Open Your Wings, Evil Angel

[Rip Van Winkle]

Twas such a sick and twisted world when thieves and cut throats reigned supreme, but what was most alarming was there ability to jump back into the shadows from whence they came. This ability to travel this said void of darkness was there most prized skill and treasured ability. A true player of the game since day one she had to survive by stealing, rummaging through garbage and playing silly little role playing games to con jaded do gooders from there purses and coin. It was utter perfection in black alley magic, one walks through a dark corridor and a different person emerges. Leaving behind them a corpse and the hope that the blank shadows keep the secret of there dirty deed. There was no remorse or feelings of guilt, because the streets were cold and the people that walked them cared little for the sacred value of life, it was silly when redrum happened to the upper class because that’s when it becomes a tragedy and a woeful event. And that is when action is taken, that is when the hounds are released, that is when the city is scoured, that is when the guards are on there toes and the normal routine of day too day life is disrupted even if for but a moment.

The subtle melancholy sound of the rain crashing through the canopy and drizzling down in subtle droplets, was a soothing godsend. For with each droplet that splashed across her bare flesh, her sin was slowly being washed away. The red spirals of crimson slowly dissipating off her right arm and hand, and the droplets across her face being flushed away. And in that hand lay her future, a purse soaked and stained in blood and within this satchel lay a bountiful sum of coins. And each piece that was now in her possession would shape and mold her destiny in ways she could only begin to imagine.

Staring blankly at the forest canopy from the ground, she smiled wickedly as blood began to fade from her lips. And with it a proverb shot into her mind one which she to this day had yet to forget. And that proverb was; Even the mightiest of hero’s can be killed by a coward. And her rows of razor sharp teeth had been testimony to that.

But times for philosophizing should have ended long ago, because now in the hushed whisper of the night the sounds of towns people and guards were shouting. They were looking for her, she must of killed someone somewhat important. And as quick as a wink she continued sprinting into the abysmal shadows, where the darkness surrounded her like a blanket. They would never find her, or know her name, they would never know her gender or appearance. They would only be left with the question why? And even then there would be no answer.

Some would call her a petty thief, others a rogue, and some an assassin.

But she was what she was and that was that.

It took time, but she finally managed to make it back home sweet home.

As misleading as it was, being a Nosferatu wasn’t as thrilling as one would leave you to believe. She herself more of a curious sort, tended to tread a little further from danger then necessary to try and scrutinize it from the side lines carefully analyzing the gears and treads of the conflict. But then as harmless as this sounded, she also explored various aspects of pain and suffering just to see what would happen when she inflicted said torture. Like a child, she always fell prey to a meager but nevertheless noteworthy interest in a subject matter. Maybe it was not the infliction of the pain that made her tick nor this interest in fear that captivated her mind, but a deep seeded mental need to feel control over something. Perhaps that was what her desires and thoughts inevitably tried to lead her too, like some form of proverbial key of un-imprisonment. For it was not the act of killing that gave her a sense of jubilation, it was the authority and superiority she felt over her victim. Perhaps as an escape from the harsh reality of being under the constant stress of control.

She herself envied the Lady Of Angels her master, this Nosferatu that had in a sense bound her with unnatural life as perhaps an act of kindness or perhaps for a more befitting selfish reason, maybe to help ease her own loneliness. So courageous and powerful her dark lord and master was, such exquisite respect she commanded over her only subject but at the same time so capricious her whims. Yes our fledgling did fear to be scolded by such a cold mistress, and often found that the best sanctuary offered was to submit to her in a cool and casual manner.

She knew for certain that she had taken life, but there was an uncertainty woven within this intricate fabric. Sometimes she wondered if all this was but an illusion, a psychological trick played out by two depraved individuals who sought an escape. Perhaps each one a charlatan to the other feeding on their uncertainties and bending there perceptions to create false truth to denounce there misconceptions, role players perhaps if one were to call them that were caught admits a delirious and diluted dream world fantasy where they themselves were the stars. Where there lives had meaning, when before there was none. Maybe it was by some form of chaotic whim, where the entropy and discord they wrapped abound each others warped psyche gave them some form of divine power. To what was truth anymore, it no longer existed, for when there were truths imbedded in lies and lies within truth who could be able to perceive the sickness at hand.

