The Shadow Realm
Leader of The Shadow Realm
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Fantasy (RP Closed)
- Thread starter The Shadow Realm
- Start date
CerpinTaxt
A Man With No Face
9:00 PM
Artifacts for old texts. That was the deal. The dinner party? Not so much.
The Council had supposedly came across various strange artifacts. Who found them or how they never explained, all that was said was that The Franklin Collective could have them. For a price that is. Artifacts for old texts pertaining to various vampires from various times. Texts the Collective had been studying for some time yet found little use. But strange, other worldly devices and objects? A different matter entirely. They would be more than happy to do the exchange, but on their own terms. The Council was to host the exchange of items, but they had decided to go one step beyond a simple 'meet and swap' deal. No, they figured a small celebration was in order. A large Gothic manor was to host the party, with food and other niceties set along a long table in a dining hall much too large for the two factions to fill.
Of course, the League had heard of this and wanted in on the deal. More of an observing third-party than anything else. All of England was their jurisdiction. They had a right to know of and attend business dealings if it was where they had any sort of standing. The manor was deep within some English forest, a long winding dirt path leading up to the large manor which stuck out like a sore thumb with its bright painted walls and large windows amidst the dark trees. Three groups now, but more than enough plates for everyone. The more that joined the less it became a simple exchange. Then the Rose had to stick its nose in where it didn't belong.
A large sum of money was given by an anonymous man who left only a letter with the large stack of bills. 'Ensure it all goes smoothly.' was all that was said. The Collective never hired them, the League felt their services were enough. The Council? Perhaps they hired them. They never said which way or the other. Less of an exchange, more of a legitimate party. More wagons halted at the outside of the manor, more people entered the manor. The boots of confused men and women clattered against the wooden floors as they were lead to the large dining hall. One that seemed impossibly large, as if from a grand castle. Paintings covered the wall everywhere anyone looked, and the lightbulbs occasionally flickered.
Fifty men in total had entered the estate, but how many were really sure what was going on? All were asked to take a seat and enjoy the food. Meanwhile a Collective Agent, a short man in a suit, was escorted off somewhere else in the Manor. Faceless members of each group hesitantly took seats with pistols most certainly drawn underneath the table-cloth. What sort of 'exchange' needed this many people? The Collective was probably the most nervous of them all. The League was most certainly confused. The Rose was probably just happy to have gotten paid for what was just a little get-together.
One of the members of the Council was to begin speaking once everyone was seated.
By the time the telegram from one of the head leaders of the Order had arrived to the Collective's offices it was much too late.
The party is a ruse STOP
One of our members has betrayed us STOP
He serves the one with only one eye STOP
So go ahead. Take a seat and enjoy yourselves. Enjoy what little respite you have until the coming storm.
The Shadow Realm
Miracleist
King Vioogra
LostHaven
The Gunrunner
Moritz
Cheryl
Deeox2
Elvis Strunk
The Forgotten Host
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King Vioogra
Supreme Yeeter
Nikiyev slowly grabbed the suit that had laid in his closet for at least 2 years and cracked his neck as he brushed the dust off of it. He outback it on slowly, making sure it still fit before really trying to get it on. Afterwards, he stood in front of his mirror and sighed loudly. He wore a jet black suit with a white button up shirt under it. He gingerly tied a tie around his neck before presenting himself in front of the mirror. He sighed again before looking down at his metallic hand and clenching it into a fist. After taking in a deep breathe and exhaling loudly, he walked out of his small house into the windy night. His hair whipped violently into his face. He clicked his tongue in an annoyed tone before saying, “Ugh, son of a bitch!” He said brushing his bangs out of his face as he stepped down the staircase and climbing into the carriage that was waiting outside his house. “To the Franklin Collective dinner party.” Nikiyev said before leaning back and breathing heavily. He looked out the window as he let the driver take his time on the ride. Suddenly overburdened with heavy eyelids, he dozed off from the rhythmic hum of the carriage’s wheels. After about 2 minutes of quiet darkness, Nikiyev was forced into his 16 year old self as he watched his parents being murdered. Before the deed was done however, Nikiyev was ripped from the dream and dropped back into the carriage. He let out a loud shout and was breathing heavily, and he continued this for about a minute before realizing he had arrived at the manor. He stepped out of the carriage and started towards the large building. As Nikiyev slowly walked towards the house, the bottom of his shoes scraped against the concrete, his mechanical arm made whirring noises as it swung from side to side with each stride. The noises that would be enraging to others was calming, if not soothing, to Nikiyev. When he finally got to the door, he raised his mechanical arm and knocked heavily on the door.
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The Forgotten Host
Senior Member
Deeox2
Resident Gif User
Victoria set a cigarette in her mouth, watching out across the brightly moonlit forests of the English countryside. The wind blew gently, allowing the smoke from her cigarette to gently wrap around her face in the gentle caress of tobacco. An odd job this was. Just stand around and see what was going on. Make sure the other hunter guilds didn’t do anything immoral… She plucked the cigarette from her mouth, exhaling into the night air. Easy money. She’d take it, go back to London, have a few drinks, and then wait for the next job to roll in. Nothing to it. Idly, she tapped the small metal case hidden in her coat. Within was the anchor of a certain young ghostly girl, given to Victoria for its protection. She would protect it with her life, naturally. A promise was a promise, and she was not going to make a mistake like she did all that time again.
She stepped back from the balcony, watching as yet another carriage rolled up to the doors. It would be a good idea to head to the dining hall about now, as it seemed that most of the people would be either arriving soon, or had already arrived. Perhaps, even, she’d be able to find someone she knew. It seemed that the Rose had sent another assorted mishmash of people again. What was the Rose hoping to gain this time? Did they really need to send so many people? It seemed off to her, suspicious in more than a couple ways. She didn’t quite trust the Collective or League. Their disdain for those affected by the curses of the land was enough for her to be upset about, but the snobbery inherent to the type of organization each were? That was bad as well. Would they have hired her? Of course not. She was lowborn, a former criminal, and an ordinary human.
She shook her head and headed down to the ground level. Victoria had been here for awhile now, waiting for the majority of the guests to arrive. Mostly, she wanted to take the time to smoke and relax before all the socializing began. It was going to be a long night, and a little relaxing never hurt anyone. Casually, she snubbed her cigarette in a potted plant and went off to see who was about. Perhaps a nice lass, and not a demon.
She stepped back from the balcony, watching as yet another carriage rolled up to the doors. It would be a good idea to head to the dining hall about now, as it seemed that most of the people would be either arriving soon, or had already arrived. Perhaps, even, she’d be able to find someone she knew. It seemed that the Rose had sent another assorted mishmash of people again. What was the Rose hoping to gain this time? Did they really need to send so many people? It seemed off to her, suspicious in more than a couple ways. She didn’t quite trust the Collective or League. Their disdain for those affected by the curses of the land was enough for her to be upset about, but the snobbery inherent to the type of organization each were? That was bad as well. Would they have hired her? Of course not. She was lowborn, a former criminal, and an ordinary human.
She shook her head and headed down to the ground level. Victoria had been here for awhile now, waiting for the majority of the guests to arrive. Mostly, she wanted to take the time to smoke and relax before all the socializing began. It was going to be a long night, and a little relaxing never hurt anyone. Casually, she snubbed her cigarette in a potted plant and went off to see who was about. Perhaps a nice lass, and not a demon.
The Shadow Realm
Leader of The Shadow Realm
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Miracleist
Bathing in dream light
Moritz
New Member
The eyes of the mansion's doormen nearly popped out of their skulls the moment they caught sight of him wandering up the walkway. One of those bloody Dutchmen, standing out like a white rabbit in a field of coal. It would figure that a party like this would attract trash like him- and then a glint of light on a rounded tank caught their eyes and the Doormen nearly dropped the man then and there. And just like that, there was a situation.
"No. No! Absolutely not! Those of you that fail to understand proper, peaceful etiquette have no place here! Begone!"
A line of angry Dutch and accented English swearing was the Human's only response. Bram was angry, the Doormen were angry, everybody was angry!- but it was quickly rectified. Bram, in all of his stupid Dutch glory, was barred from the grounds. He could not and would not be attending the party- and so, with indignity flaring bright, he stormed across the grounds and set up a small little spot of his own.
As he departed, One of the Doormen scoffed - before spitting in the man's general direction - slipping his firearm into his overcoat once more. It would figure that someone with a reputation as stained as Bram's would behave like an overgrown child - how typical.
"Parties. Why is it ALWAYS parties? What is it with Vampires and parties?!", Grumbled the Dutchman, kicking up a clod of dirt as he fixed his cooking tripod into position, quickly hooking a small, copper pot beneath the legs.
---
Bram let out a dull growl as he drew his greatcoat together. He sat, hunched over a small fire filled with charred wood and topped with a small brass pot hanging from a lengthy metal tripod. He would occasionally toss an indignant glare towards the Mansion's ornate doorway - and those damned Daggerteeth that had denied him entry. It was understandable, He supposed, that they would take issue with his arrival at the party, especially given his rather poor reputation amongst the Vampire community. The human let out a dull chortle as he eased the tanks from his back, and to the ground below - sliding them well beyond the perimeter of the fire. And thus, there he sat, a good... safe... Two-hundred-and-fifty-foot distance from the Mansion's door, and its mixed audience of tainted, and normal folk.
An hour passed, and then an hour became two- Where in God's name was Adrianus? It wasn't like him to be late, especially to something so outlandishly important.
Bram rolled his eyes, fitting the stem of his Smoking pipe between his teeth as he slipped a small bundle of tobacco into the pipe's chamber, before simply lighting it with a match ignited by a short dip into the fire. Resigned to waiting, Bram simply sat, stirring the contents of the brass pot with a slow, bored hand. Every so often, tossing in a small bundle of bread or sprinkling a minute amount of seasoning into the bubbling pot of stew.
Bloody Vampires.
---
OOC note:
"No. No! Absolutely not! Those of you that fail to understand proper, peaceful etiquette have no place here! Begone!"
A line of angry Dutch and accented English swearing was the Human's only response. Bram was angry, the Doormen were angry, everybody was angry!- but it was quickly rectified. Bram, in all of his stupid Dutch glory, was barred from the grounds. He could not and would not be attending the party- and so, with indignity flaring bright, he stormed across the grounds and set up a small little spot of his own.
As he departed, One of the Doormen scoffed - before spitting in the man's general direction - slipping his firearm into his overcoat once more. It would figure that someone with a reputation as stained as Bram's would behave like an overgrown child - how typical.
"Parties. Why is it ALWAYS parties? What is it with Vampires and parties?!", Grumbled the Dutchman, kicking up a clod of dirt as he fixed his cooking tripod into position, quickly hooking a small, copper pot beneath the legs.
---
Bram let out a dull growl as he drew his greatcoat together. He sat, hunched over a small fire filled with charred wood and topped with a small brass pot hanging from a lengthy metal tripod. He would occasionally toss an indignant glare towards the Mansion's ornate doorway - and those damned Daggerteeth that had denied him entry. It was understandable, He supposed, that they would take issue with his arrival at the party, especially given his rather poor reputation amongst the Vampire community. The human let out a dull chortle as he eased the tanks from his back, and to the ground below - sliding them well beyond the perimeter of the fire. And thus, there he sat, a good... safe... Two-hundred-and-fifty-foot distance from the Mansion's door, and its mixed audience of tainted, and normal folk.
