Riven Wight

Riven's Brain Children

From a Potentially Pending Roleplay

Valla Belrose

Full Name: Convallaria Nucifera Belrose

Nickname(s): For the love of everything, don’t use her full name. She only ever uses Valla (VAL-uh). Important paperwork excluded. Otherwise, only her mother bothers with her full name, and only when she’s in big trouble.

Name Significance: Her father was a botanist who ran the flower shop she and her mother inherited from him, and decided that “Lily” was too simple and common of a name. So he’d voted for using the scientific name for the “Lilly of the Valley,” because he hoped his daughter would be “Dangerous, but beautiful,” with part of the scientific name for a lotus as her middle name, because it was her parent’s shared favorite flower. Her mother had originally been against it, but changed her mind when the man died before Valla was born. Valla is still more than a bit bitter about having to learn how to spell her full name.

Age: 18

Race: Human, though she’s heard that her father had a hefty dose of magic that helped him grow flowers and such. An ability that has passed on to her in some lesser degree.

Hometown/Home World: Weirwell

General Appearance: Height: About average at 5’4” Hair: Vivid red that looks like it should be dyed, but it’s natural. She got it from her father’s side. Though she didn’t inherit more than a tiny spark of his family’s powers, she did get the vivid hair that follows their particular bloodline. Like in the picture, she wears it longer in the front than in the back, and it swoops over her right eye, often hiding that half of her face. Eyes: Silvery blue. Whether they look more silver or more blue depends on how the light hits them.

Distinguishing Marks: Her right arm has a series of claw marks that are (at the start) still healing. They span form her elbow to her wrist, with one trailing over the top of her hand. She currently keeps them bandaged. Though she went to a couple healers in town, their magic did little to help. Though they’ve been successful with treating many different wounds from those rare souls who have survived the attacks of the monsters that the townsfolk have dubbed Souleaters, the one that attacked Valla and her brother was different, and the Healer’s powers have proven to hold little, if any, sway; they’re taking longer to heal than what a normal cut should, and she suspects they’ll scar.

Clothes Wear: Normal: Normally, either simple blouses and flowing skirts, or sometimes simple, comfortable pants depending on what she plans on doing that day. Her “Warrior Garb”: Since finding the Mask, she’s since put together a sort of warrior outfit. An outfit that her Mask has taken to; the last time she donned the Mask to test a theory with it, it changed her clothes to match, even though she’d had no intention of putting the ensemble on. If she wants the outfit to remain when she removes the mask, it will. Her best guess is that whatever enchantment is on the Mask soaked into her outfit. An outfit that consists of: A red bodice with sleeves that taper wide at their opening, a small open portion at her chest. A black corset laced with gold strings cinches narrow waist over the fabric. Black leggings. Tall black boots with a slight heel, the rubber soles and the top rim lined with gold, while matching leafy fillagree decorates the out-facing side of each. A red open-front skirt with a slit in the back to allow for maneuverability in a fight or while prowling around completes the look. The blouse and skirt has gold thorn vines embroidered around their hems.

Accessories: Some sort of rope belt typically hangs at her waist. Under normal situations, it’s a simple black or brown. With her “Warrior Garb,” it’s black and gold. She keeps a black leather pouch with a ruby-like stone set up to hide its snap clasp. She can fit a fair amount in it, considering its size. Comes in handy. Otherwise, she isn’t a fan of accessories. They really just get in the way.

Prized Possession(s): Besides her Mask, her older brother’s journal. He was the secretive sort, and wrote the whole thing in code. She’s always wondered what it says, and if he’d written in it like that to keep it secret from her or their mother—if not both. It’s a small, leatherbound thing, its cover well-worn and singed, and its pages almost completely filled with his strange, small runes.

Occupation: Often stocks, mans, and grows the flowers for Fortune’s Flora, the best flower shop (and only one worthwhile, according to their customers) in town. She and her mother usually work together, though since her brother’s funeral—if you could really call it that—the woman has taken up doing most of it, hoping to give Valla the time she needs to grieve.

Weapon(s): Currently a bow staff and a dagger that had belonged to her brother. She often straps the dagger to one end of her staff, creating a polearm. No matter how hard she looked after he fought off the Souleaters, she couldn't find the sword he fought with. Both are pretty simple and plain. But her uncle, who is the only person she’s outright told about the powers of the Mask she found among her brother’s possessions, is currently working on making her a sword. Her brother taught her to wield both kinds of weapons, though where he learned how to use them, he refused to say. He’d always laugh, wink at her, then either walk away or force her to focus on her defensive rather than on her curiosity.

Personality: With her brother’s death still fresh, she is struggling to get back to normal daily tasks. To most others (her uncle excluded), she comes off as either borderline emotionless, or wrathful. She’s filled with anger, vengeance, and sorrow. All she wants is to find and destroy the Souleater that killed him, and hope that helps quell some of the guilt burning inside her. She’s mostly coiled into herself, letting her grief boil into other, more dangerous emotions rather than let the hurt out. However, she’s found that when she wears the Mask she discovered, some of her old fire and spunk return, though whether that’s because it gives her the abilities to kill the Souleaters, thus getting her that much closer to the vengeance she desires, or has something to do with the Mask itself, she’s not entirely sure.

Mask: Mask of Fangs and Fate. Like the provide picture, her mask is in the shape of a tiger. It only just covers her nose, leaving her mouth open. Made from soft, but durable leather, it has a black background, with red stripes outlined in gold. Gold lines the eyes, creates the whisker spots on its nose, and outlines the ears. It has no ties to keep it on, instead using its own magic to adhere itself to her face. It won’t come off unless she takes it off, and since it’s claimed her, it’s essentially “soulbound” to her—if someone tried to steal it, it would return to her. Likewise, she’s capable of summoning it with a thought, but its powers will only activate if she’s wearing it.

Fangs and Fate

Mask Abilities: Heightened Senses: Enhances her sight (which, yes, meanst that despite it going partially over her eyes, it doesn’t impede her sight), hearing, smell, and taste. Physical Prowess: Enhances her reflexes, strength, and speed. Stealth: It dampens the sounds of her movements, allowing her to move in complete, light-footed silence. Tiger Physiology: She can choose to grow claws (long and black). And outside her control, whether she wants them or not, she ends up with a tail, which matches the Mask (black fur with gold-lined red stripes), and her canine teeth (top and bottom) and two adjacent teeth stretch and sharpen into subtle fangs. Weapon Boost: This is rather limited, and has a tie-in with her overall strengths. It enhances her skills with the staff, sword, and dagger. While she isn’t the greatest at fighting with them without the Mask (she knows enough to defend herself, but she’d only been training with her brother off and on for a couple years), with it, her prowess with these weapons is enhanced, which is further complimented by the Mask’s other abilities.

