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RPG Vampire the Masquerade.

Drix D'Zanth

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The players thus far:
Eclectic- Alanna Murdock
Ars_Magicae - Alan Batim
The Harlequin- Kattarin Alekseyevich
Doukeshi03- Jerith Arkum
Adahn- Gristle (mortal name was John Staborn)

[B]Prelude: Crimson Requiem [/B]

"How did it start?", the figure seemed cast in stone as he recalled the events of a previous decade, "I don't really know. 1997, 1992, November 20th, all dates of embrace, all times of great strife. The dates slip, usless when a clock bears no meaning to you." The darkened figure looked towards his convesur, "I can tell you their stories."

The young man looked up, frightened, "You mean to tell me they existed? Vampires?" His eyes grew wide, never had he seen a man with such a refined aire.

The silhouette leaned forward, his face seemed pale in the firelight. His marbelized visage seemed corpreal, decrepit, somehow fallen in it's glory. No wrinkles, no crowsfeet, just the eyes. Only the determinated gaze of this ancient creature gave away it's true age, years of wandering with abstaining guidance. His name was Beruguard Du Mallies, and he is a vampire.

"As I've said, times only grow more difficult as the years pass by. The days of prancing around estate du Marquise and picking off from the juicy upper class are gone. We must be more subtle in our appearance now," He leaned back, shadow covering his face but for luminescent eyes. "I heard the stories, Theo Bell, Anatole, vampires who's legacies will never be echoed within the tomes of mortal history. I learned their stories, the one's who changed it all"

The boy's hand's quivered as he began to account the tale on a cheap notepad. Never could he have imagioned the childhood tales true, the vampires prowling the night, supernatural beings.

"Yes," the ancient one leaned into the soft velvet, "I remember their stories quite acutely."

The night was young in New York City. By this time, the city had aged like a Merlot, the darkened texture of archaic buildings, husks of centuries past, peforated by the cold steel of modern nights. Everything was black, dark, almost a shadow unto itself, as it rose from the ground in starless nights. City lights would drown out the light from above as humans claimed the sky from God. Nothing but a Gotham, a world of pure darkness, where kindness was as rare as seeing one of those glittering angels adorning night's grace.

We never lived in a world ruled by Vampires, they always kept the Masquerade. Secretly the wars between rival sects, between rival clans raged. Slowly, as the despots would rot in vats of their own piglike fat, and hookers laced themselves with more drugs than a cancer patient, the world began to tear itself apart. New York seemed like a beacon of hope to the superficial humans, a place where their lives could burn like a flickering candle, where they had the chance, while remote, to etch their name into societie's adamant halls.

Vampires. The name seemed to echo true at that time, the shadowy dogma that escaped the guttoral utter of each ensuing victim. The fact remains, the masters of the night did exist. They spent more time in their Baroquial homes than the crumbling alleyway, but that is beyond the point. Their stories will fade like the sands of immortality, and they will all be consumed by each's inner beast.

All of the participant's were embraced in the same time of year, something about the "Sabbat war packs" being mentioned, I forget. However, the Camarilla, a sect of vampires devoted to protecting our undead existence, had been mounting resistance. It seemed as if a great seige was in the making. Crime cooed, traffic drifted, people emulated the buildings they devoted themselves to, walking aimlessly, swimming in their own dellusions of grandeur. The calm before the storm.

I remember them discussing their last night of mortality, their last night of knowing freedom from their own conscience....

OOC: You will now describe a bit of what you are doing in your last night while mortal, I'll explain how the vampires embrace you one by one. Raiha, don't post yet, we have to work more out in PM, I figure we will introduce you later as a special character.
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Soft footfalls echoed down the darkened street, the only illumination that which came from the fake flurescent lights that polluted the sky with their harsh light. A shadowed figure stumbled, dazed, across the road, his garments slightly scuffed from an incident with a grating not too long ago. Mumbling incoherently to himself, the man took a large swig from the bottle he was carrying, wiping his hand across his grimy face. Snorting in disgust when he found the bottle to be empty he threw it against the wall of a building that lined the street on which he stood. The glass shattered upon the impacted and sprayed shards across the path. Watching the sharp pieces glitter in the lamplight, the man sobbed slightly and rested himself on the edge of the pavement, covering his face with his hands.

He had come here to dream, to become something that he could not be. The city had beckoned as it had all of the young. His small village now left behind, another time, another country. Now, stuck here with nothing but the clothes he wore and a small appartment he rented for the money he made selling the pictures he created. Nothing, it amounted to nothing. And as he sat there on the grimy pavement, sobbing into alchohol stained hands, he wished he had never come to New York.
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(Dokeuishi's plot)

Cars whizz by, leaving streaks of sound, in the distance from the alley, you hear echos of men who made it, clawing their way over a mountain of flesh. Softly, almost enchantingly, a light sound drifts across your drunken hulk.

It's a soft tune, melodious in it's brevity, the feeling of it seems to envigorate you, and for a moment the world seems a calmer place. As you look up, you notice a man facing you. He is dressed in fineries, a nice suit with an overcoat to shut out the cold. He smiles at you with strangely pale lips, "I saw your work, it inspired me to write this."