An hour passed, and then an hour became two- Where in God's name was Adrianus? It wasn't like him to be late, especially to something so outlandishly important.
Bram rolled his eyes, fitting the stem of his Smoking pipe between his teeth as he slipped a small bundle of tobacco into the pipe's chamber, before simply lighting it with a match ignited by a short dip into the fire. Resigned to waiting, Bram simply sat, stirring the contents of the brass pot with a slow, bored hand. Every so often, tossing in a small bundle of bread or sprinkling a minute amount of seasoning into the bubbling pot of stew.
Bloody Vampires.
---
OOC note:
Apologies for the short length and the choppy wording, wanted to get a post out despite how incredibly late it is.
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LostHaven
Loser's queue is real and it's coming for you.
6:30
-------------------
The clockworker's shop was almost all but silent. Mechanical trinkets and toys lined the shelves and cabinets that riddled the shop, and the walls were home to several clocks, each one unique to the other. However, there would be a counter near the back of the store, with a door behind it, which lead to the second storey, where the Ebon Clockworker lived. Unlike the rest of the store, the walls that surrounded the counter was hung with firearms- shotguns, rifles, pistols. Of course, the clockworker was only happy to sell these to a select few, but they were always nice to look at. Probably makes his store less likely to be robbed since it does look like he meant business.
Martin had closed early for the day, as he had one particular order that he must take care of. In the second storey of his shop, Martin was bent over the left end of his workbench, inspecting a clockwork leg that was meant to fit into a much bigger structure. On the right end of the table sat a large, life-sized clockwork doll, with its clothes folded neatly beside it. Martin had asked that Arial remove her clothes so that he could check the rest of her body for damage, and Arial had gotten bored, waiting for Martin to finish checking up on her new limb, and ended up folding her clothes up.
"Well, it's good to go. Only one way to find out if it works or not." Martin finally said, bringing the metal leg over to Arial. His screwdriver in one hand, and the limb in the other, Martin began working to attach the limb onto the rest of Arial's body.
"I don't understand why you needed to remove all my clothing. Isn't it completely possible to attach my leg on without removing my dress?" Arial inquired, with her usual monotone voice. Martin allowed himself a chuckle- he had almost forgotten that the doll in front of him was actually a human girl.
"I might as well check for any more damage. Also, if your dress got caught in something, that would suck."
"It's just a strange request..."
"You're a puppet, a creep couldn't rape you even if he wanted to."
Silence followed, as Martin finally sturdily attached the leg to the rest of the body. "There, now try to at least make it past the month without breaking it." Martin joked. "Now get walking. And put your dress back on." After that, he would proceed to head downstairs, where Martin grabbed his mask off the counter and slid it on, and putting his pistols away in his suit, where they were hidden from view. Next, Martin grabbed for his cavalry saber. "Hey, let's go, there's that dinner party." He called up.
-------------------
9:00
-------------------
The doors to the old manor swung open, as a fully masked Martin and Arial walked inside. Martin was a little doubtful about the whole idea- sometimes, people just shouldn't poke their noses in other people's business. "Well, it can't be helped," he sighed. Martin walked his way toward the room designated for The Corrupted Rose. As they walked, Martin turned to look at Arial before asking: "Hey, what do you reckon the chance is that something's going to go seriously fucking wrong?"
"Are you making me do maths right now? Devious reptile." Arial replied, before pausing for a few seconds to think. "Well, there's so many factions here, and no doubt that at least one person here is after something that which he or she will go to great lengths to obtain. Furthermore, some of us here, such as you, hate vampires and inhuman beings with a burning passion of hellfire. So, the chances of something going 'seriously fucking wrong' would be relatively high."
"Can I have a percent? A number is a bit nicer than just 'relatively high.'"
"Twenty-five percent, give or take."
"That's reassuring to know. Thanks, now I'm nervous."
"You were the one who asked me out of boredom. I only gave what you asked for."
"You didn't have to answer."
"Clockworker, you've annoyed me."
"Really? You don't sound annoyed."
"You know full well I cannot change my facial expression."
Martin glanced at Arial's expressionless face, before sighing. "Whatever, this is easy money and free food." Martin remarked, before pushing the doors open, and entering the dining room, approaching the part of the huge table designated to the Corrupted Rose. Behind him, Martin could've sworn he heard Arial grumbling about something, though he couldn't exactly make out what. Something about not being able to eat food?
Well, now that it really mattered. Martin's first initiative was to drop himself onto one of the comfy chairs, opposite to Alathea and Wynn. Arial on the other hand, was content with just plopping herself on the floor, next to Alathea's seat. Leaning forward, Martin helped himself to one of the cups of tea the waiter was carrying on a tray. He smelt acohol as well though- perhaps he would have some later. Removing his mask and placing it on his lap, he flashed a glance at Alathea and Wynn. "Good afternoon." He greeted, although it was clearly night already. "A lot of random things can happen just from a simple trade, huh? What's our point of being here anyway? Corrupted Rose just has money and nobody to throw it at?"
Miracleist
The Shadow Realm
-------------------
The clockworker's shop was almost all but silent. Mechanical trinkets and toys lined the shelves and cabinets that riddled the shop, and the walls were home to several clocks, each one unique to the other. However, there would be a counter near the back of the store, with a door behind it, which lead to the second storey, where the Ebon Clockworker lived. Unlike the rest of the store, the walls that surrounded the counter was hung with firearms- shotguns, rifles, pistols. Of course, the clockworker was only happy to sell these to a select few, but they were always nice to look at. Probably makes his store less likely to be robbed since it does look like he meant business.
Martin had closed early for the day, as he had one particular order that he must take care of. In the second storey of his shop, Martin was bent over the left end of his workbench, inspecting a clockwork leg that was meant to fit into a much bigger structure. On the right end of the table sat a large, life-sized clockwork doll, with its clothes folded neatly beside it. Martin had asked that Arial remove her clothes so that he could check the rest of her body for damage, and Arial had gotten bored, waiting for Martin to finish checking up on her new limb, and ended up folding her clothes up.
"Well, it's good to go. Only one way to find out if it works or not." Martin finally said, bringing the metal leg over to Arial. His screwdriver in one hand, and the limb in the other, Martin began working to attach the limb onto the rest of Arial's body.
"I don't understand why you needed to remove all my clothing. Isn't it completely possible to attach my leg on without removing my dress?" Arial inquired, with her usual monotone voice. Martin allowed himself a chuckle- he had almost forgotten that the doll in front of him was actually a human girl.
"I might as well check for any more damage. Also, if your dress got caught in something, that would suck."
"It's just a strange request..."
"You're a puppet, a creep couldn't rape you even if he wanted to."
Silence followed, as Martin finally sturdily attached the leg to the rest of the body. "There, now try to at least make it past the month without breaking it." Martin joked. "Now get walking. And put your dress back on." After that, he would proceed to head downstairs, where Martin grabbed his mask off the counter and slid it on, and putting his pistols away in his suit, where they were hidden from view. Next, Martin grabbed for his cavalry saber. "Hey, let's go, there's that dinner party." He called up.
-------------------
9:00
-------------------
The doors to the old manor swung open, as a fully masked Martin and Arial walked inside. Martin was a little doubtful about the whole idea- sometimes, people just shouldn't poke their noses in other people's business. "Well, it can't be helped," he sighed. Martin walked his way toward the room designated for The Corrupted Rose. As they walked, Martin turned to look at Arial before asking: "Hey, what do you reckon the chance is that something's going to go seriously fucking wrong?"
"Are you making me do maths right now? Devious reptile." Arial replied, before pausing for a few seconds to think. "Well, there's so many factions here, and no doubt that at least one person here is after something that which he or she will go to great lengths to obtain. Furthermore, some of us here, such as you, hate vampires and inhuman beings with a burning passion of hellfire. So, the chances of something going 'seriously fucking wrong' would be relatively high."
"Can I have a percent? A number is a bit nicer than just 'relatively high.'"
"Twenty-five percent, give or take."
"That's reassuring to know. Thanks, now I'm nervous."
"You were the one who asked me out of boredom. I only gave what you asked for."
"You didn't have to answer."
"Clockworker, you've annoyed me."
"Really? You don't sound annoyed."
"You know full well I cannot change my facial expression."
Martin glanced at Arial's expressionless face, before sighing. "Whatever, this is easy money and free food." Martin remarked, before pushing the doors open, and entering the dining room, approaching the part of the huge table designated to the Corrupted Rose. Behind him, Martin could've sworn he heard Arial grumbling about something, though he couldn't exactly make out what. Something about not being able to eat food?
Well, now that it really mattered. Martin's first initiative was to drop himself onto one of the comfy chairs, opposite to Alathea and Wynn. Arial on the other hand, was content with just plopping herself on the floor, next to Alathea's seat. Leaning forward, Martin helped himself to one of the cups of tea the waiter was carrying on a tray. He smelt acohol as well though- perhaps he would have some later. Removing his mask and placing it on his lap, he flashed a glance at Alathea and Wynn. "Good afternoon." He greeted, although it was clearly night already. "A lot of random things can happen just from a simple trade, huh? What's our point of being here anyway? Corrupted Rose just has money and nobody to throw it at?"
Miracleist
The Shadow Realm
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The Gunrunner
Elder Member
Adrianus van de Beenhouwer, 'Abeltje'
The bolt racks back, the clip fitted into the receiver - The assortment of bullets are pushed down into the magazine, and then another clip to fill it. Adrianus slides and locks the bolt forward, slinging the rifle. The rounds for his revolver are checked twice, once before fitting his rig, and another time afterwards. Each pouch on his rig is filled with ammunition - Whether clips for his rifle, cylinders for his revolver, or large caliber buckshot for his hand-mortar. The tattered uniform of his army days finishes the look of a man ready for war. The Dutchman looks at himself in the mirror, nodding - "Vertrouw nooit een vampier." He is not a fan of formal parties, and ones hosted by vampires are certainly no exception. There was little concern towards the comfort of /their kind/ in deciding what to bring and wear, though he did at least remember to shave.
The two at the door make no attempt to hide their feelings as Adrianus approaches the party - One sinks his shoulders, while the other sighs deeply. A vampire steps forward, blocking Adrianus' path with a hand - "You are not welcome here," the unnatural says, tone dripping with venom. Adrianus sneers, holding a piece of paper out to be inspected, the coat opening just enough to reveal the hand mortar hanging from his belt: "I am invited." The vampire points viciously to a figure a few feet back - Adrianus looks over, seeing a man glaring at the establishment over a pot of some unknown contents. It takes very little attempt to see through the dark before he realizes it is Bram. "Do you think I am an idiot? This is an exchange, you damned madman! You sit with /him./" Adrianus frowns deeply, spitting to the ground. "Fine, vampire," he states, stepping away to his comrade.
