Owner	Pose
Dane Whitman	Rockefeller State Park is best known for activities like skating in the fall and winter, carriage rides in the spring and fall, and bike rides and hiking year round. This time of year falls neatly in the period for ice skating and the time for the more enthusiastic hikers. All year round there are an assortment of wild fauna to keep the binoculars trained and the sketchbooks filling. Birds migrate through, deer herd near the trails secure in the knowledge that hunting is verboten on such lands, dogmen stalk the herds and chase people who come too close... Wait, what? One of the oddball carriage rides for this time of year stopped near the wetlands of the park. A spyglass is deployed through the window taking in the majestic view of a herd frolicking amongst forested hills while a covered bridge just up the trail completes the scene for the present. All in all, simply an idyllic outing... Nevermind the howling from somewhere in the woods...
Roland Livingston	Always on the lookout for monsters to hunt, Roland's ear to the ground heard word of strange howling noises out in Rockefeller State Park. So he's packed up a bunch of gear and headed out. His SUV gets parked in one of the parking lots nearest a spot where there were alleged to be strange noises. When Roland gets out he's dressed as if for hiking. Light but warm jacket worn over a commando sweater. Cargo pants over long johns. Leather hiking boots with thick, wool socks worn beneath them. He also grabs a backpack out of the back of his vehicle and puts it on before locking up. All geared up, the young man sets off for a hike, checking his GPS watch briefly to note the time and arranging his backpack so that the hose for the water reservoir in it is easily accessible. He walks purposefully along the trail, though his senses are peeled for any sign of strangeness. "I should have brought the helicopter. Could have hunted this thing from the air if the tree cover wasn't so thick," he mutters quietly to himself.
Dane Whitman	The beating of wings overhead heralds the vicinity of one whose personage hails from days of yore, though most would miss his passing through said coverage and assume they were hearing a large specimen of eagle. One of the more desirable targets for avian photography. Unlike Roland, hes's simply out giving Aragorn some exercise in a place where air traffic is largely restricted. Back to the scene in progress... The carriage is very much the sort one might have seen prowling the avenues of 18th or 19th century London. Designed for comfort and imagery, this trail crawler is hardly the usual target for any sort of predation especially so far removed from civilization as they are presently. The howling grows louder, and the passenger snaps shut the spyglass. She happens to be a lady bundled up for a nice outing. One of the uptown sorts, middleaged. Her attendant is a short young man of perhaps five feet, but the stubble of growth on his chin and cheeks proves that he's no whippersnapper. He fusses,"Don't be so scared, it's probably coyotes or something." The lady replies,"Do they have coyotes in this park? That sounded like a wolf! Much too big to be some /coyote/!" The dwarf rolls his eyes and replies,"You've never been to Arizona! They've got coyotes like great danes!" The horses are nervous, and at this point start forward without prompting from the driver...
Roland Livingston	Was that a howl? Roland's not sure, but it can't hurt to check it out. He picks his pace up to a jog, easily traversing the hiking trail as he heads in the direction he thinks the sound came from. As he gets closer he cuts through the woods to try to cut down on the distance to the source of the noise and accelerates to a run. Still not going his full speed, Roland's pace would shame most cross country athletes. As he covers the ground the trees seem to zip past him until he gets to the edge of this particular bit of forest and slows to a stop, taking cover behind a tree and trying to see if he can spot anything. Firstly, he hears the horses and spots the strangely out of place carriage. "Hmm. That's strangely out of place," he whispers to himself. Then he spots the bridge over the wetlands and nods a bit. He remains still, hiding and watching, seeing if something comes up.
Dane Whitman	With the timing appropriate of any heroic outing, the beast explodes from the forest on all fours like some freakish bear! Indeed, like its more notorious ursine semblage it is larger than any man and covered in fur with fangs and claws displayed in savage splendor. However, the similarities end there...For this beast sports a muzzle like an overgrown german shepherd and something is very wrong with the arrangement of its hind quarters. Not in such a way as to impair motility, for it moves considerably faster than any mere bear! And that muscle... With the baying of the beast drawing nigh, the horses bolt causing the driver to collapse from his post, falling to the trail with a rolling THUD!
