Bridgeport Lounge, 1st and Henley, Southport, New Jersey.....
Dim lights and mediocre music seemed to be the staple of the nightclub scene here in Southport, New Jersey or rather it certainly seemed to be the case as far as Ron Hemming was concerned as he sat in the very back of the club downing a brown bottle of ice cold beer while watching the dancefloor amid the color changing neon and the pulsing rhythms that filled his keen ears. He was alone more or less in the V.I.P. section of the club and none too thrilled about the fact that he'd been summoned to this place via a letter left to him at Heather's desk by an old acquaintance. This apparent club wasn't the kind of place Ron liked to spend his evenings, but his apparent host had not wished for him to find his way to distraction as enough time had passed that seemed to do just that.
Ron turned up the bottle of beer once more his eyes narrowed at the prospect of having to sit and wait let alone having to sit and wait in a place he despised. The dancing youths before his eyes and their lack of rhythm no matter the beat only seemed to annoy him all the more as they appeared to have been high out of their minds and enjoying the pulsing and the sensation of floating through life despite their collective efforts in their attempts to dance.
Once more Ron found himself given to agitation as the swift motion of a lone figure caught his attention as it approached dressed in black and sporting an equally black fedora hat and long coat. He knew from the moment he saw the fedora who it had been and quickly drank down his beer before smashing the bottle against the nearby wall.
Marcellus Anton Altomare stood at an impressive height of five-eleven and wore nothing, but the best in terms of a pricy black Armani suit with shiny black loafers and a silver Rolex on his right arm. He was quite the handsome man with well-managed thick black hair, a thick black beard, and deep brown eyes that could read the souls of many a mortal or beast in a matter of moments should the need arise for such theatrics, age-wise he was always appearing to have been in his mid to late forties despite being well over two thousand years old.
Born of an Italian Aristocratic line long forgotten by time and virtually unknown to the western part of the world. Unbeknownst to any who had come into contact with him, He was a Pureblood Lycan and immortal to boot. Due to his rank and station on The Moonlight Counsel, he was given the position of Nightwatcher, a vital role that saw to the stabilizing of the growing were-population and the rooting out of the unwanted ilk known only as Le Ferale or by their less than savory moniker, "The Rabid Bitches".
The Elders Of The Moonlight Counsel date back centuries and only convene when there is a problem that needs immediate attention otherwise they trust the elders of the various clans, packs, and families to manage their young and see to it that they don't alert the mortal population to their existence nor that of their most hated enemies The Vampirians.
They loathed Le Ferale and by extension, they loathed Ron Hemming, who was only a fourteen-year-old lad growing up along the shores of Munster in Ireland when he was attacked by a forty-something woman with emerald green eyes and vibrant red hair. She was pale, an almost sickly-looking pale, and was prone to wailing in the wind giving the superstitious lot that lived among her hideout the impression that she'd been a wailing banshee in the flesh.
Young Ronnie had been doing a few chores for his good-for-nothing drunkard of a father, who had taken to beating him when he fell behind on his work when she appeared. He had not known it then but she would change his life for the worse that day as he shoveled hay into the pens of his father's farm and herded the sheep and cattle. The Hemming farm was a small one and one that they were proud of passed down from father to son for generations it was said. Of course, it could have just been yet another lie from the drunkard himself to inspire the boy to care about having to do all the work.
Needless to say, when The Rabid Bitch came to the farm she was a ball of fury and need and she didn't take no for an answer as she captured the young lad and hauled him off toward the barn where she took advantage of him, stealing his virtue and attempted to murder him in the wake of her rampage once she had what she wanted. He could see the blood lust in her eyes as she clawed at the tender flesh of his stomach and chest aiming to get through to his insides to devour them when he felt the left overpitch fork beneath his hand despite the loss of blood and the acrid pain that filled him. With all the strength his young arms could muster, he impaled the horrid creature through the gut, much like she was trying to do to him and her sick volatile blood slowly oozed from her twisted and mangled body into the open wounds and gashes she left behind of his.
Young Ron was given to agony beyond anything he had ever known as his mortal blood was rendered obsolete via the blood of the savage beast that entered his every vein lighting it afire with rage and desire both as his young body lay tormented and cursed in the wake of The Rabid Bitch's rampage. He was later discovered by Marcellus who had been hunting Les Ferale and happened upon the ailing lad who had already started to show signs of becoming rabid and feral himself. When he went to reach for the struggling lad, he bit him drawing a good deal of blood that Marcellus eventually concluded a minor solution. He bit his wound enough to open it and draw blood and forced it down the throat of the snarling lad who had involuntarily drank it down as it began to cleanse his veins with the purity of Lycan blood and rendered the lad immortal even though he could age into adulthood.
In the present, Ron Hemming was reborn as both the sired child of an unruly Rabid Bitch and a Pureblood Lycan. His duel nature was already the subject of many jokes and jeers at his expense among his kind and it was the reason he was more or less looked down upon as "a tainted waste" if one will by the elders themselves. The Moonlight Counsel despised him and the waste of Pureblood within his veins as it made him immortal, an honor that they felt he did not deserve no matter his tragic set of circumstances.
Nonetheless, they charged Marcellus with his care as he had been the boy's secondary sire. Marcellus raised Ronan and incorporated him into his family and clan but the stigma of being born due to a Rabid Bitch remained and eventually, Ron started distancing himself from the clan and eventually Marcellus and his wife Olivia altogether. As a means of entrusting the lad with his future, Marcellus sent him on an assignment to locate the last of a prominent clan of werewolf hunters as there were concerns that a rogue group of Vampirians was trying to find a means of subverting the rule of The Were Clans by day and taking over all the land via night with the idea of harnessing the blood of the most powerful and skilled werewolf hunters. With their memories and techniques, the plan was to lay waste to their mortal enemies and subjugate them beneath a new Vampirian hierarchy.
Of course, The Moonlight Counsel wasn't about to allow such a thing to happen even if they had been immortal, but they were few. The rest of the clans were not given such a gift and it spelled disaster for their entire hierarchy should it come to pass. Marcellus was the obvious choice to ensure that disaster never happened and thus he sent his wayward son Ronan to be his eyes and ears in the Western world.
"What brings you to this part of the world Da?" asked Ron, his normally well-hidden Irish accent was back in full swing once he'd been in the presence of his father.
"There was an arrival a few nights ago, a cargo ship containing little more than mutilated bodies of the former crew," replied Marcellus. "It came in with the storm, and seeing as you are here and not avoiding my summons, I can safely rule out you having anything to do with it."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence Da," said Ron not hiding his annoyance. "How is Olivia doing, haven't seen her in years it seems."
"She's just fine Lad, nice of you to change the subject of you not doing your due diligence," said Marcellus narrowing his dark eyes at his wayward adopted son. "I suggest you get to work by examining the docks, you are familiar with the area no doubt and it wouldn't be strange seeing you happen to be in the area, you've seemed to have charmed the mortals well enough and even made a career out of it for whatever reason."
"Fine," replied Ron. "I'll stop by before I head back home for the night."
"No!" replied Marcellus in a stern tone. "You will leave now and investigate the docks while the trail is still fresh."
"As you wish Da," replied Ron getting to his feet and heading for the door.
Marcellus watched him curiously from the shadows. While he had not believed Ron had anything to do with the recent increase in bodies piling up, The Moonlight Counsel did and wanted a thorough investigation done even if it meant Marcellus would be tailing his son morning, noon, and night before they were satisfied. As it so happened, Marcellus, himself was quite curious as to how his son was getting on among the mortals of this strange cesspool of a town made around a port.