He extends a leather clad hand slowly, "Walk with me?"
Embarrassment floods your body as you look up towards him. Thoughts flood your mind, 'why is he being so kind'? 'What does he want'? 'Is he going to mug me'? Yet, as your hand embraces his... the world seems like a safe place again, and you feel safe...
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John ambled among the myriad of streets, his mind distant from his body. He'd gotten used to walking home from work since his car had broken down, and yet he suddenly felt very lost. He gazed up at the starless sky, feeling small and alone. Almost imperceptibly, a hand slipped into his back pocket, ever so gently. John snapped back into reality, and ran towards the thief who was casually walking away. However, John's heavy footsteps alerted the thief, who broke into a sprint. "Help! Thief!" John yelled, but nobody really seemed to care. Angry at himself for being so careless, he picked up his pace, fueled by rage. The thief turned into a dark alley, and John followed only about 20 yards behind. When he got to the alley entrance, panting, he stopped and let his eyes lose focus so he could detect movement. He saw a shifting in the shadows near the end of the alley, where a chain-link fence blocked the entrance to a side-street. John ran down to it, and started to scale it when he felt a sharp pain in his hand. He jumped back off the fence and cradled his hand. He looked up at the fence to see blood glistening in the moonlight, lightly covering the barbed wire which had escaped his notice. Lost, bleeding, and broke, John sat down to collect his thoughts.
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Jerith walked, bemused with the stranger, his brow knit in an expression of confusion. He thought how strange it was that a complete stranger would come and offer his hand in aid to a young man he hardly knew. A drunken man no less. Trying to shake off the alcoholic haze from his mind he sought vainly to piece his thoughts together in a sensical pattern. They would not, however, and jerith was left to wander, dazed, after the strange, well dressed man who walked before him. Surely he wasn't a theif, he was dressed too finely to be a common theif. maybe he was a murderer, a serial killer. Jerith's thoughts ran wild as he followed. He could be the owner of some tastless bar, a slave trader, anything! His eyes widened in panic but he found he could not draw hismelf away from this man who strode so calmly down the street.

[i]I saw your work[/i]. What does that mean? Was he intending to comission a piece from him? If it was true then Jerith would be imensely greatful, God knows he needed the money. He was inspired he said, to write something. Calming his thoughts once more Jerith wrinkled his brow once again and held his hand to his aching head. Write what? Is that where they were going? Why was he following this man? Too many questions. Jerith shook his head and resigned himself to follow this man, whatever the outcome may be.
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The distinguished man seemed austere in the permiated floodlighting. He smiled at his drunken companion, sending a warmth through Jerith's heart far greater than any sort of Alchohol. He seemed to radiate confidence on that nigh, almost fendishly.

He gestures to the entryway of the local art museum. You hear laughing, and busy noises coming from inside. Soft classical music floats into the streets. There are people milling around inside. Almost without hesitation, he leads you towards one of the side exhibits.

"I think you are going to enjoy this, " he smiles, picking up a fine Merlot, more expensive than your finest suit, handing you a glass from the tray, "follow me, all your questions will soon be answered."


Whispering shuddered the brick walls of the alleyway. John heard a deep pounding sound. It sounded like the chorus of sod raining down upon fresh soil. A few more thuds, then silence. As he rounds the corner he notices a pacing figure, his gestures erratic and paranoid. You can't make out who this figure is in the faint light, but he is emitting a stream of profanity, muttering to himself. He walks over to a sack lying on the ground.

[I]A heap of garbage?[/I] The figure kicks it angrily before pacing again. He fails to notice you.
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John, still angry about having his wallet stolen, slowly walks towards the stranger. He squints his eyes in the darkness to see if it is the thief, but he still cannot tell. He takes a closer look at the sack of garbage, and feels a sense of unease as to what might be inside it. John, taking a leap of faith, decides to approach the stranger to find out if he is the thief, or if he saw where the thief might have gone.

"Excuse me, sir, but I was wondering..." John said cautiously, unsure of how the stranger would respond. John glanced down at the bag one more time before looking back up to where the stranger's face was. John's words were caught in his throat, as several realizations immediately forced themselves into his mind, threatening his perception of reality itself.
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All that Jerith's alcohol infused brain recognised was the glass of wine handed to him by the stranger. Raising it to his lips took a mouthful and gulped it down, barely savouring the flavour of the liquid and hardly realising the expense he had just ingested. Walking slowly behind the finely dressed man he wandered, wide eyed he gazed at the lavishly hung paintings that adorned the walls. The bright colours, subtle tones, exquisit figures and touching scenes imposed themselves upon his mind. Even through the haze that clouded his thoughts he still could appreciate the sight of fine art.

Turning to look back at his host he took another wouthful of the wine and hurried after him, falling in step beside him. How did this stranger know him so well? He considered questioning him on his motives now that they were safe within a public building, but he restrained himself, quelling his curiosity for polite obediance. Unable to surpress an amzed sigh at the sights that surrounded him he commented on a particularly promenant image, framed with guilted oak.