Roland Livingston	"Oh shit!" Roland exclaims when he spots the monster appearing and sees the carriage's driver fall off of the vehicle. That man is certainly going to get devoured if no one intervenes. Thankfully, the monster hunting scholar of the arcane is there to do something about the beast. He starts striding out of the woods, moving to try to get himself between the creature and its prey. Even as he does so he unlimbers his backpack from one arm and unzips it, reaching in to pull out a suppressed short barreled rifle. He quickly unfolds the stock and starts to take aim. "Hey, furball! Take one step forward and I'll fill you full of silver and lead." The threat sounds a little odd coming out of someone with such an upper crust type of English accent. "Yeah! You! Stay still and there'll be no reason to destroy you."
Dane Whitman	The beast lumbers forward a couple more paces with surprising grace and ease...surprising because when it stops, it rises upright to an almost nine foot stature! Slathering jaws emit a snarl as the beast fixes Roland with bloody gaze, prodigiously muscled arms terminating in clawed hands flexing... The sound of a whinny draws near, then the beating of wings rushes overhead as Aragorn takes after the out of control carriage carreening down the trail! The beast fixes his gaze for a moment on the pegasus swooping by, then blinks... And LEAPS at Roland!
Roland Livingston	When the beast leaps towards him Roland cracks a smile even as he rolls to the side. Coming out of the roll he brings his rifle up and strives to get the red dot on it's sight onto the monster's torso. "Guess you're not the talking type." Should he get his sights on the creature he'll start cycling the trigger, letting loose a barrage of silver bullets at it, "That's it, furball. Let us see how you stand up to this!" The pegasus gets almost half a glance, but with one monster in his face Roland can't spare the time to examine the exotic horse.
Dane Whitman	Aragorn easily catches up with the out of control carriage, the pair of horses hardly swift enough to outstrip a trained pegasus! Even one carrying a knight in dour raiment... The predatory monster misses with the pounce, claws tearing into the cobblestone trail with savage gusto as it rounds on the hunter with a quickness! It's very much like a werewolf, but by day?!?! One bullet, then two and three slam into the monster knocking it back. But this thing is stout, and its blood is up even as life squirts from the crimson blossoms planted by Roland's rifle. A series of high pitch yelps issue forth, then a guttural snarl as it finds its footing and circles to try again bounding at the hunter from his flank with movements that any untrained eye would find difficult to follow... Down the trail, the knight dismounts onto the top of the carriage, denting the roof before promptly crawling to the driver's seat to begin bringing those panicked horses under control!
Roland Livingston	"You're quite tough, aren't you?" Roland asks even as he dives away from the monster's attack, hitting the dirt nearby and rolling onto his back to keep engaging the thing with his rifle. After firing a couple more rounds at it he performs a kip-up to get back to his feet and keeps shooting as he prepares to dodge again. "I should have brought a sword," the young man mutters. It won't take long for his weapon to run dry. When it does he tosses it aside and reaches back into his backpack to produce a combat tomahawk. With a grin Livingston takes a step forward.
Dane Whitman	The savage cryptid learns from its mistakes. Catching a round in an impressively muscled arm, it stays on the move, scattering cobblestones and debris in its wake. This guarantees a shot in the back from the savvy hunter, but also keeps it from soaking too much lethal force! The driver stumbles to his feet, having been stunned by his fall. He groans and blinks, then stares in disbelief as he realizes the rhythmic thundering isn't ringind from having bumped his head or blood rushing from the excitement, but combat between a gunman and an improbable beast! Down the trail, Dane gets the horses to a halt. The lady in the back fusses in panic as the dwarf tries in vain to console her, and all of this is ignored by the knight morose as he circles the wagon round to begin back up the trail. He'd seen the driver take a spill, but not the cause of it! Aragorn trots alongside, chuffing and whinnying at the wagon team in equine conversation! As for the beast, it has groan unsteady and weary from the combat. Life mats its dark fur as its breath grows ragged. When Roland advances with the tomahawk, it lashes out with a wickedly clawed hand, the other balling like a fist for the follow up!
