Wrought from the Coffin IC

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    Ippy
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    Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Mon Dec 05, 2011 9:11 pm

    With a meager kick I busted the top of my coffin. Soon as the moonlight appeared and showed me the sky I was out of that hole, scrambling up dirt bluffs marked by signs of a shovel. Oh, how I, Lord Aeric von Wadenhyl, wished that man had been my first sight. If I was a vampire, I would have ripped at his throat until it was warm and gushing. It had taken an eternity of thrashing to open this coffin, which the undertaker so kindly nailed shut in what must have been fourteen places. The number was likely, I had counted the rips in the wood as I made them.

    At the top of my burial site, I heaved for air. It was cold, foreign to my body. My lungs burned, wishing to reject it. My throat burned as well, inflamed by the passage of oxygen. But that was all nothing. No, nothing, I thought, as I plopped myself down against my own gravestone.

    What burned most of all, was my vengeance. I’d bury that bitch right here, in this very spot.

    Even so, my curiosity got the best of me. Why had Mercae bothered to bury me? Makes more sense for her to have burned me and thrown the ashes of her crime in a well. I exhaled. How long had I been holding that air? How would I kill her? My hand went to my forehead, it was my custom to rub my baldness when plans were to be made. The smooth feel helped in ways that could not be rationalized.

    The feel was not smooth, but leathery. But I hardly noticed that. Far more demanding of a sensation was my arm. My arm! I could see the bones! The skin was pallid, close to grey. Worms and beetles and maggots tended the visible muscle. What fat there had been was gone. In fact…I regarded myself. All the fat was gone. My body was indistinguishable from a stick, or perhaps a mere barber’s boy. A poor barber. In life, I was the largest man I knew, rightly called the Duke of Dumplings.

    Where had it all gone? I scarcely knew myself. Surely bugs could not eat so much, yet leave all my essentials behind? One thing was certain though, I was the dead come back again. Mayhap the essentials weren’t the same as before. I needed to know. I needed to know what I was, before I could have any hope to bring Mercae down. I picked up my legs, and starting moving. I knew where to start, the perfect place to confirm the shovel man’s ‘vampire.’

    Moving through the graveyard, I pondered three subjects. First, and most important, how long I had been dead. Second, the least important, how that man knew to dig me up, and how it benefited him. And thirdly, the most pressing, had things always been so vivid in the night? My platinum eyes seemed able to discern all manner of details in the graveyard.
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    Elit3Fla5h

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Tue Dec 06, 2011 12:34 am

    OOC: Forgive the long post, future posts will not be this long.

    “Come now, Lieutenant, how long are you going to detain my guests? I don’t have time for these investigations. Moreover, you have no evidence!” The man in the chair says with an annoyed voice.

    “Ok, ok!” Says the armored female guard, also wearing an annoyed face. “Sir, no matter how much you complain, the deceased was one of your dinner party guests. Could you bear with us for just a little longer?” A vein could be seen pulsating in her forehead; one could tell she was trying her best not to run a sword through the man.

    “Are you implying that the murderer could still be here?” Said the man as he rubbed his bandaged leg.

    “That’s right!” I saw with a smile as I walk into the room. “The crime took place in a sealed room that was locked from the inside. The murderer entered through the balcony from an adjacent window, and escaped the same way. The ground below the balcony had no traces, and based on that, this murderer must have been committed by someone here.

    Now a vein could be seen protruding from the man’s head as well. “That is impossible! There must be at least a 10 meter gap from the window to the balcony… how can anyone jump across that?

    “Simple!” I say with a smile still on my face. “If one makes use of the roofs eaves then the distance to the balcony is not more than 2 meters.

    The man sits back and crosses his arms. “Humph! That’s a naïve deduction! Then, how could that person leave? If the gap is 10 meters, and the eaves are only 10 cm wide, how does one safely return? The man must be a cat in order to jump back to them and not fall!”

    I walk up nest to the armored woman and I begin to speak. “Before the murderer left the first room, he fixed an end of the rope there. When leaving the second room, he fixed the other end onto the balcony, and climbed back.

    “In that case, how does the person untie the rope on the balcony?” Asked the blond haired woman as I stopped next to her.

    “That’s simple Lieutenant." I say while looking down. “That end of the rope would have a rod attached to it… and it would hold between the balcony’s posts due to a constant tension in the rope, so with a little bit of slack it can be removed. I look up at her as I finish speaking. “Could you go to the balcony and check? You should find some marks on the spot where the rod was held.”

    She looks ups the stairs but doesn’t move before looking back at me. “But… why would the victim wait in a locked room in the first place?”

    I look forward into the crowd as I answer. “I’m afraid the murderer told him that he had some important information, and instructed him to lock the door from the inside and wait.”

    “That’s enough!” Shouts the man in the chair as he slams his fist down on the arm of his chair. “You’re straying from the point! Who killed my best friend?!”

    I love this part. I think to myself with a snicker. “Only a person who knows the layout of the house very well could have done it… and during that time… could go wherever he wanted, and no one would suspect him.” I close my eyes and pause “He is…” The room goes quiet as they wait, beads of sweat can be seen on the man’s face. I a jut my hand out and point at the old man in the chair. “It’s you old man!”

    The man’s face quickly drains of its previous annoyance and is filled with panic. “W, what kind of joke is this? First of all, my leg still hasn’t…”

    Before the man could finish his sentence I grab a large book from behind me and through it at the man with all my strength, making sure to exaggerate my movements.
    “Aaaa!” The man quickly leaps from his chair to avoid the projectile and lands on his own two feet.


    “Shit!” is all he says as he looks down at his bandaged leg.

    “His leg healed months ago, right Lieutenant?” I say with a sarcastic tone to the armored woman. She simply looks at me with a serious face and then back at the now standing man.

    “Your doctor has already told us everything… Also, we have uncovered everything. About how you and your friend planned to kill and blackmail merchants of the city and how he wanted to back out.”

    The old man grinds his teeth in frustration and clenches his fist. He steals looks at the guards as they begin to approach him. “You will never get me!” He yells and he grabs the chair he was in and tosses it at a guard behind him, knocking him over. The man waste no time in trying to take advantage of the new opening.

    “Why do they always run?” I say with a smile as the armored woman grabs her shield. With a swift movement of her arm she ends the shield flying with deadly precision at the man. It hits him right in the knee with a loud crack and he topples to the ground inches from the window.

    As the guards drag the newly crippled man away he turns his head and looks at me with hate in his eyes just before they take him outside. “You will pay for this! No one crosses us and lives!”

    After the man leaves the woman looks at me with a slightly annoyed expression. “Did we really have to sit through that explanation Sylvester?” She crosses her arms as she speaks to me.

    I turn and give her smile. “Ah come on Kate! If I don’t do it all dramatic like a book than my renown won’t spread!”

    She simply gives a soft smile and shakes her head. “I suppose.” She reaches behind her and pulls out a small bag of gold coins and tosses it to me and begins to walk out. “Don’t forget.” She says right at the exit. “Tomorrow is my only day off and…”

    “Yea, yea you want to see that new play, I remember.” I say cutting her off while counting my coins.

    She looks over her shoulder at me for a bit a lets out a sigh before leaving with a wave of her hand.



    “Arrrgh!” I yell in the dark space as I manage to break through the wood. Dirt quickly floods in through the hole and only serves to aggravate my already confused state. I let out another yell and the barrier on top of me shatters I manage to see the full moon for a split second before dirt rains down on my face and gets in my eyes and mouth. I spit and cough out the cold ground and crawl out of the hole.

    “I’ve certainly have had better days.” I say to myself as I look up at the sky. I begin to rack my head for memories on how I got here. All I can remember is the last case and that man digging me up… that man. I frown as I look up at the full moon. “Vampire huh?” I run my teeth over my K9’s and find that they are longer and pointier than usual. I let out a sigh and stand up, brushing the dirt off of my cloths.

    “A new moon… it was a new moon that night too.” I let out another sigh and rub the back of my head. “Kate’s gonna be so pissed.” I snicker to myself. I lower my hand to my throat and my face darkens. My throat burns… and I feel oh so very thirsty. Am I really a vampire? I mull over everything in my head and think of every alternative to my symptoms and I do come up with a few but… something tells me in my gut what I am. I could be wrong. I think to myself as I look over my “grave”. It’s a shallow grave, only a few feet deep with no headstone.

    “It’s too bad I am never wrong.” I say to myself with a sorrowful face.


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Rock'emSock'emRabbi on Tue Dec 06, 2011 1:36 am

    *NUDGE*
    “Meh…”
    *NUDGE*
    “Dammit I’m trying to sleep..”
    *THUD!*
    “Ok Dammit! I’m Up! Stop Kicking Me!... I… I can’t move…”
    “Welcome to the Night Vampire…”
    “Who’s there?? Why can’t I move?
    *Silence*
    “Where the hell Am I!?”
    My eyesight slowly adjusts and I see a large object directly in from of me.
    “What the hell is that… A Tree? God Dammit… It’s a tree…”
    “Why The Hell Am I Buried Up To My Neck?!?!?”
    I Wriggle and Move to the best of my ability... Sadly I don’t accomplish much… My throat starts to burn…
    “Dammit now I’m thirsty…or maybe I just swallowed too much DAMN DIRT!...”
    I Squirm some more. I hear a sudden noise from the bushes…
    “Whoa!... Who’s there?”
    *A twig snaps*
    “Hey is That you?... but I did everything the note said? Wait… Is this my test? Whered you put my books?”
    *More unseen movement*
    A tiny squirrel pops out of a nearby bush.
    “oh… just... a squirrel…”
    The squirrel glances at me then takes a few steps closer
    “No! bad squirrel! Get!..”
    The squirrel slowly walks closer. I freak out in a desperate attempt to free myself.
    It take another step close while devising it's evil plan.
    “Go Away Dammit!... Fuck you Squirrel!”
    In an instant I free my hands and scare away the evil squirrel. I start to un-bury myself to the best of my ability.
    “wow… I’m dirty… and thirsty…”
    I stand up and stumble a bit before I regain my balance.
    “Well Fuck… They even took my map…”


    Last edited by Rock'emSock'emRabbi on Thu Mar 07, 2013 1:45 pm; edited 1 time in total
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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Tue Dec 06, 2011 10:43 am

    Mirra
    She was bored. Not that she wanted something to happen, but nevertheless, b-o-r-e-d. Her boredom reminded her that she was a child, half the height of the two men besides her. She, and she imagined they as well, was thoroughly enjoying the warm night. It was a pleasant change from Wordenhaul’s standard chill. The dark had settled snuggly in, 11:20 or so if the trio had kept their pace right. They walked right down the middle of the street, beneath two and three storied structures with thatched roofing. Though the middle of the street gave any would-be criminals first sight, it allowed the trio to cover more ground quickly.