Of course whenever there was an inkling of doubt, it was quickly erased.
The Lady Of Angels, though not often but when she did feel the urge to relinquish a vampire secret it nullified the doubt brought on by her cross examinations and eased her cold and calculating mind as she absorbed the information.

The sounds of slurping resonated in the aqueducts these shallow sewers that had become there wretched home, no longer a maze but a burial chamber filled to the brim with rotting corpses and fresh victims. It was easy to grab a thief in the darkness or a felon on the run, and in time the bones and bodies stacked in corners festered and stank with such a foul odor. But within their pockets gold piece by gold piece their small fortune had been amassed too a sum of nearly two hundred which had been there collective savings. And soon they would find shelter in the world above them, a new feeding ground that she so desperately sought.

She wanted to feed with her master, but kept her distance the Lady Of Angels would have lashed out at her weakness’s, and would likely tell her to do something lowly like feed on a rat. Such words stung her, but she knew there were times when she expected to be provided for on almost every occasion. Maybe if she got close enough she could perch her head on her ladies shoulder and try to shallowly express her hunger with a feint nuzzle, but the fleeting thought extinguished in a cringe at what could end up in a savage verbal beating.

The display of such a grisly affair reflected off her eyes as though they had been mirrors until they closed and veiled the ongoing murder, all she could do was sit on the brick lain ground and rub her temple as her headache persisted. Until a little later she felt a gentle hand caress her hair, and she drew her head upward letting the cascading fingers run along her face as she stared at this dominus like personage and vaguely smiled letting her mournful eyes broaden in almost needful desperation. She knew what she was being offered, and would gladly accept. But to do so without expressing a hint of gratitude or thankfulness in being able to have a meal that was not rightfully hers may extend a cruel penalty to which next time such generosity would not be obliged.

Slowly raising herself from the embrace of her most treasured companion, she walked towards the bleeding man. He was still quivering and he was slowly dying immobile due to extensive blood lose, he could see but barely move. Let alone breath as blood was pouring like an avalanche down his esophagus and into his lungs suffocating him slowly and in a manner befitting a miserable cretin. She gazed at him, before she knelt down arching her fangs towards the twin punctures in his neck as she glided her tongue across the coursing blood that flowed from his wounds. To which the urge to feed drew a fearsome bite that tore through flesh as she began drinking the remnant of his life source. In this most intimate of moments she began recollecting thoughts on how lucky she was to be afforded this luxury, but as she thought the voice of her dark lord beckoned her attention.

“Rip Van Winkle, you are so beautiful but it hurts me when you stare with such discontent at our abode. I know how you yearn to rid yourself of this sepulture that we may call home, I’ve felt it in your presence you are miserable here. But tonight is cause for celebration, and by the morrow we will have rid ourselves of this dank labyrinth”

Unexpected news, it was a bold move and so rarely seen in her.
She contemplated and dwelled on the information though Anastasia probably already knew the answer. People that went into these sewers vanished, and search parties were soon to follow.
Leaving was the only option, how clever Lady Of Angels was for turning this dire circumstance into a would be celebration.

Blood was becoming less and less as it was starting to cake around her face, she didn’t much care for this and withdrew from her meal.

~Then on the morrow we shall rise~

[Roith]

For what must have been the tenth time that night, Roith thanked his good fortune, the full moon overhead made the task of navigating the streets of Scara Brae tolerable if not easy. Frankly, he was getting tired of all these midnight rendezvous, for the past two months he had been working tirelessly to earn the trust of Scara Brae's local crime family. After countless jobs, innumerable prison breaks, and never ending 'Babysit the Boss's Unmanageable Son' assignments, he was finally going to obtain the one thing that made all that aggravating brown nosing worth it. A map with a list of the Queen's tax collection routes. With such a map, The Green Blades could hit every tariff wagon across Althanas and live like those rich snobs up in the palace for the rest of their lives.

