-New Blood- [reduex] (M)

[Winter]

The following thread contains traces of gore, horror, supernatural themes and some nudity and is therefore rated M. Suitable for persons age 15 and over. Reader discretion is advised.


☥ New Blood ☥

----☥ Introduction ☥----

The night is dark, but the world is far from dead… so to speak. The sun goes down and the moonlight shines on a world so very different to the one the humans see. Creatures of night walk in the shadows, they prey on the humans. For every being does what it can to survive. Most times they only take what they need to survive. And the victim is allowed to live. But sometimes these dark beautiful creatures grow greedy and savage. And their victims are left dry.
This night was one of the latter.

A house stands, surrounded by a field, nearby lies a forest. The house is silent. It is dark, no candle flame nor lantern shone within to indicate any signs of life. There was a family there… Two small children, three adults.
A mother, hair of deep brown, skin of smooth coffee cream, sleeping soundly by her husband. A man of honour, of valour, of love for his wife and their three daughters. He was a loving man, their lives simple and pleasant. That night they slept, their biggest trouble was finding their eldest daughter a suitable husband where she would be happy.

Their eldest slept down the hall, old enough for her own room. She was a sweet girl, who loved her mother, father and sisters. She spent her days helping her mother around the house with all the chores that needed doing. She sewed, and cleaned. She often accompanied her father to town to sell his goods. She enjoyed her life as it was. Her delicate human life.

Her sisters were only young, of 8 and 12 respectively. They loved their big sister and looked forward to following in her footsteps one day when they too were grown. They did as usual young girls did, played with dolls, dressed up, and of course, ask a million questions and not listen to the answer.

Their family was an ordinary one, nothing about them stood out. And yet… This night to which they slept so soundly, with little regard for the night wanderers, the children of the darkness. They were chosen, they who were nothing more than humans. Mere mortals of which could do so much, and yet so little, the complex creatures they were who were in their society so simple… They were chosen. For noone would miss them.

There were two or three at most, sliding within shadows and flitting between the trees. They would not be seen, or heard. A window, found open and the creatures slipped inside, to find the warm bodies, breathing, hearts beating. Fangs glint in the moonlight, a gasp from their victims then silence. Heart beating no more. They each have their share, then come to the female. One of her, several of them… One jumps to take a bite of the pure nectar of her blood. A gasp! Blue eyes open, staring at the shadowy figures in the dim moonlight. Nothing but shadows. No voice is heard. Another wants to taste the beauty… He steps forward. A challenge is made. Quickly he is struck down. His blood is spilled. The human coughs, splutters, foreign blood in her mouth. Another takes a stand. Again a battle. More blood. More growls. So violent. So silent.
At last the shadow can take his prize! He mounts her, tasting her. His blood lust is raging. He wants her. More than one way. She is pure. Untouched. Her body is pure. Her blood is sweet. He is amorous in his kisses, yet she feels nothing but the cold. Her body dying. As he sucks out her warmth he begins to undress her. A final humiliation. She would be defiled. He laughs wickedly. His lust adamant. But he is distracted.

A dying shadow. One he cut down earlier, stands. With the last of his strength he finds a weapon. His companion lay dead. Head removed. To move no more. Vengeance is a dish best served cold. Blood. Shock. Then pain. Fallen to the side the lustful shadow is defeated. A hollow laugh escapes the lips of his attacker. Then he too falls. It is over.

The human lies in her bed, foreign blood soaked her as hers oozed from her neck, the light in her eyes was fading; little time was left. She knew she would never see the sunlight again. Nor smile with her father, laugh with her mother, play with her sisters… her sisters. Oh god. They had been killed too. Destroyed and murdered while they slept. The girl prayed that heaven had saved them. All of them. At least… she would see them soon… on the other side. Her body grew cold, she was exposed, through her ripped dress, but remained pure. Her eyes closed. The darkness consumed her once more. The pain that burned within her neck, that spread through her, was ebbing. She exhaled her very last breath. And the house lay silent still.


