Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Share
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Sun Jul 08, 2012 8:06 pm

    Mirra
    Mirra felt small impacts on the side of her head. The noise of the impacts resounded in her helmet of earth. She narrowed her eyes. She found the noise incredibly annoying. She shifted her magical vision to the inquisitive old man at her side. She let him continue as she mulled over the name ‘Sylvester Wainright’ over in her head. It seemed so familiar, yet she couldn’t place it.

    “Please, you’re lucky to know me and you know it.” The impacts grew stronger, they began to jostle Mirra’s cranium. She growled to low to hear. She couldn’t think with all this prodding. Blasted old man, she didn’t care anything about him. If he wasn’t old, she would just smash into him. She settled for shouting out and snatching that accursed broom from his hands.

    “This is all so stupid!” she yelled, though nobody would know. She snapped the broom in two.
    Donden looked down on her. “Mirra, behave yourself.” Mirra hated Donden. She was a guardswoman, a valuable one at that; she was not his child to discipline. The old man wasn’t behaving himself, so why should she?

    Donden, on the other hand, stood straight and talked proper. “You will see what the golem is momentarily. Until then, I apologize, but I must take you two to the magistrate.” Donden gave a curt bow to signify his condolences. “I trust you will not resist?”

    As Donden explained Sylvester’s fate, Mirra sudden remembered where the name was from. She smiled in victory, validated in breaking that stupid broom that had surely been interrupting her thoughts. Her magical armor began to tremble. Perfect timing. As it broke off in chunks and fell to the floor, Mirra raised a hand and pointed straight to the vampire slayer.

    “Sylvester Wainright! You are under arrest for high treason against the First House by the order of House Stratos!” Mirra’s voice rang powerfully through the open air. It had only been a few minutes, but she had missed it sorely.
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Mon Jul 09, 2012 3:08 pm

    “…eh?”

    I look down where the stone thing once stood to see a little girl pointing at me triumphantly. Her words… High Treason… House Stratos?

    “…eh?”

    The room goes quiet and in the momentary silence I glace up at the old man holding a broken broom. He offers a small shrug with a surprised face as if to say “I have no idea what she is talking about.”

    I look at the ranger and point to the little girl and say…”eh?”


    _________________
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Fri Dec 21, 2012 9:22 pm

    6:02 AM

    Aeric
    The flames of the scrying chamber held no reflection in the pools of spy-water. Instead, aboveground and underground images floated in the room’s pedestals, giving full vision into and around the secret library. It was suitable location for my new home, even if errored, as Leon had pointed out. “Why is it I have not once seen this room before?”

    Godric watched Leon leave before he turned his attention to me. His body leaned forward ever slightly, supporting itself by resting its hands on one of the pedestals. “Nobles do not know of this room. This way, I can hide books from nobles by request of nobles.” And yet he had shown the place to Leon and I. The later part of that was a commendable phenomenon, but I regretted the first. The less people who knew of my rest the better. Regardless, I cannot alter the past. I would just have to tie Leon to me even more.

    “I’ve invited Leon to stay here. He’s accepted the invitation.” Godric fidgeted a bit, although his hands did not leave the pedestal. It seemed he favored Leon, and did not wish me to reverse the invitation. Such favor could easily prove problematic, but, perhaps also useful. I required a day agent, as it were, and Godric couldn’t quite fit the bill. The secret librarian was confined underground for the vast majority of his time, so that his knowledge remained equally secret. For decades servants have unknowingly sustained Godric by dropping food down a service shaft. It occurred to me that the Leon ordeal may have lasted for some time, the boy being Godric’s most frequent human contact.

    “Very well, the boy may stay. I must add the condition he may only enter during the night. In the day he must needs remain a street rat.” I wanted to hear any rumors or gossip that the street might bring. I would have to ensure that Leon was educated on the matter of hiding his recent riches and on the importance of keeping secrets. “I will hide here in the same manner you hid those books from us nobles. How do you manage such?”

    “I’ll show you, after I bring some blankets.” Godric shuffled his way towards the chamber’s entrance. I studied my arm for a moment, peering at my bones through holes in my putrefied skin. I do not believe blankets were necessary, at least for anything other than padding. It’s a good thing Godric knows the sleeping behavior of vampires. The sun would be rising soon, and I felt weariness oozing in.

    Godric returned, grunting as he dropped a pile of blankets at the edge of the scrying chamber. “Here go swan,” he annunciated clearly. I heard the sound of stones churning on another and watched in wonder as the walls surrounding the entrance magically folded and extended. Shortly the open space became a layer of cobalt bricks, and I found myself in a room with neither doors nor windows. I loved magic, for all its utility and secrecy. I began to blow out the torches. Even in the pitch black, I could still make out the images in the water.

    Mirra
    The creepy furnishing and burned corpse were irrelevant to Mirra. There was a criminal in front of her, and she would bring him to justice. “It means, traitor, that you’re under arrest,” she said as she grabbed Sylvester’s wrist. “And you’re coming with me to the estate of Lord Eron von Stratos.” Mirra started to stomp off out of the basement, traitor in tow.

    She had made it two steps up the stairs when a calm hand stopped her at the shoulder. Blasted Donden. What could he want? Sylvester was a criminal and she was taking him to the accusatory house. “A moment, Mirra.” Mirra did not mask her growl of impatience.
    “What?” she barked.

    Donden removed his hand from Mirra’s shoulder, moving it to his waist. He stood on the first step of the stairs, looking at Sylvester rather than Mirra. It bothered her, how quickly she was ignored. “I apologize, Mr. Wainright, but if Mirra insists you to be a treasonous man, then you surely are. She chooses for her reading none other than the list of Wordenhaul’s most wanted. I will escort you personally to the estate. Mirra, do report straight to Vanadorn.” Mirra glared down at Donden from the second step. Did he think Sylvester was too dangerous for her? She would be way better than Donden in a direct fight with a vampire slayer! She should be the one to escort Sylvester.

    Donden continued to detail the immediate future of those present. “I trust my fellow watchmen can handle matters here?” The two other guards of the Night’s Watch nodded in subordination. “And I regret to inform you, Mr. Hartwell, that you will not have the pleasure of visiting the magistrate this fine morning. You are, however, confined to the barony of Wordenhaul for 30 days, in the emergency that the magistrate requires your account.” Donden was talking a lot, and it was annoying Mirra. She let go of Sylvester’s wrist. For a silent woodsman he was jabbering away like a fancy man full of himself.

    Donden put his hand between the blades of Sylvester’s back, egging him upwards. “Come. You appear confused, vampire slayer, and innocent. I’m sure Lord Eron will sympathize with your plight, considering your recent deed.”
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Fri Mar 01, 2013 12:14 am

    6:02-6:36 AM

    Donden
    A woman knelt in the footpath between the buildings of Wordenhaul, tending to the shoes of her son. They had become untied. His legs were covered in scrapes of dirt, but apparently he had taken the time to wash his face. Looking a slight to the left, Donden noted a small pond off the footpath. The son was scrubbing himself clean, top to bottom. His mother caught him when he got to his chest. She threw his shirt back on and proceeded to scold him. A man walked through them, staking his shovel into the ground, digging into the pond and tossing the earth besides him. On a later day, he would likely fill the hole with water from the Bluevine.

    Donden allowed his lips to separate. It wasn’t often his curse viewed so far back. As far as he could tell, the pond was not recently formed. It’s edges had been smoothed by the water, and algae had made its home. As Donden focused on the pond, the specters of the past begin to fade, and he invaded less into the lives of that woman and her son. He hated how his cursed eyes intruded so. Peoples’ pasts belonged to themselves. It was why Donden missed the forest. Only the ghosts of animals stalked the forest. In the city, during the day, the amount of life was simply overwhelming. It was the reason Donden led Sylvester through this footpath rather than the main street.

    The vampire did not seem particularly talkative, instead he cast his gaze on the ground, deep in thought. Donden was a tad jealous, looking down while walking was a habit he had been trying to develop. Years of the forest had trained him to be alert, and for that he now suffered the visions of lives he had no part in. The pair of silent men turned and exited the footpath, coming to a wide expanse of paved street. The rising sun fired rays of light through thick Wordenhaul clouds. It would have been beautiful in the wild, but here, in this place for carriages, the image was tarnished by the events of yesterday.

    “Lord Eron’s estate is just up ahead.” Sylvester’s trance was broken, and he looked about himself. Donden assumed he was revaluating his surroundings. At least the vampire had taken the effort to conceal his skin from the sun. It was hardly the coldest day Wordenhaul had seen, and yet Sylvester wore a cloak that might be mistaken for a fur blanket with a hood. Donden had thought the vampires would be mass murdering predators, much like a brunor. Sylvester had cleverly wrought a defense, however, and walked with a completely mundane presence. Even so, this man was the same man who slaughtered five people for food and instilled the fear of Hell into two women. The kind of man Hughes would never forgive and Mirra would be all too eager to execute.

    Sylvester and Donden reached Lord Eron’s yard. It was a humble garden, maintained by but a single ghost. A teenage girl of a plain type of beauty was clipping the hedges that served Lord Eron as a fence, ensuring they did not overgrow their bounds nor duty. As Donden walked across the stones to the front door, he noted a degree of enlightenment in Sylvester’s expression. Recognition, perhaps? Donden took ahold of the golden knocker and banged it against the door three times before it opened. The girl from the garden stood before him, her ghost behind her walking towards the door. “I am here to deliver a criminal to the judgment of Lord Eron von Stratos.”

    The teenager gave a slender curtsy before admitting the pair in. “Right this way, my Lord is having his breakfast. She steered them through a small sequence of hallways before arriving to an exquisite dining room. The display of wealth brought Donden to the conclusion that Stratos was not a House descendent from the first Thanic peoples. The only person eating at the table was at its head, a well-dressed boy whose age aligned with his servant. His short hair was a shining blonde, matching the gold lining that was prominent throughout the room. Donden had never met Lord Eron before, and didn’t know much about him besides that he only recently became the Count of Stratos. There were muscles behind that gold and white tunic, though, and a rapier dangled from his side at breakfast. The appearance was not Thanic, but the value in might of arms was.

