Resounding Dissolution (IC)

[Scarface]

((http://www.roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?t=155251 OOC))

The year was 1812 when the crimson massacre took the small city of Comstock by storm, its rivers running the color of death. The history books would mourn the loss of such a story or eyewitness account, as there were none left to recount the event. Some say that it was the meeting place, the common grounds on which the demon’s accord was founded, routed in a last ditch effort to survive the extinction of their races. Others will tell you that the murders were committed a band of criminals who escaped from a nearby holding house for those that might be executed for vile and hanus crimes. But the memories of that day were just echoes of a nightmare that has yet to be bested in the history of London’s devastating past.

*****

Adam jumped down from the horse and carriage, using his cloak to shield himself from the fierce wind, the torrent of rain accompanying it pelting in to his side. Using his free hand he reached in to his side pack and pulled out a few coins before dropping them in to the palm of the carriage driver, muttering a thank you before quickly turning on his heels and heading to the dim light of the Inn.

The small mountain settlement was built on to the side of a valley, built above a maze of coal mines that were long abandoned. The location of the village allowed for the wind to easily catch a clear path through the main square reaching, allowing the gales to reach high speeds.

Adam reached the heavy oak door of the Inn, pulling it open hard against the resistant wind before squeezing through and letting the door slam behind him. The pubs regulars glanced up at the strangers’ face, before dropping back in to the whispered conversation between themselves. Walking over towards the bar, Adam waited to be served by the young, pretty faced barmaid.

“Do you speak English?” He asked.

“A Little.” She replied in an unfriendly tone.

Adam pointed over towards the large keg behind the counter. He didn’t know what it contained, but thought that it would be easier to just drink that than try and communicate with her and order one of his more favourable alcoholic beverages.

“A pint, please.” Adam told her, receiving nothing more than a grunt in return.

“I guess people don’t take too kindly to new faces here…” Adam thought as she watched her pour his drink.

Handing over the coin to pay for it, he removed his soaked hat and cloak and hanging them by the fire, he moved off towards a large empty table in the corner of the room. Taking a seat in the corner, sipping quietly at his beer, waiting patiently for the rest of the group to arrive.

[Katelyn]

Elsie folded the letter as the train came to a stop, the sound of screetching metal filling the air, the smell not much better. She grabbed her bags, making sure that her weapons were secured to her body and exited the train. The air in Romania was thick and humid and she hated it already. She'd need to stop and reread Marcus Treaumont's letter one more time. He was the head of the council of elders, a group constructed long ago to protect humanity from the beasts that played in the shadows.

She'd meet him a few times, but he was based in England and most likely would not been scene on this trip. They were to meet at Baker's street pub, his brother Nathaniel would arrive shortly after eight PM to give them further information and instructions. She would be late if she didn't hurry. She called a carriage and climbed in, hoisting her bags up and giving them the address.

She sat back and unfolded the letter again and the resounding journal entry that echo'd Marcus cry from the council for help.

Journal Entry:

To those of you who lack belief in that which cloaks itself in humanity, but is far from it… This entry is for you.

The year was 1812 when the crimson massacre took the small city of Comstock by storm, its rivers running the color of death. The history books would mourn the loss of such a story or eyewitness account, as there were none left to recount the event. Some say that it was the meeting place, the common grounds on which the demon’s accord was founded, routed in a last ditch effort to survive the extinction of their races.

Others will tell you that the murders were committed a band of criminals who escaped from a nearby holding house for those that might be executed for vile and hanus crimes. But the memories of that day were just echoes of a nightmare that has yet to be bested in the history of London’s devastating past.

I am here to relay the events as they occurred, though most difficult to believe, even having seen the resulting carnage with my own eyes.

She folded it back up as the carriage stopped and moved her bags out onto the street, paying the man and picking up her stuff. A kind elderly gentleman took her things as the pub was attached to the hotel she'd be staying in for some of the trip. She walked up to the bar and slid in beside someone she'd not seen in a long time, perhaps not long enough.

