Blackest Winter: RPG (CV22)

☠ Prologue ☠

For generations, Westden lay engulfed in the pale monotony of winter. The cold was predatory, seeping through the townsfolk’s winterwear, biting into their skin till its frozen fangs sank through their flesh and found bone. Here, the elements were spiteful. Draped in thick furs and more coats than he could count, Sheriff Dempsey stepped outside of his office, the frost quick to cling to his whiskered face. Under the lame gaze of the morning sun, he sighted a woman who’d visited him every day for the past three; Amanda Baker.

She was one of many mothers whose children had gone missing. Each day she went without answers, the color faded from her eyes, the glint of hope dimming in her soul. Still, she came. Even in the thick of winter, she braved the cold, chattering teeth and all. When he met her gaze, Sheriff Dempsey noted the redness in her eyes. They itched from her tears, yet Amanda wore her bravest face in defiance. Her son was alive. She had to believe so, even if no one else did.

“Morning, Mrs. Baker.”

Dempsey nodded in greeting, his voice pitched by the morning rasp. However, even his stone cold professionalism faltered—if only for a second—before the tortured mother.

“Any news? About who took my James, I mean.” Jaw clenched, she stood hopeful, her heart pounding against her chest like a rioting prisoner.

A sigh escaped Dempsey’s lips, billowing as frozen vapor, a mist that Amanda mistook as the sheriff’s last gust of patience. Yet, it was one of guilt. He welcomed her into his office, as he did with every other parent who came his way that day. Despite his best efforts and the tiresome searches he spearheaded, neither the lost nor the dead were found. Before long, the townsfolk took up arms. Fed up with Dempsey’s failures, they embarked on searches of their own.

In the ensuing days, their searches intensified. And under the leadership of Father John, a Machiavellian soul helming North Saints Church, their searches devolved into witch-hunts. Men and women from walks of life that Father John claimed teemed with sin were dragged to the altar to answer for crimes they never committed. As tensions between the townsfolk and law enforcement peaked, the chaos blanketing all of Westden steered all attention away from the insidious cult lurking under their noses.

☠ Present, Midnight ☠

In the dead of night, the grating roar of the Pale Horse—Blackstone’s motorcycle—clashed with the whistled song of the surrounding wind. The smoldering glow of its burning wheels set the air ablaze, and the thick scent of hot steel and burning rubber trailed the melting snow in the Damned Saint’s wake. Within moments, the wheels of the Pale Horse rolled on asphalt no more. Blackstone, making haste, left the road for the woodlands that flanked it.

The thick trees protested his presence, their wooden skin crackling in embers, their roots recoiling wherever he rode. Here, the Damned Saint sensed an evil that left his soul storming in rage. Yet, no matter where he swept his eyeless gaze, he saw nothing. So thick was the wickedness surrounding him it seemed indistinguishable from air. His skull burned blacker and its flame redder. He ought to scorch the forest to ash and soot.

Yet, a spark of something within kept him from doing so. The naïve would mistake it for his last vestige of human reason. It was anything but. No, it was the dark desire to ensnare the guilty, to hear their helpless pleas as his chain bites into their flesh, its flaming steel drinking their boiling blood. The rage overwhelmed him, for Blackstone needn’t hear a bone cracking underfoot to sense the skeletons buried in the snow and soil.

A roar tore out of his throat. Pitched by his eldritch fury, it was equal parts piercing shrill and bellowing rumble. A hair's breadth later, the forest fell silent, and Blackstone rode onward, abandoning it—a child graveyard—for Westden in search of those who buried them there.

The day Prior...

Westden. A wretched place it seemed like. Cold and wrung dry of any sign of warmth, in the air or in the towns overall tone. The main street was just variations of Brown and white with quaint old timey handwritten signs. "Closed" "Out Searching." Whatever the hell that meant. For God maybe, or a job. That wouldn't be a surprise.

Julius putters through on his 1998 Vespa PX 125. Times are tough, people don't cotton to drifters. Trust has moved beyond locking eyes and shaking hands. You aren't trustworthy unless you have five stars and good reviews. That's what brings Julius to Westden, the search for work in a barren western plain where work was as dry as the air.

Westden sheriff department seeking assistance in missing persons cases. Former or current law enforcement encouraged to apply. Reward available to those who provide credible information leading to the location of the missing individuals.

If that didn't read like a desperate party willing to pay the exact value of a new road hog the man from Miami didn't know what did. A loud BANG! as the bike stops short in front of the sheriff's office. He kicks the stand down and steps off in leather boots, his hands adorned in gaudy gold rings. Gold was a strong word, more gold colored. He enters the warm entryway of the sheriff's office and greets the first individual he saw,

"Hello, I understand you're offering a reward for finding some missing kids? I'm here to offer my assistance. I only ask for room and board to shelter from the cold." He said, even though the cold didn't seem to bother him,as his loose-fitting single-layer attire denoted. "I shouldn't need more than a few nights. You could say I'm part hound."

"Can you please provide me with the information you have available on the open cases?" He asks while pointing to a chair to signal his desire to sit.

Che considered herself to be a woman that followed her own path. No matter how many turns the path took or obstacles on it, the direction was still her's and her's alone. She had learned not to look at the destination, but to enjoy the journey. Even as the cold bitter air hit her face and reddened her skin tone a shade following her namesake, she managed to crack a smile as she walked upon a beaten road she knew not. How she viewed her current situation was better than most would have as her vehicle had ceased to function a mile or two down the same road.

Che knew better not to wander off too far from her vehicle incase the weather shifted drastically. She needed to keep active and warm and also get a good understanding of her proximity to civilization. It was then, as the actual road turned around the tree covered hill that Che could see in the distance structures that resembled buildings and knew that her ancestors were watching over her.

It was then she could hear the sound of an engine approach from the direction that she left her car. The squeal of the breaks stopped next to her as she turned at its presence.

I take it that's your Volvo back there a few miles from here? A salt and pepper bearded man said as he talked through the passenger's window which occupied a woman. I usually don't do this, but the weather can get rather drastic quickly and not offering you a ride to town in such elements just wouldn't be civilized.

Che took a moment to look at the couple and then to the black hound in the bed of their truck but even though she would rather not ride with complete strangers, dark clouds did loom heavily in the area making their offer tempting. You have a mechanic in the town, Che gestured to the town now behind her.

Both passengers had some hesitancy in their answer revealing a complicated story. Westden isn't the biggest town but it does have a mechanic. The woman answered. Jim Blake. The other problem being that his shop won't open until Monday.

Che humorously responded. One of those you check in but don't check out towns, huh?

It was then the couples face shifted and Che instantly saw it. They knew Che had no clue about the happenings of the town yet it was a burden that all town folk could not escape. It was a delicate matter in which many refused to bring up as it had become their boogeyman. The couple had no children, yet knew many that were suffering from the mystery of Westden.

The bearded driver looked at the woman passenger with a heavy hearted look as he exited his truck with a blanket. It wont be the most comfortable ride in the back of my truck but we will get you there. It may look close from the ridge but its quite a ride from here so I can only imagine if one had to walk it. Ill tell the Sheriff and get it towed into town. The name is Jeff Mason, by the way. That there is my wife Olivia. If you don't have the means to pay for a place to stay until Jim's opens then I can get you a room and Im sure my wife would like to offer you a place at our table for dinner. It was then the dog barked almost reminded its master it was still there. You going to have to ride with Gator though. He a licker.

The thought made Che laugh as she took the blanket. Thank you, Jeff Mason. My name is Che. Che Scarlet River. Che would look at the town once more before loading into the rear of the truck. Che would be grateful for the act of kindness by the Mason's yet dark clouds seemed to signal more than just bad weather.

@the_bastard_son:

Despite the cold blow of a below zero breeze, Scott traveled on foot towards the small town of Westden. As far as the eyes could see snow covered the land, and even though he was walking along a busy street, he was still ankle deep in snow. Snow so relenting that with every step he took, the foot hole was filled by the time he took another step forward. At the time he had no idea of the mystery that enveloped the town ahead of him, for he was only going where the road took him. Clearly not dressed for the occasion, he marched through the snow in tennis shoes and a trench-coat made more for protection from rain than snow, it was odd that the cold did not seemed to bother him as much as it should. Still keeping his head down he walked along just passing the town marker, with a clear sign of how many lived in it, but to his surprise some vandal had spray painted the number out, only to write over it “Getting Lower Every Day!”