________♈________♈________♈________


----☥The Prophecy ☥----



A phoenix reborn from fire,
New Blood born pure without Sire,
The Cattle rise to face the Lions,
Armed with fangs and claws of iron,
The Night Children's War descend,
To the Goddess the clans doth send,
A Heretic of formidable power,
The White Rose returns in Midnight Hour.


________♈________♈________♈________

The OOC THREAD (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=1274)

[Winter]

http://i214.photobucket.com/albums/cc74/Axika_5526/Kaia-New-Blood.jpg
Artist: Liliana Sanchez (http://princess-of-shadows.deviantart.com/)



Username: Winter

Name: Kaia de la Saille

Age: 20

Role: Vampire (no Clan. Her creation was accidental and her sires were all killed.)

Gender: Fermale

Sexuality: Bisexual

Starting Point: Salt.

Physical Description: Kaia stands at a slight 165cm, she is rather unassuming and gentle in her features. Her face is soft and open, her skin like fresh cream, she has often been described as an angel or a cherubim. Her hair a raven black it always seems to shimmer with and unnatural glow. She is gentle in her mannerisms, delicate and soft in her movements. She has the grace of a princess, and confidence in her step.
Her most stunning features are her eyes, they are blue like the skies in summer, and full of curiousity, she can gaze into another and seems to be looking into their very souls. She is curvaceous, with the figure of an hourglass and graces of a cat. She may not be tall or intimidating but the aura of power seeps from within her. It is both alluring and frightening.

History: Kaia was born in Amiket to Elizabeth and Syrus Traven. Shortly after her birth her parents moved to the country. She was always a bright and happy child, brining joy to anyone she smiled at. People had said there was magic in her eyes, like she was blessed by the fairies when she was born. Her parents were most proud, they spoiled her but Kaia never went rotten, she grew to be a beautiful, charming and sweet young woman. She enjoyed carrying out chores with her mother and helping out her father when she was not in school. She loved her two sisters dearly. Caring for them and looking after them was a joy to her. She loved their simple life, the cities were far too crowded.
One night it ended violently when the shadows (later she discovered them to be vampires) slipped in and killed them all while they slept. The fought over Kaia and the blood from their wounds was sprayed all about the room. And on Kaia herself. Her body accepted this blood, and after six nights she awoke, with little but a blur to her memory. Her new life began.

Personality: A sweet and sensitive girl, Kaia does what she can to help people, after she was turned she became very much like a kitten, curious an playful. She would climb the tallest tree to see its branches, She would dive to the deepest rock pool to see what lay at the bottom…
Before she became a Night Child she was greatly shy about her appearance, but now she can hear and see all of nature’s beauty. She feels that she should be natural, and would be naked all the time were she not told to wear something.

Powers: Siren Song
A song to enchant and allure weaker Supernaturals and Humans alike
Enchanting Gaze
Can entrance a potential victim with a hypnotic gaze
Passionate Bite
Cause such a powerful pleasurable and sexual urge in a victim to subdue them



_______________ღ_______________ღ_______________ღ__ _____________

Her eyes opened, she saw darkness, and threads of soft moonlight that broke through the void. She did not move. She could hear…the breeze gently moving against the house, and the trees outside. She could smell… aging wood, deep earth… but most prominently… Blood. Blood and Death. Slowly she sat up, turning her head she felt something pull at the hairs on her neck, something was on her skin, raising a hand she felt something crusted to her neck, upon inspection it seemed to be blood. Dried blood. So she had been here for quite a while. Her eyes slowly adjusted, she looked around the room. She recognised it. Her room. Yes. This was her family house.

But now it was tarnished, tainted. Defiled. Blood covered the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Ah but not only blood was on the floor. She saw shapes, bodies, but not whole bodies. Pieces. A torso with it’s neck severed, it looked more like it had been clawed off. Flesh hanging from bone, skin dangling from limbs. An arm twisted in the wrong direction. Three bodies torn to shreds.
One lay with his hand reaching toward her. She looked at him sadly. She rested a hand on his head. He could not respond. She slowly stood, walking toward the door, she headed to the left and eventually reached a door. It stood ajar, and gently, she pushed it open, it creaked loudly. She couldn’t recall it being so loud before. This room was not as bloody as hers. A large bed in the middle of the room lay undisturbed, on closer inspection it was still occupied. The smell of decaying flesh reached her before the sight. Her parents. They lay in their bed, still holding each other. As though sleeping. The only symbol of death was the blood that stained the sheets by their necks. Their bodies were cold.

