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Spoiler

Welcome to the IC for The Blood Chronicles: Crimson. This thread is for IC posts only, and all OOC should be directed to the intchk thread. Take consideration in reading the following post, for it is very important in starting this journey and making its time here successful. If you have any questions, state them in the intchk or PM me personally. If you have not been accepted, DO NOT post.

CRIMSON
|Intchk|Rayna Morgan|Jeremiah Greene & Victoria Gibbons|
|Melodie Holland|Thomas Montgomery & Tobias Wright|Bailen Grey|

Baton Rouge, a territory founded by the French in 1719.

A belittling city in the midst of a vast and Southern Louisiana, was consumed in a shadow of poverty, sickness, and death. Sitting just on the port of the Mississippi, Baton Rouge would not become the Capital of Louisiana for another thirty-seven years, and far by that time it would already have been captured by Union Admiral David Farragut during the Civil War. But now, before Louisiana was even admitted into the Union, it was a piece of land inhabited by the Cajun and the French. The homeless lined the streets, flickering lantern lights illuminating the spacious darkness as the Crescent moon hung above in a navy blue sky.

Our story begins in a run down, rat infested warehouse...Baton Rouge, 1734. Louisiana summers were blistering and humid, even the evenings left you wishing you could peel away your skin. The smell of rotting wood after the recent fallen summer rain was pungent, leaving the once dust swept cobblestone wet with rain and mud, a slick surface where puddles would reflect the skies above. The abandoned building creaked and drops of water made a consistent and never ending 'splish-splash' noise that echoed effortlessly. Where there was once a door was a gaping hole in the wall, and inside, hidden by the dim light of a candle, was a mess of rubble, wood and rock. A fire, two years before, ruined this home and killed a family. There was no money to fix it...so they left it. Sitting, open for anyone to use as shelter...or something more.

“Here...Of all the places-”

“Yes! Just shut up and lay down”

“Are you sure you have the money?”

“My patience is growing thin with you, lay down or you'll get nothing.”

The snide and edge of the man's accent was far from appealing, yellow rotted teeth behind chapped colorless lips made an unveiling appearance as he gestured to a tattered cotton and wool stuffed mattress that looked like it had seen better days. There were variously colored stains decorating the top, some red...others yellow. It was then that another silhouette emerged from the shadows, the source of a much lighter and feminine voice. A red haired maiden, pale skinned and slender, stood before it and glanced over her shoulder at the Uniformed man who had since begun to undo the many ivory buttons on his coat. She eyed every button like an animal; ivory buttons were worth more than a loaf of bread, yet any food was enviable at this point- her ribs would well show through her pale flesh had she not been dressed in the rag gown and brown corset.

“Well, What are you waiting for, m'dear?”

Her sharp green eyes followed his fingers down to the buckle of his belt, but before she could say one word more the harsh blow of his hand to her face sent her down across the bed mat, blunt rocks and other objects poking up through the material as she landed. A very insignificant bit of blood dripped from her left nostril, a look of hesitation and regret shallow in her expression as the Soldier grinned down at her, having removed himself from most of his attire.

“I told you my patience was growing thin. Now...We can't have you in any of this...”

His calloused and cold hands reached down and got a good handful of her corset before ripping it open in a swift fluid motion, exposing her breasts, soft pink nipples, and her beautifully defined collarbone and neck. The look in her eyes was almost as if she had wished this was a dream, and the look in his eyes was greedy and disgusting, an unshaven and unkempt man in his 50s towering over a girl who looked no older than her early 20s. His hands slid down from one of her breasts, and slipped underneath the ratted rag skirt of her dress, spreading her legs just in time for him to position himself on top of her. His putrid breath in her face, his weight leaning over her; this was it, the end of her innocence, and for what? Survival. She closed her eyes tightly and prepared for-- nothing. In a split second his weight was gone, followed by several stomach turning noises...succulent slurping, the ripping of flesh and breaking of bones.

The maiden opened her eyes, and saw nothing, for somewhere with in this seemingly sudden line of action the candle had been blown out, and now the only light that was left to spare was that of the moonlight as it shone down through the cracks and open ceiling of the building. Fear struck her heart as it raced within her bare chest, arms wrapping around herself. She crawled to the edge of the mattress and peered into the blind abyss and wished for the first time in her life she could see in the dark. A cold chill fell across her shoulders, and a looming figure crept from every strand of moonlight to the next, followed by a sickening 'thud'.

“Hello, my lovely...What have we here?”

This accent, nearly opposite of the Soldier who had minutes before been mounting her, was clear as crystal and very alluring, and had a lullaby affect. The chill licked at her skin as the figure neared a large patch of moonlight, revealing the tall silhouette of a man, who appeared to be dark haired, the shadows on his face making it impossible to make out any specific features. The young girls eyes widened and her lips parted to scream, and yet...no noise came from them, for in an instant the figure was upon her, cold clammy hand covering her mouth as the other wrapped around her neck.

“No, no, no...None of that. If you Scream, I will kill you. Is that clear?”

She nodded quickly, tears now wetting her cheeks as his hand left her mouth. He knelt before her and took her hand in his, pulling it against his face. She shuttered, uttering few words.

“Y-y-your...So cold....”

The Southern and French sounds to her voice forced a subtle sigh out of him, this powerful creature. His idle hand brushed the wandering strands of hair from her face, parting it from her neck as his body leaned forward. There was no breath in her face this time, no evidence of breathing at all, just an awry cold silence as he fondled her warm skin and tilted her head side to side.

