Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror|IC|Open)

[Bolslania]

Boone's eyes flicked up to the door as Josef opened it.

Who the hell is this? He wasn't on my list He thought tensely. He watched the man come towards them. He had a military bearing, but appeared to be nervous, eyes darting around the room as he drank from a flask. Then he heard Josef speak.

While Boone had not been victim to the propaganda that so many had fallen for, that Germans were inhuman murderous monsters, he had spent 4 years hunting down German spies, and feelings were still a bit hard between England and Germany. The obvious military background could suggest that Josef was armed, but it would be a feat of cunning to get it past customs. As a German, the customs officers would have upended his luggage, checking for anything they could refuse him for.

Boone gave Josef an acknowledging nod, subtly gesturing at Martelli to stop speaking about the case until Josef was confirmed to not be a threat.

[Voxija]

Victoria Wasserman

Victoria agreed with Martelli's first scenario. It was probably a werewolf that did this. But Victoria didn't want to speak up just yet. If it really was a werewolf, the truth would come out, and if it wasn't, Victoria would just look silly.

Boone paused for a moment, Martelli had made some good points about the case. He scribbled it down. Flipping back to the page with the names of the members, he wrote the following.

Van der Valk- Cooperative, Tier B
Salt- Cooperative, Tier B
Jean-Martin- Cooperative, Tier C
(Whatever Eleanor's last name is)- Cooperative, Tier C
Martelli- Cooperative, Tier A
Sinclair-Cooperative, Tier A
Dredlen-Uncooperative, Tier A

For the rest, he left blank, there cooperation was to be determined.

"Bit strange for someone to release a Mastiff sized animal though. If someone has the money to own something like that, shouldn't they have the funds to feed it?" He asked of Martelli.

Victoria Wasserman observed Boone writing something down in his notebook. Very suspicious, that man. Boone was probably writing something very bad down in that notebook.

"Are you writing about me?" Victoria asked Mr. Boone. "Please tell us what you're writing in there."

[Bolslania]

Victoria Wasserman

Victoria agreed with Martelli's first scenario. It was probably a werewolf that did this. But Victoria didn't want to speak up just yet. If it really was a werewolf, the truth would come out, and if it wasn't, Victoria would just look silly.

Boone paused for a moment, Martelli had made some good points about the case. He scribbled it down. Flipping back to the page with the names of the members, he wrote the following.

Van der Valk- Cooperative, Tier B
Salt- Cooperative, Tier B
Jean-Martin- Cooperative, Tier C
(Whatever Eleanor's last name is)- Cooperative, Tier C
Martelli- Cooperative, Tier A
Sinclair-Cooperative, Tier A
Dredlen-Uncooperative, Tier A

For the rest, he left blank, there cooperation was to be determined.

"Bit strange for someone to release a Mastiff sized animal though. If someone has the money to own something like that, shouldn't they have the funds to feed it?" He asked of Martelli.

Victoria Wasserman observed Boone writing something down in his notebook. Very suspicious, that man. Boone was probably writing something very bad down in that notebook.

"Are you writing about me?" Victoria asked Mr. Boone. "Please tell us what you're writing in there."

Boone looked back at Wasserman.

"I am writing down the theories that have been presented to me by the others here, notetaking is an essential part of anything like this and I suggest you do some yourself." He said shortly, before turning back to Josef. He decided not to speak to Josef first, choosing to let Van der Valk make first contact with the German.

[Reverend Norv]

Boone had retreated. Still, Eleanor's hand did not move from Jean-Martin's arm. She shifted a little further down the bench seat, pulling her books along with her like a schoolgirl making room at her desk. "Please, Monsiuer, would you sit with me for a while?"

Jean-Martin turned, and his brow furrowed. A man had just threatened to kill Eleanor; there was no telling how shaken she might be. Jean-Martin felt something beneath his heart clench at the thought. But the doctor saw no fear in Eleanor's brown eyes. He thought of Stonehenge: of how Eleanor had accepted the magic of those ancient stones, and welcomed it unafraid. And now she's stared down a man with a gun, and she seems - fine.

Jean-Martin nodded: there was recognition in his eyes, and respect. "Of course, mademoiselle." He settled into the bench seat alongside Eleanor; in the December chill of the drafty old inn, he could feel her warmth close beside him. Sotto voce and with a rueful smile, the doctor murmured: "You are quite the bravest librarian I've ever met."

Meanwhile, the team continued to report. Jesse remarked that the beast sounded like a "wolfman" out of stories from the Cajun's childhood; Jean-Martin wondered if some other family of French exiles had carried to Louisiana the same tales that Jean-Martin's grandmother had told of Gévaudan. Boone mostly reiterated what Jean-Martin had said, but noted that the second attack - at the cathedral - seemed to suggest that the creature was not affected by holy ground.

Jean-Martin wondered, privately, whether any creature was truly affected by holy ground. Man certainly was not; how many village churches had Jean-Martin seen shelled into moonscapes? The doctor still read his father's Huguenot Bible, but wondered sometimes whether it was more out of habit than devotion - or whether there was even a difference.

Frank pointed out that more mundane explanations were also possible: perhaps Sutherland was involved in some shady dealing that would make him a target for murder. Aleyn added that someone had been stealing bodies from the morgue, and that no one had seen a beast enter or leave the hospital. That might support Frank's idea. But Harriet Salt noted that barghests - whatever those were, Jean-Martin thought - could apparently turn incorporeal, and thus enter locked rooms. Well, that would explain it, Jean-Martin thought. The last forty-eight hours have brought so many incredibles - what's one more to add to the list?

Jean-Martin shook his head; something niggled at him, some crucial connection just out of reach. "We spoke to Doctor Sutherland's colleagues," the Frenchman said. "I do not think that he was involved in anything so explosive as to justify his murder - especially not in this fashion. But I find it hard to believe that the disappearing bodies are a coincidence, either." Jean-Martin spoke slowly, brow furrowed. "Doctor Steele, at the morgue, believed that someone was incinerating the missing corpses. Perhaps it was to hide evidence that they had been fed upon? If so, it would mean that the killer - whatever its, ah, nature - had practice in entering and leaving the morgue undetected."

For her part, Viviette explained that neither local gravediggers nor the other local mortician had seen anything out of the ordinary. But the game-warden of a nearby lord had apparently heard of dog or wolf attacks on the flocks of Truro's shepherds. At Viviette's words, Eleanor perked up beside Jean-Martin. "Did anyone smell sulphur?" she asked. Eleanor didn't think the creature was a barghest; instead, she thought that the Order was hunting a shapeshifter. The librarian asked whether the livestock attacks were ongoing, and Viviette replied that they had stopped two weeks ago; that a rabid beast was presumably responsible, and that some shepherd must have shot it.

Jean-Martin nodded slowly. "And just when the livestock attacks end, the bodies begin to disappear from the morgue," he noted. "That cannot be coincidence."