    Mirra wasn’t so sure covering ground should be their priority, but it was their orders, and it wasn’t in her to question Captain Vanadorn of the Night’s Watch. He had his patrols walk in pairs, scheduled to cross another’s path at each turn of the hour. The paths changed every half-week, to keep the criminals guessing. The man was serious about his work, and was at no shortage of men. The Night’s Watch accepted old men, beggars, and boys. Anyone searching for coin or glory was welcome, their loyalty insured by threat of losing their post and any future employment on the city’s behalf.

    Mirra thought of the other policing orders. Opposite of the Night’s Watch was the Day’s Watch, captained by Jaquil. She never met the man, but knew he held a higher standard when it came to hiring his men. Both the Night’s Watch and the Day’s Watch wore black, but the two could be distinguished by the quality of equipment. Once again, Jaquil held higher standards, as well he should. The Day’s Watch had more deal with, Mirra’s boredom was the proof of that. There were also the City Sentinels, uniforms of silver, red, and armor. They were the elite, members often of high birth, renown, or significant wealth. Perhaps their contrast was the Armed Guard, composed entirely of gruff men-at-arms. The Armed Guard was just as concerned with Wordenhaul’s defenses as it was with criminal activity.

    The Sentinels only took to the dark streets if they had business, and the Armed Guard stood still, protecting only that which was deemed valuable. Now was the time the Night’s Watch reigned, where Mirra was the most dangerous thing around. Yes, she was part of the trio, the Magnum, so named as she was a magic user and the number of her patrol was one higher than that of any other patrol. Captain Vanadorn always gave them a path circling the inner city, the best position from which to rush wherever the power of the Magnum was required. Mirra was ready, ever so ready to unleash that power.


    Lord Aeric von Wadenhyl
    My hands crept all over the face of this huge boulder before me. It was nicked at its bottom left edge, so I knew it was the one. But curse it all, where was that push plate? I stopped momentarily and prostrated myself. I needed a break. The underbrush seemed to agree, a warm wind blowing through its foliage and greeting me everywhere I could still feel. It would have been nice, if this blasted rock wasn’t so adept at keeping secrets. I bent over again, and put my hands back to work. In a matter of seconds, I found the push plate. “See Aeric? All you had to do was calm down, assess it differently.” I pressed down, and the plate clicked. The rock moved.

    I descended the secret stairs, my feet landing on yet another push plate. The rock returned, and darkness reigned. I could still see, a perk of being raised from the dead apparently. I couldn’t see well, but just enough to make out the stone steps. They were near black as obsidian, but I knew them to be the dim blue of impure cobalt. My hands traced the walls for support, and I descended farther. The secret library was a ways down, as if being buried deep made it more secret.

    Finally, a door. And what do you know, of course it was made of heavy wood and iron. It creaked as I pushed it open. It took all of my weight and all the force my half-chewed body could offer. “Who’s there?” asked an old man’s voice, empty of the familiar Wordenhaul accent. My eyes caught him, good ol’ Godric, wearing naught but a tan sheet. He looked as I remembered him, wrinkly and bald, with onion white skin as spotted as the moon. So, not that much time could have passed.

    Though I had seen him, he had not seen me. I moved closer, so that might change. “Would you believe the name Lord Aeric? I warn you, I’m not as pretty as I once was. Dying does that to a man.” I took one final step, almost a hop, to where I thought Godric would be able to catch sight of me. He gasped, and my heart stood still. My throat roared! My eyes widened, and Godric’s jugular gave but one pulse. That was all it took, one pulse. I was on Godric before I realized I had moved again. I was crazy, a boy in lust again.

    I breathed, my air breaking like the tide on the stretched skin of Godric’s ancient neck. My hands pinned his wrists to wall, and the man whimpered, face turned to the left. He did not resist. My teeth clenched onto where his jugular had pulsed, where I felt, smelt, saw, and heard it. All that was left was to taste it. It would be so good, so good… but my bite was that of a playful kitten’s. I had yet to clench down, yet to rend and tear and feed. Godric—was—a—good—man. My man. I realized he was pleading, begging, protesting that he knew nothing, or he would have told me. I leapt from him, not bothering to hear or consider his words. Whether or not he betrayed me, which was doubtful, I needed him now.

    “Forgive me,” I apologized, breathing as if I had been running for hours. The lust appeared to have weakened, but now I could really feel that accursed burn in my throat. “It’s been some time before I’ve had a meal.” The old man kept a hand where I had almost ended his life. His grey-blue eyes told me he was still adjusting. “What can you tell me, of vampires?”


    Last edited by Ippy on Wed Dec 07, 2011 9:40 pm; edited 2 times in total
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    Elit3Fla5h

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Tue Dec 06, 2011 2:47 pm

    The snapping of twigs could be heard as I made my through the forest towards town, leaving behind the “poor mans” graveyard. It was a place far from town where the corpses of beggars, thieves, and any other person who could not afford a plot in the city were disposed of. I myself was certainly well off and there was no way in hell Kate would have let them burry me there…

    I exit the forest and look down at the city in the distance. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as a warm wind blows over me. “I guess I was murdered.” I say with a matter of fact tone.

    Judging by the full moon it has been at least a month, man how am I going to explain this? My eyes widen a bit in surprise and I let out a snicker as I reach the main road back into town.

    “Look at me; I have bigger things to worry about than what other people think.” I shake the image of Kate out of my head and concentrate on the burning feeling in my throat and the rest of my body. I certainly don’t feel any weaker, but I sure do feel heavier. It takes more effort than usual to move my feet resulting in my slower pace. Aren’t vampires supposed to be stronger…

    “Halt!” I hear a voice say followed by the sound of swords being unsheathed.

    I look up and find that I am right in front of the gates to the city and also two… guards. I see them all too well, the spots on their necks almost callout to me. I can almost hear their heart beat and the sound of their breathing becomes all too apparent to me.

    “Who are you and state your business here in Wordenhaul.” The guard’s stern voice brings me back to reality and I look at him with a blank stare for a bit. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

    “I asked what your name was and your business in the city.” He says with a flat tone.

    “Ah, sorry.” I say. “I am Sylvester Wainright and my business in the city would be well… sleep right now.”

    The guard looks at me with a surprised look. “Stay right there.” He turns and grabs a torch off the wall and shines it near my face. The bright light assaults my eyes causing me to shield them with my hand.

    “It is you!” He says with a surprised voice to match his face. “We all thought you were dead!” The guard smiles and sheaths his sword unlike the other guard.

    “You know this man?” Asks the other guard eyeing me suspiciously.

    “He is the one I was telling you about. You know the one that helped the Lieutenant solve all those murders.” He turns back to me and begins to apologies. “Sorry about that, but it’s really suspicious when a large lone man covered in dirt walks up to the city in the middle of the night.

    I smile and scratch my head at his words. “Well I can’t deny that, it has certainly been a strange night for me… umm, can I go in?”

    “Of course.” He says and then steps out of my way.

    I step through the gate into the city and stop just inside. “This may sound like a strange but… how long have I been gone?” As I finish the sentence I turn around to see the guard’s reaction.

    He looks at me with a questioning face like he almost doesn’t understand the question. “You went missing around this month so…” He rubs his chin in thought. “About a year exactly.”


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Thu Dec 08, 2011 1:04 am

    12:10 AM

    Lord Aeric
    “Vampires?” Godric questions my question, hand still protecting his wrinkly neck. Slowly, he brings his hand down. This secret library under the ground wastes no space. Though we stand just before the door, already both our sides are flanked by shelves carved into the cobalt walls. Each is protected by a glass pane, for the books within are visibly falling apart. They’re ancient tomes, ones Godric likely planned to copy into new parchment. Of course, that was a lot for one man to do. Dane Godric, librarian of secrets, lived alone in this dark place. I had been the one to name him a dane, the man’s knowledge had always been a boon.

    Godric smiled. I smiled back, though he could not see. It had been wise of me to name him a dane, already he was over my attempt on his life. “I see,” he said, even though it was still near-pitch black. Some moonlight was in the room, but it was weak, and I couldn’t tell its source. Godric’s feet begin to shuffle. He clambered over to a cubby hole set in the stone. Reaching in, he retrieved a lantern he surely could not have seen. He sectioned off a small bit of oil, and then lit it with flint and steel. “My, you are one of the undead,” were his words when he saw me in the lantern light. I myself was now able to see as if it were the bright of day. “Come,” Godric beckoned. “This light won’t last long.”

    He began leading me through the twisting halls of the library. It wasn’t a large place, and as we descended another flight of stairs I realized we had already reached our destination. Godric’s lantern flame flickered out, but the room ahead was illuminated in violet light. As we entered, I caught sight of the enchanted torch burning in the middle of the room. The flame was contained within glass. I could hear the faint whistle of wind in a narrow passage, but it did not come from the glass. Spritefire needed no oxygen. “I don’t suppose you could get me two more of those torches, hm? Ah, oh well. Let bygones be bygones,” Godric’s mind wandered.

    “If I find one, I know where to bring it,” I assured him. “It was hard enough to get you that one though.” It had taken quite an amount of coin, as well as a fair amount of maneuvering, to deliver that ever-burning torch to Godric’s secret library. But that was before, other things mattered now. “Why have you brought me down here?” I asked. Godric pointed to a reading desk, tan as the sheet he currently utilized as a robe. It was made of wood, lacked any swirls, and was well sanded. Atop it lay a number of books, closed but not yet returned to their place on the shelves.

    I walked over to the desk, letting my hand fall on the book at its forefront. It was simply entitled ‘Vampires.’ I looked at Godric with incredulous eyes. “Curious?” he asked. He shrugged off the wall he had been leaning on, and came to me. He moved a few more books to the forefront. “Your friend Lord Stratford came in not a month ago, asking the very same. These are the books we found.” I looked back to the books. Lord Stratford? What did he have to do with vampires?

    “Did he tell you what he was looking for?” I investigated.
    “I’m sorry, but he told me nothing. I don’t think he found what he was looking for.”
    I sighed. More mysteries. This is the kind of stuff I hired people for. I no longer had such privileges. "What is the date?" Godric's mention of months had reminded me of that very important concept called time. I was highly rotted, but even then my rot didn't seem natural. I wanted an exact number, the exact difference between my death and Stratford's visit.
    “It is the fifth day of the first month of the Return, 29 years have passed since the last starfall.” I had died in the second month of the View, four seasons ago. I had no idea what that might mean, but perhaps I would be more knowledgeable in the future. I needed information.