Major Mask Weakness: While the Mask can make her feel like she has more stamina than she normally would, it’s a dangerous illusion. The Mask’s abilities make it difficult for the wearer to notice or even, well, entirely mask her body’s fatigue until she takes it off, where it will catch up to her all at once. While Valla has yet to overdo it to a point where she’s collapsed as soon as she takes it off, she does have a budding suspicion about it with how drained she’s felt a few times after wearing it. Though, at the RP start, she does suppose it could just be her own adrenaline wearing off at the end of the night. If she wore the Mask constantly, but gave her body time to rest, it would rejuvenate it and help stave off this effect.

Other Magic Abilities: She has the minor ability to help coax plant life to grow quickly, and to enhance its appearance. She’s only ever used this on the flowers Fortune’s Flora, enhancing the appearance of the plants, making flowers grow quicker and even out of season, and stay fresh longer after they’re picked.

Family: Mother: Arianna Father (Deceased): Kittrick Brother (Recently Deceased): Dianthus (five-years Valla’s elder) (Everyone called him Anthus. “Dianthus” is part of the scientific term for carnations. Her mother had caved in letting their father name him. He was among the firsts to die fighting the Souleaters) Uncle: Tate Belrose (He was adopted. Which, let’s just say, is very obvious…)

Short Bio: (WIP)

Riven's Brain Children

From “Salvation and Damnation"

Evander "Vander" Draklan

Full Name: Evander Ambrosius Draklan

Nickname(s): Vander. Though technically a nickname, it’s what he usually goes by outside the need for aliases.

Aliases: As an immortal, he sheds aliases regularly. He likes to keep a few lined up for quick use, though he does favor using his actual name when it would be of little consequence, or when dealing with the other supernaturals of the world.

Appeared Age: Usually hears somewhere in his mid to late twenties. As he was changed when he was 28, this doesn’t surprise him.

Actual Age: Old enough to not care anymore (but if you did the math, he’d be about 902).

Race: Vampire

Nationality: German, as we’d call it today.

General Appearance: Height: 5’10” Build: He’s always had a strong, muscular build, even before being changed. Hair: Though he’s grown out his hair like he’d once kept it way back when, he’s been considering cutting it short again. But, for now, it’s fairly long, well kept, and dark brown. Eyes: Hazel. If you look close enough or in the right light, there’s a slight red tinge to his pupils, like red-eye in a bad photo. They dilate with the swell of his eternal thirst. This color will completely consume his eyes when he feeds or fully unleashes his powers. Skin Tone: More fair-skinned than outright undead pale. Anything Else: When retracted, his canines are always a smidge longer and sharper than your typical human’s, though not so much so that they would necessarily draw attention or scream “vampire.” However, when not retracted, they’re menacingly long, and the ones around them also morph into fangs, the canines remaining the longest among them.

Clothes Wear: Even when he dresses “casual,” it’s usually something rather classy. He quite misses the days when typical men’s fashion didn’t involve oversized graphic t-shirts and baggy pants, and is keeping hope that more classy dress will come back into style again. After all, bellbottoms made a comeback for a while, so why not?

Accessories: He doesn’t have many extravagant accessories, though he does have a ruby stud earring in his left ear, and a tiger-head ring with matching eyes that he favors.

Occupation: This has changed many times over the years. Though, in order to avoid it ending in a blood-drenched disaster, he’s had to work more in the background or otherwise in positions where he wasn’t around too many people for an extended period of time. Or outright manipulate humans to get the job done for him. At the moment, he’s in between jobs, and taking the time to see what’s new in this little section of the world he’s newly decided to call home again.

Weapon(s): He often keeps a Glock 21 (which he has bullets of various metals for, including silver ones) concealed about his person. As fast and powerful as he is, having a ranged weapon handy never hurt. He also has a small portion of his collection of various weapons locked away in the room he’s set aside as a study/office in his current rental house.

Personality: After many failed attempts at ending his and the warlock’s lives, Vander decided long ago that he would not let the warlock who turned him into a vampire win. As such, he’s spent his immortal life split between fighting the nagging thirst always clawing at him, and doing his best to embrace and enjoy what he is. Though he’s learned to read a person and alter how he acts to lure them away from the pack, in general, he’s highly aware of how strong he is, and holds himself with a cocky air worthy of the reputation he’s made for himself among the supernatural community, and often has a hard outward personality. A personality that’s just as much survival instinct as it is an ingrained habit at this point. However, when he’s alone, he’s a lot more relaxed, and dotes upon his cat like it’s the child he never had.
But a cat isn’t the same as being around humans or finding the true love and companionship his heart has desired since losing his family so long ago. And loneliness can do strange things to a person, especially when the only ones who break that up with any decent longevity are creatures that tend to bask in violence.
Over time, while trying to cling to his righteousness from when he was human, a part of him has fractured into two distinctive parts of himself: his fading humanity, and his bloodhaze. But it’s where the cracks spiderweb out from the main break, where one side reaches into the other, that he can become the most dangerous. He’s been known to snap between the two in a blink, and often has trouble telling exactly where his bloodhaze’s desire for violence and pain actually ends, or even if it ends, or if it has fully blended into who he has truly become.

Magical Abilities:. Smoke Mimicry: Though he can’t burst into a swarm of bats, he can turn into smoke, either entirely or in part. Used right, he can use this to essentially grant himself a form of flight. Hypnosis/Compulsion: Comes in handy when manipulating humans. He’s built this up enough that he can use it on some supernatural creatures, not just humans. Hyper-Healing: Alas, as he's found out from experience, while this means that most things that hurt him don't hurt for long, it doesn't dilute any pain itself. Being set on fire? Yeah, not fun. Exactly how quickly he recovers from things does have a dependency on how recently he's fed, and feeding after being injured helps greatly. Also, if he's been significantly (or repeatedly) injured, his bloodhaze will work itself into a frenzy, even if his body doesn't really need the blood. Pyrokinesis: This one is uncommon among his kind, and related to the history behind his change. He can control and summon fire. Though more a “party trick” to this, he can even change its color. Heat Haze: An off-shoot of the last, he can use the distorting powers of heat to create optical illusions.

Physical Abilities: Ye ol’ vampiric standards: heightened senses, strength, agility, etc. Everything that helps makes a vampire the ultimate predator.

Weaknesses: With his age, he has, in a sense, ‘outgrown’ what few of your typical vampiric weaknesses his kind have, and sunlight—though not something that could kill even fledglings of his kind—is a minor irritation that lightly weakens his overall strengths. And makes him extra irritable. No, he only has three real weaknesses anymore: 1) Killing his creator to kill him—though, as much as he'd rather be the one to do it, he’d thank you for that. 2) His need for blood. If he doesn’t hunt at the very least every two to three weeks, it will completely consume him. The longer he goes, the more it begins to be a physical ache, and weakens his abilities. But even in between, it’s a danger, his need and desire for blood and death an unrelenting beast. He’s been capable of gaining enough self-control to not attack anything with a heartbeat the moment it comes withing a mile of him, but it’s always an eternal struggle, even if it's just been an hour since he last fed. 3) Striking at the only things he’s allowed himself to grow attached to—like his cat, though he knows that even that animal will only be around for what is but a wisp to his eternity.

