Tour of Hound's Place
The Gathering
Welcome to The Gathering. Come, quickly now, if you wish to meet the ones who make this place unique. If we hurry we may still yet catch some of the night dwellers or perhaps even the owner of this little niche of darkness himself.
As you walk into the door there is a rough-hewn scent to the air. The lights are dimmed enough for those of the nocturnal persuasion to be comfortable, but bright enough for those of the light to see. The floorboards under your feet creak with age but still hold a fine polish, proving someone has indeed put a lot of sweat, tears, and even blood into keeping them like new. The faint sent of lilacs hangs in the dark air, coming from the oil lamps hanging about the walls and in the chandelier over the middle of the large main floor, the hard iron holding them in place painted black as night but polished to shine like onyx. The handle under your hand is thick and cool from the night air outside, it's surface a finely tinted brass, laced in copper. As your eyes scan the room there are several dozen rough looking tables with strong chairs standing in groups of two and four around them, various, well for lack of a better word, beings talking animatedly at each table.
A dark haired creature, standing behind the rustic but polished old bar to your right, turns and smiles at you, as all are welcome here. He is tall and well built, his shoulders easily out spanning most others in the room. He stands like a man, but as he steps into the light his long muzzle pulls back in a feral grin, showing off gleaming white fangs, fangs that could tear a man to shreds, but now only show in jovial friendship, his furry ears pointed forwards in curiosity in a way that is so puppyish it makes you smile. He is Hound, werewolf warrior world-renowned and owner of this charming little gathering of darkness he calls a bar. His clawed and furry hand grips a towel as he wipes down the ancient looking bar, giving you another smile then turning his head to continue his conversation with another figure a little further down the bar.
The resemblance between the two figures marks this one as being the one and only Cerberus, brother of Hound and if rumors be true (though Hound will argue them till he is blue in the face), the smarter of the two of them. But, though they look nearly identical, the differences in the two of them make it very easy to tell which brother is which. Where Hound has a rough and almost deviant look about him, Cerberus has an educated some might say "sissy" (albeit where he can't hear them) look about him. A pair of reading glasses perch on the end of his nose, and where Hound wears only a vest, Cerberus has a flawless buttoned up shirt pressed and wrinkle free as always. Both brothers wear pants that fit to every line and crease in their lower bodies, Hound in jeans while Cerb sticks with his slacks, so similar yet so very, very different. But the brothers are not the only ones in bar tonight, so let us move on, for there is much to see.
Just beyond the bar and to the right there is a large wooden door. As you start passed Cerberus the door swings open and a small figure walks out carrying a crate easily twice her size in her arms, a smile on her face. When she sets the crate down your eyes widen as you realize she is no more then a child, 15 years old at most. Her eyes are wide and doleful in color, her hair a gleaming golden brown, laced in fine strands of sun-bright blonde. She walks about the bar in a tank top and caprice styled overalls, her strong little feet bare as she moves quickly about the room, snagging a cloth from behind the bar and hurrying out onto the main area to wipe up a spill before anyone can slip in it. Her name is Kenna, an orphan that Hound caught trying to break into the bar and, instead of turning her over to the cops, took under his wing to care for and teach how to be useful instead of dishonest. In return the child is diligent and loyal, working hard at the bar all night long. Kenna does not speak to anyone, even Hound, during the work night and most believe she is mute, but Cerberus has assured anyone who asks Kenna is not mute, just very, very shy, as she talks almost non-stop when the work hours are over about all that went on the night before. But look there just in front of Kenna and you will see three truly interesting patriots of The Gathering.
As your eyes move up from the girl on the floor you come across a patch of midnight the sun could never clear away, as it is not natural, but is created in difference to the presence of three very intimidating but oh so beautiful people sitting around the rough table in the corner. A tall, elegant man, the largest of the three and perhaps all in here but for Hound and Cerb, leans against the corner, long dark hair flowing in all directions in messy but some how appropriate disarray, his strong arms crossed over a barrel chest. The man is covered from head to foot in black, a red cape like thing draped over one arm, his one concession to heat of the bar, his dark eyes seeming to blaze red as he looks the place over again and again, slowly, not missing a thing. The sheer size of this man would be identifying enough, but fact that he slowly pulls his lips back in a vicious grin, showing off two inch-long incisors, leaves no doubt this man is the infamous vampire known only as Blade. You quickly avert your gaze when he turns to you, the feeling of his eyes dancing over your form enough to chill you, as though something dead just ran over your skin. When the feeling passes, you glance up at him long enough to spot a shadow of movement by his shoulder, as though a giant bat were smashed against the wall beside him. You stare again for a moment till you realize the shape is a wing, a wing that ends behind this very creepy man.