“It is only once in a lifetime a person is granted a miracle, sometimes never...I am your miracle, I am your angel, reciting your life's end in this intimate flesh that bounds you to Earth. I am your dark angel, here to deliver to you a dark end that will silence all the pain...all the misfortune...all the sickness and poverty...forever.”

“You're going to kill me...You are! Help! HELP!”

His hands quickly left their idle places and forced her into his arms with his hands conveniently placed around her neck. A smirk played his lips as she frantically and helplessly struggled in his grasp.

“No, I said I'd kill you...if you screamed.”

Her body fell still, realizing exactly what she had done; she had condemned herself. He slowly turned her around and let her stare upon her faceless attacker, his hands tilting her head to one side, exposing the curve of her neck and the pulsing vein protruding from its side. He licked his lips hungrily, the lust in his eyes glinting and beaming like daggers as he leaned in, so close he could smell the fear evaporating off from her, feel the shake in her bones. Two razors slid by the hilt in his gums, dragging slowly and tauntingly across her throat before stopping.

“Goodnight, Ma Chéri, lest we meet again.”


New Orleans, 1812.


The sun was just beginning to set in the sky, making way for purple and pink clouds to surrender under the glowing ball of light as it started to fall behind the horizon. Deep with in the city where lovers walked hand in hand, and carriages danced up and down the lantern lit streets, was a variety of Victorian structured buildings and wooden shacks, that made up this Cajun township-- home to one of most famous ports in the US, it's newly found home since Louisiana submitted to the Union the Spring before. The streets were muddy and poorly built, but so was most everything around this time. Poverty didn't change its tastes much in the span of only seventy-eight years. There were whore houses, bars, taverns, and saloons amongst many other places you'd find in any city at this time; food market, tailor shop, blacksmith workshop, barber shop, womens apparel, town square, parks, the harbor and even the shipyard where ships brought in many spices and goods that supplied the town with all of its delicacies.

In one house, a tall and much more luxurious Victorian home painted dark red and white, was sitting on the corner just down the street from the harbor, where you could see the ships if you merely walked outside. It was surrounded by an intimidating black iron spear-gate that opened up to a long brick pathway leading through a few patches of dead grass and flowers. A massive wooden door standing at nearly ten feet tall had golden handles that shined like real gold-- if only they were – but inside was a dusty old home that looked like it hadn't been cleaned for half a century. Spiderwebs stretched from corner to corner, housing many black widows. Thick blankets of dust and dirt lined the window sills, and everything was so cluttered that if it weren't for the dim lighting you would suspect that no one lived here. But someone did live here, in fact someone very important, or not as important as with whom they were sheltering.

“Come now, Hold still or I'm not going to be able to patch it up.”

A quivering old mans voice, rusty and cracked with age, rose to a fragile echo that bounced repeatedly off the twenty-foot tall shelves standing around the room, each shelf stacked to the brim with every book you could possibly think to read. A hesitant grunt followed, with the implication of severe pain, the shadows of these two beings cast against the beige wall, the only space where a book shelf did not stand, if only to make room for a fireplace.

“Ah, Fuck...Hurry up, for Christs sake!”

This voice, much more lively and young than that of the old man's-- had a Southern French accent that was impossible to mistake for anything else but a true resident of New Orleans. A young looking woman, lying on her side and on top of a wooden table beside the fireplace, had a look of utter discomfort in her eyes as she winced and gritted her teeth. The old man, dressed in slacks and many silken robes, with his white beard hanging down past his chest, lent over her side and used a needle and thread to begin stitching up a disinfected wound on her shoulder that had begun to discolor, the rivets of dried blood turning dark red.

“Patience is a virtue, Child.”

The old man finished, pulled the needle away from her flesh and cutting the string where it ended, sewing her flesh and bounding it together. The woman let out a relieved sigh, rolling onto her back and then into a sitting position, her eyes peering curiously down at her shoulder, careful not to touch it for fear of irritating the wound. She had long tresses of scarlet red hair that shone crimson in the dim light, and illuminated her sheer pale skin and rouge colored lips. As she turned away from the old man, the light dawned on the exposed side of her neck and revealed two close scars parallel from each other, just over the jugular. The man did not seem surprised for he knew her story, even knew who she was.

“Randall...I've got to do this, for myself at the very least. I've fought, killed, slain and slaughtered-- some innocent, most not.”

Her tone was matter-of-factly towards the end, where the old man came to sit beside her, bringing with him his glasses and a book.

“The oracle foreshadows fate, Rayna, it does not tell you how to live your life-”

“That's nothing to do with this! I'm tired of petty search..I will find him. I will end him.”

Randall sighed and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, wrinkled face encasing two blue eyes a crooked nose and sunken lips forever held in a pout from years of dissappointment and pain.

“I suppose I can't stop you then...but I can help you.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. You can't go on this journey alone, and wherever he is, you know he's not foolish enough to be near. Of all the supernatural in this town, all the witches, warlocks, and sorcerers like myself- there is one that can help you. Melodie Holland, is her name. Find her.”

Rayna raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“You think I need help?”

The old man chuckled and merely pressed his thumb to the still sore wound on her shoulder, well expecting the loud grunt as Rayna swatted his hand away and glared...then frowned and looked away.