    Lord Eron wiped his mouth before gently setting aside his fork. The movement was excessive, his lips had already been clean. “Thank you, watchman,” he said. “My family had thought Sylvester long beyond our grasp. As I trust you know, Sylvester’s crime is high treason. I must ask you wait outside the door with Serras. My apologizes, you came all this way.” The girl gave another small curtsy as a means to dismiss herself. Donden didn’t quite know what Lord Eron was talking about, but bowed and dismissed himself all the same. Without warning ghosts appeared all around the table, eating boisterously in merriment.

    “My pleasure, Lord Eron.” Donden set his mind to contemplate scenarios where Lord Eron was attacked or Sylvester attempted to flee.

    On the other side of the door, Lord Eron rose from his seat and pulled a chair for Sylvester. “If you would?” he offered. Sylvester took the seat, weighing his situation. Lord Eron remained standing beside his own chair. “So, do you have anything to say? You’ve caused my family considerable trouble.”


    Last edited by Ippy on Mon Mar 04, 2013 10:31 pm; edited 1 time in total
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Mon Mar 04, 2013 4:07 pm

    Damn…
    Every breath was labored and every step felt heavy
    and exhausting. It was only supposed to be a short walk to a noble’s home but
    it felt like a hard journey up a mountain.
    Damn…
    My plan had worked like most of my plans did but what happened after had
    blindsided me.
    High treason huh?
    Through my heavy breathing an ironic smile came to my face. It was funny in
    a way wasn’t it? To escape blame from my crimes I set up a nice little show and
    framed a now dead man and I can only assume that someone had taken advantage of
    my sudden disappearance from the city and had done the same to me. That was the
    only other option besides just plain bad luck. Did I disappear the day before
    the crime? That would indeed be unfortunate, I doubt anyone would believe if I
    said “I was dead while that crime took place! How am I standing here?... well I
    got better…”
    I felt another smile cross my face at the thought of that.
    This is very bad. I have nothing but
    speculation and no hard alibi for where I have been for the past year. My old
    plan of “Mind you own business” is not going…
    All thought ceased and I was ripped out of the confines of my mind by sound
    of a voice and a sweet smell. I
    raised my head a bit and instantly regretted it. There in front of my eyes were
    a woman and a small child, parts of their bodies seemed to glow where the most
    blood rushed through. It would be so easy to suck them both…
    NO!
    I gave my head a small shake as if I could shake the craving off.
    Damn…
    My mind was filled with images of the previous night along with the
    feelings and tastes that blood provided; I felt so strong and fast whereas now
    I felt weak in both mind and body. My hands were shaking and my breath become
    more labored as we passed the mother and son. If this ranger had marched me
    through the main streets I would have been done, lost in blood lust and
    probably filled with arrows moments later
    Speaking of the ranger.
    I glanced sideways at the man escorting me.
    Only one to escort a man accused of high
    treason? This man may certainly be talented but underestimating a criminal is a
    quick way to failure.
    I was not chained either and was only given a quick pat down, I could
    easily be concealing a dagger. I could take a hostage, try to lose him in the
    twisting alleys, or I could simply be a better fighter and overpower him.
    Not that I could or would do any of that
    but this still seems strange. I am no knight bound by honor and am accused of
    the worst possible crime but no precautions have been taken. If Kate was here
    she would give them a hell that they would never forget.
    Images of a pissed off Kate yelling at the guards came to mind and I couldn’t
    help but snicker.
    Kate… I wonder what she did when this accusation
    came out.
    I sincerely hoped that she did not defend me while I was gone. She was from
    a great and old house and If I was convicted she would be most likely be shamed
    by all those in her house that hated me… which was everyone save her mother.
    “Lord Eron’s estate is just up ahead.”
    It was the rangers’ voice this time that brought me out of my musings. I looked
    up to examine the surroundings and to my surprise found them familiar. I may
    have been dead a year but to me It had only been here two nights ago that I
    solved a case here.
    And got the current head thrown in the
    dungeons.
    With all my heart I certainly hoped that that man did not have the pull to
    gain freedom or I was as good as dead.
    The ranger walked up to the front door and gave it a few knocks with the
    knocker and a moment later a cute girl answered the door. The ranger was
    straight to the point telling her of his purpose without as much as a hello or
    good morning.
    This is it, I can’t afford to lose focus
    now.
    I took a deep breath and steeled myself.
    My
    mind is my own and I will be damned if I let some base impulse control my
    actions again.
    I removed my hood as I entered the estate and gave the girl a smile as she
    closed the door behind us. The house looked the same as I remembered it except
    to the pictures of the accused was now missing to my relief.
    Probably removed when he was convicted,
    oh how these houses despise a tarnished name.

    The girl led us through the relatively unchanged home to the dining hall were a
    young man sat eating alone and giving off an air of nobility.“Thank you, watchman,” he said. “My family had thought Sylvester long
    beyond our grasp. As I trust you know, Sylvester’s crime is high treason. I
    must ask you wait outside the door with Serras. My apologizes, you came all
    this way.”
    The girl gave curtsy and left as well as the ranger though a bit more
    reluctantly and unfortunately without the curtsy.
    Once the door was close the new Lord Eron rose and pulled out a chair,
    “If you would?” he offered.
    “Thank you my Lord.” I said with a small bow and took my seat. The young Eron
    gave me look and did not retake his seat
    “So, do you have anything to say? You’ve caused my family considerable
    trouble.”
    I took a moment before I spoke and evaluated the young man before me, his expression
    betrayed little and his stance even less.


    “I apologize for that, though I am known to cause
    trouble from time to time. May I ask as to what you are referring too? The only
    thing that comes to mind is getting the old Lord Eron thrown into the dungeons
    for murder.” I pause and look into the young mans’ eyes in hopes that he could
    tell that I was not lying.
    “Can you imagine my surprise when I discovered I was wanted for high treason
    after not stepping foot in the city for more than a year?”





    _________________
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Tue Mar 05, 2013 7:38 pm

    6:37 AM

    Eron Stratos
    Eron lifted a hand that had been silently resting on his chair. He weighed his guest’s words and presentation. Sylvester was a stark contrast to his background, a smoked alley way hidden amongst fountains and thoroughfares. Even so, he met Eron gaze for gaze. In a word, he was dangerous. He reminded Eron of one of his mother’s many motifs: Beware confident men, for they would use you. This self proclaimed detective was no stranger to nobles and etiquette, yet rather than ‘Lord Nerl’ he utilized ‘old Lord Eron.’ Was that his way of asking for Eron’s thanks, or payment? Dangerous.

    Instinctively Eron shifted his body towards his sword-side, a relatively inconspicuous motion to anyone who hadn’t crossed him or his teachers before. “I could imagine, especially since you are undoubtedly completely innocent.” In fact, Eron was quite relieved. Sylvester alive meant no entity had killed him to make House Stratos look worse. Eron no longer had to spend resources or worry investigating a death that would bring him no closer to the invisible enemy of his family.

    Of course, Eron was not going to tell Sylvester that. Give them nothing you don’t need them to be. Eron’s mother echoed through his mind. He honestly had no idea who of his house convicted a missing man of High Treason, nor why. The transition of the title Count from Uncle Nerl to himself was not a smooth one. In any case, it was just one more secret Eron had to uncover. An idea stuck Eron.

    This detective was dangerous, and successful. The state of House Stratos could attest to that. Eron rounded his chair, setting himself back down. He could use Sylvester. He could threaten him with the charge of treason or bribe him with the favor of Stratos. Eron didn’t like threats, and Sylvester’s usage of ‘old Lord Eron’ hinted at some form of desire. The man’s eyes also seemed wanting. Eron spun his fork about a finger. He had decided.

    “Could you imagine the trouble House Stratos has suffered when its Count proved unwise and perhaps the contrary of benevolent?” He would test Sylvester, and proceed based upon the responses he received. His mother would have scolded him for making a decision so quickly from such ambiguous input as he almost had. A man is never known, identity is a trick.
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Tue Mar 05, 2013 9:43 pm

    An ever so furrow of the brow, a subtle shift in stance, slight clench
    in jaw, pupil constriction yet a strong stare…
    He is scared… no, he is weary of little
    old me. Interesting.

    He was not the easiest to read but he was far from that stone face ranger.
    The way he stood, the way he dressed, the way he spoke, even the way he
    breathed screamed that he was indeed well bred. I was impressed; I have had the
    displeasure of meeting many nobles in my line of work who loved to talk down
    you, issue threats, or throw flaunt their wealth with arrogant faces. This one
    was not one of those people.
    Unfortunately.
    Arrogance was always welcome and it was easy to manipulate those that underestimate
    you or thought themselves invincible and this was not one of those people. Here
    I sit in modest cloths with dirt from my grave in my hair and under my nails
    having my last bath more than a year ago and yet he paid them no mind, he saw
    or at least tried to see the man behind the cloths and filth. He was the kind
    of person I like but something told me the feeling was not going to be mutual.
    Come to think of it I would hate my kind
    of people as well.

    The current Lord Eron stared at me a bit making sure his eyes never left mine
    before his muscles slightly relaxed and he moved to take his seat.
    Seems he has decided on something.
    Could
    you imagine the trouble House Stratos has suffered when its Count proved unwise
    and perhaps the contrary of benevolent?”
    He waited for my response and did not go on.
    It does not seem you wants to throw me in
    chains, so what is it you want Eron?
    “I can imagine. Murder is quite the crime and especially scandalous when committed
    by a Count of all people. Dishonor and disarray must have come down on your
    house like a hammer my lord; you have my sympathies.”
    I lean forward and put my hands on the table, entwining their fingers and
    wearing a thoughtful look.


    _________________
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Wed Mar 06, 2013 12:31 am

    Eron Stratos
    Eron set the fork down, but did not look away. He felt judged, and looked down upon. Sylvester was evaluating Eron, which was exactly what Eron deserved considering how he had been thinking of Sylvester up until this point. But, sympathies? Eron did not want this man’s sympathies. Everything Stratos suffered was what Stratos was owed. Even so, this man belonged with nobles, especially if he had managed to act so insolent for so long and remain unaccosted. If he could step on toes so freely and escape as a venerated detective—why was he not a dane?

    Eron let out an amused laugh. A bribe it would be. “Sympathies are nice, I suppose. Not very useful.” Eron needed to stop saying nonsense. It earned him little, and Sylvester sought answers. As a Lord, it was his job to provide. “I apologize for this, I will be sure to clear your name. As you are undoubtedly aware, high crimes must be backed by an accusatory house. You were likely accused prior to my leadership and after my Uncle’s conviction as a means to deliver you here. For what reason, I confess, I cannot say.” Yet he wondered. Maybe it would come to him later, when he could think more of the Sylvester affair.