"Vampieren neuken," Adrianus says with a chuckle, sitting next to Bram by the fire. He watches his comrade stir the pot, switching attention over to the two guarding the door. He squints his eyes, him and Bram glaring at the door together. The sawback bayonet kept in the chest rig is slowly drawn from its sheath, the blade twirled but kept in view for the vampires, in mocking display. The two had very little concern for the comfortable deaths of their targets, a blunt contempt that often bordered on attrocity. Who knows what event had these two all riled up? The Bavarian burnings, Black Forest head hunt, and the Barmouth slaughter were just what the dutchman could think of off the top of his head. Adrianus' usage of the sawback was one very small, but symbolic, nod to the brutality of the group; after all, having a head cut off was not quite the same as having it sawed off. Then again, it was not quite the same message that a flamethrower carries. Regardless, the look in Adrianus' eyes as he stares at the conscious filth guarding the door is clear in showing that he has used the blade before.
CerpinTaxt
Moritz
The Shadow Realm
The bolt racks back, the clip fitted into the receiver - The assortment of bullets are pushed down into the magazine, and then another clip to fill it. Adrianus slides and locks the bolt forward, slinging the rifle. The rounds for his revolver are checked twice, once before fitting his rig, and another time afterwards. Each pouch on his rig is filled with ammunition - Whether clips for his rifle, cylinders for his revolver, or large caliber buckshot for his hand-mortar. The tattered uniform of his army days finishes the look of a man ready for war. The Dutchman looks at himself in the mirror, nodding - "Vertrouw nooit een vampier." He is not a fan of formal parties, and ones hosted by vampires are certainly no exception. There was little concern towards the comfort of /their kind/ in deciding what to bring and wear, though he did at least remember to shave.
The two at the door make no attempt to hide their feelings as Adrianus approaches the party - One sinks his shoulders, while the other sighs deeply. A vampire steps forward, blocking Adrianus' path with a hand - "You are not welcome here," the unnatural says, tone dripping with venom. Adrianus sneers, holding a piece of paper out to be inspected, the coat opening just enough to reveal the hand mortar hanging from his belt: "I am invited." The vampire points viciously to a figure a few feet back - Adrianus looks over, seeing a man glaring at the establishment over a pot of some unknown contents. It takes very little attempt to see through the dark before he realizes it is Bram. "Do you think I am an idiot? This is an exchange, you damned madman! You sit with /him./" Adrianus frowns deeply, spitting to the ground. "Fine, vampire," he states, stepping away to his comrade.
"Vampieren neuken," Adrianus says with a chuckle, sitting next to Bram by the fire. He watches his comrade stir the pot, switching attention over to the two guarding the door. He squints his eyes, him and Bram glaring at the door together. The sawback bayonet kept in the chest rig is slowly drawn from its sheath, the blade twirled but kept in view for the vampires, in mocking display. The two had very little concern for the comfortable deaths of their targets, a blunt contempt that often bordered on attrocity. Who knows what event had these two all riled up? The Bavarian burnings, Black Forest head hunt, and the Barmouth slaughter were just what the dutchman could think of off the top of his head. Adrianus' usage of the sawback was one very small, but symbolic, nod to the brutality of the group; after all, having a head cut off was not quite the same as having it sawed off. Then again, it was not quite the same message that a flamethrower carries. Regardless, the look in Adrianus' eyes as he stares at the conscious filth guarding the door is clear in showing that he has used the blade before.
CerpinTaxt
Moritz
The Shadow Realm
Elvis Strunk
New Member
Brushing a lock of blonde hair from in front of her eyes, the young girl stares absentmindedly at the plate in front of her, listening to the sound of silverware clinking against glass. Futile. In some ways, the word perfectly describes the entire night, or, her own part in it. Is this... really okay? The thought comes unbidden, as it has countless times before. Holding her arms to her chest, she resists the urge to gaze about the room, to make sure she isn't the target of any hateful, suspicious glares. To find Victoria. Or merely for something to do.
A deep breath, as she tries in vain to quell the subtle shaking of her hands. No, she has little reason to really be nervous. She knows it well enough, but logic held little pull in matters of either heart or terror. She exhales. Closes her eyes. Manages to calm herself, ever-so-slightly. How had she ended up at a place like this? Of course, it goes back to Victoria, to the Rose, but more than that, some part of her had wanted this. Even now, she carried some vague desire to mingle with others, perhaps forge friendship, and trust, to last a lifetime and beyond. Yet, she could do little more than sit in place, eyes locked on the generous, glamerous meats and treats laid out she neither needed, nor could enjoy.
It was the same with the tea, and alcohol- though she'd never held desire for the latter, regardless. Taste no longer existed. Touch itself were a mere shadow of its' former self. Yet, the butterflies in her stomach remain all too bright. Another, longer breath. She opens her eyes, and looks around. They aren't staring at her. In truth, nobody seems to be paying her much mind at all. Or, so it seems. Pluto knows she isn't able to gauge others, the way Victoria is, and, likely, the way most gathered here can. And, visible or not, she can't shake the feeling of eyes, locked right on the back of her head.
She had always hated parties. Social gatherings of any kind. Not from any hatred of humanity- in whatever form it might take, now that she's been opened up to the secrets of the world- but from that ever-present feeling that she didn't belong. She had never known the right things to say, or do, and found it best to act as meek and unobtrusive as possible. It had been easy, at first, after she'd died. Even when she was first reawakened, and recruited into the Rose, it was a simple enough matter to remain concealed within her diary, her resting place, until absolutely needed- or until she could go home, where it was just her and Victoria. Where she felt safe.
But she yearned for more. Human contact. To see people laugh, and smile, and to feel like she could do the same. Certainly, she would be better off staying home and reading, or writing, or simply wasting time, comfortable yet lonely. People only cause pain. Even now, it hurts her heart, as she folds her hands together, giving up on the pretense of dining. No, she doesn't belong here, perhaps more than anyone. She isn't a powerful person, and she certainly isn't capable or ready for anything dangerous or terrifying, like most. Nor does she look the part of a socialite, in the slightest.
It never changed. No matter how many hours she may brush at her hair, or try and scrub the crimson stains from her flesh, her apparition will only ever mimic the moment of her death. Her clothing, too, remains the same, a pair of rags, torn and muddy. Even if she had the courage to don a fancy dress fitting the occasion, it would be impossible. And this is all ignoring her stature, her age. This is no place for a child. No place for her. She would be better off, hidden away inside of that book again. She could go back, right now, if she wanted...
Another, heavy breath. Her hands are shaking again. No. I can... I WILL do this. Her thoughts churn slowly, moving in circles. She isn't sure if she had always been this way, when alive, or if it were a side-effect. Her head had been... damaged. During whatever horrors her murderer had wrought upon her, he had turned her brain into mush. Memories, feelings, logical thought, even now she struggled to recover them in full. She glances around, again. No, they aren't watching her. Aren't judging her. She belongs here, just as much as anyone. But, they're only words. They hold no conviction.
Finally, she spots Victoria. Her one lifeline, the only one she feels even a modicum of comfort with. She could go to her, right now, ask the woman to stay by her side and keep her safe. But, this isn't merely a party, or a game. This is a mission. And Pluto refuses to hold her friend back, just for her own sake. She drops her gaze back to the table, staring at the food that her once-starving body still screams for, even now. Surely, this torment can't go on forever, she muses, smiling sarcastically. Surely, someone will come. Someone will find her and show her that she's all right after all. Barring such convenient fantasies, then the party itself will end before too many hours pass.
Or, you could get up and cross that barrier yourself, a mocking voice whispers, from the darkest regions of her mind. Yes, she could make that choice. Instead of waiting, hoping for happiness to fall into her lap, she could seek it out. Get up, find someone to talk to, and make some friends. Her fingers tremble, and she laughs, quietly, at the notion. No, she isn't ready for that. Not yet. For now, she can only watch, listen, and hope that whatever strength she may possess will be enough to keep her on this plain. Once again, Pluto closes her eyes. And forces herself to calm...
A deep breath, as she tries in vain to quell the subtle shaking of her hands. No, she has little reason to really be nervous. She knows it well enough, but logic held little pull in matters of either heart or terror. She exhales. Closes her eyes. Manages to calm herself, ever-so-slightly. How had she ended up at a place like this? Of course, it goes back to Victoria, to the Rose, but more than that, some part of her had wanted this. Even now, she carried some vague desire to mingle with others, perhaps forge friendship, and trust, to last a lifetime and beyond. Yet, she could do little more than sit in place, eyes locked on the generous, glamerous meats and treats laid out she neither needed, nor could enjoy.
It was the same with the tea, and alcohol- though she'd never held desire for the latter, regardless. Taste no longer existed. Touch itself were a mere shadow of its' former self. Yet, the butterflies in her stomach remain all too bright. Another, longer breath. She opens her eyes, and looks around. They aren't staring at her. In truth, nobody seems to be paying her much mind at all. Or, so it seems. Pluto knows she isn't able to gauge others, the way Victoria is, and, likely, the way most gathered here can. And, visible or not, she can't shake the feeling of eyes, locked right on the back of her head.
She had always hated parties. Social gatherings of any kind. Not from any hatred of humanity- in whatever form it might take, now that she's been opened up to the secrets of the world- but from that ever-present feeling that she didn't belong. She had never known the right things to say, or do, and found it best to act as meek and unobtrusive as possible. It had been easy, at first, after she'd died. Even when she was first reawakened, and recruited into the Rose, it was a simple enough matter to remain concealed within her diary, her resting place, until absolutely needed- or until she could go home, where it was just her and Victoria. Where she felt safe.
But she yearned for more. Human contact. To see people laugh, and smile, and to feel like she could do the same. Certainly, she would be better off staying home and reading, or writing, or simply wasting time, comfortable yet lonely. People only cause pain. Even now, it hurts her heart, as she folds her hands together, giving up on the pretense of dining. No, she doesn't belong here, perhaps more than anyone. She isn't a powerful person, and she certainly isn't capable or ready for anything dangerous or terrifying, like most. Nor does she look the part of a socialite, in the slightest.
It never changed. No matter how many hours she may brush at her hair, or try and scrub the crimson stains from her flesh, her apparition will only ever mimic the moment of her death. Her clothing, too, remains the same, a pair of rags, torn and muddy. Even if she had the courage to don a fancy dress fitting the occasion, it would be impossible. And this is all ignoring her stature, her age. This is no place for a child. No place for her. She would be better off, hidden away inside of that book again. She could go back, right now, if she wanted...
Another, heavy breath. Her hands are shaking again. No. I can... I WILL do this. Her thoughts churn slowly, moving in circles. She isn't sure if she had always been this way, when alive, or if it were a side-effect. Her head had been... damaged. During whatever horrors her murderer had wrought upon her, he had turned her brain into mush. Memories, feelings, logical thought, even now she struggled to recover them in full. She glances around, again. No, they aren't watching her. Aren't judging her. She belongs here, just as much as anyone. But, they're only words. They hold no conviction.