“Okay, I see your point...how do I find her?”

“She's around. Be careful though, she is a slippery one, and may not go willingly.”

“Oh don't you worry about that, I'll take care of it.”

The two exchanged looks before she stood, dressed in a long black leather trench coat, a crimson corset that fit tight to her hips, and black denim leggings that disappeared into the tops of her sturdy black boots with silver buckles pinned to the side.

“Do you have everything you need?”

The woman smiled and pulled open her trench coat-- at first, any man would think she was refering to her obviously defined figure that would allure any slime ball-- but Randall did well to notice the sharp sterling silver daggers holstered at her waist. Rarely did she use guns, she felt they were not as creative as a blade. With that she turned and started towards the exit of the circular library.

“Wait! I have one more thing for you.”

The man reached into one of his robes and held out a golden locket and chain. Rayna was confused at first, but took it, hanging it around her neck where the pendant at the end disappeared into the shadows of her cleavage.

“It's good luck, whenever you need some...just open it.”

“Thank you Randall Mason...You are my good friend, like my Father. I promise I will return soon, I shan't forget you.”

She was gone. Disappeared behind the doors as they closed behind her and the wise sorcerer whispered, well beyond her hearing,

“I know you won't.”

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Moonlight filtered in through the broken window, the rotten pews and cobweb filled altar, the only signs the building had once been a church or parish. A small fire in the corner showing signs of an inhabitant, a ragged figure sat silhoquetted against the musty backdrop of the only solid remaining support beam. Bailen surely was a cursed sight, a scraggly beard, unkept, greasy hair and a smell that bespoke of at least a months worth of caked on sweat, grime, dirt and what appeared to be dried blood. His eyes stared at the dancing flames, the haunted look of a man who had seen things not meant for humankind clear on his gaunt face. Sleep meant letting his guard down, something Bailen could ill afford to do.

The memories were the hardest thing to deal with. Waking up after the change had taken over, seeing the bodies, always the bodies. Torn, slashed, shredded and dismembered. Bailen had begun to numb himself to the sight of the gaping holes in the corpses chests, the smell of entrails and blood hardly phased him now. But it was at night, or more frequently, whenever he closed his eyes, the beast would allow him to see the killing, the savage, primal and extremely brutal acts of violence. It was those images and then the actual memories that seemed to unlock in his mind that haunted Bailen. His secluded lifestyle was not helping him either, he knew he should seek help, there had to be others like him who could teach him to control, no not control, but accept what he was.

A rumbling noise brought Bailen out of his musings, hunger seemed to call to the beast more so than the savage acts of murder. That was why Bailen tried to eat sparingly during the day, if the change happened then the creature would, hopefully, spend the night searching for food, at least that was Bailen's plan.
The beast, it seemed always had other ideas. Bailen glanced over at the remains of a young dark haired woman, she could have only been in her late teens. The beast had dragged her mangled corpse back here for Bailen to find, the primal instincts of an animal had outsmarted Bailen's rational mind.

A glimmer of hope had presented itself to Bailen, he had overheard a group of travellers talking about a string of strange killings. At first Bailen had thought he had been discovered and was ready to flee the area. He stayed to listen however, fortune smiled upon him then, the name of "Rayna" was dropped and he felt a slight relief it was not him the men were discussing. Having know idea who this person was, Bailen tailed the group to a settlement outside of Louisianna, he saw wanted posters on almost every wall portraying a delicate looking woman. Bailen knew better than to take people on face value, after all look at what he was.

He would leave his sanctuary, it had been a temporary reprieve at best. With an image and a name, Bailen hoped to find some answers, perhaps even some way of curing himself. Then again, if she did not prove willing to help him, there was always the very tempting reward to collect on her pretty head. Bailen doused the fire and decided to leave that night, he could already feel the beast stirring, just below the surface. The change would happen soon and Bailen thought it best to be a lot further away from any human's, he didnt want to leave a trail that could be followed. The beast, once again, had other ideas.

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RP's I am currently in...

Reclaiming The Ruins- Draven Rissack
Camelot: Age of Arthur- Merlin Ambrosinius
Age Of The Dragon- Chaise Polden

On the out skirts of New Orleans, a large stone manor sat. It was a beautiful two story building that was nearly a hundred years old with, and it looked as though it had stood the test of time and would continue to do so. The luscious and perfectly cultivated gardens that surround the house where encased by massive stone walls. The manicured bushes and flower beds lined the smooth cobblestone walkways, and the small secluded areas that dotted the gardens were filled with fountains and benches. The fall flowers and plants were in full bloom, and the trees were tinged with different colors.

Even for autumn, the day was humid and sticky, so every window of the manor was thrown open, and the faint sound of a violin drifted from one of the top floor windows. The music stopped with a sudden screech, and a man's voice broke the ensuing silence. "Mademoiselle! Are you feeling ill?" he asked softly in his thick French accent. Monsieur Benoit stepped forward quickly and grabbed the instrument as it slipped from the girl's slender fingers. Victoria Gibbons stood staring blankly at the wall, as if she were listening to some shocking conversation.

Her beautiful pale face suddenly lit with excitement as she turned blue eyes to her instructor. "Oh Monsieur! I've found her! Oh, where is my dear uncle? I must tell him the news!" she said excitedly as she turned away from the older man and stepped lightly toward the polished wood door. Sir Knobb had found the little vampiress that her uncle was searching for, and she was ecstatic to tell him. "Jeremiah," she called as she left the music room. She was certain the man was not within the house, but she knew where ever he was he had most likely heard her. You could not hide much from a werewolf.