Frank Martelli had an alternative theory. He suggested that the beast was someone's pet - a huge dog or even a lion - and that its owner had used the animal as a weapon to kill Sutherland and the other victim, for reasons unknown. Boone asked why the owner of such a pet would be unable to feed it without homicide. Frank replied, reasonably enough, that a man odd enough to own a lion could not be expected to behave rationally in employing it.

"Doctor Sutherland's wounds were - extreme," Jean-Martin stated carefully. His good hand made an odd, unconscious twitching motion. "Well beyond what was necessary to kill him. I do not think they are consistent with the use of an animal as a weapon, like an attack dog. The doctor was partially devoured." Jean-Martin turned to Eleanor. "I agree that we seem to be dealing with a predator, and it makes sense that it is escalating to larger and larger prey: from sheep to corpses to living men. If that pattern holds, do you have any idea where it might strike next?"

Before Eleanor could answer, a tall, shabbily-dressed young man with blond hair and a few days' growth of beard ducked into the inn. He tucked a flask into his jacket - and suddenly Jean-Martin's throat felt very dry, and he pushed away the memory of the flask of cognac in his own pocket. "Excuse me," the stranger said, "I do not mean to interrupt. I believe that this is the group for...." His voice trailed off, and he brandished a familiar looking letter. "My names is Josef. I do not know why I am here for sure, but I was told that this group is meant to...help others."

Josef was German. His name and accent were unmistakable. Jean-Martin felt no hate: only tremendous weariness. He watched the way the young man's eyes flickered spastically across the room, as if terrified of missing some crucial detail in the shadows. Jean-Martin recognized that habit all too well.

"Have a seat," Jean-Martin told Josef. He gestured at Van der Valk. "This gentleman is in command here. If you want answers, I suggest you speak to him." The doctor offered a small nod of welcome. "You've had a long journey, I suspect. If you are hungry, I recommend the gurty pudding."

[New Finnish Republic]

Josef Wallner
The Railway Inn

---

Josef was not unaware of the suspicious glances he garnered from many of those present in the room. This did not come as a surprise, given both his sudden appearance and the fact that based on the accents and mannerisms from those present most of these individuals derived from nations that were his former enemies. The fact that he had not been treated with outward hostility upon his arrival was actually a welcome surprise for the young German, who had thus far had only been treated with cold and unforgiving attitudes ever since he had arrived in England.

"Have a seat. This gentleman is in command here. If you want answers, I suggest you speak to him. You've had a long journey, I suspect. If you are hungry, I recommend the gurty pudding."

Glancing over at the source of the voice, Josef's eyes went wide for a brief moment as his gaze centered on the man's arm, or rather lack thereof. Memories of seeing many of his fellow countrymen having suffered the same fate flashed in his mind, causing an unsettled feeling to wash over him and bring temptations to reach back towards the flask in his pocket. However, he managed to fight off the temptation and return the man's nod with a polite one of his own.

"Sehr auf- I mean thank you very much. I am content for the moment, but I appreciate your suggestion."

Josef bit his tongue as he had reflexively spoken in his native tongue when first trying to thank the man. Although he was relatively proficient in English thanks to his studies, he still had yet to get used to speaking the language given he had barely stepped foot in the country thus far. Cursing at himself mentally, he took a seat at one of the few remaining seats available in the room and placed his suitcase on the ground next to him. Looking over in the direction of the man pointed out to him, Josef gave him a small nod.

"Apologies if I am rude for asking this, but exactly what is our purpose here? From what little my letter held, I was told that you people deal with certain...unpleasant things. From what little I heard from outside the door, I can tell that we are dealing with some sort of murder. Am I correct?"

[Dyelli Beybi]

Renier van der Valk, Eleanor Martin, Inspector Jago and Harriet Salt

Van der Valk cleared his throat, holding his hand out for the letter that Josef was carrying. He scanned the invite, then passed it to Eleanor, who scanned it as well, before declaring, "Mister Wallner, welcome!" Her tone was warm, cheerful, and without even the slightest hint of malice. It was, perhaps, unexpected from someone with such a crisp English accept to have no apparent animosity for someone they had been fighting a few short weeks ago, "We had expected you a bit earlier, but that is alright. I am Miss Eleanor Martin and this is Mister Renier van der Valk," she indicated the broad figure who had first accepted the invitation from her, "Our Leader."

Van der Valk nodded, motioning for Josef to take a seat if he wished (there were some, Jago and Salt included, who were still standing), "Indeed," his accent was not English, carrying the distinct tones of Africa, "You are welcome here and are not the only person we have invited who was on the other side of the Great War. There are few enough people with the aptitude to be members, many of those were lost in the recent hostilities and I do fear that the slaughter of the last few years has awoken a terrible darkness..." He trailed, his brows drawing together thoughtfully for a moment, "But that is not a discussion for now. We have come here at the behest of Inspector Jago -" Jago tipped his hat, giving Josef a look of careful consideration; he was suspicious of a German but trusted the Order, "- to investigate a mysterious murder which could have been the work of a creature of unnatural origin. Since being here, there has been a second attack. The first was a Doctor, by the name of Sutherland, the second a vagrant. We have been piecing together what we believe the creature to be. Miss Martin, would you care to continue with that?"

Eleanor bobbed her head, glancing about before saying, "I think we have gathered a large amount of information. There were attacks on livestock nearby, but two weeks ago they stopped and bodies started disappearing from the local morgue. This poses an important question. What happened two weeks ago?" She let the question hang unanswered for a moment before continuing, "It seems logical that the attack on Sutherland was the result of the Doctor intruding on the creature as it raided the morgue. The attack on the vagrant was, perhaps, it's first attempt to hunt a human. The success will only lead it to get bolder and it will begin to target more... 'appetising' victims. As I mentioned earlier, I believe we are dealing with a shapeshifter of some form, potentially a werewolf."

That drew a roll of the eyes from Salt, "Miss Martin, I respect your expertise and I would agree that the pattern of these attacks looks like a human intelligence is behind them, but this is barghest country. There hasn't been a werewolf reported on this island since the 1700s and that was in Hull. Why would we suddenly have one, two hundred years later? I maintain we are looking for a barghest."

"We have to follow the facts," Eleanor countered, directing a frown at Salt.

"If we get this wrong, people could die," Salt countered, "I'm going to prepare a demon trap in case your 'facts' turn out to be less reliable than you think they are."

"That doesn't sound illogical," van der Valk raised his voice, cutting off any further protest from Eleanor, "We can try to lure the creature into our crossfire, though if that is ineffective, if there is a demon trap drawn in an alley or similar, that gives us somewhere to fall back to. Though convincing the creature to actually enter it is another matter. I will leave the specifics of that part of the plan to you, Miss Salt, though that leaves us with how we are going to lure the creature out. We will need bait and, given what has been said about escalation, we will need to make it good bait."

That caused the other two to fall silent.