Finally, she spots Victoria. Her one lifeline, the only one she feels even a modicum of comfort with. She could go to her, right now, ask the woman to stay by her side and keep her safe. But, this isn't merely a party, or a game. This is a mission. And Pluto refuses to hold her friend back, just for her own sake. She drops her gaze back to the table, staring at the food that her once-starving body still screams for, even now. Surely, this torment can't go on forever, she muses, smiling sarcastically. Surely, someone will come. Someone will find her and show her that she's all right after all. Barring such convenient fantasies, then the party itself will end before too many hours pass.
Or, you could get up and cross that barrier yourself, a mocking voice whispers, from the darkest regions of her mind. Yes, she could make that choice. Instead of waiting, hoping for happiness to fall into her lap, she could seek it out. Get up, find someone to talk to, and make some friends. Her fingers tremble, and she laughs, quietly, at the notion. No, she isn't ready for that. Not yet. For now, she can only watch, listen, and hope that whatever strength she may possess will be enough to keep her on this plain. Once again, Pluto closes her eyes. And forces herself to calm...
GasMaskie
"Wait and Hope"
"Ticket, please."
His voice was practiced and clear - though, it was clear from the lack of his accent that he wasn't British. As if that wasn't clear enough from his appearance alone. As per his job as a conductor, or more properly: guard in this part of the world, the man moved from seat to seat checking and punching holes out in tickets. It certainly wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but he couldn't complain. Especially not with the prestige of the Illustrious Lady weighing heavily on his shoulders.
Another weight came to mind as he punched a hole in another passenger's ticket - that of the strange, silver arm that had been grafted onto his body. Unfeeling, and yet a prosthetic that functionally a perfect replica of a regular arm. Of course, the weight that Kyrie pondered wasn't its physical weight - he had gotten used to that within a few days. Rather, its strange origins and its eldritch nature haunted him. At the very least, that was what he had presumed. Not much could be said about it even when he had gone out of his way to have it studied by scholars and supposed mystics alike.
The train guard moved down the passenger car at a steady rate - since being hired, it seemed that the lack of stowaways had decreased significantly. A statistic that was perhaps bolstered by an incident he had handled during his first day on the job. Even as he performed his current duty to the expectations of his employers, however, the former exorcist found himself silently considering the words in the letter that had arrived. Although he had received an invitation to return, he simply couldn't find it within himself to accept his former position once more. True, he was fit for duty and just as lethal as ever, but his right arm could have him easily branded as a heretic.
There was also the matter of the factionalism that occurred within their ranks - the Pure ran the gamut of zealots and moderates among his brethren. Naturally, this was kept from the oversight of the Pope, but the rivalries and disagreements that simmered in the background were something that Kyrie didn't miss in the slightest. Even in London, he was aware of the faint presence of his former comrades. He tried his best to avoid meeting with them, however. Despite the fact that he missed the thrill of a fight so dearly.
As per custom he had burnt the letter upon reading it - he'd likely have to provide a proper response at some point. As he passed into the next car, he reviewed the seats and passengers of the previous one - a woman in a hat, a family, a man in a top hat, a nervous man holding a briefcase... If needed, he'd be able to report them to another guard to confirm any stowaways moving throughout the cars.
His voice was practiced and clear - though, it was clear from the lack of his accent that he wasn't British. As if that wasn't clear enough from his appearance alone. As per his job as a conductor, or more properly: guard in this part of the world, the man moved from seat to seat checking and punching holes out in tickets. It certainly wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but he couldn't complain. Especially not with the prestige of the Illustrious Lady weighing heavily on his shoulders.
Another weight came to mind as he punched a hole in another passenger's ticket - that of the strange, silver arm that had been grafted onto his body. Unfeeling, and yet a prosthetic that functionally a perfect replica of a regular arm. Of course, the weight that Kyrie pondered wasn't its physical weight - he had gotten used to that within a few days. Rather, its strange origins and its eldritch nature haunted him. At the very least, that was what he had presumed. Not much could be said about it even when he had gone out of his way to have it studied by scholars and supposed mystics alike.
The train guard moved down the passenger car at a steady rate - since being hired, it seemed that the lack of stowaways had decreased significantly. A statistic that was perhaps bolstered by an incident he had handled during his first day on the job. Even as he performed his current duty to the expectations of his employers, however, the former exorcist found himself silently considering the words in the letter that had arrived. Although he had received an invitation to return, he simply couldn't find it within himself to accept his former position once more. True, he was fit for duty and just as lethal as ever, but his right arm could have him easily branded as a heretic.
There was also the matter of the factionalism that occurred within their ranks - the Pure ran the gamut of zealots and moderates among his brethren. Naturally, this was kept from the oversight of the Pope, but the rivalries and disagreements that simmered in the background were something that Kyrie didn't miss in the slightest. Even in London, he was aware of the faint presence of his former comrades. He tried his best to avoid meeting with them, however. Despite the fact that he missed the thrill of a fight so dearly.
As per custom he had burnt the letter upon reading it - he'd likely have to provide a proper response at some point. As he passed into the next car, he reviewed the seats and passengers of the previous one - a woman in a hat, a family, a man in a top hat, a nervous man holding a briefcase... If needed, he'd be able to report them to another guard to confirm any stowaways moving throughout the cars.
CerpinTaxt
A Man With No Face
"You'll find him in the room on the right." One of the council members instructed the lone Collective member as the man was guided to the proper room to begin the exchange. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he walked along the dimly lit hallway. They had insisted that the man come alone to do the exchange, something the Franklin Collective absolutely forbade under any circumstance. But the chance was too good to pass up to get a hold on unseen artifacts. He was willing to bend the rules if it meant benefiting the Collective. The group came to a halt right at a wooden door with elegant patterns and engravings covering it, a golden door knob faintly reflecting the dim light of the hallway. This was the room, it was time to do the exchange. With a deep breath, the agent opened the door and entered.
The door opened up to a large office-like room, a long blue carpet running from the door to a mahogany desk which sat at the very back of the room. The lighting was as poor as it was in the hallway, with only a few candles spaced around the room to give any sense of light. The faintly glowing eyes of the vampire who sat at the desk were any hint of anyone else being in the room with him. Once the agent had stepped a few feet into the room the door was gently closed behind him and the man behind the desk rose before giving the man a low bow.
"My sincerest apologies for asking you to come alone, but I assure you this was to ease the worried minds of the other members. Some aren't a fan of The Franklin Collective, with your agents having hunted us in the past." The man was dressed in an ornate crimson robe, various markings of unknown origin running along the attire. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, a large bald spot on the top of his head which reflected the pale light of the moon as he stood up to full height.
"That particular agent isn't here. I don't like having to do this trade, and I want it done with haste. Where are the artifacts you offered?" The Collective agent sounded more than a bit unnerved the longer he was in the room. He needed one of those Dutch agents with him! He approached the table, briefcase rattling around before it was set down on the table. The councilman looked down at the briefcase, a smile coming to his face. The Collective had certainly held up to their end of the bargain. But what of the Council?
"Oh, yes. The artifacts, well...sorry." The vampire's smile turned to a smirk, the agent realizing all too late that he'd been fooled.
He never had the time to react, something suddenly striking through his back and out through his torso, lifting him a few feet in the air as he screamed in agony. No one would ever hear him though. He was too far within the manor and the party that was occurring nearby was far too loud. He broke the rule, and he would pay for it with his death. The attempt he made to draw his pistol was met with a strange appendage coming from somewhere behind him and cutting the arm from his body. A swift slam of his body against the wall and the job was done. The agent was dead, and no one would be any wiser. At least until it was too late.
The councilman could barely hold himself back from drinking the fresh blood from the now deceased man, compulsively gnawing at his fingers in an attempt to block out the urges. It wasn't until the other figure in the room cleared his throat, getting the councilman's attention. "Ah..my deepest apologies sir! I should be holding my composure yet here I am..behaving like such an animal."
"It matters little in the end, does it not?" The figure grabbed hold of the briefcase that was set on the table earlier, their free hand clasping the vampire on the shoulder. "You do know what must be done now..yes? To give yourself to the cause. To fulfill what's been asked of you." The vampire only feverishly nodded his head, hands clasping into fists as he composed himself. Yes..he knew what was to be done next.
"Wonderful."
--
The dining hall was alive with conversation from the various factions, unaware of what had transpired just moments ago. The food was mostly untouched, many opting to wait for the host to arrive and give his speech. Though that didn't stop a few, with many from The Corrupted Rose in particular deciding it was best to eat now while the good food was available. The Franklin Collective however was entirely barren of food. They would eat when the exchange had been confirmed. For now they would wait.
The tall, large oak door at the side of the dining hall opened abruptly, the balding councilman along with a few others entered the expansive room. They greeted the various individuals that they passed by. The illustrious podium was set so it would be in clear view of the dozens of the visitors. The host of the party was the balding man it seemed. He whispered a few things to the men nearby before stepping onto the podium, clearing his throat before leaning in and speaking into a microphone which began to broadcast his voice through an unseen intercom system through out and even outside the house.
"We shall be getting started soon. I ask that any and all individuals that have yet to enter the dining hall please make their way inside."
The men at the front door were pulled aside and disappeared for a few moments before reappearing. The one who had denied the Dutchmen entry to the manor approached him with a look of distaste, standing a few feet from the two before clearing his voice. "You two. You've been asked to enter and observe the speech. The exchange being held will be at risk if you do not attend..we vampires asks for basic manners..something you humans have some knowledge of, yes? Do not track mud inside! Disgusting brutes." The man seemed quite displeased about it, but was letting them in anyway. The door man noticed the other Collective member, this one considerably more well dressed. "You as well. To the dining hall."
The time was now. It was time to do what had been asked of him.
The Gunrunner
Cheryl
King Vioogra
Deeox2
Elvis Strunk
LostHaven
Moritz
Miracleist
The Forgotten Host
The Shadow Realm
Moritz
New Member
Blue for Bram, Green for Adrianus
-
Bram let out a light cackle, momentarily gesturing towards the doorman with a wave of his pipe-palmed hand as his gaze slid to Adrianus', "Ha! Hoor je dat, Adrianus? Nu willen de vampieren ons binnen verwelkomen!". The man laughed lightly to himself as he stood, scooping up his weapon's fueltank in the process; He readjusted his Greatcoat, smoothing it out a tad, before speaking once more, "Hilarisch hoe gemakkelijk ze zijn als het gaat om de hiërarchie. Kijk naar hem!", He continued, gesturing to the doorman as he let out another snide snicker. A few moments of rude gesturing follow, but eventually Bram calms himself - He offers a nod to the Doorman, belting out a quick line in a heavy dutch accent, "Ja, ja, Fangman. We will head inside- but I don't think there's much to do about the mud, eh?" He queried, cocking an eyebrow as he once-again flashed a harsh grin towards Adrianus, shoving his way past the doorman. "Make sure to put out that fire, Ja, Fangman!?" He calls back, dumping his pipe's ash to the sodden ground, "We wouldn't want anyone to burn!"
As Bram trudged his way towards the Mansion's main door, he did his best to dig his booted feet as deep into the ground as possible. Stepping lightly on his way up the mansion's stairs he glanced upwards, towards the sky, and the Mansion's towering roof. "Odd place to host such an exchange.", spoke that small, nagging voice within his head, and it was an observation he agreed with. Who knows what these freaks were up to, and God only knows why the Collective would allow the creatures to dictate the location of such a meeting. Trusting the monsters to police themselves was stupid enough, willfully sending this many members of the Collective was just poor thinking.