Suddenly a blue light shined a ways ahead of him followed by an unmistakable “Whoop Whoop” from a siren. Coming from the town it was a city police car, digging through the snow with snow tires and blowing out a tail of blacks smoke from it’s tail pipe. At first Scott welcomed their intrusion, as he was hoping for a warm ride into town, but just as it pulled up, the Deputy inside immediately shouted, “Put your hands in the air!” Carefully stepping out of his car, the Deputy had his gun drawn and aimed at Scott, even putting a red dot on Scott’s forehead that reflected off the snow. “What we got here, Stranger?” the Deputy barked as he had already marked Scott as a troublemaker, “What would a Stranger like you be doing walking out here alone in the snow?” Before Scott knew it Deputy Dan was snapping the handcuffs on him and manually forcing him into the back seat of his car, all the while boasting, “Sheriff is going to give me a raise for this one, Hell I might have me the creep who’s been kidnapping all those kids!”

For the most part Scott kept silent, except for occasionally claiming his innocents, completely unaware of the crimes he had been accused of, but despite his best efforts he tried to understand why. “I tell you I haven’t even been in Westde…” but before he could finish his sentence the Deputy would immediately slam his night stick against the cage shouting, “Shut up now you perv. Once the Sheriff see’s you then you can talk!” Still, it was clear to Scott that something of interest was going on in Westden, and despite his clearest desire to break free from his cuffs and steal the Deputy's car, just to teach him a lesson, he felt it would be best to let the Deputy take him in, and then figure out what to do next. For the next few minutes he sat still keeping quiet, while the Deputy continued to toot his own horn, constantly reclaiming on how he had caught the kidnapper as the police car hit every pot hole hidden under the snow.

Upon finally reaching the Sheriff's office, Deputy Dan led Scott in as if he was Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. With his gun firmly placed in the small of Scott’s back he continued to hurl insults as he aggressively shoved Scott forward. But then just as they both entered, they caught the tail end of a conversation between the Sheriff and a dapper man in a hat, with the dapper man declaring"Can you please provide me with the information you have available on the open cases?" Either way the Deputy rudely interrupted them both shouting “Hey Boss, we caught ourselves a stranger here, and I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts he’s involved with the disappearances!” Immediately, Scott was thrown into a tiny cell with one lumpy old cot, and as the creaking bar door shut behind him the Deputy continued to boast, “Hell he might even be wanted for this crap in other towns!” But with all eyes firmly locked on him, Scott grabbed the bars tight in both hands and proceeded to yell his innocence. “I swear, I have never even been here before, and I have nothing to do with your missing children,” He then begins to violently shake the bars so much that dust falls from the roof, “But if you let me out, Maybe I Can Help You Idiots Find Them!!!”

@the_shotgunner: @anyone else interested

With the entirety of his enormous frame stretched well out beyond the restrictive limits of the gym mat-covered slab of concrete in his cell, the mute monster of the Bo-Vera clan seemed at peace. Massive arms coiled behind his slick back frohawk acting as a makeshift pillow as the stagnation of old halogen lights eerily crept in between the old steel bars, obscuring the juggernauts heavily bearded and scarred face. As if by some form of unnatural command the shadows seemed to act as a makeshift form of concealment adding even more mystery to Momma Bo's youngest adjudicator as he patiently bid his time. But for what? The police were helpless in seeking out his identity. His motives remained a complete unknown, though at the time of his arrest local law enforcement were sure they had uncovered the evil perpetrator behind their towns horrific misfortune. Having confiscated nearly every conceivable instrument of death from off his persons, and than another military depot's worth of anarchy from off his aggressively large bike, it appeared as if they had finally brought the nightmare to a close. Yet with more and more strangers emerging and more disappearances occurring, the confidence they had once so gleefully paraded about had all but evaporated. And now suddenly, as the trenchcoat sporting wandering was placed in the small jail's lone remaining cell, the Last Bison menacingly came to life for the first time since having been incarcerated. At first his animations were subtle. Observant of the falling particles of debris before he himself began mirroring the unknown suspects physical contempt, shaking and violently wrenching on the bars of his cell with disturbing force. "HEY BUDDY BETTER SETTLE DOWN OR....." deputy dipshit unconvincingly barked. Little did he...little did any of them know, it was already too late. Before the officer's brave bluff had been fully vocalized one of the bars gave clearing enough space for the Xsoteric's hulking arm to blast through. Cash grabbed the deputy by the collar and sadistically began smashing his entire body against the remaining bars with repeated savagery. Wet mushy acoustics echoed over and over and over again. Even after the Last Bison had secured the deputy's dangling carnival of keys the assault continued until the pile of blood and protruding bone were no longer recognizable as having once belonged to a human being, much less that of a man. Clearly the Bison could have escaped at anytime. Perhaps he had been searching for information. His own recon. But anyone who knew the Bo-Vera's knew that the Xsoteric did not move without the exclusive and manipulative decree of the family matriarch. Had Momma Bo sent her Hulk of Highland Park to deal with the situation? Had she viewed the cult's ideological separation as an affront? An insult? It was possible yet still too early to tell. Her motives, as usual, remained an eccentric mystery. Free from his cage the Bison soaked his hands in dead man's blood and proceeded to leave a blood stained hand-print across the left side of his face and jaw. A ritual. His, ritual. He took the officer's belt and utilities contained there on before slinging it over his exposed shoulder like a wartime accessory and began his one man rampage through the station in route to the evidence locker, and his gear.

@the_xsoteric: @the_bastard_son:

The cell was no place for Scott to be, for no innocent man prefers to be incarcerated. What’s more, several small children were now missing and he could do nothing about it. The cell was small cold and damp, with a foul odor that was similar to pee. The only thing that seemed to fit this place, was either Deputy Dan’s demeanor or the hulkish brute laying in the cell next to him. Either way Scott was not going to spend the rest of his days locked up in the small town, despite whatever charges Deputy Dan came up with. Therefor with both hands, Scott grabbed the bars tightly and while shaking them aggressively he pronounced his innocence. Unfortunately this had no effect on the Sheriff, as he continued to sit at his desk, and as for the dapper man in the hat, he was to hard to read. But Deputy Dan took it as a chance to throw his weight around, and after drawing his night stick from his belt, he twirled it around by the handle as he slowly approached the cell with attitude. But to everyone surprise, just as Scott was shaking the bars vigorously the hulkish brute in the cell next to him began to do the same, but with much more rage and vitality.

Some what surprised, Scott stepped back, unaware of what the brute was capable of, and took a defensive stance in preparation. Unfortunately the Deputy was not as bright, and as he felt he was in full control of the situation, continued to step forward. But just as he got in reaching distance, the Deputy’s last words were, "HEY BUDDY BETTER SETTLE DOWN OR..…" at which point Cash reached through the bars and grabbed him by the throat. Immediately Scott moved in to help, even reaching through the bars of the adjoining cell, but unfortunately Cash was just a little to far away. It was then to everyone’s dismay, Cash proceeded to slam the deputy against the bars over and over until blood, brains and bones were being sprayed around every corner. It was at this point Scott knew he had to take the brute down, but was limited in resources as he did not want the others to know he had special abilities, or at least not yet. Therefor as everyone else in the Sheriff's Office was dealing with the immediate threat, Scott raced back to his cell door, and carefully placed his right hand through the bars.

Desperately making sure that no one was looking, he reached for the lock with his index and middle finger extended, at which point his fingers began to morph into a key shape pattern. From there on it was child’s play to pick the lock and open his cell, with none the wiser on how he did it. Unfortunately by now no one could care less as the Xsoteric had now escaped his cell and was on a one man rampage throughout the station. Kicking it in to high gear, Scott pushed his bar cell open wide and out of his desire to help, immediately leaped across the room to place himself between the brute and the dapper man in the hat. By now the Sheriff had drawn his shot gun from off the shelf, and without any hesitation proceeded to fire round after round into the brute’s hide, filling the room in gun smoke and repetitive ‘BOOMS’ while Scott drew a revolver from off a desk. After telling the man in the dapper hat to keep his head down, Scott proceeded to take aim at the Xsoteric with no reason at this point to assume a bullet could not take him down. With pin-point precision he emptied all six rounds into his target, with two aimed dead center of his head and three aimed dead center of his heart. The last bullet was saved for a personal preference, and as all six rounds were shot within record time, the last one took flight at the brute’s balls, for no other reason than an ‘F.U.’for taking the life of Deputy Dan, no matter how much of a jerk he was!