Roland Livingston	With his tomahawk Roland moves to parry the clawed hand, trying to catch the extended appendages on the blade of his weapon. Of course, this leaves him more open for the upcoming punch. The strike sends him sliding backwards on the ground and it's all the Englishman can do to prevent himself from falling over. Still, he manages to remain on his feet and rushes the monster in turn, letting loose with sharp, fast slashes aimed towards the closest points of the monster. Even as he lashes out with his axe he draws a knife from under his jacket holding it in an icepick grip with his left hand. "How do you like my claws, furball?" Armed better than before the monster hunter grins at his foe, "Not too late for you to surrender." Then he goes to dart in again, using both weapons with speed, elegance and grace.
Dane Whitman	The carriage driver is transfixed by the combat as the beast is soon overmatched by the canny Englishman. Tt has simply lost too much blood, and now it faces its doom by a thousand blows...With a shrill yelp, it eventually slumps back down to its forepaws, a high pitched whine like a whipped dog escaping its throat as it hobbles from Roland with the pace of an athletic jogger, fleeing to the woods though not before sparing an angry bark at the driver! Dane would be rolling up to the bridge by this point, expertly guiding the team along. It probably helps having Aragorn there to keep the recently panicked horses calm, the white pegasus ever fearless.
Roland Livingston	As the beast flees Roland turns on the speed. It might be quick, but the Englishman is superhuman and not really hiding it at this time. As soon as he gets close he'll flip the tomahawk around so that it's pick end is forward and leap towards the monster's back. His intent is to bury his knife in it's shoulder, hopefully hitting whatever passes for a subclavian artery, then while using that as his handhold rear back and slam the spiky bit of his axe through the creature's skull. No sense in letting the poor thing suffer any longer than it must. "How come you monsters never surrender? You could live in a zoo. People would love to see whatever the hell you are." The backpack's been left on the ground behind him, as has his rifle. The hunter is quite caught up in battle to worry about those things at the moment.
Dane Whitman	The carriage driver is no thief, fortunately. He was quite content with his lot in life up to this point! Dane's charges rattle across the bridge, and it's at this point that he catches sight of the combat drawing to its inevitable conclusion. He's not quite sure whast to make of the sight of Roland mounting the beast, wingclipping its shoulder, and going for the kill. It's strange that one such as he who has visiting the realm of faerie and travelled through time would be even briefly caught off guard by any spectacle, but this is hardly a common sight for this neck of the woods! Dane utters,"Whoa, whoa..." as he eases the horses to a halt, trusting to his winged charger to keep them steady from here on as he acrobatically dismounts. The hunter visibly has things well in hand as that blade slams home, causing the beast to slump to the ground with an audible thud. The lady in the back gasps at this spectacle, uttering a soft,"Oh my...what /is/ that?" The dwarf is practically crawling over her to get a look for himself,"Out of the way woman, let me see!"
Roland Livingston	As the creature dies Roland removes his weapons from it's corpse and stands over it a moment, looking the thing over to make certain that it's truly deceased. Then he takes a moment to wipe off his knife and axe on the thing's fur. After examining his arms the young man sheathes his knife and starts heading back towards his backpack. The driver is given a wave, "Are you alright, sir? Took quite the spill, didn't you?" As he arrives at his stuff he puts his tomahawk in the backpack and scoops up his rifle. He drops the empty mag into the backpack and fishes out a fresh one to replace it. Once reloaded the weapon joins the axe in the backpack, which then gets zipped up and put back on his back. Now that he's got time he looks at the flying horse and its rider and bows slightly towards them, "Excellent work, stopping that carriage. I wasn't sure how I'd catch up with them."
