Isaac Irons's Story

It was a deathly darkness that was so commonplace for Lutetia's nightlife that surrounded them. The putrid air of the Phantom Quarter was hardly anything one wished to tolerate for very long, what with epidemic plague lingering about the atmosphere. The buildings were wretched in appearance, sporting broken outer portions and decaying interior; truly a testament to Lutetia City's infamous legacy. The rancid smell was the crux of the entire locale: it was a scent that could only be compared to the stench of a thousand corpses left to ferment in a sauna, a rather hot stink that burned the sinuses upon contact.

However, the Slayers of the Ardelean Society needn't worry about the detrimental effects of the Phantom Quarter's air; their power armor was outfitted with an air filtration system, allowing them to explore even the most toxic of places without fret. Hulking masses of metal they were, prowling the night, led by a stoic and rather unassuming Hunter by the name of Isaac Irons.

This night saw them on the prowl for a rogue vampire; formerly a human female who now assumed the moniker of Circe. She was wanted for six counts of murder in the first degree, at least four counts of illegal practice of black magic, and nine counts of theft by taking. Circe was fond of alchemical ingredients, and usually took it upon herself to liberate stores across the city of such items. However, lately she has been using these treks as opportunities to feed, resulting in loss of life for the poor bastards unlucky enough to fall within her gaze at such a particular moment.

Isaac, in his investigation, had tracked her last known whereabouts to an abandoned pub in the southernmost parts of the Phantom Quarter. She had picked a fitting area to take up squatting; the surrounding locale was dangerous territory, especially for ones of their sort. The Society didn't have many real friends amongst the supernatural community, and a good number of those who considered themselves enemies to the Ardeleans had taken up residence here.

As they approached, Isaac signaled his team of Slayers to halt, walking up to one of the windows as the soldiers held back. Peering in the cobweb-spattered window, he caught an eyeful of the pub's internal makeup. The state of the decor left nothing to be desired: most if not all of the furniture was worn, splintered, or merely broken to pieces. The paint along the walls as beginning to fade and peel, and the floorboards were rotting profusely. It was quite befitting of a cretin such as the one they were seeking.

Waving the Slayers to his position, Isaac mentally prepared for what was to come next. Guns drawn, he took a deep breath, nodding to one of the Slayers to open the door, his brothers-in-arms waiting behind him against the wall. Slowly and carefully, the large figure reached out for the doorknob, only to have it separate from the door itself once it was turned. He stared at it in confusion for a moment, and in mere moments was consumed by white-hot fire that exploded outward from within the decrepit building. The rest of the team turned away from the heat, but the horrified and pained shrieks of their comrade were unavoidable. The flames had burned so intensely, the Slayer's armor became an oven. He was cooking alive inside his own suit, and there was nothing to be done for him.

Meanwhile the flames caught onto the aged wood of the building, seeking to burn it to the ground. Isaac reasoned that it wouldn't make sense to remain within this particular lodging if Circe were going to destroy it herself, and surmised that she must have moved on. That, however, wasn't the part that unsettled him...

'How did she know we were coming?' he thought.

Bowen had just so happened to be sitting in a black dodge charger across the street and down a few buildings from Circe’s previous lodgings. He had been watching the place for a few hours now at the behest of the community and the local police chief as she was the top suspect of a number of child kidnappings.

The explosion and subsequent fire caused him to exit his vehicle and call the local fire house. He did not run to assist the Ardelean team as he would only cause added confusion and wasted time if he inserted himself into the situation. This was not the first time he had encountered the slayer’s society. Both groups often operated in the Phantom Quarter and thus were not strangers.

It would take a few minutes for the emergency vehicles to arrive. Circe's old pad was already engulfed to the roof.

The team sauntered in, their morale sorely depleted after witnessing the death of a comrade in such a gruesome manner. They returned to base empty-handed and one man down; Isaac was not looking forward to filling out the report for this incident. In the barracks, the Slayers unloaded their gear, storing their heavy suits of armor beside their mattresses. Isaac hung around, standing there in case any of his team had concerns or comments about the night. However, the general mood was rather dampened, and no one seemed to want to talk. He knew he had failed them, had failed the Society. With heavy heart, he made himself scarce, retiring to his own dorm room.