@scarlet_: @blackstone: (tagged you Scarlet just in case you wanna stumble upon the same scene or something. if not thats cool too just disregard the tag)

Present-Day

By the time the Last Son of the Undying Blaze had trekked through the remote and claustrophobic cropping's of Douglas Firs leading to the secret mass burial ground of innocence, the sun had begun to penetrate the darkest regions of the forest. Yet not a gram of snow had melted. Not a sickle of ice had begun to thaw. "Hello" a child's voice startlingly greeted as Jordyn inquisitively knelt alongside the distinguishable tracks of the Pale Rider. "Where the...how you?"he aggressively stammered. "Been a long time since someone took me by surprise kid. Longtime." Re-holstering his instinctively quick-drawn revolver Jordyn's posture sank back into a state of eased relaxation before lifting the bill of his Stetson in order to convey a more disarming presence considering the present company. "My name's Lance. I think I'm lost can you help me find my way back home please? I'm cold." Jordyn seemed to hesitate for a moment, struggling with his own unofficial embargo on his hellish abilities as he had not called upon the powers of the Death Rider for over several decades now. "Yeah kid. Sure I got you. Here" snapping his fingers in order to produce a spontaneous ignition of controlled flame in which the child could warm himself with, the Hangman of Jericho Hill had finally relapsed. However as the lost yute approached, he simply began to fade away. As mysteriously as he had appeared, he had now vanished. An apparition forever cursed to wander the cult made garden of evil Eden. And as Jordyn began to focus, began to truly pay attention, he began to see more and more aimless souls. Lost. Scared. Tormented. Trapped. Sometime later; Westland Still on foot having been unable to free his bike from the unrelenting and unnatural winter conditions of the outlining wilderness, the Flame of the Betrayed had entered the small town relatively unmolested. Yet as he ventured inward there were clear and visible signs of violence all around. He approached what appeared to be the burned out remains of the local police station. Empty bullet casings, smashed squad cars and a stream of blood branching out in several directions all told the unmistakable tale of a holocaust. These trademarks of unique chaos however were not foreign to the Legend of the Lynch Mob. Not at all. They were the exclusive calling card of the mute radical, the mentally disturbed monster of the Bo-Vera clan, Cash. Jordyn, edging back the flap of his open jean jacket in order to secure the perfect grip on his holstered revolver, began to cautiously enter the building. Debris and glass unavoidably crunching beneath the weight of his boots. "AYE! HELLO? CASH-YOU IN THERE YOU COWARDLY SUMBITCH? COME ON OUT NOW. YOU'VE DOWN RUN ON BOUT AS LONG AS I'M FINNA ALLOW. DONT WORRY I'LL MAKE IT QUICK. more than you deserve."he mumbled with whispered passive aggression as he waited to see what would happen.

@the_shotgunner:

Despite the sheriff and stranger's best efforts to gun down the murderous mountain, through a combination of premeditated anticipation - and quite possibly a bit of 'bullet timing' - the Last Bison had been able to avoid being fatally shot. Utilizing the carcass of deputy dipshit to intercept the meat shredding blasts of the noble Sheriff's street howitzer before vindictively whirling the disturbing remains around to once again be violated by a series of expertly fired rounds. Offering little protection at this point however, several of the stranger's tactically placed rounds had managed to rip through Deputy Dan. Driving fragments of bone, brass and blood into and along multiple locations throughout the savage titan's indomitable physique. Yet the Last Bison remained undeterred as he barreled through the stairwell door and downwards into the evidence locker. There he was reunited with his advantage tilting instruments of war. Popping two canisters of potassium chlorate from the deputy's now shoulder mounted utility belt while slipping his trademark mask over his bloodied shrapnel littered face, X wasted little time blitzing back up the stairs through the rolling cloud of pre-released smoke. With a near unstoppable head of steam the Last Bison horrifically trampled the sheriff despite the brave man's ability to pump a solid round right into the monster's gut. All two hundred and fifty pounds of the Bo-Vera Badass came stomping down atop the aging man's chest, neck and face as the Beast of the Soiled Mother rumbled through and out of the precinct. Making sure to roll a couple grenades beneath the frames of a couple parked patrol cars to aide in his escape.

@the_xsoteric:

Within seconds the sheriff's office turned into a war zone, with gunfire erupting from all sides. The Sheriff was quick with his shot gun getting off a few rounds, utilizing the basic understanding of the weapon, while Scott used precise calculated shots from his revolver. But despite all their best intentions, the beast was one step ahead of them. Using the remains of Deputy Dan’s carcass as a makeshift shield, Cash was able to survive the rounds for the time being. For no matter where Scott aimed, or how fast he fired his gun, the Deputy’s body received the brunt of each shot. “Damn it” was all Scott could think as he was forced to watch the Deputy’s corpse defiled in such a manner but at the time he was limited in what he could do about it. But for whatever reason, the Xsoteric dangled the Deputy’s body in front of him long enough to exit the room and make his way to the evidence locker, leaving Scott and the Sheriff alone.

Immediately, Scott was ready to chase after him, even quickly reloading his revolver from extra rounds left on what remained on the Sheriffs desk. But just as he was ready to open a whole new level of whoop-A$$ on the Xsoteric, he heard the unmistakable sounds of whimpering coming from behind him. To his surprise the Sheriff was cowering in a corner, mumbling over and over “That thing ain’t human!” It was clear to Scott that the Sheriff was not use to this level of brutality, even in a town of hunters, and as much as Scott wanted to get his hands on Cash, he could not leave the Sheriff in this condition. For the next few minutes, Scott tried his best to console the Sheriff with reassuring words while stressing the urgency to go hunt down the beast. But just as he managed to get the Sheriff back on his feet and into the game, two standard issue gas canisters came barreling in filling the room in smoke.

Instinctively Scott’s first move was to rush a near by window, and with a well placed elbow smash broke the glass allowing what little fresh air to enter the room and vent out as much of the gas as possible. Unfortunately in his haste he left the still disheveled Sheriff alone and prey for the massive beast. Before Scott knew it, through vague glimpses through the smoke the Xsoteric, now fully armed, proceeded to brutally stomp the Sheriff into the ground, in the most violent of ways. Despite the still hissing sounds from the gas canisters, Scott could hear the last moans from the Sheriff as Cash’s over sized boot proceeded to slam down for the last time upon his skull. Soon enough the last of the gas began to dissipate, Scott was reluctant to find that Cash had now left the building and the unidentifiable remains of what was the Sheriff. But even before Scott could swear revenge on the Sheriff’s remains, two loud thunderous booms echoed just outside.

With lightning speed Scott raced outside, just in time to see a small crowd of the townsfolk gathering around the station’s patrol cars on fire. The men, being hunters, all gathered around with their rifles as the women stood either behind them or trying their best to put out the fires with quilted blankets. Immediately, Scott shouted out louder than the sizzling cars, “Forget the fire, the snow will put them out faster than any of you can,” followed by an even louder, “Did anybody see in which direction the beast went?” But by sheer luck one of the local men, a town character named Ben, was ahead of the game and with great pride he shouted, “Yeah he went that way!” as he pointed off into the night! Immediately Scott rallied up the men, and in honor of the fallen Sheriff, lead them off in chase of Cash, with every man forewarned of the Xsoteric’s brutality. And as he lead off into the night, he continued to warn them, “Remember to shoot to kill, keep out of his reach and no matter what, do not underestimate him!”

The irritation of the situation had resided as the long haired warrior could do nothing more than wait. Against much of her character that made her who she was, she would be silent yet remain strong and vigilent. She would not know it, but Fate had other plans for Westden.

It was a quite night in the Mason's house. As quite as a regular family could be. Che was not regular though. Unlike the Mason's the drums of spilled innocence could be heard by Che during the night. It kept her up as the drums only she could hear kept getting louder and louder as it formed a rhythym revealing Westden had some dark secrets. The howl of the great wolf spirit mourning the lost it had so many times before.

It wasnt until the sound of the doorbell woke her up on the couch from her dreamwalk. Che noticed the scent of bacon in the air and the Olivis's kind smile. Sleep good?

Che returned the smile, seeking the correct words to reply but Jeff walked past the couch in a hurry garnering her attention. Stay inside Che.

Jeff Mason would crack the door, Che seeing two men from her vanatage point with a worried look on their face. Jeff, can we have a word? One would say as they too saw Che in the distance.

Sure thing, Jeff replied shutting the door behind him to continue the conversation. Malachi. Obidiah. Jeff formally greeted with a tilt of his cap. Is there something wrong?

There was a shooting last night. Sheriff's took some real damage, Malachi said. Things arent looking good.

Malachi didnt have to go too much into explanation, his face said enough. Shame. Olivia and I will say a prayer for all. News traveled fast in Westden. It always had due to the town's size. The news was shocking, even for all that happened, but minimizing the police capability from the town's equation did not help matters.

Word is you have a visitor. The other spoke. Do you know where she was last night.

On my couch, Jeff responded quickly as he stared at the two. There was an uneven silence, a strange battle of wills. Jeff was not close to the visitor's to his porch but the same was for many due to the missing. Thanks for the information, fellas. Ill be eating breakfast now.

Malachi and Obidiah would walk slowly away from the house as Olivia's eyes would peer through the window. Everything ok, Olivia asked as Jeff reentered the house.