She paused on the stairway at some silent comment and turned her head to look back down the bright hallway. "Where did you say he was? Oh dear, well that does not matter. I need to speak with him," she said to some unseen person. One of the spirits that was trapped in the home, Sir Knobb, had been a silent companion of hers since she had come to live with Jeremiah, and she rather enjoyed the company of ghosts, even if unnerved her uncle and the rest of the house staff.

Hurrying from the house with her blonde curls flying behind her, Victoria found her uncle exactly where Sir Knobb had said he would be. A large gray wolf-like creature stood near the stable at the back of the house. It's muzzle was stained with blood, and when it caught sight of her, it turned quickly away with a warning growl. Victoria sighed and hurried to follow her uncle into the stable. "Uncle, do not be silly. I have seen you Change dozens of time. Please, we must speak! I know where your Halfling is! The spirits found her," she spoke as she entered the barn. She could hear the sickening crunch and crack of bones behind one of the stall doors, so she stopped at the doors knowing that Jeremiah would be furious if she walked in on him.

With a more human growl, Jeremiah shoved the stall door open. He had pulled a pair of tattered pants on for decency’s sake. He leveled a cold blue gaze on his young ward. "Why did you not wait to tell me this?" he asked. His voice was deep and angry with a vague British accent. He had been around the French and Cajun influences too long, so he had lost the thick accent he had picked up from his family, in Canada all those years ago.

Yanking his mind from the past, he stepped forward and gripped Victoria's arm. The blood on his hands smeared on her white cotton dress, but he paid little heed. "You are a foolish child! How many times must i warn you against coming so close while I am Changed? It is dangerous. I have full control over myself, but not everyone of my kind does. Now, do your spirits know where the woman is?" His voice was sharp and scolding as he spoke and lead her from the stable.

Monsieur Benoit stood on the steps of the manor, but disappeared back inside the building when the two appeared. Jeremiah hired loyal people, humans who had had dealings with supernatural world, and where not going to reveal any secrets of his.

Victoria had followed his glance, but smiled back up at the large man, "Their ideas were vague, but they did find the body of another vampire, and my sailor saw her earlier today near the docks.

Jeremiah nodded and gave the girl a small smile with his previous anger now forgotten. "That small amount of information is better than what we had before. Please, go change your dress, and I will wash up. We are going to take a trip into town. Let us see if we can find our prey." He released her arm with a glance at the stain. "Do not where anything too fine. I will be a simple merchant, so dress accordingly." He watched as the girl nodded brightly and ran off to obey his order. He hated to have to bring her along, but since the Pack had made their threats against his ward, the man refused to be too far from her. He was not about to those beasts to harm his precious child. Calling for Elsa, the maid, to draw water for him to wash, he followed the girl into his home.

__________________

"No madam, I'm sorry but you can't have a refund on a perfume because it makes your husband feel lightheaded. It's written on the sign.", Melodie said as she pointed behind her to the poster which had all of the return and exchange policies inscribed upon it in elegantly stylized handwriting. The short, pudgy woman standing across the counter have her a very nasty look before huffing loudly and stomping out of the store, obviously without forgetting to slam the door angrily just in case Melodie hadn't picked up on the other subtle hints that she was upset. It took quite a bit of self control just to keep from magically sewing the woman's lips shut or inflating her tongue to the point where she choked on it, but the witch managed to keep her temper in check.

Melodie was generally very nice to her customers even though she didn't really need to be. Sure, her products were a bit pricier than the other similar ones in New Orleans, but they were of far greater quality that anyone else's. She could afford to be a total bitch without losing almost any customers, if any at all, but she preferred to be as accommodating to them as reasonably possible. Her kindness was not to be confused as naivety, however, as she could easily tell when somebody was attempting to take advantage of her and didn't appreciate that at all. Such was the case with this woman in particular. Every time she bought something, whether it was perfume, a balm or something else, she would always return a week or two later with an empty bottle or container and some excuse as to why it didn't work for her. Melodie had given her the benefit of the doubt the first time, but by this time which was already the fifth, the little circus act was beginning to test her nerves.

Mumbling a few choice words as her unhappy customer stormed out, Melodie reached down below the wooden counter for a little box on of the shelves and pulled something out of it. It was in fact one of her own inventions and one that was quite popular with her female clientele: a thin vanilla flavored cigarette. Of course it also came in a variety of other aromas, but that was Melodie's personal favorite. Since she was alone, the girl simply pressed her index finger on the little roll's tip to light it before placing it in between her lips and taking the first puff. It had an instant soothing effect on her, so the annoying experience that had happened just moment earlier was already beginning to fade away like the wisp of white smoke that she'd just exhaled into the air.

Suddenly noticing how hot it had gotten within the small shop, Melodie gently sponged her forehead with a cream colored handkerchief that as lying around before making her way around the counter and out the door. The heat was only slightly less intense outside, but it was enough of an improvement for her to feel a bit more comfortable while she finished off her cigarette. The sun was beginning to set and the road was already mostly deserted as most people went home to their families to have supper or whatever else regular people did. The activity around town wouldn't really pick up again until a few hours later when the moon was out and the nightlife officially took over. Her neighbors were already closing up shop, and since it didn't look like she'd be receiving any other clients, Melodie decided to follow suit.

