Phloem

Forgotten (Vampire Roleplay)

I'll be getting home in about 6 hours, so I'll post then. :T

EDIT: Done, sorry it's so rambling.

Royal Hounds ~ (Hunters of the Crown)

Miles listened to the briefing, his expression impassive. Truth be told, he cared not about these mortal affairs... but caring never played a factor in completing his job. Not a single muscle in his betrayed his emotions, and he sat with his back ramrod straight through it all. One or two times, he glanced at the others in the room - an eclectic mix, for sure. It wasn't anything new to him, of course. After all, he'd been part of the Royal Hounds for decades, and had seen countless recruits come and go. But the sight of Legion irked him, why the Crown thought taking the demon in was a good idea baffled him. It seemed like all he did was kill indiscriminately, and Miles was suddenly reminded of the soldiers of the Underground; motivated by nothing more than their own desire for bloodshed. In his opinion, creatures like Legion should be put down, not given official permission to wreak havoc. Unfortunately, since they weren't even in the same corps, Miles had little to no say in the matter, but a quick look around, and it seemed to him like he wasn't the only one to think that way.

Soon enough, the meeting was over, and immediately, everyone was heading off to conduct their own, respective duties. A deep, rumbling voice belonging to Oni reached his ears, calling for all the Hell Hounds to congregate at a different briefing room. Miles smoothly stood up, straightened his suit jacket before making his way there. A short walk and elevator ride was all it took, and he soon found himself in a yet deeper subterranean level of the facility. The Royal Hounds Headquarters, as Miles had observed over the years, almost seemed like a living being. The hallways always remained unchanging, but at the same time, they grew - sprawling and spreading for miles underground. There were parts of the facility that remained a mystery, even to Miles. His knowledge of HQ was confined to a certain area, but for now, it was enough to get him by.

Briefing Room 1-A, said the label above the door, written in black lettering. This was where they were supposed to meet. Pushing the door open, Miles quietly slipped inside. He supposed the reason they were all here was so they could discuss the details of the mission, but really, none of them seemed eager to speak up. Of course, there were a few latecomers, but that was to be expected of humans. He found his place near the left of the room, leaning against the cool drywall, far away from Dragon. Miles knew the other's temperament all too well, and he didn't like the idea of being so close if things got heated. For now, Miles simply kept an eye on the situation. Since they were waiting for the rest of the Hell Hounds to arrive, there really was no need for conversation just yet.

Forgotten (Vampire Roleplay)

I know, right? God, Christof. :P

Forgotten (Vampire Roleplay)

"O negative, actually." Christof stated in such a matter-of-fact way, that it made him sound like he was simply reading off a grocery list. He shifted his gaze from the newborns to look at Viorica, a shark-toothed grin materialising on his face. "He was a fast runner... but not fast enough." The tang of blood radiated from the numerous bowls, and he watched in mild amusement as the fledglings finally began to give in to the iron hunger in their stomachs, some more so than others. Despite the fact that he had just fed, the heady scent of blood still beckoned to Christof. Fortunately, after all these years, he has acquired a modicum of self-control over these matters.

Christof watched as Viorica took the first draught from the blood bowls. He was momentarily distracted from the affair when Evelyn finally took a seat. At this, a derisory snort escaped from him. Why she couldn't just pull out her own chair was beyond him. They were all the same, bloodsucking monsters now, what was the point of masquerading as the shades of their previous lives? Of course, some of his companions would beg to differ, but he has kept the same perspective throughout all his years of undeath. Another glance at Evelyn, and Christof saw that she wasn't drinking yet. He had to suppress yet another snort at this. The female vampire would probably let herself starve to death if it meant upholding proper decorum. Leaning back in the cushy chair, he simply kept his eye on the situation at hand.

Royal Hounds ~ (Hunters of the Crown)

Through the swirling clouds of steam, the sound of running water could be heard. Droplets of condensation on the white, tiled walls rolled downwards, drawing intricate patterns on the surface. A vague silhouette of a man could barely be seen through the shower door, and it belonged to Miles. He had been awake since seven in the morning, starting his day off with some exercise was part of his normal routine. Being in the Royal Hounds, staying in tip-top shape was important, even with his fae blood. His weakness to iron was definitely a setback, however, but he managed. The crown had been thoughtful enough to set up a sister training facility for others like him, with equipment made from other metals, instead of iron or silver. Most of Miles's morning was spent in said facility, and now he was simply taking a shower to wash off the sweat.

