• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Realistic or Modern ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ | Main [open & accepting]

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Other
Here

[a sinner like me?] - ]tainn, elu] - [NO interactions]

image.png
Will I ever love again? Was the recycled rhetoric that would not stop repeating. To reconstruct such a damaged record player was just a dream of a lunatic. And to be constantly hanging by the skin of her teeth provoked this constant injection of adrenaline to pulse through her body. Any confrontation aroused an inextinguishable rage- the fire boiled like lava in the depths of her bloodstream. Suppressing such a temper was a feat; especially since it also contorted her DNA. The only thing left to master was impossible restraint. The only thing disrupting her progress in the art of restraint was the beastly Big Bad.

The distant memory of his screams were an aching chorus that now sung in this perverse Hell-like pit of her mind (there is no Heaven in there).

Finley Reed was a highly respected human man of craftsmanship and wondrous prosperity. A fisherman that held much respect in the community of West and South Side Saint Haddock. Even after the Fog’s disarming presence he always stayed so positive; a truthful, generous and kind soul. Elu herself was so smitten. Once revealing her werewolf-classifications to him, did he choose to take control. Introducing him to the pack was easy enough- she was Alpha after all so they quickly accepted him. He was a great storyteller, listener and councillor- everyone admired, loved and worshipped him. Elu eventually became shrouded in the background; a female Alpha was unheard of, traditions kept men as the leader of any pack. It was natural for the male to be the dominant of the species, they were always the strongest, most flamboyant and applauded. God is not a woman and Elu is not a man.

When he asked the question for her to turn him, it took Elu by surprise. It was a Summer morning, bright and breezy, herself three months pregnant awaiting the arrival of their precious baby Kitchi. It was a peculiar question to ask. yet Fin’s eyes had grown so serious and into this unwavering (a trait unfamiliar for him) stare. Still, Elu believed he was joking at first though she wasn't inclined to say no. Of course she would- to become one with the love of her life so that they could further strengthen their bond. It did not even need an answer so she agreed.

Love of her life. All that shit did not count after the first bite.

The gut-wrenching loss of control was disastrous, she was very aware yet her body would not respond and she had to devour him quick. Mainly so there were no remains and secondly because she just could not help it. Elu knew that could have turned him but once her teeth met his soft skin but the ravenous rage kicked in. It tore through her as, the elongated snout dug into his perfect skin and his blood-curdling cry ripped through the air begging for mercy. Luckily, the traces of remaining gore were washed down the closest gutter by the onslaught of sludge and acidic rain, lit only by full moon. The light was subdued by the Fog yet its lunar intensity was unsuspectingly efficient at dissipating humanity.

Perhaps it was the instinct of an Alpha that caused her to lose it? Someone who may threaten her position as leader could not be tolerated and the best way to dispose of him would be death.
Three years have now passed after the disappearance of Finley Reed. Not a word has arose concerning Elu's involvement, instead it has been blamed on the ever increasing vampiric activity throughout Paradise City.


 
Last edited:

Thaumus

orpheus3.jpgThe Blackcoat


A silence fills the streets...

South. Southwest. West. A presence. There was a question in mind: Was it rude? These borders as they were, intangable, unknown to most, rarely thought of. But they existed, in their own way. But one did not heed their meanings. One did not believe in borders. Only the known, and the unknown. Alas, it did not matter. The night grew quiet. A coyote crept through the streets of the city outskirts. Mangy. Thin. It seemed sickly. But that's just how it was. And when its eyes caught the artificial light of the sleepy neighborhood with its small houses, they shone. They were silvery, like two small moons peering through the darkness. The eyes were wrong. Unnatural. In the dark where they did not glow, they were milky and glazed, lacking irises and pupils. It wasn't quite the same as eyes that were blind. They were far too clear for that. And they could most certainly see. The creatue swayed its gaze in different directions, surveying the area. And soon enough, the stranger walked forward, and the night was silent.

He was an inky shadow in the dim-cast porchlight, save for his exceptionally pale skin that seemed more like mist in the shape of a man. His black, wool frock-coat did not seem to register his movement, subtle and smooth as it was in the first place. He turned his head towards the small house in to his left after he came to a stillness. The black tin numbers 2049 were plastered against the dull cream colour of the exterior. The coyote scurried off, further into West Side. The stranger approached the small concrete porch, with nary a sound to his step. Just as well, the door was opened. It was unlocked. It was not unlocked before. Past the door was a hallway, dark and sleepy like the rest of the home. Two ghostly eyes looked towards a door to the side of the hallway, and the stranger invited himself in.

A small office. It would not take long to search through it. The stranger sifted through documents. The computer's password was on a sticky note in the closest drawer to the monitor. How irresponsible. The glow of the screen was mildly irritating, but it didn't matter. Numbers. Names. Times. Addresses. Those mattered. The stranger wondered if it was even worth the effort to bug the base radio in the corner. Probably not. These people were predictable and unintelligent. No need to do it again. The figure took a moment as he looked at the picture frame on the desk. Small. Uncared for. A fair amount of dust had collected on it, unlike everything else in the room. He must have been happier then. She most certainly was.

A figure over a bed. What a disgusting looking man. But one couldn't fault him for the consequences of stress and bad habits.The wife wasn't there. The kids were gone. A hotel? A relative's house? It didn't matter. The figure looked at the sleeping man below him. Howard hadn't even taken off his uniform. Shoes in the bed? Pathetic. But nothing new. Otherwise, one might feel some semblance of pity. For a brief moment, one wondered of the future. Attention was never a good thing. His kind were meant for the shadows. And even some of the kindred may have forgotten, the light has nothing to offer. Not when one could see so well in the dark, and the night was silent.

The stranger wander back towards the street. Not from the house, but behind it. Coyotes. Four of them. White eyed abberations. He walked past them, and they crept behind the house for the leftovers. One wondered where the myth of sweet blood came from. No. It was plenty the same as anyone else's. That was the thing, though, wasn't it. All of the different kinds of people, a case-by-case in the case of blood. But blood only ever tasted like blood. People tended to forget that. But not this one. Ethereal eyes, black decorated with silvery rings in the middle, looked west. Then north. Then finally, east. And the stranger wandered forward.

And the night was silent.

themoon.jpg


 
Last edited:
tommy boy but animu.pngHe was submerged just below the water, whispy hair, jacket, and limbs floating in a pool of ecstasy. Through the darkness, Tom could see a patch of grey light above, filtering through the ceiling. All sound and sensations were muffled, all thoughts subdued when suddenly he broke the surface with a painful gasp for air. Sabine’s power severed its hold on him, and everything snapped back into place. The espionage, the vampires, and the fact he was staring into the piercing eyes of a towering vampire, whose gaze looked down at him with nothing but contempt. And he was soaked, which was starting to become a trend for the night. Blaring alarms sang throughout the entire building, but he could hear the vampire loud and clear.

"It is too bad my fellow kin didn't finish the job!"

“What…” he barely gasped, still coming to, as Sabine began to discuss potential plans of his fate with her partner. Tom carefully avoided her eyes, solemnly aware of what power she holds. He would not make the same mistake, lest it cost him his life. Memories of his mental enslavement stirred, and he blanched; he’d revealed his plans so willingly, so effortlessly, all with a lax smile on his face. Sabine consumed his mind entirely, as every moment was spent in worship of her. Her, who had just attempted to bite into his neck. Tom was mortified. He took one step backward, tentatively checking his surroundings. From what he could see, the two creatures blocked the way forward, with the double doors to the outside just a few paces away. He wouldn’t make it two feet.

Tom would then do something that he wasn’t proud of. Something he would not look back on with a fond memory. Deo Velonte can create a man, but it cannot recreate instinct.

He ran. Spun tail, said his prayers and bolted back the way he’d come (of which the prideful man would call an expeditious retreat). Before he took off, he tested his flames, calling forth his abilities. There was not even a sputter, go figure! He cursed and instead hurled holy water at his assailants in an attempt to buy himself some time. Tom would not know if it had worked, as he had already barreled up the stairs in mere moments.

Within seconds of leaping over the stairs, his mind wandered to Jacques. He hadn’t seen the man, not in his madness nor in his awakening. He also hadn’t seen the second sister, Charlotte, which was questionable. While Tom knew the man was capable of holding himself in a fight, if a vampire had also cornered him, he’d only prayed for the best. Not much he could do now except protect his own hide. He couldn’t even spare a glimpse to see if he was followed.

Eventually, he burst through the door to the rooftop, nearly tripping over his own feet and panting like a dog. He staggered underneath the stars–always there but hidden by the neon glow of city lights– and the rain seemed to finally be relaxing in the early hours between midnight and sunrise. The Devil’s Hour. From this height, the wind picked up and ruffled his hair. 'End of the line,' echoed in his mind.

There wasn’t a quick way down.

Well, there was one; just that it was not painless.

Without hesitation, Tom turned towards the doors, expecting. He drew his blade, let out a breath, and prepared himself. He wasn’t sure what would come for him, but one thing was for certain: he would not go down without a fight.
Character Reference
Interactions: Sabine Loomis Loomis | Dante Eldarkon Eldarkon Mentions: Jacques Athanas Athanas | Lottie Loxely Loxely
 
Last edited:
"The victim seems not to face any form of distress…”

"A lot can happen in an hour." Dani mumbled in reply.

"How did you get a hold of it?”

Raising an eyebrow, Dani wrinkled her nose while eyeing the pack Alpha up and down, then settled with a simple shrug. "Usual methods. Police scanner wouldn't shut up about it; think they called in the Dickwad Volente."

Her eyes looked down at the image Elu was holding, staring at the girl's face. "Poor thing. I asked around the area where they found the body, didn't take long before something had seen her." Dani yawned and crossed both of her arms behind her head, "Dunno what point there is in giving them the photo. They already know what she looks like." She leveled a neutral gaze at Elu.

She hadn't been running with this new pack for terribly long, but the relationship between the leader and her was already starting to set. As the Alpha, Elu had the unenviable job of keeping a group of headstrong rowdy monsters more or less in line. Dani, on the other hand, relished being beholden to no one and possessed quite a bit of wanderlust. The fact had kept her nomadic for a few years, being run out of most cities by creatures of the night, but the sheer chaos of Paradise City meant there was plenty of bull shit to keep her occupied. As such, she found herself doing her best to follow Elu's rules, even though she usually disagreed with them.

"So what? Were we just supposed to ignore this death like the rest? Go home, hug our families, and pray they aren't next? You're not even going to investigate?"
thinking thinking
 
Last edited:
Lottie.png
Lottiename.png
The droplets cascade through the air, glistening as they touch the vampire's fair skin and dampening her lengthy mane. Despite the artificial rain, she remains poised and unaffected. Her white dress clinging to her figure, accentuating her feminine physique. Amused by his stammering of facts regarding her previous statement. Brows furrowed then raised curiously at his laughter, that she also exchanged a playful laugh in return. Her eyes searching his nervous expression, mentally inscribing the fine details of his features down to every blemish and wrinkle. As he mentioned his fear of a horrific creature being the one to rid him of this mortal life, he managed to bestow her with an unconventional compliment. Perhaps not as flattering to most, but to Lottie's egotistical mentality, it was quite endearing. "Oh? So, you think I'm pretty?" She mused with the curl of those fleshy lips into an appeased grin. Chin tilting gently aside, lowering her gaze to survey the rest of his frame, leisurely raising her eyes along his body to once again match his. "You flatter me."

Now stepping around him so they stood face to face, the sprinklers exhausting the last of their rains to a sputtering drizzle. Once again, he anxiously rambled on. Lottie found it quite humorous and made no effort to conceal that expression with the everlasting smile plastered along her lips. Though, the words of Sabine faintly echoed through her: Don't play with your food, Lottie. She brushed it off. Very seldom has she ever had cattle be as intriguing to her as this one, let alone, now that she had the opportunity to get a better look at him - he was quite easy on the eyes. A shame he couldn't be turned, he could've made a suitable plaything. Sabine would've had a conniption if Lottie even attempted to guide a Deo Volente down their immortal path.