She was actually quite lucky to be located where she was. Right between two of the trendiest woman's clothing stores in town, and she got along well with both of the owners. They often traded things between each other, which was nice because Melodie enjoyed being well dressed, and on top of that a good presentation was also good for her own business. Caroline Richman, the proprietor of the store to the right of her own had just finished locking up and waved over towards Melodie before heading off, to which the girl smiled and returned the gesture. She seemed like a pretty decent woman from what Melodie knew of her, which admittedly wasn't too much other than business oriented details, and her corset designs were nothing short of heavenly.

Casually flicking her cigarette butt to the ground before crushing it with the heel of her boot, the young witch headed inside to collect her purse containing all of the day's gains before calling it a day. The heavy chain and lock on her door was more for show than anything else, since she had far more efficient methods already in place to protect herself from any sort of robbery, but it was a good deterrent nonetheless. Having had a pretty rough day at work, Melodie was eager to get home so that she could wash up and change into something more comfortable and not as warm, but the same could be said for just about every day of the week. She by far preferred inventing things, which she did at home in total privacy, rather than actually standing in a store all day and selling them. That being said, she also had somewhat expensive tastes for most things such as food, clothing and not to mention new ingredients or materials to experiment with, so hiring somebody to run the business for her was out of her current means.

Always in a hurry to get back to the comfort of her home, Melodie took the usual shortcuts that other women and even most men would seldom ever risk taking. She obviously wasn't afraid of common thugs or bandits, and she was capable of being very discreet if the need to protect herself ever arose, so it was no big deal to her. Unfortunately, the witch brushed by a danger that she hadn't anticipated, and by the time she'd noticed it was already too late. A freshly painted fence, and nobody had been bright enough to at least put up some kind of sign! And now the exquisite peach dress that she'd been wearing had a gigantic black stain splattered across the fabric, enough to send any woman into a blind rage.

Luckily she happened to be in an area behind some sort of business establishments that were already closed for the night, so there was nobody around to see lips and nails flicker from light pink to a deep, crimson red. If she gave the paint time to dry and sink in, then not even the greatest mage in the world would be able to get it out, and there was no way that Melodie was going to let that happen. Double checking that she was indeed alone, she huddled up into the nearest corner and placed her satchel on a crate as she began sifting through it. Producing a small vial filled with a clear liquid that resembled water but was obviously something else from the depths of her bag, she quickly removed its cork and poured it over the stained portion of the fabric. After uttering a few words and waving her hand over the affected area, the liquid that she'd applied ignited into a bright purple flame that died out after no more than half a second, taking the black paint with it. Melodie carefully inspected her work, and after confirming to herself that she'd done a good job and undone all of the damage, a deep sigh of relief escaped her lips as she packed up her things and prepared to continue on her way.

__________________

The gentle waves rolled under the moonlight, crashing softly into the harbor and teetering every ship in its shallow wake. The sky continued to darken as the night grew older, so much that the moonlight shining down was barely enough to illuminate a visible pathway; luckily the city lights of New Orleans kept anyone from being blinded in the dark. The large mansion doors creaked behind Rayna as she made her way out of the house, looking out on the waters as she stood on the porch deck of Randall Mason's property. She gripped the pendant in one hand as it hung around her neck, thinking quietly to herself for a moment...that she may never see the old man again.

Shaking those thoughts away she jumped down each step and hopped over the iron fence, her more-than-human speed made it look as though a blur had just bounced over the fence, not a person. Tousles of scarlet hair fell in her face, but were quickly swept away by pianist fingers as she scoped the area with keen emerald eyes. There was no one about, it was an abandoned neighborhood for the most part. Houses were torn down, decayed or destroyed by rebels; but this was a less than decent part of Louisiana. At the end of the corner was a lantern post that lit the cobblestone road for about 30 feet before fading into darkness once again. Rayna followed the light to the post before resting her hand on the cold steel and breathing in the stale air. It tasted like Cajun spice and mold, and smelt like death...not just any kind of death, a death that had taken place a while ago, but the body hadn't been discovered. Homicide rates were known to be high at this time, but never had patrolmen been so careless. The half-breed sniffed the hair once again and swung around the pole by one hand, stepping right into a dark alley on her left hand side.

It was silent-- a stray cat darted out of the shadows startling her, but she stood her ground, her shadow looking like a fearless demon crawling out of the depths of hell, and in a sense, that's exactly what she was...but she had fear, it was just hidden deep beneath her skin, where no one would ever find it...hopefully. The alley was mostly used as a trash-dump. Old clothes, garbage, a sewage rested there and any human could mistake the smell of death for this putrid place, but Rayna knew the difference. The smell was stronger here, the stench of dried blood and body fluids fragrant as she walked carefully and slowly through the rain water and garbage. Rats scurried back and forth around her feet, one being less fortunate than the rest as a sickening crunch churned from under her left foot. She lifted her foot and sighed in disgust, moving over and wiping her heel off on the brick wall, leaving a smear of red behind.

"Ugh...fucking disgusting..."