A short squeak of metal against metal rang out as he turned the faucet in a counter-clockwise motion. The torrent of water previously gushing from the showerhead slowed, before stopping completely. Sliding the shower door open, Miles reached for a nearby towel, and dried himself off with it. After all these years, everything was still kind of surreal to him. He had spent so long on the streets, having people look at him like he was some sort of beast, that he couldn't quite believe that it was all over. The fact that he no longer had to fight tooth and nail just to survive... well, he doubted that he'd ever get used to it. The gratitude he felt towards the crown for taking away him away from that dreadful life in the Underground monumental, to say the least. To this day, Miles still felt indebted to them. If the Royal Hounds hadn't taken him in, god knows where he'd be now.

The fluffy, white towel was quickly returned to the rack once Miles had no more use for it. He dressed himself once again; his outfit was simple, consisting of a white dress shirt, a dark grey jacket, and a matching pair of slacks. All of which were tailored perfectly to him, of course. Maybe it was his natural fae vanity finally taking root, but Miles was always a sharp dresser whenever he could manage it. It took a long while for this custom-made suit to finally be complete, but it was all worth it. The end product was something that moved with him like a second skin, combining functionality with appeal. While he really couldn't care less about what other people thought of him, he had the money to splurge, so why not?

Exiting his room, Miles began heading towards the conference room. The text he received earlier mentioned something about a meeting between all members of the Royal Hounds. He wasn't quite sure what it was going to be about, but he wasn't going to question it. Information here was on a need-to-know basis, and he'd find out what it was all about soon enough, anyway. These newfangled "cellphone" contraptions had taken Miles quite a while to get used to, but then again, he had always been a fast learner. The soles of his full-brogue shoes clacked against the ground as he walked along the winding corridors, in search of conference room 345B. The route was familiar to him, and soon enough, he found himself standing right outside of it. Miles pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

He noticed that there were already a few familiar faces present; some more so than others. Clement was the only one in the room that was in the same corps he was, and so, he was a slightly more familiar with him than the other two. However, the Royal Hounds wasn't the place for making friends, and their relationship never really went beyond missions and fieldwork. Miles admitted that it was mostly his own fault, but a leopard couldn't change its spots - his sullen disposition tended to put most people off. He didn't mind it too much, though, he's never needed anyone other than himself. Nodding a quick greeting to everyone in the room, he sat down in one of the chairs, fingers steepled.

Forgotten (Vampire Roleplay)

A ribbon of moonlight spilled through the front doors, illuminating the murky darkness of the castle as Christof pushed past it, a rivulet of still-warm blood running down his chin. He'd been out hunting again, as always. The vampire had always preferred catching his own prey. The thrill of the chase made him feel alive again, and staved off the coldness of death. It was only a temporary respite, but then again, what other choice did he have? With a groan, the heavy, mahogany double doors finally closed behind him, as Christof began making his way towards the dining hall. He wasn't hungry in the least, but he knew that by now, the fledglings would already be awake. Keeping that thought in mind, he wiped off the blood with the back of his hand. Newly-turned vampires were always so unpredictable, and he knew better than to put them all into a frenzy of bloodlust. Now, there wasn't any evidence of his earlier activities, but the smell of death stuck to his skin like a tattoo.

Christof's footsteps were heavy, and there was no doubt that they would hear him approaching. As he got closer to his destination, the sound of conversation got louder and louder, until it was ringing in his ears. Two of the voices were familiar, but he was unable to identify the rest. There was no doubt in his mind that they belonged to the fledglings. Still, he didn't have any idea what any of them were like. He himself didn't turn any of them, Christof always left that job to the rest. Spreading this curse was something he wanted no part in.

Soon, Christof found himself standing right outside the dining hall. Pushing the doors open, he stepped not-so quietly inside. He was greeted by quite a number of new faces, most of which were young. Well, at least they looked that way. One tended to lose count after a couple of centuries of undeath. Wordlessly, Christof made his way over to his place at the table. A quick glance was thrown over his shoulder at the newly-turned vampires, but other than that, there was no interaction between them. Turning his gaze toward Evelyn and Viorica, he nodded a greeting and sat near them.

Royal Hounds ~ (Hunters of the Crown)

My character is mostly done now, just need to find a picture now. Also, I moved him to the Hell Hounds to balance out the ratio a little better. :D

Forgotten (Vampire Roleplay)

Sorry! I'll post tomorrow, was really busy today.