There's been a shooting at Sheriff's station. Jeff replied. Its a little crazy right now. I think it best if Che stays inside for now. Jeff would look for the mentioned but she would no longer be in the living room, nor anywhere else in the house much to the surprise of the Mason's.

The Mason's would not be able to hear it, but the drums of war were beating loudly and Che was ready to dance.

@the_shotgunner:

Like all Bo-Vera's the Xsoteric's disciplined training had been well honed during his formative adolescents, with extensive stints in a number of Michigan militias throughout the Upper-Peninsula serving as the foundational emphasis of his wilderness survival tactics. He had a head start - a lead. With his stamina on high he could extend it. He had not only covered his main tracks, but purposefully disguised others to look as if he had tried to. He gathered what limited natural resources he could along the way in route to a secluded abandoned wolf's den on the backside of an outlining hill. Once inside the abnormal behemoth took to creating a fire while conducting an impromptu inventory of his gear, items and accessories. There was no fear of discovery. The den's unique location allowed for the Xsoteric's fire to remain obscured from any visual direction as those in hot pursuit would have pass by below first to discover the dimly glowing source of light only after having doubled back around. And by then they would have already given away their own positions as the Last Bison had perfectly situated himself atop the higher-ground overlooking the tree line and valley below. There was a sense of disconnect between the Bison's physical actions and an apparent mental distraction as with his own blood he had begun artistically drawing pictures across the den's rocky interior. All the while inadvertent grunts of enjoyment loudly resonated throughout the cave as his state of the art helmet and mask internally projected endless loops of picture in picture streams of entertainment, advertisements, e-girls, games and everything in-between. In Cash's fictitious reality he had just taken down a mighty shogun and his army of sinister samurai. Part of the easily manipulated Bo-Vera's belief that he was on a noble quest to free his long lost love, Aya. A hyper-sexualized anime character who had only ever existed inside of Cash's own disturbed mind. Well, you know. After Momma Bo had planted her there that is. Just one of the many tricks the Mother of the Undying Flame had cultivated as a means in which to control her monstrous baby boy. A virtual and augmented leash of make-believe reality. On subconscious autopilot the Hulk of Highland Park began to dig each bullet out of his bleeding body. Prying mushroomed pieces of embedded metal from his muscles and joints, before dismissively tossing them into the fire. He did not care or fear the posse that had been galvanized by the highly capable stranger but his mother's orders were explicit. Investigate the rogue cult (the shogun & his samurai). Discover the location of their worship (find Aya). And thus far the formation of the posse had not yet taken shape inside of Cash's fictitious narrative. They had yet to become part of his manufactured storyline. But they would.

"Well, here we are, Westden! Like I said, ankle-deep snow as far as the eyes can see. But, the people are real nice and the town has a certain unique charm to it." Henry, the bus driver, informed Bigby as he put the bus in park and swung the pneumatic doors open. The first time either man spoke in what had been a long, quiet, and awkward trip.

"Oh, and if you don't mind, I downloaded an app on my phone a week ago. Now it don't work here in Westden, but when you get a chance, mind giving me one of those 5-star ratings? I'd much appreciate it." Henry added as Bigby made his way out of the bus.

"Ugh, sure thing Henry." The Big Bad Wolf replied with a faint smile before exiting the vehicle. His tattered-up leather boots sunk ankle deep, just as Henry had described they would as soon as they made contact with the snow beneath him.

"Oh, and whenever you're done with your business trip, head on back over here. My routes are the same time, every time 24/7, and never a minute late!" Henry exclaimed as he swung the doors closed, the bus working harder than it should have to trudge forward through the heavy snow.

"Huh. So this is Westden" The Big Bad uttered under his breath, vapor leaving his mouth as he spoke, following every word.

A couple of days ago, two days to be exact. An elderly woman named Martha came to Bryan Bigby's private investigation office. Pleaded for help as her grandaughter Cynthia had gone missing with other children around the same age. She didn't have much, so she went to one of the cheapest P.I's in the business.

Of course, Bryan agreed to help her out, free of charge. Bryan already paid the bills this month. A hefty sum for a whopping 20x20 sqm office in the slums of Detroit. Maybe he needed good karma more so than cash to get his business booming.

As the Wolf of Legends plodded forward through the never-ending snowfall, deeper into the town, a faint, almost metallic scent caught his attention. He knew this scent all too well. The unmistakable smell of blood and, in the background, the faintest hints of black powder. Recently burned. Two scents that seemed to always follow Bigby around.

By the time Bryan reached the origin of the scent, the scent had become indisputable. The sight, horrific.

The Sherrif's office was riddled with bullet holes, the desks flipped over, reams of paper scattered across the floor, alongside the spent bullet casings. Soaking up the excess blood that had yet to stagnate, running across the unmaintained wooden floors. Seeping into any crevice the crimson red liquid could find.

A severely mutilated corpse had laid on the ground, bathing in its own blood. The chest caved in, multiple ribs poking through the skin, the neck barely hanging on the spinal cord, clinging tightly by what little sinew and tendons were left to hang onto. The face, completely unrecognizable.

The scene, and the scent, were all too familiar to Bigby. Minus the razor-sharp lacerations and the fact that there was still a corpse that had not been consumed, it looked a lot like his doing from centuries ago.

"Crap." The Wolf of Legends muttered under a sigh. *Sniff Sniff*

"Not too far. Multiple men," he thought to himself as he shuffled outside the station and back out into the heavy winter of Westden. Pursuing whoever these scents belonged to.

@the_xsoteric: @feroz: @scarlet_:

Like a general preparing his men for a fight, Scott addressed the townsfolk. Immediately he looked around, sizing them up and as a good judge of character he knew what he was working with. Beginning with the men, there was about fifty to sixty of them, all armed with a variety of weapons in which they use for hunting. They were clearly a good shot as hunting was their profession, but Scott wasn’t to sure how they would work together as a team. There was also about forty some adult women of different ages, some armed some not, and as Scott was not one to judge, he would naturally allow any woman that could shoot to join the hunting party. As for the unarmed women and the kids, they looked more frightened than ever except for the women trying to put out the fires, and the boys clinging to their fathers, to young to hunt. As always there were a few other individuals that like Scott just happened to be stuck in Westden, that either came in on the bus or would be arriving later. One such individual, Scott could not help but notice, was the young black haired woman, that for whatever reason, did not quite fit in with the locals and their laid back way of life.

Either way, now was the time for action and as such in a clear and commanding voice Scott addressed the people. “People of Westden, there is a killer on the loose and we all need to work together to track him down. So for anyone here who is carrying a gun, we need to split up and search the town.” Then with a quick glimpse around to see if he was reaching any of them, he goes on. “Break up into groups of five and search everywhere. I want some of you to check the School House, others the Barn. I want you to check out every standing house and building in this town where that monster could hide, including the near by woods in every direction. Cause my guess is where ever he is, he wants to leave fast.” Now in a more maternal tone he addresses the unarmed women, with the same amount of confidence he addressed the men, “As for the rest of you I want you to set up a base camp here were we can communicate through radios and walkie-talkies. I assume you would have those.” Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, to check and see that his revolver was fully loaded, he leaves the crowd with a few more words before splitting up, “Next, if there is anyone here with medical training I want you to either join up with a search party or build a triage here, it’s your choice. Finally I want everyone here to meet back in one hour at the church or call in on your radio! We Clear!?!?”

From that point on, the people split up, each in a direction chosen for maximum efficiency. Scott however lead a small group through the nearby cemetery just a few miles away from town. Unfortunately their search was uneventful, as they found no signs of life, in any way. No tracks, no signs of squatting and of course no signs of blood, for if there were any the snow had buried them in less than minutes. However, at the same time, Scott happened to notice a few strangely spray painted graffiti signs placed indiscriminately around the cemetery that did not make sense at the time, therefor he didn’t think much about them. Meanwhile the other teams were lucky enough to be blessed with hunting dogs, and for what ever reason, may or may not pick up a scent. But clearly, or by chance, at least one of the teams would be in the area where the Xsoteric was hiding, but whether they saw him or not was up to question. Either way, after constant communication with the home base and no report of finding the killer yet, Scott reluctantly led his party back into town, and towards the church, where everyone in town should be waiting. It was then by chance he saw a rather hairy stranger exiting what was left of the Sheriff’s office, and as he did not look like a local, Scott had to approach him and with the other four men in his party asked, “Hello Stranger, How may we help you?”