As Roith neared the appointed meeting place, he quietly stepped into the shadows of a nearby alley. Despite the fact that Roith had suffered what he considered endless humiliations to earn The Aravelle Crime Family's trust, he still didn't trust them enough not to stab him in the back now that his usefulness had run its course. In the time he spent with The Aravelle's Roith learned two things. One: The Aravelle's were at their core's selfish and jealous creatures. Anything they wanted they obtained. Two: If they couldn't have whatever it was they wanted, then nobody else would. These two observations had made Roith extremely weary, and he had done his best to perform just well enough so as to not bring displeasure, but not well enough for the Aravelle's to consider making him a...permanent member of their organization. That didn't mean however, that they wouldn't decide it was far easier just to get rid of him, then give him his due.

From his place in the shadows Roith gazed anxiously across the street at the abandoned warehouse that was tonight’s rendezvous. The windows were dark and forlorn looking, parts of the glass were missing in spots where, more likely than not, children had decided to throw rocks. All was quiet, the streets were empty and the moon cast eerie shadows on everything. If the Aravelle's operated like usual there should be a single man inside the warehouse with the map and the information he needed, they would exchange passwords, he would hand over the map, and both of them would go on their marry ways. Roith let a calmness settle over himself as he quickly crossed the street and entered the warehouse through the back. It was empty. No man, no documents, no trap, nothing. At first he was confused, was the messenger simply late? But then he saw the bloodstains on the floor and froze. "Something is extremely wrong here." The moonlight coming through the broken windows illuminated the blood spore and caused Roith to hesitate.

"Maybe I should just leave now....but if I do the Aravelle's are bound to think I killed their man, and it’s always bad for business to have people after your head." With that said Roith moved cautiously into the room to inspect the blood more closely, all the while mindful of booby traps and hidden assassins. Now that he was close enough to see clearly, Roith could tell that there wasn't enough blood on the floor to mean the man was dead, but whoever had injured him looked like they also dragged him off. It didn't even seem like they had tried to hide the blood trail, but what was even stranger was that it didn't appear as if the injured man had fought back. This meant he was unconscious or too weak to do so. Roith supposed he might have gone willingly but it seemed unlikely.

Following the trail of blood, Roith quickly came upon the stairs leading down into the aqueducts. The door's handle was sticky with blood, judging from how congealed it was, the trail couldn't be more than a few hours old. Roith hesitated to go any further, personally he didn't give a damn about the poor sod who managed to get himself in this situation, but it irked him to no end that the bastard still had the paper's he needed. Damn it! He hadn't spent two months of his life slaving away for nothing! But at the same time every instinct he had was practically screaming at him not to open the door and descend. There would be other chances right? But considering how he was probably going to be blamed for this incident, it seemed less and less likely he would ever get another opportunity such as this one.

Pulling his bandanna from his head, he quickly wrapped it around his nose and mouth to help stifle the stench. Nervously running a hand through his short wavy hair he slowly opened the door, trying hard despite its rusty hinges not to make any noise. The stairs descended into darkness, and he momentarily lost hope of ever finding his quarry down in these smelly old sewers. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, the moonlight illuminated a torch in a bracket near the door's entrance. It was probably meant for situations just like this, but minus the danger and possible dismemberment. The flint chained to the wall proved useful in lighting it, but it only served to remind him how penny pinching city officials really were. "Cheap Bastards." With that in mind, Roith began the short descent into the belly of Scara Brae.

[Rip Van Winkle]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnilxCKn9kE&feature=related

For Roith whom had seemed to ignore the better half of his judgement took the plunge and began his expedition deep into the infernal bowels far below the cities surface. His bravery would be greatly rewarded for the further he dared tread in this Rip Van Winkles tabernacle of terror he would be warmly greeted by this most foul and pungent odor that seemed to loft in the air. It smelt of corrosion and death like decomposing corpses and rotting food, it was one of those robust fragrances that made one almost want to vomit in there mouth.

There were no lit torches, or any in the aquaducts for that matter in this maze like labyrinth. Testament to just how cheap those penny pinching bastards really were. This place was abysmal like some ominous void, darkness itself wrapped around him like some sort of chilling blanket. The ravenous shadows only wished to consume, devoure and envelope him, his only saving grace was his own burning torch thats light thwarted and repelled its dark caress.

If he continued he would find bodies just one after another strewn about haphazardly men, woman, children there eyes usually wide open as there faces were locked in a terrifying shock. Most of them had there necks ripped open as if mauled by some ferociously sinister beast. In the sewage water, he would discover if he chose to look yet more corpses bobbing or doing a dead mans float in there shallow grave. This place seemed less like a sewer and more like a crypt with every passing moment. Splashed blood was plastered on the walls on the floor and on just about anything and everything one could imagine, it was old dry and crusting off.