Other: Though he has since learned how to blend his mortal German accent into many local dialects, to this day, he easily slips back into this accent from time to time. As stated above, Vander is currently in a small rental house. While he could afford something larger for himself and his cat, since he ends up having to relocate fairly often to avoid others noticing that he doesn’t age, he prefers rentals. He does have a few permanent places that are out-of-the-way safe havens in a couple different countries, but he tries to not use them too often.

Mr. Fuzzums: A seven-year-old gray and white tabby cat with green eyes. Though not overweight, he isn’t exactly a skinny cat anymore, either. Vander often reassures him that it’s just all his “floof.” A couple years ago, Mr. Fuzzums found Vander while he was out hunting. Having gone a bit too long between feeding, Vander had been too focused on his prey to pay any great amount of attention to his surroundings. A hunter tried sneaking up on him to intercept his hunt. While the human hunter couldn’t have killed Vander, Mr. Fuzzums saved him from having to deal with the irritation of a stake through his heart. The cat jumped in out of seemingly nowhere, sinking its teeth and claws into the hunter’s face. After Vander killed the hunter and hid the body, he headed back to the apartment he was living in then, but the cat followed him home. He tried to get the cat to leave, but it would always be there, waiting for him when he left the building. So, since the blood of animals doesn’t call to him the same way the blood of humans does, they adopted each other. Since then, Vander has had a soft spot for cats, and has zero tolerance for animal abuse.

Bio: He was born the fifth son to an earl, whose bloodline has long since died out. Having been trained for and achieving knighthood, Vander had just been betrothed—an engagement that was equal parts strategy and true love—when he was sent off to fight in the Second Crusade ((if I have my dates in order, but I suppose that doesn’t matter to anything besides my OCD)).
It was a war he wouldn’t come back from alive.
During a raid, Vander and one of their officers had gotten separated from a couple others in his regiment as they set to burning down a town said to be steeped in witchcraft. Finding one particular home on the outskirts that had managed to avoid the initial onslaught, he and his officer entered it. There, they found tomes and various other things of a witchy nature, though they hadn’t really needed all that to justify burning it down.
But the small house wasn’t empty.
A woman tried to defend both it and herself. But, determined to “purge the world of her evil,” Vander and his officer quickly subdued her.
Having other things he needed to tend to, Vander’s officer left him to “salvage” whatever goods he could, then burn the place down, the bound and gagged witch inside included. Being an obedient soldier, Vander did as he was told, staying to make sure the last of these “accursed, evil hovels” burned to the ground.
But neither he nor his officer had thought to make sure that the woman was the only one who lived there.
The woman’s husband, a powerful warlock, came back to find his wife burning alive. So, to punish Vander for taking everything away from him, the warlock cursed the German to an immortal life of bloodlust.
Though at first the strengths that came with it seemed like they were a blessing, his bloodlust utilized further against the Muslims and Jews they were persecuting, it soon became a curse. With no control over his need for blood, in a single, bloodhaze-filled night, he killed everyone in his camp.
Comrades. Men he’d called brothers since his youth. Dead. All dead, and at his hands.
Horrified, Vander fled, hunting down the warlock who had cursed him. But he couldn’t get close before the spell binding them stopped him, casting him into a world of agony for his efforts.
He spent years trying to find out how to break this curse, and even tried committing suicide by any and every means. But the only way to end his life was to kill the immortal warlock who had changed him. Years later, in desperation, he went after the warlock again. In his desperate rage, he killed anyone he knew the warlock associated before going after the warlock himself. He got extremely close to succeeding before the agony of the magic tether dropped him.
The warlock kept his distance after that, leaving Vander to roam about the world of humans on his own. He’s met many other supernatural creatures on his travels, but he always longed for a life where he was back in control, where his eternal hunger wasn’t always nagging at him, and always overeager to indulge. He always tried to not kill his victims, but, alas, he’s only ever succeeded once, and even that was in recent years, with many, many kills behind him.
At first, as he thought he slowly gained some control over his bloodlust, he tried to integrate himself back amongst humans. Sometimes, he lasted a good month, others barely a few days before his thirst took over, stimulated by all the beating hearts and tantalizing aromas of all the liquid life.
He stopped trying after his tenth massacre, each one covered up by flames. The Great Fire of London? One of Vander's massacre cover-ups. He hadn't actually intended it to get that intense, but his control over fire then wasn't nearly what it today.
He was sick of all the death, sick from being the cause of it. Alas, it couldn’t be helped. But he vowed that he wouldn’t let the warlock truly win. One day, he’d find a way to stop him. To kill one monster to stop another.
So, he resigned himself to a lonely life devoted to making himself as strong as possible, while watching and manipulating humans from the shadows. For a short stint, he even took on hunting other supernatural creatures that preyed on humans and threatened to expose the supernatural world, all in an attempt to ease his conscience. Luckily for him, this was taken as him defending his own current hunting grounds. Different societies of supernaturals began to fear him, and both hate and respect him in equal measure.
Inadvertently, he’s made a name for himself among supernatural creatures, one that’s usually spoken of in reverence. Though he’s heard there are are only a couple vampires still around who are older than him, even they haven't dared confront him. Now, since the only other supernatural creatures who try to make friendly with him do so only out of fear, or because they want something from him, he avoids even them as much as he can.
The only good thing about being immortal is that humans are always changing. Leave a place long enough, and it would be like a new city, with new places to explore and new people. He's never lacking something to do. He’s done everything he can to enjoy his un-life. Though he has very few permanent residents, the ones he does have are filled with collections of art and books, instruments and weapons, and many other things from every era he’s lived through.
But in recent years, he hasn’t spent as much time in these permanent residents. He goes wherever the wind takes him—though he’s had to be careful to not stay in one place for too long, and avoid making attachments. He’s cared for far too many mortals and seen them lost—too often by his own hand—to let himself get close to humans again.
His cat—an odd creature in and of itself, as most animals fear the greater predator they sense in him—aside, he is completely alone in the world.

Ruby Sleeter

Full Name: Ruby Estel Sleeter

Nickname(s): If she likes you, she’ll accept Rue, but she prefers her full first name.

Appeared Age: Depends on how much makeup she’s put on. Without it, a bit younger than her actual age. With it, a bit older.

Actual Age: 21

Race: Human

General Appearance: Height: 5’ 3” Build: She has a lithe dancer’s body. Hair: As in the picture! She has it currently dyed light purple with sky-blue highlights. Though she’s a natural strawberry blond, she has it currently dyed light purple with sky-blue highlights. Kept in long, often messy layers. Eyes: Light blue.