As Bram wandered inside - with Adrianus tailing close behind - he adjusted his gait, bringing his feet down nice and hard with each successive step, tracking a sizeable trail of muddied bootprints as he made his way into the dining hall, whereas he immediately took up a position in the corner to the room's - and the door's - immediate left. After posting up by the door - for a man who enters the home of his foe is a fool to do otherwise - he surveyed the room, brows furrowed. He kept the grin plastered to his face, offering a polite wave to those he could readily identify as human, or members of the Collective- and a rather harsh, unblinking stare to any Monster that happened to glance his way.
Noting that Adrianus, Pot of stew in tow, had decided to occupy one of the room's many corners, Bram moved to join him - letting out yet another snide giggle as his comrade sent another Servant waltzing away with a faceful of Dutch spit for Its trouble. Upon arrival, Bram simply ducked into a bow-legged crouch, feet flat to the ground with his lower back resting against the wall, and began trading off ladle privileges with Adrianus.
Adrianus spoke up, speaking through a mouthful of stew, "Het is gemakkelijker om ze gewoon te doden en het artefact te pakken.", and Bram - nodding - was inclined to agree. He took the ladle, fishing out a soggy, stew-soaked hunk of bread before commenting, "Overeengekomen, maar dit is hoe het Collectieve wil dat dingen worden gedaan, hoewel ik niet begrijp waarom. Dit is een verschrikkelijk risico, wij allemaal samen zoals deze. Ik kan niet geloven dat ze me binnen hebben gelaten met de brandstof.", He said, gesturing about the room with a wide sweep of his free hand. "Het beste wat we kunnen doen, is echter afwachten wat de freaks voor ons in petto hebben.", he finished, falling silent, awaiting the speech.
-
Bram let out a light cackle, momentarily gesturing towards the doorman with a wave of his pipe-palmed hand as his gaze slid to Adrianus', "Ha! Hoor je dat, Adrianus? Nu willen de vampieren ons binnen verwelkomen!". The man laughed lightly to himself as he stood, scooping up his weapon's fueltank in the process; He readjusted his Greatcoat, smoothing it out a tad, before speaking once more, "Hilarisch hoe gemakkelijk ze zijn als het gaat om de hiërarchie. Kijk naar hem!", He continued, gesturing to the doorman as he let out another snide snicker. A few moments of rude gesturing follow, but eventually Bram calms himself - He offers a nod to the Doorman, belting out a quick line in a heavy dutch accent, "Ja, ja, Fangman. We will head inside- but I don't think there's much to do about the mud, eh?" He queried, cocking an eyebrow as he once-again flashed a harsh grin towards Adrianus, shoving his way past the doorman. "Make sure to put out that fire, Ja, Fangman!?" He calls back, dumping his pipe's ash to the sodden ground, "We wouldn't want anyone to burn!"
As Bram trudged his way towards the Mansion's main door, he did his best to dig his booted feet as deep into the ground as possible. Stepping lightly on his way up the mansion's stairs he glanced upwards, towards the sky, and the Mansion's towering roof. "Odd place to host such an exchange.", spoke that small, nagging voice within his head, and it was an observation he agreed with. Who knows what these freaks were up to, and God only knows why the Collective would allow the creatures to dictate the location of such a meeting. Trusting the monsters to police themselves was stupid enough, willfully sending this many members of the Collective was just poor thinking.
As Bram wandered inside - with Adrianus tailing close behind - he adjusted his gait, bringing his feet down nice and hard with each successive step, tracking a sizeable trail of muddied bootprints as he made his way into the dining hall, whereas he immediately took up a position in the corner to the room's - and the door's - immediate left. After posting up by the door - for a man who enters the home of his foe is a fool to do otherwise - he surveyed the room, brows furrowed. He kept the grin plastered to his face, offering a polite wave to those he could readily identify as human, or members of the Collective- and a rather harsh, unblinking stare to any Monster that happened to glance his way.
Noting that Adrianus, Pot of stew in tow, had decided to occupy one of the room's many corners, Bram moved to join him - letting out yet another snide giggle as his comrade sent another Servant waltzing away with a faceful of Dutch spit for Its trouble. Upon arrival, Bram simply ducked into a bow-legged crouch, feet flat to the ground with his lower back resting against the wall, and began trading off ladle privileges with Adrianus.
Adrianus spoke up, speaking through a mouthful of stew, "Het is gemakkelijker om ze gewoon te doden en het artefact te pakken.", and Bram - nodding - was inclined to agree. He took the ladle, fishing out a soggy, stew-soaked hunk of bread before commenting, "Overeengekomen, maar dit is hoe het Collectieve wil dat dingen worden gedaan, hoewel ik niet begrijp waarom. Dit is een verschrikkelijk risico, wij allemaal samen zoals deze. Ik kan niet geloven dat ze me binnen hebben gelaten met de brandstof.", He said, gesturing about the room with a wide sweep of his free hand. "Het beste wat we kunnen doen, is echter afwachten wat de freaks voor ons in petto hebben.", he finished, falling silent, awaiting the speech.
The Gunrunner
Elder Member
Adrianus van de Beenhouwer, 'Abeltje'
Adrianus grins, continuing to play with his knife as one of the doormen step over to the two. As he does so, Abeltje nudges his comrade - "Een verontschuldiging?" he asks with a chuckle, tapping the blade against his knuckle. "You two. You've been asked to enter and observe the speech. The exchange being held will be at risk if you do not attend..we vampires asks for basic manners..something you humans have some knowledge of, yes? Do not track mud inside! Disgusting brutes." Adrianus frowns, snorting once before spitting out to the dirt. Bram comments in dutch, though fails to draw a chuckle from his comrade. Abeltje quietly sits as Bram continues his, as shown in tone, dutch insults. As Bram finishes, nodding to the doorman, Adrianus shoves the knife into its sheath and pushes himself up while grabbing the pot of stew. "I doubt..." he begins, in fluid english "that the leeches remember how to cook." Eyes that could crack ice stare into the undead for a moment, before stepping past to the entrance of the house. He stops at the door, placing the pot on the ground and balling a small gathering of mud. Adrianus looks back to the doorman, stepping backwards into the house, and dropping it directly on the interior floor - "Oops."
Bram takes the lead inside, stomping his feet to lead a path of muddy footprints through the mansion. Adrianus trails behind him, carrying the pot of stew. He looks around the place as the two step to where the speech would take place, noting the infrastructure and detail to the mansion. One question that bit at his mind was precisely who owned this place. Hopefully someone important to the council, due to the effort being made to cause them trouble, but it could just as easily be a lucky minor. He shrugs, stepping into the room - His eyes immediately scan around the place, noting possibilities of cover, hiding places, tight spaces, corners, doorways, and windows. Most would see merely a room, but Adrianus knew how to use the seemingly insignificant to his advantage. One servant interrupts his thoughts: "Excuse me, your seat is-" he's met by a response more akin to an animal than a man; as Adrianus turns, already annoyed, to be met with the undeniable marks of a vampire the man's instincts are to hiss and spit in the offender's face. The offender blinks in disbelief, quietly turning to leave Adrianus be.
"Het is gemakkelijker om ze gewoon te doden en het artefact te pakken," Adrianus states, grabbing two spoons from one of the tables as he steps over to a corner in the room. He drops the pot far from the other seats, to sit far from the others. It is only after choosing his spot that his disturbance ends. He wipes his hands off on a hankerchief, scooping a portion out with one of the scavenged spoons and shoveling it to his mouth. He grumbles every now and then, but quietly and only to himself and his partner. Those near enough to hear would hear a conversation in dutch - "Overeengekomen, maar dit is hoe het Collectieve wil dat dingen worden gedaan, hoewel ik niet begrijp waarom. Dit is een verschrikkelijk risico, wij allemaal samen zoals deze. Ik kan niet geloven dat ze me binnen hebben gelaten met de brandstof," Bram states with a gesture. "Het beste wat we kunnen doen, is echter afwachten wat de freaks voor ons in petto hebben." Adrianus nods in agreement, taking a piece of bread and dunking it in the stew.
Cheryl
King Vioogra
Deeox2
Elvis Strunk
LostHaven
Moritz
Miracleist
The Forgotten Host
The Shadow Realm
Adrianus grins, continuing to play with his knife as one of the doormen step over to the two. As he does so, Abeltje nudges his comrade - "Een verontschuldiging?" he asks with a chuckle, tapping the blade against his knuckle. "You two. You've been asked to enter and observe the speech. The exchange being held will be at risk if you do not attend..we vampires asks for basic manners..something you humans have some knowledge of, yes? Do not track mud inside! Disgusting brutes." Adrianus frowns, snorting once before spitting out to the dirt. Bram comments in dutch, though fails to draw a chuckle from his comrade. Abeltje quietly sits as Bram continues his, as shown in tone, dutch insults. As Bram finishes, nodding to the doorman, Adrianus shoves the knife into its sheath and pushes himself up while grabbing the pot of stew. "I doubt..." he begins, in fluid english "that the leeches remember how to cook." Eyes that could crack ice stare into the undead for a moment, before stepping past to the entrance of the house. He stops at the door, placing the pot on the ground and balling a small gathering of mud. Adrianus looks back to the doorman, stepping backwards into the house, and dropping it directly on the interior floor - "Oops."
Bram takes the lead inside, stomping his feet to lead a path of muddy footprints through the mansion. Adrianus trails behind him, carrying the pot of stew. He looks around the place as the two step to where the speech would take place, noting the infrastructure and detail to the mansion. One question that bit at his mind was precisely who owned this place. Hopefully someone important to the council, due to the effort being made to cause them trouble, but it could just as easily be a lucky minor. He shrugs, stepping into the room - His eyes immediately scan around the place, noting possibilities of cover, hiding places, tight spaces, corners, doorways, and windows. Most would see merely a room, but Adrianus knew how to use the seemingly insignificant to his advantage. One servant interrupts his thoughts: "Excuse me, your seat is-" he's met by a response more akin to an animal than a man; as Adrianus turns, already annoyed, to be met with the undeniable marks of a vampire the man's instincts are to hiss and spit in the offender's face. The offender blinks in disbelief, quietly turning to leave Adrianus be.
"Het is gemakkelijker om ze gewoon te doden en het artefact te pakken," Adrianus states, grabbing two spoons from one of the tables as he steps over to a corner in the room. He drops the pot far from the other seats, to sit far from the others. It is only after choosing his spot that his disturbance ends. He wipes his hands off on a hankerchief, scooping a portion out with one of the scavenged spoons and shoveling it to his mouth. He grumbles every now and then, but quietly and only to himself and his partner. Those near enough to hear would hear a conversation in dutch - "Overeengekomen, maar dit is hoe het Collectieve wil dat dingen worden gedaan, hoewel ik niet begrijp waarom. Dit is een verschrikkelijk risico, wij allemaal samen zoals deze. Ik kan niet geloven dat ze me binnen hebben gelaten met de brandstof," Bram states with a gesture. "Het beste wat we kunnen doen, is echter afwachten wat de freaks voor ons in petto hebben." Adrianus nods in agreement, taking a piece of bread and dunking it in the stew.