[Lessoni]

"That doesn't sound illogical," van der Valk raised his voice, cutting off any further protest from Eleanor, "We can try to lure the creature into our crossfire, though if that is ineffective, if there is a demon trap drawn in an alley or similar, that gives us somewhere to fall back to. Though convincing the creature to actually enter it is another matter. I will leave the specifics of that part of the plan to you, Miss Salt, though that leaves us with how we are going to lure the creature out. We will need bait and, given what has been said about escalation, we will need to make it good bait."

That caused the other two to fall silent.

Jesse Dredlen

The German entering the room wavered Jesse none. He didn't seem to be armed, meaning he wasn't there to kill anyone, and he didn't seem like half the prick some of their little group showed themselves to be, so he was alright in Jesse's book. He didn't see too much point in holding the war against him; wasn't like the man was making any decisions in Berlin.

It was at the mention of bait that Jesse's clock started ticking. Jesse was no more than a casual hunter, not like some of his fellows running off to safari every summer, but he was a more than casual fisherman, and there was one essential rule on bait. 90% of the time, live bait would do the job best, regardless of what you were after. Course, it also needed to be wounded, or looking like it. And he had a man in mind...

"Well, 'dere's an uncomfortable truth need said, 'dat bait gonna need to be livin' an' breathin', if a little worse for da' wear. All we need do is make one of 'dis number standin' in 'dis room look like they a little wounded and I got a fair certainty it'll be a dinner bell, eh? And 'pparently, we got a man already skilled in killin' and sneakin', ain't 'dat right Mr. Boone? How 'bout you prove you ain't lookin' to do us no harm and be a pretty little piece a' bait?"

[Bolslania]

"That doesn't sound illogical," van der Valk raised his voice, cutting off any further protest from Eleanor, "We can try to lure the creature into our crossfire, though if that is ineffective, if there is a demon trap drawn in an alley or similar, that gives us somewhere to fall back to. Though convincing the creature to actually enter it is another matter. I will leave the specifics of that part of the plan to you, Miss Salt, though that leaves us with how we are going to lure the creature out. We will need bait and, given what has been said about escalation, we will need to make it good bait."

That caused the other two to fall silent.

Jesse Dredlen

The German entering the room wavered Jesse none. He didn't seem to be armed, meaning he wasn't there to kill anyone, and he didn't seem like half the prick some of their little group showed themselves to be, so he was alright in Jesse's book. He didn't see too much point in holding the war against him; wasn't like the man was making any decisions in Berlin.

It was at the mention of bait that Jesse's clock started ticking. Jesse was no more than a casual hunter, not like some of his fellows running off to safari every summer, but he was a more than casual fisherman, and there was one essential rule on bait. 90% of the time, live bait would do the job best, regardless of what you were after. Course, it also needed to be wounded, or looking like it. And he had a man in mind...

"Well, 'dere's an uncomfortable truth need said, 'dat bait gonna need to be livin' an' breathin', if a little worse for da' wear. All we need do is make one of 'dis number standin' in 'dis room look like they a little wounded and I got a fair certainty it'll be a dinner bell, eh? And 'pparently, we got a man already skilled in killin' and sneakin', ain't 'dat right Mr. Boone? How 'bout you prove you ain't lookin' to do us no harm and be a pretty little piece a' bait?"

Boone raised an eyebrow at Van der Valk's suggestion, grinning internally. Hopefully this would be a method for him to at least gain the group's cooperation and trust, he was about to volunteer when Dredlen spoke.

"It seems we agree Mr. Dredlen." Boone said, turning his attention back to Van der Valk he continued. "I volunteer to be your bait for this ambush Mr. Van der Valk." He said this without the slightest waiver in his voice, although he was aware that the terror would come eventually, but now wasn't the time to be afraid. He just hoped they knew what they were doing.

[Dyelli Beybi]

Harriet Salt

"Very good of you to offer Mister Boone, but I'm afraid you'd be wholly unsuitable," Salt chipped in from where she was standing in the corner of the room, "If it is a demonic entity of cursed creature it will be naturally drawn to destroy a certain type of person. Innocent, idealistic, perhaps someone who embodies some of the cardinal or heavenly virtues: the metaphorical lamb to the slaughter. From how you've described yourself so far, you'd be about as appealing to our monster as a raw turnip... you know, unless it's actually a rabid dog, in which case there's plenty of meat on your skeleton."

"You probably don't want anyone who's fought in a war, which excludes most of you gentlemen, including van der Valk," there was a pregnant pause. It was clear that Salt had someone in mind, though she wasn't saying it, either waiting for someone else to come up with it or for the person in question to volunteer themselves.

[Reverend Norv]

Josef started to thank Jean-Martin in German, then caught himself. He handed his letter to Van der Valk, who scanned it and then passed it to Eleanor. She welcomed Josef with unmistakable sincerity and warmth. Jean-Martin knew better than to be surprised. He thought for a moment of the portrait in the Martin country home; then he realized, somewhere in his bones - that was not the reason, not really. It's not because of where she comes from. It's because of who she is.

Jean-Martin smiled at that, and the smile was strong enough that it scarcely flickered when Josef stared at Jean'-Martin's arm, and the doctor saw shell-shock dilate the young German's pupils. But even Jean-Martin's smile faded as Van der Valk brooded: the Afrikaner wondered whether the slaughter of the war had awoken some terrible darkness in the world. Jean-Martin didn't need to wonder. He could feel it in the empty streets of London, with all the men still gone. He had felt it in himself, when he had looked at his mother's last letter and known that he could not go back to Oran, could not go back to the way things had been. Could not go home. How many millions of us can never go home?

That, surely, was darkness enough. Surely.

Meanwhile, Van der Valk and Eleanor recapitulated what the Order knew: Inspector Jago had invited them to investigate Doctor Sutherland's murder. The second attack, on a vagrant at the Cathedral, had occurred since their arrival. Two weeks prior, the creature seemed to have switched from attacking livestock to stealing bodies from the morgue - albeit for reasons unknown. Doctor Sutherland had probably been killed when he intruded on the creature as it raided the morgue; having killed him, the creature then deliberately sought out and killed another human - the vagrant. It had succeeded at that too. It would likely grow bolder accordingly.

The experts disagreed, however, on what exactly the creature was. Eleanor maintained that the facts pointed to a human intelligence - a werewolf. Harriet Salt was confident, by contrast, that werewolves were unknown in modern Britain; the creature had to be a barghest. Van der Valk settled the dispute: in either case, they would try to lure the creature into a crossfire. If it were a werewolf, that would finish the job. If it turned out to be a barghest, the hunters could fall back to a demon trap instead. But in any case, they would need bait to lure the creature out.

At that, a long silence fell over the room. Jean-Martin studied his hand. Two days ago I scarcely believed that any of this existed. Today I am ready to acquiesce in risking a human life to lure out a monster. He tried not to look at the faces of the men and women around him. "First, do no harm." What happened to that oath, Docteur de Florac?