Lottie blinked, quite perplexed as he offered himself without hesitation. Even that charming smirk of hers washed away with confusion. It was usually easy, but never this easy. She remained skeptical for a moment, her stare searching him head to toe in silence within the confines of the darkened corridor. Only the small trickles of what remained in the pipes of the sprinklers broke through.

Stepping forward cautiously, Lottie brought her hands almost lovingly to his face. Cupping that hardened jaw in her small palms, thumbing over his barren cheeks. Another step invaded the space between them, pressing herself against his torso much like the way she teased poor Varney. The vampire's eyes glimmer with a haunting mix of hunger and desire, remaining fixated on his. Closing in tightly, their bodies firmly against one another while her lips tenderly caressed against his. Feeling the heat of his own breath contrasting that of her icy touch. Those wispy lashes lowering to dreamily closing her eyes. "I promise." Cooing against his lips in acknowledgement to his request. Gently tilting her chin to position her parted lips along the excitably pulsating jugular of his neck. Simultaneously, her dominate hand crept to grip the nape. Between her parted plump lips, reveals elongated canines that gleam menacingly in the dimly lit room. Feeling the Jacques' pulse quicken, a subtle rhythm portraying his fear. Lottie's breath, cold and intoxicating, brushes against his skin. With a sudden and swift motion, those fangs pierced the soft vulnerable flesh. Mercilessly anchoring into that main vein. Her hand clasping tightly on his neck to keep him still with those manicured claws she considered to be nails. Time seems to stand still as Lottie begins to drink, her lips locked onto the wound, taking in gulps with gluttonous desire.

But that moment was quickly fleeting when a sudden burning sensation scorched her throat. Lottie shoved Jacques away from her, stumbling backwards and into the wall, desperately grasping along it for some form of support. Her mouth exuded steam as if she were the chimney of a train engine. She began shrieking in terror and clawing at her neck as if it were to subside the excruciating pain. Lottie's knees buckled inward, causing her to collapse onto the cold hard floor. The screaming continued, shredding her vocal cords with the shrills. Her eyes widened with absolute fear, having not felt this immense amount of torture since she was just a feeble human. She fell forward on all fours, heaving and attempting to vomit whatever substance Jacques had coursing through his veins. Lottie shot a betrayed glared up at him, his blood staining her lips and oozing lazily down her chin, "Fuck you!" She cried only able to muster a few select syllables. She began reaching for him for either help or revenge - her hysteria made it difficult to differ the two. Another blood curdling screech escaped her, loud enough to echo off the walls of now empty club.

Interactions | Athanas Athanas Mentions | Loomis Loomis
 
Last edited:

HeyHey​

​
Addressed: Magnus MacVain ( SidTheSkid SidTheSkid )
Mentioned: Charlotte & Sabine DeLormè ( Loxely Loxely Loomis Loomis )
Status: Getting Ready > Driving to Club Lazarus
Location: Cordelia's Apartment > OTW to Club Lazarus
Inventory: Silver Daggers (x2), Hand Pistol (x1), Silver Bullets (x24)

HeyHey​

​
Swollen, golden eyes gazed up at the blank slated ceiling above her, blinking slowly as the only sound filling the room came from a worn clock barely hanging from the tattered wall, crooked at deafening. Red hair surrounded the edges of her vision as she toyed with the loose strands, lifting them above her only to watch them fall as she reached the tips, gravity dragging them down to the tear-stained, porcelain skin that remained still on the damp, dark pillow beneath her head. She parted her lips briefly, taking in a short breath and letting it go as a sigh before her other hand reached for the cell phone lying somewhere on the oversized mattress with her, rustled in the scratchy sheets that were more entrapping than comforting. Thin, long fingers wrapped around the device, her thumb pressing on the fingerprint identification circle to unlock it and permit entry to her banal cell phone, devoid of any personalization as it contained only the original apps for practicality purposes. Tapping on the icon representing Messaging, she selected one of the few numbers on the list and frowned. Still no reply.

A frustrated noise made its way from her throat as she moved to sit up, her whole body aching from yet another night of sleeplessness. The exhausted redhead turned to get away from the lonely expanse of mattress, her bare feet digging into the shag carpet as she forced herself to stand, glancing around the second-rate apartment she resided in. The floorplan she signed up for was a simple studio, equipped with an oven, fridge, minimal counter space, a small table with two chairs, and her musty mattress with a sturdy box spring supporting it, the 'rooms' separated solely by carpeting in the living area and tile in the small kitchen and dining space. There were three doors, one of which led outside while the other two led to a bathroom and a closet. It was sparsely decorated — a vase with dead flowers sat on the table, begging to be thrown away, a handful of dishes lingered in the kitchen sink with fruit flies buzzing about, and drenched, dirty clothing littered the floor after her disastrous walk home several hours previous.

A quick glance at the battered clock told her that it was roughly three in the morning — she couldn't recall if it was a couple minutes behind or ahead, nor did she really care — she listened only to the consistent movement of the second hand as she shrugged on a pair of jeans discarded at the foot of her bed, smelling relatively acceptable for public wear. A small dresser along the wall beside her bed contained the small amount of clothing that was clean, and in this she found a pink blouse that would not have been her first choice, but the ones on the floor either had stains, were damp from the earlier thunderstorm, or were simply too rancid to wear in the presence of strangers, so it would have to make do. While wondering where she even got the article of clothing, she checked her phone again, frowning once more as there continued to be no messages from the Coven leader, Magnus MacVain. As his right hand, it was her job to stay on top of things when he was incapacitated, but when either of them were out on a job, they had agreed to communicate regularly in case things went south. The digital clock read exactly 3:07 in the morning, and their last messages consisted of Magnus telling her he was on his way to Club Lazarus.

She was familiar with the sultry club and its owners — Sabine and Charlotte DeLormè, the vampire queens of Saint Haddock's supernatural population, with their professionally manicured nails clinging to anything in the vampire world not connected to the Crimson Tears or the stragglers that tried to make their own in "Paradise City." If she didn't think it a death sentence, she might have found some mindless enjoyment in the establishment, but the Coven witch new better than to dabble in vampiric affairs without a proper plan, unlike her boss, Magnus. Rolling her eyes, she shrugged on her leather jacket and began to dial, holding the phone with her shoulder whilst she grabbed her keys and holsters. It rang once, twice, and even a third time before he finally picked up. "Hello, housekeeping?" The voice on the other side of the phone was shaken and scratchy, but still managed to provide an attempt at humor.

Scoffing, Cordelia fastened her holsters to her thighs and gritted her teeth. "Magnus. It's three in the morning. Where are you?" Her voice sounded harsh as she yanked on one boot after the other, somehow managing to balance as she finished readying up for the day. "Oh you know, just having a late night shindig with some vampires; I'm at Club Lazarus and I thought I'd try and meet with the DeLormè sisters." Without missing a beat, she shook her head and finally grasped the phone with her hand, freeing her shoulder. "I know that, Mag. You sound drunk. Are you safe? Do I need to come help you?" She yanked the faded door shut behind her as she exited the apartment, her short heels clacking against the metal staircase as she descended to the narrow hall of the complex. Silence fell on the phone, and she stopped for a moment, listening intently for Magnus to respond.

"Eh? I told you 'bout that? Oh, right. I did, didn't I? Sorry, my memory is a bit fuzzy right now." His voice was concerning, forcing her to glance at her car, considering driving down to the club. "Y-yeah, I kinda fucked up a bit... but I'm fine Lia, I promise. I think someone pulled the fire alarm though, I wouldn't come here directly, I really don't want you gettin' hurt or anything because of my own fuck-ups." The wavering in his voice made her start towards the purple SUV, her voice laced with concern. "Mag, are you sure? I can come pick you up - if you need to crash somewhere, that's fine, I was just going to head to the shop. You know my place is open if you really need it. And..." She offered a dry laugh. "You don't have to be so worried about me." She grimaced, a pang of guilt in her heart as she felt apologetic for making him worry about her. The SUV beeped as she unlocked its doors, hopping into the vehicle and shutting it to avoid the light sprinkle that remained from yesterday's thunderstorms.

"Well, I can't keep tryin' to baby you forever, can I? Alright, I don't think walkin' is gonna cut it for my wobbily ass, so I may need a ride. You got the address to Club Lazarus? I shoulda wrote it down on a sticky note or somethin' and gave it to ya before leavin'." While taking a moment to start the car, she stifled another laugh before shaking her head with a sigh. "I know how to get there. I'll see you soon." "Okay, just park out front when you get here and be sure t-" As she went to hang up, the horrified scream of a woman could be heard in the background, cutting off Magnus before he spoke again, sending chills down Cordelia's spine. Fuck. "Shit! I need to go! Wait for me outside when you get here alright? This place is a hotbed for vampires so keep your wits about you, okay!? Gotta go!" Without giving him a response, she dropped her phone in the cupholder nearest her and slammed her foot on the gas, making her way to Club Lazarus as quickly as possible. Hopefully she wouldn't be too late.
​

 
Last edited:
Macvain.png
[Location: Saint Haddock - East Side, Club Lazarus ]
[Currently: With Jacques and Charlotte ]
[Mood: Worried ]

As Magnus prudently touched at his forehead, he felt an exception amount of relief and disbelief; his complexion remained unscathed, not a single scratch or laceration from the shattered mirror's glass. Thanks to his 'thick head', he was spared from the crimson rivers he half-expected to flow down his face and onto the front of his attire, further adding onto the burdensome whiskey stains that ruined his dress shirt. But the absence of physical wounds wasn't able to erase the scars etched upon his damaged psyche. The madness he had just endured lingered through the depths of his mind, taunting him with its presence. There was no denying that the heavy toll of his responsibilities as a peacekeeper in Saint Haddock had a direct impact on his sanity. The inconceivable weight of the city's turmoil and his own relentless pursuit of justice always bore down on him, threatening to crack through the metaphorical armor he built around himself to withstand the depravity of this place, it was being chipped away, piece by piece.

In moments like this, it was difficult not to just question the sacrifices he had made. Magnus's addictions that were clinging onto him like a tempting succubus, providing solace and escape, had become a double-edged sword. It was a crutch that kept him moving forward, numbing the pain and anxiety of his duties, but also feeding the chaos within his mind. The ambition he had chosen was fraught with impossibilities, the sisyphean task of maintaining tranquility in a city abandoned by gods that was teetering on the edge. Yet, he found himself unable to just turn away from it. The well-being of Saint Haddock and its inhabitants rested upon his broad shoulders, and he was more than willing to bear that burden, even if it meant relying on his vices to soldier on.

"Shit, how long was I gone for? Guess this means my dance with Charlotte is going to have to be postponed."

That damned headache of an alarm was making him wonder what had sparked such a commotion; Did someone unintentionally create a widespread fire in Club Lazarus through a gender reveal party? If so, was it a Boy or a Girl? Or maybe there was different mishap taking place here, perhaps a stroke of misfortune in this great sea of revelry? Whatever was going on, the uncertainty gnawed at his senses, driving him to investigate. However, as he moved to step out of the bathroom, a vibrating feeling rattled around in his front pocket, briefly snatching his attention away. Magnus sighed in exasperation knowing it was his phone going off, he was perplexed as to who would be reaching out to him at such an hour. With a grunt of annoyance, Magnus fumbled through his pocket, his fingers searching until they found familiarity; in a swift draw he'd take out his tablet and glance down at it, Its sleek screen had illuminated with the name "Lia," a name that was synonymous with loyalty and shared history, at least to him. A faint smile brushed across his face at the sight, replacing the once irritable frown he had. Magnus wasn't sure why she was calling but he decided to humor it by accepting the call and raising to his ear, immediately opening up with a satirical remark.