She muttered, kicking the rest of the rat carcass to the side before continuing through the trash, silently thanking her leather boots for keeping the water out. The smell suddenly rocketed, and she came to a stop, before a sack of garbage twice her size. Kneeling down, her intricate fingers pulled the bag open-- there was no need to dig any further. This wasn't a trash bag, it was a body bag. The mangled corpse of a small girl was inside, no older than seven when she was killed. She had bruises and cuts all over her body, and it appeared as though she had been strangled, tortured and raped before her heart stopped. Rayna shook her head and looked away from the young girls decayed face, buzzards having already eaten away at her eyes, leaving two black holes to stare back at her too-late-rescuer. Rayna would do the girl some honor by throwing her body in the harbor, but her hunger wasn't giving her that time. She covered the body with a piece of cloth lying around and said a short blessing before walking out of the alley from the other end.

Pale white skin turned clammy and emerald eyes began to fade black as her hunger started to erupt, pointed razor fangs sliding out from the pink gums of her mouth, as they always did when she was ready to feed on human blood. Town square was still vaguely lit up as the remainder of shops stayed open; mostly tailors and haberdasheries. All the women's apparel and such had been closed by now. Rayna's knuckles turned red as she balled her hands into fists and gazed upon an old homeless man walking with swagger in his step, an empty bottle of whiskey in his grasp as he stumbled towards town square. She slid towards the corner of a cannery, a large brick building that canned sardines and other seafood to pack into crates for the ships. There was a metal ladder leading up to the roof on the far side of it, and that was her destination, climbing it one foot at a time until she was atop the building and looking down on her potential prey. No...he was too old, not what Rayna had in mind. She thirsted for young blood, preferably from a hot blooded girl, that was her favorite. Something about the hormones of a female made the blood sweeter, thicker, the taste was savory. Since she is but a half-breed, she didn't need to feed every night, only once a week to satisfy her urges.

Jumping from roof top to roof top she went, coming into the entrance of town square which was almost as dead silent as the coast, except here...few people were still about, which is exactly what she had hoped for. It was like looking at a menu, and choosing your meal. She stood radiantly on the edge of the last building and glided down to the ground with an almost inaudible thud. There was a peculiar woman in a fine peach dress, very lovely looking if Rayna had to say. She looked familiar but she couldn't really put her finger on it....ah well, food was food, was it not? This damsel was the perfect young woman to quench her unstoppable thirst. Red lips curled from corner to corner in a sinister grin as she approached the woman, but stopped when her prey clumsily brushed against a wet fence. Rayna's mouth fell open as she watched from the shadows-- this woman magically removed the paint from her dress!

"A witch..."

She paused for a moment and remembered what Randall had said. Melodie Holland, owns a shop in town square...a witch! That's what was so familiar about her, Rayna mused, deciding she would spare the girls life after all if the old man swore she would be of some help. Emerging from the shadows, she approached the blonde witch from behind and swept an arm around her neck, keeping her still against Rayna's chest with her other hand placed conveniently over the woman's mouth. It was almost ironic, this little situation, considering Rayna knew what it was like to be on the other side of the table, in this girls shoes. Quietly came her whispered voice, lips centimeters from the curve of her neck.

"Hello Melodie, I've been looking for you. You can come cooperatively or we can do this the hard way. I'm going to let you go, and if you scream, or try anything witty, I will snap your neck like a twig. Got it, princess?"

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Thomas used to thoroughly enjoy sunsets. The colors of reds. blues, and oranges mixed into something beautiful. Something about the clash between light and dark, coupled with the chaos of nature... a wonderful thing. Indeed, there is nothing like a good sunset, the sun half here and half gone, the blazing orange glow illuminating clouds like fiery mirrors whose glow Thomas would bask in. Thomas wants to sigh in delight at the thought.

Instead, he is beyond impatient. The sunset has... lost its allure, with all things considered. It is no less beautiful, but now it tainted by danger. A vampire like Thomas, especially as old as Thomas, knows the danger of the sun. No matter how pretty it is, the sun is still a killer. Thomas likes living, so he stays away from the sun. The sunset has become a precursor to freedom away from the totally unsatisfactory waiting conditions he must endure each day.

Thomas takes a look at the wine cellar around him that fulfills the role of his daily prison.. It is smelly, damp, rat-infested, but most of all, it is out of the sun. The only light is from a single oil lamp on the small wooden table to Thomas' right. The lamp, like all of his furniture, is cheap and low-quality. Simple iron with a polished reflector behind the small flame. With Thomas' superior sight, only the tiniest amount of light is needed. Why waste money on wasted lamp oil? Thomas sure doesn't wish to waste his funds. His bed is more of the same. A simple cot, made of... well, he has no clue what it is made of. Some cheap scrap wood and a cloth. Canvas he thinks, but no matter what it is the stuff is itchy and bug-infested. You'd think the bugs would realize that vampires have no heartbeat, thus they do not bleed. Cut only bleed by gravity or from the force of the injury, so a tiny bite would barely bleed the slightest. But that would require a brain, and the bites on his legs and back are a testement to the bedbugs' and mosquitos' lack of intelligence. All the reason to leave and go out.

Thomas despises the waiting. The books on the small shelf to his left barely entertain him. He has read most of them more than twice since his stay in New Orleans. Not much chance to buy many. Few bookstores remain open all hours of the night. He must rely on the store owner above him to buy the books he can see through shop windows. He wishes he could simply bust in and take them, but then he could be discovered. Thomas must remain incognito as long as possible. The better to find the Half-Breed.