In the end, to Jean-Martin's surprise, Jesse Dredlen broke the silence. In his scarcely comprehensible English, the American suggested that the Order need only make one of their number look a little wounded in order to lure out the beast. Jesse unabashedly suggested Boone for the role - after all, the man had claimed that he was a talented killer. This, Jesse suggested, was a chance for Boone to prove his loyalty. Jean-Martin was uncomfortably aware of his own schadenfreude at Jesse's suggestion, but he couldn't bring himself to feel unduly troubled by it. And even Boone agreed to the plan readily enough. Jean-Martin let out a quiet sigh of relief. After all, the doctor rationalized, if the miles gloriosus wants to run the risk, what harm is there in giving him the chance?

Harriet Salt dashed Jean-Martin's relief in an instant. Boone, she explained, would be wholly unsuitable as bait. "If it is a demonic entity of cursed creature it will be naturally drawn to destroy a certain type of person. Innocent, idealistic, perhaps someone who embodies some of the cardinal or heavenly virtues: the metaphorical lamb to the slaughter." Boone scarcely met that description. Neither, Salt suggested, did anyone else who had fought in a war, which eliminated most of the men in the room from consideration.

Salt didn't name her candidate. She didn't have to. Jean-Martin thought of Eleanor's cheerful welcome to Josef, of the dignified courage with which she had stared down Boone's gun. He thought of what Eleanor had told him at Stonehenge: of her father, and how she knew she would see him again someday. It is not such a very long time, against the eternal lifetime of the soul.

Eleanor sat close beside him. Jean-Martin could hear her breathe, could almost feel the warmth of her. She was achingly alive. She had only touched him once.

Suddenly, the doctor was on his feet; he had scarcely any memory of how he had gotten there. "Me," he said sharply. "Take me." Jean-Martin felt his breath rattle in his throat, and put his hand behind his back in case it shook. "I did not fight in the war." The words almost tumbled over themselves. "I was - am - a doctor. I healed men; I didn't shoot them. I may not be innocent, but I'm no killer." Jean-Martin shook his head jerkily. "I do not know what virtues I possess, but I had some once, and I tried my hardest to hold onto them. I don't know what else idealism can mean but that. I'll be your lamb."

The doctor's sea-green gaze met Salt's, and he looked her dead in the eye. "You know why I'm asking," he said - and the desperation was there, taut and thrumming, beneath his voice. "That's why it will work. Whatever else I am, whatever else I've done - you know why I'm asking now. And if you're right, the beast will know too. That has to be enough." Please, God, let it be enough.

[Bolslania]

Boone nodded at Salt's analysis, the logic was sound. Then he stopped.

Oh. Eleanor. She was the obvious choice, even with Boone's limited interaction with her he could see it. He was going to speak when Jean-Martin bolted up and threw himself on the altar. Boone looked at the doctor with a raised eyebrow. Jean-Martin was quickly gaining Boone's respect. This however did not delude Boone, he had seen the relief on the doctor's face when Dredlen had suggested Boone be the bait, and even more relief when Boone accepted. He was well aware the somewhere in the Good Doctor's mind there was a piece that wouldn't mind seeing Boone get ripped apart. But Salt had shut down Boone's offer, suggesting someone who Boone wasn't at all comfortable with having in the line of fire.

Boone spoke up.

"I have to agree with the doctor. I can not with good conscious agree with....the other alternative." Boone said calmly to Salt. If Eleanor was as pure as was suggested, her chances of survival were slim. Then he though of Jean-Martin's arm, or rather, lack thereof. He swore under his breath. Neither were a great option.

[Bingellia]

Viviette

---

The arrival of Josef went almost disregarded by Viviette, who felt as though the meeting was more important to focus on. Whatever hatred either set of her countrymen held for le boche, Viviette held some bit of pity for soldiers who had just surrendered. Kaiser Bill and his blood-thirsty generals were the truly dreaded huns and, in her mind, deserved whatever terms they were given, not the malnourished boys who had their dreams shattered by war who could be found in any uniform of the war.

Then the conversation turned to the dreary topic of bait, and while she kept herself neutral when Boone was both volunteered by the others and himself. It wasn't as though she knew the man, and the altercation between him and the others had ruined any sympathy she would have felt while marking him as an unstable, delusional man. Then Harriet implied that Eleanor be used as bait, and Jean-Martin's reaction certainly caught her attention.

While the pair had seemed close once arriving in the inn, Jean-Martin's sincere, intense emotion cemented the conclusion in her mind. His plea to replace the young was almost out of the theater, and it seemed to resonate resonate with the woman as she stood from her seat to speak.

«Docteur de Florac,» Viviette's impassioned french had little trace of a foreign accent. «Vous ne devrais pas vous risquer. Certains entre nous pourrais devenir blessés; on a besoin que vous nous servissiez comme vous avez servi votre patrie. Je voudrais me proposer d’être substitut. » (You mustn’t risk yourself. Some among us could become hurt; we need you to serve us as you have served your nation. I would like to propose myself as a substitute)

She awkwardly glanced over the others at the table before taking fixing her attention on Harriet. "I am not an innocent woman and most wouldn't call me virtuous," her tone held no shame as she admitted those facts. Her family, with the exception of her mother, certainly would have agreed with them.

"However," she hesitated slightly before continuing, "I had an encounter, just before the war, that seemed to have involved sinister forces that this order exists to destroy. Miss Martin provides information to fight those forces and Docteur de Florac can help those who do. I am an actress and a singer, and it's not as though I can raise funds for this order through shows. So, if the more experienced among us believe it would work, I would like volunteer and help destroy this threat so we may be still be prepared to fight the next one."

[New Finnish Republic]

Josef Wallner
The Railway Inn

---

The details of what had occurred troubled Josef. Not only was it the fact that they were dealing with the supernatural as it seemed, but the fact that they had no concrete idea of what it was they were even dealing with. If there was one thing he had learned over his years fighting amongst the trenches, it was that uncertainty could only lead to disaster. He couldn't even begin to count the times in which the army's intelligence would state that their enemies held weak gaps in their lines that could be exploited, only for the soldiers sent into them to encounter heavily entrenched fortifications that cut them down in droves.

"A small thing of note," Josef spoke up quietly, raising his hand to draw attention to himself. "From what I have heard, it seems as though we do not even fully understand what sort of creature or being we are currently dealing with. How do we know that it will even be possible for us to kill it should it appear?"

Glancing over at the room, Josef could easily tell that many of those present seemed to be the furthest things away from experienced fighters. His gaze centered on the woman who had just spoken out, a feeling of unease building up within him as he quickly averted his eyes a moment later.

"I do not feel comfortable with sending a young woman to die in front of me, if I may be honest," Josef spoke up once more, his voice more firm than it had been before. "I am...familiar to warfare. Not understanding your enemy will only lead to tragic consequences. If we send this woman out, what can we do to guarantee she does not become the next victim of this unknown creature?"

[Khasinkonia]

Yalin
Lady Dowager of the Fucha Clan

“Clearly very little, if this monster is that ghoul which can avoid touch itself. Your god provides no safety from it and no trap can contain it,” Lady Yalin replied. She had said little during the day up to this point, but spoke quite firmly.