"Adam..." She said politely and nodded at him, looking back to the barmaid, "Whiskey, double on the rocks."

[Viv]

A large intake of air could be heard reverbing through the halls of their vast mansion, the echo of its occurrence soon swept away by the similar and yet different sounds. Lillian opened her eyes as her lungs filled again, hunger beating against her, as her blood redistributed itself from her heart along the vast trails of veins the lie just underneath her porcelain skin. The lighter tones in her long wavy hair swept to life as she rejoined the living, only promised to die again when the sun made it initial ascension in twelve short hours.

She pressed the top of her coffin opened and gracefully floated from it to the marble ground below. She knelt and pressed her hand to a crimson rose engraved in the marble, Vlad asleep far below the foundation of the house. “I miss you, my prince,” she whispered and felt the ground tremor. She smiled wickedly and stood. She was ready for him to awaken. Her hands demanded to touch him and her body ached for his passion. She closed her eyes and settled the ragged emotions, reminisce of humanity playing puppeteer with her this eve.

She walked from the locked room, ascending the stairs and moving out into the foyer of the mansion. She needed to speak with Stefan (bulter) and discern plans for their people. Someone had massacred multiple people - women, men, children, and where the thought of their blood running free ignited a fire deep in her, she was cognisantly aware that this was either the doing of the wolves or someone was framing them. Her people would never be so casually aggressive. There weren’t enough of them left to fuck fate from behind and hope she’d thank you for the romantic endeavor. This was bad.

Stefan smiled, "What can I do to assist you, madam?"

She nodded at him, her eyes emotionless, her face a mask of colorless response. “Gather our people. I hear whispers of something that has occurred in a nearby country and its occurrence will result in harm for us if we are not ready for the effects.”

He nodded as she walked out the door, her body twisting into the shadows as she changed into something from a horror novel, translucent wings stretching from her back and fangs breaking through the tender skin of her gums. Rage coursed through her body at the thought of being set up. If the wolves had anything to do with this… to hell with feeding on a human, besides, she’d wanted to taste their leader for some time now anyway.

[Marx]

Sven's hands dove deep within the pockets of his long leather coat which extended down to his calves. His head was arched downward facing the muddy road which was suffering from the torrents of bone chilling rain that continuously berated any piece of uncovered flesh. His hat managed to capture and displace some water, though his hair was mostly soaked and rainwater was slowly dripping down onto his clothing. Though he appeared to be trapped within his own world, he was carefully listening to the surroundings, attempting to pick up and unusual noises. Primarily, he wanted to see if the werewolf he encountered some few days ago was still stalking him. As of two days ago, his funds were entirely empty for what little money he earned after his last hunt had went to purchasing as much silver as he could and now he was in the possession of two silver-lined daggers, as well as some thirty shots of silver. Though he was still practicing with his gun, which was a pleasant change from the crossbow he obtained a few years back.

Though all seemed to be silent, almost disappointing to Sven, until the sound of hooves caught his ear. A large horse and carriage passed by, a younger man who appeared to have dedicated a life to physical training sitting in the back. It was likely that this man would be one of the ones Sven was to meet with, the letter he received from the priest mentioned three other hunters. It was curious what walks of life the others must have came from, but Sven truly wanted to know how effective they were. Before recently, he assumed that there were no other true hunters and as his perception began to change, so did he question what these people were going to be like. How much more informed they would be. In his moment of contemplation, his guard was down and his mind was occupied. The werewolf must have realized this as he sprang forth from the neighboring trees, his form flying through the air with the speed of an arrow, but the grace of a shoe. Sven was only aware moments before the wolf was upon him and broke into a run, his feet being grabbed on by the mud. The wolf hit behind him, running as fast as it could, hindered even more by the thick sludge than the hunter. Sven knew that he could not outrun the beast, but would use this short advantage to get to a higher ground where there was a railroad surrounded by more rock than dirt.