"Beautiful...simply...." His voice slurred slightly as he shook his head once more and meandered along.
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The figure snaps to attention upon noticing you... screaming profanities into your direction. Shadows crawl up his face but you see a menacing grimace cross his face, darkened but for luminescent eyes that shine like stars. He narrows his gaze, "****ing fool, what are you doing , you ****ed up again, you really ****ed up. You SEE it don't you... you seen it with your eyes..."

Within a nearly inconceivable amount of time, he appears almost directly before you, a leathery hand cracking into your jaw like an Iron. You fly back, soaring into a trash can, which compresses with a large cacaphony under your fall. You feel your jaw hang loose, broken, as blood pools into the dislocated socket, swelling your cheek.

"****, ****, ****, ****, he can't be seen, will he do? ", The figure mutters off in rapid fire. He brushes off a peice of paper that landed on his shoulder, stomping and grinding it beneath tattered loafers. "I hate this! I can't let it live... ****.", he breathes, his eyes darkening.

You blink the sweat away from your eyes. As you re-focus them, the figure is gone... the area mysteriously quiet.

The gentleman to your side looks at you , puzzled. He stares into your eyes, as you try to focus in and out, clinging to coherency.

"You are absolutely SMASHED," he declares angrily while looking into your face. He takes the liberty to slap you across the face, "I hope this adjusts your vision correctly."

He points towards the picture, "Don't you see? It's YOUR work!"
You seem to mutter something, finally recognizing the painting. Questions seem to spring into your head as you wonder where he could find, and commision his work without his knowledge.

The gentleman calmly adjusts his Gucci tie, straightening it, "I doubt you are in any way aware of who I am .. or why you are here." He pauses, gesturing to the room's corner, " I want you to sit in that chair... I think you should see something."

The commotion in the room begins to slow down and quiet. The lights of the room dim, to where a spotlight adorns the main hallway. You hear the resonating thud of the two doors being shut. A violinist plays some music now, allowing his melody to lead the attention towards three new faces. The three people, faces painted, and bodies shrouded in costume, dance silently onto the lit area.

A woman in a thin, black dress is gestured by the trio, and you notice something remarkable. The woman in question seems to appear caucasion, but suddenly brings to realization just how pale the occupants of this party had been. She smiles broadly at the attention, attempting her funniest movements to the chair, evoking a slight chuckle from the crowd. The three dancers pull a soft leather chair from the gathered crowd, setting it into the center of their "stage". The woman acts suprised, oblivious to the fact that whatever "production" might occur that night, It was not at all fictional...
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Jerith looked on in distress at the man's outburst of anger, rubbing his hand absently across his cheek where he had been struck. Murmering softly to himself he wondered how such a collection of his own works had been obtained and why, for that matter, would anyone want to do it. Draining the contents of his glass he held it absently in his fingers, slouching slightly in the comfy chair on which he sat. Frowning he watched the actors as they cavorted about the 'stage', licking his dry lips he focused on the young woman who remained nervous at the center of the troupe.