[Phone Conversation - Magnus & Cordelia] [A lot of Fluff - Anaxileah already covered the convo in her post]
"Hello, housekeeping?" As he warmly welcomed Cordelia Hawthorne, his trusted second-in-command, Magnus's mind wandered back to the time when Cordelia first crossed the threshold into his world, by discovering his Coven, although carrying with her an air of desperation that whispered of a tragic past. The weight of loss had followed her like a rain cloud, washing its drizzling sorrow upon her countenance, leaving an indelible mark upon that poor girl's spirit. Yet, amidst the internalized, emotional wreckage, Magnus saw a flicker of resilience, a spark of untamed potential that was nourished into a powerful bolt of lightning with his guidance. "Magnus. It's three in the morning. Where are you?" Magnus's light-hearted tone quickly shifted as he picked up on the tension in Cordelia's voice, her harsh vocal utterance was no doubt one of worry. "Oh you know, just having a late night shindig with some vampires; I'm at Club Lazarus and I thought I'd try and meet with the DeLormè sisters." Magnus's voice claimed as he absentmindedly paced back and forth through the empty bathroom, the phone still pressed against his ear. "I know that, Mag. You sound drunk. Are you safe? Do I need to come help you?" It didn't take long for her to figure that out, was it that obvious he was intoxicated? At least the experience from earlier sobered him up a bit.

"Eh? I told you 'bout that? Oh, right. I did, didn't I? Sorry, my memory is a bit fuzzy right now." Magnus halted in his tracks and his voice would pause as he noticed that some of his breath was still caught in his chest like a captured whisper, surely because of the trauma from earlier. He'd take a second to inhale, the fresh air filling his lungs, a lifeline of oxygen that infused him with a renewed sense of composure before carrying on the conversation. "Y-yeah, I kinda fucked up a bit... but I'm fine Lia, I promise. I think someone pulled the fire alarm though, I wouldn't come here directly, I really don't want you gettin' hurt or anything because of my own fuck-ups." To Magnus, Cordelia was a cherished presence in his life, a bond that transcended conventional labels; he'd watched her grown and excell through his tutelage and in a way she was like a daughter. But the way the two bonded together, it felt like they shared the bond of two siblings, a brother and a sister maybe? Yet, maybe there was something more that lurked beyond that? Either way, it would explain why he wouldn't want her coming here as the mere thought of Cordelia being put in harm's way sent a pang of anguish rippling through his being; it was a visceral pain that tightened his chest and brought a hint of moisture to his eyes.

"Mag, are you sure? I can come pick you up - if you need to crash somewhere, that's fine, I was just going to head to the shop. You know my place is open if you really need it. And..." Cordelia's dry giggle would've interrupted her mid-sentence, albeit a bit forced, it was nice for him to hear her laugh. "You don't have to be so worried about me." Magnus's sigh carried a mixture of concern and conflicted emotions through the phone. He understood the importance of safeguarding Cordelia's well-being, wanting to shield her from any potential danger. Yet, he also recognized how far she had grown, evolving into a formidable force in her own right. She had proven time and again her strength, resilience, and capability. He needed to trust her, after all, they were a team, united in their shared mission, and together they would overcome any obstacle no matter how dangerous. "Well, I can't keep tryin' to baby you forever, can I? Alright, I don't think walkin' is gonna cut it for my wobbily ass, so I may need a ride. You got the address to Club Lazarus? I shoulda wrote it down on a sticky note or somethin' and gave it to ya before leavin'." His drifting hand moved to his face, his fingers tracing the roughness of his stubble as he spoke to her. "I know how to get there. I'll see you soon." Magnus wanted to impart the necessary instructions to Cordelia before she hung up, to be sure she knew what to do when she got to Club Lazarus.

"Okay, just park out front when you get here and be sure t-"

As he shuffled back and forth through the bathroom, Magnus started to wrap up his conversation with Cordelia but the chilling familiarity of Charlotte's scream reaching his ears would've severed the conversation prematurely "Shit! I need to go! Wait for me outside when you get here alright? This place is a hotbed for vampires so keep your wits about you, okay!? Gotta go!" Without a moment's hesitation, Magnus swiftly ended the phone conversation with Cordelia and placed the device back into his pocket. The urgency in Charlotte's shrill shriek fueled a surge of adrenaline within him as he made his way out of the bathroom in a hurry. Magnus's footsteps could be heard loudly shuffling through the nightclub's corridors, the patrons of the nightclub seemingly already vacating halls due to the alarm and leaving them visually abandoned. It didn't take long for him to stumble acrosss the scene, after turning around a corner he was brought to a bit of an unnerving sight.

Charlotte, once a powerful and composed vampire, was now reduced to a state of vulnerability, hunched over on the floor and retching some kind of substance while emitting agonized screams through her horrendous-sounding gag. It was a jarring scene to say the least, and Magnus couldn't help but wonder what had caused such a drastic change in her demeanor. But that's when he saw a figure standing before her, a blonde-haired man, his presence contrasting with the turmoil surrounding him. Clad in unremarkable attire, the black jacket draped over his frame seemed to hang loosely, as if burdened by his own unease. The vibrant red hoodie peeked out from underneath, with a pair of blue jeans completed his unassuming ensemble. Despite Charlotte's menacing reach towards him, clearly wanting to rip this guy's throat out of his body, the man exuded an aura of timidity, his gaze seemingly wavering with uncertainty.

"Oh, this isn't good. Uh, Buddy, I don't know who the hell you are or what you did to Charlotte, but you need to get out of here and fast... If Sabine sees what you've done to her sister, it isn't going to be pretty."

[Interactions Anaxileah Anaxileah , Loxely Loxely , Athanas Athanas ]
 
f4ef3c2b9a2f02bc1668e392d9d6b19a.jpg

Dante's eyes narrowed as he glared down at Thomas, feeling the heat of anger boil within him. Sabine's words only fueled his rage, but he kept his composure. He had a reputation to hold up, and losing his temper further in front of his new partner would not be flattering. He gritted his fanged teeth, his eyes fixed on Thomas. "We won't be playing with him my Dear," he growled, "We'll be ending him."

Dante watched with a mixture of amusement and disgust as Thomas stumbled backwards, clearly terrified by both his and Sabine's power. He sneered as Thomas made a pathetic attempt to use his abilities, only to fail miserably. And then, with no other options left, the cowardly man turned and ran, running up the stairs that lead to the roof. Again, he could feel the anger boiling inside of him, but he forced himself to stay calm. He would catch up to Thomas soon enough and make him pay for his trespasses.

Dante then turned to Sabine with a playful smile “I will take care of this my dear. Go tend to your sister”. Dante looked up at the ceiling of the club and closed his eyes. He bent his knees in preparation and focused his mind on Thomas “He should be right about…..THERE!”. Dante jumped vertically upwards to the ceiling, breaking a small hole through the club roof from the impact. Landing on his feet, he was now almost face to face with Thomas. With a sadistic smile, Dante let out a dark laugh “Did you think you could escape that easily Mr. Barret!”​
tommy-boy-but-animu-png.1084996
Tom breathed, in and out, waiting. Why wasn't he being followed? His eyes were transfixed on the door as if at any moment the vampires would come through. He was grateful that the rain was slowing to a steady stop. Give it a few moments, and he'd be able to utilize his flames once again. He'd just need to buy some time. Tightening his grip around his sword, he grimaced, contorting his face into one of absolute graveness. Either way, he'd be ready.

Or so he thought, as suddenly the floor rumbled. Tom tripped over his feet, nearly falling backward from the roof as a vampire burst from the building. He spun around, eyes widened in surprise. It was Dante, the vampire that had threatened his life while under Sabine's mental imprisonment. This was not a vampire to underestimate--he'd heard the stories. Of him, and his underlings. His children. Tom smiled in earnest; this was not going to be easy, but he trusted he could take this leech. Maybe he was feeling... chatty.

Tom boldened his stance and stated in return, "It was worth a shot at least, Mr. Wolfbane, King of the Crimson Tears. You've been a thorn in our side for a while now. You and your sons: Charon, and Virgil, your demon spawn. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this. What's a better way of ending an organization, than cutting off the head from the snake itself? Wouldn't you agree, bloodsucker?"
Dante.jpg
Dante's eyes narrowed at the mention of his sons, but he remained stoic, his expression unchanged. The audacity of him, speaking with such bravado, as if he had any chance against the likes of Dante and his Sons. But there was something in the way he held himself, a glint in his eye that spoke of determination and conviction. Dante smirked, a hint of amusement in his expression.

"Well, well," he drawled. He stepped forward, his movements lithe and graceful like that of a predator . "You humans do have a penchant for underestimating us, don't you? Why else would the all powerful Deo Velonte send only two of their agents"

Dante bore his fangs, their white enamel glinting in the fading light. "As for my sons, Virgil and Charon, you are wise remembering their names. They are not to be trifled with." Dante’s eyes continued to glow a fiery red. "But I must say, I admire your bravery. It takes a certain kind of fool to stand against the likes of me and my kin. Let's see if you're as skilled as you are foolish, shall we?"​
spicy-tomtom-png.1084126
Tom followed his movements until they were stalking in a circle, with narrowed eyes of the two men glued in on each other. Like prey and predator, they danced in rhythm on the edge of a building, the everlasting fog making the edge drop into eternity. He flourished his sword, twirling it around his wrist, taunting the vampire. Its display of fangs failed to impress him, and neither did its claim of superiority. He'd eliminated countless bloodsuckers. What was one more?

"I'm the fool? Oh, Dante, it seems you do not know of me," he chuckled, a manic smile encroaching on his face, "but I will familiarize you with my blade soon enough."

He lunged with a guttural yell, always the first to strike. Like a switch, his flames flickered back on, and his blade burst into an inferno. Yet the vampire was quick on his feet, dodging and evading his attacks. Acting like it was easy. Fiery rage consumed Tom, until flames licked up his hair and set his head alight in an orange glow. Little embers floated from the rooftop, fluttering in the wind and dancing around the two. He felt metal meet flesh, sinking into Dante's shoulder, and he ignited. An intense blaze burst from his fingertips, consuming the man. He wished he'd heard screams, but all sound was diminished by the explosion. The ground blackened along with his fingertips, and finally, he finished, panting from exertion.

As the smoke cleared, Tom was satisfied to see the blackened suit and flesh, but he gaped as Dante's burnt body began repairing itself instantly, tissue wrapping over tissue. No other vampire he'd fought against before had healing properties such as this. None of this caliber.

He took a small step back, cautious of the edge.

"What kind of monster are you?"
Dante Wounded.jpg
Dante watched as the flames consumed him, his body burning with a searing pain, but he refused to scream. His healing powers would take care of the damage soon enough. Dante laughed as he watched Thomas in shock, admiring the flames that still licked at his body. As the flames subsided, he turned to face the warlock, his eyes blazing with fury. "I am not just a mere monster Mr. Barret” Dante laughed, the sound sinister and mocking. "You really have no idea, do you? I am not some common vampire, boy. I am King of the Crimson Tears!" His eyes flashed with anger as he reached out and grabbed Tom's arm, the force of his grip causing bones to snap like twigs. He yanked the arm from Tom's body with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted from the wound as the man screamed in agony, and Dante continued to laugh

Dante hung the now lifeless arm above his open mouth, drinking the warm blood that spilled from the exposed end. Simply delicious. When Dante had his fill, he then tossed the arm aside like a discarded toy “You thought you could defeat me with your puny human weapons and your pathetic flames. You must have forgotten that I have been around for centuries. I have survived wars, plagues, and the inquisition. I am an apex predator, and you, my friend, are nothing but prey." Dante growled, his voice low and menacing. He moved with lightning speed, grabbing Tom by the throat and hoisting him up off the ground, his fingers digging into the flesh of his neck.