Walking through the main hall, he witnessed Garreth Jorgon, leading a team of Slayers, heading for the main entrance. "Heard you botched your hunt tonight, Irons. Shame, that." Jorgan was an unforgiving bastard, smug when the timing was right. He could always be seen walking around with his chest protruding, always acting as if though he had something to prove. "Let's just hope that bad luck doesn't rub off on me, hm?" he concluded.

He and his team laughed, at Isaac's expense no doubt, as they walked off. Garreth was leading his men to a raid; they had been called out to dispatch some wights that had found their way to the surface from the catacombs, the work of some demented necromancer, apparently. Isaac said nothing in retort, but merely let Jorgan's words burn, almost as much as his own failure did.

Deciding it best to turn in for the night, Isaac found solace in the prospect of sleep. His report would have to wait until morning. He felt exhausted for now, and couldn't be bothered to indulge himself further in his own shame.

The approaching figure came sauntering up the road, loaded down with weapons of varying degree, all unidentifiable at first glance. However, as he approached, his face became clearly visible; it was a face everyone on the grounds was made sure to know quite well. One of the two Slayers posted at the entrance immediately fired up the comm. links in their helmets. "We've got a Code 2 at the front gate. Say again: Code 2 at the front gate. We got Ragenard in the flesh. Advise caution to all units."

The duo fixated their weapons on the approaching werewolf, ready to open fire if necessary. He wasn't making any sudden, threatening moves, so they stilled their trigger fingers for the moment. It was when Ragenard began to speak that his intention became clear. The two Slayers both cast sideways glances at each other as Ragenard issued his "request," both men quite confused at this behavior. It was rather unexpected that they be visited by one of the Bloodstone Pack at all, much less him carrying himself relatively amiably.

The Slayer brought his comm. to life once more. "Mandragora, this is Slayer Post 1. Ragenard is requesting an audience with the Father. How copy?" Silence pervaded as the bitter tension between the two parties hung in the air. Suddenly, a reply came through. "The Father is sending Irons to confirm contact with Ragenard. Stay vigilant."

Rifles kept at the ready, the Slayers stared Ragenard down as he stood across from them. "They're sending a Hunter to come greet you out here. You'll go in on his say-so. Until then, you stay where we can see you."

It took a few minutes, but Isaac finally appeared at the front gate. Stepping through the wrought iron archway, he stared, dumbfounded, at their newly-arrived guest. "My, my. Never did I think that you would grace us with your presence. To what do we owe the pleasure, Ragenard?" After he had spoken, Isaac realized how rude he had been to not introduce himself.
"Oh yes, excuse me; my name is Isaac Irons. I am a Hunter for the Society. Now, may I ask why it is that you need to speak with the Father so urgently?"

It took a few minutes, but Isaac finally appeared at the front gate. Stepping through the wrought iron archway, he stared, dumbfounded, at their newly-arrived guest. "My, my. Never did I think that you would grace us with your presence. To what do we owe the pleasure, Ragenard?" After he had spoken, Isaac realized how rude he had been to not introduce himself.

"Oh yes, excuse me; my name is Isaac Irons. I am a Hunter for the Society. Now, may I ask why it is that you need to speak with the Father so urgently?"


Ragenard had remained painfully compliant all throughout his wait to be seen by the pale and tired looking hunter going so far as to offer the two mentally off balanced slayers a wide toothed smile while they leveraged their guns at him. The arrival of the hunter left him a bit off guard. He had heard plenty of their exploits, and had no doubt they were all to a man very capable, but the man's appearance and demeanor reminded him more of a grocer than a hunter of the supernatural.

With a minor faltering in his expression, Ragenard regained his compusure before replying, making sure to keep his tone nonthreatening and even sounding like the barely coherent simpleton most folks assumed him to be: "Irons, eh? Not sure if that's a joke or not, but I'll give it the benefit of the doubt. I'm 'ere because I've 'eard you bastards are good at what you do, and what you do interests me. There's plenty I can offer you, but only you can offer me what I'm after" said Ragenard with a vicious smile.