Distinguishing Marks: She has a pair of midriff tattoos, one on either side of her torso; one is a stylized bat wing with its claws forming into curly-cues, the other a feathered wing. It’s just the outline of them so far. She’s currently working on saving up to get them colored—along with the nerve to get it done. The outline was bad enough; she's considering just leaving it as is, despite her original intentions. As much as she hates to admit it, she's a bit of a baby when it comes to things like that.

Clothes Wear: Whatever she feels is “cute” that day, while fitting with what level of comfort she's most in the mood for.

Accessories: She likes matching them to her outfit. But it’s rare for her to be seen without at lest one necklace. She has two lobe piercings on her left ear, and four on her right. Like with the tattoo, the fourth in the cartilage made her rethink getting more, and stopped her from evening out the other side.

Prized Possession(s): Does her cell phone count? She’d count her cell phone.

Occupation: Waitress at a diner her aunt owns. Though, she does hope to one day become a professional dancer. Or maybe an actress. She sees no reason to not aspire to both.

Weapon(s): She always keeps a taser and a can of pepper spray on her. She’s had reason to use them a couple times, and, quite honestly, found it quite satisfying giving the creeps what they deserved.

Personality: She is an extremely dominant personality. She’s a spunky, fiery girl, who is always moving. She’s rather loud for such a small thing, and has always been a major reason that she (and her friends) have gotten into trouble. She is very outspoken, doesn’t have much—if any—of a filter between her brain and tongue, and is a fierce and loyal friend. She's the type who will gladly protect her friends, especially her BFF ((You know, your character)), with her life.

Physical Abilities: She has some good core strength from years of dance classes, really good stamina, and is extremely bendy. She’s joked around about joining a circus as a contortionist, though even she has to admit that she isn’t actually that bendy.

Physical Weaknesses: She lacks strength outside the main areas necessary for dancing, and is exceptionally weak in her left arm. This is because of an old injury from one of her misadventures, which never fully healed quite right. Though, thankfully, it healed enough for her to continue on with her passion in dancing.

Riven's Brain Children

From “Sacred Sacrifices”

Nikita Norman

Nikita Norman

Full Name: Nikita Sinra Norman

Nickname(s): Kita

Age: 21

Race: Human

General Appearance: Height: Average height at 5”4’ Weight: 150lbs—she has a fair amount of hidden muscle mass. Build: She's on the petite side. Hair: Pale brown like her father’s, she keeps it in a long-ish, spiky pixie cut, ensuring it’s short enough to not be a huge bother… but, regrettably, short enough to get her some flak about it being a “man’s hair length.” Eyes: She inherited her mother’s eyes. They’re a dark--and nearly ethereally--vivid green with silvery flecks. Anything Else: She's rather tan from working outdoors, and, though it doesn’t show unless she’s using her muscles, she’s quite strong from doing a lot of fieldwork.

Distinguishing Marks: Her hands are calloused. She has her fair share of scars from random mishaps, including one just beneath her left jaw joint that she swears itches in prediction of rain.

Clothes Wear: Never anything fancy, though she’s partial to wearing pants. You try chopping wood or hunting in a dress.

Prized Possession(s): A ring she inherited from her mother. Its silver band is inlayed with small purple stones Nikita believes are amethysts. Her mother always claimed that it was magic, though, if it is, Nikita has never been capable of making it do anything besides stay on her finger. So she’s pretty sure that that was just a fable. If it isn’t on her finger, then it’s on a chain around her neck.

Occupation: Whatever odd jobs she can get around town with having the reputation of being ‘cursed.’

Weapon(s): Depends on the situation. She has quite a few sharp pointy things around their cottage she could use, as well as a bow and arrows for hunting. And she'd be happy to use any of them in self-defense if she needed to.

Personality: She’s usually the determined sort, who has come to not take “no” for an answer. She’d always been a wild whirlwind, though that temperament has been somewhat suppressed over the years. While she tries to be positive, a weight lingers on her shoulders, and pulls at the edges of her every smile. She’s the caring sort, and, since she herself has been through so much, hates seeing others suffering.

Quirks: She often fidgets with her ring, and can frequently be heard singing or humming one of the many folk songs she learned growing up, some in languages from around the world that she doesn’t understand, but still knows the lyrics to… though, she’s sure she mangles pronunciation. And, one might add, she’s pretty good at singing. Her skills have even earned her a few coins.

Family: Parents (Deceased): Amira and Nicodemus III. Stepmother (Deceased): Marian. Siblings: Nicodemus IV. But he only ever goes by Nico. Nikita’s younger brother at age 10.

A Not So Short Bio: The people of her town call her family cursed—and she’s pretty sure they’re right.
When she was a child, she and her parents were nomads, moving wherever the wind took them, meeting new people with each turn of their head and making friends as naturally as breathing. Her house was a small, but cozy caravan pulled by two horses. Sometimes, they even traveled with others, though they never stayed together for long.
But then, when Nikita was eight, the unthinkable happened. They’d stumbled on a “small gem of a town,” as her mother put it. Known to the locals as Baxtree, it was nestled between a lush forest and the undulating sea. Back then, they hadn’t known the warnings, hadn’t known exactly how dangerous that forest could be.
But the forest didn’t let them remain naïve for long.
Having befriended the town’s healer, the woman offered to watch Nikita so her parents could have some time to themselves. Alas, instead of utilizing the time to walk the beach as the healer had suggested, they decided instead to investigate the forest.
It was rare, townsfolk said afterward, a freak happenstance; elves hadn’t ventured so close to the town in generations. Yet, it seemed, that night they had.
Though two of them had set out, that night, only her father returned, his foot caught in the reins of his horse as the half-mad creature dragged him through town. They had never been capable of getting a clear idea of what had happened, but one thing was discernable in Nicodemus’ pain-induced rantings; they had encountered two creatures somewhere on a game trail they'd followed, two creatures whose descriptions fit with the elves known to live deep in the heart of the woods.
After, her father could remember only bits and pieces. Nikita was never sure if the elves had killed the woman outward, of if it was a curst that had done her in. But they did find the mangled body of both her mother and the horse she’d been riding.
Alas, her father never fully recovered, needing a cane on his best days. Though, he’d admitted, even if he’d been healthy, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave where his wife was buried. And so, Nikita became a denizen of Baxtree.
The clergy of the town took pity on them, offering them a plot of land at the edge of town in exchange for a percentage of anything they grew on it, or anything they hunted in the outskirts of the forest until they paid off their debt.
Her father did everything he could to provide a decent life for her, encouraging Nikita and teaching her things that many of the town called “man’s work.” At first, it seemed like the effects of the curse, if that was what had happened, had ended with her mother’s death. Her father remarried two years later to a woman who had sailed in from another country. Not long after, they had a son.
A woman coming from a bit of money, he and his new wife, Marian, had a small cottage built on the plot of land, replacing the caravan. After all, as a growing family, the needed the space.
But that family wasn’t to last.
Nicodemus IV was born a sickly thing. At first, they hadn’t thought he would survive, but, through some miracle—or perhaps curse, depending on how you look at it—the child survived.
When Nikita was fourteen, Marian was struck with an illness neither the town healer nor doctor had ever seen before. The woman wasted away slowly. Then, with the earth of her grave still fresh, Nikita’s father contracted the same disease.
While some of the braver townsfolk came to help, including the healer, no one else dared come near them for fear of this curse spreading. But it never did.
Nikita’s father died before her fifteenth birthday, leaving her and Nico to fend for themselves. Though the healer kept a close eye on the children, neither of them caught the disease.
From then on, Nikita did everything she could to take care of her brother and herself. She took what odd jobs she could, though finding them was difficult. No one wanted to risk the spread of whatever curse had befallen her family.
It was her and the all-but-bedridden Nico against the world. But now, even he seems to be crawling ever closer to Death's eager embrace.