A tear fell from her eye as she looked at them. Her parents were dead. No longer would they hold her. Kiss her. Or smile. They were gone. She turned from the sight, it hurt to see them so. She should remember them always as the beautiful people who raised her, not as the corpses they now were. She headed back down the hall, passing her room, to see another door. She paused, hesitant to enter as she knew what she would find within. Her sister’s room. She could see them in their beds from where she stood in the doorway. They lay, still and peaceful. At least they had gone painlessly. She was silently thankful for that.

She headed downstairs to the main house. Nothing touched or disturbed. If not for the bloody mess upstairs one would not know that this house was now a tomb. She looked to the kitchen, finding a lighter and a half empty can of petrol by the door that lead to the garage. She used it to cover the floor, the benches and part of the stairway; trailing to the front door. She would not let her family rot away. She would not let them decay. A tear rolled down her cheek once more as she dropped the lighter and open flame and turned away. As she walked from the house, the petrol caught, and within seconds the house was engulfed in flame.

She looked at the sight for only a moment before turning away and making her path. She would walk down the road, the trees whispered to each other as she walked beneath them, she smiled. The moon was so bright, it lit her path as she walked, feeling the sweet country air on her skin, the blood still caked to her, and parts of her ripped and ragged dress had been scorched. She headed down the hard road, not knowing where it would lead her.

[AmandaBloodhart]

http://img191.imageshack.us/img191/3540/vano.jpg

Username: AmandaBloodhart

Name: Van Drake

Age: 25 (physically), 175

Role: Vampire/Silent Angel (however, he is not the same breed, but it is uncertain whether he was sired by a member of Dragonica or Blood Moon)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Starting point: Pie Inn

Physical Description:
Semi-short messy straight black hair that barely seemed to show his silver eyes, pale skin, five o clock stubble on his face, thin but well built, five feet and eleven inches tall, and he was roughly around 150 pounds. Has a masculine, but slightly boyish British accent. His posture is normally cool, confident, but respectable. And normally he wears black clothing, his attire usually consisting of a silk dress shirt, and slacks. The shirt would have the top two buttons undone and utucked from his pants, plus the sleeves were partially rolled up. If there was an occasion, like going outside, he'd wear his black trench coat with silver satin lining.

History:
Born in 1835, London England, Van was born into a noble's family. All he did was study. However, his curiosity of the supernatural caught the interest of one vampire. Thinking he could use him, he tricked Van into believing he was a professor that studied folklore and myths. Over time Van began to suspect this individual of being inhuman, but said nothing. One night, Van came home late, discovering his parents and brother killed--no--drained. His teacher stood in the middle of the crime scene, enjoying the last droplets of blood on his fingertips. In a rage, Van charged forward, only to be easily struck down. He was then made a victim of the same act, drained of most of his blood. The vampire left him, and he slept for a week, only to wake up in a morgue. He grieved over his family's death before fleeing to his family's house, locking himself up.
A decade passes as he stalks the streets, having taught himself how to hunt, knowing what he was. He eventually found a little orphan girl being harassed by a drunk. Easily, he rid of the girl's danger, killing the man after making sure she hid first, telling her not to look. Instead of dropping her off at the nearest orphanage, he took her home, allowing her shelter, food, and all other necessities. She introduced herself as Katherine. Over the years, she had become aware of what he was, but thought nothing of it, instead falling for the dark figure. He too was quite aware of his attraction towards her, but dared not approach, believing he would not be able to control himself...er...sexually.
Sometime later, Katherine had been captured by knights of the Holy Order while out shopping during the day when Van was usually asleep, accused of being a witch and being an accomplice of a vampire. Before he could reach her, she was burned on a cross in the middle of public, and the last thing he heard was her dying scream. The Holy Order attacks him as soon as he arrives and he goes ballistic, slaughtering any who approach him. After he finished off all that were present and responsible for Katherine's execution, he wandered the earth, hating the Holy Order and his own kind. However, over time he is confronted by the head of Silent Angel. Feeling they are the only decent breed of vampires, he joins them, somewhat unofficially, despite lacking their faith.