Isaac regarded Ragenard with a mixture of amusement and confusion. He'd come seeking, it seemed, to aid them in their plight. Of course he was a more than capable fighter, as evidenced by his escapades throughout Lutetia City. However, allowing him passage into the University was one thing; membership into the Society itself would be a heavily deliberated matter. Cocking a curious eyebrow, Isaac looked Ragenard over once more. "And just what is it that you're after?" the Hunter asked politely.
Ragenard's smile widened even further, and his eyes took on a subconsciously feral look as he replied to the hunter's query.
"Bloodsuckers. Tons and tons of vampire leeches to exterminate" proclaimed Ragenard as his gesticulating became even more animated. "If I could rid the city of the damned things on my own, I would. But I can't" finished Ragenard before taking a sniff and catching Isaac's scent.


With slightly widening eyes he continued "You. I smelled you before. Underneath the stink of ash and death in the phantom quarter last night. That was vampire territory from what I heard, but I never managed to track it down to a specific dwelling. Guess that explains the fire" mused Ragenard out loud before making a thoughtful expression and waiting for the hunter to continue the conversation.


Unwavering on the outside, Isaac was rather taken aback that Ragenard had brought up last night's catastrophe. He'd lost a man last night, and dealing with that fact wasn't getting easier any time soon. He kept his eyes focused on Ragenard; the werewolf's offer to help the Society exterminate vampires would have been more surprising had they not known him in the first place. However, his help would be greatly appreciated, seeing as werewolves were quite fearsome and made extremely capable allies when in good company. There was merely one problem with his proposal...

"While your enthusiasm is greatly admired, I do have to wonder: is your aim to eliminate all vampires within the city?" he asked.
Ragenard noticed that Issac kept his eyes square upon his, a bit too squarely even, but decided not to make an issue of it. It was time to change tact, the bloodthirsty simpleton act he was so used to when keeping other werewolves at bay wouldn't do him any favors here.


"I'm not fond of the things in any variety... But then again, many things are not fond of my kind in any variety. I'm not the idealistic type, and I know when to be pragmatic. Eliminate all vampires? No. That would be folly and next to impossible. Eliminate all of the ones who prey on hapless humans and threaten them as much as they do the balance of peace with other Supernaturals and Humanity? Yes. Eliminate every single one that fears the wolf and stages cowardly attacks upon my kind? Also yes" said Ragenard, his tone moving slowly from impassive to slightly agitated.

"I'm not stupid. Your organization has a history with my kind. Hell, they have a history with my former pack. But my life now is that of the lone wolf. I'm aware a union with your organization is both unorthodox and not without cause for concern. For both parties. This is why I came here to speak with your Leader" finished Ragenard levelly.


Isaac held a hand up, reassuringly. "I just needed to know that we were on the same page. We can't go about indiscriminately slaughtering anything we feel like..." he trailed off, thinking about how much trouble Nox would be in right about now. Isaac personally felt there was nothing to be done for his brother-in-arms, demented as he was. However, Thaddeus harbored a deep-seated sympathy for and desire to mend Nox. Besides that, Thaddeus seemed to have an idea of what he was doing, so Isaac assumed he knew best. He just hoped something could be done about Nox before he did something truly irrevocably damaging. "We do have a reputation to uphold, after all," Isaac finished.

He halfway turned to point at one of the Slayers standing behind him. "Contact him. Let him know we're coming in. Ragenard wants an audience. Tell him he wants to help." As the Slayer made contact with the University radio command trying to get a hold of Thaddeus, Isaac turned his attention once more to Ragenard. "Come. We're heading in," he said, turning to proceed towards the building. He stopped, facing Ragenard a final time before speaking. "As I'm sure you're already aware, we have eyes and ears all along the perimeter. I'm sure you don't need reminding, but just in case: anything too sudden, anything stupid, and you will be put down."

With that, he led the way, stepping through the iron gates with Ragenard in tow.