    “Well, I’m sure I’ll have much more success than my dear friend. I’m looking for anything.” I sat down, and opened up one of the books.
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    Elit3Fla5h

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Sun Dec 11, 2011 6:34 am

    I stumble through the street, the burning in my throat increasing every step.
    About a year…
    “An entire year huh?’ I give a weak laugh as I walk along the cobble stone path, using the wall for support. “I wonder if my home is still empty…” I continue to talk to myself as an attempt to distract my attention from the homes to no avail. I am all too aware of the houses and the people helplessly sleeping inside. I stop and wipe the sweat off my brow while listening to the sound of me ragged breath. Ever since I left the gate over 20 minutes ago; each step I took deeper in the city made my throat ach and weakened my will. “I don’t think I can do this.”


    “And what would that be?” An arrogant voice from behind says to me.

    “Wha?” I quickly turn around in surprise to find two dirty looking men in nights watch armor looking at me with smug grins. The man’s mouth begins to move but no words can be heard, at least to me. All I can see is the pulsing veins on their necks, my vision closes until all I can see is the man’s head. His face takes an angry look and then appears to yell at me, though all I hear is the sound of my own quickened heartbeat. Then… then it all comes back at once like a ton of bricks; within half a second me sight widens and sound returns just as I bite into the throat of the man who had apparently drawn his club. He lets a short yelp in surprise before I rip my head to the side, tearing a hole in his throat. I spit the skin out of my mouth and look down at the creature trying to cover its new hole with wheezing breaths before sinking my teeth into its jugular. The warm liquid flows into my mouth and I drink it hastily, ignoring the twitching movements from my new found blood bag.

    The other man stands there paralyzed in fear as I devour the life of his friend. He stands there for about 30 seconds before he takes a step backward in his metal boots. The clang of metal on stone makes me jerk my blood covered face up from my meal to the man. I slowly rise and step over my kill to the shaking man who just put his hand on his sword. A single bead of sweat drips from his face and falls to the ground. Its impact acts like a starting signal; I lunge and he draws his sword, I bite into his neck and he falls to the ground with a pitiful yelp.

    I walk briskly away from the corpses as I shed my blood stained shirt. Physically I feel great and the burning that was in my throat is gone, but mentally I feel slightly down at my loss of control and dehumanization of the men I just killed… though they probably deserved judging from their actions and appearance. I let out what would probably be my 10th sigh of the night. “This… is going to be a problem.” It would certainly not be good to lose control and attack somebody innocent… I let out the 11th sigh of the night as I think about Kate and the night I “disappeared.”


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Sun Dec 18, 2011 8:00 am

    It was a warm night with a full moon much like this one. After I had received my money from the completion of that day’s case I decided to treat myself to a little drink at the local tavern near my home. I must have been in there for…
    I make a difficult face from being unable to recall that I ever left the tavern. As I walk I dodge into and out of allies and side streets making sure to avoid the main road and any more of the Nights Watch. I continue on my swerving path while lost in thought trying to remove the fuzz from my memories when a dark figure jumps in front of me from a side alley.


    A knife flashes in the moon light from a figure in front of me.

    I take a quick look over my shoulder to find another figure also standing there. With a frown I look back at the figure in front of me in the dark. His face is young, no more than 17 wearing dirty cloths and what looks to be a frightened face.

    “You got a lot of nerve walking intro this place.” Says the figure behind me with a smug voice.

    I glance back and find a young man that looks a little older than the one in front of me wearing cleaner cloths with a smug expression and stance to match. He closes his eyes as he looks down and opens his mouth. “I am afraid your life ends tonight stranger but even so you should feel proud, for the blood you shed will be the ink that is used to sign the contract of our new brother!”

    I scratch my head and look forward, ignoring the tremendous idiot behind me. “You really don’t want to do this do you?” I ask the boy.

    The boy makes a surprised face and opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the fool behind me.

    “Begging for your life? Come now, die with some dig…”

    His voice and cheesy pre-written lines quickly get on my nerves and I lung backward and plant my elbow in his sternum. The fool falls to the ground gasping for air while clutching his chest. I look down at him rolling in the dirt with a board expression and then back at the boy in front of me. “You shouldn’t associate with people like this; it’s a fast way to get yourself killed.” I look back at the figure at my feet and grab him by the neck and begin to lift. I surprise myself with how easy it is to raise the young man before slamming him against the wall. The boy continues to sit there with a surprised unmoving face, knife still in hand. “That was a hint to leave unless you want to die with him.”

    “Wha?!” Is all he says before he drops the knife and runs away.

    I point my gaze back at the young man who had now caught enough of his breath to begin apologizing and asking to be let go.

    “Begging for your life? Come now, die with some dignity.”


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Mon Dec 19, 2011 12:14 pm

    OOC:: 17 wouldn't be considered a boy in this era

    2:29 AM

    Lord Aeric
    The books were surprisingly consistent. I had only just been rummaging through them, but they all ‘fit’ with another. It’s like the evidence that vampires existed had always been in our face, but never compiled. The books agreed that garlic, sunlight, and priests of the One God were effective countermeasures to vampiric infestations. Some books even suggested that all devotes of monotheistic religions could rebuke vampires, but those passages were always short. Regardless, the One God reigned supreme in Wordenhaul, despite the Thane’s rule of religious tolerance. The books also concluded graveyards were a bad thing, and therefore good for me.

    I leaned back in my thin wooden chair, placing my hands on either side of my head. The chair didn’t creak. Back when I was fat, when I was, living, this chair used to scream at me. I missed it, that creak. Every movement I took was off. Even while reading, my stick arms flipped pages with a degree of uncertainty. My second life thus far had lasted only three hours, yet it was filled to the brim with uncertainty. I needed more information.

    I sat forward again, rearranging the books, looking for one I hadn't yet invaded. I still had a question at the top of my head. So far the books seemed to paint two versions of vampires. One kind was remarkably human, and appeared to be created when bit by another vampire. The other kind, well the other kind could be anything. There was a slimy humanoid that thirsted for blood, and one that couldn’t be pierced by conventional weaponry. There was even one described as half in existence, like a ghost. But there was never mention of how those were created. I could guess, though.

    We were resurrected from the dead, by the dark arts. I knew I was ‘the other kind.’ My body was not the ‘remarkably human’ type, not with its wounds and rot. I came across a blankly covered book I had not bothered with yet. I opened it, and smiled. Stratford had been on to something. The book’s first page gave the title ‘Creatures of the Dark Arts.’ I took a hold of a chunk of its pages, and skipped to the middle.

    My eyes went wide, and moved faster than my brain could follow. Smudge stick, casting stones set in ash and positioned in a mimicry. An unhallowed ground, a profane site beneficial to creatures of the dark arts. I could make one, in a split second I knew immediately that I could make one. I could feel the correct patterns of magic in my veins. Suddenly, I realized I had read an hour’s worth of pages. All in a split-second. The magic came so easily to me. Why? I had dabbled in magic before, but this, this was something else.

    Unhallowed ground… that reminded me. I could read later, there were matters to attend to. I needed safe heavens, if I was to be a murderer of the night. I smirked. Murderer. The fools who had written those books acted like killing to feed was a crime. Didn’t they realize how many died each day in the name of nobility, or for the intangible thing known as a kingdom’s borders? Come to think of it, I would need pawns. Skilled serfs, trusted allies, swords-in-service. Taking down Mercae would be no easy task. I got out of my reading chair, and made for the stairs.
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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Sun Jan 29, 2012 6:33 pm

    OOC: First post back!

    I walk down the dark street and adjust my new cloths with a smile on my face.

    “I have to admit, he had good taste.” I chuckle to myself as I walk. “Heh, taste.”

    I continue on my zigzag path through back ways and over fences, being extra careful not to be seen by any of the watch. Eventually I make my way to the wonderful street where my home is. A wave of relief washes over me as I begin to stroll down the path to my house.

    “I wonder if anything has changed?” I ask myself.

    It was a large street length wise with the width of two normal ones paves with cobble stone. The buildings were only on one side for the other was the inner wall of the city that separated the rich and poor parts of town, this side being the poor one. The large street was known as the market for the poor district. Many of the buildings on this street were shops and during the day the place was usually crowded with people, stalls, and guards trying to enforce the law. Things sold here were cheaper than the “official” market but … let’s say you get what you pay for. Things sold here from foods to trinkets had the reputation of being stolen, illegal, poisonous, or fake. It was never boring in this place.

    I eventually reach my house and my reinforced door with its four locks sticking out of the busted door frame. Fresh dirt can be seen in the entrance way and a piece of wood barely hanging on can be seen swinging on the door frame in the windless night.

    “Never boring.” I say to myself.

    I peer into my home and see two figures fiddling with the lock to my basement about 15 feet away; the rest of my home looks barren. I take a deep breath to gather myself and rush into the room. They easily hear my running footsteps but are not quick enough to react before I punch one in the head and smack it into a wall. The man falls limp and I turn around just in time to see a flash of steel thrust at me. Still off balance from my charge I can only shift my body a few inches causing the blade to rip into my left side. I grit my teeth and clamp my left arm down over his while I deliver a right hook to his face. He makes a muffled grunt and tries to pull his weapon arm free to no avail before I begin to repeatedly beat his head. In this position all he does is attempt to ward off my heavy punches with his thin left arm. Every hit I land makes his resistance grow weaker until the man finally goes limp and falls to the ground near his friend.

    “That hurt.” I say and look down at my gash.

    The wound certainly does not look good but it doesn’t appear to be bleeding as much as it should. I rip off a long piece of one of the men’s shirts and use it like a bandage before turning my full attention back at them.

    “What a pain.”


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Tue Jan 31, 2012 11:43 pm

    Lord Aeric
    As my feet climbed the stairs, my thoughts climbed to nowhere. I needed pawns, information, strongholds, power; but those were things that had fallen into my lap before, when I told Thane those were the tools I required to do his tasks. My hand was on my head again, rubbing the leathery baldness. I stilled my hand; it was discomforting, this leathery difference. Before, when I rose from my grave, I must not have cared for all my vengeance.

    My hand found smoothness on the stair wall. I climbed. Yes, my vengeance. Mercae, the bitch that needed slaughtering. Sure, the Thane had given me some retainers, and a title, but that was it. From those foundations I did the rest. I built House Wadenhyl from scratch, earned the title Duke of Dumplings, however mocking a title it meant to be. I couldn’t very well claim my duchy, but I could do it all over again. I just needed a foundation, that’s it.