Had he decided to venture even further he would see Rip Van Winkle from a short distance just out of the range of light that his torch provided, she stood there her smile widened with wicked and malicious glee. Unveiling her razor sharp teeth which glistened like polished pearls as her eyes seemed to glow like orbs of moonlight which was merely the light reflected from the glasses she wore. Her body was drenched in darkness making her lith stalky form hard to make out but she appeared to be in a formal suit, she looked more demon then vampire.

There was only silence with the exception of the cackling flames of his torch.

Your gift of light betrays you.

[Roith]

When Roith descended into the sewers he had a vague idea of what he was getting himself into, but on the whole what he had expected to find was a single looted corpse in a convenient dumping ground. Roith had supposed that the worst that he would discover was, maybe, the dumping ground of a local gang. So there could be a few more unlucky corpses; but nothing he had imagined came close to the truth. As Roith descended those last few stair's the pungent, sickly-sweet smell of death rolled over him. It was not the overpowering smell of sewage that greeted him, but the memories of blood, pain, and bloated bodies festering in the hot Althanas sun. The memories were so powerful that he had to pause and collect the remains of his newly wrought determination.

Lifting his hand over his bandanna to help further stifle the stench, Roith lifted his torch a little higher to try and discover the source of the smell, but so far there was no evidence of what was causing it. More than likely he would have to venture further into what he now considered likely to be a deathtrap. Following the smell of decay, Roith mulled over who would be most likely to have done something like this. His first two guesses had gone flying out the window when he had gotten a good whiff of the air, now he was thinking serial killers or cultists. He was so lost in thought he almost missed the first body.

It was an old man...or at least it HAD been an old man. The corpse was shrunken and derelict, as was common among the long dead, but there seemed to be a gaping wound that extended from the neck to the shoulder. Upon closer inspection it appeared to Roith as if something had just torn a large chunk of flesh from the man’s throat. At first he was sure the he had been attacked by a large vicious dog, but as Roith thought about it, it made less and less sense. The bite wound showed only two teeth marks before disintegrating into a mass of torn flesh. A dog's bite would have left dozens of such marks. Roith had no idea what manner of creature would leave such a horrible wound. Whatever it was, Roith was not about to be caught unawares. He only hoped whoever the old man was; he had at least died quickly.

Drawing his sword as a precautionary measure, Roith walked further in, only to be confronted with the main source of the smell and possibly one of the most horrible things he had ever seen. Men, women, children, faces frozen forever in fear and pain, limbs torn from sockets, decomposing bodies filled with gas and oozing pus. Roith thanked his foresight to cover his mouth and nose; otherwise he was sure he would have been sick right there among the putrid dead. Never before had Roith witnessed such savage cruelty, whatever had happened to these people, Roith had no doubt that it was done by an evil and intelligent mind. No natural animal would ever torture their victims in the ways some of these corpses were testament to. Only humans were ever this cruel.

Roith had had enough of this twisted place, screw the damn map, nothing was worth finding whatever broken mind had wrought this horror, but as he turned to leave something caught his eye. A small bloodless hand with an intricate leather bracelet was protruding from underneath one of the other corpses. Roith's face instantly became pale, and with less concern for the dead then he otherwise would have shown, unceremoniously kicked the other corpse off of the small, pale figure below it. There, in a position that seemed like she was merely sleeping, lay a little girl maybe six years old with long dank honey blond hair. She was dressed in rags, but her face seemed serene and peaceful. Roith remembered she'd had the prettiest pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen.

In the time Roith had spent with the Aravelle's only one thing had made the months of aggravation less frustrating, and that was spending a small amount of time each day with one of the Aravelle's main house 'slaves'. Lia was a very quiet girl, she had been sold to The Aravelle's by her father to pay off a debt. She was often beaten and scorned whenever she wasn't quite quick enough to fetch the water or wash the dishes. So she had often reminded Roith of one of his father’s particular dogs. Roan had been a small, weak, and timid dog but he was also sweet and loyal. Perhaps that's why he befriended the girl, and it took a whole week of coaxing that appeared to be an inclination to pretend he didn't see her hiding behind bookcases whenever he passed by, to get her to say two words to him. But he never raised a hand to her in anger, and perhaps that was why she liked him. He had given her that bracelet as a farewell present two days before he left.

