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| Dance of Blood; Robert, pm for entry | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Thu Jan 8, 2009 2:12 am (138 Views) | |
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Thu Jan 8, 2009 2:12 am Post #1 |
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Yaksha sat by Norwood Lake, covered once again in his thick cloak, though this time it was a dark brown, stained yet darker in spots by the blood of others. Before him, the stench of decay and was stifling, almost malevolent and full of some wretched spite. He himself seemed not to even notice it, simply strolling among the dead wolfpack, at least a dozen and a half strong. Among them was strewn half a dozen dead men, in all sorts of deterioration. He looked down at his feet, kicking a few experimentally. "No, none of them can match that perfect taste I've grown to love so much. They're not even a terrible parody of it. God, nothing was as good as that." Yaksha reached one wolf, still clinging tenaciously to life, its eye swivelling towards him slowly. Its muzzle wrinkled back, and a low, pained snarl issued from its mouth. Yaksha merely tutted to himself, and lay a hand over its face. "You've suffered enough. Die in peace. And rise, so you may see who the true alpha male is." He drew a knife, sliding it cleanly into the belly of the wolf, and drawing it out quickly, disemboweling the wolf with a swift stroke. The steaming guts of the wolf spilled forth from its belly, further perverting the air around it. Yaksha looked at the wolf, and shook his head slowly. "It's never good to cling to life. There's better things out there, I'd like to think." He began to whistle nonchalantly, running his hands over its body slowly, the tone of his whistling altering quickly and becoming painful to untrained ears. Within a moment, the wolf rose on trembling knees, and began to look around slowly, its eyes a muddy red, sanguine tears dribbling from its muzzle to the ground. Yaksha began to walk among the wolves, touching several more on their sides or heads, most of them with no noticeable injuries to them. The wolves all rose, looking much less intelligent than before, though much more savage, and without any comprehension of words such as fear, or retreat. All they knew was that their alpha male stood before them, on two legs oddly enough. He waved his hands outward, at the remaining corpses, laughing wildly and madly. "Feast, my lovely children! Eat to your heart's content, and then we shall begin the hunt!" Yaksha turned from the wolves, who had begun to strip and tear their former brethren to peices, gulping the flesh down greedily. Yaksha laughed to himself, a low and chilling tone that would've made most cringe in fear. It held no hatred, no anger, not even some perverse glee in what he did. All it held was a profound and deep understanding of his actions....and a terrible apathy. The demon KNEW what he was doing was wrong, he just didn't care. If he was asked why he'd done such a wretched thing, and so ruthlessly, he likely would've just shrugged. "Necessary casualties, that's all this was. It was time for a change in pace, anyways." He rose his hands to the nighttime sky, his gloved hands seeming to grasp the moon in them from his own gaze. "Come, my new children. Time to have a little fun." The wolves all dropped to their flanks, peering at the sky and howling deeply in synch, while Yaksha stood over them, a master over death itself. "With myself at the helm, all this world shall fall, and be reborn by my own hands! A perfect world, a world where all is as it should be!" |
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| Robert Wolfhand | Sat Jan 17, 2009 8:41 pm Post #2 |
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Robert was hungry. A vicious stifling hunger that clawed at his throat like some demonic hound, shredding and snarling and oblivious to mercy or reason. It fell, biting at his belly, and the man ceased his trek long enough to wrap an arm around his painfully throbbing midsection. It felt like arsenic and starvation all at once; any moment his blood would dry, leaving him a withered corpse like the rats in the streets or the husks vampires left behind. But no, he couldn't let that happen. He had to see this through -- see vampires through, see Darius' head. What did it matter if he killed one or a thousand? Every vampire killed at least once a week, and just one of those lecherous monsters off this land meant people were a little safer. Robert wasn't necessarily a man guided by his conscience, but it was nice to think he was helping more than himself. There was a deeper purpose to his hunting of vampiric fiends, of course. A dark secret that no one alive knew of; a few vampires, perhaps -- Darius, and any of those wretched clansmen he was oh so fond of. Robert Wolfhand was a ghoul. Not one of those cemetery skeletons or dripping banshees; no no, those were the ghouls mothers made up to frighten kiddie-widdies back into bed. Robert was a vampiric ghoul, the equivalent of a vampire's dog. They swore utter loyalty on their mortal, human breaths and were awarded with their master's blood -- a sweet addictive substance that controlled their goons so wholly legend said some were moved to eviscerating