Dane Whitman	The Black Knight is sporting a riderot over his armor, which is configured in the manner of a dragoon of old lending credence to his assertion,"I happened to be out giving Aragorn a nice stretch. Strider has been seeing most of my action lately, poor fellow was getting restless." Yes, Dane has a few of these. Somehow. The carriage driver is now presented with a knight of yore to compound his mental troubles, but this is not so outlandish as the beast that was just slain before he very eyes. Behind them, the lady opens the door causing the dwarf to spill to the ground yelling,"DAMN YOUR TITS, WOMAN! What was that for?!" The lady peers down with an air of indignance as she replies,"Tut tut, Stewart. I was simply giving you what you wanted." The dwarf glowers as he clambers to his feet. One can almost see the steam rising from his brow. The carriage driver replies after a moment then,"I-I'm...yes. Quite alright, good sir. Jolly good show. Never have I seen the like, my father used to tell me tales of game hunting in the Yukon, but I was never quite sure that...well, now I know."
Roland Livingston	"It was a good hunt for me, a few bruises, perhaps, but I put down the threat and that's what counts," Roland says to the driver with a big grin. "Game hunting in the Yukon sounds quite exciting, too. I prefer hunting with a bow, but it's not quite so easy to carry one in a backpack." Then he looks at the Black Knight once more, "Aragorn and Strider? I have to compliment you on your choice of names, my good man." The two coming out of the carriage are given a nod, "Good day, mademoiselle, monsieur. Are the two of you doing alright? Seems like your horses were quite badly spooked by that creature."
Dane Whitman	Dane cracks a grin at Roland, then peers over to the nonsensical couple. At least they are such to his perceptions. The Lady rebuffs the dwarf,"You mind your tongue, or I'll see to it that you WALK BACK!" That calms the dwarf's temper from a boil to a simmer. After all, Roland apparently killed a thing that looks to his eyes like a werewolf. In fact, he inquires as such,"Is that a..a werewolf?" The carriage driver shakes his head, putting in his own two cents,"I don't think so. The old stories say they should turn back to a man when slain, and never stalk bestially by day...I think this is what the irish folk call a wolver!"
Roland Livingston	"It's almost certainly not a werewolf, though there are stories of some who can control when they shift," Roland comments, taking a glance back at the thing he killed. "I did put quite a few silver bullets in it. I think it might be a uniquely American phenomenon, a creature typically sighted in Michigan, of all places, called a Dogman." "Wulver's bodies look quite a bit more human, still fur covered, but they go on two feet," He continues to explain. "Some folks think they're people with a genetic condition, but the truth is their state dates back to an ancient curse that sometimes manifests in the unlucky of the Shetland Islands. Those who become Wulvers turn into vicious murderers, sadly. If there's a cure for their state I'm not aware of it."
Dane Whitman	Dane is only broadly aware of such oddities, owing to his occasional research into more contemporary occult phenomenon. He has a plateful already with his ongoing physics and genetics research, one can hardly fault him for being less informed than some about things like this! He quietly hrms as he strolls over to have a closer look at the thing, taking a knee beside it for inspection. The carriage driver widens his eyes at Roland's elaboration. Murmuring softly,"The Beast of L.B.L..." Apparently he knew something about it, in any event! The lady huffs as Stewart the dwarf trundles over, pulling a cellphone forth to take pictures of the thing,"Stewart, come back here! That creature probably has mange or something! STEWART!" Didn't she just...nevermind.
Roland Livingston	Roland heads back over to the dead monster now that others are going that way, "I'm fairly certain it's dead. I would still not touch the thing, however. I'm probably going to make a pyre and burn the thing, now that I think about it." The young man shrugs, "I'm not worried about people seeing it or whatever, I just like to make sure what I kill stays dead and reducing it to ash would likely do that." He looks over at the strange lady, then the dwarf, then shrugs once more. Strange folks. Speaking of strange, the Englishman looks towards the knight and asks, "Have you seen any of its like before?"