Sven made it to the tracks with little time to spare, catching the light of an incoming train off in the distance. Perhaps he could use his surroundings to his advantage, though he'd have to survive the wolf long enough to use the train. The wolf, finally free from the muck lurched forth, slamming into Sven and knocking him on the ground. His claws shredded through some of the coat, meeting his skin, causing a small bit of blood to emerge, though not enough to be of concern. Sven pulled his dagger from the front pocket, slicing at the mutt's knee, which caused the flesh to immediately wretch back like the blade itself was made of flames. The wolf winced and attempted to clamp its jaws down onto Sven's head, his other hand meeting the mouth of the beast. It was not a pretty process, shoving one's hand down an animals throat, but in an eat or be eaten situation, choking it would have to do. The wolf jerked back, giving the hunter a chance to slice again, cutting the underbelly of the werewolf, thick crimson blood flowing forth. He could hear the train now, its light growing stronger by the moment. Sven drew his pistol, firing a shot into the beast's chest. It let out a cry, stumbling to the side and collapsing onto the tracks and Sven took flight toward the town, looking back momentarily to be sure the beast was dead. The train was sure to grind the dying beast into nothing but sinew and gore.

Some hour later, Sven arrived at the bar, soaked near entirely, a look of annoyance on his face, though it was gone the moment he spoke with the barmaid.

"Do you speak Russian, my dear?" he said sweetly, leaning onto the counter. She nodded and he gave her a thin smile, "Excellent. Give me your strongest." While she went about her job, he looked over his shoulder into the bar, picking out two that didn't fit the scene. One of them was the one from the carriage. As soon as the girl put down his drink, he grabbed the glass and walked over toward the table, calling over his shoulder "Put it on my tab, love." There wasn't a damn chance he'd ever pay for it.

Sven sat down at one of the empty seats and looked over the two. "I'm Sven Chernenko... You two are the Hunters, da?" he said, mixing a small bit of Russian with his English.

[Deamonbane]

The darkness of the valley haunted him. The blood spilled here what seemed like a day ago, but in reality was more than a decade, clogged his thoughts, and his eyes stared forward, not seeing. He could remember it. Oddly, since he couldn't remember any of the other times that he had rampaged across valleys, slaughtering anything that was foolish or unlucky enough to cross his path. But this one time, he remembered. Bloody were those memories. He chuckled grimly at the irony. The one memory of the time that he was a wolf, was the one memory he wanted to forget.

The cab stopped, and he stepped out, running his eyes over the fields, once golden with the promise of a bountiful harvest, with men laughing, drinking, fucking to their heart's content. Children played in the streets, that now lay in disrepair, and the buildings that had once housed families, some happy, some sad, but alive and happy to remain so. Until he came. Until they all came.

He strolled back to the cab at a leisurely pace, tapping his cane on the ruined cobbles. He tossed the man a purse," Go on," He said in a decidedly American accent, tinted with the hint of classical that said that this man was cultured," You had better get out."

"But I can't leave you here," The man said, in a cultured French accent," It would be rude, and I would never live with myself and..."

If you don't leave soon, Alexander thought with a chuckle, you won't be living," I have to pay my respects to the dead here," He sad in a low voice.

"At night?" The man shuddered at the very thought.

"Yes."

"Alright sir," The man said," But you know what they say: The wolves prowl here at night. And not the common ones."

"It is a risk I am willing to take," A hint of irritation had entered the man's voice, as he turned his blood-shot eyes to the cab-driver.

"Your life," The cab driver said, urging his horses to leave this dismal place.

Yes it is, Alexander thought sadly. He was dressed in a top hat, long overcoat, gloves, and high boots. Fashion was a cruel mistress, and some in Paris would say that he was over dressed, if they hadn't seen his skin. Dark glasses covered his over-sensitive eyes, that were constantly shadowed. He wanted to blind as much as the next gentleman, and he was more prone to it.

He sat heavily on a dilapidated bench, and watched the sun go down on the valley. This accursed valley.

