HaleyGrissel
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-Round 3-
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Fandom A Debt of Blood
- Thread starter HaleyGrissel
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- supernatural tv fandom
HaleyGrissel
New Member
Zara stepped out of the station with a final wave to her coworkers and pulled her cardigan tight in an attempt to fight off the cool night air invading her exposed skin. It had been a long night. Actually, the past few weeks have been long nights. Her usual early mornings and short days have turned into even earlier mornings and late nights. She wasn't shocked, of course, most news anchors were in this situation. After all, a string of gruesome murders would attract any reporters, and her company didn’t intend on being an exception. So now, she spent her days interviewing the victim's families and listening to calls from people convinced their cousin's brother's husband is the killer. She smiled to herself while walking towards her parked car. The hysteria is almost ridiculous.
With some effort, she pulled open the sticky door of her blue Rio, mindlessly looking up towards the dimly lit end of the lot. Zara did a quick double-take and for a second, convinced herself she saw something creeping beneath the burnt out lamps illuminating the half-empty lot. Someone, actually... "Maybe hysteria is contagious." she let out a hesitant laugh and sat down in her car, taking a moment to organize herself before driving off towards home.
Zara pulled up to her house with a sigh, happy to see the familiar porch. Her house wasn't much. The old porch had waterlogged wooden boards, the bathroom sink constantly got clogged and spiders seem to flock to the deep corners of her bedroom, but it was home. Besides, on the salary of a news reporter in the city, the fact that she can afford one is pretty impressive... Or maybe she just tells herself that to justify her creaky steps.
Zara stepped out of her car and slung her bag over her shoulder before shutting and locking the car door. It was a pretty nice neighborhood, but between the murders and high tension, she didn’t feel like testing her luck. With one last lingering look out onto the empty street, she made the short walk to her porch. Right on cue, she heard the loud rustling of brush somewhere in her front yard and spun around, ready to greet the neighbor’s cat who has a nasty habit of sneaking out. “Hi, Henry!” She stopped, staring at the empty yard. “Oh,” Zara said to herself as she scanned the empty yard searching for signs of the old cat. Zara shrugged off the second odd occurrence of the night, the owner did install a fancy new cat door after all. Henry is probably clawing at it in despair as she stands. The old door creaks in protest, and Zara shuffles into the small hallway that greets you as you walk in, trying her best to avoid the various shelves and pictures she hastily nailed into the wall. Not her best work.
After slipping out of her way too put together work clothes and replacing them with pajamas, Zara settled down on her bed, letting the stress of the day drain out of her. She can’t lie to herself, the recent tragedy is even getting past her bubbly defense, leaving her wholly exhausted. She feels old. And what better way for a grandpa to fall asleep than reading a very corny and slightly inappropriate romance book. Zara reached over for her book that rests on her side table, taken back by the sudden tightening in her chest. Just outside the cloudy window, a figure stood across her street and it almost looked like it was facing her house. Before she even managed another thought, whoever it was continued in his trek down the sidewalk. Zara shook out the sudden surge of anxiety. Yeah, that was a little weird, but people are allowed to take walks. Just because Grandma Zara goes to bed early doesn’t mean the local hooligan youth do. She softly laughed at her own lame humor. Despite her self reassurance, she was sure to close the blinds before drifting to sleep, accompanied by Rachel Caine’s questionable retelling of Romeo and Juliet.
With some effort, she pulled open the sticky door of her blue Rio, mindlessly looking up towards the dimly lit end of the lot. Zara did a quick double-take and for a second, convinced herself she saw something creeping beneath the burnt out lamps illuminating the half-empty lot. Someone, actually... "Maybe hysteria is contagious." she let out a hesitant laugh and sat down in her car, taking a moment to organize herself before driving off towards home.
Zara pulled up to her house with a sigh, happy to see the familiar porch. Her house wasn't much. The old porch had waterlogged wooden boards, the bathroom sink constantly got clogged and spiders seem to flock to the deep corners of her bedroom, but it was home. Besides, on the salary of a news reporter in the city, the fact that she can afford one is pretty impressive... Or maybe she just tells herself that to justify her creaky steps.