Riven's Brain Children

From “A Land of Wonder and Nightmare.”

Elayra Heart

Full Name: Elayra (ee-LAY-ruh) Alane Heart

Age: 16

Heritage: The daughter of the late White Queen, Alyce Heart, named after another ancestor somewhere down the line. Her father died a couple months before she was born, making him one of the firsts murdered by the Red Sorceress before anyone realized war was at hand.

Appearance: Elayra stands at about 5’6”, is of a small build, and has a light skin tone. She has gray eyes, her mother’s eyes, that often have a haunted look in them, and is often told by those few who remember the White Queen that she looks like her mother. She wears her platinum hair with its loose curls down most of the time, and her fingernails are almost always chewed short.

Distinguishing Marks: She has many scars on her body from both training and battle with the creatures of Wonderland. From blade wounds and burn marks from spells, to claw and bite marks, the scars are all in various stages of healing, some now only faint silvery lines. Of easiest notice is the still healing scar stretching vertically over her left eye from just above her eyebrow down to her cheek the length of her nose. She’s fairly proud of this one, having gained it just before killing one of the Red Sorceress’ scouts.

Clothes Wear: Though it is the standard of the common female in the land to wear a dress, Elayra loathes the things and refuses to wear one unless absolutely necessary. She prefers a pair of trousers and a form-fitting top in colors that help her blend in with her surroundings. She wears tall leather boots with a slight heel, and a pair of matching bracers. She also has a belt that holds her trusty sword and favored dagger, as well as a pouch in which she keeps what little amount of the stones that are the land’s currency she has managed to collect, along with a few other small odds and ends. However, she does have a dress in her wardrobe for those rare occasions when it would help her to better fit in with the world around her.

Abilities: Magic-wise, she is capable of only a few simple spells, since she has spent honing her ability to access the magic that flows through the world. On the other hand, she has been learning how to fight since she was capable of holding a weapon. She is rather extraordinary at wielding polearms, hand-to-hand combat, shooting a bow, and various types of swords. However, she tends to favor the sword, and is fairly quick on her feet.

Weapons: Ever since Drust deemed her worthy and able enough to have her own, good weapons, she's used two particular weapons: a saber, and a kris dagger. Both of these, according to Drust, were gifts from her mother. While the White Queen never used the sword, the dagger itself was once a favored side weapon by her mother. Sword: It resembles a long, double-edged saber, the blade curving slightly. The blade has a blue hue to it, and the rather plane hilt is a dull silver color with a black leather-wrapped handle. Kris Dagger: Essentially the same in appearance as her sword, only with a wavy blade. Bow and Arrows: A simple recurve bow made of a strong, sturdy wood. She has added random small carvings onto it. The arrows are of a matching wood with brilliant blue fletching that changes shades and even adds a bit of purple and green in different lighting. She often has the bow slung over her back, and the quiver of arrows hanging at her hip. Unless, of course, she feels she has no eminent need for them, in which case she stores them away in her pack. The quiver is enchanted to keep the arrows from falling out, no matter how violently shaken, but allows for its owner to easily pull them out. Unlike her bladed weapons, this was "borrowed" from one of the Forsaken.
Weapon Update: As of page 16 in IC, she no longer has her kris dagger. Instead, courtesy of unforeseen events, she's using one of her guardian's, Drust's, spare stiletto daggers. It's a rather simple affair. The silvery metal forms a spiral at the the hilt, topped by an elegant round pummel. Its needle-pointed, triangular blade’s length is around nine inches. Unlike your common Earth stilettos, each of the three thin sides are forged and sharpened in a way that lets it be used for cutting and slashing, not just thrusting.

Personality: Having grown up in the perilous world of Wonderland, Elayra tends to be suspicious of everyone and everything, since you can’t even trust what you see in the world anymore. She is careful and watchful, and always on the move, always secretly hoping to encounter one of the Red Queen’s followers so she could bring about their demise. When around people she knows, or in a situation where emotions are heightened or heated, she is not afraid to speak her mind, often not thinking through her words before they leave her tongue, which has often ended poorly and resulted in a couple of her scars. She is not one to hesitate to defend what she believes is right, or to fight for those hurting from the Sorceress’ rule. She is the brutal, fearless sort, and even when she does feel fear, sorrow, or any other ‘weak’ feelings, she refuses to show it, either her bitter, angry side emerging with more potency, or putting on a cocky, self-assured grin and spouting off a few smart comments. Though she often fantasizes about what Wonderland was like before the curse, the weight of reality is always a crushing one, and she fears to dwell on the dreams for long for fear the world may never be restored. After all, if the fate of the world really would rest on the shoulders of her and someone she knew nothing about, she dares not hope for the best. Life had taught her all too well that hope did little besides bring about painful disappointment.

Major Positive Traits: Active. Dedicated. Adaptable. Curious. Brave. Alert. Compassionate toward those suffering from the Red Queen’s rule. Fierce.

Major Negative Traits: Stubborn. A bit sadistic when it comes to her enemies. Bitter. Overly serious. Untrusting. Harsh. Hot-tempered.

Weaknesses: She often acts too fast and without thinking things completely through, letting her emotions get the best of her. Though it often works for her, she can be too fierce, often getting carried away and taking it from a heartfelt intensity to an almost scary ferocity.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: Chews on her fingernails. Twirls or chews a strand of hair when thinking. Tags: “I’m nobody.” “It’s a living nightmare.” She always speaks with a serious, and authoritative tone.

Fears: Extremely small spaces, and otherwise being locked up. Complete darkness—or, rather, not being capable of seeing what might be lurking in it. Failing to dethrone the Red Sorceress. Of facing the Red Sorceress. Of not being capable of living up to the shadow cast by her mother.