Dane Whitman	The dwarf snaps pictures as the lady stays where it's safe in the carriage. The carriage driver meanwhile decides he's had quite enough of bizarre excitement for one day and goes to check on his horses and carriage. Dane focuses quietly as he produces a Frostphone from beneath his riderot somewhere and sets to a professional cataloguing of the creature's species for his records. Profile shot of the head, flank view, frontal view, hindquarters, etc meticulously documented as it lay... As the knight works, he replies softly,"I am aware of a species called the cynocaephali, but they are very different from this. They're more akin to your description of Wolvers, indeed they may be the same. Perhaps a different...erm, ethnic group? This here, I thought it some kind of New Orleans bogeyman. There's swamp stories you can catch wind of about things very much like this called the Garou."
Roland Livingston	"Loup Garou?" asks Roland curiously. "Those things are pretty similar to this, aren't they?" He too produces a phone, videoing the corpse as he moves around it, trying not to catch the other folks in his little movie. "Had a cousin went up against a pack of them. Nearly died. Would have if it weren't for some locals with a bunch of guns hunting the same beast." There's a chuckle, "He never heard the end of our ribbing about that. Though it did lead a number of us to have a new appreciation for firearms. As soon as I moved to the States I sought the best instruction I could find and bought a bunch for myself. I had to get a trust set up to purchase this one and it's suppressor." He jiggles his backpack a bit.
Dane Whitman	The knight trusts to the articulated mail of his gauntlets as he snaps a picture of his mouthful of wicked fangs, then rises,"Alright, I'd like a hand to flip this bastard over. A couple shots of its torso should finish, then we torch it, right?" Bending over to get a handful of powerlifter worthy arm, he makes to heft, but doesn't follow through until he has a hand. The dwarf backs out of the way, then scampers back to the carriage half expecting it to come back to life! Dane replies with a grunt,"That may be it. Like I said, I used to think this thing some kind of lupine bigfoot..."
Roland Livingston	"Let me give you a hand," Roland says, putting his phone in his pocket and moving to help flip the deceased beast over. He uses his knees to move the weight, knowing how much more power he can get through them rather than using the unsafe method of lifting with his back. "Yes, this thing needs to burn before we leave, I should say. I'd hate for it to come back to life or possibly infect someone else somehow." Once the thing's flipped the phone comes back out to take some more video, "I put all of my documentation on magic and supernatural artifacts and creatures on the cloud. My family had everything on paper, pretty much, and that was all too easily destroyed."
Dane Whitman	The beast ponderously rolls over under their combined efforts. Dane rises and lifts his visor to catch his breath unimpaired, then takes a refreshing breath before replying,"I do the same with everything. Nothing beats it, though journaliing can be quite cathartic, I don't suggest undervaluing it." Drawing back out his Frostphone, he resumes and finalizes his photography with a trio of snapshots. Now, he has a thorough documentation of the obscure cryptid in repose, and swaggers back a few paces to let Roland do what he will as the more experienced hand with such matters,"I may have to look into firearms myself. Most of mine are of the partical beam variety, I must admit a certain disdain for the modern common variety, but that's admittedly a prejudice. Family history."
Roland Livingston	"Well, if you'd like I can get you out to the range with some former SEAL or Delta Force types," Roland says as finishes videoing the beast and puts his phone away. He grabs a leg and starts pulling it away from the woods, out towards more open ground, "Don't want to burn down the whole forest. Going to collect a bunch of good wood before hitting this thing with some good old fashioned homemade thermite. It'll melt through dragons, I'm told, so it should handle this thing without any issue." "My family was never much for guns, either," says the young man. "They much preferred bows and spears and whatnot. I, on the other hand, use whatever I think will be best for the situation. I tend to use bows when I'm not worried about looking like a hiker, for instance. I just didn't want to scare off any park goers during my hunt today."
