Log:The Cemetery Night Watchman

2018/07/06 Hunter Nighthound 1

It's a dark and stormy night...or rather, it was about two hours ago. Now the clouds are just quickly scudding across a waning moon on this now wet and slightly foggy night. The fog, per usual, is thicker in the large cemetery in the heart of Old Town.

You know, from a reliable source, your boss Frankie that is, that Lightray comes to this burial ground several times a week apparently. But only, of course, at night. Which makes perfect sense for someone whose powers are based on sunlight. Or not.

This place may have mixed reactions from you, what with several fights taking place here in the past and that one time someone buried you here.

Hunter has a bad feeling about this. He stands outside the cemetery gates looking in, wearing a black zip up hoodie and dark gray jeans, the hood worn up to avoid the rain. "...I hate this place," he mutters to himself. He can't shake the feeling of being trapped, some flashes of being in a coffin and trying to get out. Did that really happen? Or is his imagination running away with him.

He takes a deep breath and forces his feet to move, walking into the cemetery. Alone. At night. Smart.

The gate swings slowly closed behind you, clanging quietly shut in the stillness of the great cemetery. The ground fog swirls around your feet, illuminated from time to time by the scattered modern gravestone with their holographic images that flash on and off from time to time, being activated by who knows what.

You quickly pass out of the modern era and into the darker era of earlier, non-glowing headstones. Up ahead, you see someone standing in the lee of gnarled tree, leaning against it. In the dim light, it's hard to make out any details, but the figure seems to be dressed in a long, dark gray trenchcoat with a fedora pulled over his face.

Hunter finds the darker parts more soothing, probably because there's more places to hide. But he's not supposed to be hiding. He's supposed to be finding someone. And the best way to probably do that is to stay seen.

He notes the figure dressed somewhat auspiciously and makes his way in that general direction. The guy looks mysterious for someone named Lightray, so he wonders if this isn't just someone actually visiting their lost loved ones.

"I'd duck if I were you, laddie," says the figure without even turning his head. "Never know what's hiding in the mist around here." His voice sounds a bit hollow, but as the warning co-incides with that sensation you get when someone's about to ambush you, you may take heed of it.

You may or may not note that voice, while also hollow, has a subdued and mixed Irish and New York lilt to it.

Hunter tenses for a moment as the warning comes and his highly trained skills and senses prickle. He crosses one leg behind the other, twisting to face his attacker while ducking.

And as a result of the warning, external and internal, a quick moving and greatly reeking figure leaps directly through where your head would have been. It lands in the mist with a guttural and inhuman snarl.

"The f*** is that?" Hunter asks as watches his stinking assailant fly by. He straightens up and draws up his fists. "What do you want?" he asks the snarling figure.

"Fresh meat! Yesh! Fresh!" snarls the creature as it crouches, it's eyes glowing an unhealty red color.

As it leaps for you again with a snarl, the trenchcoated figure says in a carrying voice, "I'd help you against the ghoul, friend, but I'm immaterial in /this/ fight."

The ghoul leaps towards you, it's claw-like nails extended in front of itself. It doesn't seem that skilled, more just raw hunger.

Hunter wrinkles his nose at the attacking creature. He sidesteps the leap, turning sideways and drawing his knee up to try and aim at the creature's chest as it lands from its leap.

Your knee collides solidly with the creature's chest, the rotted clothes and skin of the being tearing under the force. But liquids only ooze from it as it coughs out some decaying juices. It hardly seems to react otherwise, just a low moan of unspeakable hunger rising from it's throat.

As the incredible funk from this creature fills your mouth and nose, the trenchcoat murmurs, "You need to cut it's heart out. Only way to be sure." He then reaches into a pocket of his coat and pulls out a cigarette placing it, you suppose, in his as yet unseen mouth.

Hunter's nose crinkles in disgust. He's going to have to burn these jeans. Even that may not be enough. He coughs, feeling sick. "Immaterial? Consider yourself lucky," he mutters.

He pales from the smell at the figure's words. "Cut it out? With -what-?" His mind flashes to the sword in his footlocker, and curses not having it with him. The closest thing he has on him is a concealed kunai. It'll have to do.

"..ugh, why me?" he bemoans at the smell. With a flick of his wrist and a glint of metal, he's suddenly holding a knife that he had hidden on him. He hates zombies and ghouls. A lot. The blade flips into a reverse grip before he stabs towards the creature's chest.

Hunter cringes at the goopiness of the ghoul's body. He's fine with blood and guts, but rotten guts is something different all together. The blade slices into the thing's rib cage, hooking the ghoul onto the knife as it flails and drips. He just needs to turn the knife and pull sideways to try and slice at the heart.

The ghoul continues to moan in intense hunger but now with a note of panic added. It tries to claw you as the trenchcoat says, "I'd not let it scratch you if I were you, laddie." Would be nice if he'd do more than give advice.

The ghoul's claws snag in Hunter's hoodie and tear a jagged hole in the cloth. It leaves behind only a smear of near vomit induing gunge on Hunter's skin.

Hunter sucks in his stomach just in time to avoid getting scratched. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that AND cut its heart out??" he asks in frustration at the guy who is just going to watch. He tries to jerk the blade to try and make a horizontal cut to continue his grim work on the ghoul's heart.

With that sideways jerk, the ghoul shudders then goes limp for a moment before wrenching away from the blade and you with a not a scream, but a gentle sigh. "Oh...I'm not hungry anymore," it murmurs in a much more normal tone before slumping to the ground in a boneless heap.

After a moment, it seems as if the mist thickens for a moment as a hazy form rises from the body then disappates into the ground fog.

After a moment, while your back is to him, the trenchcoat lights his cigarette with the hiss of a match. "Well, he's at peace now. Good work, laddie."