The vampire's eyes glinted with a fierce intensity as he held Tom over the edge of the building, his grip tightening with each passing moment. "You think you can come here and threaten me, threaten my family?" Dante snarled, his fangs bared in a vicious snarl. "You are nothing but a fool, and I will not tolerate your insolence any longer." With a final growl, Dante hurled Tom off the roof, watching with satisfaction as the warlock plummeted towards the ground below. He stood there for a moment, basking in the power of his victory, before turning and walking away, leaving Tom's broken body to rot in the alley. Now examining himself, Dante realized that more than half of his suit had been burned away and a sword was sticking out of his shoulder. “Shame” Dante said with slight sorrow “This was one of my favorite suits”​
tommy_at_peace.png
Everything was in slow motion. Dante gripped his arm, and as he crushed the bones, pitiful cries escaped Tom's throat. He lurched backward but so did the vampire; the sound of tearing flesh mixed with his blood-curdling screams. In one swift tug, Dante ripped his now crooked arm from his shoulder and left a splash of blood in its wake. Tom fell silent, too stunned to speak, and dropped to his knees. He watched in horror as the monster devoured the blood dripping from his severed limb, its hand still blackened from the fire. This couldn't be real. This wasn't real. What was happening? He was infallible. This was a dream. He was hyperventilating through his teeth, not even registering the vampire's words being spouted at his face.

He was brought back into his horrific existence as large hands wrapped around his throat. Instinct took over, and his remaining hand grabbed and clawed at the vampire's powerful grip. He kicked outwards, impacting Dante's shin, but it was all futile. He was hoisted upwards, feet dangling dangerously over the edge of the roof. The fog created a blanket underneath him, masking the ground below. If there was even ground to begin with, as it seemed the more he peered over the edge, the more the fog became an entity, all-consuming, telling him to 'Let go.' Blood dribbled from his wounds, swallowed by the fog.

"N... No..." he could barely sound out any words as his windpipe was crushed under gravity. All he could do was sputter as the intensity only got worse, and Tom's vision began to fade. His eyes rolled upward, feeling lighter and lighter. And like a feather, he drifted, down, down, and down until his body bounced off a dumpster and cracked on the cement floor.

---

"Luci, go home!" the boy whined, lightly punching his sister's arm. "Nobody invited you."

It was late evening. They were at a basketball court, surrounded by schoolboys in tousled uniforms gawking at the bickering siblings. Luciana, the little girl deadset on pestering her brother, crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. Her long brown hair was braided over her shoulder, trailing down her own school uniform: a grey dress with a matching cardigan. Her face was scrunched up in displeasure.

"You're a real jerk, Tommy," she pouted. "I'm telling Mama not to make you any dinner." With that, she spun around, her skirt flowing behind her, and she marched off in the direction of home. Thomas Barrett, ten years old, groaned to the sky, slacking his body in defeat.

"Sorry, dudes," Tom said, turning to his friends. He threw a basketball in their direction, one of them fumbling and then catching it. "I gotta go, Mom'll kill me if I don't make it to dinner. See you tomorrow?"

Then he said his goodbyes, got on his bike, and rode home, expecting a hot plate of food waiting for him when he got there; hopeful for all except broccoli. Mom always made broccoli. After dinner, maybe he'd convince Luci to watch a scary movie with him or ask Dad to help him with his homework. Either way, he'd stay up way too late, and Mom would have to usher them all to bed.

But that didn't happen. That wasn't how this night was supposed to go; it was the last time he saw his family. When he'd walked through the door, announcing he was home--and only a little late so Mom please don't be mad--he received no answer. All was quiet, and the boy knew something was wrong. He smelled the metallic blood, heard the dripping from the kitchen, and--

Thomas Barrett, twenty-seven years old, regained consciousness with a painful gulp of air. All that he could hear was a steady dripping sound. He glanced over and saw his arm, discarded and hanging limply from the side of the dumpster. The culprit of the sound, it seems. Tom, having a moment of disassociation, pulled himself to his feet, struggling to lift his legs. Shots of pain traveled throughout his entire body. He started towards in... any direction. He did not quite know where he was going while limping and clutching his shoulder. His arm was gone. It was gone. They were gone. It was happening again. Again.

"I'm sorry, Luci. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm..."

He did not know how far he walked until he collapsed again, the trail of blood following the pathetic heap he was in. And he knew he was pathetic. He knew this was bound to happen at some point, it was just a matter of running out the clock. He breathed out. For the fifth time that night, he smiled. Then he laughed, cackling, his ribs screaming in tune with his manic hollering. Then he went still, and quiet, and he closed his eyes, drifting softly to sleep.
 

Attachments

  • 5aa77a2f2ce2cae67090ff041595da5e.jpg
    5aa77a2f2ce2cae67090ff041595da5e.jpg
    57.2 KB · Views: 8
Last edited:
36182288e5b604101b4903658a2f05cf.jpg

Sabine could feel the anger seeping out of Dante’s pores and she relished in his raw emotion, even though he was doing a wonderful job at keeping it together. Her lips puckered out into a pout at Dante turning down her proposition to have a little, tortuous, fun. He was definitely in business mode, the only thing on his mind was to end Thomas where he stood. Sabine also wanted to take care of the fire wielder, but she had different ideas on how they should do it. Images of her tying Tom up and making him beg for mercy as she sliced away at his body flashed across her mind. The hair on her body stood up as a wave of excitement ran through her at the thought, too bad Dante doesn’t want to play.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” She teased and flashed him a fangy smile. Her smile quickly faded as she noticed Thomas was showing signs of running. His panicked eyes, the feeble attempt at using his powers and the nervous sweat that started to bead up on his skin. And within an instant the human was tucking tail like an injured dog.

“I do like a game of cat and mouse!” Sabine cackled and went to begin hunting down the mortal when an all too familiar shriek pierced her ears. Charlotte. She froze in place, turning to look at Dante with fear and rage burning in her eyes.

“I will take care of this my dear. Go tend to your sister”

Without hesitation at his words Sabine took off in the direction of the screams. She knew that Dante would handle Thomas so she would be able to fully focus on whatever, or whoever, was messing with her sister. Dante’s partnership couldn’t have come at a better time, yes she could easily handle Thomas and whoever was attacking her sister, but with Dante on her side things would be handled faster.

Lottie’s screams echoed in her ears as she raced to find her. She hadn’t heard her sister screech like that since that had turned into the creatures they are now. She could only imagine what was causing her to sound like that. Her mind was filled with all sorts of violent images of Lottie further driving Sabine into a psychotic rage. Throughout the years Sabine had gone out of her way to make sure nothing happened to Charlotte, everything she did was to protect her sister, to give them a life of safety and luxury. Whoever was trying to take that security away from Sabine and cause Lottie any kind of pain was sure to pay the price.




Sabine let out a guttural growl as she closed in on her sister's location, the shrill sounds becoming louder. Sabine’s eyes were now a dark, almost black color as she let her rage fully consume her. Her veins pulsated against her skin as her body pumped out adrenaline, her anger growing with every step she took. Turning the corner of the long corridor she could see the silhouette of Magnus and for a fleeting moment she thought he was responsible for Lottie’s pain, but as she reigned in her abilities she could hear a second heartbeat and the thought vanished.

"If Sabine sees what you've done to her sister, it isn't going to be pretty."

In the matter of seconds Sabine charged in, shoving Magnus aside she lunged forward at the man standing opposite of her disheveled sister. Whipping her hand across his face her claws ripped into his flesh like paper, sending him back a few steps.

“I beg to differ, I think my club will look beautiful painted in your blood.” She hissed as she reached out and snatched the man by his neck and slammed his body against the wall behind them.

“Magnus, take my sister and find Sven. He will know what to do.” Sabine instructed the Warlock, but kept her eyes locked on the unknown intruder's face.


 

Edward

Wake.jpgSalt


The scent of brine hangs in the air...

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch. Useless. Useless. Useless. Teeth, grinding. Fingers, flexing. Legs, slowly forwards. Like a procession march. Forwards, onwards, ever so. Marching. Marching. The sting of something interpreted just as brave as an ant beneath the earth. Dutiful, pitiful. It tasted like holly and red columbine. Awful. He hated it. He scratched at the wood of the doorframe as he entered, gripping the part that scraped his scalp as he ducked his head to make his way within this earthly place. Lucky Dave's had the only spirits he cared to ponder of. Pain. In his useless eyes. His temple. His neck. Twitching. Grinding. Flexing. Forwards, onwards, light that he couldn't see casting grim shadows on a grim face. He knew the layout by now. It reeked just enough for him to have mapped it out. Twisted lips beneath a trembling garden of silvery white malformed into words like char and gravel.

"There's noise, Dave."

Affirmation was a fickle thing that only cared if you were right about the right things at the right moments. No one cared otherwise. His usual. Whiskey, with a splash of tar-hued rum, and salt poured in. Everything in the world tasted awful. But this could be stomached. Some things could only be appreciated in the dark. There was no light here. Not for him. Not because he was blind. He just left the light in his skin. Noise. He heard it from outside. How could he not. Wolves bark and howl and snarl. These features were as loud as they were natural. Salt on his tongue, and salt on his heart. That's what they called him, after all.

Ketchup. Catsup? Catch up. A fetid sauce, but information was grey and tasteless and better than nothing at all. A murder. Not him. He wouldn't have been so clean. But he also supposed he wouldn't have been so foolish to paint a bright red circle on the pack. He hated the noise. He didn't want to bring it to close to his gnarled ears. The thought of tearing them off occasionally, briefly, entered the vision within his head. What did the talkative ones call it again? Intrusive thoughts. Maybe everything was an intrusive thought. Everything sure seemed pretty intrusive sometimes. He knew that girl would just say the same thing as always. He only half agreed. Wasn't he supposed to be the dog? And yet these little men with their badges and their laws yapped and chased their tails.

Fuck 'em.

He wondered if he ought to speak up. He wondered if anybody would listen. Probably not. It was noisy. And those little dogs loved to chase the noise. Fine. Let them. Why should wolves hide in their cave when they could tear their heads off? Maybe it was too violent. There was such a thing, after all. But Christ, he hated the idea of anyone on a leash. Let all the dogs and cats and bats and pigs out of their cages. At some point things will get sorted out. That's just nature. Just keep the babes in their kennel, perhaps. Old men didn't have a future. Someone else ought to have them.

Speaking of, the babes were wild tonight inside of Dave's. Looks at them bark and bite and scratch and snarl. Was he like that at some point? He couldn't recall if there were others he played with. Maybe he was just too old when he caught his claws. He washed his teeth with the salt and alcohol. He didn't have anything to say. Fingers like tree-roots sifted through their beard, and in thought, Edward could only wonder. If a common murder makes the wolves hole up, maybe that was the point? Those with reason to fear were of little threat. Now who should he visit, and show how little he was to? Ah, maybe that was hubris. No. Maybe it was better to go fishing. Set some bait. Cast it into the waters. Wait for a bite. Snatch it up.

Bats tasted awful.

DAtdx10W0AEbhwV.jpg


 
[tainn, elu] - [@Seppoku]

Her skin became the texture of a naked goose- the small bumps of her skin lifted each hair on edge but Dani was correct. A flurry of disaffection rippled through her as the volume of discontent that rippled through the werewolves in the room was tasteless. The two women created an atmosphere of conflict, a pressure that affected everyone. With a deep breath, for control, Elu continued her reasoning. Her voice was laced with strict asserting of the utmost importance.
"A lot can happen in an hour." The tone of her mumbling irked the Alpha’s nerves.

