Blood spattered the brick of the building Cain clung to as Cain's nose violently protested having to share space with so much masonry. He got the distinct feeling that this would not be the first time he lost blood in this city. But, that's life. Cain's arms began working to pull his body up the bricks as his feet scrabbled for purchase against the man made structure. One toehold later and Cain propelled himself up the building. Grabbing the ledge of a bricked up window as he came to the height of his jump and hauling himself up onto the thin stone outcropping. Cain took a moment to attend to his bloodied nose. The scent of blood (not exactly something he could avoid at this point) made his fangs slid out of his gums and his stomach give a painful twinge of hunger.

"Oh for fuck's sake. I ate an hour ago!" Cain muttered as he pulled a gauze packet from the med kit that lived in his cargo pants and began to dab at every damp spot and drop of liquid he could feel while resisting the urge to lick the blood from the pad. Nose clean for the moment. Cain took a quick look around.

Pissy Vampire skulking in a dark alley? Check.

Sleepy priest in the church? Check.

Tired Dhampir on a ledge? Check.

Time for this sleepy half-dead boy to head on home.

Cain sighted down his next jump point, a diagonal drop onto a defunct machine shop and leapt. Landing as silently as a cat on the old tin roof. Cain was homeward bound.

"You're late." came the expected statement. 'Saint' Joan Arcellius, the formally trained Knight and head of this little band of renegades, was not amused.

"It was unavoidable." Cain said, knowing it was not a good excuse. Joan glared at him through her helmet slit before shaking her head and sighing like a world weary mother.

"At least take weapons with you next time. I'd prefer you didn't die from 'gangs on PCP'." Cain's compatriot in full plate said as she stepped aside to allow him into the dingy motel room that served as home for the time being. The small team of renegade Knights of the Moon was doing their best to stay undercover for the time being. If that meant sleeping in squalor for the time being, so be it.

The other Knights were spread throughout the room. Aria, the team's resident Paladin and Joan's girlfriend, was buffing the shine on her silvered broadsword while reading Seventeen in an attempt to better understand the modern girl. Judging by the soft shaking of her head and the small frown gracing her painted lips, she didn't like what she was seeing. She was tall and broad with short, silver hair. Her Amazonian frame packed enough muscle to give professional loggers a run for their money

Mark, the team's mage and troubleshooter was studying his spellbook, something he did all the freaking time. The bookish red head always had his nose buried in some arcane text or another when not patrolling or sleeping. He wouldn't appear to be very impressive to anyone of the mortal world, as he was short, thin, and covered in freckles. This was offset by his spectacular spell work and grim determination to get things done.

Finally, there was Aaron. Aaron was well... Aaron. A handsome swashbuckler with a penchant for flirting with everything with a pulse when he wasn't picking a fight. He was lithe and graceful as a dancer with a chiseled face that coud've been on Michelangelo's David had it been stone. His brilliant brown eyes and chocolate hair only accentuated his form.

"And the broody half-vamp returns!" Aaron says with a cheeky grin as he looks up from his rapier. "How're you doing stud?"

"I'd be doing better if you didn't call me that." Cain says as he strips off his hoodie and tosses it into his corner. He did this mostly because the hoodie was soaked in cold sweat, but partially because he didn't want Aaron to see the light pink blush that momentarily graced his cheeks at Aaron's compliment. He'd never hear the end of it if Aaron saw it.

"Well, get on with it Cain. What does the area look like?" Joan said even as she settled into her chair by the door.

Right, Cain had been scouting. Might as well report.

"So the most obvious vampire hunting ground would be the Bronze, which is the closest thing this three-horse town has to a night club. We want to down some lesser vamp's, that'll be the place to be." Cain said as he started to root around in his duffle bag for a clean shirt as his current one had went the way of the hoodie. " This town has a few demon bars and large parks where other creatures of the night're gonna gather. We should probably patrol those every other day. Obviously we should try to keep an eye on the cemeteries, that damn near goes without saying."

"School's gonna start in a day or two, we should probably establish a Watcher Ward on the schools here so we can minimize child casualties." Mark said from his perch on the second bed of the motel room. Surprising everyone. After all, Mark didn't say more then a few words when he was required to speak, and that was usually to bring down the arcane thunder.

"...You have that ritual?"

"Along with half a dozen others. I even managed to snag a copy of Reincarnation on our way out." Mark said as he returned to his spellbook.

"Huh, and here I was thinking that death'd be permanent when we left the order."

"So long as you don't mind being a kobold." Aria snarked.

"Mark, quick question for you. Why are we planting a Watcher ward in the school's library? Not to cast aspersions on your Arcane Abilities..." Cain asked as he surveyed the shadowed library. They'd moved the tables and cut back the carpeting in the center of the room to have space to draw the ritualistic symbols needed for the Watcher's ward.

"The leylines in this area converge to make a shadowgate. You know, like the one in Cleveland?" Mark counter-questioned as he began to trace the ritual circle on the exposed concrete of the library floor.

"Pretend I didn't take dimensional theory and thus have little to no idea where you're going with that line."

"I'm impressed you recognized the term well enough to connect it to Dimensional Theory. A shadowgate is basically a direct portal to the Shadowlands and a fount of magic. The ritual is simply easier to do here." Mark stops drawing for a moment and furrows his brow in curiosity. "Usually the Watcher's Council takes care of them. I'm honestly surprised we haven't met their representative yet." Mark said as he went back to his work and began to inscribe an upright pentagram into the circle.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't have the resources for it. Aren't they just a 'one warrior and his support staff' organization?" Cain asked.

"Hardly." Someone said with a posh accent. "The Watcher's council supports numerous demon hunter groups around the world. Many of which operate on active hell-mouths. Although, that probably won't matter to you for much longer." Stepping out of the shadows is an aged British Man. While his hair is graying out and thinning, the crossbow he holds steadily in his hands does not shake with the infirmity of age.

"Any last words?"