Zara stepped out of her car and slung her bag over her shoulder before shutting and locking the car door. It was a pretty nice neighborhood, but between the murders and high tension, she didn’t feel like testing her luck. With one last lingering look out onto the empty street, she made the short walk to her porch. Right on cue, she heard the loud rustling of brush somewhere in her front yard and spun around, ready to greet the neighbor’s cat who has a nasty habit of sneaking out. “Hi, Henry!” She stopped, staring at the empty yard. “Oh,” Zara said to herself as she scanned the empty yard searching for signs of the old cat. Zara shrugged off the second odd occurrence of the night, the owner did install a fancy new cat door after all. Henry is probably clawing at it in despair as she stands. The old door creaks in protest, and Zara shuffles into the small hallway that greets you as you walk in, trying her best to avoid the various shelves and pictures she hastily nailed into the wall. Not her best work.
After slipping out of her way too put together work clothes and replacing them with pajamas, Zara settled down on her bed, letting the stress of the day drain out of her. She can’t lie to herself, the recent tragedy is even getting past her bubbly defense, leaving her wholly exhausted. She feels old. And what better way for a grandpa to fall asleep than reading a very corny and slightly inappropriate romance book. Zara reached over for her book that rests on her side table, taken back by the sudden tightening in her chest. Just outside the cloudy window, a figure stood across her street and it almost looked like it was facing her house. Before she even managed another thought, whoever it was continued in his trek down the sidewalk. Zara shook out the sudden surge of anxiety. Yeah, that was a little weird, but people are allowed to take walks. Just because Grandma Zara goes to bed early doesn’t mean the local hooligan youth do. She softly laughed at her own lame humor. Despite her self reassurance, she was sure to close the blinds before drifting to sleep, accompanied by Rachel Caine’s questionable retelling of Romeo and Juliet.
DreamlandDenizen
New Member
It was two weeks ago when Griffin realized the vampire he was hunting was nothing like the others. There had of course been other signs he’d noticed earlier. For instance the sheer number of kills this vampire was racking up; it left a river of blood in its wake everywhere it went. Griffin had hunted vampires who liked to kill for fun, who liked to play with their food, but he’d never seen one with a body count like this. His research had turned up decades of kills he’d figured was the doing of this one vamp, and if he’d been able to find good records further back, he was sure the trail would keep winding back through them as well.
Another peculiarity was that the vamp kept on the move, never staying -- never feeding -- in the same place for very long. That was unusual for a vampire. They liked to find comfortable areas to get familiar with, get to know the landscape and learn who they could snatch in the dark of night that no one would miss. They liked to settle down and form nests, much like their ancestors who used to inhabit massive castles for centuries in ages past. This vampire however had never stayed in the same town for longer than a few weeks. Whats more, it wasn’t killing to feed, or killing randomly as one would to satisfy some sick urge. There was some obscure pattern to it’s kills, some puzzle playing out in the notes Giffin scratched down in his journal.
All of this was strange, but Griffin hadn’t paid these oddities much mind, besides using them to better predict the vampires movements and actions as he narrowed in on it. He hadn’t realized that the creature he was after was something like he’d never faced before… at least not until two weeks ago.
Two weeks ago Griffin had caught the vampires trail again, closer than he’d been in a while. He still hadn’t laid eyes on it yet, but he’d been close enough behind it to investigate the kill sites before the blood had dried and before bodies were disturbed. It wasn’t long -- he’d figured -- before he’d catch it.
He’d tracked it from a small seaside town, through the woods at the dead of night. He’d crept between the trees with a wooden steak gripped firmly in hand. The trail had led him to an abandoned cabin. He circled it once -- taking note that every window was boarded up -- and then approached the front door with caution. Just in front of the door was a welcome mat, an odd accessory for such an isolated dwelling. Griffin moved it aside to find a celtic monster trap sigil carved into the wood beneath it. The line work was crude and sloppy but it certainly would do the trick. That vampire would not be getting in.
Griffin rapped his knuckles against the door, figuring if he could make contact with another hunter maybe they’d be of some assistance. He preferred to work alone, but he also preferred to get the job done quick and at this point any help would be welcomed. The door creaked and swung open from the force of his knocks alone. Odd. What hunter doesn’t lock up?
