A figure moved through the darkness, his head down, his shoulders hunched over. He walked hesitantly, slinking from shadow to shadow, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure he was not followed. But all of his caution could not protect him from the lightening strikes, lighting up the night, flooding through the window and throwing his larger-than-life shadow upon the old wooden walls. The storm, however, was not completely detrimental, as the pouring rain pounding on the roof, and the occasional crack of thunder over his head muffled the sound of heavy, booted footfalls on the floor beneath him. Were there a bit more light, a person might be able to make out the man's attire. It was nothing special, a pair of worn, blue Levis, and a green Michigan State Spartans hooded sweatshirt under a brown Carhartt coat. The keys that normally jangled from his hip were wrapped tightly in a few hankerchiefs, and stuffed in the coat's pocket. That, however, was not the strangest thing about the man. It also was not his long, white hair, slicked back by the rain. Or his weathered, leathery cheeks, or his green eyes, only slits behind drooped eyelids as he squinted against the darkness. It was the shotgun he clutched to his chest. And even stranger was the ammo. Not shells, but rock salt.

The man walked for an hour. It was a large building, afterall, spanning three and a half stories and consisting of five individual but connected sections. There were endless hallways, multiple staircases, and sprawling rooms consisting of all sorts of traps - old tables, left over museum exhibits, wooden bunks, even a tree stump with a cannon ball lodged within it - but the man ran into nothing. He knew the layout like the back of his hand. It was not what he knew that frightened him. It was what he did not know. What he could not see, even if it was in the middle of the day. Finally, he came to a halt. He was done looking for the thing. If he could not find it while walking, he would make it come to him. The room he chose was located on the third floor. A craft room of sorts, with a hard, stone floor. Tattered, peeling white wallpaper clung pitifully to the bit of wall that was still intact. The rest of the room was surrounded by crumbling bricks. An old table lay in shambles in a corner. This was a part of the building that had never been renovated. It was just as it had been when the Fort became inactive in 1949. Since then, the building had been everything from a museum to an entry location for servicemen. But no one had wanted to go in that particular room. Now lacking the charm it had held when the barracks were built in 1848, it was a bit of an eyesore. And it also made people feel uncomfortable. Gave people the chills. Happy-go-lucky tourists with fannypacks and long socks with sandals noticed that the batteries in their cameras died. Military personnel found that items they had placed in the windowsill moved to the center of the room when they turned their back. Custodians admitted to feelings of immense sadness. But the night watchman knew. That was why he had picked that room.

"I know you are here." He called out suddenly. His voice seemed unusually loud in the damp, dark room. There was an eerie echo from somewhere else in the building, and the sound of it caused goosebumps to race up and down his arms. But he would not be frightened. He had a job to do. "Why don't you just come on out?" Suddenly, the room was filled with a soft creak, a puff of air, and a loud clang as the heavy door closed behind him. The man reached for his flashlight. "There you are," he continued. "Now, let's talk about this. You really do not have to stay here." The more he spoke, the more confident he became. Tucking his shotgun under his arm, he glanced down to turn on his flashlight. Then, he opened his mouth to keep speaking and swung the beam of the flashlight up toward the doorway. Then stopped abruptly.

"That gun will not help you," came a dark, gravely voice.

The man had been the only one in the fort that night, which spanned over eighty three acres. There was no one else to hear him screaming.


This roleplay will consist of a core group of individuals who hunt supernatural beings.

In the begining, all hunters will receive a note from a mysterious indivdual, offering them large sums of cash to follow leads and remove whatever supernatural entity is causing problems in that particular area. The beings will be of my choosing when we begin, ranging from the well-known ghosts and demons, to the lesser known creatures, like selkies, wendigos and skin-walkers. And, of course, the good old chupacabra. I will provide information on each creature, so do not stress if your paranormal knowledge is not especially extensive. Once we get further into the story, I will absolutely take requests from you guys if you have ideas.

The setting will cover quite a bit, as we will move from state to state to follow this stranger's leads. Most of the research will be done during the day, and the hunting will take place at night. Yes, I want us to research too. It can't be all about monster slaying.

I have a lot of confidence in your ability to create and control a character - you're all immaculate roleplayers. This particular story will be just as much about how your characters interact with eachother as it is about how they interact with the supernatural. Why does your character hunt? How do they feel about the paranormal? Do they have an extensive history? Do they ever have second thoughts when they destroy something? All questions to be considered when creating your character, and points than can become hot topics amongst characters in-game.

Please let me know if you're interested! This is meant to be a laid-back, non-Althanas roleplay, so don't hesitate to jump in.

Character Sheet:
Code:
Name:
Gender:
Age:
Appearance: Pictures are fine, but please also add a description.
Personality:
Views on the Supernatural: Why do your characters hunt? What is their motivation? Do they hesitate to kill? How much experience do they have?
Brief History: How did your character become a hunter?
Specialty: Demons? Ghost? Vampires? Bigfoots? Loch Ness Monsters? Beings that dwell in northern Michigan woods? What do your characters know a lot about? What can they bring to the team?
Theme Song: A song that describes your characters in some way - their motivations, their ideals, their history or their personality. Optional (but fun).