Judging from rigor mortis she had only been dead for maybe a day, The Aravelle's would probably just assume she'd run away. Strangely she lacked the savage bite marks most of the other bodies had, and he wondered why she had been spared the violence of the other victims. Her wounds were many but neat and bloodless, with marks on her neck, shoulder, and arms. Two. Small. Twin. Bite marks. Realization shot through him like a knife and he sprang from the ground with horror and blood curdling rage in the same instant. "Vampire!" Roith could feel his body tremble with his anger, but he held himself absolutely still, knowing that if he didn't he might fly off into one of the rage's of his childhood. When his anger had congealed into a smoldering coal in his chest, he gently reached down and undid the leather bracelet around her wrist before slowly fastening it around his own.

The vampire would pay.

[Jillian Dawn]

Jillians body sprang cold, shivering chills through her. She pulled her dark jacket around her pale figure. My body was suffering a fever only a vampire could survive; cold, utterly cold and empty. I pulled my jacket even closer to my form as the air whipped around my silver hair. My hair played on my shoulders as I tossed it aside. My fangs ached as i bit my cold, wet lip. I merely wished my attire not to fall into a state of disorder.
The oak trees shone dark grey and colors around me as I pranced gracefully around the streets seeking whom I may devour.
My hands drawn around my side that was shaking from the lack of blood. My eyes were onyx and suductive, my body was readying itself for my attack. Now the question was who was to be the lucky victom. Then my nostrils flared, my neck stiffened and my claws became stronger and lengthened. My face responded in a violent and distinctive smile that reminded me of what I was. There was a sweet osmatic scent in the light, night air that made my mouth start watering. I followed the metalic smell to a sewer entrance, it was dark and gloomy and not the usual place to find human victoms. The smell was to overpowering that its strong thick hands pulled me by the neck down into the sewer trail. My small figure was easily smitten with the dark and cold location that i needed not shiver any longer. My mark was set on blood.
I lightly started roaming the tunnels, following the blood scent like a vigerous honey bee to a fully pollinated rose. The act of the game is patience and a graceful dance, I reminded myself. I paused in one instant to find fear stricken victoms. Lots and lots of victoms. Children. Adults. Elders. Teenagers. They lay their, eyes wide and faces dark as shadows fell upon them. Their bodies lie cold, motionless and stiff in the dark wet tunnels of the sewer. Hundreds it seemed. My face scrunched up into an unsatisfying glance. This is not what I wanted to find, but from the place I was looking into I should have imagined it. My gray sartorial fell straight to my knees as I stood with a choak in my heart as I glanced about the wounds and rips on the necks and shoulders. This was only the work of another child of the night. Jillians porcelain, dainty hands curled into small fists. She knew this being of the same species as herself was responsible for this disaster. She wanted no part in this. This was only a revolting and chaotic way of feeding and it repulsed her to the point of retch.
She smelled the rotting decay of flesh but also of life. She took in another scent of air through her lungs and stood processing the smell she recieved. It was alive. It was somewhere close.

[Roith]

Ok well, since I'm not sure if Rip Van Winkle is still active, I'm going to post under the assumption that her character is either hiding or just not around anymore.


Roith gazed at Lia's small, frail body for a moment longer before pushing further into the dank sewers, completely unaware that he now might have to deal with two vampires. The further he ventured, the fresher the corpses became. The prospect of being close to the object of his new born hatred sparked a savage burning in the center of Roith's chest. He could feel his heart pounding with the heat of his anger.

With the torch held high to illuminate his path, Roith finally came to a rusted door set into the stone, it was splashed with blood and the hinges looked as if they were nearly rusted through. A small part of Roith, the part of himself that was still rational, squirmed at the thought of opening the door. Roith had never seen or met a vampire before, the little he knew of them was composed of stories he was told as a child and the fearful whispers of superstitious farmers.