    “Nevertheless, I benefit from it. You see, naming you a Dane of Stratos would be a public apology of sorts. It could not set things right, for we have errored, but it may help.” Eron paused to let it sink in a little, giving Sylvester time to judge if becoming a Dane of Stratos would farther his own goals. That is the type of man Eron took Sylvester to be: one who used every acceptable method, unconventional or otherwise, to achieve his ends. “Of course it’d be irresponsible of me to name you a dane for your history and political benefits alone. My family must review the man who brought our shame to light. As of an hour ago, I find I’m in need of a detective. Interested?” Eron was unsure of the answer he wished Sylvester to respond with, but it felt as if the invisible assailant of Stratos grew closer to a chokehold every other day.
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Wed Mar 06, 2013 3:03 am

    After my words he had put his utensil down and put on a thoughtful look of his own.
    Now there is a reaction that I did not expect.
    Then after not losing his temper or calling me insolent or doing anything else
    any other Count would have done, he said he would clear my name. Now at this
    point I knew that he wanted me for something, a job perhaps? That was the only way I could be of use to someone with wealth like he probably had. No, what caught me by surprise was his offer of making me a Dane of house Stratos… that certainly widened my eyes a bit. Me a Dane?
    He wants me as a Dane to apologize and regain a little lost respect?
    As a Dane of Stratos I would have responsibilities and represent this house. And big screw ups or scandals from me would further dishonor Stratos and yet Eron knows this and offers the title to me, a man he only met with a few minutes ago.
    Though honestly I am probably the most useful person to make a Dane.
    If this offer was given a year ago I would have turned it down in a
    heartbeat after promptly laughing and holding back the urge to call the Lord a fool, but now? My home is barren, I am broke, the people responsible for my death would no doubt try again once they find I am alive, and I am a vampire all ready with a body count. Even if I received none of the benefits that came with the title but the title itself it would still serve as a shield from questioning guardsmen and served as a sign that I was “trustworthy.” This Lord Eron would definitely be able to improve this house and as a result improve my
    protection.
    Not to mention being a vampire Dane was terribly amusing.
    I furrowed my brow in thought before calling back my usual smile.
    “That is a most generous offer my lord and one that I graciously accept.”
    Yes, as long as this man is Count this decision should turn out nicely.
    “And as for the job it would be impolite to refuse my soon to be Count.”
    I could be very good at hollow courtesy so this little “review” was just a formality, my real interest now laid in his need for a detective.
    Ugh, so tired and thirsty… this meeting has gone much better than expected but none the less it needs to end soon.
    I undo my hands and lean back in my chair with both arms on the rests.
    “So how can I be of service my lord?”


    _________________
    avatar
    BiscuitMann

    Posts : 83
    Join date : 2013-03-05
    Age : 25

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by BiscuitMann on Wed Mar 06, 2013 12:05 pm

    "NO!" I shouted "I refuse to let you tear down this building! If you intend to do this you are going to have this entire sector of the city up in arms against you!" I looked at the man standing across from me as he glared down at me from under the brim of his absurdly foppish hat.
    "Come now, surely the homes of a couple of children is nothing compared to the need for the relief of the this sector's patrollers and officials."
    "Alan P. B'stard, you are a completely senseless and useless official. You don't understand the need of your sector's citizens and you only use you power for the benefit of those who you kiss the ground for." Alan looked round as I said this and slowly came to realize that even with the backing of the armed guards behind him, he was vastly outnumbered by the people who had gathered round in the square.
    Alan shook his head and sighed, "Borris, Borris, Borrris, I see that you will not listen to the reasoning of your betters. I will take my leave, but do understand, this building will go down one way or the other, and you won't always be here to stop it." Alan turned round and walked away from the crowd that had formed from the heated exchange from the two people.
    I looked at the crowd around me and went about the task of calming them down and sending them back to whatever it was they had left unfinished in order to see what the commotion was about.

    Later that night, I felt the need to relieve the stress of what Alan had threatened me with so I took my usual walk around town leaving my house locked and shuttered. I put up the usual wards that prevented unwanted access,which had been taught to me by my now deceased mother, and wandered down the street musing to myself about my current situation. As I turned the corner of the street my eyes crossed as something approached me at a rather unpleasant speed. My last thought before the object hit me was "It's a shame that spirit magic doesn't protect the user from harm."
    I awoke to the feeling of a painful throbbing that seemed to originate form between my ears and the sight of a dark, dusty and empty room. I tried to move towards the door only to discover that I was chained to the wall behind me by some rather hefty lengths of chain that was wrapped around my arms and legs and that there was a gag in my mouth. I struggled for awhile and then gave up because I could see it was getting me absolutely nowhere.
    After a long and silent wait I was rewarded with the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Sadly, it seemed like the spirits of luck had abandoned my because the man who stood through the door with the aplomb of a peacock was Alan P. B'stard.
    "Don't worry, I just need to make sure that we have the right man before we get rid of him" Alan said as he looked me up and down before looking closely at my face. "Hmmm…Yes this is him. Dispatch him in the usual way and leave him on the street near his house, but wait until I leave before dealing with him, I don't want blood on my new clothes."
    I stared at Alan's back as he walked out of the room, burning into my mind the image of the man who had sentenced me to death, as one of the guards approached me with a rather nasty looking dagger.
    "Sorry about this, it's nothing personal but you know, orders are orders," the guard said as soon as the door closed. With that said, the guard thrust the dagger into my stomach and twisted, leaving a fiery burning pain in my abdomen as i felt my vision start to fade into black. As the dagger was thrust into me again and again, I focused on the one thing that separated me from the pain and kept my heart and mind beating. "I will kill that fucking bastard!"

    ******
    I jolted awake to pitch black darkness pressing in on me. I tried to move but I encountered a wall right in front of me, more attempts at movement and I realized I was trapped in a small rectangular box that was barely able to contain me. I felt panic starting to rise up from my chest as I came to understand that I was not getting out and that i was trapped in here for all eternity. I started trying to claw my way out, working my self into an absolute frenzy as I felt a burning in my throat that felt as if I hadn't had a drink in ages. My mind screamed at me to do something and my body just panicked as I kept clawing on the box around me. Suddenly, I felt a tugging in the center of my chest, then a faint pulling sensation and all of a sudden I was free of the confines of the box. I gulped in deep breaths of fresh air as my mind calmed down from the feelings of claustrophobia. After a few moments I felt better, but the burning in my throat was still there and in fact it felt worse than it had before. I slowly stood and took stock of my situation, I stood near the middle of a cemetery under the shadow of a tree, the moon was bright and illuminated the gravestones around me. A name on the tombstone nears to me stood out as I walked over to it and just stared at the name on the stone.

    Borris Alexandrov

    I stared at the name for what felt like an eternity, when I heard a short cough behind me. I whirled around and saw a large, fat man standing there holding a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other. I could hear him saying something to me but i couldn't comprehend what he was saying because I was completely focused on the artery that was pulsing in his neck. The burning in my throat was completely taking over my other senses and I started approaching the man. I must have surprised the man because my mouth was biting into his throat and he hadn't even done anything to defend himself with. i felt my mind let go of my body and the rest of me went on auto pilot. I came back to my senses several minutes later standing over the emaciated corpse of the man having drained his entire body of any liquid that it contained.

    I stood there for awhile, wrapping my head around the idea of what I had become. "Well…..that was strange," I said aloud, "what the hell happened to me?"

    I stared up at the moon for awhile as i tried to come to terms with my situation. Slowly and almost mechanically i walked back to my tombstone and sat down on.
    Ok lets think this through. First, I just killed and ate…well "ate" is a bit strong, drained, yes drained a man of all of his blood just because I was…what was I? Thirsty? Sure, so thirsty I resorted to drinking a man's blood.
    Second, I am sitting on a tombstone, MY tombstone in fact, so I can fairly accurate in believing that everyone thinks I'm dead as well as the fact that I was in and enclosed box which I assume must have been a coffin.
    Third, I was in a coffin and now Im not, so I must have somehow gotten out without breaking it.
    And fourth, I can see absolutely every minute detail of everything around me. I can even see the bugs that are walking around the roots of the tree near my tombstone, and I know for a fact that, even with a full moon, I should not be able to see things with this much clarity.

    I paused in the middle of my internal mutterings, moving my tongue around my mouth I noticed that two of my teeth seemed to have gotten much pointier than before. The shock of this discovery jolted me to my senses and I realized what I had become.
    Vampire
    Well fan-friggin-tastic, i thought. I've become my own worst nightmare. I sighed and decided to see what had changed with my current metamorphosis. I tried to reach internally for the spirits that had always helped me with my spell casting before and found nothing but emptiness. It seemed as if the spirits that had been with me since i had been taught to sense them by my mother had abandoned me to my fate. I clamped down on my emotions and focused on my current surroundings hoping to distract myself from the loss of the one thing that reminded me of my mother. I was rewarded with the sight of an open grave with a large ornate tombstone off to the side of the cemetery. I walked over to it and looked into the grave and was shocked to see that it looked absolutely trashed as if some beast had clawed its way out of the grave.
    I looked back at the man who i had ate…drained and then looked back at the grave. I wonder if he was intending to fill this in? I thought. Looking at the name on the tombstone revealed no new knowledge other than the fact that Lord Aeric von Wadenhyl was no longer in his grave. I looked down at myself and discovered that i was wearing a rather bloodstained and decomposed set of funeral wear. I looked at the man who i had killed and then took a closer look at his clothing. The shirt was out of the question due to all the blood but the trousers seemed to be in fine condition. With a silent apology to the deceased man, I stripped him of his trousers and belt, and proceeded to put them on. Having done that I looked at the shirt I was wearing an decided that it was just too formal to blend in with the people of the city, so I stripped it off and discarded it on the dead man. A final glance around the graveyard yielded no knew information so I took off at a mild jog towards the walls of the city.