Thomas fingers a fountain pen while he thinks of her. It is a work of art, made of expensive hardwoods stained jet-black. It is engraved in silver with a phrase in Latin. "Carpe Noctem".Seize the night. It is fitting. The pen is totally silver, at least on the outside. One, it looks pretty, shiney too. The other is more practical, on par with the decorative thump spikes on his bladed gloves, and the solild silver gunbutt of his revolver. Thomas could, and has on one occasion, with the right leverage, ram a silver-tipped pen through the skull werewolf skull with little difficulty. Never hurts to have a backup plan. It's not like a human could actually hurt him!

But the woman, the half-vampire. "Find her and bring her here alive. Alive! You know of the prophesy..." he was told. Looks? Small, lithe, and beautiful. Like all other vampires! Red hair, curly. Like a tenth of all the people in New Orleans! Name? No idea. Thomas wanted to smash something at that point in the briefing. Basically they gave him a generic description, and couldn't even give him a name! The damn intelligence teams really fucked up.

Thomas listens to the shopkeeper above him close his shop and walk to bed. The man is a simple old person who sells wines, obviously. Mostly to the resuraunts in the city and rich aristocrats. Thomas, and by extension the vampires in general, have 'borrowed' the cellar to wait out the day. It was a simple enough trade: The room for protection from the whole suck-out-all-your-blood-and-kill-you thing. The old man was more than happy to be protected when the six vampires knocked on his door a month ago. He damn near fainted on the spot, his wife went all the way. She was on the ground in under two seconds when they bared their fangs partway through the negotiations. A record, Thomas is pretty sure.

The shopkeep always shuts up his shop for the night when the sun sets. Sunset is over, now I get to go out and play he thinks with a grin. Thomas gets up out of his cot and rummages through a small chest at it's feet. He pulls out a white linen shirt and simple black pants. He also grabs white undergarments, taking off all his clothes before slipping into the new ones in his hands. He has total privacy, he is sure. No one would want to disturb a vampire by intruding. Especially one as powerful as Thomas. And as hungry. Thomas ignores the hunger as he slips his broad shoulders into a black overcoat. Somewhat cliche, but Thomas care more about concealment than any dramatic irony. He slips on a black felt cowboy's hat. It is even more cliche than the black overcoat, if that is possible, but it also hides his pale skin. The brown gloves hide his hands, as do the brown leather boots. He clumps his way to the store's first floor after blowing out his lamp.

With a simple he walks leisurely into the alley next to the winery. His boots slash through the refuse easily, while his mind works with his eyes and nose. Eyes of the vampire view the world with a clarity beyond even cats. Sadly it is night vision, lacking most color. But it does view motion much easier, as night vision is capable of doing. Color vision for clarity and detail, night vision for motion sensing. Thomas ignores the slight blur and dullness with literally centuries of training. The winery is in a less well-off area for all it's rich clientele, which means less lighting. It takes many blocks before ranks of lamps banish the worst of the night. At the same time, his nose scents the air. He is looking for a special smell. Human, for Thomas is hungry. Young woman is the best in his opinion, as most vampires. Something about the hormones of a female made the blood sweeter, thicker, the taste more savory. Thomas doesn't run across rooftops, nor sprint through alleys. His nose will lead him to his dinner soon enough.

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Some advice for my enemies

'Cause life is a game that no one wins,
but you deserve a head start the way your life's goin',
So throw in the towel, 'cause your life ain't shit!
No, take that towel and hang yourself with it!
Life's short and hard, like a bodybuilding elf.
So save the planet and kill yourself!
If your feeling down and out with what your life's all about,
pick your head up high and blow your brains out!

Bailen's three day journey had been delayed, the beast inside him had deliberately left a "message". The man stood staring down at the three shredded corpses, burying them in a shallow grave seemed like the decent thing to do, that and it would hopefully cover his tracks, he couldnt allow himself to be found out. Not now that he had a purpose to this miserable existance.

Shoving the last of the soft earth into the hole he had dug with his bare hands, Bailen muttered a small prayer, he couldnt offer these nameless people anymore than that. At least he had some clothes to change into, the beast had left their carriage alone and Bailen had found a trunk inside with several changes of clothing. It was as if the beast wanted him to find these things, that thought didnt sit well with Bailen's already fragile pysche.

A small fast flowing stream ran past the narrow dirt packed road, Bailen washed the dirt and blood off him as best he could, washing his hair into some semblance of cleanliness as well. He would have to risk going to a barbers once he reached New Orleans, but before he did he would need to make some money. That was where the carriage, and more importantly, the horses would come in handy. He was not used to driving a carriage, it had been over a year since he had been in any normal situation like this one. Even this was far from normal, but it was all he had.

Guiding the carriage as best he could, the horses seemed to be well trained in their job, Bailen made his way down the last stretch of narrow road, as he reached the crest of the hill his keen ears picked out the sounds of night time activities in the sprawling town below. Down there he would find the one who he was looking for, down there he would either find his answers, or the woman called Rayna would find herself behind bars. Bailen needed the money, but he wanted the answers more, even if they could only tell him that which he had already figured out for himself.

Was he a damned thing, a cursed creature, doomed to torment and suffering as the creature locked inside him burst forth whenever it chose to, hunting and killing without remorse. Bailen feared this more than anything, he feared losing himself, losing Elsbeth had been bad enough, that wound woul dnever heal. But to lose himself completely, he would rather take his own life than face that eventuality.