    My ascent stopped before the lip of the stairway. Flanked by two sides of blue cobalt, I heard rustling echoing from the entrance floor. It was faint, quick, and above all else, wrong. I could not imagine Godric treating his books in such a hurry as what I was hearing. Whatever guts I had tightened, imploring me backwards. I had no guards, no strength in my arms. I could not discount my curiosity, however. Who else knew of the secret library?

    And then I remembered I did have a friend. I finished my ascent, and at the top of the stairs I found a small boy sitting besides lantern light looking my way. He stared, frozen, and then returned to stuffing books in his large, square-edged bag. Just as before, the darkness of the underground concealed me. The boy was skinny beyond healthy, with skin darkened from both the sun and the earth. His hair was wild, lengthy, and red. If not for the dirt, it would have truly held the appearance of fire.

    He lowered the glass pane he had pilfered, shutting it with the least amount of noise it could afford. He tied his bag, lifted the bulls-eye lantern, and departed my sight through some shelves. I followed. If there was some other entrance to the secret library than the creakiest door in the world, I would have knowledge of it. Besides, I owed Dane Godric. I could not leave him to such dangers.

    “Shit!” The pubescent voice came shrill and sudden from the shelves. Godric yelled after him, but the boy replied with footsteps that had not cared to grace the silence before. My own footsteps neared the place where the boy had left my vision, and I rounded the aisle to see the boy doubling back the way he had gone. His head turned from looking behind him, and that bull’s-eye lantern fell to the floor.

    Its beam hit me like the front of a mounted charge, and the boy could not avert his gaze. His foot begin to slide back, and Godric appeared behind him. I grinned, showing him whatever rot inhabited my mouth. “Do not move, child.” It worked, fear captured him.

    Godric’s hands found his knees, and he bent his back as if he had just giving a long chase. “Lord,” he began to say, but I cut him off with a “Quiet.” There was no need for names, nor titles. My visage would be more than enough. I drew closer to the thief. “Pardon my appearance, child.” A thought, or rather many thoughts, occurred to me all at once. “How good are you, say, with locks?”

    Mirra
    She stood there, shifting her weight in circles on her heels, with hands on her hips. She was waiting. She hated waiting, but Donden had yet to say a word as he inspected the bodies. The young ranger was one of the Night Watch’s best, Captain Vanadorn scarce bothered to hide his pleasure when he heard Donden decided to track men in the city rather than beasts in the woods. “Well, am I calling the Captain?” asked the barrel of a man on to her right, Hughes. Like her, his body could not keep still on the bloodied cobble road.

    “I don’t see why we haven’t already! Just look at their necks!” Mirra pointed to make her point. At the end of her finger, two of her kindred guardsmen lay slain in a peculiar way. They were pale, already cold to the touch despite the warm night. Their blood appeared gone from their bodies, for the most part. Even so, the street slumbered peacefully. Such was the night.

    “Calm down Little,” Hughes said, bellowing low and deep. It was his single tone of voice. One of his hands descended on Mirra’s head, and the rough thing shook her hair around. At least, that was its intent, but with those Northman arms Hughes ended up shaking all of Mirra’s body.

    “Ugh,” she grunted, as she shoved his palm off her scalp. “Well?” she called to Donden, who still hadn’t voiced a word.
    “He’s just making sure we should call, can’t you wait a little, Little?” Hughes laughed at his own joke while Mirra glared down at the face four feet above her. “I guess not,” he said as he chuckled.

    “Call.” When Donden chose to spoke, it was a whisper. His scrying eyes did not leave the corpses, but Mirra did not care. “About time!” she proclaimed. She turned to Hughes, whose turn it was to hold the sending stone. He reached in his pouch of a pocket, pulled out what looked to be an average rock, and plopped it in his mouth. Mirra felt something in her unwind as the silver glow escaped Hughes lips, signaling Vanadorn.

    3:04 AM
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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Wed Feb 01, 2012 11:44 pm

    I sit on the two shriveled bodies of my intruders and scan my very empty home. Everything was gone, pictures, furniture, the carpet, window covers, everything. Hell, they even took the cabinet doors in my kitchen! I look down at the corpses beneath me and begin to count on my fingers.

    “First two were guards, then a gang member, and now two thieves.”

    I wiggle my now open hand and hang my head in thought. In a matter of about four hours I have killed and sucked the blood of five people, it wouldn’t be so bad if I had not been seen by the guards at the entrance… or left the two corpses in the middle of the street. I let out a loud sigh and rest my chin in my hand.

    “No matter how you look at it I’m guilty.”

    I scratch my head and begin to contemplate this problem. I’m as good as dead if they come to even question me during the day and hiding will only make it more suspicious… I look down at the people beneath me with a difficult look. If I wait another day there’re gonna search me and I get labeled as a vampire. Worst case scenario they call in a cleric.”

    I check outside and look at the empty street then at a moon before turning back to the bodies.

    “Three hours until sunlight…”

    My face hardens and I quickly grab both bodies and leave my home. I dash through the night, weaving between homes, over walls, and through bushes. My body feels as light as a feather as I fly through the darkness and leap over walls six feet high with ease. I keep in full speed until I reach my destination among a spray of random sized and crumbling tombstones. The entire graveyard looks to be poorly kept. Pieces of broken tomb stones lay alongside dead branches on spotty patches grass. The only place that looks semi-taken care of is the grounds keepers shack at the far end. I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on the bodies before taking off at full speed towards the shack.

    Please be there!

    I drop the corpses a few feet from the door and bust through it shoulder first. Splinters fly as I pass through the door.



    “Yahh?!?”

    A loud surprised yelp comes from behind another door nearby followed by an old man bursting through it wielding a candle stick. A smile of relief creeps across my face as I see his stringy pajama covered form.

    “I’m warning you I’m armed!” He yells before I rip the candle stick from his hand.

    “You’re gonna hurt yourself you old coot!” I say as I go to a nearby desk and light the candle.

    “Sylvester? Is that you?” He says and squints into the darkness before looking at the rubble on the ground “... more importantly why the hell did you break down my door!?!?” The old man’s face quickly changes from surprise to anger as he looks at his open entrance way.

    “Short on time.” I say in a quick manner and pass him the candle. “I’m a vampire, killed five people, and you need to make this place look like a vampire broke in and made it his base.” I walk past him and into his to his closet.

    “… wha?” He tilts his head like a dog and looks at me with a blank stare.

    I open the closet and dawn a black traveling cloak and its hood.

    “You heard me; look I already helped you with the door.” I say, still wearing a grin. I leave his room and walk back outside with him in toe and point to the bodies.

    “I also need three bottles of oil, a file, blindfolds, a torch, ropes, and a wooden stake; you have 30 minutes.” I then dash off into the night leaving the very confused man behind.

    Time passes as I start the second part of my plan. I systematically search the area surrounding the grave yard for homeless and kidnap them. With my new found strength and speed it becomes childes play to knock them out and bring them back. I make three trips at full speed bringing in two women and a man. I stagger into the room with the man over my shoulder and dump him on the floor to try and catch my breath.

    “You got… everything?” I manage to say to the old man waiting with rope in hand.

    “Yea.” He says as he begins to tie up his newest victim. “When are you gonna fill me in Sylvester?”

    “After we put on our performance of course!” I say with a smile.


    Last edited by Elit3Fla5h on Thu Feb 02, 2012 11:55 pm; edited 1 time in total


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Thu Feb 02, 2012 11:36 pm

    OOC:: Whoa, that’s a jump of three hours? Give time for other players to make their moves, or enjoy waiting. If my char was asleep that’d be fine (since currently, I’m the only other player), but obviously Aeric is up to something.

    Lord Aeric
    The lock yielded a small click to the movement of Leon’s fingers. The fire-headed boy turned to smile at me in sweet victory, but then remembered not to at the sight of my face. I waved him off, and he left without resistance. We had already ‘discussed’ that I would enter alone, and, should he want payment, he would await me at the library beneath the earth. I sincerely hoped he stayed, he had proven himself quite useful, this Leon.

    I entered David’s house with a silent push of his forcibly opened door. David was a rather successful merchant, but more importantly, he was a merchant who had a surplus of enemies. One of them used to be me, but it wasn’t I who would be blamed for his murder. Being dead sure had its benefits, but I wondered how long they would last. Could a cleric of the One God detect a vampire, just as they could rebuke one? I would have to read more on my return.

    I made my way to David’s kitchen. Though he was wealthy, David did not appear to spare much coin on account of his house. The place had a common feel, but most of the floor and walls were covered in rare animal pelts. Warmth and comfort held high rankings on this man’s priority list. And, thankfully, so did his kitchenware. I took the best blade I could find, which happened to be a hunting knife with a hilt of archaic paganwood.

    I crept up his stairs; they were made of stone, to my relief. This was so easy. I can’t believe I use to pay people for this. Maybe if I hadn’t been so fat. Well, no, I still would have sent others. Why take the risk? I was walking down the upper hallway now, well on top of the bedrooms. Hah! My luck was high today. In place of doors, David had hung more animal hides, though I could not name them if someone asked. Probably expensive breeds.

    I begin casting a spell I learned long ago, sludgeblood, it was called. As the magic ran through me, I slipped through one of the drapery doors. Good, I was right. The ornate doorway I choose was the resting place of David himself, along with his wife. When I finished reciting the verses in my head I gathered the matrix of magic I had channeled throughout my body, unleashing it on the woman. She did not stir. That was one of the beautiful things about magic: your enemy never knew what you were up to.

    The man, however, began to move. I wasn’t sure if it naturally or I had somehow given him alarm, but I did not spend the time to learn that answer. My left hand was on his mouth and my right hand shoved his dagger in his throat. I yanked back, creating as much devastation as I could. And then—and then I was in it. Drinking, suckling, it was so good. It smelt like iron flowers, pleased me in a way that my wife never had. That wasn’t saying much, but, it was so good. I slopped it up. Why hadn’t one of my cooks ever made blood dumplings? This stuff was amazing.

    I noticed I someone was watching me feed. How rude, all nobles knew not to judge another’s eating habits. The wife’s mouth was slowly opening, now just registering what had happened on account of my spell. That, and the sheer ludicrousness of waking up to a dead man eating your husband’s neck. I gave her what I gave her husband, to be fair, and drank my fill of her as well. Using Leon’s bag, I stole what coin and valuables I could. The Sentinels needed to think this an assassination.