Shifting in his seat his gaze flicked to his host who watched the actions with growing amusement. Jerith ran his hand over his face and sighed. So much for a quiet drunken evening wallowing in his own self pity. Confusion after confusion wrapped about his brain until all he could do was watch the performance before him. With a slight jarring sound he dropped the glass from his quivering fingers, it remaining in tact as it hit the ground. Unresponsive to the sound under the music of the violin he lost himself in the atmosphere.
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John brought his hand up to his face, and a sharp pain shot through him as his hand brushed his cheek. More tears of pain stung his eyes. He slowly tried to stand up, but something took his mind off his cheek immediately. His leg was not only broken, but twisted is some weird fashion. One word shot through his mind, "Hospital." John tried to drag himself out of the alley, but the pain was too unbearable. He tried to yell, but that just produced a spittle of blood. Now, a new thought came to mind, "****, I'm gonna die." A surge of willpower burst through him, and he began to crawl out of they alley on his stomach, despite the pain. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a lady on the side of the road screaming, "Oh my god!" while covering her mouth and pointing. Then, everything went black...
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Sorry I hadn't posted sooner, personal problems. And I'm being lazy and taking this straight from the fanfic I'm working on, so forgive me.
Alanna walked down the darkening street, reliving the mortifying mightmare that was her audition for [i]Evita[/i]. She had chosen the song suggested by her former chorus teacher, "My Immortal" by Evanescence. He had said her rendition of it was 'hauntingly beautiful' and 'complemented her range perfectly'. She wasn't so sure, but agreed anyway since it was one of her favourite songs. Trying couldn't hurt, could it? After several long weeks of diligent rehersal, a few iced capiccinos, and a couple dozen pots of green tea, the day finally came. That night, as she walked onto the stage before the panel, she focused on one man in particular. His stare made it feel as if his hard eyes could freeze her very soul. She tried looking away, but deep and complicated attracted her, while something deeper still, and much more primal made her want to run far, far away.
"Miss..." he glanced down at his list, then turned his steady ice blue stare back to her, "Murrdock?" She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. "You may begin after the music starts." He nodded to the pianist, who immeadiately began. She had measures of notes between the beginning and her intro, but her voice was gone, as were all the lyrics. All she knew was the icy cold glare of that man on the panel. [i]I only have one more measure left... One more note Her entrance passed and the pianist stopped and looked to the man. He nodded and the pianist began again. Her entrance passed a second time...a third...a fourth...
"Miss Murrdock, what is the problem?" asked another member of the panel. "Miss Murrdock?" She could only stutter before running from stage, crying silently...
Alanna sighed and ran through her piece yet again, performing it flawlessly until she heard a soft clapping from the shadows. Gasping, she cast around, hoping her audience wanted nothing more than to hear her sing.
"Miss Murrdock, if you had been able toperfom like tht, I daresay you'd have the female lead. How unfortunate that the rest of the panel could not hear you. Pardon my rudeness and allow me to introduce myself. I am Marion Lewes of Toreador Records. We're a very small, up-and-coming new company looking for young blood such as yourself. Just a thought, but would you be interested in a recording contract? Long term, of course."
"I...I..I...yes!" [i]Oh my god, this is incredible! This is impossible. Is it just a coincidence that he was on the judging panel. Scouting would be a full time job and wouldn't leave much room for anything else. And how could he have followed me? I'm sure the auditions haven't finished yet and there were at least a hundred people after me. And how could he follow me? I didn't hear anyone or a car, and he was ahead of me. This is all too much. But a record deal! How can I possibly turn this down? It's my dream.[/i]
"I have a feeling you don't trust me. Why is that?" He smiled a bit, more of a smirk than anything else, and gestured o the alley he had come out of. "Come with me. My car is just over here." He started walking away without her, obviously expecting her to follow. She hesitated for just a moment, then jogged after him. [i]For All I know, this could be my big break, the one every wannabe star dreams of. I could be on TRL in no time! But what about becoming a lawyer, like my parents so badly want me to? What about helping people?[/i] When they reached the car, which turned out to be a vintage Rolls Royce, she voiced her fears.
"Mr. Lewes, I don't think I can accept your offer. See, singing is a kind of backup career and my family really wants me to study law, and so do I. And... Are you listening?" He smiled wickedly, revealing his fangs.
"Don't worry. Soon, you'll have an eternity to pursue any path that you wish." He stalked her slowly, like the wild cats on documentaries do to their prey.
"Wh...what [b]are[/b] you?!" She backed away, bumping into a wall. Quickly, she looked around, hoping a means of escape would show itself.
"There is no escape, child. There's nowhere for you to run." He grasped her by the shoulders, sinking his sharp teeth into her flesh. And all Alanna could do was utter small, insignificant noises as her life slipped away and she fell into a pool of darkness.
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OOC: This is turning out to be a very good RPG indeed, good posters, sorry I haven't been quite as on task as usual, as the week starts up again I'll post acutal RPG info. I don't want to leave you with some half-assed reply, so I'm going to edit this post later. Ecclectic, if you could, try to post what NPC's say or do as [I]little[/I] as possible, it's just I'm changing the standard format for typical RPG's on OB. Thanks :) Will post reply soon, with BIG story hooks!



The scene unfolds before your eyes elegantly and mesmorizingly. Your Gucci-clad friend clasped a chilled hand on your shoulder, smiling down at you again. The dance that unfolding seemed esoteric, the pristine nature of their grace amazed you. The dancer's appeared to be wearing makeup, as they were exceedingly pale, twirling their silken garbs, letting the fabric rub against the flustered volunteer. She giggled a bit, possibly induced by flute of Vine Rosse.

Two of the three stood her up, taking her wrists daintily, her hips leaning in a confident saunter. She resembled Christ for a moment, as the third disrobed her, letting her garments fall to the ground. Taken aback by this action, she crosses her legs, while standing, struggling a bit to fold her arms across her chest. You can see the hair rising on her back, the cool air on her bare skin now snapping her out of drunkenness. She let loose a small whimper, the dancers holding her wrists, delicately, held fast like steel. A few hushed chuckles from the crowd at her fear, a few of the more vocal onlookers providing a subtle burlesque.

A well-dressed man, with a sterling gaze stepped forward, like a warrior prepared to ravish the woman of who's nation he's conquered. He grins at the crowd, "Delicate, so elusive and pale. Why does one vacillate from the purest of beauties?" He inquires rhetorically, brushing a silken hand against her cheek. She turns away, diamonds rolling down her cheek, sparkling in your slightly hazy vision. He lets his hand rest upon her neck, the performers lifting her towards the didactic elder, his black hair slippery even in the dim, "Fear is but a fallacy, let us melt thine fear with an innocent proposal. As one must smell the scent of the rose, so must every flower as this be granted the kiss of innocence." He leaned forward, his blue lips on hers. She blushed, cross-eyed as she looked down upon her own situation. Her eyes seemed to roll back into her head and her body trembled slightly.. [I] ecstasy?[/I] . The figure pulled away, and the young lady stood reddened. Now crying silently, her eyes reddened, and cheeks flushed crimson. Slowly, a line of blood dribbled down her chin like the thread of a spider's web. Then another, and once more you noticed the crimson streaks seemingly evoking themselves from already crimson lips. You realized, she was now bleeding, her lips quivering from some obfuscated injury.....