“I do have concerns that if we dare to open an investigation, we could risk potentially becoming suspects. If we aren’t discreet then we risk the lives of everyone in this room plus more. Especially with the Deo Volente involved.” Elu averted her gaze from Dani to around the room, filled with disgruntled werewolves who whimpered amongst themselves. Everybody looked physically drained, the night was strenuous enough as it was without bickering.

The most sensible action to take was to declare this uneventful meeting as complete. She could not dare risk any inhouse aggression plus her patience had already run so sorely dry from Kitchi’s earlier frets. As if she snapped her fingers, most of the wolves dissipated after she called the commune complete with some clientele of Dave’s agreeing to stay and prepare for dawn.

Elu managed to push her way out the back entrance without questions from the prying. She would return to discuss the end of the meeting but she craved time alone.

The bleary eyed woman clawed at either side of her face, her fingers tightly pinching the skin of her cheeks. It was an unavailing attempt to distract from such stress and the pain upset her but it was allowing for something more physical to be focused on. The boiling rage returned and it hurt. It was as if Elu’s heart was about to burst out of her chest, pounded against the cavity of her skin. If she didn’t get some relief now then it could possibly be the end of it all. Fuck.
 
Last edited:

Thaumus

orpheus3.jpgThe Blackcoat


All the pieces fall into place...

A black cat. It does not make a sound, and it blends with the shadows. A servant. A spy. A tool. A friend. Just as important as a hand. Just as useful as an eye. And outside of club Lazarus, it prowled about as a watchful sentry. So what was this pitiable creature left for the care of the Ferryman? Two coins were too expensive. Better to salvage what one could, instead. Blank white eyes, almost like irredecent pearls, and all was clear to see. Yes, this one could be saved. What a gracious martyr, and yet the proverbial Icarus of his time. Deidalus was a master craftsman, a creator of many a wondrous tool. In this labarynth of a city, he was one to know exactly where the minotaur lay. And so did the tool of Deidalus. A homonculus. A golem. Truth carved into its brow in the shape of the revered moon. From the earth it came, just as this man before it, nearly taken by the Ferryman. But Deidalus had other machinations in mind.

A black cat. It licked at the wounds, its tongue warm and rough. That was all it could do for the time being, staving off the grip of death. Soon enough came its brother, the coyote. Threefold in number. One might forget how such creatures lingered in the concrete jungle, defiant of the rule of man, scavengers that they were. Thomas would have to endure being dragged on the pavement as the hounds took him. Well, as much as a man could in a state of questionable consciousness. One might wonder... did it look like they planned on devouring him? Perhaps if another did see, that was for the best. Eyes like moons. Their will was one. One mind. One master. and so the cat scaled the wall. Somewhere, a spider crawled into the vents.

This building wasn't overly far. Dilapidated, in disrepair. Not exactly abandoned, though. It didn't matter. Everyone here was sick. A row of trembling hands, and diseased minds. A barrel full of char just outside. Shopping carts scattered haphazardly like the shells of sunflower seeds. This was no place for those with red and blue to their name. This was a place for a whisper in the wind, a place for rusted hearts. When the coyotes dragged in their salvage, all was quiet. Just how it should be. The door was already opened. It smelled like old cement inside. It was not a pleasant place for dreams, but it would suffice for rest. The shadows would not take overlong.

Two eyes, monochromatic like the taste of ash, had come. In the quiet, there was the sacrifice of fabric, and the threading of a needle. It was good that the lamb held on as long as he did. The stranger was no medicine man, but he could do enough. He wondered what dreams were left to the pile littering this place. One also wondered if perhaps it was best to let him dream forever. Was it advantageous to let him dirft upon the river Styx? No. Quite the opposite, really. A spider weaved its web, but killing was not its only purpose. He had to use his little ones, admittedly somewhat creatively, to put such dangerous tools in a box stained by dry water. The stranger wondered if the lamb would bleat when it came back from the land of dreams. No, they most definitely would. Would it be loud? Perhaps bind their mouth? No. Trust was important. The shadow would have to rely on the lamb solving the puzzle themself.

What a mess. Sometimes he wondered if his kind ever knew what was best for them. He was certain that if he had left the lamb to pass, the rest of his kind would respond tenfold. That would be noisy, and he didn't appreciate noise. He liked it nice and quiet. While he waited, he looked over the files he had brought with him. He wondered if he would see a familiar face. Ah. Thomas? What a funny name. Thomas Barrett. Not as much information as he'd like on this piece of paper, but at least he some a thing or two to work with. And this man, this... Thomas... the stranger wondered if the pieces would fit cleanly, or if they'd have to be forced. It wouldn't be his decision, though.

A black cat lurked beneath the night sky.

themoon.jpg


 
"If we aren’t discreet then we risk the lives of everyone in this room plus more. Especially with the Deo Volente involved.”

'The lives of everyone in this room are already at risk, there is a murderer loose in Paradise City,' At least, that's what she wanted to say. To throw the harsh truth in Elu's face and force her to confront reality. Dani didn't know what had happened to the Alpha prior to her arrival, but it was obvious the woman was still dealing with it, in her own way. What a pity it was that her way seemed to be holding the pack back. Maybe the woman just needed a rough night with a handsome mate to blow off some steam; Dani would have suggested it, if she hadn't started pushing her luck earlier. Instead, she just watched in silence, as Elu made her way out the backdoor.

Dani coerced the barkeeper to serve her another round and waited around the bar for a bit longer, until only the few that Elu had asked to stay remained. Then she ordered each of them another round, "So, she's got you lot on shit detail. Tough luck. To think, if we knew who done it, you could all go home." A mischievous smile painted itself across her face as she teased the few people still in the bar.

"Anyone down for a drinking game? Not like we've got anything better to do." Her eyes surveyed the handful of people still hanging around, landing on the face of the white-knuckled girl from earlier. Her low rank in the pack must have gotten her stuck here, but neither of the boys she was with were around. Dani wondered if she could use that information somehow, "I'm thinking Liar's dice. You've got an untrustworthy face, what do you say?"

In a matter of moments Dani had three others gathered around a table, each of them with some sort of alcoholic beverage sitting next to their upturned cup of dice. Her oldest friend, the skeleton from the IPAs she drank, smiled at her. His toothy grin felt like home, making it easy to forget the sun that would soon be rising outside and what the day had in store for her.

With any luck, she'd get inebriated enough to blend in with the local migrant population. Keeping her ear to the street was probably the best bet for finding whoever was last with their Jane Doe. The tramps, hobos, and bums of Paradise City knew more of her secrets than even its most well-informed Leech, and she had no qualms about leveraging that to her advantage.
thinking thinking
 
🧪SILVER CEAROS🧪
LOCATION: LEAVING SILVER’S SHOPS AND ODDITIES (CLOSING UP SHOP TO PREPARE MORE STOCK)
INTERACTION: OPEN
The first thing that Silvermist had done was move the rarer and more risky items into a secret compartment behind one of the shelves within the front section of her shop, to prevent intruders from getting to it. She then proceeded to move the items on shelves into boxes and store merchandise away. She was the only worker at Silver's shops and Oddities, she had no one to look after her shop. So to prevent any intruder she set up barricades around the doors and windows that held small buds of wolfsbane. She also added small sharp wooden stakes to those. The barricades for her holy water on its own were scarce, so she only had the usual wooden stake--she also had little to no defense against the elements. 'I'll call mom while I am out to see if she or dad could check in on the shop every once in a while’ this was routine for her to do basically all they did was look at it make sure there was no breaking and entering and no elemental damage than let her know through message and leave, if anything happened she'd be the one to fix it. So she left the door after putting up the final barricade and changed the open sign to closed, adding a note to it saying



'The owner will be out for the next eight days for supply runs and medicine. Any inquires can be left in the bucket for her return' she left a bucket outside the door for that purpose.



At least it sounded like she wasn't alone. She could figure. And with that she left her shop looking at her list.



SILVERMIST'S LIST OF NEEDED HERBS:

Echinaceas

Chamomile

Gingko Biloba

Feverfew

Sage

Rosemary

Goldenseal

Elderberries​
 
Last edited:

Edward

Wake.jpgSalt


He grinds his teeth, yet they remain sharp...

A prayer for drowning fish. What a sordid affair. Chained and kenneled. By who? What messiah was this that preached like Pontius Pilate to the crumbling marble across the sea. Was God too good to straighten things out? Bah. Who cared? Twitch. Twitch. Grind. Grind. Scratch. Scratch. He downed his salty spirit with greed and impatience, stains of malt brown tearing down from his chapped lips. The glass went down onto the bar table like a gavel. Edward sneered at nothing in particular, and as that voice, horrid and scraping as it was, churned like the tide, grumbling loudly to no one in particular. They would all have to hear it, this burning personal truth and the cinder they offered in return.

"Funny how the wolves are gonna howl and bark at each other," Came a ragged growl through jagged teeth and scraped tongue. "But when Mr. Man comes in flashin' his badge we all tuck tail. Thought we were all supposed to be tough. Fuckers come in playin' white-hat, pistol whippin' every animal who don't stay tamed, and the big bad wolf gets his ears clipped and his tail docked. That sit right with y'all? Don't sit right with me."

Edward turned towards the people. He didn't see their faces. He didn't need to. His eyes were useless in every sense of the word. That earthy stench, like a bunch of dull rocks long left buried under a grave. No ore left to mine. He could hear their clothes and their heartbeats, just a bunch of trash left in the wind to get picked up. But who was picking the trash up in the first place? Elu Tainn? Guess that makes those Deo Volente scum the burning bin. And everything looked burnable to a dumb monkey. But maybe this wasn't an argument worth having. Would these pups even listen? Unlikeable as he knew he was, ugly as sin, and a sinner he was. Proud, to boot. He could still smell it. That petrichor from earlier. A storm was afoot, and the ship was worse for wear. Who'd grab the nails and hammer with him?

He sneered even more. Not to intimidate others. Not as a display, nor as a message. Edward Wake was a man of passion, if nothing else, and oh how he hated it all. He wanted to burn it all down and pluck the bones from the ashes to burn again. But he wasn't dumb. He knew full well that his kinds was a social animal, relying on others, others relying on him. A give and take relationship that too many often forgot about. He sharp nails, wild, dirty, untrimmed, dug into his own palm until blood like tar dripped out as miniscule beads. Maybe he was rotten to the core after all. He didn't care. But oh, how he'd howl for them all.

Freedom had the sweetest taste.

DAtdx10W0AEbhwV.jpg


 
Last edited:

el-tom.png
Thomas Barrett

Interactions: RedLeftHand36 RedLeftHand36 | Mentions: N/A | Location: ??? | Mood: bad​



It was quiet.

Unusual for a man such as him, as all his thoughts never allowed the mind to be silent, and through weary years of mourning the dead, a steady marching percussion followed his steps. But it was comforting, the noise, as it drowned out all sensibilities. Allowed him to fixate on one goal: retaliation for being wronged. The quiet, in turn, was a different type of drowning. Murky water befuddled his thinking. Like how the brain makes up creatures in the dark, Tom’s quiet mind dreamt up its own kind of weirdness.

Mainly: cats. He dreamt of cats. Dark-furred creatures whose eyes glowed in streetlamps. While Tom wasn’t necessarily fond of them (not from personally disliking them but instead a lack of understanding of their particularities), he was still curious to see the creature. As it moved away from the streetlight, its eyes continued to glow like two little moons, and it scampered off into the darkness. Thomas felt compelled to follow.

It threaded and weaved through the alley, its slender tail perking upwards as it stopped and waited for Tom to catch up in intervals. An invitation. But for what? When Tom peered over his shoulder, he saw six eyes, trailing from a distance but ushering him forward. Three eager onlookers, with faces shrunken from starvation, and he was the prey.