@the_xsoteric: @scarlet_: @feroz: @the_shotgunner:

Amidst the elevated sense of righteous fury the Man of Nowhere had easily bled into the background of the recently inspired mob. Now convinced that they had at long last discovered the abomination behind their children's disturbing abductions, their willingness to follow the noble rallying cry of a complete and total stranger had seemingly softened their previous 'lock everybody we dont know up' stance for the time being. In moments of great distress and trauma a ability to keep one's, head while everyone else around was losing theirs, was perhaps one of the reasons the confidently spoken stranger had been able to channel, direct, and weaponize the towns-people's won over trust. Even the Pale Moon Rider had noticed his authoritative competence and the unshakable feeling that the man had had some form of military training. "You just served those people up on a platter." Jordyn unapologetically stated as the groups broke off into smaller squads and began their ill-fated search. Their police force, arguably the small town's most capable offensive force, had been decimated. The same 'hunters' and housewives who had been incapable of protecting their own children were now going to go off and facedown a walking war-machine the likes of which they had only read about? The same towns folk who had yet to uncover the true identity behind its endless ordeals, were now going to march off into the unbearable cold, never ending winter, and wilderness - the Xsoteric's playground - under the belief that they could somehow bring down the Hulk of Highland Park with lanterns pitchforks and shotguns? "That thing your chasing, the thing you just sent those people to track down, is Cash Bo-Vera. Name wont mean a thing to ya but I can assure ya of this, he aint the sorta beast you send civilians to go hunting after. He got some dangerous and long lived family blood-ties. Occult ties that aint nothing to mess'wit. He wont be the one responsible for them missing kids neither. If you really wanna tackle that sumbitch your best bet is to let him flush out the real evil behind them abductions. Something tells me he aint here to join up if ya know what I mean. Once ol Cash does the heavily lifting, you me and your friends there should be more than enough to finally put the murderous bastard in the ground for good." Lighting up a half finished cigar, the Sin of Saddle Creek waited and observed the energy in the air, unsure if any of the strangers were going to be able to reconcile with the type of indomitable psychopath they had so cavalierly decided to pursue. And exactly what kind of hell on earth that just his mere presence of being there ultimately meant. Jordyn suddenly sighed. "Theres an unmarked sacrificial burial ground about 2 miles north here, through the woods under a big unnatural honey locust tree. One with no leaves, only thorns. Someone......someone outta tell them folks to get some shovels. Maybe start looking for their missing loved ones there."he somberly suggested.

@scarlet_: @feroz: @the_shotgunner:

The Ballad of the Beckets

It was only a few short months ago that the Beckets, and their friendly next door neighbors the Abbotts, were hosting their weekly game night as their small children rambunctiously played in the upstairs master bedroom of their middle class home. But now, as Jason Beckett and his wife Olivia grudgingly plowed through an ocean of freezing snow and debilitating clusters of thick frustration - the intoxication of temporary inspiration long since removed from their now dwindling fortitude - the realization of their terrifying reality had begun to set in. For while Jason was indeed an avid hunter and outdoorsmen, and yes, Olivia had indeed accompanied her husband on several endurance testing walks out to his deer blind and bait piles, neither one of them had ever attempted to hunt the World's most dangerous game. Man. "What are we doing Jason? We're lost! Where's Beth and Alex (Abbott)?" the frustration in Olivia's voice was telling. "I....uh." but her husband's obvious confusion was even more so. "This...this way. I think there's an old wolf's den up along that ridgeline. We can hunker down there for a bit. Start a fire and catch our bearings. Its gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay." he reassured. Together the capable couple forged ahead utilizing strong communication, trust and teamwork as they traversed ahead through the unforgiven winter wilderness only to be shocked, horrified and frozen with fear as they climbed up to gaze upon the opening of the 'abandoned' den. Remnants of the Xsoteric's fire were clearly visible along the ground. His nightmarish finger-paintings were itched along the walls. And deep in the background, far back beyond were dark transformed into oblivion, something stirred. Something drew breath. Cautiously Jason began to raise his rifle using his off arm to corral his trembling wife around to the side and positioned behind him. "run." he whispered "What? Whatya mean r" "RUUUUUUUUUUUUN!" Olivia screamed. The rifle brightly flashed lightening up the entry way for a brief second. And then. Silence.

The Abbotts Last Hunt

"No look baby right there. See it? Broken branches there? Yeah I got him. We hot on his tail." Alex Abbott boasted. "Looks like he's bleeding to this gonna be easy. String that bastard up until he tells us where are baby boy is." Beth simply cracked an agreeable smile before lowering her head. Her self-esteem had never been much to write home about, and had only worsened after the tragic abduction of her only child Marcus. Alex on the other hand had had a slightly different emotional reaction. His manhood had been challenged. His inability to keep his anemic family safe had - in his view - tarnished his entire identity as a man's man. Leading to a dramatic and radicalized crisis of conscious which had elevated his exaggerated portrayal of delusional masculinity. With weary wife in tow the heavily armed hardware salesman pressed on believing to be mere minutes behind his 'prey.' "What do you think happened to Olivia and Jason? I hope their okay." "Of course their okay. Jason bitched out and they went home to cry by the fire. Its what they do. But not us. Right babe!!?" racking his shotgun with theatrical pause. However Beth had stopped dead in her tracks staring up into the trees. A look of terror had overtaken her morphed expression of traumatic disbelief. "Goddammit what the &^^% is your malfunction b!tch?" but Jason also hesitated as he followed his wife's line of site upwards. "Oh. My. God." he stammered. They couldnt blink. They couldnt swallow. All they could do was to gaze upon the defiled remains of their former neighbor, Jason Beckett. "We gotta go. We gotta go.....now!" It was already too late. As Alex took one step backwards he was instantly caught by a rather simplistic fixed snare and flipped upside down while suspended just a few feet off the ground. All he could do was watch as the behemoth of the badlands appeared from just beyond the shadows. Just beyond the realm of his awaking nightmare. The Xsoteric, with complete disregard for the self-paralyzed Beth, instead crouched down in front of the whimpering Abbott patriarch nearly allowing the visor of his mask to touch his victims face. Only moving away slightly as the man began to piss himself all down the front of his body. With unintentional coldness, a void of emotional energy, the Last Bison carefully removed the would be hunter's own bowie knife before his augmented helmet projected several spliced pieces of fixed commercial audio together as an eerie substitution of his own muted voice. "gAMe oVEr. YoU cAN CHECk in buT yA cAn neVer chEck oUt. ItS DYing TIme......"

Before the Wolf of Legends could initiate a hot pursuit of his own, he was interrupted by the Residents of Westden flocking back into town. Led by a commanding and capable man who made civilians of a small town work in incredible synchronicity. It was a testament to the people's sense of community, just as it was this man's natural leadership.

"I'm Bryan Bigby. I'm a P.I from Detroit. A certain Martha Janes had asked me to help with a sudden uptick in missing children." The Big Bad answered Scott's question, walking towards where the search party had just returned from.

"I'm sorry, but I might try to catch up with those four you sent out." Bigby added as the scent was growing weaker by the moment. If he had any chance of finding whoever caused the carnage at the sheriff's office, he had to be quick.

"You just served those people up on a platter." As rugged as Bryan himself, a weathered individual spoke from the background. His words pierced through the chatter and buzz of the panicked townsfolk. Stopping Bigby in his tracks.

"That thing your chasing, the thing you just sent those people to track down, is Cash Bo-Vera. Name wont mean a thing to ya but I can assure ya of this, he aint the sorta beast you send civilians to go hunting after. He got some dangerous and long lived family blood-ties. Occult ties that aint nothing to mess'wit. He wont be the one responsible for them missing kids neither. If you really wanna tackle that sumbitch your best bet is to let him flush out the real evil behind them abductions. Something tells me he aint here to join up if ya know what I mean. Once ol Cash does the heavily lifting, you me and your friends there should be more than enough to finally put the murderous bastard in the ground for good.

Theres an unmarked sacrificial burial ground about 2 miles north here, through the woods under a big unnatural honey locust tree. One with no leaves, only thorns. Someone......someone outta tell them folks to get some shovels. Maybe start looking for their missing loved ones there." Hill added.

"You seem to know an awful lot about the man who just massacred the entire sheriff's office." Bryan suspiciously expressed. His back to Scott and Jordyn as he added: "And where the missing kids might be."

The King of the Wolves was in a dilemma. Who exactly was this rugged man who knew so much about what had been going on? And who was this other stranger who had led almost all of the town to search for these children and hunt this man called Cash that had just ravaged an entire station of police officers? Were they in cohorts? Was it their plan to split up the town? Was Hill misleading them? Was Scott? What cult?

"You know. It's a little hard to trust complete strangers I've never met in my life. Especially one that knows a little too much about the whys, the whos, and the wheres." Bigby pondered, taking a draw from his cigarette, exhaling smoke that quickly blended in with the vapor expelled from his breath.