    With that thought in mind, I started for the next room. I pushed the animal hide aside, and came face to face with a naked boy, older than Leon. And healthier too, to my dismay. He screamed, and I charged. Instinctually, he dodged, but I whirled around on him. He grabbed a hold of my wrist and shoved towards me. He probably didn’t have a plan, as he just gave me the momentum to pull away. I lunged again, but he was awake now, and fighting for his life. Somehow he spun me around, and I found that there was no longer steel in my hand. Then I found it again, as it plunged into my arm. I screamed at the hellspawn and strangled his wrist. The pain made me slip, and my knees meet the floor. Rather than be pulled down, naked stole away from my grasp.

    Good, now I could get him back, the demon. I unsheathed the paganwood knife from my rotted bicep, and stabbed him. His eyes went wide, and I stabbed his ugly self again. Oh, I won. I kept stabbing, and made sure to tear out his throat. I want to eat him whole! Not just drink a little blood. Unfortunately, I need to make sure I killed everyone. I ripped down a pelt and entered another room.

    There was a blanket on the ground, and a sword on the wall. Naked boy’s room, useless. I went back into the hallway, and between me and bloody puddle kid stood a tiny girl, just beyond her babe years. She would never grow past the age of six, I reckoned, as I made for her. She bolted in the other direction without so much as a squeak, but slipped in her brother’s blood. She was as good as dead.

    Those were David’s only children, at least that slept in the house. I thought that strange; he must have had marital problems. With the children dead, the City Sentinels should assume assassination. I smiled. David, who had been such a troublesome merchant in life, would create quite the chaos with his death. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was happy, or because I had consumed a fair quantity of blood, but that knife wound didn’t even hurt anymore.

    Mirra
    Vanadorn was a well-built man, especially if you considered his grey and black peppered beard. The thing fell to his chest, and when combined with his wild eyes it made him sort of scary. Vanadorn’s brown, thick skin and likewise thick muscle gave away his Northman heritage. He tugged lightly on his beard, and the plates of his night-black armor scraped on another. “There will be more, aye. More dead like this,” he stated.

    “Bestial,” Donden gave his opinion on the matter. He was crouched over at the side of the street now, following a line of blood. It stopped there though, and it’s not like he could track through the main street, or at least Mirra didn’t think he could. Everyone talked like he could though. Mirra herself was sitting on some steps of a shop, off to the side. She had to wait for orders, and she thought this night might be fun when they found the dead guards. Instead, she had spent the last thirty minutes waiting for Captain Vanadorn and Lady-Lieutenant Kate.

    The stupid Sentinel woman was tired, apparently, so the captain had taken his sweet time getting here. It was she who spoke now. “I used to know the man just for this.”

    “Aye, but is he around? No.” Vanadorn’s hand ceased its tugging and dropped to his side. “We will handle it, we are the Night Watch. It’s our job.” Vandorn beckoned Hughes with his hand. “These two both believed in the One God. Take them to their church, Hugh.”

    “I did not mean, I am sorry, Captain. I am tired.” Lady Kate Silvward sighed a deep sigh, and walked over to where Donden was peering through cobbles. “Tell me it wasn’t stayrs. Please.”

    Donden pulled his lips together, contemplating his reply. “That’s doubtful, m’Lady,” he vouched. “It was humanoid though. And savage.”
    “So it could be human?” Kate sought confirmation.
    I jumped up from my spot. “I hope not,” I declared. “Crazy people are easy to deal with.”
    “Aye,” Vanadorn agreed. “The girl has the right of it. If a human did this we’ll get ‘em by the morrow.”
    Kate let out another sigh, one hand on her hip, the other loose. “Just, let me know, if it matters. I’ll tell you if the Day Watch or the Sentinels turn up anything.” Lady Kate’s hand parted with her hip, and she begin walking. “I’m going home. It was a pleasure to meet you three.”
    “The pleasure is ours, m’Lady. Shall Donden escort you home?” asked Hughes. The useless noble just shook her head and continued on. Hughes resumed his work with the bodies.
    “Right!” Mirra shouted. “Now that’s she’s gone, let’s get started!”
    Vanadorn eyed the short girl with brown hair cut like a boy’s. “And what’s that mean?” he implored.
    Mirra heard Hughes chuckling from over by the corpses. “Maybe you should leave it to the Captain, Little.” Mirra just growled.

    4:19 AM
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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Boxpopper on Tue Feb 14, 2012 9:51 am

    OOC: Really long post. I apologize.

    Just after midnight.

    To the east of the city was a plain, mostly covered in dry and sometimes dead grass that went up to your waist. It usually got caught on your stockings, and you'd find it in your underpants after a long walk. But most people didn't come out here, especially at this time of night.

    Two figures trudged on across that very grass, one clearly more excited than the other.

    The brisk one, a young blonde man with stubble on his chin, led the way of the other, a dark-haired, slow, incompetent fool. Their names were Steffen and Boris, respectively, and they robbed graves.

    "Hurry up, Boris!" Steffen chimed. "We're almost to the churchyard!"

    He referred to the distant structure, a dark, very old chapel building surrounded by a rickety, broken fence. Steffen was unsure how long it had been abandoned, but couldn't place a date during his lifetime.

    "I don't know about this, Steffen," Boris glumly replied, halting his march.

    Steffen, fuming with impatience, turned to his useless companion. "Please don't start! We've planned this venture for six fortnights!" He turned away, stomping further towards the church. "The last thing we need is you having second thoughts."

    Boris sighed, staring at his feet morosely. He hated his ragged clothes. Steffen looked so much more professional than he, with his dark gloves and cowl. He looked like a real thief. Boris looked like an oaf.

    "It just bothers me..." he said. "Doesn't the One God forbid the desecrat-"

    Steffen wheeled around, striking Boris's sentence down and leaving him a stuttering mess. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. God?? That... cushy... fairy tale says alot of things." He turned around, walking more. "He also supposedly says we are all imperfect, so, on the grand scale of life, who cares about graverobbing?"

    He knew Boris was probably standing there stupidly, feeling 'conflicted.' He just ignored his lackey and continued ranting. "Besides, nobody believes in that rubbish anyway. God's as dead as the corpses in that churchyard."

    He wondered where on earth Boris had heard that drivel. There was the time that they had run out of coin and posed as worshippers to steal from the poor box. He made a mental note to leave Boris outside during those operations from now on.

    Steffen let out a sigh. "Sheesh, Boris, how did I end up with a moron of your magnitude?"

    Silence. Steffen realized the sound of the grass crunching under his boots was paired with nothing at all. He turned, looking towards the low, dirty skyline of Wordenhaul. The field appeared a vaccum that specifically was void of Boris.

    "He actually fleed. He's really abandoned me this time."

    Steffen shrugged it off, throwing the shovel he brought over his shoulder. He turned back towards the church, not willing to give up just because of that idiot.

    "No matter. That fetcher can just run to his mum and cry all night. A pox on him! I'll take his share, even if I must dig his load! Bastard son of a... well... a bastard!"

    Around 1:00 AM

    Steffen finally reached the shambles of the old churchyard. He looked up at the tower that now loomed overhead. Its masonry hadn't been used for as long as Steffen could remember.

    "Spooky. I can't say I blame Boris for being uneasy."

    He moved on, stalking around the building till he found it: the graveyard.

    He knelt in front of the nearest grave, setting down his pack and shovel. He leaned his torch precariously against the fence to give him light while he worked.

    As he lifted the shovel, he gave the buried man a second eulogy.
    "Bless you, poor fellow. Your loss, my gain."

    His shovel struck the cold earth, and he dug for at least 20 minutes before his shovel hit something solid and wooden. His faced glowed with greed in the torchlight.

    He reached into his pack and grabbed the long bit of iron he used to pry coffins open. He yanked up the lid. It cracked where he applied pressure.

    Hm... cheaper than they usually come...

    He lifted the long, thin board, and cast it aside. When he looked back down at his prize, he froze.

    Empty. The coffin was completely empty. Not only that, but it was clean, and looked brand new. A thought struck Steffen that hadn't before. He looked up at the headstone and saw, as the back of his mind had suspected, that it had no name etched into it.

    "Well, perhaps he was not well off. The coffin would agree..." His voice trailed off as he noticed the other headstones.

    All blank, and oddly new. Judging by the state of the church, they should be heavily worn and mostly knocked over.

    "What is this mischief?" Steffen climbed out of the grave, looking around. Something was incredibly off, and it made him uncomfortable. He was as disturbed as a graverobber could be. He gazed up at the church. "Are you just as false?" he asked it.

    Steffen had to investigate the church. He opened his pack and found Boris's axe, which had been too heavy for the fool to carry. For once, he was glad Boris had been with him that day.

    The church's doors and windows were boarded up, and nobody, including Steffen, had ever wondered why. He now chopped at the boards. Two strong wacks embedded the weapon into the wood. Steffen pulled, tugged, with all his might, then cursed, punching the wall. It hurt, and he reeled, screaming in frustration.

    "Stupid... old, MOLDY, ROTTEN, SWILL-FULL... eh... PLAGUE-RAT INFESTED, filthy nest of PIGEON SHIT and RUBBISH!!! Thatch roof and all!!!" He paused. Thatch roof. He knew how to get through those.

    Tying his shovel to the rope he'd brought, he made a crude weight to leverage against the tower. He threw it up, and true to his design, it clattered around the tower, securing his rope. He climbed the creaky stone wall, holding the torch in his teeth. When he reached the top, he placed the torch in the thatch. Now able to see the whole roof, he was even more troubled.

    on the far side of the pointed roof from the city, a hole was already there, the wood support beams visible. He could see that they were bent and broken. If he didn't know any better he would have said they were bent and broken from the inside.

    He carefully snuck towards the hole, and pondered the mysterious circumstances Boris had left him to deal with himself. "It would make sense for this roof to be in shambles, but this straw is fresh and, besides the hole, the roof is pristine."

    He peered into the hole, but could only make out darkness inside. "If false graves are anything to go by, it would appear that this church was rendered anew from a lesser state..."

    As he contemplated, a shadow crept over him. "...and if so, who did, and why?"

    He didn't see the shadowy figure behind him, as it moved with unearthly silence. He never took notice till it roughly kicked him in the back, sending him tumbling into the darkness below.
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    Boxpopper

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Boxpopper on Tue Feb 14, 2012 10:32 am

    OOC: I'm probably supposed to wait for you guys, but I'm a couple hours behind at this point.

    About 1:30 AM.

    Steffen coughed violently in the dusty chapel. He could see just about nothing around him. The only light came from the moon, through the hole in the ceiling.

    A dark figure with glowing eyes was peering down at him. Steffen froze in terror.

    "Sorry about that." The thing's voice was raspy but sounded human.

    "Who are you?? Why did you knock me down here?" Steffen said, trembling.

    "I am called Galfrid. Galfrid Batissforde in longhand. And I believe I have joined the ranks of the undead."