[Katelyn]

Drucilla walked from the house, pissed again. She'd given up everything that she knew as life without a choice because of the old bastard and yet... every move she made, every corner she turned was the wrong one. "Well.. FUCK YOU!" She yelled, hoping he would hear her. She'd get her ass beat, but she'd go down swinging. Her father, Alpha of their pack, was one badass monster, but even in the heat of transition he would never truely harm her. The wolves were mindless creatures when in their true form, but they understood each other, able to talk to once another through their thoughts, as long as they were in the pack and had pledged themselves to the Alpha.

She didn't have a choice. Her father wouldn't allow her one. She looked into the sky as the moon started to rise, night fall coming soon and decided not to ruin the lovely new summer dress she just bought. She pulled it over her head as the moon pulled at her, beckoning her to release herself to its power. She started to run, dropping to her hands and knees, an awkward gallop devloping as her bones moved and popped, light grey fur cover her body. Her face stretched into her muzzle and she howled loudly, tell her father of her angst from quite a distance. His howl filled the air in response.

She moved away from the house and into the woods, wanting to run, needing to feel freedom in something.

[chulance]

The day he had become a beast, the day he’d tore Chicago upside down. The day he beat his mother, the day he murdered her, the day he murdered his sister, the days he murdered his old teachers, class mates, old acquaintances. Those were days that would live in infamy within the confines of his mind, oh what he wouldn’t give to remember in vivid deal the tearing apart of their flesh. To rid himself of those who had plagued himself, and been a constant annoyance. The Beast within him had set him free, and now the Pack had changed him, had become his true family.

Even if the Alpha ticked him off from time, they were still his family. Loyalty, they stuck together, however even know there were times when he had thoughts of slaughtering him. Loyalty was something he supported in full to the other wolves, but complete submission was something he couldn’t tolerate. He was walking out in forest, bare foot, and shirtless, it wasn’t as if he’d retain his clothes when the transformation began anyway. So there was no need to dress fancy except when he went out into the city, night was coming, and soon the wolves would take over the night.

Today would be a fresh start, he hadn’t gone out and captured any of the people he’d taken the liberty of stalking throughout the day. Now he just wanted to go out and tear random people apart, nothing specific tonight. The animal within him would guide the massacre that would come tonight, and then it happened. The power of the moon gripped him and pulled him in like gravity. Here it was the rush that surpassed that of any drug, energy rushing into his body.

His power was unleashed, and he howled out. The echo of his monstrous noise spreading through the forest, as he dropped to his knees screaming. The transformation he cupped the ground beneath him, dirt getting stuck in his finger nails. Then he ran forward running, as his body began to contort and change. Fur began to grow, and soon he was crawling on all four a wolf. He continued to run faster then before, with momentum unlike that of any natural beast.

He howled again and kept on going, the beast was no longer within him but on the exterior. The evil locked within him had manifested it’s physical form, and the havoc it would wreak in the night well..God be with those who encountered it.

[Oblivionstem]

Tom's eyes burst open, in a similar fashion to the veins of his victims, except blood didn't squirt out of them. Breathe filled his lungs, and gave the impression that he was living, which depends entirely on your definition of life. Life, what a cruel thing, he thought to himself, rising from the cold stone which made up his bed, no longer feeling at all tired, or weary. Dead? He thought to himself, I've never felt so alive. He laughed mockingly at this revelation. It was true, while the feeble heart continued to pump warm blood around the body, one would feel pain, sorrow, a whole manner of things which bring ill tidings with them, that's no way to live, so when he fed tonight, he'd be putting some poor fool out of their misery.

He breathed in the cold air as he made his way through the coven, even from it's relative safety, inside the ancient stone walls of this crypt, you could hear the howls of a wolf pack in the surrounding forest. Suckers, he thought to himself, what a poor excuse for an animal, they cannot even control themselves, he thought, rather coolly considering he hated the damn things.

