Situational

Maureen pulled his cloak around his shoulders as he stepped out into the night, the sun having only set an hour earlier. Torches had been lit along the city streets, but there was not a soul to be seen walking them. There was a legend amongst the town people, never to leave their homes on the night of a blood moon, and this was the first one to arrive in forty years. There were four to be expected within the year, and the people were well prepared when they came around to set the lights in the streets, leave a lantern by their door, and lock themselves inside to huddle together and cower in fear until the night was ended.

And then there were those like Maureen, who had decided that when others were cowering in fear, they would stalk the streets, to protect those whose doors were locked from anything that might break those doors down. For the rise of the blood moon was the rising of monsters. The dead coming back to life, stealing the bodies of mutants and freaks to prowl on any foolish enough not to listen to the legends. To feast upon them, in hopes that their life forces would be enough to keep them alive when the blood moon sank back down below the horizon. Not that it ever was enough. But in their hazed and shadowy minds, that was their own sliver of shining hope.

Many of the protectors, the so called Hunters, stalked the streets with stiff blades and heavy hammers that they had taken from their covenants - orders of Hunters, dedicated to their protection through certain means, from the elimination of the accursed, to the spreading of good will. Accordingly, their weapons were meant to tear through flesh, crush bones, or burn before pain could be felt. Yet there were others, too, who preferred to stay free of the covenants, and hunt either for the pleasure of hunting, or because they had someone in mind they wished to protect.

Maureen was one such hunter. His weapon had been passed down through his family, and he wielded it in order to protect his wife and child, much as his father before him. It was a slick and sharpened epee, with a golden hilt and a strange handle extending forward off of the guard. Maureen handled it skillfully, able to both thrust and slash with power and accuracy to cut vitals and eliminate his foes with precision and speed.

As he walked the streets, he saw another Hunter turn a corner, blood on his coat and a crazed look in his eyes. The man smiled when he saw Maureen. It was entirely possible for a Hunter to lose his mind, seeing those whom he once knew as dead alive once more, and this was surely one such man. Maureen had no hesitation. The man moved to approach him, and Maureen was flipping the handle extending from his blade, popping the handle on it upwards to reveal a pistol extending off of the base of the blade. With another flick, a shot rang out, smoke rose from his blade, and the Hunter fell dead.

He pushed the pistol back into place, hidden away inside his blade. Such bullets would do little good against the raised. But a fellow man turned monster? That, they would end quickly.