Feeling troubled, he looked forward and his face blanched; the cat was gone, his last beacon of comfort. In its place was a table, cement floors, and cement walls. He was boxed in a room, a bird clipped of its wings yet eager to step up on the master’s fingers. The hounds now surrounded him, with six hungry eyes. Fangs sunk into his entire body. He was being torn into fragments, and all he could do was send his voice to the heavens. Somewhere, just a small distance away, a cat groomed its fur.

For but a brief moment, bleary eyes returned from their fever-induced dreams. Back to the land of reality, or perhaps the real nightmare. His throat was sore and scratchy, but a small, wretched cry escaped regardless. He couldn’t remember what had happened and was too delirious to understand where he was. Searing pain like hot irons pressed into his shoulder. Somehow he resisted the urge to throw up. Poked and prodded. Tied and cut. Molded and played with. All between states of consciousness. A man beckoned but demanded a price Tom could not pay.

There was a second time he stirred awake when all pain seemed to cease, but he wasn’t certain if what he saw was real or just another dream. Blue eyes met white in a sea of black. Pitch-black hair, ghostly eyes devoid of warmth, and clothes like shadows. He thought of the cat; they must be one and the same. He tried reaching out, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. Like they weren’t even there.

Finally, dreams took him for one final time, defiant in letting go of their hold. Back into the quiet, into the murky water. As he drifted away, the white irises stared through him. Cold, calculating, and infiltrating his mind. Somewhere close to comforting. His vision faded, and he was once again submerged in quiet.

Character Reference






 

the.png
A mysterious letter has appeared within the inboxes of the many supernatural variety of Saint Haddock, including citizens of esteemed importance.


𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕬𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖊,
𝖂𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖑 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓 𝕭𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖉 𝖆𝖙 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖞'𝖘 𝕭𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒, 𝕾𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝕳𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖂𝖊𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖉𝖆𝖞, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖝𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖆𝖞.
𝕮𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖆𝖙 𝟔:𝟑𝟎𝖕𝖒.
𝖂𝖊 𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖐. 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖞𝖊𝖆𝖗'𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖊. ​
- 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶​
​
​

OOC Information
While we are familiar with the phases of the moon and it's many abilities to affect those around the world, the Blood Moon is most notable in the world of the occult. To celebrate it's gift, a mysterious ball has been known orchestrated by an anonymous host. This event has been known among the supernatural for centuries, it appears annually in different parts of the world. This year, it has graced itself upon Saint Haddock. It's been theorized that due to the sudden increase in night walkers that it quickly became a suitable area to hold the ball. Not only are the citizens of this city invited, but many elites of other regions are expected to attend. According to the nameless host, they wish to host a night of peace with the premise of the ball is to bring together the many factions of the occult to set aside any feuds and simply enjoy the comforts of song, dance and cocktails. Even notable members of the Deo Volente have received invitations to the event, even their elites have commanded they attend for the sake of gathering more information.

Though the ball itself may be based on a joyous celebration, it also offers many drawbacks for the supernatural throughout the entirety of the Blood Moon. It's highest peak will be 11pm, enhancing all it's effects to maximum capacity.

۰ Vampires
These nightwalkers' sclera become stained with deep red hues, signaling their overwhelming insatiable blood lust. While their strength and unique abilities become increased, they're faced with extreme fatigue once the blood moon has passed.

۰ Witches & Warlocks
Having been one with nature and all her gracious creations, this occult will become more entuned with their specified element. But they should be weary of asking too much of Mother Nature for their could face her consequences in the form of spells backfiring, creating averted expectations.

۰ Werewolves
These beasts will be forced to shift into their lycanthrope forms, despite whatever scenario they've found themselves in, causing them to feel a primal frenzy. Though their strength is amplified much like their vampire counterparts, they too will feel the effects of exhaustion after the passing of the blood moon.​
 
Last edited:
[no light, no light in those bright blue eyes] - [augustine, cecilia] - [mentions Anaxileah Anaxileah ]
final.png

Human life was all but a dandelion’s final flourish of magnificence, an intricate evolutionary, albeit overlooked, phenomenon. The flower head’s sphere of seeds, each topped with angel hair to help it glide in the breeze, sowing itself naturally across meadows and forests. The dandelion, however, is an unwanted weed. Sprouting in the most unfeasible, impossible places; ruining architecture, burying into walls and invading rose gardens with its innocent yellow flower and dagger leaves. A simple, common and formidable foe, important for the ecosystem yet an invader to man’s unnatural one. Perhaps, that was why it was Cecilia’s favourite plant. Or was it simply because it was yellow?
*​
It was a restless time, once again. To be ceaselessly awake because the whispers from the wind carried such frightened distress was torment personified. This insomnia twisted her reality resulting in these horrific visions that perturbed the satisfaction of sleep. Attempts to resolve into rest were futile. Cecilia relished in such scornful agony, though. Tortured pasts tell riveting tales.

“Pauline. Get me a cup of tea, now.” a croak materialised out of thin air in the background . Grandad has onset Alziehmer’s so it was accidental and corrected with an uncomfortable argument– he was getting picked up in the later morning. There was only one nursing home that would travel from the mainland to Saint Haddocks to retrieve him, it had awful reviews but so what. She did look similar to her mother, however she was not. Her mother was a weak woman. Vulnerable, frightened and nervous... With the scent of second-hand smoke that wafted across the open plan apartment she could not help but reminisce. The flavour of the smoke repulsed her to the point of physical biliousness. Her father used to smoke such similar tobacco. The old man could work a pipe yet had little conscious to get off his ass and make a tea for himself.
Her Father’s death was a pivotal freedom in their life and the elderly man could not help but remind them of the old bastard. The man was a violent being: invulnerable to love, bitter, harsh and cruel about life. And to be struck down by cancer proved that even the most monstrous creatures do not live forever. Good riddance but now she wished the same fate for her grandsire. The old man was also sour, yet not out of heart. Human disease was akin to the dandelion, always so magnificent in its finality.
Instead of retrieving his "cup of tea", she retreated to the bathroom- locking the hatch for an escape to privacy. It was a rather lacklustre set up, quite sublime and somewhat embarrassingly untidy. Seemingly the mirror was also a hoarder of oily fingerprints and other questionable grease marks. The distorted reflection revealed that her wide-eyed features were sagged a little, seemingly in pain with historic anxiety that had caused her brow to be slightly more lowered than usual into a semi-permanent frown and her skin accented in shades of yellow and green. She looked plain yet Cecilia’s casual inconspicuousness is such luxury that cannot be taken for granted. She drew out a mobile with cold hands, the device was quite obviously a burner. The standard brick phone type, another uninspiring feature she held.

She did have her miniature phone on silent, however to much disdain as there were such ominous message from her fellow Coven member, Cordelia Hawthorne.
Cici, r u awake? The bold letters demanded, it was not really a question moreso a ‘you are’, she replied with a more flippant of course.
​
​
 
She took the compliment like a fish takes to water, surprising absolutely no one. He presumed she received them by the dozen on the daily, from a legion of dim-witted suitors, all eager for a morsel of her affection. He didn't have the energy to waste on being frustrated at this, and besides, anger would ruin his act. So he instead simply offered a small smile at the recognition of the flattery, not daring to open his mouth, lest some tide of vitriol betray his intentions.


She still had not lunged. Had this game of charades actually worked? It would be a little surprising if it had, in all honesty. Of all the weapons in Jac's arsenal, manipulation and social engineering had never been prominent. Desperate times had called for desperate measures, yes, but at this point to even begin to consider the possibilities of success was frankly insulting. Another string of mental curses were levied at Thomas and his bone-headed plan. He hoped that the third member of their merry procession was not as bone-headed, otherwise he was most likely done for.

He spotted her confusion and had to expend the last of his willpower to stop himself from wincing. This was it, the moment of truth. If she saw through him right now and lunged, he doubted he'd be fast enough to stop her with the tools at his disposal. But the moment passed, and he still was alive. Her beautiful eyes bored into his as she stepped forward, his concentration faltering anew. He flinched ever so slightly at the touch, but held his ground, the feeling of her body against his causing a cacophony of new stimuli to assault his already faltering focus. A part of him wondered if maybe it was all some kind of vampiric ability that he had not encountered before.

The kiss was the coup de grace to even these rudimentary complex thoughts, any kind of plan shattered and put to flight. He attempted to reciprocate, clumsily, betraying nervousness and inexperience as his hands pulled her closer still. The bite was painful, yes, but it all felt so damn good it didn't matter anymore. He gave a blissful sigh as he melted into Lottie's grip, making no effort to attack...

Such was his stupor that when she pulled away, a loud, pathetic whine escaped him, an ardent declaration of disappointment that the feeling was so short-lived, the man apparently unaware that every additional moment would've cost him even more of his vitality. A stupid smile was plastered onto his features, even as precious seconds ticked away, and no advancement was made towards his plan whatsoever.

Inadvertently, it was Magnus that saved the whole situation. His sudden appearance in the room quickly snapped Jacques back to reality, his words rapidly setting his mind to work again, albeit still in a daze from the blood loss. Just in time, it seemed, because Lottie's scream had clearly attracted someone, as evidenced by the sound of someone barreling towards their current position. Jacques quickly jammed the door, hoping to buy some time for himself with this ploy, only for the assailant, who turned out to be none other than Sabine, to ram through unimpeded. Oh. A particularly strong vampire at that.


She tore into him before he could well and truly react. The pain was bad, aggravated as she lifted him up. Her words were worse. The fucking arrogance! And Tom, of course, was nowhere to be found. Motherfucker couldn't even be a distraction properly. Oh, he'd have some choice words for the bastard if ever they happened to meet again!

Time seemed to slow down around him as his mind, desperately trying to adjust to all the new factors, began heavily straining under the weight. Pain, blood loss, toxemia, rage, and other, less understood feelings were all coming together in a truly cataclysmic display of madness. Interfaced as he still was with the electronics, he heard the radio again. This time, with greater clarity, with greater intensity. The coils wrapped around his head, their beautiful and at the same time dissonant wailing engulfing him.

"No. It will be your blood that spills here. So says fucking I!"

That voice was not human. It sounded at once metallic and digitized, but also corrupted, staggering and looping back onto itself.

A shot rang out, the 14.5mm projectile easily penetrating the walls of the club, nailing Sabine in the dome with such force as to send her off balance. Freed of the vice-like grip, Jacques finally unleashed his power with a gleeful laugh. Metal stools, coins, cutlery and whiskey cubes formed a veritable wind of agony, buffeting Sabine and any others who tried to intervene. The guards all collapsed or staggered, their radios suddenly screeching feedback loop with unnatural volume and intensity, eardrums shattering and bleeding.

A length of sturdy, metal wire uncoiled itself from it's concealed pouch on his jacket, winding around Lottie's form, restraining her arms behind her back and looping around her neck, digging deep. Effortlessly maneuvering the hellscape of his own creation, Jacques yanked her back, interposing her between himself and any would-be rescuers, a cross pressed to the back of her head preventing any regeneration.

The man at this point seemed to have undergone some horrible, catastrophic warping. His eyes seemed mechanical, composed of tiny electrodes and clockwork. Long wiring protruded from his throat in a sickening fashion, pulsating with an unknown energy. His arms appeared to move of their own accord, whirring and rearranging themselves as polymer plates tried to find purchase on the still-human musculature below. All of it was permeated by an aura of sheer...wrongness, a palpable sense of unease and disgust that even the staunchest couldn't ignore.


Jacques pulled Lottie back, towards the dance floor, slowly making his way to the exit, as the maelstrom followed around him. He screamed, in order to be heard over the noise, the voice still this horribly grating sound.
"Pathetic fucking wretches! Miserable simpletons, harbingers of stupidity! You think yourselves invincible, untouchable, lords of the night? Hah! This is my fucking city! I own it! Every inch, every car, every road, they all obey me! ME! So hear the commandments of your lord, and hear them well, for your lives depend on it!"

