far as the cutting edge goes, I thought it'd be too much bother to keep having to re-silver every time I sharpened it; expensive in silver too. I'll see how it goes, but the original Battleaxes worked on the plan of 'one swing, one limb', sometimes the head as well, for an under-protected opponent. This lady removed the heads from half a dozen pig carcases when I tested her, and did it with ease. Didn't matter if they were presented 'as in life' or 'sitting up and begging', either! If they'd used these for the 'extra short Tower haircuts' back in the day, I doubt there'd have been so many fiascos!

Sort of know what you mean about 'Period' swords; but try this one", I say as I return the Battleaxe to its loop, then draw my sword and hold it out to him hilt first, repeating my warning about how sharp the edges are and being very careful not to actually touch one myself. "Put your writing hand up at the cross-hilt and your other one down the hilt a piece, where it feels like it wants to be.

The trouble with so-called 'Period' weapons from shops is that almost all of them are fakes; just intended to be hung on a wall or something. Metal's usually too weak to take any sort of hit without snapping and they're normally ill-balanced brutes of things too. That's why I used to make a very good living out of fabricating weapons and armour for my fellow re-enactors!

For the rest, it's all down to practice, practice, practice. My best mate and I got into re-enactments at about twelve, which is when boys graduated from being 'Pages' to Junior 'Squires' in the old days, and we were taught how to train like they used to back then. Hundreds of hours repetitively sequence-striking at a stylised man-shape, something like a man-high cross.", remembering where I am, I tilt my head and eyes upwards and say, "No offence intended, and I hope none taken!

We started out with padded wooden 'swords', just sticks of the right length, really, then moved on to using them without the padding - getting us used to the shock of impact - and finally to blunt metal blades. It's all designed to build muscle in the sword-arm and get the trainee used to moving them about. If you've seen re-enactors 'fighting' though, that's all done in slow-time - to pace ourselves so we can do six to eight, fifteen to twenty minute, duels in a day without anyone straining anything but mainly to ensure we always strike the other guy's blade or shield, and nowhere else! Even blunted weapons can do a lot of damage!"


TAG: Mitth_Fisto.

 

IC:Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Early Afternoon

Guts had to give it to Kevin, the man always managed to surprise him now an again and teach him things in his own peculiar manner. Kevin and Father Minghan were the closest things to a Father-Figure or Older Brother that Guts ever had. Sifu Lee had been that too, way back then.

“Gus?” Kevin said, the name sounding strange to Guts in the way it sounded coming from him. The young watcher was caught by surprise as his eyebrows were raised. “…Pick me up my stuff, could you? Go take care of the girls weapons and get her set with a quick dry run on each and then we’ll go.”

Guts was surprised by the series of instructions as he expected Kevin to be doing al of this. He wanted to protest, but by now, he knew how to read several key expressions Kevin would use to communicate non-verbally. This was one of those occasions when he wouldn’t take ant sass or talk back.

“Er…..yeah, I’ll go get the stuff.” Guts said, shaking his head with an incredulous smirk on his face. Turning to Angela, he said: “I’ll be back.”

He doubted that she caught his ‘Treminator’ reference. That wouldn’t be anything new, but as long as he amused himself with quotes…

After a few steps, Gutswas all in mission mode, leaving Kevin and Joph to have their conversation.

The first order of business, Guts went to the place where the Watcher’s Armory was located. The man in charge of their gear and supplies was a large man, and though he sometimes possessed a gruff manner, Guts felt he was a kind man at his core. Being a survivor in these times tended to rob one of levity. Everyone inside the church wall had a tragedy to relate. That was the harsh reality of things.

Either way, to guts, this man was more like a mixture between ‘Forge’, ‘Thrall’ and ‘The Punisher’. Guts could not recall his name, so he simply called him The Quatermaster.

As he approached, Guts gave the man a sharp salute.

“Oh, good morning Quartermanster…er, I mean afternoon, yeah, I guess that right.”

The large man just looked at him expectantly.

“Uhm..right. Let’s see. I have one female, Angela, going out on a foraging party with Kevin and myself. I believe Father Minghan has already authorized the release of her items, yes?”

The man simply nodded an waited.

“Oh-kay. Well, she’s going to need the basic weapons package. The XM43, a side arm of choice and a hunting knife…preferably silvered. Some extra ammo please, along with winter gear for the lady. Hopefully that morning storm is all we get for christmas.”