Other: Cherished Object: A necklace the White Knight gave to her. It is a family heirloom in the shape of the royal coat-of-arms that the queen ordered him to give Elayra once she turned thirteen. About an inch large, a red stone creates a heart with a curved bottom and a point that curls up into a spiral. Atop it is a small blue rose in bloom. Two swords of tarnished silver weave through part of the heart on either side to create an X, the tiny metal pieces visible through the red stone. The pendant hangs by the swords from a chain that is shockingly sturdy, and she always keeps it hidden beneath her shirt to prevent it from possibly giving her identity away. It’s said to glow when the thing the wearer seeks is near, and has proven that rumor to be truth.

Short Bio: Elayra remembers little, if anything, of how life was before the Sorceress’ curse ravaged the land. She has been told the story of how they escaped: the White Knight took the two children through a hidden passage in the palace, and they made their way over the land to Harrow Hollow Hill, where it is said portals to many worlds reside. With the opening of a couple of them eminent, they jumped on the opportunity. With the portal entrance too small for the three to fit through together, the boy went first. Before the other two could follow, they were ambushed by a few of the Sorceress’ creatures and forced to flee or be killed.
When the queen’s curse took effect, it did no harm to Elayra, but it changed the White Knight. Though he remained mostly in control of himself, never forgot the task he had been charged with, the kindness and genteelness that once ruled him was all but abolished. In its place was an almost crazed brutality kept at bay by only the little of who he once was that remained.
So, Elayra grew up knowing only the nightmarish side of Wonderland and with a surrogate parent who was firm and harsh, always unrelenting in his training. He taught her how to wield various types of weapons, as well as educated her about everything he could to aid her in succeeding in bringing down the Red “Queen.” Though he showed a restraint that all others affected by the curse lacked, his methods were just shy of barbaric on the field. However, the Knight did have moments where his true self shone through, showing a kindness befitting a doting father. But, on the other side of the coin, there were times when the curse took almost full control, sending him into a terrifying rage.
The two occasionally stayed with a few other survivors and supporters of the White Queen, all living underground and hoping they would not be found. She kept who she was a secret, by order of the Knight, and for knowing that if anyone knew who she was, it could very well mean her death.
She learned quickly, as one must when living in a world where even the grass could try to tear you apart, and your mentor, when more consumed by the curse, lived by the philosophy that “pain is the greatest teacher.” Even so, the Knight was the only family she had, and she cherished every moment when the curse was subdued long enough for her to see a small glimpse into the gentle, caring people Wonderland was once filled with.
At long last the Knight, who watched the skies diligently, told her it was finally nearly time for the portal to Earth to open and for her to seek out the Hatter’s son. The two set out on the journey once more to Harrow Hallow Hill in the dismal hope that she would succeed and be capable of bringing him home to Wonderland and putting an end to the evil Red Queen’s reign, and the rule would once more belong to the Heart family.

Drust

A rough reference photo. He'd look a bit older than that.
Image edits courtesy of @ImagineBaggins and myself.

A.K.A. the White Knight. Like all the White (and Black) Knights of the old Heart Palace, he has his own name.

Appearance: Like most of the Knights, he is quite tall, standing at nearly 6’10. His skin, including his lips, are alabaster white (thanks to effects of the curse, shifting from a solid white), making him look almost as if he was made of stone. Only a series of onyx lines branching out from the corners of his eyes shows color on his flesh.
His eyes themselves are a decent way to tell when the Curse is fighting against him, and winning. The Curse turned his irises red, veins of black streaking outward through them and over heir whites to meet up with those that streak from the outside corners of his eyes. But normally, this effects only his irises. When the Curse pushes against his control and resolve, that black-webbed red will consume the solid black of his pupils. The smaller his pupils, the more in control the Curse is.
He looks to be in his mid twenties, but Knights age differently, so it’s difficult to tell his true age. He has sharp features, and his irises are a glazed dark red webbed with black—a sign of the effects of the Curse. His hair, which he keeps short and usually a bit messy, is a contrasting blackish-brown.

Race: The Knights were never really given an official race name. So, he is simply one of the White Knights.

Actual Age: 35. Or 52, depending on how you look at it.

Appeared/Physical Age: Roughly 26. The Knights age significantly slower than most humans, physically aging approximately one year to every four that passes. HOWEVER, they don't start out as infants. When first born by magic, Drust was, technically speaking, created to be about seventeen. So, in a way, he's 52. But not.

Weapons: A katana. It’s blade is extra-long, tailored to better suit his height. It’s blade is kept sharper than most would think possible, and its handle is wrapped in white leather. The crossguard, made of a black metal, sports a pattern of ornate white hearts. It is a relic from when he still served the White Queen. When he is mostly in his right mind, you will never find him without it in quick reach. You'd pretty much have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

Other/Notes: Despite the years and having the need to dispose of the heftier pieces of it, of his old armor, he still has his gauntlets. The metal a bit discolored from improper care, but he still has them.

A Snippet of History: While Drust was created in the same way as all the rest of his brothers (and sisters) in arms, he was always a tad bit different. While he loved training his body, just like the rest of his ilk, when all the other White and Black Knights would finish their training for the day and take the opportunity to relax, he was training his mind. He had a desire for knowledge that exceeded all his fellows. He could never get enough, delving into one book or scroll after the other on various forms of sciences and magics. Though he was not the best at magic, he learned enough of it for his knowledge to impress even Hatter.
This difference set him apart from the others. Hatter took a notice to him, and began teaching Drust what he knew. Soon, by Hatter's suggestion, Drust became the White Queen's personal guard. Wherever she went, he was likely close behind.
When the Red Sorceress attacked, he was there, fighting alongside the White Queen and Hatter. At least, until he was entrusted with the most important task of his life: to protect and train the young Ghent and Elayra. The children of two of the most powerful inhabitants of the world at the time. To secure Wonderland's future.