Hunter turns away from the rotten corpse, trying not to wretch. After putting some distance between it and him, he crouches down and wipes his blade on the ground to try and clean it off. He's not going to want to keep it on hand with it smelling like that. "Thanks for the help," he says sarcastically before looking up at Mr. Trenchcoat. "And who the hell are you?"

"You are welcome, laddie," says the figure after he blows a smoke ring. "I thought you'd sense that poor bugger, but thought I should warn ya." His face is still in deep shadow under the edge of his fedora. "Holy waters a good way to clean off the funk of a ghoul...or fresh lemon juice like when dealing with any corpse."

He takes anoter long drag of his cigarette, the end barely glwing it seems, before he adds, "And you can call me the NightHound. It's one of my names in any case. A pleasure to speak to you again."

"Nighthound. Okay," Hunter grunts, having neither holy water or lemon juice on him at the moment. He tries to wipe everything he can off the blade before slipping it into a hidden holder. At least the smell will be contained for now. "Not the person I was looking for. You have a habit of hanging out in cemeteries and not doing anything when people get attacked?" Hunter grumbles. But in the back of his mind, something is trying to remind him of something.

"Oh, I try to give people advice if I can. A whispered word here and there. Like you're digging the wrong way, just for a for instance, laddie," murmurs the Night Hound with a touch of dark humor in his hollow voice.

Hunter's eyes widen as a memory strikes. "Wait...what...?" he asks as brings back the vision of him being trapped in a coffin. "That was real...?"

"Yes, laddie, it was real," murmurs the Nighthound after taking another long drag and letting it out slowly. "Glad you survived all that. So, why are you wandering out the cemetery so late at night? Don't you have school or something tomorrow?"

"No, I'm past school," Hunter mutters, glad to be over those days, what little he remembers them. "I was told I could find the hero Lightray out here."

"And why do you need to find Lightray, laddie? Not planning on killing him as an undead menace are ya now?" says NIght Hound with that same streak of dark humor in his voice.

Hunter sighs as his heartrate starts to normalize. "No, I'm not. I was told he could help with a case I'm on. I have a bit of a situation."

"A bit of a situation, laddie? Antiquities smugglers or rogue deities or some such? That's normally what Lightladdie gets himself involved in." He laughs quietly. "Dead bad at dealing with mere gangsters so you know." He flicks away the cigarette in his hand which dissolves into mist once it travles a very short distance from him.

"Not quite. I'm trying to find out more about DEMON to stop a ritual." Hunter's eyes follow the cigarette, widening as it disappears. "You're...actually immaterial, aren't you? What -are- you?"

"And the laddie wins a kewpie doll," drawls the Nighthound in a stronger New Yawk accent. He then chuckles as he adds, "Well, laddie, let's test your detective skills." He holds up a hand as he counts off on fingers. "One, I'm immaterial, aye. Two, I hang out in a boneyard. And three, I talked to you when you were six feet under. Now what might I be, laddie?"

"Dead, for one," Hunter guesses as he stays upwind of the ghoul's corpse. "But there's several types. A ghost? Wraith?"

"A wraith? Some paltry spirit who feeds on the energy of the living? I'd be insulted if I weren't so amused, laddie. But yes, I'm dead. My cold clay lies amouldering neath the earth." He then laughs softly. "I'm waiting around for someone, laddie. I expect he'll be along someday. So, I'm a ghost, but not a ghoulie. And in the meantime, well, this cemetery needs a night watchman, in my opinion, so I appointed myself. Much nice than having to stand for election again."

He then reaches into his pocket again and takes out another cigarette. "So, Lightladdie, huh? And DEMON, huh? Yeah, he knows a lot about them. They killed him after all."

"Someday? Who've you been waiting for?" Hunter asks, wondering how long Nighthound has been waiting. His eyes widen a bit as he finds out Lightray was killed by DEMON. "Wait...he's dead...? Dammit, who am I supposed to ask now??"

"Yes, laddie, he died back in 1960. But, don't worry, he's back. Has been for, hmm, well time passes oddly for me, so let's say, 6 years or so?" The man shrugs as he takes out a match and lights it with his thumb. It blazes dimly, not brightly enough to show Nighthound's face.

"And you can find him here some nights. Not tonight though." He chuckles softly. "Lightladdie tends to be a bit of stick in the mud. Likes his schedules."

As to whom he's waiting for, well, seems Nighthound ignored that question.

Hunter sighs as this night seems to be a bust. "Schedules, huh? So you know when he'll be here next?"

"Well, this is summer, so Lightladdie comes by every other day to change the flowers on his family's mausoleum. So, since he was here last night, Lightladdie, unless someone kills him...again...should be here tomorrow night after midnight but before 2AM." He chuckles. "Like I said, he's predictable." Then he sighs, "Probably what got him killed. Was probably obvious who he'd end up protecting during VIPER's coup attempt. I should've thought of that."

Hunter curses his bad luck and timing. Next time, he's bringing his weapons. And maybe a stain-proof outfit. "Well, at least there's still a chance for me to talk to him." He chews on what Nighthound says. "Sounds like a story. Who'd he protect? And why should you have thought of it? Sounds like you knew him back then."

The Nighthound shakes his head. "I knew him as well as his wife, laddie," he says as he takes another drag of his spectral cigarette. "Better in some ways since she wasn't a cape. And look him up, Lightladdie was a hero, laddie. Has a statue in Washington and everything."

And then as he tosses his cigarette away, he fades into the night.

Hunter sighs. At least the ghost was somewhat helpful. Hunter turns and walks back out the way he came, thinking of hot great a hot clean shower would be right about now. Scalding hot. He takes out his phone and starts doing a search on Lightray.