Cheryl
King Vioogra
Deeox2
Elvis Strunk
LostHaven
Moritz
Miracleist
The Forgotten Host
The Shadow Realm
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The Forgotten Host
Senior Member
Elvis Strunk
New Member
Calm.
The specter steadies her hands, curling them into fists and resting them atop her lap, hidden beneath the table. She opens her eyes, and sets her face in the guise of a smile. She couldn't afford to seem too nervous here. With this many professionals around, it would doubtlessly set off red flags for at least somebody, and the last thing she needs is to draw more attention. If for Victoria's sake, more than her own.
Victoria.
She stands exactly as she had before, seemingly content not to budge an inch. Only, she isn't alone. Someone, a woman, quite beautiful in some ways, stands nearby, speaking to her. The child feels her heart skip, a sliver of tension running up her spine, before dismissing it. Worrying every time a stranger approaches won't accomplish anything, especially at a gathering like this. Besides, Victoria can take care of herself.
Still, now that the woman finds herself in the company of another, whatever it leads to, Pluto definitely can't go to her for any comfort. In a way, this is an important part of why they were here, after all...
Her thoughts are disturbed by the sound of a voice, cascading through the room like a waterfall, and drawing the attention of many. She turns to find a man, another stranger, though seemingly important, standing atop a podium. He informs the crowd that the proceedings will begin shortly, and anyone hesitating to enter should find themselves a seat inside. She exhales, turning away and setting her gaze securely on the table in front of her. Even more people. For whatever reason, she had expected the already too-crowded gathering to be everyone attending.
Not long after, she hears footsteps, as at least two others step into the room. From their voices, they sound displeased, though she can't begin to place their language. They continue speaking in an almost violent tone, and she briefly wonders if something is wrong. The thought of approaching, of offering her aid, comes to mind, but she'd learned long ago that, more often than not, it's better to mind her own business than butt into that of others. Despite her best intentions, some would rather burst into flames than hold polite conversation, and she doesn't feel that her willpower is strong enough to maintain, were she faced with such ire.
Again, the hairs on her arms stand up, and, try as she might, Pluto is unable to convince herself that she isn't being watched. Her fingers twitch, once, as she feels the faint vibrations in the air, seemingly whispering of trouble. She resists the urge to search for whoever might be focusing on her too overtly, telling herself that it doesn't matter. There isn't anything that anybody can really do to her, here.
But her brain gleefully supplies a different notion. Memories, fragmented and empty, dance at the forefront of her mind. Flesh, torn. Blood, pooling. A dark laughter, echoing through the night. Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, as she desperately tries to force the half-dream of suffering out of her head. No, nobody wants to hurt her here. Nobody, nobody, nobody. That man isn't here. He's likely a rotting corpse, six feet underground, for all she knows. Yet he lives on, himself a specter that haunts her dreams. She lets out a shaky laugh.
And looks around.
There. Two people, a man and a woman. They're looking right at her. Her eyes widen, as she inadvertently meets the gaze of the gentleman. As quickly as she can, she looks away, biting her lip and focusing on her quickly cooling meal. Why? Why would they be watching her? Surely she's the least interesting of all the people here, of all the things happening. Is it merely the way she looks? How out of place she is, among this crowd? Or, do they want something more, something darker? The same as
She closes her eyes. Her fingernails dig into her palms, and she tastes blood. Funny, if only morbidly so, how pain was the only sensation not to dull. She hates it, of course, but sometimes, sometimes it helps. It grounds her, reminds her that she can still feel. That she still exists.
After a few moments, she forces her eyes open, and throws a quick, subtle glance toward the couple she had spotted earlier. Yes, they're still staring at her- in fact, the woman is now holding something to her eye, and Pluto feels confident she knows what sort of device it is. Still, they don't seem like terrible people. Talking to each other, in what seems like a friendly manner, though the child is unable to make out their words. They don't seem scary, or dangerous. But monsters don't, always. Whether they're 'normal' humans or otherwise, sometimes the scariest people are the ones that smile the happiest.
She doesn't run away, yet she doesn't make any motion toward the onlookers. While part of her wants nothing more than to see what they want, she's simply too afraid. Besides, whatever's meant to happen will be starting soon, so she shouldn't get distracted. And nevermind that she knows full well those words are merely an excuse to hide.
Cheryl
Deeox2
CerpinTaxt
Moritz
The Gunrunner
The Forgotten Host
The specter steadies her hands, curling them into fists and resting them atop her lap, hidden beneath the table. She opens her eyes, and sets her face in the guise of a smile. She couldn't afford to seem too nervous here. With this many professionals around, it would doubtlessly set off red flags for at least somebody, and the last thing she needs is to draw more attention. If for Victoria's sake, more than her own.
Victoria.
She stands exactly as she had before, seemingly content not to budge an inch. Only, she isn't alone. Someone, a woman, quite beautiful in some ways, stands nearby, speaking to her. The child feels her heart skip, a sliver of tension running up her spine, before dismissing it. Worrying every time a stranger approaches won't accomplish anything, especially at a gathering like this. Besides, Victoria can take care of herself.
Still, now that the woman finds herself in the company of another, whatever it leads to, Pluto definitely can't go to her for any comfort. In a way, this is an important part of why they were here, after all...
Her thoughts are disturbed by the sound of a voice, cascading through the room like a waterfall, and drawing the attention of many. She turns to find a man, another stranger, though seemingly important, standing atop a podium. He informs the crowd that the proceedings will begin shortly, and anyone hesitating to enter should find themselves a seat inside. She exhales, turning away and setting her gaze securely on the table in front of her. Even more people. For whatever reason, she had expected the already too-crowded gathering to be everyone attending.
Not long after, she hears footsteps, as at least two others step into the room. From their voices, they sound displeased, though she can't begin to place their language. They continue speaking in an almost violent tone, and she briefly wonders if something is wrong. The thought of approaching, of offering her aid, comes to mind, but she'd learned long ago that, more often than not, it's better to mind her own business than butt into that of others. Despite her best intentions, some would rather burst into flames than hold polite conversation, and she doesn't feel that her willpower is strong enough to maintain, were she faced with such ire.
Again, the hairs on her arms stand up, and, try as she might, Pluto is unable to convince herself that she isn't being watched. Her fingers twitch, once, as she feels the faint vibrations in the air, seemingly whispering of trouble. She resists the urge to search for whoever might be focusing on her too overtly, telling herself that it doesn't matter. There isn't anything that anybody can really do to her, here.
But her brain gleefully supplies a different notion. Memories, fragmented and empty, dance at the forefront of her mind. Flesh, torn. Blood, pooling. A dark laughter, echoing through the night. Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, as she desperately tries to force the half-dream of suffering out of her head. No, nobody wants to hurt her here. Nobody, nobody, nobody. That man isn't here. He's likely a rotting corpse, six feet underground, for all she knows. Yet he lives on, himself a specter that haunts her dreams. She lets out a shaky laugh.
And looks around.
There. Two people, a man and a woman. They're looking right at her. Her eyes widen, as she inadvertently meets the gaze of the gentleman. As quickly as she can, she looks away, biting her lip and focusing on her quickly cooling meal. Why? Why would they be watching her? Surely she's the least interesting of all the people here, of all the things happening. Is it merely the way she looks? How out of place she is, among this crowd? Or, do they want something more, something darker? The same as
She closes her eyes. Her fingernails dig into her palms, and she tastes blood. Funny, if only morbidly so, how pain was the only sensation not to dull. She hates it, of course, but sometimes, sometimes it helps. It grounds her, reminds her that she can still feel. That she still exists.
After a few moments, she forces her eyes open, and throws a quick, subtle glance toward the couple she had spotted earlier. Yes, they're still staring at her- in fact, the woman is now holding something to her eye, and Pluto feels confident she knows what sort of device it is. Still, they don't seem like terrible people. Talking to each other, in what seems like a friendly manner, though the child is unable to make out their words. They don't seem scary, or dangerous. But monsters don't, always. Whether they're 'normal' humans or otherwise, sometimes the scariest people are the ones that smile the happiest.
She doesn't run away, yet she doesn't make any motion toward the onlookers. While part of her wants nothing more than to see what they want, she's simply too afraid. Besides, whatever's meant to happen will be starting soon, so she shouldn't get distracted. And nevermind that she knows full well those words are merely an excuse to hide.
Cheryl
Deeox2
CerpinTaxt
Moritz
The Gunrunner
The Forgotten Host
Last edited:
The Shadow Realm
Leader of The Shadow Realm
****Red is Wynn's demonic side.
****Blue is just Wynn.
Last edited:
Miracleist
Bathing in dream light
LostHaven
Loser's queue is real and it's coming for you.
Martin gave Alathea a glance as she pulled another chair back and offered it to Arial. The Clockworker wasn't clear on the relationship they had, but they appeared to be friends at the very least. Taking a whiff of his tea, Martin brought the cup up to his lips, and took a long sip, completely ignoring the fact that the tea was hotter than all hell. Not even an ugly tentacle god could get between Martin and enjoying a good cup of tea, it would seem. Listening carefully to Wynn's words, Martin was jumping out of his seat to agree with the hunter's comments. "There are so many putrid monsters here that I want to choke." Martin replied, genuine contempt lining his voice. Being in the mere presence of so many monsters made Martin's blood boil. If he could do so, Martin would jump out of his seat and open fire on those disgusting vampires, but of course, he had no choice but to restrain himself from doing so- even a machine-gun couldn't stand against a huge number of vampires. Gulping down his tea, Martin signalled the waiter to pour him another cup; even though the waiter was a god-forsaken vampire, Martin would never miss out on good tea. Even despite this, the venom in his glare was obvious, eyeing the waiter as he poured the tea.
Arial remained in her position on the floor, looking over the chair for several seconds, before she pulled herself up on her feet. As she did so, the whirring of gears rang inside Arial's metal body, and she placed herself on the chair. "Thank you, Alathea." She said, before she was cut off by the intercom. Martin, being the man he was, glared at the speaker viciously. After the speaker stopped, Arial shifted her gaze toward Wynn. Her empty, glass eyes met theirs for several seconds, before Arial turned to Alathea again. The hunter named Wynn... Something about him made Arial's metal shell shudder. It wasn't that he wasn't human- Arial was perfectly comfortable with being near other creatures. The puppet just shrugged it off though; it was probably just the fact that Wynn was huge.
Now with her attention placed on Alathea, Arial's mouth began moving up and down like a marionette, as she began to speak in her empty voice. "Please, before you tell me, may I ask you a favour?" Arial asked, eyes fixed on Alathea. "Please find a new craftsman to make repairs on my body." After hearing this, Martin's eyes shifted into a confused look, as he stopped glaring at the vampires and instead gave his attention to Arial, who had basically just insulted him. "Or at the very least, give me a gun the next time I need repairs. This afternoon, the slippery octopus made me remove all my clothing." After hearing Arial call him an 'octopus', Martin's confused gaze only intensified. "Octopus?" He questioned, puzzled.