    Steffen sat, bewildered. "What do you mean? You seem alive to me. And strong, too." He rubbed his lower back. It still hurt.

    Galfrid cackled. "Well, I suppose so. It doesn't discount the fact that I am a vampire."

    Steffen's eyes widened. He had heard of vampires before, but only when he was a child. He had grown up a street urchin with no parents, but found a gang of other children. They had told him stories of things that stalked the night and sucked people's blood. But he'd also been told that they looked like monsters. He couldn't make out this Galfrid's sillouette very well, as he appeared to be wearing a cloak and some sort of wide-brimmed hat, but he seemed human enough. Except for the glowing eyes.

    "Are... are you going to feed on my blood?" Steffen's face became a pale white.

    "No, probably not. At least, not yet. See, in my life I hunted ungodly things such as witches and demons, so I knew of vampires. I had heard they could infect others through biting, but I never focused my studies on them. In fact, I didn't really believe they existed."

    Steffen was just about overloaded from the night's events. "Well, if you ask me, it seems they are very real."

    Galfrid cackled again. "You don't say? Well, anyway, when I discovered that I was such a foul beast, I thought I should test everything I'd heard about them. I also thought that perhaps I could gain a minion. I even tried it just about an hour ago."

    Steffen's blood turned ice cold.

    "Your friend, Boris? I thought he might be a good guinea-pig. Well, turns out I can't resist drinking people dry, especially on an empty stomach."

    Steffen's mind nearly broke. He just stared up at Galfrid, horrified and slightly guilty for not thinking to look for Boris.

    "I'm glad I chose you instead. You are a much more prime subject: driven, ambitious, clever, inquisitive almost to a fault. I think I'll infect you, once I figure out how. After the mess I made of Boris, I would benefit from cleaning up my procedure. So, to answer your question, I kicked you down there for two reasons. The first, to keep you in a place so that you may not escape. The second, so that in my bloodlust I wouldn't be crunching on your marrow right now."

    Steffen frowned. "But- but... I don't want your disease, wretch! I may be low in society, but I am a free man! I chose that the minute I began a life of crime!"

    Galfrid scoffed. "Well, your life of crime isn't over, and it won't be, even beyond the span of your life. And here's the clincher: I won't infect you if you don't want to be."

    Steffen raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? You said you wanted to. If you don't, you'll kill me. Why would you give me the choice?"

    "Because, thief, by the end of this ordeal, you'll WANT to be like me. I'll find a way to convince you. It makes for better allies anyway."

    Steffen had heard nearly enough. "So, I have to stay in here? How will I eat?"

    Galfrid dropped Steffen's torch, momentarily revealing his greyed face. The inside of the church lit up like a blaze. "I'll be back at dawn with breakfast. In the meantime, I think you have a bedroll in that pack."

    Steffen immediately prepared to sleep. He couldn't process all of this. Galfrid's shadow left the hole in the thatch roof.

    On the roof, Galfrid stood up, tying his neckerchief around his face like a bandit's. He crept to the tower, slid down Steffen's rope, and made his way towards Wordenhaul.
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    Elit3Fla5h

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Sun Apr 08, 2012 5:58 pm

    OOC: You are pretty far behind. Feel free to post a lot untill you catch up.

    “Help! Help! Somebody help a monster just tried to kill me!” The old man runs through the early morning yelling at the top of his lungs. The setting moon shines off his sweat covered head like a mirror.

    “Help!” The pajama covered man runs straight to the main road where bodies of guards were only found not more than three hours ago.

    “Help, there’s a vampire in my home!”



    ...

    The basement is about 20x20 feet lined entirely with cobble from walls to floor. The wall furthest away from the entrance holds old iron hooks to hang tools and small slanted holes for the torches there now. To the right of the entrance is a dusty neglected work bench mirroring a just as dusty waist high cabinet on the other wall.
    “ARRGRAAAH!!!”
    In the middle of the floor lies a tied up man that seems to be writhing in agony and foaming at the mouth.
    “RAAAAAAAAGHAA!!!”
    At every yell of the dirty man the two blindfolded women in the back let out a whimper or a sob. They sit back to back tied together by a rope on top of the dried corpses of my kills… a horrifying experience now that I think about.
    “RAAAAHG!!!”
    I ignore the mans’ yells and continue with work. I sit on the last step of the stairs with the basement doors to my back, a mirror and file in my hands. I sit there and simply observe the three people in the room as I file down my fangs to a normal length and sharpness, occasionally spitting out the fine dust my enamel produces. Once I finish wearing down my teeth I run my tongue along the new K9s. They feel scratchy and gruff but the appearance is more or less normal. I quietly stand and climb the steps out of the basement and into Hershal’s tattered old home. I hum to myself as I toss the mirror and file onto his bed and strap a sword to my waist.


    “And now we wait.”

    I stand in the broken door frame and look out at the grave yard and the low moon, ignoring the muffled screams of the poisoned man below.
    Let’s see, after I get some sleep I should refresh myself on vampires and any new happenings in the city, fix my house and business, and … talk to Kate. I frown at the thought of trying to “explain” why I have been missing for a year.
    “That’s going to be fu…?”
    I stop talking and listen to the night air for a moment and am able to catch the faintest of yells. I wait a bit longer and they gradually become louder as the time passes.


    “Showtime.”

    I rip a few holes in my shirt and grab a large bottle of oil on the table and head back to the basement, closing the door behind me.

    “Foul creature of the night, you will not escape me this time!” I bellow as I draw my sword. The crazed man pauses and looks at me before he goes back to squirming on the ground and yelling.
    “Die!” I run at him and skillfully swing my sword, freeing the man from his ropes in one swing. He quickly scrambles to his feet and swings at me with delirious eyes.
    It is more than easy to dodge his swipes, though none the less I make the occasional grunting and “of” sound to make it convincing to the ladies. Our “fight” only lasts about two minutes before heavy footsteps could be heard up stairs.
    Time to close the curtain.
    The loud bang of the basement door syncs with the crash of the oil bottle against the mans’ head. He lets out a yell and stumbles into the wall head first.


    “Burn in hell demon!” I shout as I knock down a burning torch above his head. The flame ignites the man with a loud whoosh and he lets out a scream of pain that is interrupted by my weapon breaking through his teeth and neck. The sword makes a dull “klunk” as I drive it into the stone and pin the burning corpse to the wall.


    Last edited by Elit3Fla5h on Thu May 24, 2012 6:06 am; edited 1 time in total


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    Ippy
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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Fri Apr 13, 2012 12:20 am

    5:34 AM

    Lord Aeric
    The iron-framed door, true to its nature, announced my return with a creak that could have woke the dead, if, perhaps, I had been sleeping nearby. I wonder if I even need sleep. I decided it wasn’t much of an issue, it would make itself apparent to me either when I got tired or I read it tonight.

    But first, where’s that boy? I passed two shelves already, yet no sign of a malnourished, fire-headed rat anywhere. Mayhap he fled whence he could. “Dane Godric?” I called out. No response, but a few more steps and I could hear faint conversation below. I started down the second flight of stairs, to the floor where I had sat reading for some two hours. Godric must have filled the boy in on the vampire situation.

    When the words became distinguishable, however, I heard talk far removed from murderous beasts of the dark arts. “You’re missing a spot there,” elucidated a piercing voice. “I always come in through that bush.” So the boy was giving up his quiet entryway, and so easily, too. Good, this way he won’t have to repeat it.

    “Which bush?” asked Godric. I entered a room adjacent to the room with the vampire books. Unlike the reading room, this one was circular, its cobalt mosaic floor lit by a ring of non-magical torches. At even intervals rib high pedestals had been erected, a bowl of water carved into each of them. Leon was pulling his face over one of them next to Godric, pointing to the water.

    “It’s not there, that’s what I’m saying.” Leon looked up to Godric, triumphant. But then he caught sight of me, and the victory left his face. I suppose that meant he had not come to terms with my rotted body. No matter, I had him by money, and like all street rats, it’d be enough to keep him.
    “And how is it you enter without a sound?” I inquired of the boy.
    “My bag,” he answered, placing one foot behind him. “Under the door.” Seems simple, though I don’t understand why it works. I suppose that’s one of the few reasons I intend to keep Leon. I walked closer and dumps some of his bag’s contents before him. As I approached he had scrunched away, but as soon as the glint of gold coin appeared his hands and teeth lunged forward, grabbing onto all they could.

    “Relax, Leon. It’s yours, payment for your services.” He didn’t bother to stop filling his few pockets. “And I’ll continue paying you if you continue serving me.” This drew his attention, although his way of crouching and looking at me from the cover of his hair struck me as hostile. He had waited as instructed, I reminded myself. Surely he trusted me in some fashion, or was inclined to obey my commands. Either or, it was a favorable state of affairs, so there was no need to think any farther of the subject. At least for the nonce.

    “Return tomorrow night. Bring with you bundles of sage, know what that is?” Leon nodded, and I briefly pondered how he knew, before concluding it was irrelevant. “Good, then go. I have business to discuss with Dane Godric.”
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    LokiLeader

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    The Pitch

    Post by LokiLeader on Sat May 05, 2012 3:46 am

    9 PMish

    “RIKARD!” His name echoed in my ear in my own voice. I remember
    repeatedly screeching his name. If only he had heard me. Maybe he could have
    stopped it, but what was it that I was so afraid of? What was it that had
    driven me to cry the name of my husband in such fear? For the life of me I
    cannot remember.

    The life of me…

    I’m cold and dirty. I can feel the mud sticking to my skin,
    dry and unappealing as if I had been chasing pigs in their pen all day and
    decided not to bathe myself. The world smells like dry rot right now and I
    can’t tell if my eyes are open or not. The darkness is substantial regardless.
    My head hurts, but other than that I cannot feel my body.

    I moan in agony. I’ve nothing better to do and my vocal
    cords are not up to the task of yelling out for help.

    It would appear that my noise has warranted attention
    though. I can hear slow shuffling towards me. There’s a loud creek and a sudden
    burst of dim light, most likely a torch or candle. I can see my surroundings
    now, though I can’t say I know where I am. The man holding the candle is pale
    in skin and his eyes glint in the light with a reddened hue. I open my mouth to
    speak but am met with a gesture of silence.

    “I see you’re awake now. I’m sorry, but I had decided not to
    clean you after I found you. Privacy and what not.” He walks over to me and
    forcefully tilts my head to the side. I can now see the dark stain of blood on
    the floor and panic begins to rise inside of me. “You’ve taken well to it I
    see” he says as he turns my face towards his. “much more so than any other of
    the people I’ve fed upon.