The Quatermaster raised his brow and half turned, waiting a bit more. Folks always liked to add items as he walked away. Something that was a bit of personal irritant, especially when watchers didn’t bring a list.

“Oh, I think that’s it, feel free to throw in anything else you wish.” Guts said, giving the man a thumbs up.

The Quatermaster huffed and walked off. Guts smiled. It appeared that christmas breakfast agreed with him, since he was still in a good mood. He didn’t have to wait long before the Quartermaster came with a large bundle containing a heavy winter coat, wool coverings in addition to the weapons and ammo requested. Guts did a quick inspection, hefted the bundle, then looked up to thank the man.

“Thanks. You’re a saint, you know that…?”

The large man smiled briefly and waved him away.

“See…made you smile.” He said a she departed.

Guts remembered the first time Kevin had asked him to get his stuff. Guts had practically refused. He didn’t want for something to ‘conveniently’ go missing, then he would have been held accountable. That was almost the oldest set up in the book. Kevin did not insist, but had asked again at a later date. It took young Guts several times to understand what Kevin was trying to convey. That he trusted him.

Personal spaces were sacred here at the cathedral. They were almost like luxury real estate. Every inch could be measured as status, if one decided to view it that way. Inviting another to your area was a sign of trust. Not that one had many valuables per say, but what little one had, was considered to be akin to treasures. For Guts, his poster collection were treasures.

As was his custom, Guts only retrieved the things that were asked for and touched nothing else, as it was proper and he would like for himself. Kevin’s things were already together either way, so getting them was no problem. Getting back to the group took a little doing, since he was now more than a bit encumbered, but made it back he did.

As he neared, the young watcher noticed Kevin and the metal knight deep in conversation. Kevin was inspecting Joph’s Axe. Guts almost chuckled. He could only imagine Kevin chopping firewood with that. He was far deadlier with a rifle, at least in his opinion. And speaking of rifles….

“Angela, I brought you your stuff…” Guts breathed out, as he placed the budge down near the girl and Kevin’s things atop the table. He laughed nervously as he began to hand Angela her things. He was no good at this next part. Looking around now, he tried to find someone, anyone who could help him out. Kevin was busy, he couldn’t see Karen anywhere at the moment, and he wasn’t about to ask the cops.

Finally, his eyes found someone who looked ‘very knowledgeable’ about this things.

“*Ahem….Delta. *cough, cough.* A moment of your time...pleeeease…….”

He smiled awkwardly at the newcomer, as he hadn't expected to need her for something so important ( in which he was so deficient), so soon.

Guts tried not to turn a bit red, but failed despite his efforts. “Could you..erm…show Angela the basic ‘how to’ of weapon handling?”


Tag: @Heavy Isotope, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Katia - 'Delta'
St Patrick's Cathedral

“*Ahem….Delta. *cough, cough.* A moment of your time...pleeeease…….” Someone called to her. She was waiting to see what the others thought of her plan, but before they could answer Guts called her over. He seemed to grow more nervous as she looked to him with her unchanging expression, his face reddened a little before he spoke again. “Could you..erm…show Angela the basic ‘how to’ of weapon handling?”

"Ah, sure," Katia said flatly. Angela, their fourth team mate, was she inexperienced? It's probably best to see if she can help with that... Karen and Angela were checking over their weapons. Her life never depended on another, but this is different now... Looking to Zeeza she nodded her head in the direction of Guts, Karen, and Angela. "Let me know what you think when I come back," Katia said to Zeeza.

One thing Katia did notice, she didn't know how to check the actual functions, she was just looking inside the chamber. It certainly might be clean but... Katia approached Angela, Karen was preoccupied and seemed confident enough. "Unload and clear your weapon, Angela. Watch and do like I do," Katia said. Holding up her own rifle, Katia switched to safe and checked the chamber to ensure there was nothing loaded. Next she tried to squeeze the trigger, which wouldn't work if the safety catch was working properly. "Put on semi... " Katia said, squeezing the trigger and holding it. "Now hold trigger, pull back charging handle to reset hammer... " doing so and waiting for Angela to do the same, "let go of trigger," each rifle made a clunk, "that means it's working." Katia said, still monotone, but not as unfriendly as usual. "Now do same for burst, but pull charging handle three times while holding trigger. Let go..." More sets of clunks. "Put to safe, squeeze trigger and should not fire. That is how you check your weapon is working. Now aim at wall."