their own innards. Though Robert had certainly never gone that far, there were things he had done under Darius only his wildest nightmares reminded him of. Once, and only once, Robert had been foolishly naive and refused to follow his master's orders. After a month without blood, of suffering the paranoia and hallucinations and the certainty that he was going to die and all manner of the wickedly weird, he learned his lesson. It took years for him to break free, and even now he could last no more than a week without falling into illusions and evils. Usually there were weak vampires to pick off, or vampiresses so allured by the thought of seducing their prey before killing it that he oft got the blow in long before they suspected him. It was one of the few benefits of being human; most predators underestimated them, and that was their undoing. Now, though... now he was a mess. It had only been four days, but his arms trembled and sweat ran down his cool forehead. He was pale; paler than normal, and everywhere he turned was with a sharp suspicion, lacking the graceful smoothness battle had taught him. Robert could fight, but it was hard; he had to keep blinking and wiping his forehead, and his stomache ached so, and his axe and shield were so terribly heavy in his burdened hands. It had been stupid coming out into these woods; initially Robert had been chasing a young vampire that, after proclaiming its purity and how it had no intentions of killing humans, had knocked him flat on his arse and fled in the opposite direction. Robert was more than certain he'd been turned around on various occasions, and now had no gauge of where he was or how to leave. Faces... faces painted the spaces between trees. Fleet-footed shadows, with glowing blue eyes and hissing breaths would swiftly pass by, and more than once he'd watched the earth give way to a head popping out of the soil -- only for it to disappear a moment later. There was a sinister song in the air, much like on a flute, but he wasn't sure who was playing it or where they were. Passing under the canopy of some trees he spied a crying child on a tree stump, but she lacked the instrument and so he continued, panting forcefully with every jerked movement. The birds were against him -- it was not unheard of for them to make mockery of sounds; perhaps this was their own bidding tune. "Graahh!" He collapsed on his knees, vomitting what he believed to be an onyx snake -- his throat bulged with its ribbing, his lips tearing as it coiled on the bloody grass. Then he blinked in woozy pain, and only some spittle, drooling lazily from his open mouth. With a confused murmur Robert swayed, pushing himself back up weakly. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his clothed arm, pulling it back to reveal a smear of blood. He paused, utterly perplexed, and looked down to the trail of blood. The trees chuckled, twisting and swiveling in their bases, creases opening wide to release a hundred falling ants that quickly marched towards the girl farther off. Robert ignored it, forcing himself on and forcing his eyes as wide as they could go to fight the oncoming flutter of eyelids. The forest cleared. He was still pale and damp and shaking, and so obviously a junkie in need even if it wasn't obvious just what his brand of poison was, but despite it all the trail of red remained. His dry tongue poked out, pressing against chapped lips as he fantasized that the young vampire had met some grisly end at the end of a pointy tree branch. Robert pressed from the foliage into the clearing, eyes mad with hunger, and was met with the faces of those perhaps a little more mad and a little more hungry. "You..." His voice was a hoarse rasp; he felt his skin crack and break on the inside of his throat. "Vampire...." It didn't look a lot like the one before, but days in the woods had left him missing finer details. "Die." The word was caught in a strangled breath, barely making it out. Robert didn't pull a fighting stance, but he did raise his axe a little, in a pathetic show of challenge. Ghouls were utterly loyal to their masters, who gave them the rich blood they craved. Was it any wonder? |
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Sat Jan 17, 2009 11:07 pm Post #3 |
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Yaksha peered at the man silently, and then waved his wolves towards him. "You must be quite hungry, aren't you child? Yes, I can tell a ghoul in withdrawel when I see one. How long's been since you last ate? A week, two? Could one as hooked as yourself ever even LAST a fortnight without it?" He seemed almost to blur towards Robert, his hooded face mere inches from his faster than a person had any right to move. "Run, little ghoulboy. It's no fun fighting a crippled foe." He turned away from Robert, laughing just slightly as he did. "I'm no vampire. If you weren't so delirous you could easily tell that." He walked towards the lake, sticking a hand under the surface, and held up a gloveful of water. "Drink, and then be on your merry way. You may think this was nothing but a hallucination, if you really wish to. I quite hope you do." At this point, Yaksha sighed, slumping forward. "But I doubt you will." |
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2:21 PM Jul 11