"Yes. A hundred suckers couldn't even compensate for one of you. Therefore, you are an octopus."
Martin was left completely devoid of any words- he was just utterly destroyed by a little girl. However, no amount of preparation would brace the poor Clockworker for Arial's relentless assault that followed. "Back to my point, the Clockworker said he couldn't rape me even if he tried."
"I said a creep couldn't, not me."
"Irrelevant. You were probably imagining things in that eldritch head of yours. In fact, this body was a projection of your twisted fantasies, wasn't it?"
"Goddammit stupid doll, you're appearance was completely out of my imagination, not based off some little girl I was looking a-"
"My point proven. Straight from your fantasies. You're future looks grim, you may end up like Jack the Ripper."
"Why?"
"Well, the Ripper but worse. You'd go around mutilating little girl's vagi---"
At that point, even Martin had few morals and he would probably never let a child like Arial spout such obscenity in public. "WAITER, MORE TEA PLEASE!" Martin shouted, unnecessarily loud, completely drowning out Arial's words. The waiter hurried over, confused, as Martin's cup was still almost full.
"You get my point. Put a bullet into that slippery little six-eyed mollusc before it does anything bad." Arial finally said to Alathea, giggling. Not to lie, the sight of Arial giggling was just a tad bit unsettling. Laughter did not go well with a doll's blank and expressionless face. Well, at least she made Martin stop wanting to tear somebody's throat out for a little while... "Please, excuse me. Just my honest feedback on the Clockworker. Would you kindly, please continue with what you wanted to tell me. I am interested."
Miracleist
The Shadow Realm
Arial remained in her position on the floor, looking over the chair for several seconds, before she pulled herself up on her feet. As she did so, the whirring of gears rang inside Arial's metal body, and she placed herself on the chair. "Thank you, Alathea." She said, before she was cut off by the intercom. Martin, being the man he was, glared at the speaker viciously. After the speaker stopped, Arial shifted her gaze toward Wynn. Her empty, glass eyes met theirs for several seconds, before Arial turned to Alathea again. The hunter named Wynn... Something about him made Arial's metal shell shudder. It wasn't that he wasn't human- Arial was perfectly comfortable with being near other creatures. The puppet just shrugged it off though; it was probably just the fact that Wynn was huge.
Now with her attention placed on Alathea, Arial's mouth began moving up and down like a marionette, as she began to speak in her empty voice. "Please, before you tell me, may I ask you a favour?" Arial asked, eyes fixed on Alathea. "Please find a new craftsman to make repairs on my body." After hearing this, Martin's eyes shifted into a confused look, as he stopped glaring at the vampires and instead gave his attention to Arial, who had basically just insulted him. "Or at the very least, give me a gun the next time I need repairs. This afternoon, the slippery octopus made me remove all my clothing." After hearing Arial call him an 'octopus', Martin's confused gaze only intensified. "Octopus?" He questioned, puzzled.
"Yes. A hundred suckers couldn't even compensate for one of you. Therefore, you are an octopus."
Martin was left completely devoid of any words- he was just utterly destroyed by a little girl. However, no amount of preparation would brace the poor Clockworker for Arial's relentless assault that followed. "Back to my point, the Clockworker said he couldn't rape me even if he tried."
"I said a creep couldn't, not me."
"Irrelevant. You were probably imagining things in that eldritch head of yours. In fact, this body was a projection of your twisted fantasies, wasn't it?"
"Goddammit stupid doll, you're appearance was completely out of my imagination, not based off some little girl I was looking a-"
"My point proven. Straight from your fantasies. You're future looks grim, you may end up like Jack the Ripper."
"Why?"
"Well, the Ripper but worse. You'd go around mutilating little girl's vagi---"
At that point, even Martin had few morals and he would probably never let a child like Arial spout such obscenity in public. "WAITER, MORE TEA PLEASE!" Martin shouted, unnecessarily loud, completely drowning out Arial's words. The waiter hurried over, confused, as Martin's cup was still almost full.
"You get my point. Put a bullet into that slippery little six-eyed mollusc before it does anything bad." Arial finally said to Alathea, giggling. Not to lie, the sight of Arial giggling was just a tad bit unsettling. Laughter did not go well with a doll's blank and expressionless face. Well, at least she made Martin stop wanting to tear somebody's throat out for a little while... "Please, excuse me. Just my honest feedback on the Clockworker. Would you kindly, please continue with what you wanted to tell me. I am interested."
Miracleist
The Shadow Realm
Deeox2
Resident Gif User
Victoria idly tapped the grip of her revolver beneath her coat. The amount of waiting they seemed to be doing was a bit egregious. It was worrying, considering how big a powder keg the entire building could turn into if anyone decided to pull their weapon. Even worse was the magic. She had seen enough hemomancy, and if she started smelling blood, she was leaving then and there.
Victoria looks to Katherine as she makes her presence known and lets go of the tension she had been holding in her shoulders. Victoria puts on a smile, giving the woman the quick once over. Well dressed, in the fashion of nobility… From the League perhaps? Did the League allow women? Victoria couldn’t remember. She was not well versed in the nuance of hunter guild structure or internal politics. Just the surface level, and only some of that. But here was a pretty woman speaking to her, so there were formalities to attend to.
“Interesting is just the tip of this ship peeking out from the fog. I am waiting for the outlines of the cannons on the deck, the glint of sabers, and the touches of fury in the crew’s eyes.” She capitalizes on Katherine’s fidgeting motion, taking one of the woman’s hands as she sets a polite kiss upon the curve of her gloved fingers. Victoria gives her a quick wink, and then allows Katherine's hand to return to wherever it wished. “My name is Victoria, and I could think of nothing better but to take a seat by your side.”
And Victoria goes to do so, just as the intercom directly calls for the seating, but her eyes flicker over, seeing the young girl that she had made her protectorate. Indeed, she also sees the older man, Bartholomew, making his way over. Instinctively, her gut turns, worry turning to fear and fear sending her brain rolling down the hill. She eyes the seat beside Pluto and pulls it out for herself, before pulling the seat beside it out for Katherine to sit down in. Victoria straightens her posture out as much as possible, trying to appear as imposing as she can as she stands by Pluto’s seemingly empty chair. “Don’t worry. I’m here. They will not hurt you,” she whispers, and it would be true up until the point Victoria was unconscious or dead. She had nothing else to say, to Katherine, to Pluto, or to the approaching Bartholomew. The event was beginning, after all.
Cheryl
Elvis Strunk
The Forgotten Host
Victoria looks to Katherine as she makes her presence known and lets go of the tension she had been holding in her shoulders. Victoria puts on a smile, giving the woman the quick once over. Well dressed, in the fashion of nobility… From the League perhaps? Did the League allow women? Victoria couldn’t remember. She was not well versed in the nuance of hunter guild structure or internal politics. Just the surface level, and only some of that. But here was a pretty woman speaking to her, so there were formalities to attend to.
“Interesting is just the tip of this ship peeking out from the fog. I am waiting for the outlines of the cannons on the deck, the glint of sabers, and the touches of fury in the crew’s eyes.” She capitalizes on Katherine’s fidgeting motion, taking one of the woman’s hands as she sets a polite kiss upon the curve of her gloved fingers. Victoria gives her a quick wink, and then allows Katherine's hand to return to wherever it wished. “My name is Victoria, and I could think of nothing better but to take a seat by your side.”
And Victoria goes to do so, just as the intercom directly calls for the seating, but her eyes flicker over, seeing the young girl that she had made her protectorate. Indeed, she also sees the older man, Bartholomew, making his way over. Instinctively, her gut turns, worry turning to fear and fear sending her brain rolling down the hill. She eyes the seat beside Pluto and pulls it out for herself, before pulling the seat beside it out for Katherine to sit down in. Victoria straightens her posture out as much as possible, trying to appear as imposing as she can as she stands by Pluto’s seemingly empty chair. “Don’t worry. I’m here. They will not hurt you,” she whispers, and it would be true up until the point Victoria was unconscious or dead. She had nothing else to say, to Katherine, to Pluto, or to the approaching Bartholomew. The event was beginning, after all.
Cheryl
Elvis Strunk
The Forgotten Host
CerpinTaxt
A Man With No Face
"Miss Darkwater?"
"Yes?"
"We're late to the dinner party."
"Not at all, Isaac. We're showing up precisely when we should be."
The carriage lightly shook as it traveled along the dirt path to the manor, the trotting of a horses’ hooves against the ground mixing with the creaking of the wood and the lantern swinging outside. Most people had done away with real horses by now, though the rich and well-respected still used them as a sort of point of pride. The white hair of the horse gleamed from the moon lit sky, the branches of the trees which surrounded the carriage at both sides along the road lightly shook from the cool breeze, setting the calm mood of the evening.
A calm mood which was quickly beginning to erode as the faint sounds of something were carried by the winds, breezing past the carriage and towards the ever approaching manor. At first sounding like distant whispers and indistinguishable chatter started to morph into strange mutterings and nonsensical babble. The trees began to violently shake and dark shapes in the distance were approaching the manor. The voices turned to screams, faint at first but growing in volume and intensity as everything around the carriage shook. This all would be unnoticeable by those in the manor.
"Yes...yes I'd have to agree with you now."
--
The man on the podium cleared his throat as everyone made their way inside before glancing at the watch on his left arm. It looked like it was time for it to begin, his hand shakily running through what remained of his hair as he examined those who had entered. The two Dutchmen..those two had made a mess and they'd just gotten inside. They weren't idiots either and seemed quite on edge. No matter..they couldn't handle what was to occur by themselves. The small ghost that had accompanied the Rose..he couldn't help but feel some sort of euphoria for those looks of distress on her face. The Council member and his wife...the odd one in the mask..the well-dressed League member. So many people to see! He would have loved to have a conversation with all of them, but it was far too late for that.
The bones of his right hand let out a sickening crack as he began his transformation into a god. He had time though. Thankfully the chatter of the dining hall had blocked out the noise, though if one who sat to the right of the podium could notice his hand had gotten larger if they observed it. Fingers much longer than they should be, and skin that seemed to struggle to not tear with every movement. His right arm itself looked to be longer as well, longer than a person's arm really should be.
"Friends! Countrymen! Allies!" He started off the speech with a smile, his eyes scanning the crowd as the chatter died down, so the man's speech could be heard. "I welcome you all to my humble abode! I'm sure many of you are..'perturbed' by the large crowd in what you could consider a fairly mundane event. I'm aware most dealings and exchanges among factions are not handled like this, but this is a cause of celebration as well! Urgh!" He lurched forward, leaning onto the podium for support as whispers about the man and his health dissented among the crowd. He was taller now and looked much skinnier than just moments ago. Small growths had even begun to make their appearance. The man regained him composure, letting out a weak laugh as he used his normal left hand to gesture to the audience that he was fine. "My apologies. I haven't been feeling quite well recently...anyway, you see..this is a celebration! A celebration in the name of our wondrous leader! The one who has shown me the way! The way I wish to-" The man was abruptly cut short by a loud scream of agony from behind the closed wooden doors that lead to the main hallway.