Personality:
He was the type to stand in a corner, lean against the wall, and cross his arms in utter silence. That's not to say he was completely void of emotions, in fact, he's quite capable of emotion. He just prefers to keep them to himself. Van is a serious individual and is very abstinent. He's a courteous individual, especially towards the opposite sex, thus he briefly adopts a gentlemanly personality when dealing with women. If someone said something stupid, depending on who they were, he'd either make a smart remark, or say nothing at all. Despite his humble nature, occasionally, one will see a cocky side to him, especially when dealing with an enemy. Though it's difficult to make him angry, just about any slayer of the Holy Order pisses him off, barely managing to control himself.

Weapons, Powers etc: Does not use any powers, only his speed, strength, and senses.


+=====+=====+

Present Day

Bad country music played, emphasized by the chorus of noise from the customers at the Pie Inn. It was a classy old bar, as if it was once a pub from the medieval era. Outside would have been the chirping of crickets and the luminence of the moon shone upon this traveller's stop, eventually silhouetting a dark figure treading quickly across the gravel and up the steps before heading inside. Some stared at this man, attired completely in black with hair to match. The chatter had stopped allowing the music to blare clearly. Silver pools roamed the room quickly with one swipe of a glance, as if his eyes were a sword. Nobody moved or spoke, only stared. The man shook his coat out slightly, as if removing the germs invisible to the human eye. His bootsteps echoed upon the wooden planks, as if it was meant to intimidate. Without a word, he took residence in the darkest and loneliest table, moving the flap of his coat over his leg as if to warm it.

He could hear the hesitant footsteps of the waitress before regarding the girl. "Can I get you anything, mister?"

"The finest scotch you have, please."

"Scotch?"

"Please and thank you."

She nodded, walking away quickly. It was not the first time he had surprised a human by ordering something strictly for humans. He, being a lowly vampire, only fed when absolutely necessary. Despite his nature, he still had human thoughts lingering among his existence. He was pleased that the scotch was brought to him so quickly and he paid without a fuss, even being generous enough to give the girl a tip. It took only a moment after his first sip to be approached by those threatened by his very presence. For god sakes, man! He wasn't hurting anybody! The men who dared invade his corner looked somewhat like bikers.

"You got a lot of nerve showing your ugly ass face in here, vampy." Van said nothing, only took another sip, and that only served to annoy the man talking, irritated that he was being ignored. "I'm talking to--"

"I heard every syllable, vowel and constanent. I can also hear the sound of drool dripping onto the floor from your mouth with every word you breathe."

The man was red in the face, and Van could have sworn that he was about to drool. "Outside, now!"

The pub was silent again, watching the pair. Van stayed where he was, this time down the rest of the drink. "The last thing you should do is provoke a demon."

"Oh, I'm provoking," he challenged.

Van stood up too quickly for their eyes to follow as his chair skidded back into the wall. Him simply standing there was an unspoken dare all by itself. Much to his own amusement, his challengers gradually backed off, keeping their glares on him. Unimpressed, he left the pub, looking at the sky. He placed the hood on his coat over his head before he would leap onto the roof of the pub, overlooking the rows of old-fashioned houses. He sat beside the chimney, legs hanging over the edge without much regard for the world or the night chill.

[Falcon Red]

http://darthsinister.deviantart.com/art/GREEN-ARROW-114565147

Username: Falcon Red

Name: Icarus John

Age: 23

Role: Holy Order of Christ

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Starting point: Silomus

Physical Description:
Standing only at abou 5'5", he uses his size for stealth, taking cautious, confident steps wherever he goes. His strong lean build makes him limber, fast, and aggressive in a fight. As strong and rough as he is, it is not without control. His gaze is studious and has the ability to make grown men, bigger than he, scared when angry.