    On my way to the city walls i noticed a curious sensation. whenever i passed under the shadow of a tree i felt the tugging sensation that i had felt in my coffin. Curious, i reached inside myself, like I used to reach for the spirits, and pulled.
    THWACK!
    I looked up from the ground at the tree that i had just ground my face into and scowled at it, as if it could help alleviate the annoying ache between my eyes. Looking around i realized that I was under a different tree than I had been moments before. Apparently I can teleport, what kind of vampire am I? I rubbed my nose, stood up and started jogging to the wall.
    Once I reached the wall I considered how to get in. I disregarded the idea of just walking through the gates because one look at my current visage and I would be denied entry, likely with a sword in my stomach. After thinking for a moment I decided to test the new ability I seemed to have spontaneously gained. I stood in the shadow of the wall, reached for the tugging sensation and pulled again. I looked around and found myself about 12 feet to the left of my original position. "Right lets try that again." I reached for the sensation and found that I couldn't find it. I momentarily panicked, but quickly clamped down on the panic and focused on finding the feeling again. I found that i could sense it, the feeling was weak but it was slowly getting stronger again. After about half a minute, the sensation was back to full strength. I reached for the sensation again and, focusing on the direction i wanted to go, I pulled. This time I found myself on the inside of the wall in the shadow of a house close to the wall.
    I quickly took off at a quick pace towards the direction of my old home. I hoped that my house had been left untouched but I also feared that it had been completely ransacked. On the way to the house I passed by the orphanage that I had protected from Alan. When I walked into the square in front of the house I immediately new something was wrong.
    The building that I had known had been broken down and replaced with a large three story house that seemed to sell adult friendly comfort. I clenched my fists in rage as I imagined Alan's neck between my hands as I squeezed the life out of it. Turning down a side road, I sprinted towards the location of my house. I made it to the destination in almost no time at all, so quickly in fact that I had almost overshot it going at full speed. I paused outside the house looking it over.
    The windows had been boarded up and the door looked loose in the frame. When I approached the house and pushed at the door, it swung open with a loud creak and the fell out of the hinges and I winced as it hit the floe with a loud crash. The inside of the house was completely barren, anything that hadn't been nailed down, and quite a few things that hadn't, had been removed and carted off to god knows where. I sighed, I had liked my furniture. After a small muttered prayer for luck I moved to the back of the house and stood in front of the far wall of my study. I reached down to the floor and pushed at one of the floorboards, and it moved enough for me to get my hand under the wall. With a sharp tug I pulled the entire wall up on the hinges that connected it to the roof revealing the set of steps behind it that led down into the basement of my house. Pulling the wall back down behind me I walked down the stairs and looked around the room. It seemed that the looting that had gone on upstairs had missed my collection of precious magical supplies. I moved to the center of the room and sat in the chair as I took in my collection of magical supplies and began to plot the course of my future actions.

    OOC: the for the door thing in the wall, imagine a garage door on a hinge and the time is about 3 in the morning.



    Last edited by BiscuitMann on Fri Mar 08, 2013 8:33 pm; edited 1 time in total
    avatar
    FrenchPopo

    Posts : 715
    Join date : 2011-08-17

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by FrenchPopo on Wed Mar 06, 2013 11:20 pm

    "Shit, we grabbed the wrong kid! Of course we'd be stuck with the kid the parents don't care for..."

    The voices were faint, but Alana knew they were talking about her, they had to be... She had been crying for hours as her and her captors awaited the response to their ransom note. She should've known that would've been the case.. If it were Frederick or Catherine, they would have sent the money immediately. Her tears of fear and grief turned into tears of rage. DAMN THEM ALL TO HELL!

    Footsteps drew near, as Alana's captors approached her. "Well it's a shame Girly, your parents say they can't afford ya. You know, for a Dane, I didn't we were asking for too much." He held the note out in front of her. "Dearest Alana, we're very sorry, but we cannot afford the demands of
    your captors. We are sorry that there is nothing we can do..." She
    couldn't read the rest, she stopped caring... "It's a shame that your
    parents couldnt do anything for ya," the other man said with a grin.
    "Killing you just isnt worth what we could've gotten, but it needs to be done. These Royals need to learn their lesson."

    ~~~~~~~~~

    Alana awoke suddenly, gasping for air. Her throat burned, as if the fires of hell were coming from her gut. Was is just a bad dream? It all felt so real; she kept playing the events through her mind. She had barely stopped to notice that she had awoken in a cemetery. How the hell did I wind up out here? Her mind had been rushing from thought to thought so quickly, she was oblivious to the outside world. Still she kept trying to remember the events that seemed as though they just happened. She remembered being tied up, helpless. She remembered the dagger as it thrust into her chest. She quickly unbuttoned the top of her chest and examined her body. There was indeed a scar in the middle of her chest, although healed for some time now. "How is this possible?.." She asked herself out loud. She slumped down next to the headstone that was behind her; Why did I have to wake up? She couldn't possibly think of anything better than death at the moment.

    "There are people who care about you, Alana." A mysterious voice came from the fog that filled the cemetery. "It's just a matter of finding the right people, and punishing those who are wrong."

    "Who's there? Do you know why I am out here? Please, I'm so confused!" Alana shouted out, hoping that the voice would answer her.

    "I gave you a second chance, so that you may have justice, so you could have the life you truly deserved..." The voice faded out.

    Truly deserved... what could he mean by that? She was the daughter of the Caldwell household, a pristine family, in a small town outside Wordenhaul. A life she started to miss.. but every time she thought about her family and what they had done -- failed to do -- she couldn't help but clinch her fists in anger. "I think it's time I go ask my parents a few questions."

    Luckily, the fog had cleared shortly after the voice had left. She recognized the cemetery she was in. After buttoning her dress back up, she casually strolled back to her house; it wasn't too far away. The longer she walked, the worse her throat burned; not only had her thoughts made her oblivious to her surroundings, she almost forgot about the grueling pain her body was currently enduring. She got along about halfway on her trip when she noticed a figure in the distance carrying a lamp; quite curious, people usually aren't out this late. The figure was looming toward her, she noticed it was definitely a male stature heading her way. "Excuse me, sir, but isn't it a little late to be outside?" "Well I could say the same to you, Missy!" The man continued on to question her, but Alana realized that she wasn't receiving his words. All she could sense was his pulsating body underneath that overcoat and scarf; the pounding of his.. blood flow? seemed to echo in her ear. This is such a strange feeling, a feeling I have never felt before... I have to have it. "I said, is your house around here young lady?" The man asked; it was obvious he was starting to get annoyed. "Umm.. yes, actually. My house is just up the road, would you mind escorting me?" The man then changed his composure; it was if as though he fell in a trance. "Of course, milady, follow me." Alana was trying so hard to fight the urge off. Just a little longer... As they neared an alleyway, she immediately vaulted on top of the mans back and plunged her fangs into his neck, straight through his scarf. He let out a long groan as he fell to the ground with a *thud*. Alana drank and drank, each drink satisfying her craving and alleviating her sore throat. MY GOD, THAT WAS DELICIOUS! But why so? Once again, amidst her thoughts, she hadn't realized her incisors had grown in size and sharpness. Fangs, drinking blood... No, it can't be! They're only in story books! But it seemed the case, Alana was a vampire. After feeding, she dragged the body into the alleyway and continued on home. She replayed her attack over and over. The strengh, the speed, the kill. I think I can get used to this, she thought with a grin.
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Thu Mar 07, 2013 12:21 pm

    Eron Stratos
    Eron frowned, disappointment briefly flashing across his face. Perhaps perfection was not so easily found in a dane, still, Sylvester had Eron’s hope. “Generous? I offer this only because I believe that you may be worthy. Come.” Eron rose and moved to exit the room. Serras and the watchman stood silently in attendance on the other side. Eron liked this watchman’s style. “This morning I received news that a crucial merchant was found slaughtered with his family.”

    Eron headed over to a writing desk he kept in the parlor and proceeded to remove a quill and parchment from within its confines. “My cousin, James, is already on her way to investigate. Serras will take you and the watchman to her.” Eron hastily began to forge an official document. Eron considered setting Sylvester after the stolen goods, but immediately decided against it. This was a detective he was working with, a professional at deducing secrets. The man would have to be trusted with the truth eventually, if he were to be involved. Eron settled on ambiguity for now. “I require all the information you can discover about the murders.” Eron returned the quill to its original position after signing the parchment. He retrieved some wax and sealed the corner of the parchment with his signet ring.

    Eron turned around, handing the parchment to Sylvester. “This will clear you of your treason until the guard can be notified of your innocence. Do you have any questions?”


    Last edited by Ippy on Wed May 29, 2013 3:33 pm; edited 1 time in total
    avatar
    Rock'emSock'emRabbi

    Posts : 2139
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Rock'emSock'emRabbi on Thu Mar 07, 2013 1:41 pm

    (cont. from page 1)

    As Sally went out to gather the eggs from the hen-house she was surprised to find a few crumpled up pieces of paper that had blown up against the shed. The pages where wet and a bit smudged but still surprisingly understandable.They seemed to come from an old diary. Sally gathered the lot and ran home to decode the cryptic message:

    "I don't know who this belonged to but the owner of this book is now dead. I'm so terribly sorry mystery man, and to who this may concern, i am at absolutely no fault to his death.

    No Seriously, pure happenstance. I was trying to find my way back to town right after stopping at a creek to get the awful taste of dirt out of my mouth. I bent down to take a sip and and that's when i noticed... there was someone, or something, watching me from the other side of the river.

    I Jumped back startled and took off through the woods. Narrowly avoiding the trees as i fled, the demon in close persut. The vile creature let out a ground shaking Roar as it sped up the pace. I ran and I ran, but to no avail...

    I turned my head to see my attacker, the bears glowing red eyes staring right back at me, right into my soul. I turned my head back just in time to see a rather large man standing standing in my path... He looked quite surprised as i came running full speed into his unsuspecting person.

    I and this (rather portly) old man were thrown to the ground. I screamed, then he screamed, Then the demon chasing me roared as all of our voices harmonized into a terrible Chorus of fear pain and regret.

    I (doing as any of my fellow courageous young acquaintances would have done in said situation) Soiled my trousers and bolted up the nearest tree.

    The Round One attempted to put up a fight but the bear was too much for him and he was slowly torn to pieces and eaten.

    So after i got the fire made, pants dried, dinner eaten(portly man remains), and had a short bathroom break, i rummaged through the man's many possessions. I found many interesting things... a few letters a monocle, and this thingy.(no fucking Map) It was a lovely little book and an interesting little writing tool attached to it... I think ill name the book Gregory! So yes... no blame here...~~~"

    At that moment Sally's parents walked in to discover she had not yet collected the eggs. Her suspicious parents quickly discovered these diary papers and burned them calling them the evil demon's script.