The faceless members of the factions turned their attention from the man to the ever-increasing sounds of a struggle that came from behind the door. The sounds of bones being broken, objects being thrown or clattering to the ground, and cursing men were the only sounds as no one dared to speak. Pistols were drawn from underneath tables and directed at the door. Then, the deafening sound of a gun being fired several times put the numerous screams to rest. Then nothing. It seemed to be over.
The wooden door creaked open, brass casings scattering to the marble floor as the one behind the chaos stepped inside. "Executioner!" One of the councilmen screamed in terror as the individual stepped inside, another joining the councilman as he pointed at the man currently sliding a bullet into his revolver. Another Collective agent, his body covered head to do in clothing. "Genocidal maniac! Murderer of your own kind!" Oliver kicked the casings aside, ignoring the accusations for the moment as he turned and kicked the wooden door closed. "You." He snapped his fingers and looked to the table with the Rose members, apparently talking to Alathea in particular. "Bar that door with something and make it fast."
Damn! The speech the balding man had worked so hard on was ruined! All those countless hours of writing the perfect final words..wasted! "I..I will show you all the way! You will join me in this wondrous night and see such beautiful things! All of you, you will become alluring and free!" The screaming from the outside poured in, with red eyes peering into the dining hall from the windows that reached far up along the brick and stone walls.
The balding man's body transforming at an alarming rate now, his clothing ripping as his limbs were now disproportionately longer than the rest of his body with strange patches of fur spreading along his emaciated body. He had to be at least three times his original height though not enough to reach the high reaching ceiling of the dining hall. Sharp teeth lined his mouth and he let out an ear-piercing shriek as the glass shattered around the group. Guns were being drawn, people were scattered to try and get away. This wasn't something anyone had seen before. What was he?! What had he transformed into?!
"Ah, fuck."
YOU WILL SEE SUCH PRETTY THINGS
King Vioogra
The Gunrunner
Moritz
Deeox2
LostHaven
Miracleist
The Shadow Realm
Elvis Strunk
The Forgotten Host
I
IternalSoul
(You can say you've been here the whole time, it's up to you)--
"Uh..Sergeant Anderson?" A bored Conglomerate member spoke to the well-dressed military man, rifle in hand as he peered down the deep tunnel, perfectly shaped bricks of stone lining the walls and floor of the pitch-black void. It looked to be wide enough to fit several people, and the Conglomerate had been asked to keep watch of the tunnel once it was discovered to be attached to the manor. More concerned about someone entering the tunnel than leaving however.
"What is it, Lewis?" The older gentleman twirled his mustache, his fingers drummed against the wooden grip of his Colt Single Action as he looked to the man at his side. The mouth of the tunnel had been found about half a mile from the actual manor and concerns arose that people may use it to sabotage the meeting. They'd been there for a few hours now and the majority had given up on really keeping watching. Playing cards was much more enjoyable than seeing if anyone tried to get in to the tunnel.
"Why are we here? I mean, how do we know this tunnel hasn't caved in or something? We could have been given watch detail at the manor and been comfortable and had some food. But..we're here. In the middle of some lousy forest."
"Son, parties are for frilly Englishmen and women. We're here because the effeminate Brits can't be bothered to stand the cold for a little bit. Ain't that right, boys?" The sergeant hollered at the men nearby, all of them letting out a holler of agreement before returning to their card game. "We'll stay here, you aren't some pansy, are you? Can't handle a little wind?"
They were all so preoccupied with keeping watch of the outside that no one had thought that perhaps it wasn't an entrance. It might be an exit instead. A shriek came from the tunnel, causing the men to clamor to their positions, guns drawn and pointing down the tunnel right as several pairs of glowing red eyes stared back at them from the darkness of the tunnel.
GrieveWriter
Hell0NHighWater
Ripley
GasMaskie
(I'll be editing this later tonight to give you a Pure post to work with, don't want you to think I've forgotten about you or anything)
GrieveWriter
U-Incorporated 2nd Class Type Unit
One of the first Conglomerate agents to pick up the sound of incoming danger had been one of the card players, standing out from his cohorts due mainly to his odd metal mask.
Sgt. Gooding had paused right in the middle of playing his hand, tilting his head up and glancing to the mouth of the tunnel as a wide grin spread across his face in response to the sounds. Soon he shot to his feet, knocking the tiny stool he'd been using over in the process.
"Finally!" the Old Boy snickered as he tossed the cards to the side, much to the chagrin of another card player
"Hey, those were my father's!" the Card Player shouted as he scrambled to retrieve his cards, but the metal masked man cared not for his panic. Instead, he bent low and snatched up a rather odd contraption which had been folded up near his stool.
"No time for family heirlooms boys!" the Vampire cheered as he whipped the contraption forward and let it unfold into a crossbow "Seems like we're gonna get to kick a little ass today after all!"
The sound had grown to the point where the others began hearing it too, moving into formation as the one in the mask reached back and grabbed the hilt of one of the many Machetes strapped to his back "Time flies faster when you're serving your country, hopefully the old saying stays true. By the time we're done making barbeque outta whatever's about to come flying outta there, those pansies in their fancy little club should be done."
He sighed in joy as he whipped the machete forth, the sound of guns and other weaponry being readied around him providing a decent contender for the cacophony approaching from within the tunnel "Hop on a plane and be back in the Land of the Free by morning light. I swear I can feel myself weakening the longer we're stationed in this ass-backwards country."
"Oh please, if it were that easy to kill you I would've given you my vacation days years ago." a voice called out
Gooding paused and glanced back to a rather well-dressed looking gentleman readying a rifle behind a bunch of other Agents. The Vampire narrowed his eyes behind his mask before snickering "Jokes on you, sonny. We don't get vacation days."
"Yes we do, directly correlating to the quality of work provided on each and every mission." Professor Laquado pointed out as he finished loading his rifle.
Gooding was about to respond, but paused in his rebuttal as he thought for a moment. Laquado wouldn't give him the chance.
"And the fact that you aren't certain whether I'm telling the truth or not speaks volumes of your inability to think three feet ahead of yourself." the Sniper said with a shake of his head.
"Ah phooey!" Gooding waved him off before hefting his weapons and turning back to the approaching sounds "Why would I even care about Vacations with a job this sweet? I'll show you how a true patriot appreciates his job!"
"I'm sure it'll be very disappointing... as usual." Laquado sighed as he raised the scope to his eye and sighted the red-eyed figures with held breath.
CerpinTaxt
Sgt. Gooding had paused right in the middle of playing his hand, tilting his head up and glancing to the mouth of the tunnel as a wide grin spread across his face in response to the sounds. Soon he shot to his feet, knocking the tiny stool he'd been using over in the process.
"Finally!" the Old Boy snickered as he tossed the cards to the side, much to the chagrin of another card player
"Hey, those were my father's!" the Card Player shouted as he scrambled to retrieve his cards, but the metal masked man cared not for his panic. Instead, he bent low and snatched up a rather odd contraption which had been folded up near his stool.
"No time for family heirlooms boys!" the Vampire cheered as he whipped the contraption forward and let it unfold into a crossbow "Seems like we're gonna get to kick a little ass today after all!"
The sound had grown to the point where the others began hearing it too, moving into formation as the one in the mask reached back and grabbed the hilt of one of the many Machetes strapped to his back "Time flies faster when you're serving your country, hopefully the old saying stays true. By the time we're done making barbeque outta whatever's about to come flying outta there, those pansies in their fancy little club should be done."
He sighed in joy as he whipped the machete forth, the sound of guns and other weaponry being readied around him providing a decent contender for the cacophony approaching from within the tunnel "Hop on a plane and be back in the Land of the Free by morning light. I swear I can feel myself weakening the longer we're stationed in this ass-backwards country."
"Oh please, if it were that easy to kill you I would've given you my vacation days years ago." a voice called out
Gooding paused and glanced back to a rather well-dressed looking gentleman readying a rifle behind a bunch of other Agents. The Vampire narrowed his eyes behind his mask before snickering "Jokes on you, sonny. We don't get vacation days."
"Yes we do, directly correlating to the quality of work provided on each and every mission." Professor Laquado pointed out as he finished loading his rifle.
Gooding was about to respond, but paused in his rebuttal as he thought for a moment. Laquado wouldn't give him the chance.
"And the fact that you aren't certain whether I'm telling the truth or not speaks volumes of your inability to think three feet ahead of yourself." the Sniper said with a shake of his head.
"Ah phooey!" Gooding waved him off before hefting his weapons and turning back to the approaching sounds "Why would I even care about Vacations with a job this sweet? I'll show you how a true patriot appreciates his job!"
"I'm sure it'll be very disappointing... as usual." Laquado sighed as he raised the scope to his eye and sighted the red-eyed figures with held breath.
CerpinTaxt
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The Shadow Realm
Leader of The Shadow Realm
With each muddy patter after another, the men finally made it to a series of three mechanized horse-drawn carriages before filling into two of them. Griping the interior of the craft, the nervous man plopped cross-legged across from two other individuals. The carriages interior was surprisingly luxurious given the formal plannings, with gold engravings of creatures etched over every inch of the surface. The seats were also as soft as an angels kiss, making for an easy ride for the split groups. Whoever was organizing the entire operation was that of someone with power, and that alone caused the man to feign a slight smile. With the mechanized craft continuing onwards throughout a rain-strewn path, the man glanced out the window. Although the rain obscured most of his view, the faint outline of a forest met his view with utmost pertinence. Unlike many forest's the man had seen before though, something was off about this one. In place of the lush green and chattering of leaves that was a monument to life, there was instead the chilling reek of rot and silence. To make matters worse however, was that off in the distance, entangled in the branches of the malformed trees were hundreds of inhuman figures. As the man strained to get a clear look at the beasts, a sharp pain began to ping throughout his mind with the velocity of a bullet. The sudden split of pain caused a small yelp to arise from him, drawing the attention of those in the cabin.
As he glanced once more in a foolhardy attempt to see, the man finally saw the beasts. In many ways they were humanoid in appearance, however in many ways they were inhuman. They appeared to have hair blanketing their face - no more akin to a mass of tendrils than anything else. The foul creatures also stood a staggering eight or more feet in stature, however they seemed to convulse to a smaller size on a repeated cycle - sometimes shrinking to around three feet or less. Everything that the man saw of the creatures' appearance contradicted the features beforehand. This fact alone caused the man's head to feel as if it was crawling with a parasitic mass of confusion. This was not to mention the sheer sense of terror raking throughout his entire body, which caused him to momentarily claw his face down to the connective tissue in a grotesque display of fear. After a few seconds of restless terror however, he took his hands out of his face and simply looked forwards. Throughout the whole entire ordeal however, not a single wince or comment was issued from the people surrounding him. It was almost as if they were all nothing but flesh-filled dolls.
A short period later, the outline of a manor came into the broken man's view. With their presence approaching the gates, the gates slowly began to creak apart to make way for them. As the man and the lookalikes emerged from the interior of the cabin, the distant sound of a multitude of screams began to echo throughout the rains own chatter. Upon this discovery however, the man wasn't scared anymore. In fact, he even began to chuckle.
Ripley
GasMaskie
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