Sacred Sacrifices

A small speck of relief lightened Nikita at the elf’s quick response. She almost laughed as she watched the realization of the implication of his hasty answer dawn on him. Her lips betrayed her, quirking upward as he tried to backtrack, only managing to dig the hole further.
Until…
Others could be looking for him. Alone for now, but for how long, she didn’t know. Nor, it seemed, did he. Her subtle smile folded down instantly.
Her hand subconsciously tightened at her weapon. At last, the elf’s gaze flicked to it. The speed with which surprise and fear replaced his childlike joviality startled her into taking a step back of her own, ready to draw the weapon, her heart pounding in her throat.
But still, the elf didn’t immediately attack, didn’t start muttering some sort of curse.
Do they need to vocalize a curse? The thought sent a shudder down her spine. She started to draw the weapon when he spoke again, but hesitated when she realized he was still speaking English. And he was only returning her question, displaying the same amount of fear as she’d fought to keep hidden.
Nikita eyed him, watching his emotions play with free innocence across his face. Slowly, she took a deep, steadying breath, and shook her head.
“I came out here alone,” she said grudgingly. “But hunters sometimes come out this way, and I have family in the village,” she added, hoping to instill the same sense of, ‘kill me, and others might come and avenge me,’ in him as his words had in her.
Not that any of the hunters would bother to help her if they passed by. Most of them would be happy to be rid of her. Nor would anyone but Nico really care if she didn’t come home. Only him and Penelope, and, for all the healer’s bravery, she wouldn’t risk her own skin to avenge Nikita.
But the elf didn’t need to know that.
She pried her hand away from her machete. She slowly moved her hands to the side, palms facing him, showing she held no other weapons. The tattered work gloves she’d donned to chop wood still covered them, practically forgotten in the rush of the morning’s events.
“I meant it when I said I mean you no harm. As long as you don’t mean me any harm. Deal?” With a silent prayer that his countenance wasn’t just a well-honed act, she met his gaze and cautiously reached out a hand toward him for a handshake to seal the statement.
Not that she thought that would really mean anything to an elf, but it felt like the right thing to do. Or, at least, it was something to do, even if it wasn’t the right thing.
There were at least a dozen different ways this could go wrong.

Sacred Sacrifices

Sorry if I've already asked, but based on what I've read about Illion, am I correct in imagining him as basically wearing his emotions?

Riven's Brain Children

This section is here, so why not start shoving my murderous little darlings from here into one place?

(Uncreative placeholder for the first post, just in case. But... I'm suddenly lazy and noticed the time. Note to self: Get them up tomorrow. -Ish.)

Sacred Sacrifices

Relief washed through Nikita when it looked like the elf had believed her. But the relief was short-lived. Though his response sounded innocent enough, her breath caught when he countered her backward step.
She tensed, distantly wondering if this was what a rabbit felt like when it faced a fox.
She cast a discrete glance toward her hidden pitfall. If things went south, perhaps she could back him into it, and escape while he tried to untangle himself from the net. At least that way, if she was cursed, she'd have at least gotten a blow of her own in.
When she tried to take another step away, he began to circle her. Her fingers twitched toward her weapon, itching to draw it. When he rounded behind her, she was torn for just an instant between keeping him in sight and not showing him her fear.
Fear won out.
She turned her head to follow his motions as he circled her. Sizing her up. Perhaps trying to decide on the best means of punishment for her transgression of simply existing in the same forest today.
Though she doubted it usefulness, she slowly allowed her fingers to wrap around the hilt of her machete.
“How come your ears are so short?”
For a moment, only confused static existed inside her head as she tried to process the question. Not giving her time to think over the first one, he shot off two others of equal caliber.
“Do I what?” She turned to fully face the elf. The genuine curiosity she saw in his eyes threw her for as much of a loop as his line of questioning did. She squinted at him, hunting for any signs he meant ill will, but, now that she was actively looking for it, nothing about him was remotely what she’d expect from a predator hunting its prey.
He’d first addressed her in what she could only guess was his native language. And now this. Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her.
He was either acting, or he was oblivious about what she was. He hadn’t corrected her on calling him an elf, so she had to be right on that front. But, needless to say, this wasn’t how she’d expected meeting one to go.
Unless, of course, his ignorance really did mark him as a child. Which ignited a horrifying thought: where there was a child, a parent wasn't usually too far off, ready to attack anything that got too close to its young.
“No,” she answered with slow caution. If nothing else, not answering struck her as a bad idea. “I don’t have a tail. Or fangs. I don’t know why my ears aren’t longer.” She subconsciously reached up to the tips of her rounded ears, and glanced at his pointed ones. “It’s just how it is. Do you know why your ears are so long?” She cringed, realizing the challenge in that rebuttal too late for her mouth to stop.
“Why are you out here?” she ventured, eyeing him, her curiosity as wary as his was open. “Are... there more of you out here?” She couldn't keep the terror at that thought from her voice. She glanced nervously to the surrounding trees, though nothing else stirred, then quickly returned her attention to the elf.

Salvation and Damnation {☆Riven Wight & Shadow Writer☆}

Hope the wait was worth it! xD A vampire feeding NOT always being all dainty and elegant is one of my favoite routes with that, and it felt like it would fit with other descriptions you've given, so I hope you don't mind! If I ever break your idea of vampires for this (or for Vander's abilities in particular) enough to bother you, please don't hesitate to let me know!

I'm in a similar boat with driving. I have some weird medical things that prevent me from it, so I rely on others for rides!

Eh, if you can't find the photo, no worries! As long as you describe her and throw in the occasional reminder. Of course, do whatever works best for you, though! While a benefit to a RP is that you can get away with replacing a description with a photo, I personally like keeping in the practice of describing things So, you know, sorry now for repeated info like that. Enough habits tend to bleed over from here into my writing as is. xD I remember I once started using the BBC tags for italics in something I'd had zero intention to post anywhere. Was using Word, so didn't have any reason to use it.

I am so lost with that vine! xD But oh my gosh. That sounds like a fun imagining!

Edit: By the way, I meant to ask. What in the world is a "spin?" I tried looking it up, and got info about a trick for "flair bartending," but it looks to me like that might not be right, considering what it is. I, uh, don't go to bars. I swear, I really am over 21! 😆😕 Those "weird medical things" have just turned drinking into something super annoying and really not smart for me to do, and I haven't found any other reason to go to a bar.

Salvation and Damnation {☆Riven Wight & Shadow Writer☆}

Alex more than came trough for Ruby. The other girl always knew just how to cheer Ruby up, her genuineness enough to melt even the hardest or most distraught of hearts. As long as you didn’t insult her height, that was.
Ruby perked up at the prospect of Alex having good news.
“Hmmm?” she hummed, her tone already lightening. “Good news with alcohol. I like the way you think!” She tapped her temple, one eyes scrunching shut.
Ruby watched Alex as she began to put together a drink with enough chocolaty flavors to satisfy the most potent of cravings. Or create it. Until that moment, Ruby hadn’t realized how badly she needed chocolate.
She eagerly caught the glass as it slid over the bar, the motion making her straighten up in her seat. For all the blue-haired girl’s clumsiness, she made some of the meanest mixed drinks.
As Alex sat across from her, Ruby licked happily at the mound of whipped cream atop the drink.
“There are three things in this world you can never have too much of.” Ruby paused to lick off her whipped cream mustache. “Weekends, chocolate, and whipped cream.”
Her attention split between the milkshake and Alex as her friend elaborated on her good news.
“A paid vacation!” Ruby’s eyes widened animatedly. “Color me jealous!” If there was anyone in this city who deserved a paid vacation, it was Alex, hands-down. But the other girl continued before Ruby could say so.
“Mm, a plan?” She placed her elbow on the bar, then rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Do tell!” She sipped at her own drink as Alex poured herself some. Her eyes widened. “Zom, this. Is. Amazing!”
As Alex explained her plan, a grin grew over Ruby’s face, her boy woes forgotten. “You had me at ‘revenge outfits!’ It’s about time you got something nice for yourself!” She hooked her feet through the foot ring and leaned back contemplatively. “I’ll have to double check to see if he’s going this weekend. Parker said it’s here all month. If he isn’t, well. Revenge outfit practice run for karaoke night!”
She raised her glass toward Alex in cheers. “Either way, we rule, Tom drools!”