Dane Whitman	Grabbing another leg to assist, Dane calls over to the carriage driver,"Ho there, best get ye gone before we block the trail!" The man quickly assists Stewart back aboard, then resumes his assigned post. The cart rumbles along under the steady pull of his team, grateful to be well clear of the stench of dead cryptid! The driver jovially calls as he pulls away,"Fare thee well, Sir Knight! Sir Hunter!" The creature in the center of the road at last, he steps away to see what Roland means. Not directly of course, he's well aware of how brightly the stuff burns! Dane replies,"It doesn't sound like your kinfolk were the criminal type like mine."
Roland Livingston	"No, my family was all monster hunting arcane scholars," Roland says with a bit of a chuckle. "They're all dead now, unfortunately, but the training and education I received growing up continues to serve me well." Once the body is in the middle of the road and the carriage is off, the young fellow waves to the driver before looking around for some wood to stuff under the dead monster. There's enough on the ground that he'll be able to make a bit of pile under and around the cadaver. As he gathers wood he lets out another little laugh, "It was a bit of a culture shock when I started leaving the castle grounds regularly. It was strange to see people who didn't know how to swordfight or who couldn't hit a man sized target at three hundred yards with a longbow. Do you know that even today people doubt that creatures like this one exist? It's hard for me to doubt the veracity of almost anything after seeing superheroes and magical creatures and such." There's a gesture towards the pegasus, "Speaking of, that's a magnificent animal. I've never seen one in person. Thought they might have gone extinct, actually. Met a minotaur once who claimed he'd seen one, but there's no telling how old that guy was."
Dane Whitman	Dane hrms at the elaboration of his background. For his part, he doesn't mind individuals knowing who he is. The look mostly discourages questions, and gives him the option of whether to answer them when they arise. With that in mind, he replies,"Believe it or not, I was supposed to be a college professor. Physics, to be precise, though I also have letters in genetics and engineering. One inheritance from an insane uncle later, and...well, you see." At the gesture towards his pegasus, he replies,"Thanks. They aren't quite. Strider was a gift from Merlin, that one part of my inheritance."
Roland Livingston	Once there's a good amount of wood under the dead creature, Roland takes off his backpack and unzips it to produce a couple of jars. Without wasting any time he starts mixing their contents into the larger of the jars and stirring it up with his knife. "A college professor?" He asks. Gesturing at his acquaintances attire he says, "That seems like quite the departure. My inheritance didn't include all the magical artifacts as they were stolen, sadly." Then he'll nod, "You're welcome. How is Merlin these days? I think an ancestor of mine might have met him, but the records from that time are strange sometimes. I was warned not to take them literally by my grandfather."
Dane Whitman	Dane Whitman shrugs at the query, genuinely not knowing. He elaborates as such as well,"I've only met the codger twice, can't say I'm interested in a third." The knight circles around, inspecting the pyre job with some curiosity. It's not a thing he's ever personally handled. He's seen them for sure, but not under these circumstances. It's not a story he cares to share. Instead, he ruminates,"Aye, twas. I don't have much in the way of regrets though. It's a life."
Roland Livingston	"The life of a knight sounds quite exciting," Roland says with a chuckle. "Then again, I'm a globe trotting monster hunter, so my definition of exciting might be skewed by my own experiences." Once he's finished mixing his substances together he pours them over the corpse and produces a road flare from his backpack. "Don't look directly at the fire. It'll hurt your retinas." The flare is swiftly ignited before being tossed amidst the wood and thermite. Soon, the whole things begins to burn bright white. It won't be long before everything there is ash. Roland walks around, making sure that the fire doesn't start spreading out of control.
Dane Whitman	The knight snaps his visor shut, angling his face away from the pyre. The creature, being merely an extraordinary specimen of mortal flesh and blood, is swiftly consumed in the chemical conflagration. The stench of burning meat and fur is at first potent, like scorched popcurn and venison, then it fades something more acrid. Aragorn's hooves clop dully over beside Dane as they watch, the winged horse nuzzling his palm. He doesn't care for the spectacle anymore than his master. Soon however, perhaps inside of thirty minutes, it is indeed naught but ash. With a gesture of parting, Dane mounts his pegasus and calls,"Til next time. I'll see what I can find on our friend, eh? Fare thee wall, Hunter."