As the world went black around you, you fell the stern, unyielding grip of a hand on your back, then a sensation of weightlessness. You dreamt of the night around you, the smells, the soft sounds, the fuzzy visions passing before you surreally.

The wind suddenly, and reflexively expires from your lungs as you are dropped to a cold floor. Your head is still throbbing, and the wound has gone numb, possibly from cold, or adrenaline rush. As you look up, you open your eyes, crusted over with a combination of tears and blood. Doublevisioned, the room is foreign.

You hear the rocking fabric of the person you met in the alley before. For the fist time, his face is fully revealed, it looks as if the lower half of his skull has rotted away, revealing a death grin, some of his teeth menacing and jagged. His eyes are deep, pure black, and full of sorrow. He looks up at you sympathetically, a few hairs poking through the patches of flaky skin and boils, "He wouldn?t have died? He shouldn?t have.. you know."

He burst forward, crawling like an insect, "WHY DID HE DIE ? WHY THE HELL DID IT HAPPEN?!" He screams, his rhaspy voice breaking under the strain of his agony. He stops, his face before you? his stench eeking through your nostrils where blood and mucus hasn?t plugged. You shudder, and he grimaces, or smiles. Frankly, you can?t tell. "Do you think [I]you[/I] could replace him? I have my right.. I have my right.." he sulks back.. sitting down, clenching his knees.

The room appears dank, obviously abandoned. Peeling wallpaper, and brown water stains decorate the ceiling. A single, shattered window is the only venue for the moonlight to spill in. As you look for an exit, you notice the door has fallen apart, or rotted away, as a single set of rusted joints adorn a hollow wooden frame. The gruesome companion watches you search the place, "Don?t even try.."


The sudden loss of blood sends your ears buzzing, and you find yourself drifting into unconsciousness. You shudder with delight. While the bite seemed painful at first, it now sent waves of unadultered pleasure down your spines. Your fingertips tingled, then your legs, your arms. You felt your heartbeat race, your breathing slowing. The air felt like needles of ice as your nostrils flared.

He pulled away, his lips now significantly more [color=crimson]red[/color], "I trust you are more apt to my contract now?" A slight noise eeks from your parted lips, and your eyes flutter faintly. He tosses your weakened physique into the back of the car. Immediately it begins it?s journy through the forest of steel skyscrapers. Marion smiled down upon you, "You aren?t going to survive this.. no." his spurious words leaked into your ears like molten lead. Intransigently , your soul refused his claim, your heart beat growing faint, "You won?t live? but I can offer you the chance to [I]not[/I] die." He laughed softly, smiling as if he could read your astonishment in your eyes, while your expression remains broken, defeated by your weakened state? His eyes burn with passion, inflamed by the blood.. He is your demon, the evoked hatred within you, his delight is your scorn, and he loves you for it. His feral expression grins again, dripping with your blood? your heart begins to weep for you, it?s tears sapping your life?.
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Jerith frowned as he took in the scene before him, the naked girl, the dripping blood. It was frightening, horrifying and yet at the same time truly intoxicating. He could feel the strong hand of his host resting on his shoulder, holding him in place. He could not take his eyes from the events that where unfurling. His heart went out to the young woman who stood so enrapt upon the stage, her flesh quivering under the touch of the man so obviously the leader of this troupe. His words echoed about the room, filled with amusment but with subtle hint of warning.

Jerith was filled with a deep anxiety, suddenly he didn't want to be here anymore. Glancing warily from exit to exit he squirmed slightly in his seat. His vision danced before him as he tried to shake off the alcohol. Feeling strong fingers on his shoulder once more he looked up into the face of his host, his eyes frightened.
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John ended his search of the room instantly, and forced himself to look upon his aggressor. "What is this....thing?!" he thought to himself. John looked over the rotting flesh of the creature. Something in such a state of decomposition should not be able to live. It must be afflicted with hundreds of diseases. Something snapped into his mind, and he said "Replace who?" The creature looked at him, snarling "They said I could have one, ONE! So I had one, and what does he do? He ****ing dies. That's right, he dies. Now they'll never let me.....wait." Something that might be called a smile crept over the creature's face. He turned and looked into a cracked mirror. "Yes, yes, it all makes sense. We're all the same, they won't even notice!" The creature started trembling and gagging, wait, was it....laughing? "Wha-what the hell are you talking about?" asked John with a little apprehension. The creature stopped and looked at him, its eyes seeming to burn a hole straight through him. "You'll find out, oh, you'll find out indeed!" The creature started laughing again, except now it was walking straight towards John. Something different about it, it's mouth, maybe? John backed towards the wall, petrified.
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OOC: Firstly, commends to you all, this is some of the BEST roleplaying on the boards, I?ve received several requests from people wishing to join, however I wish to keep this fairly exclusive and personal. Once again, props to both of you.


