Taking to the streets during a Hunt was madness to all but a hunter. A sinister evening, full of dread, disease and the foul stench of burning hair and flesh. A smell that would permeate and persist throughout the night. At sundown, the great city became a creature of death, where normal ... sane people cloistered themselves in their huts and hovels, speaking only in hushed whispers and gagged on the viscous fumes of incense provided by the Church. He would hear them on occasion as he passed a window or door where they huddled and murmured and it was all too easy to amuse himself with their terrified noises; a light scrape of his spear tip along the stone walls as a reminder to stay quiet. “Lest the beasts hear ye.” He would coo between their slatted shutters. Yet, some places were as quiet as graves. Their inhabitants long departed ... from this world or from human existence he knew not. All he knew was that tonight, the streets would burn in fiery conflagration as the Powder Keg hunters left their tumultuous brand on Old Yharnam.<br/><br/><br/>They had met prior to the citywide lockdown in a quiet chapel at the edge of town, where the Wall sat opposed to the Forbidden Wood. Underneath, their workshop sat, but it was at the lectern above where they gathered. Even with all of their preparation, many of them would fall prey to the beasts or indeed their own indiscretions. It was a trifle fact known to all, and still, it was with palpable excitement that they rambled their delights in taking to the bloodied alleys and courtyards once more; a singleminded pleasure that they partook of each hunt. To crush, to impale, to shred and smash and flail ... but most importantly, to burn this plague of monsters until only ash and cinders remained.<br/><br/><br/>They divided into two or three man groups, dispatching smaller beasts as they crossed them. Easy pickings as their groupings were much thinner at the edges, closest to the Wall. The real task was in the winding shadowed streets where even a skilled hunter could be taken by surprise. It was not difficult for a man to find his end after only one misstep here. His spear was sturdy, however, and his aim as true and unfailing as it had been even in his prime. Perhaps flailing blindly in the dark like a crazed lunatic was adequate enough for the Saw hunters with their bone cleavers but he had always preferred precision over baseless massacre. It was ‘to kill with elegance’ that rang through his head in a voice belonging to his mother. The head and the heart were his only targets, everything else was merely to be avoided.<br/><br/><br/>He took to a nearby alley with his own companion, a grizzled madman in a frayed long coat and wrinkled hat with habitually singed edges. Hamish, he was called by the group though he had never introduced himself as such. Even now as he grinned around a lit cigar there was a sort of wide eyed mania held in his gaze made all the more inane by the great hammer that rested across his shoulders and the string of Molotov’s along his belt. This was a man who relished in getting up close and personal. “Y’all right there Theron? Yer lookin’ like one of those white robes up the hill.” Theron narrowed his pale eyes, “I worry for you brother, that your poor decisions will cost us all one day.” His voice was thin and irritated. “If I can smell that wretched blood brew on your breath from here then surely the beasts will find you quickly. I prey they savor every morsel when you fall.” Hamish gave him a knowing grin and a clap on the back that was so heavy it made him rock on his heels. “Gimme a break son... when you’ve seen as many hunts as I, you sorta start wishin’ for the end. I just hope it’s a loud one.” He half laughed and half choked around a fresh plume of smoke. Theron gave a smirk before pulling his scarf over nose, “Die another night<i>old man</i>. I’ve your back to watch and I don’t intend to have you make me look careless.” He reached into a pocket to procure a small satchel that he shoved in Hamish’s hand. “Bone marrow ash... use it feverishly my friend.”<br/><br/><br/>Theron took to a nearby ladder as Hamish continued somewhat drunkenly down the alley. He would have to remain vigilant tonight, he thought as he scaled the cold damp buildings, spear in hand, hopping over the small gaps with ease. A shadow caught the corner of his eye, something up high and when he looked he saw a figure or two. Fellow hunters, most likely, as no news of the scourge leaving Old Yharnam had been reported. Perhaps it was even the much dreaded church hunters of Cathedral Ward. He hoped they would have locked themselves away during the hunt ... leave the dirty work for the workshop hunters.<br/><br/><br/>It was a fair bit less noxious on the rooftops, away from the haze and blood-sprayed cobbles, caked with the viscera of man and beast alike between its crevices. Here he could see all below him as well as blend with his surroundings; a black clad wraith sitting amongst the gargoyles and grotesques on their various pedestals, all watching his fellow hunters movements. They were a rowdy lot, all hoots and fiery expulsion. It was easy to make them, even in a city that already burned from the village mobs prior to the night’s events. They drew the beasts to them with the noise, a tactic that worked more often than not when the traps were laid discreetly beforehand. He remained silent, however, with only the ember of his rifle to mark him in the darkness. In truth, this had always been his way. An owl’s perch and the patience of a Saint. It mattered to him very little that he did not often join in the boisterous clamor of this brotherhood. That he never really was one of them.<br/><br/><br/>His eyes picked along the more narrow streets below, looking for shadows against the slick reflective stones. Hard to pick out movement in the dark, even from a superior vantage point like this. He followed Hamish; rifle tip trailing just behind when a familiar scent broke his concentration. Stale and decayed like the fetid musk of mummified flesh. It was followed by a sound; an awful jingling of chains and of boots scraping over covered ground. Theron froze where he sat, rifle pointed squarely down an opposing alley as his eyes swept over just in time to see a bastard of the Healing Church round his corner. He remained stark and still even as he was addressed, a low sigh escaping him, muffled through his scarf. “Blessings be upon me this evening... a hunter of the Church? Praise you.” His tone was even, cool as he raised to his feet to face the man, propping his rifle against one shoulder. Though he wore common hunting attire he was noticeably tall and willowy within them, tipping the edge of a wide-brimmed hat in greeting. “I thank you Sir ... or Sirs.” He amended upon seeing the ‘good’ doctor just beyond that black cloaked frame. “Apologies. I thought you an echo.” He mentioned of the wormy white grabbed official. “I must insist, however, that you leave Old Yharnam to us tonight. There are a great many traps and pitfalls in place. It would be a right shame for one or both of you to fall prey to them in place of a beast.” A shame to waste them, he thought in turn.<br/><br/><br/>Theron chanced a glance downward when he heard the distinct and explosive bang of Hamish’s hammer clashing with stone. All was well. Even blood drunk the man knew how to hold his own ... maybe even more so. So it was fine to waste a little time sizing up these new strangers. The white robe seemed of little consequence and perhaps a little green of face? They both carried weapons that spoke of their simplicity and practicality, a thing not unusual in the slightest for the doctors and clerics of the Church. Perhaps the black coat would give him the most trouble. Skilled hunters and ever watchful lap dogs for the Ministry. But he was sure it wouldn't come to that if he spoke the right words. “We are...” Now there was the hint of a smile in that sea glass gaze, his only discernible feature other than a pale complexion marked with blackened char and a muffled voice with a smooth cadence. “Keen on burning it all, as you say. Surely you would not deny us this sacred rite. My brothers and I will purify this place. Come morning, there won’t even be enough for the crows to pick clean. So if you’ve come to pilfer... I might suggest you do so quickly.”