She had listened to the conclusions about the monster with clear focus. She had processed each bit of information carefully, and noted some down in her little notebook. Only now did she feel prepared to express her own judgement, and so she made certain she was heard. She spoke clearly and projected, but not so much as to be yelling.

“What one must recognise is that this is not war, but a hunt. We do indeed need to know our enemy, but there is no indication that it has a martial discipline to itself. As far as we can tell, it behaves animalistically, which means it gathers less information than us. As humans, our advantage should most certainly lie in our wits. My husband once used to hunt at Mulan, in the tradition of the Imperial Hunt, though not in the emperor’s audience. We must therefore work with our advantage and gather more information. We ought to set traps to prepare for the possibility that it is a werewolf or some other beast which might be affected by such things, but should it be a...Barghest...as it were, then we should also anticipate the need to extract Miss Viviette’s person lest she be another victim. As long as she can bear witness to it and escape alive, we will then be able to determine our foe and plan for a final capture accordingly. We do need bait for any trap, and that being the case, there seems to be no way to circumvent risking the life of one person. Above all, we must ensure that we keep the trap in our sights at all times. To lose sight of our bait for even a moment would lead to the possibility of us not finding the true culprit. After we have truly identified it, only then can we make a determination on how to actually deal with it.”

[Voxija]

Victoria Wasserman

Victoria wondered if she should volunteer to be bait. She was glad that her prediction was wrong, that it was not a werewolf, but it could be worse. Victoria was glad that many other people had volunteered as bait. She was glad to be in this virtuous group, and she was glad so many other people were willing to risk their lives.

---

Adam Weiss

Adam noted the presence of Josef Wallner. A fellow German soldier, someone who could understand what Adam went through in the war. Although Harriet was wonderful and a great conversation partner, she just couldn't understand battle fatigue. Maybe Josef and Adam could speak together about their war experiences. But there was one thorn in that side.

Adam Weiss wasn't just a German. He was Jewish, too. Even though Adam considered himself as German as any Christian, he'd experienced his fair share of anti-semitism in his life. Of course, Adam had met many tolerant souls in Germany who just saw in him a fellow German, or a fellow man. Like his friend Johann, Johann who Adam couldn't save.

This wasn't the time to go up to Josef and commiserate. This was a war. This was a hunt, as the Chinese lady had said. But Adam couldn't stop his thought from drifting... maybe he should've become a poet.

[New Finnish Republic]

Josef Wallner
The Railway Inn

---

Josef hesitated to respond, but eventually let out a reluctant nod towards the woman who had just spoken up. "I suppose I cannot argue with that logic. All I can ask for is that we do what we can to ensure that there are no needless deaths." Josef's gaze wandered over towards Van der Valk, a curious gaze in his eyes as he thought of how to best word his next question. "So in the chance that we do manage to trap...whatever it is we are up against, what are we supposed to use for weapons? I can imagine this is not a foe that can be taken down with the mere rifle and shovel, correct?"

[Dyelli Beybi]

Eleanor Martin

Eleanor had looked slightly shocked at Jean-Martin offering himself as bait for the creature, in large part because it hadn't immediately dawned on her what Salt was hinting at. She was silent for a moment, wide eyes studying the different people in the room, then the realisation of the situation seemed to hit her and she flushed, bolting to her feet a little unsteadily, "Oh... I must say I'm feeling a little ill all of a sudden. Monsieur," she turned to Jean-Martin, "Please, would you walk with me? I'm sure it's just the stuffy atmosphere. I'll be fine once I have some fresh air."

It was clear, from the concerned look she darted at Jean-Martin, that Eleanor had something she wanted to say to him. Clearly it wasn't something she wanted to say in front of the others either which, presumably, was why she had come up with the paper-thin excuse of needing some fresh air. Both Salt and van der Valk politely ignored the excuse though, quickly moving on with the discussion.

Renier van der Valk and Harriet Salt

"Ah... this is probably a good time to tell you that you can't actually kill a demonic," van der Valk glanced between the group, "The best you can hope for is to send it back to whatever plane these things come from. Poltergeists and spirits are similar. With a demonic creature, odds are they'll come back. Eventually. Might be ten years. Might be a century. Depends on when someone agrees to let it back in. It never ends well, but there is no end to human greed or foolishness." He paused, "As for catching it so we can hold it still long enough to send it back to whatever foul place it dwells when it isn't spreading misery on earthy, we generally use a seal of Solomon."

"You are quite right," Salt added, "Guns won't stop it, but they can slow it down for a bit, so it never hurts to have a revolver or pistol on you. Speaking of which -" she darted a glance at Adam, almost like she was seeking his approval. Either that or hoping he'd protest "- Herr Wallner has made a good point. If we are going to chose someone, it's probably better to use me. I know I'm no Saint -" another glance at Adam "- But I didn't go to war; I wrote for a pacifist publication. And if it's the barghest I hope it is, it might wish to finish what it started on me. I carry a gun and know how to shoot straight. I would be a safer option to put out there."

There was an unspoken if we don't use Martin at the end of the sentence, though it was seeming increasingly unlikely that they would end up using the librarian as bait. People seemed vehemently opposed to the idea.

"If, however, we are looking at a shape shifter," van der Valk picked up again, his deep voice carrying easily to the others in the group, "Or a ghoul, bullets, in sufficient quantity, will stop it. If we had longer days I'd suggest we go out and search for some Saint Christopher's Herb. I'm sure Miss Martin has a recipe for a tincture to coat blades. It is a pretty unpleasant poison to humans, but I understand it can also fell a werewolf, if that is what we encounter."

[Bolslania]

Boone folded his arms as he watched the back and forth between Salt and Van der Valk.

"What kind of weaponry does the Order possess? I'd prefer to take this thing down in one hit if possible." Boone said.

The art of the kill was not necessarily when bullets started flying, although the more skilled combatant definitely had the upper hand, the art was leading up to the kill. Knowing where the target would be, knowing what they would be doing there, knowing their routes of travel, and knowing the best time to strike and knowing what to use. Never giving the opponent an opportunity to strike back. These key principles Boone knew and had practiced. And if this creature was as dangerous as it was being made to sound, these principles were especially important.

[Dyelli Beybi]

Renier van der Valk

"We usually use pistols and revolvers," van der Valk replied to Boone, "Mostly because you can keep one in your pocket. I have a number of Webley Mk IVs and Mauser C96s to hand, which I will issue to people. Most entities don't like being shot much, though if it's demonic you won't do much with a revolver. As we've already explained, that is what the Seal is for."


Eleanor Martin and Jean-Martin de Florac
Co-written by Dyelli Beybi and Reverend Norv

It was dark outside now, though the windows from the inn's public bar illuminated the road enough to see the people with relative clarity and, perhaps more importantly, where you were stepping. Eleanor's face was a picture of concern. Her brows were drawn together. She chewed her lower lip as silently, a few white flakes began to settle on her shoulders, nestling into the fur trim of her coat. She glanced skyward, though there was little to see in the inky darkness, "It's snowing," she said as she watched the flakes appear a foot or two above her head as they tumbled into the light from the window, "I suppose it has been threatening to since we left London."