    _________________
    avatar
    BiscuitMann

    Posts : 83
    Join date : 2013-03-05
    Age : 25

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by BiscuitMann on Thu Mar 07, 2013 3:20 pm

    Carefully I sorted through my magical supplies, slowly separating the components I knew I could use from the components that I couldn't. Gradually, I kept discarding from the dwindling pile until I was left with the components of a seeing spell and the ritual methods written down on a scroll next to the pile. Having read over the ritual spell, I knew that I needed a mirror, incense and a piece of my target. Luckily, I had all of these i supply, although my collection of Alan's hair was dangerously low due to not being able to get very close to him. I had intended to use the hair for a different spell, but that spell was a Spirit Shaman spell and was, as far as I could tell, out of my reach. I looked at the large 3 foot mirror that was mounted on the wall and shrugged, a bigger one would have been nice but oh well.
    I set about preparing the components and making myself a space in front of the mirror. I drew the necessary symbols on the ground, placed the hair in its appropriate place, lit the incense and mentally collected myself. Slowly, i chanted the script that was written on the scroll. I began to doubt that the ritual was working but then i felt the smoke beginning to swirl around me as i neared the end of the ritual. in the last moments of the ritual's completion, the smoke rushed towards the mirror and filled the inside of the mirror making it look like a cloud behind a window pane. I stood up and walked over to the mirror after putting Alan's hair back in it's container, I might have a use for it later. I tried to see into the mirror but all i got was cloudy background. Damn, I thought to myself, I must have messed up the ritual. I sighed and slumped in the chair that I had moved to the side of the room. I sat there contemplating whether or not to try the ritual again when a flash of movement caught my eye. i jolted upright in the chair, staring at the mirror, the clouds had cleared slightly and i could now see what appeared to be Alan P. B'stard in a bed in a room that was a bit run down, with a woman of indeterminate age, sleeping next to him. I looked around the room trying to get an idea of where the room was in relation to the rest of the city. The room itself revealed nothing but the room had a window and i could just see through the fog into the square below the window. I stared at the image, my mind blank and my mouth hanging open, I had seen that view many times when I visited the local orphanage. Alan was sleeping in the building that he had replaced the children's orphanage with.
    That imbacilic, selfish, flamboyant little piece of shite! He has the nerve to sleep in that whore house?!? I shut my mouth with a loud snap. Well, i'll just have to make sure he doesn't wake up to regret his decision. I stormed out of the room, grabbing a short dagger that was on a table beside the stairs. I marched up the steps but then slowed down when I remembered that it wouldn't really benefit me to have anyone guess that there might be someone living here. I closed the hidden door behind me, making sure that it locked in place properly, then I snuck my way out of the house and down the street.
    ***
    I looked across the square at the building that my hated murderer was sleeping in. Remembering the view from the mirror, I figured that the room Alan was in was one of the ones on the third floor. Luckily, there were only two rooms on the third floor that looked out into the square, so my odds were pretty even for getting the room right the first time. I walked over to the building next to the whore house and, looking at the wall, I reached for a drainage pipe that lead up to the roof. Giving it a hard tug, I found that it was securely mounted to the wall. Pulling myself together, I scaled the wall as quickly and as quietly as I could and managed to get to the top without seeming to wake anyone. Standing on the roof, I could see the window of the third floor that was easily within arms reach. I reached out, grabbed hold of the window sill and pulled myself up to peer inside. Apparently lady luck was smiling on my because Alan was right there sleeping like a demonic baby from hell, with all the accompanying noises too. It was amazing that the woman in the bed next to him could even sleep with the racket Alan was making. I opened the shutters on the window all the way and pulled myself inside, all the while trying to be as silent as possible. I froze, crouched by the window and looked around the room as I suddenly realized that I had no idea what I was going to do. This was really not like me, I never impulsively rush out and do things on a whim. A glint in the corner caught my eye as the moonlight reflected off the hilt of an ornate dagger that rested on top of Alan's clothing. Suddenly, in a flash of adrenaline infuse inspiration I grabbed the dagger and unsheathed it. The blade was sharp and pointy and that was all that I needed, creeping over to the bed I looked down at the two people sleeping there and whispered a silent prayer of apology and slit the woman's throat before plunging the dagger into her heart. Leaving the woman impaled to the bed, I walked over to the pile of clothing on the floor and pulled out a sock. I walked back to the sleeping Alan and, after a moments hesitation, touched his shoulder. Alan awoke with a start and almost immediately tried to swing his fist at me, but I was faster and more prepared. My fist hit his throat followed by a swift jab to the temple that left him out cold.
    Whew, looks like it was worth it to learn some hand to hand combat when I was alive, I thought. I quickly stuffed the sock into Alan's mouth and then heaved him over my shoulder. I turned towards the window and peered out at the square below. The square seemed dead silent, as if there was nothing living in the street below. Taking a quick gamble, I reached for that tugging sensation I had felt before and pulled again, focusing on the square outside. My gamble worked, but not very well, as I ended up appearing five feet in the air underneath the overhang by the door of the building. When I hit the ground and stumbled, knocking myself over and dropping Alan on the ground. As Alan rolled away from me, I heard a groan emanate from him. Scrambling back to my feet, I rushed over and heaved him over my shoulder firman's carry style and sprinted across the square to a dark alleyway by the butchers shop. I dropped, Alan to the ground and stared at the man who had cut short my life for standing agains him.
    I mulled things over, and at one point I considered waking him and gloating over my revival and his demise but I scratched that idea when I realized that I just didn't enjoy that kind of thing. Looking down at Alan, I realized that I just wanted him dead, I really didn't care about his state of mind. With that thought I reached down and pulled Alan up so that he was at head hight. As the moonlight illuminated the sweat and dirt on his face I leaned forward and bit down on his throat. The warm blood was absolutely delicious and the texture was smooth and creamy. I felt Alan squirm underneath me as I drained him of his life juices. Gradually, I felt Alan's efforts grow weaker and weaker until I could feel nothing and his blood had ceased to pump. I casually tossed the body to the ground and stretched. I felt absolutely amazing, as if I had molten lava flowing through my veins. The feeling was better than any buzz I had ever gotten from alcohol.
    Coming down from my feelings of euphoria, I looked down at the body below me and considered what to do with it. After a moments consideration, I hefted the body and took off towards the docks that ran along the lengths of the river Bluevine. Taking the backroads to avoid being seen by any unwary citizens or patrol officers took me a little longer than I had hoped to reach the docks. Once there, I dropped the body behind some crates and dashed off to look for supplies. I found what I needed rushed back to the body and began attaching the wighted metal anchor to the body with a length of rope. Once I had finished that, I dragged the body and the anchor to the edge of the docks and heaved them as hard as i could and sent the body and weight into the river where they would never be seen by anyone. I stepped off the docks, walked to the river itself and began washing all of the excess blood off my chest. I didn't want to be seen by a guardsman and have to explain all the blood on my chest. With that done I strolled back to my house, quietly singing a jaunty drinking tune along the way.


    Ye've got yer drink
    and no time te think
    so tip it up
    and knock it back
    drain that bastard dry


    OOC: the time is about 5 in the morning


    Last edited by BiscuitMann on Fri Mar 08, 2013 8:39 pm; edited 1 time in total
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Thu Mar 07, 2013 5:59 pm

    I rise from my seat and take the parchment from Eron and make it disappear
    beneith my heavy cloak before rising from my chair.
    Almost done.
    I make a thoughtful look and as I try to gather my fastly weakening resolve
    for the final push out of here and hopefully to some blood. Indeed I had many
    of questions but those could be answered by this Verliue and I lacked the
    mental fortitude to pay attention and absorb the information at the moment. My
    thoughts were of my usual plans, theores, and analyseis mixed with thoughts of
    blood and the damn dryness of my throat.
    I knew running on no blood at all would be bad but not this bad.
    “I just have one my lord.” I say with my mask still on.
    Eron had said it himself that he deserved it and if he meant what he said then
    this title was completely unrelated
    to this case. Him clearing his name was as he said more of an apology so using
    his logic I really didn’t owe him anything.
    “I will be compensated for my time I presume?”
    Discussing payment before any job was standard procedure and doing things for
    free out of the gratitude or kindness of my heart was not really my style.


    _________________
    avatar
    BiscuitMann

    Posts : 83
    Join date : 2013-03-05
    Age : 25

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by BiscuitMann on Thu Mar 07, 2013 10:32 pm

    I felt the city coming to life around me as the barest hint of the sun started to slowly creep above the wall of the city. I started to hurry towards my house, as I had no desire to be outside when the sun came over the horizon. I was so focused on my concern, that as I turned the corner on my street I ran right into an old man who was barreling down the street. Unable to brace myself, I was knocked to the ground and the breath whooshed out of me. After gasping for a few moments I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up into the concerned face of the old man who had just knocked me over
    "Are you ok?" He asked. I nodded my head, still having issues with breathing, and the man sighed in relief. "Good, then if you'll excuse me." Turning around the man took off down the road screaming, “Help, there’s a vampire in my home!”
    I stared after the man in shock, there are other vampires in the city?!? My mind reeled over this fact as I stood up and mechanically walked towards my house. Walking through the doorway of my house I felt something in my hand. Looking down, I saw a ripped piece of cloth clenched between my fingers. How the hell did that get there?…Oh wait, it must have been when that old man knocked me over, I must have accidentally grabbed at the man's shirt and ripped part of it off. Looking closer, I realized that I had pulled a few hairs from the man's chest when I had grabbed his shirt. I considered just dropping the hairs and cloth in a corner of the room but then I remembered the man's exclamation about a vampire in his house. I turned and dashed through the rooms of my house to the secret door, opened and shut it, then dashed down the stairs.
    With a quick glance around the room I grabbed some of the few remaining incense sticks and set them up in their appropriate places and placed the hairs that I had clenched in my hand in front of me. With a sharp look at the mirror above me I confirmed that the earlier spell had worn off and the mirror was back to its regular old self. I hate relying on magic but I really need to know if what he said was true. I leaned over and reached for the scroll that I had tossed aside after I had completed the earlier ritual. I went through the required ritual steps, although a but quicker due to my increased anxiety. Once I had completed the ritual, I stood up and stared into the mirror, willing it to show me something of the man who I had run into. After what felt like an eternity, the smoke in the mirror slowly dissipated to reveal the old man leading a collection of guards to a house on the edge of a cemetery. Hey, that's not to far from here. The man seemed to be shouting something and I cursed the fact that the spell only provided visuals and not sound. I continued watching the scene unfurl as the guards entered the house