Ragenard couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself at the hunter's warning, mainly out of relief at the normalcy it presented, as that was the kind of welcome he had been expecting. "Aye, I'll assume my every breath within these halls is a gift" said Ragenard sarcastically as he followed Issac, probing the area within with all of his senses. He was either right where he wanted, or within the Lion's Den. The exact nature of what would happen hanging in the balance for the near future.
Nonchalantly at ease, He trailed behind the hunter as he led them to their destination, all the while his rage sat just underneath the surface, ready to take hold if the situation demanded.





Within the aging walls of the University, there was an abundance of activity; students blustering to arrive to their classrooms in a timely manner, Alchemists wandering about with various technological components bundled in their arms, and Slayers posted on patrols around the hallways. Some of the students looked toward Isaac and Ragenard on their trek through the halls; some of them recognized the burly werewolf, others puzzled as to who the possible initiate was. A pair of Slayers approached Isaac, waving him through to the back of the main corridor, through a pair of doors.

Down the hallway were several offices; however, the one that was of their concern was the red door in the center at the end: Thaddeus' office. Striding down the hall and finally reaching the door, the Slayer escorts led Isaac and Ragenard through. "Sir, Isaac and Ragenard Guiscard to see you," he said. Thaddeus ushered the two in, waving the Slayers away. "Please, sit," he said, motioning for Ragenard to settle into one of the plush-cushioned chairs in front of his desk. "I've come to understand that you wish to help us," the old Hunter said. "I've been told you wish to aid us in hunting the more unsavory breed of vampires," he finished, allowing Ragenard to speak his piece.

Ragenard slowly took the offered seat as he took in the man's appearance and mulled over his words. If Issac struck him like a grocer, this man was the complete opposite, and what he expected a hunter of he Ardelean Society to look like. Weathered looking and clearly well seasoned by experience, the head of the Ardelean society looked the kind of man Ragenard wouldn't mind having to battle for his life if circumstances turned dire.

"You understand correctly" said Ragenard simply.


Thaddeus let the silence between them brew for a few moments as he looked Ragenard over more thoroughly; he was a stout one, that was certain. Muscular and broad, a powerhouse of a werewolf even in human form. Having personally never seen the man shed his skin to take on his more feral appearance, Thaddeus could only imagine what the beast beneath that human shell looked like. If the figure before him appeared this powerful, what his transformation looked like would have to be tenfold more impressive.


"Well, I would imagine that you are well-aware that I know who you are, who your brother is, and which pack you hail from. If you truly do wish to aid us, then I need only know that your ties to the Bloodstone pack and to your brother will not interfere with the duties that will be required of you here; within reason, of course."


With a barely perceptible nasally sigh, Ragenard reached the end of his feelings regarding his former family. Up to this point he had been conflicted, but now that he has actually made it this far, it was clear to him that dwelling in what would only continue to become the past every minute henceforth was a waste of his time.

"I am well aware that you're well informed. I would expect nothing less" Ragenard said as he looked about the room, making note of as many details as possible that could aid him tactically should things turn ugly. From the distance to each entry point, to precisely how the two men were sitting-one relaxed, slightly pensive while the other a bit stiffly, tilt to his head and thoughts partially elsewhere-all part of an ever changing plan of attack in the game of "how can I kill everyone around me before they kill me" that was his life. If things were to go wrong, now was the time, when he put forth his own conditions that may well be denied.

"You wouldn't have to worry about ties to the Bloodstone pack or any other pack for that matter. My visit here today was contingent upon the severance of those ties. Most of my kind would probably gladly see my head on a spike if they knew what I was looking to sign up. No, I howl alone. However..." asserted Ragenard as he shifted his legs and leaned forward a fraction of an inch, "There are certain conditions to my help. Pack or no pack, my brother remains my brother, and our private affairs are exactly that. I will not meet him with the intent to do him harm under the Society's orders, nor will I cross arms with my former packmates. They might have cast me away, but that doesn't mean I will betray the bonds that I once shared with them. Should the Society have cause to meet them in battle, my help with be with neither, assuming the actions against them are justified" Ragenard said levelly as the rage within burned and burned.