Somewhere off in the distance a dog howled. A distant reminder of their grim reason for being in this town.

Jean-Martin glanced up sharply, and he twitched. A flinch, not a shiver, he told himself; an involuntary mammalian reflex. The doctor stuffed his hand deeper into the pocket of his overcoat.

He found it hard to look at Eleanor - at the outline of her face, bathed in wan starlight as she gazed up at the black sky. The moment was too heavy with words unsaid: even to rest his eyes upon her face would break the silence. There was some great hush, Jean-Martin thought, here on this empty street in the winter's dark. On nights like this, in the trenches, he had heard the Germans singing Stille Nacht on the other side of No Man's Land, and he had waited in vain for tears.

Eleanor, being English, made small talk about the weather instead. Somehow, it was perfect. Jean-Martin left out a soft chuff of gentle laughter, and took his hand out of his pocket, and ruefully shoved his reddish curls back off his forehead. He still could not quite bring himself to look at Eleanor's face. Instead, he tilted his own head back and watched the snow swirl through the golden glow of the inn's window. They stood like that for a while: side by side, both looking up into the face of the dark.

"I know that I barely know you," Jean-Martin finally said. He kept his eyes on the falling snow, and the words came with aching hesitation. "And you - you know me even less, perhaps." A pause: thoughtful. "Perhaps not." Jean-Martin swallowed. "But I could not let it be you." He looked at Eleanor at last, at her eyes shining in the night. He felt blood move in him, and tears unshed, from night songs numbed out of memory. His voice was soft. "I know you well enough for that."

Eleanor glanced away for a moment, a touch of colour appearing in her cheeks. When she did look up again, her eyes searching for Jean-Martin's, her voice had taken on a serious tone, as if what she was saying was gravely important, "May I make a small correction?" she asked, continuing on without waiting for a response, "I think you know me quite well Jean-Martin, you just haven't known me all that long. I know you well enough to trust you; you leapt to my defence when that thug threatened me and the fact that you are willing to step into the lion's den in my place..." she trailed off, seeming to be momentarily lost for words, "... You are so brave, so kind, so decent and I couldn't bear it were anything to happen to you. I know that were it me being used as bait that you, along with van der Valk and the others, would be able to keep me safe and that, if something did go wrong, there is no earthly power that could have prevented it."

Jean-Martin smiled for a moment. It was pleasure, not amusement; his teeth flashed white in the gloom, and some invisible weight lifted from his chest. "Eleanor," he said - and then paused, because it felt good to speak her Christian name out loud. "Eleanor, I know this much about you." Jean-Martin met the young woman's gaze. "I saw you face down a brute with a gun without leaving your chair. When we were at Stonehenge, you said you could feel the magic in the air - and it was true, but that didn't frighten you, either. When the moment comes, you will not hesitate."

The doctor took a step closer, his gaze steady. "But that's why I should be the bait. You know what we are facing better than anyone else here - certainly far better than I do. If I lure this creature into the open, there is no one I trust more to see me safely out of its grasp again." Very hesitantly, Jean-Martin reached out and took Eleanor's hand gently in his own; long surgeon's fingers lightly supported the back of her palm. "I am doing this thing to keep you safe," the doctor said softly. "But I am also doing it because I know that, when the moment comes, you will be there to keep me safe too. D'accord?"

"But Jean-Martin," Eleanor protested, "I've never used a weapon. I would be no use to you." There was a moment's hesitation, then she laced her fingers through his, clasping his hand to her own, "But, I heard Salt volunteer to do this herself before we left. If you do not wish me to volunteer, she is, logically, a good choice. She looks so small and fragile, but she has hunted these creatures before and knows how to use that pistol she carries. Please... I know this is a dangerous job we have asked you to do and asking you to avoid that danger is foolish and contradictory, but please let the experienced person do the most dangerous bit. I would be terribly worried."

For a moment, Jean-Martin did not reply. His hesitation was for show - even in the moment, he could feel the decision already made: at the back of his mind, where it really mattered. He remembered the thousand, thousand boys ripped open upon his operating table, and the thousand, thousand times Jean-Martin had wondered what it would feel like: how cold would the winter air be, when it touched his beating heart? I cannot wish that upon myself. Not for mere pride.

Jean-Martin's father, safely ensconced among his olive groves, would no doubt sneer: a man who would hide behind a woman is worse than a woman himself. But the Seigneur de Florac had never seen how little manhood a man had left - when he shat himself with terror, and watched it leak out onto the ground through his own shredded intestines. The world had more horror in it than the warm sun of Oran could reveal.

Jean-Martin was just too scared. He knew it. For a moment, he pretended that he didn't. But a moment's reprieve was all he could give himself.

"D'accord," he said finally, quietly. "All right." Jean-Martin looked down at his fingers interlocked with Eleanor's: at the hand he had, not at the one he didn't, "I will make you my conscience in this," he told Eleanor. "If Miss Salt is willing and able, I will not stand in her way." A half-smile flickered across the doctor's face. "You and I will just have to make sure she survives, that's all."

Eleanor nodded quickly, visible relief washing over her features, "D'accord,," she agreed, evidently having a little French, which was not overly surprising given her upbringing, "Harriet Salt is something of an amazon, which you would scarce believe for such a petite woman," she added, almost as if trying to reassure herself that Salt was a suitable person to do the role. Whether or not, 'amazon' was an apt description of the woman, she had certainly seemed confident in her ability to handle a firearm when Boone had first appeared, "She is an experienced huntress."

Eleanor shivered slightly, though she made no suggestion that she might want to go inside. She smiled. She looked content, though the colour hadn't faded from her cheeks.

"An experienced huntress," Jean-Martin repeated thoughtfully. He felt the shiver pass through Eleanor's hand, through their intertwined fingers. He studied the pale outline of her face in the moonlight. He felt, again, the great hush of the darkened street around them: the press of all the things he could not find the words to say.

Tomorrow I could be dead. Well, eh bien, Jean-Martin had known as much every night for four years: all it took was one stray shell. So why, tonight, did the idea make him wish for tomorrow never to come: for this still soft moment in the dark to last forever?

Jean-Martin felt Eleanor's hand in his, and knew the answer.

"This is a very strange life," he said quietly, "that I have found these last few days." Jean-Martin looked into Eleanor's eyes, and saw the slight smile there, and felt it on his own face as well. "But I am very glad to have found you as well."

"And I you," Eleanor replied with a bright smile, "Making your acquaintance has been a great joy, the greatest I think I can remember... I imagine there will be a lot of waiting when we try to lure this creature out. Perhaps we can keep watch together?" she asked, sounding uncharacteristically timid as she made the suggestion. "I will, of course, need to be there just in case something unexpected happens. I might be able to put all the reading I do to good use."