    *******

    I slumped back in my chair as I stared at the old man who was cleaning up what appeared to be his living room after the guards had all left and the man who had slain the Vampire had been escorted out. Something about the scene that I had just seen was bugging me but I couldn't think what it was so I shrugged it off.
    Apparently there there is a vampire hunter in this city, and he is really good at what he does, I thought. Im gonna have to be more careful about being seen because too many people new me before I died and, if my memory before I died is correct, I was left, dead, outside my own house. If people saw me I would be hunted down and killed on sight, and I have no desire to find out if I can survive death a second time.
    Looking around my room, I noticed that my stores of magical components was dangerously low if I was going to be continuously performing as much magic as I had in the passed few hours. I made it the top of my list of things to do once it got dark enough to be able to sneak into some stores and steal some components, since I didn't have any money to actually buy them. I leaned back in my chair and considered my options. I could go back outside and see if I could find that old man and interrogate him about what happened, but that carried the risk of being seen, which I could not afford. My other option was to stay here underground, plan out what I could do, and then sleep until it got dark enough to venture back outside.
    Looking at my collection of magic spells and components, I pulled my chair up to the desk and looked at the books on my desk. After discarding most of the books i was left with a book of potions and a book on southern voodoo magic. I might as well read up on some new spells as my old magic seems to have completely abandoned me, and after that I'll see if there are any potions I can make with the stuff that I have here. I lit a candle and mentally prepared myself to learn something new that I could use.
    avatar
    LokiLeader

    Posts : 431
    Join date : 2011-08-15
    Location : Hanford, CA

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by LokiLeader on Thu Mar 07, 2013 10:47 pm

    “Did you hear?” My friend Celeste was working the same night I was. Apparently she opted to replace one of the other workers for no pay in order to see that it was really me. She had stopped cleaning again to strike a conversation with me, though I did my best to continue.

    “Hear what?” I muttered as I scuttled across the floor with my rags. The polished wooden floor reflected brilliantly in the firelight. Kate’s mother sat in her leather-bound chair reading something of apparent fascination. She hadn’t even touched her tea or even lifted her head from the pages of the book for the past hour.

    “God, Alli! Do you pay attention to the other maids anymore?” Celeste leaned in close, supporting her weight on her broom. “They say that Sylvester Wainright’s come back to town?”

    I leaned into Celeste’s ear with the sternest face I could manage, “Who?” Celeste slumped down into the chair next to where she stood. She seemed in dismay at my comment, almost as if the mere formation of the sentence had drained all the night’s energy from her.

    “Remember the really handsome man that came around and visited Kate a lot? The one that sent count Nerl von Stratos to court?” It suddenly clicked who she was talking about. I had never talked to the man before but I’ve seen him talk to Kate quite often. Thinking about it, it must have been about a year since he went missing.

    “Is he really back? How do you know?”
    “One of my husband’s friends was the gate guard last night and he saw him come stumbling out of the city graveyard, with his clothes covered in dirt.”




    What on earth was he doing in the graveyard? I thought about it for a few seconds before being interrupted by Celeste continuing her gossip.

    “Not only that, but he was sent to Lord Eron’s estate this morning.”

    “Why was he sent to the Stratos estate?”

    “They say it was a crime of high treason, but by the looks of it most people think that he was actually going to be commended for his actions earlier that night?”

    “Why? What did he do?”

    “Rumor is, he’s a Vampire slayer.” My throat clenched tight. My skin became colder than it already was and I could feel sweat start to swarm from my body.


    “Of course that’s just some superstition created by one of the guards.” Celeste sat up and giggled while strolling across the floor to begin sweeping. “Vampires. How stupid do they think we are? HA!” I continued my polishing only to interrupted by Celeste again. “Remember Serras?”

    “Yeah.” I stopped again and let the smell of wax and pine oil settle into my clothes.


    “Well she works at the Stratos house now and I heard from her that Sylvester was actually offered the title of Dane.”

    Fuck my unlife, I thought, Now I have a vampire hunter that’s a nobleman in my town. Oh god I hope I don’t have to deal with him. “How did she find something like that out? That seems like something to be mentioned behind closed doors.”

    “It was, quite literally in fact, but Serras has her ears everywhere in that house. She said something about some piping or something like that.” The rest of the night was simple gossip. The diner, the chores, the local taxmen, and other affairs of the house came up, but held little interest. I decided that if I wanted to survive in this place I would need to learn as much as possible about Sylvester Wainright. As long as he was breathing I was in trouble and I figured the best place to start was trying to figure out why he was in the graveyard, and then speak to Kate at some point.


    _________________
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Mon Mar 11, 2013 12:40 am

    Donden
    The parlor was not quite as flamboyant as the dining room, displaying much less of the white and gold present in the later. Donden still could not enjoy his surroundings, however. It was too far from the natural scene, especially with the specter of Lord Eron discussing something with a female Stratos on the couches. Even now it still bothered Donden the specters made no sound, it highlighted how they should not exist. Much like Sylvester.

    Donden regarded the man asking Lord Eron for payment. Although he had cleverly cleaned up his crimes, there was still the pressing problem of declaring someone a vampire. The burgeoning church of the One True God would want to purify the site afterwards, and their magic would not detect a dead vampire. Somehow, Donden needed to change this fact, or prevent the purification. Both difficult tasks to be done while escorting a detective to an entirely unrelated crime scene.

    While Donden contemplated his future course of action, Lord Eron answered Sylvester’s inquiry. “Of course. I recognize that this is your living, I did not expect your services to be free.” The count smirked a bit, which Donden took to be some form of inward joke. “Inform my cousin that whatever she does not pay, I will cover. If that is all, I thank you, Sylvester, and I hope for the best. If you will excuse me.” Lord Eron gave the slightest bow as his rank would allow and returned to his breakfast.

    Serras stepped forward, which Donden found to be an odd movement for a maid. Her specter stayed behind, silently in attendance as she had been a moment ago. “Shall we? It is not exactly close to here,” she prompted. Donden replied by beginning for the door. Serras would soon learn her company to be as silent as her ghost.

    Leon
    The center of the square was marked by four trees, each just getting back their leaves. They were a season late, the Bloom had already passed. Before the square had become more popular, Leon had played exhausting quantities of catch the traitor, queen of snows, and whatever game Huth had thought of for the day around those four trees. As he drew closer, Leon could make out the marks he had made on the trees to help Huth keep track of numbers. None of Huth’s marks remained in the dirt below the trees, though. Huth used to teach Leon so much.

    Leon missed those days, when the orphanage was an orphanage. Huth, himself, and the others never had to worry about scavenging or stealing food in those days. They could talk to people without said people being suspicious of being duped or robbed, or play without being suspected of pulling some devious plot. Leon recalled a time running away from Cole where he had run into a large man who immediately laid him out. He thought Leon had cut his purse. He hadn’t, at least not until later when he wanted revenge. The guy was broke, but that wasn’t what mattered.

    Now though, now things were going to change. Leon looked up at the three story building that had once been his home. He would get it back. He would consort with a devil to get rich and get it back, for Huth, himself, everyone. Leon spotted a rock next to his feet. Well, until he had it back, it wasn’t him that would have to pay for any damages to the building. Leon kicked up the rock and caught it with his hand, a trick he had some fun developing. He sent the rock hurling through a window of the orphanage and was rewarded with the startled cry of a girl.

    Leon bolted out of the square before someone would care enough to apprehend him. He resumed walking later on, eventually coming to his destination. Leon tested Borris’s door. Unlocked. Inside the place looked empty and looted, just one more house unprotected by a noble, another dead man’s will ignored. As soon as Borris had died, the orphanage was gone. Leon missed him too, but that was one thing he couldn’t get back. Borris always brought gifts for the kids. Leon didn’t really care, but Little Rum had loved him. Little Rum was just depressing now.

    “Sorry Borris, but the devil wants your stuff.” Leon kicked aside a sideways chair, as if a smudge stick would be somehow hidden under it. If Leon had been one of the looters of this place, he would have left all the rocks and plants. To Borris, though, that had been the most important stuff. Leon began stomping on the ground and hitting walls, looking for loose floorboards. Maybe it was important enough that Borris had a secret stash, and had stored it somewhere. That had been Leon's hope when he thought to come here for the devil's supplies.
    avatar
    BiscuitMann

    Posts : 83
    Join date : 2013-03-05
    Age : 25

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by BiscuitMann on Mon Mar 11, 2013 3:18 am

    I jerked up from my potion making as I heard knocking and stomping sounds from the room above me. Shit, what's going on? Does someone know I'm here? I don't think anyone saw me. I glanced around at my workbench and snuffed the candle that I had lit earlier and dashed over to the corner of the room that was hidden behind the stairs. I mentally ran over the short list of things I could do if someone found the entrance to the room and decided on simply knocking them unconscious and then checking the rest of the house to make sure there were no accomplices.
    With my mind set on that course of action, I crouched in the dark as the knocking sound got closer and closer to the hidden door. I heard the sound of the knock change as it brushed over the hidden door and I held my breath as I felt the intruder's anticipation as they fumbled around the door looking for the hidden mechanism. I heard the creak of the floorboard and the silent hiss of the hinges as the door was lifted open and light spilled out down the stairs.
    "Damn it's dark down there, I wonder what Borris was keeping here?"
    A child? That voice sounds to high pitched to be an adult, but not high enough to be female. I heard the slow steps of the child as he made his way down the steps into the room. From the dull light that filtered into the stairway from the open door, I could see that the child was young, unhealthily skinny, and sporting a bright, red head of hair that was muted in color by the copious layers of dirt that covered the child from head to foot.
    "Now where would Borris put a smudge stick? I suppose it's probably near the rest of the plant supplies." The child walked towards the desk that I had been working on and started to fumble with the candle that I had snuffed moments ago. After lighting the candle, the child paused in his fumbling and surveyed the rest of the desk. "Smudge stick, smudge stick, where are you hiding."
    Knowing that it was only a matter of moments before the child turned around and saw me, I stood up, walked over to the bottom of the stairs and sat down on the bottom step before clearing my throat.
    The child turned around so quickly that he almost knocked the candle over onto the desk, but he did manage to knock several of my spell books off the table. I winced as the books hit the floor before saying, "What do you need a smudge stick for?"
    The child simply stared at me with wide eyes, as if he had seen a ghost. As I stared back, something about his face tugged at my memory. When I stood up to get a closer look, the child backed around the table and pressed himself against the wall as he continued to stare at me. I continued to stare back until I connected the face in front of me to a face I had known from before I had been killed.
    "Leon? Is that you?"
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Mon Mar 11, 2013 4:12 am