The startling figure stood up, stroking his ebony beard, glittering with droplets of vitae. "Vendi, Vidi, Vici.," he exclaimed loudly, spreading his hands out like wings, commanding the attention of the room. The girl shuddered, from fear of the magnificent creature, and the cold encroaching her body from the loss of blood. The figure bows, evoking applause from the audience, then rushed voices.

A look of puzzlement crosses your face. The crowd begins to close in on the young girl, who beings looking around frantically. Her hair blows as if carried by the ethereal wind of her own fear, and her eyes are mad looking for help. She locks eyes upon you, and you see the despair in them, you see the fright. She reaches out to you with her lips , mouthing a soft cry for help. The vampires around her close in. A few latch upon her skin, her breasts, her neck, her legs. You see her face wrench up towards the heavens in the agony of knowing she won?t survive, and the pleasure induced by such a deadly kiss. Her mouth seemed to stretch into a scream, her veins now purple against her porcelain skin. Casually a pale hand slipped over her mouth, drawing her head down and she disappears into the mass of vampires. A few of the patrons walk away, smiling, their lips significantly reddened. You feel your cheeks getting colder even as they pass by, the slightest breeze burning into your cheeks like ice. Then you realize it; you?re crying.

"Magnificent isn?t it," the man looks down upon you from where he stood, "Our beauty, our grace, they say war was an art, this is it?s [/I]forte[/I]" He notices your display of emotions, squeezing your shoulder like an encouraging friend. "Your fear of this shall pass, as shall your memory of this..," his words are cut off by your getting up. As you struggle away from the madness the thoughts suddenly shatter the haze of intoxication again, survival instincts kick in. You feel your body tingle with adrenaline, your heartbeat flooding your hearing. The room?s guests stare at your feeble effort, their eyes glowing bright shades of green, blue, some even silver or yellow, the blood engorging their spirits. A few patrons laugh, pointing in your direction and engaging in hushed conversations.

Slowly, the pain.. then the fatigue encroaches you. Only after a few steps, you feel slow, encumbered. Your breathing slows, your vision blurrs. Your mind moves slow, until you land with a sickening thud, jolting you awake for a few seconds. As you look beyond the fast approaching footsteps of your "friend" you notice the glass you?ve spilt. The merlot is fizzing?.[I]drugs[/I]?.

?. Then you wake up? in satin sheets.


The wretched creature moves like a puppet pulled by the invisible strings of it?s own will, like a machine bent on your destruction. The sickening smile on it?s face sends your eyes into shock, locked upon his grotesque banter, "Oh, don?t try kiddo, don?t try." He casually reaches forward, gripping your neck and slamming your head against the drywall. You grunt, his constricting hand feels like steel against your fragility.

The rest feels like a dream, and for an instance you thank God for the hand around your throat. As the clenching cuts off some of the oxygen to your brain, you are slow to feel the horrible pain as the creature begins gnawing at you. Your face, your neck.. chewing, gnawing, sucking on the blood sputtering off the ravaged flesh. He only needs one hand to restrain you, using the other to tear more ribbons of gore from your shoulder, sucking at them too, a sputtering noise mixed with the poison of your screams. You feel yourself kicking, struggling, your muscles futility working against his grip, dust kicked up by your fight. Slowly the precious liquid begins to dribble down your worried expression, covering your eyes, and you are left to your imagination.

You feel yourself bleeding, dying. You hear the sickening spatter of blood on the walls, the leathery sound of his lips drinking it up. As your quivering fingers reach up to the face he?s ravished it becomes apparent that the hard texture is bone, you touch your exposed bone, evoking another desperate scream. You remember the teeth, like porcelain, sharp. The walls surrounding your body are blackened with blood, and your shirt becomes starchy with it, hardening, tightening. Blood is drying on your skin even as more washes over it, like a torrent. Then, like a resigned sigh after a losing battle, he lets you drop, shuddering. Convulsing once more, you feel your body spasm, vomiting up what feels like the last of your blood, what little you held precious.

A clammy hand holds your mouth open and you feel what appears to be his skin pressed to his lips. Resigned, you accept the trickling blood flowing down your throat and you stop swallowing. You breathe the horrid liquid in hoping it would choke you, hoping you would suffocate the pain away, to end the night with peace.

Peace never came?.
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[i]I can't die like this... No, not like this...[/i] Alanna struggled to hold onto life, what little of it she had left. [i]They're wrong when they say your life flashes before your eyes... all I see if darkness... No! I can't let it end this way! What about all the people who are depending on me? Whatever he wants, I suppose I'll just have to go along.[/i] "What do you want from me?" she whispered weakly. "I don't have any money, if that's it." She stopped, his face slipping in and out of focus. [i]No! I can't die. What is he anyway?[/i] She watched him, trying to look defiant but failing the entire time. Finally, she gave in and fainted, letting him do whatever he wished.
Sorry this is so short, but I'm getting Spark Notes on a few books for my test tomorrow. Anyone familiar with Jane Eyre or Great Expectations?
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*Drip*.. *Drip* Droplets of burning liquid down a dying throat.