"If what you're saying is true, all of it? You mean to say these cult members are here in Westden somewhere? Why come out only now? Could have prevented all of this. And why wait for this pal of yours, Cash, to wipe out these cult members? Why not get rid of all them altogether?

I don't know about you, but I'm going out there. I have a feeling that son of a b!tch is gonna tell me what I need to know once he and I get to know each other a little better."

With that, Bryan flicked the butt of his cigarette into the cold, unforgiving snow before trudging forward, slowly disappearing into the night. With the King of the Wolves locking in on the scent, it would only be a matter of time before he finds Cash.

Che would listen to the crowd from the distance but pay little attention to the chatter. From her vantage point it was just background noise. It always had been. The Devil had a way with words to fool a person's heart.

She had learned to listen with her eyes. Actions spoke louder than words. Profound actions even capable of piercing any Devil's lies. That was what her father said, and his father before hers, and so on and so on. The stories of many tribes of the world were the same - in the beginning there was nothing but man did not hear the land. They did not smell its wonderful aroma. The first and most powerful weapon was the one that saw the light and creation of all. The eyes were not only a mirror into the soul but a weapon for truth.

They are all going to die, an inner voice spoke with a ferocity that only Che could hear. If any could hear it, they would recognize the wisdom but also feel its hurt. They lie to themselves. That is why dark clouds hang over this place.

Che would not respond out loud. It was not a time to talk, but a time of action. To the Great Wolf Spirit, @the_shotgunner was like all the talkers before him. If he talked any louder the creature they hunted would remain the hunter, leaving only but a darker trail of blood in its wake. This led Che to walk this path alone, much like she had always did.

Che remained still as the crowd dispersed to their areas. It was then she could feel the Great Wolf Spirit in the distance, guiding her to follow him into the wilderness as it disappeared into nothing, directing her on the path. She would begin to her own journey into the wild, only for her to stop instantly. It was a feeling she had experienced before, but rarely. The Great Wolf Spirit called it the children of Bear Spirit, warriors able to withstand against the enemy. Che peered through the dispersing crowd, trying to lock down its owner. She looked intently from person to person, her gaze attempting to pierce the shroud of mystery. @jordyn_hill@feroz

Che's inquiry would be interrupted yet again by the drums of war in the distance and in an instance would slip away into the wilderness. Che walked slowly, for only a fool ran into the unknown. It wasnt until she spotted the Great Wolf Spirit sitting silently, staring off into the distance. In all her years as the avatar of her ancestors, she had never seen the Great Wolf Spirit as it was now.

What do you hear, child? The spirit spoke as its gaze remained steady into the distance.

Che knew it spoke not of words. It was talking about the land and all that inhabited it. She was trained to listen to it. The Spirit called it the true language. Che closed her eyes, having learned to listen to the wind as it traveled across peeks and valleys, the rain as it rippled across objects, to the grass as it flowed undisturbed and at that moment her eyes sprung open in worry. I hear nothing.

The Great Spirit confirmed Che's observation with a low growl. This land has been marked by a true hunter. All that once inhabited this domain has left it. Not even the mighty winds dare pierce its border. This is a place of evil. This is not snow, either. This is Evil's graveyard.

The Great Wolf Spirit would break its stance and slowly crawl in-between the Dream and the Physical realm, only to stop upon a cliff and howl for entering upon the land. It would make its way pass Che to go deeper into the wild with great apprehension. This will be the greatest test you have ever witnessed, my child, for even the drums of war dare not disturb its land. The challenge has been sent. May the Spirits be with us.

@jordyn_hill: @feroz:

Just returning from the hunt, Scott and his men were distressed. Except for Scott their heads were low as Scott’s was more frustrated. They had just spent the better part of an hour checking out the towns cemetery, finding nothing more than parents weeping over sites that would soon be the resting place for their lost children. To make it worse, none of the other parties called in with sightings, instead the locals spent more of their time talking about who would get the first kill and mount The Xsoteric’s head over their mantle. Unfortunately for them all, Cash was not to be found and no matter how good a hunter they thought they were, or how far a scent their dogs could follow, Cash had outsmarted them, or perhaps just knew how to better survive. But all was not lost as just before Scott was about to check in at the Church, he and his hunting party were lucky enough to meet a new player on the board, one who was already on The Xsoteric’s trail, without anyone knowing it.

Optimistically, Scott greeted the stranger with a firm “Hello Stranger, How may we help you?” hoping and praying that he would have any knew information on The Xsoteric’s wear-about, but was surprised to hear he was Bryan Bigby, a P.I from Detroit hired by a Martha Janes to track down the missing kids. Naturally Scott welcomed him, even giving him a quick update to all that had occurred in the last few hours, but as he was more concerned with catching Cash at the moment, he still felt that searching for the kids could wait. It was then just after explaining The Xsoteric’s great escape to him, that a new voice in the back chimed in. Coming from a man Scott had never seen before, the cocky stranger was clearly more informed on Cash than anyone else in the town, and in his opinion over Scott’s rallying the men to hunt the beast down, could only be described as,"You just served those people up on a platter." Immediately, both Scott and Bigby stood dumbfounded by his words, not sure weather to question him or listen to what he had to say. From then on Jordyn went on and on, divulging everything he knew about the beast including his full name, ties to the occult, and that it would be wiser to leave him alone than try to take him in. Or at least for now!!!

From then on Jordyn continued to talk about an unmarked sacrificial burial ground about 2 miles to the north and how he believed it would be a good starting place to look for their missing kids, but again at the time Scott was more interested in hunting down Cash Bo-Vera. Without wasting another second, Scott immediately told the other four members in his hunting party to go and inform anyone in radio contact about what Hill had told them about The Xsoteric, followed by the command to stay safe and report in constantly. No matter what! Then, with great pride and urgency, Scott was ready to pound out every last bit of information Jordyn had on Cash, but was quickly interrupted by Bigby. However this time Bigby was asking all the questions Scott wanted to ask, as he put it, "You know. It's a little hard to trust complete strangers and If what you're saying is true, all of it? You mean to say these cult members are here in Westden somewhere? Why come out only now? Could have prevented all of this. And why wait for this pal of yours, Cash, to wipe out these cult members? Why not get rid of all them altogether?”

But after all of Bigby’s relenting questions, his final words were, “I don't know about you, but I'm going out there. I have a feeling that son of a b!tch is gonna tell me what I need to know once he and I get to know each other a little better." just before he turned his back to leave, leaving Scott alone with Jordyn, and all the questions he didn’t get to ask. But just as he was about to grab Jordyn by the collar and ring his neck out for information, he saw the same alpha male mentality in Jordyn’s eyes, as in his. It was at this point Scott knew a tough bravado would not do and instead choose to treat him like one man should treat another. Locking him in the eyes, Scott said in a strong but respectful voice, “Bigby’s right about hunting that beast down, and frankly I need your help. I’ve seen him kill two good men in cold blood and I’ve seen him bleed. Clearly you know more about him than anyone else here, so man to man…” he then extends his hand for a shake, “Help us take him down and then we can deal with the missing kids?!?!” From that point on should Jordyn agree they would hopefully catch up with Bigby even offering Jordyn an extra rifle given freely from one of the town folks. But should he say no or choose some other way of disagreeing with him, again Scott would respond with a clever but appropriate comeback, and then catch up with Bigby on his own, in the hope that the two of them could be enough to take the Xsoteric down for good! And get one step closer to solving this mystery!

@feroz: @the_shotgunner: @scarlet_:

Naturally the unlikely group of justice seeking strangers were skeptical. Their questions were valid, their tones harsh and filled with doubt. Unable or unwilling to set aside their initial preconceived notions however, two of the strangers had seemingly decided to go it alone. Heading off before the Sin of Saddle Creek had even answered a question or denied a single allegation. Even the unofficial captain of the Westden's unconventional militia had felt compelled to run off into the woods in search of the deadly Bo-Vera. Though his recruitment of Jordyn had taken a more amicable approach, the gun-ho resurrected soldier had still decided against the Hangman of Jericho Hill's advice. Leaving Jordyn with little choice but to stoically reject the Shotgunner's invitation. "Sorry friend but I dont think so." was all the cold yet collected Death Rider said. And so with that, the Man of Nowhere was once again alone as the others were firmly focused on the capture or death of the Last Bison. But Jordyn had not come to the supernaturally infected town in search of Cash, or the other Bo-Vera's. His had been a righteous calling to avenge the sacrilegious murder of the town's young children, uncover the dark ministry, and unleash a fiery rapture upon their souls. "Better this way." he briefly thought. A true highwayman to the bone the Pale Moon Rider had nearly always rode solo. Almost. His mind drifting back to a time before his murder. Before the betrayal and death of his family at the hands of Momma Bo Vera. Back when he and the Last Outlaw were as close as brothers, as thick as thieves. He was here, somewhere. In Westden looking to track down the splintered faction of misguided occultists. The horrors he would visit upon the guilty would be a biblical punishment. Blackstone was a true nightmare that kept the other nightmares in check. A cruel lesson the excommunicated members of the off-brand Blackfire Cult would soon find out. Then he felt it. A disturbing chill, an uneasy static in his mind - in his thoughts. An all too familiar sensation which preceded the mental intrusion of Momma Bo Vera. Her quasi-telepathic link with the Death Rider acted as an unlocked door into the Son of the Undying Flame's safe-guarded consciousness. "Now you wouldnt let em kill my baby boy would ya? Let em rob you of the satisfaction, let em steal your vengeance?" she poked and prodded "They aint got what it takes. Cash can figure his own messes out. He'll be fine. Until I decide otherwise."Jordyn confidently snarled. "Yeah but, yeah never know. Say one of em gets lucky? Bags your prize before you get your licks in? What then? What then indeed..." Her voice drifted off but the manipulative persuasion had begun to chip away at Jordyn's assurances. She had a point, and what was worse, she knew it. No way in hell Jordyn could ever, would ever, let another hunter kill one of his arch-nemesis. So with that he took off towards the woods, though in a slightly different direction as those who had ventured off before him. He knew exactly where to go. Exactly what to look for. And while it may have taken quite some time, eventually he found himself along the ridge line staring directly down into the hollow opening to the abandoned wolf's den. His boots slowly crunched down on the charred remains of the Xsoteric's fire pit while he smirked at the child like drawings of an imbecile on the walls. A smirk which quickly faded however as he stumbled upon two sets of remains. "Been busy huh?" Jordyn thought. But than something stirred in the shadows. Something moved. Instantly the Pale Moon Rider whirled around and just narrowly intercepted the Last Bison's charge, but he was too quick, too overpowering in the moment. With incredible forced the mute murderer tackled the Sin of Saddle Creek sending them both over the edge and crashing down the side of the elevated ridge to the unforgiving ground below.

@scarlet_: @jordyn_hill:

Che had just turned seven. She doesnt remember any cake. There was no party. There was no mom or dad, for her mother had died upon her birth and her father - she knew not of him but rumors. Che viewed herself as an annoyance to many on the reservation in Oklahoma. It was on that day of that year that the thing that she would remember most that would follow her the rest of her life was her warm tears that flowed heavily upon her cheek.

They were not tears of joy or sadness but of fear. She had awoken to a place that looked like the reservation but the sun that lay dominance upon the land did not shine. The clouds were touching the ground giving a gray tone to the area. There were people there, but she saw no faces, only silhouettes of dark images walking through. No one answered her calls. It was the most terrifying moment in young Che's life. And so she remembers dropping to her knees and just crying. She couldnt stop. Che didnt know how long she cried but she did not stop until a voice called for her in distance of the clouds.

You do not belong here, child. It snarled. Che did not see where the voice originated but she finally arose, walking to its direction. Che cared not of who or what said it. All she knew was that it was better than what frightened her.

You walk in the world of dreams yet you are not a skinwalker. The voice spoke again, Che gaining closer to the source. Who was your guide to this place? How did you initiate the dreamwalk?

Che had no answers to such questions. She looked intently, raising an open hand into the clouds and spoke the only thing she could - the truth. I...do not know.

Che did not know if what she spoke was the correct answer or if the Great Wolf Spirit could sense her sincerity, but that was when she first met the Great Wolf Spirit. She would be her guide in both lands. The Great Spirit would train Che with all the ways of war that all her collective ancestors knew and yet, he did not know if it would be enough for today.

---------------------------

You are rather quiet, Che uttered as she walked through the thick cluster of trees. Che had never seen him so serious. She would be worried as she saw the Great Spirit like a parent. Che would think of some words of wisdom, but she heard a struggle in the distance. With pure instinct she would begin to run toward the commotion, a mystical spear appearing in her hand readied for action. She would launch her spear at the first sign of a hostile for she knew she could always summon another one. The Great Spirit would trail Che's lead, readied in the Dream to appear in Physical if Che would need it.

@the_shotgunner: @jordyn_hill: @scarlet_:

With incredible agility and speed, The Wolf Of Legends was finally in hot pursuit, locked onto the scent, like the relentless predator that he was seeking out his prey. Bryan maneuvered with incredible expertise through the unforgiving terrain of Westden. Making quick and easy work of the challenging landscape consisting of knee-deep snow and thick forestry. To most, this might have been a demanding location, even for the most experienced outdoorsmen. But not for Bigby. This was his home. The pitch black night, the dense trees and shrubs, the unforgiving snow, this was the King of the Wolve's playground. This isn't where he merely "survived" like so many people who wander into the untamed outdoors. This is where The Big Bad Wolf, thrived.

Upon arriving in the location where the scent was most pungent, Bigby noticed another pile of bodies whose innocent blood was needlessly spilled. Murdered with the same brutality back in the Sherrif's office. Whoever did all this, was here. Close.

*Sniff* *Sniff* Ash. From a fire, recently extinguished—another scent, familiar. Bryan deduced. But before he could identify who the second scent belonged to, strained grunts pierced through the howling, cold winds—quickly followed by an audible struggle before two silhouettes erupted out from the abandoned wolf's den straight down the ridge.

Quickly following the commotion, he peered down only to witness a behemoth of a man on top of Jordyn, the individual who he had met just moments ago. Overpowered by the hulking monster of a man.

Without hesitation, The Wolf of Legends impressively traversed the unforgiving slope of the ridge before pouncing from an impressive height, hoping the momentum and element of surprise were enough to tackle the hulking monster off of Jordyn.

@the_xsoteric: @jordyn_hill: @scarlet_: @feroz:

Scott laid it all out on the line, speaking not just from the head but from his heart. His need for help in hunting down The Xsoteric was genuine. He did not expect much from Jordyn, but he did expect some form of concern or consideration. But instead as Scott stood there with his heart in his hand, practically humbling himself in this time of need, all he got back was a firm, "Sorry friend but I dont think so." Immediately, Scott felt a strong distrust for the man, even a down right disrespect, but instead of falling prey to his basic desire to throw down, instead he simply turned his back to him without another word. For between two such men, no other words were needed to be said. Instead Scott ran off into the woods, in the hopes of catching up with Bigby, and hope together they would be enough to take the Beast down. But as fast as he was, Bigby was already far and gone, with the snow already covering up his tracks. “Hmm?” he thought as this had never happened before, “How the hell did he do that?” But now was not the time for questions, for somewhere, out there, was a killer and Scott needed to bring him in, dead or alive.

At a quick pace he sprinted through the woods, trampling through three inches of snow and brushing by tree limbs as he looked around for any sign of Bigby. But after wasting a few minutes all trails had gone cold. It was then with a quick shifting of his eyes, he transformed his vision to another state where he could see and track heat signatures. For a few seconds he looked around at the bleakness of snow, catching far off glimpses of nothing more than common forest creatures. But as he noticed the majority of them were heading in the same direction, it was a clear sign they were in fact running, from something else. Hoping it was in fact Cash, or at least Bigby, he charged forth even faster until he reached an opening where he picked up five heat signatures all gathered around one another in a huddle. Immediately shifting his vision back to normal he continued to make his way forward, until he could see that it was in fact one of the hunting parties, and picked up a strong scent of beer. It was then he noticed empty beer cans tossed aside everywhere and that the men were blind stinking drunk, and upon them seeing him, they immediately greeted him with a series of “Hey there buddy”as they stumbled around, “where have you been? Wanna beer?”

To Scott’s surprise they were all looking at their watches, except for one who could not stop laughing, but somehow managed to put the words together, “You sure are damn lucky you found us, cause in two minutes you would be in troubllllle.” But before Scott could even ask why, the leader of the pack chimed in, “That’s not true (he belches) we made sure no one else was out here with us before we set them off.”It was at that point the five men, still looking at their watches began counting down, “5..4..3..2”at which point Scott immediately shouted, “What the Hell did you…” but before he could finish his sentence several huge explosions went off at various places around the forest. For just a few seconds the forest shook, as fire balls lit the night, in precise locations specifically to create a controlled forest fire. “What the hell did you do?” Scott roared, “There are innocent people out there?” to which they drunkenly replied,“Don’t worry we checked in at base with our radios, no one is near the areas where we set the charges off.”“We ain’t idiots..” one said before falling face first into the snow.