"I hope so," Jean-Martin replied. He took in a deep breath, and the frigid night air seared his sinuses. He felt alive, and he could weep with how long it had been since he had felt this way. He turned to Eleanor.

"There is no one I would feel safer with, on a night like this." The doctor's voice held only frank sincerity. "And there is nothing I would like better than to stand this watch with you." He ran his thumb gently over the back of Eleanor's hand: felt the veins and tendons, like something out of his anatomy books back in Algiers; felt the life beneath the skin. Oh, to be alive again.

Jean-Martin watched the snowflakes swirl in the golden light of the inn's window. The others would be waiting for them inside. Just a moment longer. There was something soft and holy here in the cold and dark of this night. Stille Nacht, Jean-Martin thought, and for the first time in years the memory did not rend his heart.

It was enough. Jean-Marin let out a short breath, and nodded, steeling himself for what came next. For what had to come next. Still: tonight is enough.

"We should go in," Jean-Martin said. He smiled, ruefully, with one side of his mouth. "There is work to be done yet." The doctor paused, searching for words. "Thank you," he finally said: quietly, a little roughly. "I would like to live. I am glad that you would like that too."

---

“And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere 'modernity' cannot kill.”

Chapter Three: The Beast of Cornwall

St Keyne's Church, North of Truro,
Leading up to 23:00, Saturday 14 December 1918

After a brief discussion between Jago and van der Valk which Salt couldn't seem to help inserting herself in, it was decided that they should lay the ambush at the church of St. Keyne, just outside the town to the North. The church was relatively isolated on a hill with only a few isolated farm houses below it. A stray bullets (hopefully) wouldn't hit any members of the public, on top of which the tree-shaded graveyard gave plenty of places for people to lie in wait and, provided there was a reasonable moon and no cloud cover, they could also have someone stationed in the bell tower. Martin immediately volunteered for the task, flashing a slight, shy smile at Jean-Martin as she did; she had taken his plea to heart and was putting herself out of harm's way. Most importantly though, Jago knew the Vicar and imagined that the man would be amenable to the church being used in a police investigation... though that would mean waiting until morning when he could take to him.

Jago returned with the news he had predicted; the Vicar was happy for the police to make use of the church during the night, particularly since the Inspector had assured him it was to do with the grizzly series of murders which had afflicted the town so recently. It was, however, he cautioned the group, wise not to do anything to attract notice nonetheless. They didn't look like police officers and he did not want to have to explain why they were in the churchyard either to his own Constabulary or to the Vicar, whom it seemed was a personal friend.

As dusk fell on Friday, van der Valk led the company up to the Church, where Jago presented him with the keys, then promptly departed. This was neither his business nor his speciality and the less he knew about what occurred this evening, the better he would sleep at night for the rest of his life. Salt, meanwhile had produced a board with an intricately painted design on it, suggestive of some strange and arcane magic which she promptly scuffed dirt over, "Don't fire on the creature unless I say so. I will try to lure it back over the seal. If it surprises any of you, then run to the church, the door will be unlocked and if the creature attempts to cross it it should be compelled to stay. We can then banish it back to Hades. I will be impersonating a woman mourning for a dead loved one and should seem an easy enough target... if it decides to come this way into town."

van der Valk then signalled everyone to take their positions hidden amongst the trees and grave stones, leaving Salt ostensibly alone and exposed though on the Friday night her words proved prophetic and when they returned to the inn to recuperate from a long night with no sign of any creature apart from a solitary badger, it was to find a grim Inspector Jago waiting for them, "There was another attack last night," he informed them, "A young woman from a good family this time."

"It is as I feared," van der Valk rumbled, his brows drawing together in concern, "The creature is becoming bolder."

"I still have faith in your plan Mister van der Valk," Jago added quickly, "Truly I couldn't have come up with any better but people are becoming scared and if this continues I will need to look at putting a curfew in place, though I fear any sense of safety the townsfolk might gain would prove illusionary after what happened to Doctor Sutherland. If it does come to that though, I hope at least that having less people on the street would help to make your Miss Salt seem more of an appealing target."

"We will go out again tonight," van der Valk assured him, "If we fail again I will reconsider the strategy of our hunt."

The moon on Saturday was a good one, it would be full in another three days, and having someone up the bell tower, sitting on the ledge next to the bells was possible so that was where Eleanor was, back against the cold stone, wrapped tightly in the blanket she kept in the automobile. It did little to improve the temperature though, which was bitterly cold. The windows of the tower were filled with spaced slanted wooden slats which kept the small dusting of snow that had fallen earlier from intruding inside, but did nothing to stop the freezing wind from cutting right through her. To her left she had rested an old railway signalling lamp, which did give off a faint light, though it's purpose was mostly to signal the others in the event that she spotted something moving beneath them.

She was just considering whether bringing the lamp any closer would pose an undue risk of setting herself on fire, when something moved in the shadows by the gate. She froze, glancing down at the tiny figure of Salt, kneeling before the tomb of some person she had never met. She looked very small and vulnerable in the moonlight. Eleanor looked back, her eyes straining against the darkness as the wind whistled through the slats of the steeple. Then she saw it again, though this time there was no mistaking it for anything so innocuous as a badger. It was huge, sleek, black and moved with the sinister grace she was assured that lions possessed (she had to assume the ones at the zoo were particularly lazy). It was illuminated by the moonlight for just a moment then it disappeared into the shadow of the building, moving with menace in the direction of Salt.

To actually see one of the creatures she had read about with her own eyes had filled Eleanor with fascination and dread, enough that for a brief moment she completely forgot what she was supposed to be doing. It was only for a moment though. She sprung into action, picking up the lantern in frozen fingers, opening and closing the shutter to give the people in the graveyard three flashes of green light from the tower. She paused for a moment, then repeated, her eyes straining to see the creature below. Where had it gone? Within a few moments they would find out...

[Bolslania]

Boone sat still in the cold, his breath pluming slightly the only indication of his life, his eyes were constantly moving, from the steeple, to Salt, and scanning the graveyard, that's when he saw the three flashes of light from Eleanor.

He moved quickly, He had gone back to the Headquarter's last night to secure his shoulder holster, and this morning had fixed his suppressor to his Savage. It wouldn't make the weapon quiet but it would keep him from getting deafened by the report. His eyes darted around the field, all around him. He had positioned himself behind a headstone right outside the door of the church, partly to get a clear line of sight on Salt without worrying about his back, and partly to keep Martin protected, as something of a recompense for his aggression last night.

He drew his pistol, keeping it readied but not aiming down the sights, he watched for any movement in the yard. He saw Salt move slightly in the cold, keeping up the act of mourning. Hopefully the creature hadn't been spooked by Martin's signal.

There Something darted between headstones. It was blacker than the night, and moved with an unnatural grace, he aimed his pistol, but it was gone.

What the fuck?