When you look away again your eyes fall on the two figures sitting that table in front of the man, and if he truly is Blade, then these have to be his two siblings. The first figure is so small it is obviously female, the curve of the shoulders and long sweep of the neck leaving no doubt in your mind. When the figure turns in the seat to regard a male across the room all suspicions are confirmed, she is Lily, sister to Blade and Nightmare, and what a female she is! Her hair is much like Blade's standing behind her, long and raven wing black, only there are two small curves in the front that look suspiciously like horns. The long sweep of her cream colored neck is bared for the world as the woman is wearing a low cut kimono of a royal blue, various shades of red and yellow flowers decorating its surface, which is molded to her form like a second skin and cut in the front so as to leave very little to the imagination. The front is spread so it only just covers her ample breasts, the slit in the bottom of the one piece riding so high you can nearly see all of her long legs and rounded thighs as she shifts in her seat, gazing about the room lazily, her dark eyes the same shade of blazing red as the man behind her, marking and sealing them as siblings. The second figure has to be Nightmare, and as you turn your gaze to him you understand the name, as the form sitting there is something right out of a nightmare. The form is twisted in a way only evil could be, long curved claws where the nails would be, and a mouth full of sharp needle like daggers made to pierce the flesh of an enemy and tear him open for the vampire to feed from the flood. When he turns those blood red eyes on you as his brother did you take a step backwards, only to bump into something very, very solid.
You spin quickly and what you see before you startles you as, where you would expect something so solid to be a male of huge proportions, it is instead a slender but powerful looking female, her long strawberry-blonde hair whipping behind her brown leather jacket which can hardly be called that as it barely covers her bra like tank top, let alone her midriff in a heavy braid, her gloved hands carrying a couple drinks, as she steps back from you and lifts a brow, snapping out, "What's your problem? Watch where you are going." You run your eyes over her as you start to apologize, noting the braided belt looped through her jeans and the hiking boots, when another voice comes out over the crowd, from near the bar, "Red, be nice." You blink and look at the woman again. Hard to believe this little form is the infamous Red Wolf. The woman snarls and moves past you, heading for a pool table where several other men are already standing, engaged in a game. You move over by the table and observe them all at a distance.
Your eyes follow the Red Wolf as she nears the pool table, dropping one of the drinks in front of a large man with blood red hair and irish green eyes. With his broad shouldered build and the tattoo on one shoulder that says Absolute Irish, you have to assume this mammoth is Jason, known to all around him as Stone. You watch as he practically mauls Red and just nod slowly. Definately Jason, for only he could get away with something like that and live. Next to him, and leaning on the pool cue, is a tall lanky man with round glasses perched on the end of his nose as he looks down the table at the balls. He has a wise and sagely look to his eyes that belies his age. That combined with his oddly assembled clothes would make him Ben Cockram, or Voldor to those of these parts. But look there on the other corner of the table. This man is barely taller then Red Wolf, not nearly as built as Stone, nor as disfigured as some of the other patriots of this place, but something about him commands not only your eyes but your respect. His eyes are a dark hazel that glows in the darkness as he stares down the pool cue in his hand at the white ball, his dark brown hair hanging in his eyes. This one must be the Death Angel, Jeremiah, one of the more powerful beings in this world with the power to level buildings with a single gesture. Just a bit down from him is a slightly taller, more portly figure with broad shoulders and his hair in a crue cut the emphasizes the glasses on his face, marking this friendly looking man as McCoy. He too leans on his pool cue, watching Jeremiah closely, his hands in gloves that could be called biker gloves but these have plates on the knuckles, plates with scrawling tool work etched into them, tool work that glows with his power as he grins and laughs a bit at something that is said behind him.
Your eyes move from the pool table to just behind McCoy and widen slightly as here we find two very interesting subjects of study. The first is something right out of text book irish decendance. His name is also Jason, though most who know him call him Shadow. His blood red hair is close cropped, emphasizing his mustache and goatee, the sharp lines of his face and his dark green eyes. Next to him, then, must be his brother in arms and closest friend Barrack, B to his friends. The man brings to mind the image of a bear with his hulking barrell chest and large arms, dusted with blondish brown hair that matches his head, mustache and goatee. But we really should be... Look out!!
You duck to one side just as a pool ball comes flying by your head with enough force to kill a mule, smashing into the wall just behind you. You turn back to the table to find Jeremiah, Ben, and Stone all staring at you with something akin to murder in their eyes. Perhaps we should move along before things get hostile. As you move back towards the door it swings open to admit the most beautiful female werewolf you have ever seen. She is tall and powerfully built, with silky soft doe brown fur covered by a tank top and tight mini skirt. But becareful for she is very taken by the owner of this charming establishment, for this is Korari, mate of Hound and mother of his third child Dean. As she walks into the door you have to stop and do a double take at what comes in the door next. The being is tall and powerful looking one moment and then shorter with blonde hair streaked in black, round glasses, and electric blue eyes. This one must be Bounty Hunter, the shape changing demon clone and resident mad scientist of this group. But Hound seems to be closing up for the night. Wonder what has him so aggitated, oh well. Best not to daudle. Sincerely hope you enjoyed this little tour into our world of darkness. Come back and see us again some time.
You walk out into the bright sunlight of the early morning and have to sheild your eyes after the dimness of the bar. You turn around to thank your host only to see, nothing...