    Fed upon? What is he – the lighting has made it clear
    now. His fangs are long and I now know exactly what he means when he speaks.
    Tears begin to well up in my eyes as the realization of what he’s done emerges
    in my mind.

    “Don’t take it so hard. I’m not the one who killed you. I’ve
    merely prevented you from dying when I found you in the sewer entrance. You
    were rather beat up as I recall. Most of your bones were broken and it looked
    as if someone had hit you with some sufficient force from a blunt object.”

    “UNHAND ME!” I stumble these words out of fear, anger, and
    lack of energy.

    “Ungrateful.” He squeezes hard on my cheeks forcing my mouth
    open as he pours a small flask of blood into my mouth. The iron and copper tang
    is overpowering, however the sensation of it sliding on my tongue is more
    provocative than anything I’ve had before. “Now if you want to repay me for
    saving your pathetic life I want you to meet me here at midnight. That’s 3
    hours from now.” He stands up and begins to walk out the door, lighting the
    lantern on the door hook. “The blood will take affect in 10 minutes and you’ll
    be able to move.” He begins to close the door to the room. “One more thing.
    You’ve been dead for about a week.” With that he closed the door and his
    footsteps grew ever more distant as I stared emptily in the dim light of the lantern.


    Last edited by LokiLeader on Sat May 05, 2012 4:19 pm; edited 1 time in total


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    Nailo41

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Nailo41 on Sat May 05, 2012 5:06 am

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    My fingers twitch. Each nerve retracing their steps they haven’t used since I was an infant. What should have taken me mere seconds to do, is taking me multiple minutes. My hand finally falls off my chest and hits what feels like smooth stone. But the sensation is different than usual. I feel no cold coming from this stone. Button after button comes undone from my shirt. My palm presses flat against my chest and once again I feel no change in heat. Why does my body feel as cold as this stone?

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    The repetitive sound seems to be getting louder as I begin to lose my calm. I open my eyes in hope to find this horrid sound, when I once again become shocked. I’m surrounded by total darkness. Fear now begins to overwhelm me. Where am I? Why can’t I see? Why is everything so cold? Am I even alive?

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    That last thought bestowed even more fear in me. Am I alive…? My hand slowly reaches for my chest once again. It reaches its destination and time itself seems to halt.

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    As this retched sound of the unknown source keeps its rhythm, my biggest fear appears to be true. There’s no beating coming from my chest. My throat, dry and scratchy, begins to hurt as the first vibrations it feels come forth.

    “ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”

    When the screaming ends, silence is all that remains. Silence and the ticking that continues to torment me. What felt like hours, could have well been just a few minutes. Finally something else besides my agony can be heard.

    “Relax Sir Night Breeze, you need to calm down and listen to me.”

    My vocal cords still straining answer this unknown voice in a hurried rush. “Fine, that’s fine! Just let help me!”

    “In good time, u shall be freed, but first a warning. When you leave this tomb know that things are no longer what they used to be. Much time has passed since you were first placed in this grave. The town you once new has grown far larger then it was in your time. Technology is increasing at a very fast pace. Be wary of the humans, for if they know of your existence they shall surely hunt you down...”

    As the man continues speaking the words begin to make less and less sense. Why must I avoid things like steaks and garlic. Why am I supposed to stick to the shadows. I wish to interrupt him, but I’m afraid that will mean being locked in here even longer. Even though the questions weighing down on me get heavier and heavier I bite my tongue and just let this strange man continue speaking this nonsense.

    “And finally, be wary that you are not the only one.” His voice seems to trail off after those last words.

    I scream at the darkness, my voice now full of anger and panic. “Wait! You can’t leave me! You promised you’d help me escape this place!”

    Once again I’m answered in silence.

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    Now with my last hope gone, I finally lose it. Rage begins to poor out of every inch of my body. My fists and feet begin hitting anything and everything they can reach. With my final strand of sanity about to break I hear a loud crack. A faint light seems to dance around my stone prison. I begin to kick and kick some more, hoping my freedom is on the other side of this crack. Finally my foot burst through this cell and I begin to work my way out as fast as I can. After an endless squirming I finally fall out onto more rock. But my eyes can now take in the scenery that bestows itself upon them. What looks like an ancient burial ground is now decayed and withered. Moss is crawling up the inside and the only way out seems to be through a single staircase.

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    “Tick.”

    I reach into my pocket and pull out the source of my awakening. It’s made of silver and contains my initials on one side. A line goes along the side of it and it’s connected to me by a chain of the same make. The only thing that appears to have a function is the dial on top of it. It takes me awhile to figure out what it does and eventually the device pops open. Inside seems to be a little clock; the second hand is what’s causing the ticking. I notice something that seems to be wedged in a crevice of the other opening. It’s made of fine paper and seems to be folded multiple times. After carefully undoing each fold I can finally see what’s on this paper. The instance my eyes rest on what it contains my memories begin to flood back to me. The sudden shock drops me to my knees and after a few moments I regain my strength. With new found confidence take my first step up the stairs of freedom.
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    LokiLeader

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    The Guard

    Post by LokiLeader on Sat May 05, 2012 5:54 pm

    He was right in it only taking a few minutes to work, however it seems like I’m weaker than I should be. I spend more time that what was probably necessary to simple stand up on wobbling legs. Stumbling out of the room with the lantern I catch a glimpse of a rat running with what looked like rotten flesh in its mouth. The air is fetid causing me to almost vomit. I spend a lot of time gaining my composure to withstand the onslaught of smells from the sewer system I was trapped in.

    After some time of walking I decide that it is best to search my surroundings for a change instead of following the molded walkway. With little effort I spot a trap door and a ladder and begin to make my assent toward the city streets.

    With a crack of the rusted latch the door swings open and I am in a much brighter room than the one I had woken up in. People seem to be bustling about a few rooms over and I’ve come to realize that I had opened up a makeshift lavatory. In disgust I swing the door open and crawl out. I try and straighten myself brushing as much dirt and muck off as I can.

    As soon as I walk through the door way about a dozen sets of eyes cast their gaze upon me. The warehouse is massive and it appears that they are trying to finish packing things for the day; however the presence of a dirty, smelly, and hurt woman has made them stop their work and stare in silence.

    “Ma’am… did you just-“

    “I need a towel please. A wet one preferably.”

    After about 30 minutes of self-cleaning and trying to explain myself I decide to ask the time. One of the men looks around for a minute to try and spot something. He stops and I follow his gaze to see a clock on the wall. 11:14. I’ve got some 45 minutes. I get up to leave and none of the men seem to pay too much attention to that fact.

    The warehouse was not particularly far from my house. As I turn the corner of my house thinking of what to say to my husband my eyes become locked on something that causes an instantaneous sensation of dread to flood my body. My eyes focus on the face of the guard with a well-defined chin and blue eyes that was talking to my husband.

    I remember why I called Rikard’s name. Why I yelled it. Why I screamed it and cried it until my throat was stripped and all I could manage was the wheezing of pain and suffering. That same guard and his companion next him…

    They were the ones that left me to die. My killers. The men that had forced themselves on me, beaten me, violated me… left me to sit and rot like a used toy they were bored of!

    “Rikard!” I yelled it without thinking and the whole world seemed to stop. Both of the guards and my husband look at me. The guard face is a twist of surprise and horror. He truly thought I was dead.

    “ALYSSIA!” Rikard yells as he lunges himself at me covering me with kisses. My eyes do not break from their lock on the guard. “Thank the gods you’re alright. They were just telling me that you must’ve died. They were calling off the search.” He turned toward the guards and thanked them as he pressed me inside the house. That night was restless.


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    Truth

    Post by LokiLeader on Sun May 06, 2012 4:51 pm

    “RIKARD!”

    “SHUT UP WOMAN!” Another strike against my cheek. I can feel the skin split open and warm blood ooze across my swollen face.

    “RIKARD!” Why couldn’t anyone hear me? Why would no one help me?

    “I SAID SHUT IT!” This time it wasn’t a punch, but a strong stomp on my chest from my violator’s counterpart. I screamed in pain as at least 4 ribs snapped from the force. I tried to call out his name again but my chest wheezed with pain and I began gasping for air as blood filled my lungs. I coughed with streams of rage and fear running down my face.

    “RIKARD!” I sat up in my bed next to my husband who was now wrapping his arms around me. My eyes gazed into the dark of the room. I wasn’t sure but something seemed off.

    “Shhhhh. Be calm, beautiful. It was just a night terror.” Rikard squeezed lightly in an attempt to comfort me. My eyes have adjusted to the moon lights dim glow over my room. Something still didn’t – movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. A slight movement, but almost certainly something that should not be there.

    “Get the sword Rikard.” I whisper softly to him. His face is quizzical but he nods beginning to stand up. BAM! I go flying off the bed as something crashes into me hard. “RIK-” I pause for split second as I see the face of my attacker. The guard lay on top of me with a small glint of steel in his hand; a dagger raised to kill.

    “You should be dead bitch!” I cross my arms and press hard against his thrusting hand to prevent the blade from finding itself a home. He presses and I can’t stop the force he’s pressed into his strike. The blade plunges itself into my shoulder scraping against the bone. The man is surprised when I do not yelp. The pain is minimal and I begin to press my weight against his arm. The knife slowly slides from its wound, filling his eyes with horror. “Why aren’t you dead?” A loud sickening crack fills my ears. Blood splatters across my face with my husband holding his 6 pound hammer driven into the skull of our assailant. His body slumps onto mine and my body shivers as every sense of my body focuses on the blood coming from this man. My mouth moistens as iron assails my nostrils. I open my mouth reaching for the neck of the victim.

    “Bravo.” Clapping from the other side of the room a familiar figure appears. The man from the sewers! The smell of refuse replaces the sweet iron and I wonder how I didn’t smell him before. “You’re an hour late for our meeting, but I see that you can read minds.” He point toward the body of the guard with a cane. “I was going to ask you to kill this man in exchange for saving you, but I see that it is no longer an issue.” Rikard stares at the man.

    “Franzinbor. I believe last names are sufficient for now.” Franzibor peers at me. “Drink. Quench that thirst.” His face is serious, more serious than I would think a man of any sort could be. Iron touches my nose again and I open my mouth reluctantly. I can feel them now and find it odd that I didn’t before. My fangs dig into the man’s neck and the sensation of life flows through my mouth.

    It took about another hour for Franzibor and I to explain what was happening to me. My husband was less than thrilled but it was apparent that he loved me enough to help keep this secret with me. Afterwards Franzibor made his leave promising to help me further with my “condition.” That night was the first time my husband was fearful to sleep with me.