This time they had to get it. Last night it had killed again, and they had seen nothing. It was time. This beast had to be removed. This urgency was making Boone shake with an oncoming adrenaline dump. He stopped, closed his eyes and took a breath

Calm down, you need to stay focused and calm After a brief moment he had collected himself, his hands stilling. He knew the terror was coming, it was only natural. But it was imperative he keep it at bay for as long as possible, at least for the sake of Ms. Salt and Ms. Martin. He scanned the headstones and trees, trying to get a headcount to make sure the creature hadn't attacked someone else instead of the bait.

[Voxija]

Victoria Wasserman

This was it. Victoria tread with apprehension. Werewolf, barghest, or worse, they were going to send this unholy murderous creature to where it came from. She hid behind a gravestone, following Van der Valk's instructions. The moonlight was bright enough to read the dates on the nameless grave. 1913-1916. A child was buried here.

To Victoria, the façade of St. Keyne's church had a uncanny cast to it, which made sense, since murder had occurred in there. But it wasn't just recent murder, it was a holy place of a religion that had attacked Victoria Wasserman's people for millennia. Victoria wasn't a paranoid woman, but she couldn't help feeling this place was bad luck for her. The short new girl—Salt was her name?—had some strange occult tablet. It had the Seal of Solomon on it, Victoria knew that, but everything else about this whole situation had escaped her. All of the research Victoria had done into Kabbalah and the supernatural had to be scrapped. This was a whole new reality she was dealing with.

Victoria saw the signal, shaking her out of her meandering thoughts and putting her on the lookout. Then—out of the corner of her eye—Victoria saw the silhouette of the beast. Even a mere silhouette was unsettling. And then it disappeared. Victoria felt like swearing, which had only happened a few times before.

Adam Weiss

Adam Weiss hid behind a tree, observing the events silently. Adam clutched his old army Mauser. If this really was a supernatural creature, as Adam was quickly taking into possibility, a gun wouldn't do anything. Adam still felt attached to his old army gun. He felt it would protect him.

Harriet Salt was bait. Adam was worried, but not too worried. Harriet could handle a lot of earthly threats. But an unearthly threat... Adam knew Harriet was trained to handle supernatural threats, but he worried for her. He wanted to protect her, but he knew that she'd be more capable of protecting him. Adam had enough of a brain to stay behind the tree.

But then—Adam saw the signal. Three flashes, from the tower. He stood in place. Adam thought that if he saw the beast, he should shoot it. His eyes darted back and forth. Where, where? He didn't see it. Maybe because he was looking in the wrong places. A shiver of fear crept down Adam's spine.

[Bingellia]

Viviette

---

Viviette was keen on watching Harriet work from her spot within the yar. There was a certain intellectual curiosity that paired with her desire to figure out what happened that faithful night years ago to make a dangerous combination in the young actress. These were forces she didn't understand, but that didn't mean that understanding them were impossible and they may well prove useful in the future. More useful than a chastity knife with proper preparation

Naturally, this meant that she left the watch to the others, though she would occasionally glance over to the steeple. It wouldn't do her well to look distracted or even disinterested when Harriet's life, and the lives of others, replied upon on the success of the group in their task. While she did miss the signal, the sight of movement in her periphery sent her hand for the pistol in her coat. Whether beast or man was irrelevant, this charade had to end tonight.

And yet, when she searched her surroundings, there was no trace of anything besides the others. Silently, she aimed the Mauser close to Harriet the best she could and thumbed the hammer down despite her shakes. If that beast was invisible, it was bound to strike and Harriet was the decoy.

[Dyelli Beybi]

Harriet Salt

Harriet tensed, her hand sliding inside her jacket pocket to where she felt the familiar weight of her pistol, her ears straining for the slightest hint of noise that might betray the position of the spectral hound. The pistol was unlikely to do much against the creature she feared they were facing though it still gave her a sense of security despite that. It could, at the very least, slow the creature down. As the moments dragged on she frantically ran over the routes back to where the seal was hidden, where they could trap the creature.

There was the snap of a twig, achingly loud in the frosty air and pivoted to face it, one knee on the ground, drawing the pistol as she did, though she couldn't make anything out between the tombstones. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead, despite the freezing conditions, her heart raced in her chest. She was terrified, yet also as alive as she ever felt. Hunter and hunted. There was a form of euphoria to be found in the danger that was so often denied to women; it was the search for this same euphoria that had, in part, led to so many young men eagerly volunteering to join the fighting in Flanders. Poor Adam... when this was over they would need to sit down. She hoped the war had no changed him so much...

Then came a low rumbling growl from behind her. Her heart leapt in her throat and Harriet spun on her knee, too slow, she knew that... but the creature had not moved. It stood there, hackles raised and teeth bared between the rows of tombstones. It was then that she realised she had made a serious mistake. For this was no spectral entity, it was a creature of flesh and blood. She couldn't remember who, but someone whom she had spoken to had speculated the attacks might have been the result of a rabid dog brought back from France. They had been right in a sense, while also being so wrong; there was more than just rabies in the dark forests of the continent which even the wheels of modernity had failed to tame. It's eyes gleamed, malevolently in the moonlight and Harriet levelled the gun and fired. Once. Twice. The gunshots echoed loudly about the graveyard, yet she could not tell if she had hit the creature. It moved like a panther, it's dark fur blending into the night as it retreated back into the cluster of tombstones which had provide such good cover for the ambush yet also hid the creature.

"To me!" she called, "To me!" They had assumed they were hunting an animal. Harriet had seen malevolence in it's eyes, but also sensed a human-like intellect behind them and the Order members scattered amongst the graves would be easy pickings in the dark.

[Bolslania]

Boone raised his pistol as the creature, which resembled a rather large dog or wolf, faced down with Salt. He steadied his pistol on the headstone he was kneeling behind and fired, he saw the creature twitch under the impact. The suppressor kept the report of the pistol from echoing, but more importantly it vastly reduced recoil, he fired again, and a third shot. He came from around the headstone and advanced into the light of Salt's lantern when she cried "to me". He pulled out his switchblade and extended the blade, resting his shooting hand on his wrist, blade pointed outwards. It wouldn't do much probably but he could maybe stab an eye with it if the opportunity arose.

"Box it in!" He shouted, he was suggesting that the members surround the creature so that it couldn't maneuver in the darkness picking them off.

[Bingellia]

Viviette

---

With a simple glimpse of the creature as it darted through the headstone, Viviette attempted fire at a shot. However, the combination of unfamiliarity of handling firearms in general and the potency of the Mauser proved to much for the woman, and pistol snapped high off it's target, whether beast or headstone. Before she leveled the pistol again, the beast had vanished in the rows of cover. For a moment, she frantically searched for it before barely hearing Harriet call out to the group.

A single moment passed before the actress sprung into movement. With barely a thought she hurried through the rows of headstones to the safety of the experienced huntress. Viviette felt her heart beat furiously with a terror that was only exceeded during that night at that strange club in Pari just before the war.

"My God,' she murmered to the creator she normally felt no strong attachment to. "God save me! Save us all!"