Unaware that one of the explosion was near, or in the vicinity, of Cash and the others, Scott was enraged enough to grab the pack leader by his collar and pin him to a tree. “For your information I know for a fact that Bryan Bigby is somewhere out there, and I swear to God if you killed him Iwill tear you a new a$$hole through your mouth!” But once again the stumbling hunters proceeded to plead their innocents with several, “Naw we checked before we set them off” and “Trust us we wez careful.” But through it all the one fact they wanted to make clear was, “You need to trust us, (he belches) we is professionals. We simply created a controlled fire that will run any creature out there towards one spot were we will be waiting! And don’t worry the fire will never reach the town,”at which point the man Scott pinned to the tree almost sings,“yeah we know what we are doing! Could you put me down now, please!?”Now almost speechless over their stupidity and drunkenness, all Scott could do was put the man down and pray that no one out there was hurt. Unaware that even if one of the explosions was not exactly where Xsoteric and the others were, they would no doubt feel the explosion and soon be caught in a fire, leading them in one direction, the same exact place Jordyn Hill told them earlier to search for the missing kids.

The Moon’s Muse’s footsteps fell silent despite stepping upon inches of freshly fallen snow. Swirls of wind surrounded her, the temperature dropping to levels most people would consider fatal. Yet, she remained unfazed, as her connection to the lunar god granted her safety. Her fowl companion, Empress Diana, soared through the skies as her eyes from above. The Grand Owl’s feathers, all aged with wise silvers, blended in with the thick fall of snow, cloaking it within Nature’s natural covers.

Why was she here? Was the question she had asked herself, only following the Moon’s guidance had led her to this place of unnatural winters. All she could feel was a great injustice was committed. Something she needed to fix, in order to please her patron and to establish a sense of belonging somewhere.

Slight moonlight was illuminated off of her body, making her stand out in the darkness of midnight. A light in the darkness.

A beacon.

A target.

Yet, she wasn’t entirely aware of her passive affect, as she simply went through the dense forestry. The Crescents Boon was gripped in an archer’s style. However the irony wasn’t lost on her. She always seemed to find her way inside of a forest. Reflecting the behavior of humanity’s ancestors, always moving, always hunting.

The only difference now was that she was unsure what she was looking for. Her Eyes The See Life activated, and with that activation white crosses formed within the blue of her eyes. Life, whether corporal or ethereal, had become visible to her. The forest became scattered with aura points of living things, animals, people, spirits, had all become known to her. Yet, with all the sight before her, she had become blind to what was in front of her.

“KA-BOOOMMMM!”

The world in front of her erupted into flame and thunder, shrapnel flew through the air, fire bellowed from the ground. She had to react to the sudden introduction of the explosion in a crude manner. Covering herself in her protective cloak, the discharged failed to enter her skin. Futilely bouncing off of her covering instead.

The forest then became covered in embers, as if someone had decided to combat the eternal winter with eternal flames. A detrimental choice against the natural resources and people, she watched as the animals scattered along fearing for their lives at the sudden sound. The smoke became thick and clouded out the sky.

If she had needed breath or food, she’d be concerned for her own safety, but the Moon provided for her. Beyond however, her Eyes caught sight of sorrow. Grief and rage as a figured looked in her direction. The immediate thought that came to her mind was if that were the culprit. But their aura didn’t smell of malice, instead of morning. A witness to a horrible act, and perhaps a being in need of comfort. But also perhaps he could enlighten her about what might happen

She approached Scott (although she didn’t yet know his name) with a cautious elegance of both a hunter and a helper. She appeared before the exasperated man, appearing as an ethereal figure. Her skin glewed softly illuminating the area with a cool spectral presence and despite the canopy blocking out the majority of the sky, the moon’s light still shone upon the silvers of her hair.

“Sir, why do you feel hopeless?”

. . .

While her Master handled the situation from below the Great Moon’s Fowl soared from above, scanning the area for unusual activities. Sharing the same eyes of life that Kenzo had. Empress Diana managed to capture a wide range of activities. However, there were only a couple that she felt would be of great importance. The Fowl soared to a struggle amongst a group of people. Three, individuals. A hulking man overpowering a smaller one with two coming to his rescue. The owl corrected its calculations, when it squinted, the lifeforce of another person was following a small woman. An ethereal spirit whose lifeforce was there but not there at the same time. Yet, The Fowl Empress simply watched, perched on a tree high above, knowing it wasn’t wise to intervene

@kenzo_:

Scott was beyond outraged. Not only did the five hunters get drunk on duty, but they set the forest on fire. He was so mad that he was screaming to the high heavens over their stupidity, in a voice almost as loud as the explosion. “You idiots!” he yelled over and over, “How could you all be so stupid!” but the louder he yelled the more laid back the hunters became. “Chillout”one of them proclaimed “We got plenty of time to makeit to thecheck point by thetime the fire reaches it. Wanna beer?” But no matter how much they defended themselves the angrier Scott would get. In a fit of rage he grabbed the rifles from them to prevent them from doing any more damage, then with another shifting of his eyes, he used his telescopic vision to scan the forest for survivors. But through all the smoke and debris all he could find were more forest critters running for their lives. It was then one of the hunters, still buzzed but sober, felt it upon himself to place himself back in charge. “Well, we better get moving if we’re gonna make it to…” but before he could finish, Scott rudely cut him off an instead shouted back, “You guys are in no shape to do anything! If I had half a mind I’d leave you all here to burn alive just to teach you a lesson!” But it was then, just as Scott was cursing out loud that a soft and gentle voice rang out from behind him.

Like a voice from an angel she said, “Sir, why do you feel hopeless?” making Scott even madder as he immediately turned around shouting, “Because these guys here are fuc..” It was then he saw the loveliness of the lady, shimmering in her ethereal form, and immediately Scott calmed down before her. Naturally assuming she was one of the townsfolk, he calms himself down by taking in a deep breath, then begins to tell her everything that happened from the point he met up with the hunters. Paying special attention to the fact they just set the forest on fire and that innocent people are out there! In the end he graciously offers her one of the rifles he took from the hunters, then proceeds to ask her for her help. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name yet, mine is Scott. Unfortunately we have less than an hour to reach the safety point before we are trapped in the fire, and I can’t get the men there alive without your help.” He then offers her more ammo, or follows whatever her wishes were when it comes to firearms, because by this point all he really needed was some nurse maid to watch the drunken men while he deals with the bigger issues. Either way he treats her with complete respect, unlike the men, and with her help he begins forging a path forward through the snow, hoping he can still keep everyone involved alive!

Going with the assumption she would go with him, or at least not do anything that would get them all killed, he continued to walk forward, with nothing but time to chit chat. Therefore he spent the time telling her about The Xsoteric and how dangerous of a man he was. Occasionally he would bring up the issue on whether she did or did not except the rifle he offered her, and how strongly he would suggest she needed one, Hell he might even complement her if she showed any signs of mastering the weapon or showed any other sign of how well she could defend herself. However as he tried talking with her, he would carefully avoid all topics of his past and of course anything other than what little he wanted her to know. In the end they reached what should have been a clear field, but instead a patch of dead earth, covered in wild thorns. The air itself was bitter and cold, colder than any other spot in the snowy forest, yet with less snow on the ground. By this point the hunters finally passed out, which was a good thing, as they could no longer cause any more trouble. Yet through the distance Scott could see something moving towards their direction and even through his telescopic vision it was to blurry to see who and how many were coming. Instead he stood ready for anything, with his rifle lock and loaded, and despite how confident he was, something about the place he was standing on, still made him feel uncomfortable!

@the_shotgunner: @jordyn_hill:

Che stormed through the snow covered terrain, ready for action. Her grip became firm with her mystic spear in hand as her pulse remained steady. Westden's deep dark secrets reeked of followers of the unnatural and she was no novice to its acolytes. She had almost become numb in their world as it walked a fine line between light and the shadows, but this was something different. She was about to see something few live to tell.

The Great Wolf Spirit followed the eager warrior with great trepidation. As Che stabbed through the white snow banks with skill almost ignoring the terrain, the Great Wolf Spirit would leap the distance with relative ease. It was then the Spirit would notice the shroud of snow begin to move in the direction which they approached. It slipped through Che's attention but the Spirit was old as the land, forging memories into instinct and knowledge into wisdom. The land moved as if some force breathed it in and then spewed it out with great disdain.

The eldritch force revealed itself like a blast of a bomb, catching the Comanche warrior unexpectedly. The force of the wind hit Che with a backhand of cold and bitterness which flung the warrior like a ragdoll. The Great Wolf Spirit able to snatch its avatar midair with its mighty teeth while absorbing the residual impact of the eldritch energy, but still forcing the giant wolf cringe at the new force.

Che had to grasp the cold new air as the blast had forced it from her lungs. Che gasped, and then coughed feverishly. What the Hell happened?

The Great Wolf Spirit hovered over her, its stare and growl directed deeper into the tree line. Something I have not crossed in many years. I have only walked on the grounds of its work. Whispers of it from other spirits. Prepare yourself, young one.