You feel your chest heaving, fighting, straining.

[I]Is this a dream?[/I] Your breath, slow? slowing?

You feel the warmth of the blood in your gullet, your skin shivering, budding into patches of goose-bumps.

[I]What is happening?[/I] Your lips on icy skin? you feel your jaw ache, trembling, slowly your teeth reach out to greet the neck and you bite into it like a soft orange, a spray of blood that sends your tounge to the reaches of your mouth, catching the flares of pleasure from it?s iron-like taste.

Every time you drink, your heart begins to beat, in a dangerous dance with his. Your eyes remain closed but you feel the embrace with him, his hands wrapped around you, his body against yours. Your breath recedes? slowly?


Nothing. He pulls you away, and you feel the pain sucked out. Something goes out with the pain?. And you feel.



OOC: I know it?s short and vague. This is more or less Allana?s personal experience considering she was almost passed out while it happened. Everyone will be experiencing it differently, but the end result will be the same.
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OOC: nope sorry, I was never into victorian novels.

Jerith opened his eyes and rubbed his hand across his face, his vision bleary and hazy from the previous nights drunkeness. His dark hair fell about his shoulders, touseled and disheveled from his sleep.

Jerith frowned as a look of confusion graced his features. Sleep or unconciousness? What exactly had happened last night?

He blinked and yawned then sat up slowly within the confines of the elaborate and sumptuous bed that he found himself in. Silken drapes hung about the four poster bed, splendidly soft duvets and pillows ensconced him as if in a nest. Looking about the room he found a beautifully crafted fire place dominating the room, small flames dancing in an ardent display. Splendid paintings of divine angels and humble saints adorned the walls complemented by decadent gilted fixtures.

Remebering the events of the previous night a look of dread passed across his face. Tossing the covers from him he found himself clad in a pair of thin green silken trousers and little else. his cloths were no where to be found and as he checked the handle on the only door to the room he found that he was, in fact, locked in. Panicking he pulled violently on the door, but to no avail. To his dismay, the windows, covered in heavey curtains were also locked, heavey iron bars crossing the glass. Finally, in an act of defeat he sat himself, dejected, on the side of the bed. Holding his head in his hands, his shoulders shook with barely surpressed sobs as cold fear started to grip his mind.
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Licking the last droplets of blood from his lips, John slowly breathes in and out, out of habit rather than necessity. It hits him then, [i]blood[/i]. He just drank blood. He bit the monster's neck, and sucked the blood out of him. That wasn't what hit him the hardest, though. The worst part was that he [i]liked[/i] it. No, wait, he [i]loved[/i] it.

As he realized these things, fear gripped him like an iron clamp. He sat, shocked, completely unable to speak. He didn't know how long he sat before more thoughts came to him. "What just happened?" he asked of his captor. "Yes! It worked! Well, of course it worked. Heh. Anyways yes, we have much to talk about." As the creature beckoned John to him, John glanced into the mirror, and saw the most terrifying thing in his life. [i]It's hideous![/i] John looked closer at the reflection, and shifted to get a better view. As he watched the image in the mirror move, he realized that it showed himself! [i]I'm more disgusting than the creature that did this to me![/i] The monster saw the look on his face, and began to laugh his sputtering, coughing laugh. John tried to cry, but could not produce tears. He realized that he was no longer John, no longer [i]human[/i], he had become a monster, and his new name was [i]Gristle[/i].
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OOC: Let me introduce the NEWEST Rper of our game : DuoMax. His excellent information has lead me to choose him out of the other hopefuls in Harlequin and Ars Magicae?s absence. Welcome to the game!
You may now post your opening actions Duo.


A faint wind blows through the open window, carrying a distant horn. Distant? You suddenly wish you were there, in spite of the anger embellished by such a vitriolic noise. You wish you could be free of your self-lamentation, of this horrible dream. The room seems to mock you with it?s artistic beauty, never had you ever dreamt art to be so deadly.

The handle latches with a clank and you stand there stunned a bit, your fingers wiggling like the shudder of a bird before it?s flight. As the crack of light fills the room, and the door is swung wide, you see your gracious host standing before you, clad in the same attire as before. He stands smiling, studying your figure that seemed to cower in the shadows, before smirking, "Hiding? I thought that?s what my kind were supposed to be doing."

"You mean vampires?" Jerith spits, the word bitter on his tongue, the lacquer of demons.

"Kindred," He raises his eyebrow, "Vampire is so archaic, don?t you think? We are all Kindred of [I]Caine[/I]," He hesitates on the last word. A father lying to his son about Santa Clause. "I know what you saw in that room frightened you, you will see far worse in your short existence, I assure you." His eyes narrow, "Why is it that death becomes so personal when witnessed for the first time? I?ve long forgot the remorse of seeing death. However the crestfallen nature, you present yourself to me.. saddens me, If I knew the feeling." He stood again searching over you, his green eyes betraying the darkness that clouded his face, his teeth flashing again, "You have a gift.. one that cannot be overlooked."