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by LokiLeader on Wed May 09, 2012 3:15 am

    The entire day was spent with all the curtains pulled and me sitting inside my house reading some old books that I read as a child. The sun is painfully devastating to vampires just like it said in the tales. I woke up this morning with my arm almost completely cooked but it’s fine now.

    I sent Rikard to the assorted houses I cleaned in order to let them know I was willing to work again. Hoping Rikard had negotiated night work hours for me I was disappointed when he returned with only one house willing to rehire me to clean. I was unsurprised that it was the Silvwards. Though they’ve changed much in the 3 years I’ve cleaned for them they always liked having me around, well at least Kate did. I suppose though it’s only because I did a good job and other cleaners often pocketed some of their belongings. None of the family every really paid me much heed except Kate and her mother when they decided to give me some tea for my work. I’ve cleaned for them for 3 years and the sons barely know my damn name.

    My husband spent the entire day ignoring me. I’m not sure if it’s out of fear or maybe contemplation on his part, considering he killed a man with the very hammer he’s probably been using all day. The smell of hot iron reminds me of everything that happened last night. What I did with that man’s body. He drained me of my soul and I of his blood. Vengeance was a sweet taste on my tongue last night and I would be a liar if I said I didn’t want more. More blood, more vengeance. There was still that other guard and I knew that I would find him and I would kill him with my bare hands. But I think I may need to create a more interesting way to dispose of the body instead of just cutting the throat so It didn’t look like a bite and then dumping it in an alley.

    I sat there thinking for a moment before cracking open my book and waiting for the night.

    “Chapter 1: And Forgotten She Was”




    I slid my cloth hard across the wood flooring, scrubbing back and forth, trying my hardest to make up for a week of lost work. In the house hold of a general I would expect a little more thought into taking care of their gear but the caked on mud of boot traffic makes it apparent that only the lady seems to be upset by the substance. My thoughts kept drifting back to what happened only a few hours ago when I left to work here. I pause in my cleaning wiping my brow of sweat. I decide that a chisel may be better to deal with the dirt.

    3 hours ago I left my house to go work and not 10 minutes into my walk I heard an all too familiar sound echoing from a nearby ally. The whimpering of pain from a woman as she struggled. I didn’t even give it a second thought before I drew my small dagger my husband had made me long ago when we married. The shadows invited me into their stead as I slid quickly down the alley out of their normal array of vision. I could feel the pull of darkness as it shrouded me from sight. I had to wonder if this was because I was a vampire, but at this time it didn’t matter.

    The poor girl was maybe 16 and she was struggling against a man who had his foot on her throat as another man cut open her blouse. Without hesitation I slipped from the shadows and quickly jabbed my dagger into the spine of the strangler. I remerged with the shades of black as the man stumbled for a second and collapsed. I spoke before the other man could even notice.

    “Too much of a coward to try and earn a woman, Is that it?” My voice perfectly sounded from every wall and made the man jump. The girl took the perfect time to strike him right in the testicles with enough force to be heard from the entrance of the alley without any problem. I wrapped up my face and walked from the shadows not sparing the man one last word before severing his spine with my blade. I felt no remorse for this man. No matter what life he had it was gone now and I was glad that his death had come about. “Your name?” I said softly to the girl as she scrambled to cover herself.

    “Ma –Malissa” I nod heavily at her stretched voice. I wave her off and she gets up to leave. “I – I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” She stumbles over herself and sprints away as fast as she can.

    The bodies were drained and one was thrown into the sewer. The other made an example of. I found a rope most likely for clothes and I strung him up by his hands. In his chest I carved the word to let the world know what he was.

    RAPIST.


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    Ippy
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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Thu May 10, 2012 6:34 pm

    5:51 AM

    Mirra
    She was running through the dirt city paths behind Donden and the old man. Aside her trotted two others of the Night Watch who had been provoked by the man’s cries of “Help! There’s a vampire in my house!” just as Mirra had. It’s not as if this were a common experience. Mirra couldn’t keep herself from wondering if a vampire could take more than one shot.

    The group was coming to a graveyard now, tucked away behind a knotted line of wooden homes. Perhaps if Mirra had not been so excited, she may have noted the lack of an obvious church. As it was, though, she had already begun releasing the magic within her body. She was positive the vampire was in the graveyard, it was too snug of a fit.

    The old man pointed ahead. “There it is! In there!” The old man continued to plod over the graveyard grass, pointing in accusation. Donden grabbed the elder by the wrist, pressing in with his thumb and delving into the other man’s eyes. Mirra silently thanked Donden for stopping the fool; it would not do to have him charging the vampire and getting in the way. That was Mirra’s job.

    She blew pass Donden whom she heard utter the word “Careful,” but she didn’t need reminding. The magic in her veins was at high tide, the incantation complete. All that remained was the execution phrase. “Havoc!” The magic in Mirra discharged. The soil and tombstones around her began to tremble, then break. As if a magnet, Mirra was suddenly armored in rock and clay.

    The door had already been broken open. Mirra rushed through the portal, following the screams. The two watchman followed closely behind, their mal-tempered arming swords naked in the air.
    After what seemed like an overt gap in time, Mirra descended into the basement, wailing in her ears and flames in her face. She pinpointed the perpetrator amongst the bodies and prepared to careen into him.

    An arrow flew past her, plunging into the pyre of what was once a human being. Mirra stilled herself. Donden, as a rule, never sent a shaft after the good guys. Now that she thought of it, she could sparsely recall her target shouting something about foul demons. Considering her surroundings, she deeply agreed. Deathly hooks were scatted on the wall besides the burning carcass. The right of the room featured a sinister looking work bench overlooking two bound and blindfolded women. Under them lay three dead.

    Mirra yelled, and was relieved Hughes was elsewhere returning bodies. Inside her armor, her voice was muffled and indistinguishable; but Hughes would have known. Mirra was angry. Five people had been atrociously murdered by a monstrous evil. Five people had been taken out of this world and forced into the next, and Mirra couldn’t avenge them. Another already had.

    He wore average looking clothes and apparently hadn’t seen a large body of water for some time. Through the magic vantage in her earthen shell she saw his eyes shift from the two guards to her. She starred right back, though he would be unable to discern that. She wanted to ask him about the vampire, but her words would be unintelligible. Besides, it wasn’t her place. Donden was the leader of this group, and he was standing silently on the stairs, surveying the scene.

    “Sir?” one of the watchman prompted, glancing back over at Donden. The other walked up to the vampire-slayer and drew him aside, ordering him to stay put.

    Finally, Donden descended the stairs. He waved his hand at the blindfolded women. “Not the gags,” he commanded. The available watchman removed the blindfolds and comforted the ladies, quickly ushering them out of the basement. Donden continued his survey of the room, ignoring Mirra and the rest. Mirra reconsidered her position regarding Hughes presence. At least Hughes would talk or curse or something. Donden, on the other hand, was in woodsman mode, but there were people to deal with here.

    Mirra walked to Donden’s side, and shouted angrily. Donden faced her, light skin and bushy eyebrows plainly puzzled. Mirra much preferred Hughes. She seized him by the arm and dragged him to the slayer. He offered neither resistance nor reprimand. Mirra let go when the pair were in conversational distance, shouting again. She really wished the stupid spell would just wear off.

    Donden’s eyes meet the slayers for a second before returning to evaluating the room, the desk, and the blank walls behind the slayer. “So what happened?” he inquired. If it were just Mirra and him, she would have punched him square in the jaw. She saw no reason he couldn’t have just asked that in the first place.

    OOC: I may end up putting up an Aeric section in this post.
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    Rock'emSock'emRabbi

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Rock'emSock'emRabbi on Fri May 11, 2012 12:30 am



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    Elit3Fla5h

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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Thu May 24, 2012 8:08 am

    The arrow made a dull thunk followed by a low hum as it buried itself into the smoldering body. I glance over at the entrance and see the guards as expected and… a rock monster? My face turns to a questioning one as I examine the small bolder… thing. The thing couldn’t have been more than a few feet tall and was shaped like a small person. The rock was gray like that of the graveyard soil and I can only assume it smelled just as bad.

    The guards begin to fill the room and I am told to step aside as they free the women and put out the burning corpse. I cross my arms and lean against the wall, my eyes jumping back and forth between the rock thing and what looks to be the man in charge. He gives a few orders and just stands there examining the room with an emotionless face and sharp eyes.

    “Merragah merrg gooow!” The rock thing walks up to the man and begins to yell? at him causing both his and my face to change to a puzzled one as we look at it. It waves its arms in what I assume is frustration before dragging the man to me and yelling again. His face returns to expressionless one as he looks at me.
    “So what happened?” is all he asks before he resumes scanning the room.


    “WelI”, I undo my arms and casually push myself away from the wall to a normal standing condition.

    “I freed that old man and sent him to get the guards while a kept the thing from eating the women.”

    The man nods satisfied with the answer and continues to look around the room at the same time I noticed the rock monster begin to raise a quivering fist. I let out a small laugh and open my mouth to say more but am interrupted by shouting upstairs.

    ‘Sir, you can’t…”
    “This is my house and I’ll go wherever the damn hell I please!”


    Everyone in the room looks up at the stairs to the bald pajamad man descending the stairs followed by a few guards grabbing at him.
    “Let go of me dammit!” He yells whenever they get a hold of him and he manages to slip out.


    I let out another small laugh at the comic relief and open my mouth to speak, my normal smirk back on my face.

    “What took you so long ya old coot? I almost died saving your ass thanks to your slow hide!”

    At my words the guards stop grasping and he takes advantage of the opening to jump down to the base of the stairs.

    “Do I look like a damn courier to you? If anyone else Sylvester I would have set fire to the house and been done with this!” He turns away and grumbles to himself as he looks over the room.

    I turn back to the ranger now that the mood has been lightened and begin to speak.

    “Sylvester Wainright at you service sir.” I say with a small bow. I look up and motion to the black corpse on the wall. “And that was a vampire whose name I did not know. I have been chasing him from town to town for about a month now and as you can see it has ended here.” I glance at the dried corpses in the corner and let out a sigh. “Unfortunately I could not track him down fast enough to prevent all casualties; keeping up with something that is active at night can be very tiring and difficult.”

    The man never looks at me while I talk and only listens, focusing on the points in the room I mention.

    “This thing a Golem?” The old man says as he pokes the rock monsters head with the end of a broom.

    “And this crazy old fool is Hershal Hartwell, the grounds keeper, owner of this house, and unfortunately an old friend of mine.”

    “Please, you’re lucky to know me and you know it.” The old man responds while he escalates his poking to small hits on the rocks head.

    I shake my head at his response and look at the ranger to wait for his next words.


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    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

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