History:
Icarus was born with a bow in his hand. His father was deer hunting when he got the call from the hospital saying that his wife was in labor. He rushed to the emergency room to the picture of his wife holding a baby boy. He took up his son who immediately took hold of the bow and fell asleep with it laying across his body out of his face.
The father and son spent years out in the wilderness together, showing Icarus how to shoot, how to aim, and how to stand. Eventually they moved onto more advanced techniques and how to climb trees and so on. They'd go out and hunt together spending a lot of time together. His father would teach him scripture
during the off hours, and how sacred each and everything in the woods were sacred.
When Icarus came of age, he decided it was time to leave. There weren't a lot of choices for sixteen year olds due to still needing school at that age, but he had been hearing a lot about a group of hunters,
hunting the demons of the night. He had a feeling that he could be used in this battle, to eradicate all these unholy beings. When he expressed these ideas with his father, he relucantly agreed knowing that his sons heart was doing what he thought was right, what would help humanity. The boy was intelligent he would be able to take care of himself.
When it was time to leave. Icarus shouldered his bag, and his bow, kissed his weeping mother goodbye and hugged his father. Icarus now lives in the Holy Order HQ and leaves whenever assigned a mission.

Personality: A hard trained hunter, Icarus spent years on controlling every bit of his abilities, from his physical prowl and strength, to each and every emotion. Yet he is still human and isn't always able to hide his feelings. But this is just him on the hunt. He tends to just be laid back and up for a good laugh when he's taking rests between hunts, and his temper tends to get fiery and aggressive.

Weapons: Bow and Arrows, hunting knife


The night was calm and cool out in the forest. The leaves rustled against the wind, and the man dressed in dark green hunting gear was crouched behind a bush, alert for any movement in the woods. He didn't venture far from Silomus, he had reservations at the hotel, but didn't want to waist his money on their processed food. Finally, his target appeared. A white rabbit hopped into view, smelling the ground and the leaves that fell on the forest floor. Arrow already notched, Icarus breathed in wihle pulling the string on his bow far back. He released the string, the arrow flew true, straight into the eye of the target. The white rabbit fell dead.

The hunter stood up quickly and darted over this his kill inspecting it for any faults, leaned his head forward removing his hood and placing a hand on the animals fur saying a prayer of thanks and nourishment. He drew his hunting knife and skinned the animal, peeling the skin from the body, and sacking it in his bag. His room at the hotel was a suite and so had it's own kitchen.

When he arrived at the hotel he hopped off his motorcycle in the garage and walked to the concierge. "Any messages?" He asked.

The concierge met his eyes with disgust at the knowing fact of what Icarus was just up to. "I don't understand why you don't just eat at the hotel, we have one of the best in the town."

"I'll send some of my soup down to you and let that answer your question."

"I'll pass. This came for you." He handed the letter to Icarus and went back to his work behind his desk.

Icarus nodded to the other man and walked to the elevator. Reaching his floor he walked to his room and pushed the door open. He didn't waist any time, he pulled out the rabbit carcass and rinsed it in the sink while he pulled off his gloves and jacket leaving him shirtless. He cut up the animal into chunks and went through his pantry for vegetables to throw into the soup. Boiling water, he put the ingredients stew
Waiting for his food, the message stared him in the face. He opened it up and read.

"Icarus John,
We have recieved word that activity has risen in Salt. Get there tomorrow and investigate.
Holy Order of Christ HQ"

"No good luck or anything? Right, so eat and get ready for check out, awesome."

Icarus finished his stew and began to eat slowly, savoring the flavors.

[Govannon]

Konrad Wingates sat on his throne in the middle of Dragonica House, wondering exactly where along the long, twisted, and corrupted line his life had become so dreadfully boring. The burnt claws that were his left hand tapped anxiously at the armrest of his seat, the long-dead flesh falling off in blackened chunks, only to be replaced moments later by identically shaped pieces of carbon. The war, the fighting, the dying, the victories, the defeats, the armies, the tactics, the joy of the hunt, the look on his mens face as he rallied them before a battle, the look on the faces of his enemies as he ran them down, even, to a lesser extent, the humiliation of defeat, the pain of loss, that cold feeling that you got when you knew when you were hopelessly out classed and out manoeuvred, these were all things that the old man had prepared him for. Not this. Not this dreadful quasi-peace that his and the other clans had been caught up in for the past decade.