Thaddeus needn't consider Ragenard's proposal for very long. His terms were fair, given what the Society attained upon their meeting. He smiled a warm, gentle smile only a man as world-weary as himself could manage. With his eyes meeting Ragenard's own, he spoke. "That will be all right, as far as I'm concerned. Welcome to the Ardelean Society, Ragenard." He looked over to Isaac, who was absorbed in his own, no doubt troubled, thoughts. Thaddeus sometimes felt that he was much too young to know the kind of burden that comes with loss, especially when the blame seemed to fall solely upon oneself. But then, he had to remind himself that such was their way of life, and that Isaac would never become his own man if he didn't experience all life had in store. Even if that same life held such horrendous catastrophe that Isaac had witnessed earlier.

Thaddeus returned his attention to Ragenard, his eyes growing more sincere and somewhat saddened. "Before you go, I just want to assure you that I would never go out of my way to do harm to you or yours. We do good here, even if the smell of blood on our hands doesn't always betray that decency." With that, he left Ragenard to do as he pleased, his mind trained on the possibility that Isaac would need council with him in private.


Knowing when to make his exit, Ragenard returned the man's smile as best as he was able, before pulling a piece of paper from one of his pockets and sliding it towards Thaddeus. "I have some errands to run in the city, that's my number to get a hold of me. I won't take up anymore of your time. Feel free to have one of your people call me if we need to make things official later, I expect there might be a fair bit of that to be done" said Ragenard as he stood up and shook hands with both men before leaving the office and catching surprised glances from the two slayers posted down the hallway.

"Oi, looks like we're to be best chums. Mind escorting me out of the grounds unshot?"

Issac's eyes glanced over the X-ray posted to the board behind Thaddeus' desk. It showed the inside of a werewolf's chest, after having suffered a gunshot wound with a silver-laced bullet. The strain this particular werewolf belonged to had an allergic reaction to silver, and incurred quite a nasty infection as a result of the poisoning, and it had spread quite far. That werewolf was currently being held in the infirmary, in an isolation chamber.

However, that wasn't on Isaac's mind. He was still dwelling quite hard on the loss of his team member; the agonizing shrieks of a dying man that had in moments become trapped in a personal oven thanks to the efforts of a magic-induced firebomb. His eyes were distant, and Thaddeus saw clearly into them.

"Something you wish to talk about, Isaac?" he asked gently. Isaac had become somewhat of a second son to him, showing great promise as a member of the Society. He was genuinely concerned with the young man's ability to cope with the grievous situation he had endured. However, Isaac merely shook his head at the question, remaining relatively silent, save his inconsistent breathing. Thaddeus sat forward, prompting Isaac's attention to his amber eyes.

"I know what it's like, Isaac. It's never easy, and you never forget. I still remember the times I failed my men; still feel like a failure at times for not being able to keep them alive..." he trailed off, either recollecting his memories of such events or allowing the fact that he too had once stumbled and fallen in his life to sink in. "But it won't do to break your own heart over it every waking day, my boy. You don't have to forget, and you don't have to get over it. It will always be at least somewhat painful. But you can't let it consume you."

His comm. pinged in that moment, and he turned to answer it quickly. "Yes?" he practically demanded. "Sir, the woman from the gate is waiting in the lobby. Do we have any Hunters free to go?" Thaddeus looked up, seeing Isaac begin to rise from his chair. He held a hand up, motioning for the young man to sit back down.

"Vincent isn't currently tied up. I'll send him out."
"Understood."

Terminating the call, Thaddeus returned his attention to Isaac. "If you need to talk to me about it, Isaac, my door is always open. You don't have to work through this by yourself." A moment of seemingly perpetual silence lingered between them, Isaac keeping his gaze to the floor. Then, he released a heavy exhale, his head raising to meet Thaddeus' gaze. With a slow intake of breath, he proceed to pour his heart out...



He sauntered through the University, a black longcoat trailing behind him. He wore a longsword on his back, and carried no guns at all. Stopping in the lobby, he scanned over the room with his large, brown eyes. He was a tall young man, his skin a perfect ebony tone. Spotting a nervous-looking woman across the room, who he assumed to be the client, he began to walk towards her.

"Noella Lemieux?" he began, "My name is Vincent Dixon-Ardelean, Hunter, at your service. I understand you have a haunting problem."