Taking his chances with letting the horses pull the carriage at their own pace, Bailen slipped into the shirt and trousers he had found, to his dismay they were a little to large for his gaunt frame. After four months of starving himself to try and occupy the beast, Bailen knew he looked the part of one of the doomed. He wondered what the people of New Orleans would make of his bedraggled appearance, that and the fear they would chase him out of the place if someone recognised the horses or the carriage.

That sudden thought alone nearly had Bailen jump down and make a run for it, he steeled his resolve to his course, for better or worse, he needed to go down there, maybe being among humans would prove theraputic. He just hoped the beast would behave itself whilst he was there.

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RP's I am currently in...

Reclaiming The Ruins- Draven Rissack
Camelot: Age of Arthur- Merlin Ambrosinius
Age Of The Dragon- Chaise Polden

Though she was usually quite vigilant, Melodie was quite unlucky to have been taken by surprise the one time that she got distracted for a minute or two. After all, when she left her home, the girl had little more than the clothes on her back, so she was pretty familiar with how things worked in the darker corners of the city as well as how to stay alive. One wouldn't be able to guess from looking at her now with her fancy gowns and pretty hair, but she'd actually been forced to live on the streets of several for the better part of six months before finally settling in New Orleans. Even while being distracted, her particularly sharp sense of hearing should have warned her about any incoming dangers but it seemed that her assailant had moved in complete silence. Instinctively, Melodie let out a sharp shriek which was all but completely muffled as her hands shot up to grab the arm that was around her neck and she attempted to pry it away. It felt like trying to force a solid stone statue to move and yet the arm seemed no larger than her own. In her mind, the young witch simultaneously cursed her carelessness as well as that damned fence which she'd bumped into before her more curious and analytical side took over a moment later, attempting to determine what was going on.

Who was this person who'd just pounced on her from the shadows? It was rather hard to tell considering they were standing in back of Melodie and there were no reflective surfaces around for her to possibly use to see behind herself, but there were a few clues. First of all, she could feel that the fingers covering her mouth belonged to a distinctly feminine hand as they were too slender to belong to any man who'd reached adulthood. She could also partially see the top of her aggressor's index finger which sat right below her nose as well as feel what was definitely a pair of breasts pushing up against her back, further reaffirming her theory. That was strange in itself, as the vast majority of bandits and thieves roaming the streets were men, but it got much stranger.

Melodie's next realization really should have been her first, but for some reason it occurred to her rather slowly, perhaps because it was the first time that she'd had to make it. The woman's touch, it was cold. Perhaps in a different climate that wouldn't be cause for concern or warning bells, but in the warm and humid New Orleans night there's was definitely no way that a person's hands could keep so cool unless they'd dunked them in a bucket full of ice just moment earlier. The witch systematically searched her brain, sifting through all of the information that it had absorbed over the years to see if she could think of anything, a process which proved to be quite a bit more challenging than usual now that her life was possibly in grave danger.

A vampire, she finally remembered after spending far too much time to figure out such an obvious answer. The superhuman strength and speed, the cold touch, the word vampire explained everything. Melodie's knowledge about such creatures was actually pretty vast seeing as how they were one of the more "common" supernatural beings according to her mother who'd told her a good deal about them, but most of it wasn't really springing to mind too easily at the moment. Especially the part about what to do when a vampire has you completely helpless and is hovering just over your exposed neck, that was a complete blank. So what were her options, then? She'd sort of tried struggling already and came to the evident conclusion that it would be in vain, and being unable to speak prevented her from casting any of her more potent spells. It seemed like doing nothing was the best course of action, albeit a rather terrifying one since the witch knew that there was a good chance that she was about to become a blood donor.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Melodie braced herself for a pair of sharp fangs puncturing her flesh as her entire body began to tremble, but they never came. Instead, she heard the vampire whisper near her ear, giving her quite a grim ultimatum which she knew enough not to take lightly. Nodding quickly, the girl signaled that she agreed not to scream or do anything in exchange for the vampire letting go of her, which she finally did. Melodie took a step forward before turning around slowly so as not to seem like she was attempting some kind of hostile maneuver, and to say that she was surprised by what she saw would be very accurate. The woman in front of her seemed to be just about the same age as she was, which was strange to Melodie even though she knew that looks meant little when it came to such creatures. The vampire was also both beautiful and stunning, in no small part due to the fiery red mane resting atop her head, making her stand out from most other women.

Upon hearing that the vampire wanted her to play nice, a far more important question came to her mind. Why? What did this woman want with her in particular? Unless she really took playing with her food to an entirely new level, then Melodie had to assume that she was looking for something other than blood. She wasn't on of her clients in search for a discount or a freebie, that much was certain, and in fact the witch was certain that they'd never met before at all. After all, she would have remembered such a unique looking individual had their paths crossed before. As for enemies, Melodie didn't really have any to speak of since she didn't deal in anything illegal, or at least nothing that anyone knew about. In the end, she could only conclude that her magical ability was the reason for this unforeseen visit, but she had many other questions and they weren't going to answer themselves.

"Come where?", she inquired first, both curious and nervous as to where Rayna wanted to drag her. "And since you already seem to know my name, may I ask that you please share yours with me as well?" There was much more than Melodie wanted to know, but she figured that a barrage of questions probably wouldn't be very appreciated at that point in time so she kept it to a couple of basic questions and Gave the vampire a chance to answer. Or not, of course, depending on her disposition.

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