It wasn't that Konrad couldn't see the value in peace, the solace that it would give to his men and their families, but that would only come from true peace, not the bastardized version created by the lamentable truce he had signed. No, all it had done was serve to take all of their hostility and negative intentions and bottle them up. Everybody knew that it was going to end, soon, and that the fighting would be even bloodier than it was before. Any attempts at creating something that that would last in a time of peace was a laughably naive idea, and anything that would be perceived as overly hostile would bring the ire of the other two families down on him. His hands were, effectively, tied from doing anything of any value. All in all, Konrad decided for the sixth time that day, he enjoyed war, he was very good at it and at the very least it meant that he could do something.

Rising from his seat, Konrad decided to take another walk around his castle's grounds. Dragonica house was built in such a way that Konrad both loved it, and hated it, at the same time. It was certainly very effective from a defencive point of view, and Konrad could not deny that it cut an imposing silhouette on the skyline, but at the same time it just seemed so, stereotypical. The entire building was done in what would be called, in a different time and place, a late Germanic style. Heavy stone blocks, numerous ramparts and towers, grey stone only marked by the brown of a heavy wooden door or the green and black banners that festooned his walls. The entire thing would have been called ugly, if it wasn't for the fact that the structure looked so damn solid. For his part, the only addition that Konrad had built onto the castle was the addition of numerous spikes that neatly ringed the roof of the central castle. Off of these spikes dangled the impaled bodies of the numerous traitors and spies Konrad had uncovered. Whose spies they were didn't really matter to Konrad, he was certain that both Blood Moon and Silent Angel had more that he didn't know about in his ranks, just as he did in theirs. He just stuck them up wholesale.

For his part, Konrad wasn't really sure why exactly he had insisted on impaling his enemies, it just felt, right, somehow. He knew that there were worse ways to degrade a body, but using your enemies as a decoration seemed wonderfully demoralizing, and he had been able to use the spikes wonderfully in rumours and propaganda. If you confessed, the stories went, and you tried to help, you might be spared; if you just confessed, you would be killed and put up there; if you failed to confess, the spike would be pressed through your heart, killing you slowly; if, god help you, you did something to offend Konrad, the spike would be pushed through your stomach. This punishment only got worse when you realized that the stomach wounds did nothing to vampires besides cause pain and the sunlight burnt them to a still living crisp. In fact, Konrad was happy to say that one particular man had lasted over ten years, and was still alive to this day.

The downside of this particular method of execution, however, was that hanging bodies tended to drop various parts; parts that would begin to stink if they weren't dealt with properly. This was unacceptable, barbarism and barely restrained blood-lust were positive impressions for people to have, not uncleanliness or inelegance. It was barely restrained rage that he made his way over to a group of freshly turned recruits, who were spared their dressing down by the well time arrival of a Dragonica messenger.

"Sir" The messenger said, breathless, "I bring what could possibly be important news." Of this, Konrad had no doubt. The soldier was out of breath, it took a lot to do that, and it made the Fuhrer of the Dragonica Clan listen intently. "We have reports of... disturbances, occurring in the town of Salt. We aren't sure, but it seems as though something could be occurring there, something that it may benefit our clan to have a hand in."

At this, the Fuhrer smiled. Salt was well outside of his territory, more or less in the dead centre of the contested lands. His going there would be seen, at the very least, as an aggressive gesture, if not an outright act of war. If he went, he had a chance of gaining from these suspicious activities. Even if they turned out to be nothing, they would provoke a reaction from the other clans. If they did nothing, then he would take a piece of hotly contested and valuable territory. If they were feeling more aggressive, then they would once again be at war.

For Konrad, it was a no lose situation.