A small pause. Another step.

"This one will follow me. If any of you try to assault me, she dies! Followed shortly by them! DO NOT FUCKING TEST ME!"

A few more steps. He was almost to the door now.

"I will deposit her outside, close-by. You will count to one thousand before coming to retrieve her. If you do not do this, she dies! Followed shortly....by you! DO NOT FUCKING TEST ME!"

Without turning to look at it, he kicked the door open, continuing to back away, still dragging her. About thirty paces away, he finally stopped, unceremoniously dropped her to the ground, and, with the whirlwind covering his exact position from even the most keen-eyed, disappeared into the night.

After such exertion, the night would be a wholly painful one. But he was alive. That was as much as he could've hoped for.

Loxely Loxely Loomis Loomis SidTheSkid SidTheSkid
 

Thaumus

orpheus3.jpgThe Blackcoat
[Interaction with zlexis zlexis ]


The watch is broken...

The night was late. How long has it been? Not nearly as long as it felt. Three kinds were long lost, and one would wonder: Would they find themselves in this stranger's dreams? Perhaps only the unconscious could even learn of their past existence. Never in the way of the man in the black coat, though. A rabbit, a deer, and above all, a goat. A fleeting memory; Lost and alone, dying. A place of stone, consumed by green. Vampirism was infectious, arguably a disease. Once upon a time, there was a goat, and it was king over the woodland beasts. The warlocks have surely forgotten by now, haven’t they? Dreams wouldn’t mean much anymore. One wondered if they ever knew at all. A foolish thought. Of course they didn’t. Not unless they were lost and forgotten.

That made this one all the more enticing.

A dog. One of the coyotes. A momentary third member of the party. They would be leaving soon. The old man had a forlorn look in his eyes, a consequence of ever-present worrying. For such a man, it was ironic that he would live his life in a constant state of stress. Grey and mottled and of no notable stature, he would be hard to pick out were he not so dreadfully alone. He had followed the dog, for he knew well what it beckoned of. A quiet sigh, seemingly nothing new yet still nerve-racking. Faded blue eyes looked to the unconscious man before a timid murmur escaped his throat.

“I’m going to remain optimistic and assume this isn’t your work” he inquired in a manner of a certain, forced humility. Not a fearful tone one might associate with a mortal speaking to a demon, but of uncertainty in the world at large, and all the surprises it had to offer. He stepped further in, entering the slate-grey room with caution. A carefulness that had been learned long ago. The mere mortal knelt and studied the unconscious mage, studying him in a manner that would have betrayed his former profession, had the only person unawares in the first place not been in the midst of pain-induced slumber.

“You’ve gotten most of it patched up,” he spoke again. “Mostly I’m worried about sepsis and the area around the larynx. Luckily his hyoid bone didn’t shatter and cause any damage. Thyroid cartilage might be ruptured, though. Don’t let him sit up, at least not fast. If he’s not coughing up blood by the time he’s woken up, he should be fine. As for the sepsis…”

The man fumbled around in his coat for a brief moment, before pulling out two instruments: A pocket knife and a lighter. He held the latter to the blade of the former after he took several tries to ignite it, the sound of the spark wheel grating against the silence that overtook the rest of the room, and the resulting flame blinding within the darkness. The blackcoat’s displeasure was brief. This was not needless. The blade never got red-hot, but it discoloured from the heat, and when it was, the man pressed the blade against the wounds of the patient. Surely there would be pain.

The weary old man finished up his job soon enough.A notification to chill the throat. Keep down the swelling. What could be done was done. Could be cleaner. Could be rougher. But to keep quiet was its own task at hand. Whether it was a winning hand or a bluff, silence would win the game. A goodbye was stated. The blackcoat only said four words. A ghostly voice, it almost seemed as if it didn’t even come from the actual figure, wreathed in shadows, but permeated the air all around them. Four words, foreboding in nature, but ultimately the four words that the old man had become plenty familiar with at this point.

“Keep an eye out.”

themoon.jpg


 
Last edited:
Macvain.png
[Location: Saint Haddock - East Side, Outside Club Lazarus ]
[Currently: Aiding Charlotte. ]
[Mood: Uncertain. ]

The escalating sound of hurried footsteps reached the attentive ears of both Magnus and Jacques, foretelling the imminent arrival of danger that was soon to be upon them. Whomever he was speaking to must've noticed this to as they instinctively comprehended this approach as impending peril. Magnus watched as they frantically attempted to seal the entrance to the room, giving the door leading out of the room a firm slam, his actions conveying a futile desperation to stop whatever was coming. But fate would not be swayed, for an accelerated blur of color effortlessly shattered through the flimsy door, fragments of the wood had blown inward towards them in all directions; Magnus defensively brought his arms up to instinctively brace himself for the pieces of would flying at him. But, it seemed as if that would not be necessary as the 'blur' just so happened to be Sabine who emerged through the detonated wreckage and didn't hesitate to shove him out of the way, her once lackadasical expression now writhing with unbridled rage.

As Magnus opened his mouth, intending to soothe Sabine's raging fury; his words got caught in his throat he wouldn't be able to say anything prior to her, slashing her sharpened nails mercilessly across the man's face, leaving behind traces of crimson in the lacerations she made, the blood mingling within and dripping from each of the etched marks. The swiftness with which she followed this assault by seizing the assailant's neck was nothing short of alarming, clearly fueled by a degree of madness, it made Magnus think that if ever forced to face her in battle, he would need to adapt to her swift, fluid movements but he was hoping that it wouldn't ever come to that. A request to whisk Charlotte away from the contention was made by Sabine, urging him to seek the aid of her entrusted assistant Sven; Magnus was unsure if he should stay and try to intervene between Sabine and Jacques or prioritize the safety of Charlotte, either way there was a likelihood that someone was going to lose their life, he needed to make a choice, and now.

"Forgive me, if the circumstances were different I would've helped. Just, try not to be cruel Sabine? I'll make sure your sister is safe."

Agony gnawed at Magnus's thoughts as he grappled with the excruciating choice. Deep within, he understood that trying to stop Sabine from trying to kill Jacques would make it more likely for more lives to be claimed, moreover, he reminded himself of his primary purpose in this encounter and that was to negotiate with Sabine, to seek out a possible pact that could help benefit Saint Haddock overall, this was for the greater good. As Magnus prepared to make his way over to Charlotte he would stop in his tracks once he beheld the coils that were encircling the stranger's head, The timbre of their voice mutated, warping into an eerie electrical distortion that made him realize that a whole lotta 'snafu' was about to happen, and he was right. A sizable projectile pierced through the building and into the room where they were, striking Sabine's cranium with brutal precision and sending her careening to the floor, just seconds after Inanimate objects began to defy gravity, levitating and whirling thier way within the building's confines, swirling and spiraling in a maelstrom of chaos.

"Perfect, just one mess after another.."

With a heavy-hearted exhale, Magnus leisurely lowered himself down to the ground while the airborne furniture and miscellaneous objects were whizzing past. Believing it not to be in his best interests to take a barstool or a glass mug to his handsomely rugged face; Magnus decided to draw upon his inner wellspring of magic and convoke the help of 'mother nature' to safeguard him. In a mesmerizing display of sorcery, a sizable section of the ground beneath him erupted, parting whatever consisted on the floor and giving birth to a rugged amalgamation of soil, rock, and tufts of grass that all fused together to form a protective dome over his body, easily shielding him from the random items which would practically explode against the impassible earthy veil. Magnus deftly manipulated the earthy shield, fashioning it into a self-serving translucent barrier that only he could peer through, leaving him able to see what was going on without getting harmed.

He was worried that he would harm Charlotte after taking her hostage, threatening to kill her if anyone dared disobeyed his commands, fortunately no one was foolish enough to test the limits of his resolve. As the man's presence receded and he vacated from Club Lazarus, Magnus felt comfortable enough to try and check on Charlotte who was hopefully still alive. His wavering concentration on his protective barrier would've allowed it to crumble, leaving him able to hurry his way outside and come across the wounded vampire who was lying some meters away from the entrance and out into the lot. Her torturuous cries tore Magnus, the unbearable pain was taking its toll on her and it was difficult to watch even if it was happening to someone that wasn't exactly 'good'. With urgency, he drastically came up with a solution to alleviate some of her suffering, one that made him believe he was truly losing it.

"Don't get any bright ideas, if you leap at me with some blood craze then i'm just going to leave you here."

He reached for the nearest rock he could find, feeling the rough surface beneath his fingers. Magnus focusing his magic on the stone, causing it to have a keen, sharpened edge. Magnus hesitated for a moment, steeling himself for what was to come. Then, in a single swift motion, he dragged the rock's pointed edge across his palm, creating a deep cut that oozed a sufficient stream of blood, definitely not enough to give him serious harm though. Magnus awkwardly brought ihis hand above Charlotte's face, allowing for the crimson fluid to drip into her mouth, hoping that she would both appreciate the gesture and perhaps recover even if slightly.

[Interactions Loxely Loxely | Mentions: Athanas Athanas , Loomis Loomis ]
 
50996b64-ec42-11ed-b7b0-0242ac110005_0.png

Riaan Joseph


Location:
wilderness, west of town
Mentions: thinking thinking | RedLeftHand36 RedLeftHand36 | Sepokku Sepokku
Mood: eager​


Jerky: salty, dry, yet effective. Sharp canines tore into the trimmed meat with ferocity, chewed twice, and gulped. From out in the wilderness a couple of hours west of the city, the Hunter ate unabashedly alone on the hood of his red pick-up. There wasn’t a sorry soul for miles. While the Hunter preferred this—conversating was awful and he’d rather avoid the hassle—there was a sense of loneliness after many moons passed without company. Through bites of jerky, he longed for those late Summer nights at Lucky Daves. Drunken hounds sharing camaraderie and spouting shitty jokes. Too shy for crowds, he’d hang back by the pool table with Elu, whiskey in hand. And though they couldn’t find time to play often, he’d wipe the floor of his competition. Elu got a funny face when she lost. The Hunter crumpled the plastic wrapper and tossed it into a bag. Gone for too long. Even that salty old coot would be a welcomed sight.

A curtain of gold. The sun now sat low between the trees, illuminating the lonesome man and his dingy red truck. He wore neutral clothing, a blend of greens and browns. Long, matted hair flowed behind him as he hopped off the car and landed into the mud with a grunt. The Hunter stumbled forward, shed his clothes, and became.

Human and animal and blurred lines. A bushy beard was fur. Callused hands were padded tips and elongated claws. Soft, brown eyes were two louring ambers. As he morphed, so did his thoughts. One beast, one goal: scout, hunt, feed. Sensations intensified and the Wolf was off.

He scoured the forest, ears attuned to minute sounds and distinct smells. Finally, with an embarrassing flourish of excitement, the Wolf found his jackpot. Fresh tracks. Probably deer, based on the narrow cuts in the displaced mud. He pawed one of the smaller tracks, little flakes of mud clumping away, and concluded they were fresh.

Crouching low, he stuck his face to the ground and sniffed.

It was deer, then; four of them, all male. They came this way from the hillside, trotted through the mud, and disappeared into the underbrush. Perhaps, seeking a river. Or their bedding. Either way, the path was acquainted with frequent travelers. Satisfied with his find, the Wolf trotted back to his truck, albeit laboriously. He’d been at it for hours now. Fresh meat would be welcomed, but alas, jerky would have to suffice.

The Hunter now beckoned back into his body, pulled up his trousers, and threw over his shirt. He went to retrieve his weapon from the back seat, swimming through wrappers and crumpled cans and haphazardly strapped his rifle around his back. With gear acquired, he trekked back to the hunting spot and found a small divet in the earth where he could survey the land from uphill. Now, the waiting game, with patience as its rule. Laying low in soil and moss, he propped his rifle on a log. Time slowed to a standstill, yet the hours passed in anticipation.