Royal Hounds ~ (Hunters of the Crown)

"Oberon"

---

Name: Miles "Oberon" Briarheart

Appearance: The wealth Miles has acquired through the Royal Hounds has allowed him to form a taste for fine clothing. He is an admirer and frequent buyer of fine tailored things and precious jewels. Many of the upper class members of society are scandalized by someone of low birth wearing such fine things and are quick to try and put Miles in his place. Many rings adorn his fingers, most of them stolen from the dead he encountered on the battlefield. Miles has a menacing presence. Unless he is comfortable or watching an enemy fall, he is usually unsmiling. It is hard not to notice the way he suspiciously eyes people, watching their every movement like a caged animal. His hands are most often curled into fists.

Age: 121

Gender: Male

Corps: Hell Hounds

Bio: Miles was born in the Underground, so long ago that he doesn't even remember his real name. One of the many orphaned by the war between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, he was simply left to fend for himself. He soon lost the house he'd been living in, and had no choice but to turn to the streets. Although the young fae was clever, he was never the strongest, and was at the bottom of the pecking order, often getting his belongings stolen by the other homeless. The best he could do was cast a weak glamour over his things to keep them hidden, and even that didn't work every time. He was beaten down to his lowest, and after years of living like this, an opportunity made itself known.

Miles had made a home for himself in a small cubby hole carved into the side of an alleyway. There, he was sheltered from the elements, and though it stank to high heaven, it was home - for a while, at least. One day, whilst he was out catching his dinner for the night, a group of humans unlike any he'd ever seen, whisked him away in a transport truck. Longing for something better, Miles didn't resist, there was nothing left for him in the Underworld, anyway. He wasn't the only one, however, he realised upon his arrival at the training facility. Given a new name 'Miles', meaning 'soldier', he quickly settled into his new life. Wrapping himself in his new name like a mantle, he dragged himself up through the muck and the filth and everything that stood in his way.

The Royal Hounds had taken Miles in and immediately became his family, and instructors. And while they were always hard on him, consistently pushing Miles beyond his limits, they also treated him as their own, offering help and encouragement when he needed it most. Miles has dedicated his life to the Royal Hounds, becoming part of the Scout Corps once he finished his training. Miles isn't content with being mediocre at his job though, and is constantly working to stay ahead of the rest of his squad team. This includes expanding his horizons in numerous areas of expertise. Combat training is a routine part of his schedule and if you get in his way, he won’t hesitate to show you exactly what he knows how to do. His expertise however, is weaponry. He loves knives, guns, grenades, the whole works because it doesn’t come easily to him. Miles is someone who needs a good challenge to keep him going, and weapons are exactly that.

Personality: Miles Briarheart has little patience for pleasantries or small talk, lacking the trademark mischief characteristic of Fair Folk. He has no qualms with making sure the people he interacts with are perfectly aware of this. Miles is sullen, callous, hostile and emotionally stunted, ignorant to the ways of socialising. He always speaks his mind, no matter the circumstance. But, many excuse his lack of social graces due to his remarkable skill at what he does. Every thought in his brain is designed toward his purpose, his goal, and anything at hand will be treated like a tool. If there is any atrocity he won’t commit, it is only because of its impracticability rather than anything else, and he is a very pragmatic person. But, it is not just his skills and dedication that make him suited for his position. Miles is a sadist, inflicting often unnecessary amounts of pain on his enemies with fervour. He has become infamous for the cruel and often unnecessary methods of torture he inflicts on enemy captives. Miles has a fondness for justice and revenge, rarely does he let go of a grudge once he has made up his mind on it.

Skills: With fae blood running through his veins, Miles has an unnaturally long lifespan and an ability to cast Glamours. These Glamours of his can be cast over a sizeable area or concentrated into a small radius, altering people's perception of it. Miles himself isn't affected by these illusions, and is able to see through them, even ones that are not his own. Apart from this, Miles is also quite skilled at handling various kinds of weaponry, courtesy of the copious amounts of effort he always puts into practicing. Anything from combat knives to assault rifles, he has it all down pat. Just like all the Royal Hounds, years of training and fieldwork has made him quick, precise, strong.

Gear/Weapons: Adaptive Combat Rifle, M67 Fragmentation Grenades, 8" Double-Edged Bayonet

Other Information: -

Royal Hounds ~ (Hunters of the Crown)

Interested.