The strong smell of garlic and sage burned Griffin’s nostrils as he entered the cabin. Just beyond the threshold was a puddle of liquid that would no doubt be like acid on the skin of a vamp. He glanced upward to see a bucket rigged up above the door, tilted, having already spilled it’s contents. Griffin ventured further inside. He stopped in his tracks when he saw a man in his late forties slumped over the table with two fang marks in his neck. A large hunting knife and a wooden stake lay discarded on the floor not far away. The vampire had gotten past the sigil, pass the garlic, and killed him. And from the looks of it, it had an easy time doing it. What vamp could do that?
That had been when Griffin realized that what he was hunting was something unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Griffin checked the cabin, looking for anything the vamp might have left behind. Any personal belonging he could use to scry for it or craft a tracking spell. He found nothing of the sort. After stopping to give the hunter a proper send off to the next life, he left the cabin, searching again for a trail to follow.
Even without the help of a spell Griffin was a good tracker. A childhood spent helping collect spell ingredients in the woods surrounding his coven’s commune had given him a good sense for finding. That sense eventually led him to a small town called Basin.
----
He’d been in Basin for the last several days as the killings played out around him. He spent most of his nights sitting on the sidewalk in the busiest part of town, in an island of light surrounding a lonely street lamp. There was an upturned hat just next to him, collecting change from whoever would give. He’d say ‘God bless you’ to anyone within earshot whether they gave to him or not. It was a phrase that would no doubt solicit some reaction, no matter how subtle, from as dark a being as what he was looking for.
“Spare a quarter?” Griffin asked absently, for the millionth time that night, as a figure walked by. Griffin hadn’t bothered looking up from his journal, which he was pouring over yet again. He was deep in the info he’d collected on the latest kills, feeling the pattern finally starting to materialize. The boots in front of him stopped as their owner began digging through their coat pockets. “God bless you.”
The figure fell deathly still, and then turned a bit to face him head on.
Griffin immediately muttered a few latin syllables, breaking a seal on the spell he’d put in place earlier. The lamp light brightened, the bulb beaming down rays of pure sunlight. He glanced up, his hand already gripping the hilt of the tantō sword he had buried beneath his loose clothing, but before his eyes could focus on the face, it had slid from the light into the surrounding darkness. It moved with a supernatural agility, and an odd sort of grace. The darkness around it was darker than it should have been. Darker than made sense. Through the shadow Griffin could see nothing but the eyes, cold and calm, as the figure receded away, soon fading from view entirely.
Griffin cursed under his breath. His hand trembled on the hilt of the sword for a moment before he finally exhaled and released his grip. The spell would have cooked a normal vamp alive. This one, it didn’t even slow down. Worse he hadn’t gotten a good look at it, wouldn’t know it if he crossed it’s path again, but it had certainly seen him. That was a problem. But there was a bright spot. There was something left behind. There on the ground where the vamp had stood, was a coin that hadn’t been there before. Old and weathered. So old as to now be, no doubt, worth a good deal more than its face value. It would have been a generous gift to a beggar, but it was even more so to a witch.
Griffin picked up the coin as the lamp above him faded back to it’s normal strength. No doubt the vamp had had it for a while. It would be enough for a tracking spell.
Another peculiarity was that the vamp kept on the move, never staying -- never feeding -- in the same place for very long. That was unusual for a vampire. They liked to find comfortable areas to get familiar with, get to know the landscape and learn who they could snatch in the dark of night that no one would miss. They liked to settle down and form nests, much like their ancestors who used to inhabit massive castles for centuries in ages past. This vampire however had never stayed in the same town for longer than a few weeks. Whats more, it wasn’t killing to feed, or killing randomly as one would to satisfy some sick urge. There was some obscure pattern to it’s kills, some puzzle playing out in the notes Giffin scratched down in his journal.
All of this was strange, but Griffin hadn’t paid these oddities much mind, besides using them to better predict the vampires movements and actions as he narrowed in on it. He hadn’t realized that the creature he was after was something like he’d never faced before… at least not until two weeks ago.