Angela lifted her rifle, Katia narrowed her eyes, how could she explain this... Walking up to Karen and gently but firmly gripping under the barrel."Hold rifle into shoulder," she said pushing the rifle back, "move your hand higher up the pistol grip and flex shooting arm to hold it into shoulder," she'd never had to explain this to someone, she barely knew how she knew; all Katia could do is run through her split second thoughts which were merely programmed into her. "Place forward hand back near magazine well," Angela did so, Katia walked behind her placing her hands on her arms and pushed down, "elbows close to body."

"Like this," Katia quickly and expertly aimed at the wall, "now you." Angela aimed and sighted in, much better this time, "hold there." Katia said, standing beside her, holding her hand in front of the muzzle. With her palm open she gave three firm smacks to the compensator. Angela stumbled back a bit, "that's recoil."

"Get back to shooting stance," Katia said, starting to sound more serious, "move right leg back, not too much." Angela squared up again, "shoulders forward, straighten back, don't brace against recoil before you fire." Katia smacked the muzzle three times again, this time Angela held herself well. "Better," she said. "Now, you keep magazines accessible to the hand you hold under barrel," Katia said, pointing at the four magazine pouches that were just above her waist. Loading one but not chambering a round, she said "watch," very quickly she took a knee as the magazine was released from her rifle, her hand already drawing another magazine and slapping it home as the other magazine clattered to the floor. Standing up again, fighting the urge to chamber a round, as the bolt wasn't locked back like it would be when the magazine would have actually been empty. "Then you press bolt release, to chamber new round," Katia explained. "Now you try."

Angela loaded an empty magazine and pulled the charging handle to lock the bolt back as if the magazine had just run out. Taking a knee, then releasing the magazine, she reached for another empty one. The other magazine hit the floor causing Angela to startle a bit and fumble with the pouch cover of her own LBV (load bearing vest). About three seconds later she was slapping the magazine into the rifle and hitting the bolt release with an open palm. "Good," Katia said, still keeping an even voice, "try again."

Again loading and unloading, this time the magazine slipped out of her fingers, "Again, you make no mistakes this time," Katia said, Angela gave her a sideways glance, which Katia noticed. "There may be lycan charging at you when you drop magazine, so try again," she said sternly. Observing her as Angela repeated the motions, Katia's mind slowly drifted...

Katia suddenly clutched her side, her head beginning to pound as another of these 'memories' surfaced. Bozhe moi... she thought, her hand moving from her side to her temple as Angela continued to commit the movements to muscle memory.

TAGS: greyjedi125, Ktala, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, Saintheart

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

He watch Delta take Angela through the motion of loading her weapon. He couldn’t help to notice Delta’s ‘military style’ approach. It was quite fascinating how she went about the drill. It reminded him of his days back in the dojo when Sifu Lee would drill the class for hours.

‘Again!’ Sifu would command them. ‘Repetition is survival, correct repetition is success, bad repetition is failure. Again!’

During combat, the warrior’s body acted on instinct, not thought. The time it took to think a next move in the middle of a heated encounter could cost one’s life. Guts had seen this first hand, back on that fateful day when the lycan had stumble into the dojo. When fists and kicks had failed to produce the desired results, many students hesitated and payed for that hesitation with their lives.

Guts could see the fire in Delta’s eyes. She had the Will of Fire, she was the real deal…and inwardly, he was grateful to have her on their side. The same went for Joph. A two-for-one blessing on Christmas day, not bad. Heaven was still on their side, thankfully; but he also felt that this probably meant that things were about to get a good deal more intense.

A bit of a smile came to his face as he saw Angela concentrating and trying to learn on the fly. She was actually getting it a lot faster than he had when he’d first learned.

Taking a step towards the two women, Guts joined Angela as he stood beside her and did as Delta instructed. It was a good review class for him, but most importantly, he hoped it served to take the edge out of Angela’s learning process if someone else was being ‘drilled’ alongside with her.

He gave both ladies a wink, before becoming serious, producing his own rifle, then followed Delta’s drilling instructions.


Tag: @Heavy Isotope, @Mitth_Fisto, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo ( any one else in the group)