Tom gave a slightly perplexed look as Stefan, the ladies butler made his way over to him, as they rarely spoke, in fact, if memory served him correctly, which it had for the last 150 years, they had never spoken since he had came to this coven many years ago, in his youth, seeking refuge from the many hunters who would hammer a stake right through him given the chance, regardless of his age. Stefan instigated the conversation saying: "Evening"
To which Tom replied "Evening"
"The lady wishes to speak with you, all of you"
"What for?" Tom enquired, as they were rarely all called together at the same time.
"She did not say, urgent matters"
And almost as quickly as it had started, the exchange was over, and the butler was away. Tom quickened his pace as he made his way to her, not wanting to aggravate her, not that he was scared of her power, just that he did not deem it necessary to annoy her.

[Psyche]

Abandoned promises were a constant incubus during Corinne’s unconscious hours. Her body twitched and contorted, as though the entity within her were viciously plotting liberation from her physical self. She lay in reverie, her mind a depth of void, seized within a morbid wooden box. As if the confounded woman within the cage were on a fitted schedule, her eyes jolted open with the ambience of a hungry brute. Whether her new body brought on a keen sense for sundown that provoked an awakening, or over fifty years of the routine set her to be her own commodious alarm clock, it was a vague argument.

She tipped the oak top open with a delicate print of her fingers, and slipped out of the coffin in one smooth movement. She stretched her muscles relieving with the atmosphere of a preying cat, and then began to ascend towards a soft commotion heard through the mansion. Sadistic curses that plagued corporeal fitted through the distant hours of the mansion, a never ending rhyme that stuck to the walls. Corinne followed the voices which now grew with angst, until she encountered the butler. Corinne’s eyes were already set ablaze with the prospect of the night, and a savage yearning began to power her.

“Good evening,” Stefan’s voice accompanied her. “Lady Lillian requires a meeting with the clan.”

Corinne nodded indifferently towards the apprehended butler. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be on my way,” she directed, her aimless stride picking up speed and purpose. Thoughts of bloody massacre began to flood her attention. It was a wishful thought, full of vivid imagination and lacking in purpose. Nonetheless, Corinne hoped she would be anticipating an eventful and violent enterprise in the near future. As her legs strolled her out towards the wilderness, she discovered an enraged Lillian. A dominating clamor could be heard in the form of a wolf pack, catalyzing a cringe to travel down Corinne’s spine. Damn animals, she thought mockingly.

[JurassicHole]

"Different town, different people, same old shit brew.." Kane muttered after taking a swig of the bar's "best local brew", tossing the mug on the floor without hesitation.

"Look at this fella's, we got's ourselves royalty!" A rather fat and hairy man said, sitting down beside Kane, followed by a pair of equally ugly men who merely snickered in agreement. "Must be, since he's just tossing out good old brew like that, eh?"

More snickering, but what happened next though however much expected, still surprised the other patron's of the bar. You see, the fat man had swung at Kane after his rather witty banter, but unbeknownst to the three uglies, the man in the raggedy clothing was a lot more agile than expected. With a sharp uppercut, Kane had already laid the fatty out, leaving twiddle-fug and twiddle-ugly to come up with a form of retaliation. So, naturally, the pair rushed head-long at Kane whom had at the same time rushed them. Within moments of the fight starting, it was over. Kane walked out of the bar, letting them off easier than normal. They'd just have to take having to use crutches for the rest of their lives as a blessing, as it could've been much worse.

Kane began to have second thoughts about the trio of the world's ugliest, but something else was on his mind or rather his instincts began to kick in as the moon drew ever closer to consume the day. He laughed as he began to feel the excitement in his veins over a night of slaughter, but at the same time knowing that there was another lycan in town and by that scent he must be rather massive compared to the average beast.

Perhaps I've finally found the makings of a new pack in this shit-hole of a town. These humans have no idea what fun will be coming their way tonight. Kane thought to himself, as he made his way towards the town's rather large graveyard.

The morgue's going to be busy tomorrow, ha ha!