Some stories said they were beautiful and deadly creatures of the night, cold tempters that would lean in for a kiss and leave with a life. Other's told of grotesque monsters that sulked in the shadows and stole children from their beds when their mothers were asleep. Roith had no idea which version he should believe, in all likelihood the truth would be a mixture of the two. In both versions however, vampire bites were described as two puncture marks placed on the throat or arms, which left smooth bloodless wounds. He thought that this particular monster was probably one of its species messier eaters.

Grasping the handle on the door, Roith had to use a good deal of force to yank it open. When it finally gave way, it emitted a loud screeching groan that Roith imagined would echo for at least half a mile in all directions. So much for stealth. Holding his torch like a brand, Roith stepped cautiously into the spacious room, his sword at the ready in case of danger. Nothing happened. The room was large but not huge, and contained two bare mattresses, a crude wooden table with a single candle, a few chairs, and a corpse. The walls were composed of the same damp brickwork that made up the rest of the sewer so Roith had to assume that this was originally meant to be used as some sort of underground storehouse. The feeble torchlight failed to reveal any fanged attackers but he did spot the blue and green tunic that signified a vassal in the service of the Aravelle's.

Walking over to the vampire's latest victim, Roith examined the blood soaked tunic with dull expressionless eyes. Almost too calmly, Roith bent down and pulled some papers from the dead man's satchel. They belonged to Roith, and the corpse wouldn't need them anymore. Stuffing them into his own pouch, Roith once more swept the room with his torch. Again, nothing. Something flashed at the corner of his eye, and Roith whirled around, his sword poised to strike. Unfortunately, there weren't any creatures of the night volunteering to throw themselves on his blade. No matter how hard he looked, anything past the circle of light cast by his torch was just shadows and smoke. Roith thought he'd gotten a vague impression of strange silver eyes, but now he was wondering if it had been his imagination. There were only two exits to the room, one leading deeper into the aqueducts, the other going back the way he'd come. The door he'd come in through remained wide open, Roith had kept it that way so he could beat a quick retreat if he needed too, but now his mind was not concerned with escape.

Mounting his torch on one of the brackets on the wall, Roith dragged one of the chairs towards the corner of the room and turned it so that the back of the chair was facing the rest of the enclosure. Settling himself into his new seat, Roith rested his arms on the back of the chair, his drawn sword resting comfortably against his thigh. The wall at his back reassured Roith with the knowledge that at the very least, nothing would be able to sneak up on him. Drawing one of his throwing knives from its place at his belt, Roith settled down to wait. The monster had to return to its den at some point, and when it did, Roith wasn't going to show any mercy.

[Jillian Dawn]

I had seen him, that young man. His features were stong and his muscels seemed to buldge from his original arm structure. I watched this casual and ordinary male with his body ready to strike at a given moment but his heart feared for his own life. I walked ever so quietly around the barriade of corpses scattered around my feet. My stealth performance was even and light.

I watched him, waiting for him to take a sudden direction when he noticed my shadow. Of course, if he noticed my shadow. My eyes traced his legs and feet ready for a sudden motion distinguishing his attack. My heart was cold and dead with not a single breath escaping from my cheast. My temperature was an ever dropping degree and my eyes were wet with the wanting of thirst. I was sure not to let out a quick hiss or groan with the sudden lusting of his sweet aroma. My arms made not a sound as they grasped the side of the stone cold wall.

The smell of blood delightened me ever so much as my full, red lips curled into a devilsh smile that would have let away my intentions immediately to anyone who would've seen. I had no pulse and my life had no soul.
I waited for my prey carefully. Patience, I reminded myself. Yet somehow I knew he wasn't in here for me. He was looking around carefully, searching. Searching for what? A swift, cold draft flew from the hall with a cold and sweet smell being carried down the hallway. The strong smell was painful and paralyzing to my mind as it was to my nasal passages. I knew without a doubt that it was another vampire. I knew which direction she was coming from and also knew her intentions.

I smelt a fight brewing and felt no need to be a cause of trouble. My small figure danced backwards towards the far end of the hall, my eyes remained steadfast on the man. If the creature he was searching for was of my own nature, he would need more help than he had with him. Yet, I knew I had underestimated his endurance and perseverance. I remaind far enough he could not smell the olfaction of my person, yet if her decided to turn and leave from the direction of which he came, he would surley see me.