Patience. That was all it took—first, a cautious head. Then, a hoove eased out from the underbrush. All its life was spent running, from the moment it was born until the clock stopped ticking. A worthy sacrifice, and honored in death. No part would be wasted. The Hunter aimed and the Wolf smiled.

The shot rang out through the woods. Nearby, a flock of birds scattered to the skies and sang their chorus for the heavens. The Hunter would have leaped and slid hollering down the mountain if his lame leg had allowed it. So, to hobble it was. He reached the clearing and found the body of the buck, still and quiet. No different than it looked in slumber.

The final journey back to his truck, body in toe, was to be the most arduous. Exhaustion was familiar to the Hunter, however, so he powered through. He added the body to the rest of his scores: mostly small game, like rabbits and squirrels unlucky to be caught in his traps. This new addition would be the most valuable. While he couldn’t wait to go home, there was one more stop he had to make.

The truck sputtered to life and carried the Hunter to his safe haven. A cabin, old and abandoned from long ago. Like a hermit crab, he’d found and repurposed the shell to his liking. Here, he’d make his traps, prepare the meat, and bunker down during his hunting excursions. Even his pack was not aware of its existence, but he knew that if the need arose, he’d share its location. Solitude was his goal, but based on the chaotic jumble of his beard, he’d had enough of it for now.

Preparations were in order. Killing the ignition, the Hunter jumped out of his car and got to work. It was methodical at this point, as he’d done it most of his life. He carried the scores into the cabin, placed them neatly on a prepped table, and began gutting and slicing the meat with his serrated knife. Blood coated his hands. Seeped between crevices. He wrapped up as quickly as he'd started, and though he desired a shower, rinsing his hands in the nearby stream would suffice. Tired eyes looked longingly at the sky, the scattering of stars. Though ever present, the moon had no response.

Out here, cell service was dodgy and much to be desired, but he still chanced a message. Two words, intentional and meaningful. That was all he needed, and all he wanted to share. Knowing Elu, their toughened leader, would understand what he felt, he hit send.

Home soon.​
-RJ​





coded by archangel_
 
Last edited:
Lottiename.pngLottie.png
Everything happened in a blur of just a few moments passing. Feeling as if the world moved in waves much faster around her while she remained stagnant and vulnerable. She become a silent witness to the swirling commotion, feeling a mixture of intrigue and a touch of detachment. Lottie's eyes dart from one scene to another, absorbing the flurry of activity. Those within the vicinity are moving in every direction. Sabine emerged, barreling in through their makeshift defenses and mercilessly took Jacques into a tightly gripped hold. Some relief washed over Lottie seeing her sister come to her aid. Though, helplessness lingered like a irritating scratch at the back of her head. The burning ache that engulfed her throat, lips and overall mouth began to subside a bit but her body remained impassive. Curly her spindly digits into fists against the cold concrete floor, her gaze lowered to the noxious mixture of vomit and blood underneath her. It was sickening. Having not had an episode of emesis since her mortal life, she began to feel the fears of mortality again. This only fueled more anger within her but too weak to act upon any primal instinct.

The loud blow of a projectile pierced through the arguing voices, once again, that warping feeling of time escaping her petite palms had mockingly danced about her. Scampering backwards into the wall, she cowered within the embrace of her elongated limbs to protect what she could from the flying debris. A fleeting sense of security formed within her as she felt the heat of Jacques blanket her, only to be subdued into a ruthless clutch. As her arms bent back behind her, a whimper escaped her. Lottie's eyes shot frantically about the room, settling on Sabine who was doubled over on the ground. That little cold heart of hers felt as if it dropped into her stomach. The thoughts of impending catastrophe to the comfortable lives her and Sabine had built was being deconstructed had flashed along her vision.

Instinctively, she kicked and wailed in attempt to break the hold he had over her. But to no avail, she found herself being dragged away from the safety of the club. Jacques commands echoed in her core, this no longer was the feeble little nerd who was only following orders. He had shifted into something more heinous. It didn't take much to burn through the little energy she had left until she was essentially limp in his coils embrace. Those once bright and gleaming eyes grew dull with exhaustion while her head fell back into the curve of Jacque's shoulder. The sounds of radios blaring now drew silent as they entered the night.

Hitting the earth with lack of consideration, she averted a weak glare at Jacques as he disappeared into the shadows. Her jaw clenched tightly with disdain, swearing under her breath that had she opportunity to make right to the error in her choices - she would've slaughtered him like a lamb. But it was all in vain. Bringing her knees to her chest and hugging herself tightly, a feverish shiver engulfed her while she slowly closed her eyes.

The crunching of leaves and twigs instilled fear within her, assuming Jacques had decided to return and perhaps put an end to her miserable suffering. But to her surprise, a familiar rather soothing voice emerged. Those once surrendered eyes shot wide open, unwinding from her fetal position and utilizing the trunk of a nearby tree to raise herself to at least perch on her knees. A frail smile crept along her now colorless lips, "Magnus..." She gasped, yet her voice still rattled and choked from the trauma of the holy water. That plump bottom lip quivered with joy as he offered his palm. Reaching out ever so gently and pulling it closer to her mouth. Cautiously, she licked at the wound for fear of another trick. Thankfully Magnus' offer to aid was genuine, in fact, more than generous as the taste of liquor was prevalent. Lottie's shoulders dropped in solace, while a joyful tear lazily trickled along her pale cheek. With closed eyes, she hungrily leaned into his palm, forming her mouth around the open laceration. Graciously, taking plentiful gulps. Her eyes lifted, now infused with their natural cobalt shine, offering a silent 'thank you'. The wounds riddled within her esophagus began to mend slowly. It surely wasn't enough to restore all the damage that had been done, but at least now she was no longer seething in pain.

mentions: Athanas Athanas | interactions: SidTheSkid SidTheSkid
 

el-tom.png
Thomas Barrett

Interactions: RedLeftHand36 RedLeftHand36 | Mentions: Eldarkon Eldarkon
Location: ??? | Mood: somehow worse​


He floated just under the surface, enveloped in the cold embrace of quiet. Weightlessness. Disorientation. Like a puzzle missing some pieces, and left never to be solved. In a sense, it was comforting not having to think. Wasn’t quite peace. No, it was something almost nice, doused in horror.

Muffled voices. A body shifted. Abruptly, the warlock was brought back into existence. A hand, outstretched, broke through the surface and clasped his shirt, and forced him back into his body with a blood-curdling scream.

The searing instrument was pressed firmly onto his wound. His face had drawn with pain, his body uncontrollably writhing. Billows of smoke filtered through the warlock’s clenched teeth, emanating from aching lungs, and added to the suffocation in the room. Blurred vision could make out an old man with a weary expression, the one performing the procedure. Merely of necessity. Past that, two iridescent eyes stared impassively. The nightmares from his dreams. Their nature inexplicable.

“God, please, stop this,” he cried to none. No deity would listen, and neither would the two onlookers in his cement cage.

Finally, the pain diminished, leaving Tom panting like a dog. Though the process felt stretched over an eternity, the others in the room knew it was only a handful of minutes. Movement like a ritual, the man gathered his instruments into his coat and hurried off. As he made his exit, all of it clicked. Memories flooded back, and the pieces found their place. Lazarus, the vampires, the rooftop, his tragic fall. Each revelation crashed down on the man and reveled in his agony, in his foolishness, and he wished that he had drowned. He attempted to look at his arm. Or, what was left of it. The wound glared red, with a blistered yellow center. Swollen, taut stitches wrapped around the base of his bicep. Hideous, useless thing. He clenched his eyes. No different than him, it seemed. Half-naked, cold, and shivering in an unknown location. He bristled at the thought of his state; if he were to find that vampire again, that Wolfbane, he was going to rip him to shreds.

“Keep an eye out.”​

The intense words echoed in his mind, spoken from the figure distinguishable by his black coat and piercing eyes. With it, there was a pitiable attempt to sit up, but Tom found that he could not manage it, his weak body failing him. Despite his cries before, he now yearned for the older man to return, if only not to leave him completely alone with… this. This man who had brought him here, with his own machinations in mind. There were so many questions. Some he knew the answer to, but denied their truth. He’d entered the Devil’s Bargain but was uncertain of what was gained.

“What—” he sputtered, before devolving into a violent fit of coughs. His throat burned, as if every time he spoke it dragged sandpaper up its walls. He needed water. Said need coursed through his body, but pride prevented him from asking.

Finally, he mustered up the strength, and continued, albeit strenuously. “You… who, what are you? I am… do you know who I am? Why did you… do this?”

Confusion etched across his face, and his eyebrows knitted. Dead men like him do not get dragged from the grave, not without paying a price. Whatever the man wanted, whatever his plan, Tom would not be amenable. Owing a life was a dangerous game, walking that thin line between owed, and owned.

Character Reference

 
Last edited:
dante-wounded-jpg.1085134
Dante's luxurious black suit had taken quite a beating during his fight with Thomas, so he began to rip away the tattered remains as he made his way back to the hole he had created in the roof of the club. The sword that had been deeply embedded in his shoulder emitted a faint but sharp pain, but Dante was no stranger to pain. "That's going to leave a nice scar" He giggled as he flicked the handle. Thomas had been smart to use a holy weapon, as it slowed down vampires' healing factors and left scar tissue. Dante's body was already covered with scars from previous encounters with vampire hunters who had tried to take his life, but they had all failed, just as Thomas had.

Dante's mind was still racing after the battle, relishing every moment of the fight, but he suddenly felt light-headed and his steps began to stagger. Despite winning the fight against Thomas, the rapid healing of his burn injuries had left him drained. The amount of blood supplied by his dismembered arm was not enough to bring him back to his normal state. Dante laughed to himself, acknowledging that he would have to take it easy for the rest of the night. After regaining his composure, he continued walking towards the hole in the roof.

As he reached the edge of the hole, Dante gave another chuckle, realizing that he had caused quite a bit of damage to the club. He had mainly broken through the roof for dramatic effect, but he promised himself that he would send some people to take care of the repairs. He took a step into the opening and gracefully landed on his feet on the empty dance floor. As he scanned the room, he noticed that Sabine, Magus, and Lottie were nowhere to be seen. Closing his eyes, Dante felt strong emotions of sadness, confusion, pain, and unquenchable rage.

Dante dashed down the hallway at incredible speed, knowing that his new partner was in danger. As he reached a room where it looked like a bomb had gone off, he saw a large hole in the wall where a projectile had burst through. Following the angle of entry, he saw Sabine on the floor in a mess. She was alive but in a lot of pain and filled with rage. Dante crouched down and gently lifted her bloody head, resting it on his knee. "My dear, what happened!?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Loomis Loomis zlexis zlexis Loxely Loxely
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 3 (members: 0, guests: 3)

Similar threads

TanteRegenbogen
Fantasy Fresh Off The Boat (Modern Fantasy) [Open]
action dwarves elves
Replies
0
Views
14
TanteRegenbogen
TanteRegenbogen
JoshAfton
Multiple Settings Age of Steam and Steel (IC) (OPEN AND ACCEPTING)
Replies
0
Views
48
JoshAfton
JoshAfton
Bill Nye The Octopi
Fantasy RECKONING: we are accepting
Replies
0
Views
39
Bill Nye The Octopi
Bill Nye The Octopi
Siren77
Multiple Settings The Unraveling
high fantasy
Replies
15
Views
414
locked n loaded
locked n loaded
JSPD2000
Fantasy Blood & Ruin (A Dark Fantasy Roleplay)[IC]
Replies
22
Views
656
PowerElite
PowerElite
Back
Top