    Once outside I stretch under my cloak facing away from
    the sun and look at my escort.
    “That went much better than expected.” I say with a satisfied smile.
    Indeed things had gone much better than I had hoped for; not only was I free from my bogus accusation but I had also gotten a job in the process meaning I would not be broke much longer.
    “Yes, much better.” I say as we start walking.
    The stone face ranger gave no reply seeming to be lost in thought while the girl named Saras gave a small courteous smile and began to lead us down the street.
    Whew, now that’s done I can move on to the problem of my burning throat.
    I look up at the girls back as she walks and give her a small tap on the
    shoulder making sure my hand is shadowed by my body.
    “My dear, what part of the city are we headed too?”
    She stops and turns to me with a neutral expression.
    “The northern part of the city near the one god fountains sir, about a 20 minute walk.”
    I close my eyes and nod at her with a satisfied smile before turning on my heels and jogging away back towards the footpaths.
    “S-Sir?!?” She starts out in surprise before I interrupt her.
    “A mass murder crime scene is easy to find, I’ll meet you there!”
    I give a wave over my shoulder and disappear behind a building, running at full speed towards my destination.
    Fuck.
    The burning in my throat is now worse than when I had first woken up, I needed blood and I needed it soon or else lose control and… well that would be the end of me. I run through back alleys, foot paths, and yards like a starving man chasing food (which was pretty much what I was) cutting as many corners as possible to hasten my reunion with that delicious blood.
    ---------------------



    Hershal was pissed.
    Really pissed.
    He was the grounds keeper for this graveyard, an easy job… at least it was supposed to be. All he had to do was tend bodies, bury them, keep the graveyard in shape, and scare off grave robbers and at the end of the month collect his payment from the city and go shopping for “supplies” that the dead did not provide. Roam the grounds by night, sleep at dawn, experiment at dusk, rinse repeat. Easy right Wrong, SO FUCKING WRONG.
    “GRraaarararrqaraARAraawrAEaRWerAWFerg@^abdsfa~esgv!!!”
    Hershal lets out and aggravated… grown? It was one of many that the old man had uttered and like all the one before; left the guards in wonderment at the impossible sounds he was making.
    Hershal had just gotten into bed when he heard his door FUCKING EXPLODE like a rhino had blown through it. Oh hell no! He
    thought and grabbed his candle stick expecting to have to fend off thieves… or an actual rhino. Imagine his surprise when he saw none other than Sylvester Wainright standing in the remains of his door with that cocky ass smile on his face and then claimed that HE WAS A FUCKING VAMPIRE.
    “Graaaaaaahjfdaopwj``1~”AA!!!”
    The guards standing at the front door give each other a look and then increase their distance from the old man… they could guard effectively from here just as well as there.
    “Graaaaaaaseuiehw&*()0!!!
    Next thing Hershal knows there is a flaming corpse pinned to his wall along with four shriveled ones and two hobo girls pissing themselves in the corner.
    “God damn it Sylvester!”
    And to top it all off that stupid little golem broke his good broom! The old man put his rage and frustration into his hammer and brought it down on the last nail of his newly “repaired” door. Hershal did not have any good wood at the moment so he was forced to patch up the splinters with what he had which was chair legs, nails, glue, and his poor broom. It was terrible looking but as a door all it had to do was swing open and close which he tested by giving it a tug back and forth.
    “That should serve.”
    Hershal stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow with a scowl. He still had to clean out his workshop of that burning flesh smell and move all shit back in from the attic.
    “Fucking Sylvester.”
    How many times has he said that? Indeed his best friend’s son was back to run him up the wall but he had to admit that he was happy to see him ali…
    BOOM!!!
    “AAaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!”
    Before poor Hershal could finish his thought; his door suddenly imploded and knocked the man a few feet back onto his ass. Quickly he scrambled to his feet and grabbed hold of his trusty candle stick on the end table and looked at the remains of his twice dead door to find… Sylvester.
    He had to admit that he was absolutely positively pissed to see him alive.
    -----------------
    I looked at the distraught old coots face as I tried to catch my breath.
    “I *huff* need *wheeze* equipment *puff*.”
    The old man looked at me a few seconds before he started screaming.
    “GRRRRRARJHLEWRBELFKLYOUKNOWHOWLONGITTOOKMETOFIXTHATDOORYOUSTUPIDLITTLEFUCKIMGONNASHOVETHISCANDLESTICKUPYOURMFFFFFFFFFF!!!!
    I put my foot in his face to silence him and give him a hard look my smile now gone from my face leaving a gasping and sweating visage. Remove my foot from his face and he attempts to glare at me until he meets my eyes. I always wore my smile as he knew, only letting it leave my face the few times I was truly
    serious. He did not argue, did not yell again, and did not ask a question; he simply said “Fine.” before he picked himself up off the floor and headed into his room leaving me in the entryway.


    _________________
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Mon Mar 11, 2013 7:04 pm

    Leon
    Borris sure did have style. Leon had been expecting a secret stash, not a secret basement. The place was a myriad of smells, each as unpleasant or weird as the next. Leon had been hoping to use the library as a heaven for the other orphans, but this place had a much more awesome atmosphere and less walking dead. Plus, they would be able to make it truly their own. They’d probably need to make another exit, although. Huth could manage that. The place would do until Leon could get the orphanage back.

    In that vein of thought, Leon lit the candle, and began his search. “Smudge stick, smudge stick, where are you?” Leon noticed some plant material and moved over to sift through them. He couldn’t recognize many, but he remembered what sage looked like. Borris had shown the children, asking them to gather any they found around the city. He had said it was one of the more important herbs required for magic.

    A voice came from behind Leon. "What do you need a smudge stick for?" Leon spun, knocking over some books that were on the desk he had been rummaging over. He backed away towards the wall away from the voice, preparing to race up the stairs. The shape of a man walked ever closer to Leon. Once near, the light from the candle illuminated a face that Leon had thought dead. “Leon, is that you?” asked Borris.

    “Wha?” Leon didn’t know what to think. Everyone assumed Alan had killed Borris to get him out of the way. Yet here he stood, the one man that stood between Alan and the orphanage. Borris had been alive the whole time. Leon’s brow knotted. If Borris had been around, the orphanage would have never been shut down. “Where were you? The orphanage is gone now. Why did you leave us? The orphanage could still be there if you were here!”

    Donden
    Donden’s eyes followed Sylvester’s back as the man casually strode away. Sylvester’s sudden departure was convenient for Donden: there was no need to escort a man on private business. Donden would be able to attend to the matter of the Church’s purification. He would have Hughes obtain an inept priest, see if he could trick Mirra into obscuring the site’s magical signatures, and see if he could get that groundskeeper to deny the priest access. Donden wondered if he even needed to do that last part, Hershal did not seem to like people snooping around his house.

    Serras started after Sylvester, but Donden grabbed her shoulder and shook his head. “I too must needs run a personal errand. That place you mentioned, Mam’s bakery is nearby, correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then I shall meet you there within the hour. Good day.”
    avatar
    BiscuitMann

    Posts : 83
    Join date : 2013-03-05
    Age : 25

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by BiscuitMann on Tue Mar 12, 2013 6:53 pm

    “Where were you? The orphanage is gone now. Why did you leave us? The orphanage could still be there if you were here!”

    I flinched at the words Leon shouted at me because I could not deny the ring of truth that came from them. Looking at Leon, standing there covered in dirt and dust, I felt my heart nearly break. The things that I had failed to do as a result of my death seemed to be coming back to haunt me at every step of my rebirth. I continued to stare at Leon in silence with pain hanging in my heart and eyes.

    Leon continued to berate at me, "We thought you were dead! Why did you betray us?" his voice rising with every sentence. "I didn't betray you because I was dead" I said in a small voice during a gap in Leon's rant.

    "Bullshit!" Leon shouted, "Look at you, you're standing right in front of me. How can you be dead?" I stood there, feeling each blow of Leon's statements rattling me to my core as I slowly sank into a pit of despair.

    All of a sudden, Leon sprinted around me and charged up the stairs. Coming out of my spiral of despair, I realized that I couldn't let him leave and spread the fact that I was alive to everyone around because that would mean that I would be hunted by everyone. I stepped through the shadows to the top of the stairs just as Leon moved through the doorway. I reached out and Grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me, as I wrapped my other hand around his mouth. I began to move back down towards the stairs when a shaft of sunlight that was coming through the ceiling brushed across my uncovered back.

    Clasping Leon to my chest, I dashed down the stairs, knocking over the plank of wood that Leon had used to prop the hidden door open. As the sunlight disappeared at the top of the steps, I tossed Leon into the middle of the room and curled up at the bottom of the stairs, my back steaming with black smoke. After a few moments the pain faded away and I was left with a dull burning sensation on my back. I looked at my shoulder to see a disgusting, bubbly patch of skin near the shoulder blade that looked like it extended like a stripe to the opposite hip. Looking up, I saw Leon, crouched in the middle of the room, staring at my burned back in horror.

    "Don't worry Leon," I gasped. "The pain is almost gone." I stood up and stretched, feeling the burned skin ache and pulse as I moved my muscles. I looked at Leon again, "It's just another facet of the curse of undeath that I have had unwillingly placed upon me."
    avatar
    FrenchPopo

    Posts : 715
    Join date : 2011-08-17

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by FrenchPopo on Wed Mar 13, 2013 2:22 am

    11:13 PM


    Alana continued down the street until she reached her old
    house.. or what seemed to be left of it. Her house was rather large compared to
    the others in this area, however, the neighborhood she lived in was of the
    upper class. A newcomer wouldn't be able to tell from first glance with the
    shape the mansion was in. The front yard hedges were unkempt, vines and moss
    plastered the rock wall of the entryway, the fountain was waterless and
    dirt-covered. How could Mother and Father leave the yard looking like this?
    Even the outside of the house looked horribly cluttered and unattractive. Is
    there anyone even living here?
    It didn't seem like any lights were on in
    the house. She walked up to the front door and gave it a knock. I doubt
    anyone would up this late, but it's better to be courteous I suppose.
    To
    her surprise, she heard shuffling on the other side of the door.