Two weeks ago Griffin had caught the vampires trail again, closer than he’d been in a while. He still hadn’t laid eyes on it yet, but he’d been close enough behind it to investigate the kill sites before the blood had dried and before bodies were disturbed. It wasn’t long -- he’d figured -- before he’d catch it.
He’d tracked it from a small seaside town, through the woods at the dead of night. He’d crept between the trees with a wooden steak gripped firmly in hand. The trail had led him to an abandoned cabin. He circled it once -- taking note that every window was boarded up -- and then approached the front door with caution. Just in front of the door was a welcome mat, an odd accessory for such an isolated dwelling. Griffin moved it aside to find a celtic monster trap sigil carved into the wood beneath it. The line work was crude and sloppy but it certainly would do the trick. That vampire would not be getting in.
Griffin rapped his knuckles against the door, figuring if he could make contact with another hunter maybe they’d be of some assistance. He preferred to work alone, but he also preferred to get the job done quick and at this point any help would be welcomed. The door creaked and swung open from the force of his knocks alone. Odd. What hunter doesn’t lock up?
The strong smell of garlic and sage burned Griffin’s nostrils as he entered the cabin. Just beyond the threshold was a puddle of liquid that would no doubt be like acid on the skin of a vamp. He glanced upward to see a bucket rigged up above the door, tilted, having already spilled it’s contents. Griffin ventured further inside. He stopped in his tracks when he saw a man in his late forties slumped over the table with two fang marks in his neck. A large hunting knife and a wooden stake lay discarded on the floor not far away. The vampire had gotten past the sigil, pass the garlic, and killed him. And from the looks of it, it had an easy time doing it. What vamp could do that?
That had been when Griffin realized that what he was hunting was something unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Griffin checked the cabin, looking for anything the vamp might have left behind. Any personal belonging he could use to scry for it or craft a tracking spell. He found nothing of the sort. After stopping to give the hunter a proper send off to the next life, he left the cabin, searching again for a trail to follow.
Even without the help of a spell Griffin was a good tracker. A childhood spent helping collect spell ingredients in the woods surrounding his coven’s commune had given him a good sense for finding. That sense eventually led him to a small town called Basin.
----
He’d been in Basin for the last several days as the killings played out around him. He spent most of his nights sitting on the sidewalk in the busiest part of town, in an island of light surrounding a lonely street lamp. There was an upturned hat just next to him, collecting change from whoever would give. He’d say ‘God bless you’ to anyone within earshot whether they gave to him or not. It was a phrase that would no doubt solicit some reaction, no matter how subtle, from as dark a being as what he was looking for.
“Spare a quarter?” Griffin asked absently, for the millionth time that night, as a figure walked by. Griffin hadn’t bothered looking up from his journal, which he was pouring over yet again. He was deep in the info he’d collected on the latest kills, feeling the pattern finally starting to materialize. The boots in front of him stopped as their owner began digging through their coat pockets. “God bless you.”
The figure fell deathly still, and then turned a bit to face him head on.
Griffin immediately muttered a few latin syllables, breaking a seal on the spell he’d put in place earlier. The lamp light brightened, the bulb beaming down rays of pure sunlight. He glanced up, his hand already gripping the hilt of the tantō sword he had buried beneath his loose clothing, but before his eyes could focus on the face, it had slid from the light into the surrounding darkness. It moved with a supernatural agility, and an odd sort of grace. The darkness around it was darker than it should have been. Darker than made sense. Through the shadow Griffin could see nothing but the eyes, cold and calm, as the figure receded away, soon fading from view entirely.
Griffin cursed under his breath. His hand trembled on the hilt of the sword for a moment before he finally exhaled and released his grip. The spell would have cooked a normal vamp alive. This one, it didn’t even slow down. Worse he hadn’t gotten a good look at it, wouldn’t know it if he crossed it’s path again, but it had certainly seen him. That was a problem. But there was a bright spot. There was something left behind. There on the ground where the vamp had stood, was a coin that hadn’t been there before. Old and weathered. So old as to now be, no doubt, worth a good deal more than its face value. It would have been a generous gift to a beggar, but it was even more so to a witch.
Griffin picked up the coin as the lamp above him faded back to it’s normal strength. No doubt the vamp had had it for a while. It would be enough for a tracking spell.
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