You consider his words. What does he want? Whatever escape that may have existed suddenly seems unimportant. Considering your options, not much is presented before you, so you stay your fears to hear his words. Graciously he acknowledges your conciliation, "Your gift, your [I]art[/I] is something that those closest to me have always wished to preserve. Art is the greatest form of humanity, of immortality. It is the bridge, that spans the chasm between your kind , and mine. I have an eternity to thrive in my art, in every aspect of my life. It becomes art, your actions.." He steps forward towards the window, "Art is the speech of one?s soul, Jerith."

He seems paler now, his deep raven hair cascading over the pallid sheen of his dermis. You watch him, speechless as he turns towards you again, a determined look, "Jerith, you are going to die tonight."


".. The only question is: will you continue your art in this realm, or the next?" He bores into you with those eyes of flame, of lurid omniscient beauty. His question reaches to the deepest string on your heart, snapping it. No time for earnest thought, regret, remorse? You must choose

He extends his hand to you, palm downward, "Choose?" As your heart pounds, your head throbbing, your body trembling? it is time to make your eternal decision?


The monster before you jumps back again? smiling with devlish glee.

"You lives?", he stammers, poking you with a decrepit finger, his eyes widening with happiness.

You turn around, filled with remorse, awe at what you?ve become. "You are now beautiful, child, you are now free! No longer shall you wade in the impression of others! So now you can find your own path of your heart! Come to me!" He reaches his hand towards you, smiling with pride, his jagged expression is a bear-trap. Entreating you again, "Come to me! I shall show you the secrets of the night?"

He stands there a moment , confused after his last statement, "What will your name be? You are human no longer? find yourself a name!"

The ragged flesh is cold on your lips, the blood seems to throb with it?s own consciousness in your toungue. You still feel the ache of your last dying flesh, and the white noise subsides. The room is now clear to you, every color imagionable is open to your vision. You hear the walls groan from footsteps two stories above, you see the crackling of paint. You smell his blood, your blood, and the horrible matrimony of both. You smell the dank room and hear it?s voice.

As you consider his statement.. you smell blood again, different blood, like a tulip in a rose-garden?
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The black enamel of Dimitri's shoes click against the cracked and dirty pavement as he walks along in the darkened city, briefcase in one hand. Today had been a hard one in court, George Atkins was always a worthy adversary. He stopped and spun around for a moment...was he being followed? After hearng nothing for a moment, but the usual city sounds, he continued on his way. The slight breeze causing his coat to flap out behind him. He needed a drink, and he knew a good bar a few blocks from here.
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OOC: Well then, welcom DuoMax ^_^, I'm sure it will be a pleasure rping with you.
Jerith's breathing became more erratic as he stood before his host, the unanswered question hanging between them like an open door. His chest heaved as wide eyes emplored to his host for mercy, stepping back he stumbled slightly and came to rest his back upon one of the wooden bed posts.

"Please..." his voice was small and fragile like that of a lost child, "...no...I" His rattled speech was cut off by his host, a single finger raised to his lips in a gesture of silence. Swallowing hard, Jerith held his hand to his head and clenched his teeth in a small outward showing of heartwrenching fear.

[i]Why was this happening? He didn't want to die. His life may not be that wonderful at the moment but he didn't want to [b]die[/b].[/i] There was no option for him now. He could either die a painful death at the hands of a demon, his young life snuffed out like so many candles. Jerith raised his eyes but not his head to meet the calm gaze of the vampire before him, his hair hanging around his face like a wild man. Or...or he could join the Kindred as his host had said and live to see all of eternity.

Sweat trailed down his face and created a light sheen upon his upper torso, small beads curving a path down his chest. Calming his fitful breathing he clenched his teeth and stood forward from the bed post. Raising his arm he placed his hand in that of his hosts, looking up at the pale features with stormy grey eyes.

"Make me yours." His voice was strong as he held his gaze, his body trembling slightly as it sought to stop his mind from making a grave error. "Make me...Kindred."
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The scent of fresh blood fills him with anticipation, but he manages to resist through the force of conscious will. "I will be called gristle, due to my hideousness." Gristle stated, just to change to subject. The smell of blood got closer, and its pull on him strengthened. Its heady scent filled all his perceptions, and he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life. [i]No, resist![/i].

The voice came not from around him, but from within him. It was the last scrap of his humanity, the remembrance of morals lived by in another life. Gristle wove this [i]feeling[/i] around himself, and himself around it. He knew it would not be easy, and he would have to trick his monstrous nature. He turned back to the creature, saying "Firstly, what is your name, and secondly, what are these secrets of the night?" The creature looked delighted at Gristle's cooperation, saying, "Yes, you learn! You will learn..."
As Gristle listened to the introduction of his companion, the scent of blood got ever closer, but Gristle would not give in, not now, not [i]ever[/i]
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