    Without opening the door, a soft male voice came from the other side, "Who
    is there? What brings you here this late?" She remembered that voice.
    "Charles, is that you?" There was a slight pause.
    "A-A-Alana..?" The door creaked open. Charles, the head butler, stood
    in the crack gazing upon her with his mouth and eyes opened wide; the eyes
    acting as if they had just seen a ghost. "Alana, is that really you? But
    it can't be..." "It is me, Charles! Aren't you happy to see me?"
    She shoved the door open with little resistance as it caught the bewildered
    butler off-guard. She thrust her arms around him. I'm so glad I found
    someone earlier to feed on, or this could've ended very badly...


    "Well, of course, I'm happy to see you Alana, but... it's been so long. We
    all thought you to be dead!" "Dead?" That's right, I guess I
    technically am. How to play this off...
    "Well yes, madam, it's
    been almost three months. We thought surely those ruffians had done the worst
    to you. Believe me, the staff and I pleaded for your father to send the money
    for the exchange, but he would not listen to us. Your mother, oh god bless her,
    plead as well. But your father was very stern and stubborn about the decision.
    He didn't want to take any risks with family he had left..." So this
    was my father's doing...
    He continued on, "Your father sent young
    Catherine off to live with your Auntie, and Frederick… Well, your father took
    him along on some sort of business trip and has yet to return…”


    Oh, Charles. Always easily distracted with your ramblings. “And what of the rest of the staff?
    And mother?” The second question was asked with a little less care, but felt it
    would be weird to not ask about her. “The master let them all go; it seems he
    only felt it was necessary to keep me here. Thus, why you may have noticed the
    grounds needing some updating…” You can
    say that again…
    “As for your mother, she is still here, under my care. Ever
    since your disappearance she has kept to her room. I fear for her health, but
    it seems there is nothing I could do to help her.” Should I feel bad? It has been hard to feel any kind of emotion but
    anger since I’ve woken up.



    “So Mother is here?” Alana asked. “Yes, she’s in her room.
    She rarely leaves her bed.” Charles replied. “I’m going to go see her now,
    Charles. If you would, I’d very much like some food. It was a long journey
    back.” “Yes, madam. I’d be happy to.”
    Alana started up the stairs. I
    can’t even imagine how this will go. Almost starting to dread this decision.

    The master bedroom door gets closer and closer. Upon reaching it, she put her
    ear to door to see if she could catch anything out of the ordinary. All she
    heard was random mumbling that she couldn’t make sense of; it was terribly low.
    She slowly opened the door and peeked in; there she saw her mother lying in
    bed, staring blankly at the wall, mouth moving making almost inaudible sounds. Alana
    opened the door wider, without any reaction from her mother. She approached the
    bed very slowly; her mother stopped mumbling and turned her head towards the
    figure coming closer to her.


    There was an awkward silence for a bit; Alana didn’t know
    what to say. “So her ghost finally comes to haunt me… And I deserve it. Blasted
    Oliver! Why didn’t you save our daughter?!” Alana’s mother burst into tears,
    her body slowly collapsing in the process due to her weakness. Alana sat on the
    bed next to her mother and put her hand on her mother’s arm. “I don’t blame
    you, Mother. Not anymore. I know who the real culprit is now.” Tears started to
    fill eyes; it was hard seeing her mother like this. “I wish… I wish I could
    share the same fate as you, Alana.” Her mother said softly, “life is so hard
    without you here.” Alana laid her mother’s head back down on her pillow. “I
    would not wish the same fate upon you, Mother. But, I can give you something
    almost as good.” Obligation flowed through her as she picked up her mother’s
    arm toward her mouth. I will end Mother’s
    suffering. And I promise, I will enact my revenge upon Father, for causing all
    this pain.
    When her mother’s arm reached her mouth, she bit into her wrist,
    and starting draining her mother’s suffering. There was no struggle, in fact,
    Alana noticed her mother was no longer crying or shaking. She had a smile on
    her face; peace had been brought to her. Alana finished sucking the majority of
    her blood. A pair of scissors next to some sewing equipment caught Alana’s eye;
    she took the end of one of the sharper edges and cut across where she had bit.
    She placed the scissors in her mother’s other hand. Standing up from the bed, she
    started to head downstairs. There
    were tears of sadness and tears of angry hatred drying from her face. I will find you, Father. And I will end your life.
    avatar
    Elit3Fla5h

    Posts : 1455
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Elit3Fla5h on Wed Mar 13, 2013 2:11 pm

    I was at the end of my patients at this point and there was no doubt in my mind that I would attack and suck the life from the first person I reach. Good thing I was in a secluded area was it not?
    Hurry the hell up!
    Or maybe not. After getting my equipment from Hershal it was all I could do to ignore him and the guards as I made haste to the slummiest and most dangerous part of town nicknamed “the battlefield”. This is the place you went when you wanted to get lost, this is the place where strong men with no morals went to make a living, this was a portal to the under workings of thieves dens, mercenary companies, drug rings, and assassin contractors. Indeed most of the scum of the city congregated here along with any other outcasts of normal “civilized” life. It was this place that was my favorite place in the entire city. What better way could one garner information about cutthroats than from other cutthroats.
    Five minutes and not a single person… I’m disappointed.
    Usually I came here in disguise as some beggar, thief, or leper to avoid suspicion and attention but today? Today I wore no disguise save for my hood if that counted. Today I carried a small bag of nails that made an ever so soft clink as I walked. Today I walked “nervously” through alley ways as if I had something to hide. The scum that wondered the street were not usually a part of some organization and the reason for that showed in their stupidity and cowardice.
    I am but a simple meager man walking alone, there is no reason to fear little ol’ me.
    Suddenly a loud squeak from behind pulled me from my thought. I whirled around to find a startled man dressed in black looking at a rat scurry into some trash.
    Finally.
    I let out a small gasp and turn and run and the man thankfully gives chase. Left, right, and left again I turn at my sluggish pace and yet somehow I am able to keep distance. In my weakened state he should be gaining but instead I seem to be losing the man and…
    Uh oh.
    Each turn I take is because that is the only option left to me, the few paths that normally have a fork are blocked by high stacked barrels or broken carts and then I see the symbol.
    Shit.
    It is a picture as big as my head of skull with a dagger poking out the side carved into the wall. At the sight of it I stop and turn to me pursuer, my cloak flutters as I quickly draw my sword from its scabbard and charge.
    Shit.
    The Mors was a strong Crime ring last time I was alive and that uncreative carving was their symbol. My plan was supposed to be simple and easy, go to an unclaimed part of the battlefield and feed on the poor sots that came to rob me, not stumble into claimed territory and get lured into a trap.
    This constant thirst will be the end of me.
    In my haste for blood I had failed to realize that I was working with year old information and that mistake might have cost me my second life.
    I can handle this if there is just one.
    The man and black hesitates for half a heartbeat at my sudden change in direction before he pulls a short sword from his belt and jumps back dodges my slash. The moment he lands he dashes forward at my now unbalanced form ready to plunge his weapon in me.
    He is fast.
    A few more inches and I will be dead.
    But I am better.
    He has speed on his side but I have experience on mine. With a smile I drop my stance and sword and bring my right hand up against the flat of his blade. As the short sword rips through my cloak I flick my left wrist to reveal another blade and simple stick my hand in front of me to let the man in black impale himself on it. He lets out a small gasp and before he even looks down, I have him by the throat and stick him three more times. Once in each lung and one in the heart before I push him off and watch him die with amusement.
    “Serves you right fool.”
    My mind screams for me to run. The fact that he was so easy to kill and was pushing me into what could only be trap leaves me thinking that he was not alone but… the blood. I can take my eyes off it; my brain yells at me to run, to leave this place behind but my body does not listen and the next thing I know I am sucking on the mans’ neck.
    After a few minutes I stand back up and stretch, the burning is still in my throat but nowhere near as strong as it was before. I look at the image on the wall again and scowl.
    Seems I need to take some time and get myself up to speed about the city.
    Frist thing first however and right now getting out of The Mors territory is priority. Taking one last look at the body I bend down to pick up my sword…
    *THWAK*
    The sound of cracking stone makes me jump, turning my head quickly to the sound I see broken stone about the level where my head just was and a small ax below it.
    “Fuck, I missed.” A gruff sound comes from behind causing me to quickly spin around and raise my sword in defense. The owner of the voice was a tall man about my height with a big bushy red beard and barrel chest. The man takes a look at the dead one and then back at me before spitting.
    “All the fool had to do was scare and chase people.” He scowls at me and draws his sword. “But he found a way to fuck even that up and now I have to clean his mess.”


    _________________
    avatar
    Ippy
    Admin

    Posts : 959
    Join date : 2011-08-12

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Ippy on Wed Mar 20, 2013 10:55 pm

    Leon
    Leon landed thickly on his elbow, the pain of the impact racketing up to his right breast. He pushed up quickly on instinct, knees bent and prepared to launch. He didn’t see how Borris could have been so fast. When his eyes were level again, he caught the sight of steam rising from behind the man’s neck. It made not a lick of sense, leaving Leon to stare wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. Leon briefly recalled Godric mentioning that the devil couldn’t walk around in the daylight.

    Borris winced, letting out a short hiss from the burn. "Don't worry Leon, the pain is almost gone." Sure enough, Borris was already rubbing it as if it were a minor annoyance. "It's just another facet of the curse of undeath that I have had unwillingly placed upon me." Borris was talking weird, but at the word ‘undeath’ inspired an image of Lord Corpse to flitter through Leon’s head.

    “Huh?” Godric had told Leon Lord Corpse was risen from the dead. If the same thing had happened to Borris… Leon’s muscles unwound. “Oh.” He stood up completely. Borris was like the devil now, just not as bad. Leon pressed on his elbow with his opposite hand. He had lashed out at Borris and it was uncalled for. “Sorry.” Leon lowered his head a bit, glancing over the rest of the room. He remembered why he was here. “But, I know someone else like you. I think I can introduce you to him. He was the one who wanted the smudge sticks.”

    Sponsored content

    Re: Wrought from the Coffin IC

    Post by Sponsored content


      Current date/time is Sun Sep 24, 2017 7:08 am