The night sung to Vander. It reeked of power and promise. Of steel and flesh. Though the streets of the city were left to bathe in a lonely night, the recent smells of humans still ghosted the streets.
It made the predator inside him bustle with excitement. With hunger.
But he needed to be smart. This was a smaller city than his last. Though he suspected humans went missing here often enough—they always did—he couldn’t risk feeding on someone who would be missed. Not immediately. He hadn’t taken so many precautions against Brahm just to ruin this himself on his first night.
Somewhere in roughly the heart of the city, Vander paused at the opening to an alleyway. The ash-black of his dress shirt and darker fitted jeans melded perfectly with the shadows between streetlights.
Hands at his sides, he closed his eyes. Control. He needed to keep control. At least for now. Tapping each of his left-hand fingers against his thumb in turn—a habit from his human days that he’d kept in attempt to stay connected to some part of his humanity—he took a deep breath and reached out with all his senses.
In the neighborhood around the lake, the scent of humans had been fainter, more spread out and faded from time—a whiff of day-old brownies lingering in the oven.
But here, where vagrants roamed and drunks were just beginning to leave bars and night clubs, it was something else entirely—the aroma of a banquet permeating a hall to toying with the senses. It was just a matter of figuring out which hall led to the feast.
His finger-tapping faltered as the ache of the bloodhaze seeped through him like acid. Acid that demanded to be diluted.
But the only thing he found in his immediate area was residue, lingering imprints of humans long since settled elsewhere.
Except…
His eyes opened, their hazel irises consumed by his dark pupils. Something between a grimace and a grin twisted his face. He’d hunted enough vagrants to pick out the subtle—and not so subtle—tells in their scent. The only ones who ever noticed the loss of the homeless, were other homeless. And the worries of the homeless were so often beneath the concerns of the authorities.
He’d found his prey.
Swift and silent as a shadow, he turned into the alley. It connected to a couple others, branching off into a miniature network of dead-end roads, but he followed the scent like a hound.
He slowed as he spotted the lump of a figure huddled against a dumpster. Though hidden in the dumpster's shadow, his scent nearly overpowered by its stench, Vander could make out every detail. He sighed, disheartened; the predator in him had been hoping for a chase. The chase always made it so much more exciting.
The beat of the vagrant’s heart sped up, and his breathing grew shallower. The man clasped his blanket tighter, as if it could hide him from the danger in his midst. He was awake, then.
This close to his prey, the bloodhaze drummed through Vander with a vengeance, it’s burn no longer a pulsing demand, but an inexorable compulsion.
“Ein schlafendes Schwein zum schlachten!” he chortled, barely aware of his own words.
‘A sleeping pig to the slaughter.’
The man tensely uncovered himself, the folds of his tattered blanket billowing with his already pungent scent. The shick of a pocket knife opening was the last thing the bloodhaze needed to take full control, the drum of the man’s heart overwhelmingly loud in Vander's ears. He felt the familiar tug as his teeth extended into a mouthful of fangs.
“Look. I don’ wan’ any—”
The homeless man didn’t get the chance to finish. In a fraction of one of the man’s now frantic heartbeats, Vander had rushed to him in a fluid blur. He slammed the man’s back against the brick wall, one hand at his throat and the other his weapon-wielding wrist.
The man choked on a scream as his wrist snapped with a simple twist, sending the knife clattering to the ground.
Vander slid his hand to cover the man’s mouth, jerked his victim’s head to the side, then sunk his fangs into the man’s neck. They tore through flesh and artery with all the accuracy and elegance of a rabid wolf.
The man tried to scream again, but Vander’s palm muffled the sound. With some part of him aware of the dangers of the man being heard, the vampire touched the vagrant's mind with his.
Schweige schwein!
‘Silence, pig!’
Though the man didn’t know the language, Vander’s powers did. The man’s cries unwillingly faded to terrified whimpers.
Then, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed, was the sweetly-tangy taste of blood.
The vagrant’s fear and pain floated from his mind to the vampire’s in a disjointed blur of colors and emotion, whetting the appetite of the bloodhaze.
But even as it riled inside him, the burn of it through Vander’s veins and throat became a satisfied, soothing hum as he drank. Some small part of him hidden in the depths of his mind tried to tell himself to stop, to leave the vagrant alive, but that taste, that relief from the eternal ache was sweeter than the thought of freedom. Sweeter, even, than a promise of vengeance.
It wasn’t until the man’s pounding heart stopped, the blood flow ebbing, and his struggles ceased that Vander regained some semblance of control.
With a chesty growl somewhere between satisfied and disgusted, he forced himself to pull away from the now empty husk. The cruel, acidic monster of immortality begged for more, its appetite both quenched, yet whetted.
Breaths coming in heaves, he closed his eyes and fought to get the lusty agony of the haze to something more manageable.
Control. Control!
Releasing his last breath, he felt his fangs retract. Slowly, he looked down at the newest corpse he had to add to his already innumerable count, the side of its throat torn open. The gore glistened in the faint glow from a dim light at a back door a few yards down. Tantalizing crimson had dripped from the wound, soaking into the man’s already soiled shirt. His vacant eyes, frozen in wide terror, stared vacantly at Vander over the hand still at the corpse's mouth.
Jaw set into a trained stoicism, Vander wiped his sleeve at the blood he felt dripping down his chin. He’d learned long ago to never wear any of his favorite shirts on a hunt.
His gaze shifted to the metal dumpster. With a quick glance to the door, he swiftly opened the dumpster, then tossed the corpse inside as easily as if it was a feather-filled trash bag.
He held his hand out above the opening. With little more than a thought, small flames dripped down from his palm, and set the corpse ablaze.
“Ruhe in frieden,” he muttered. This time catching himself in his native tongue, he repeated, “Rest in peace. From one lost soul to another.”
Vander turned his back on the rising smoke and flickering flames, stilling his breaths to avoid the all too familiar smell of cooking flesh.
Such a beautiful thing, fire. It could bring a calming warmth or agonizing death. Better yet, his fire would leave no evidence of his murder, and put itself out before it could do too much damage to the dumpster.
It had proven to be a power well worth honing.
Ignoring the guilt seething behind his callous mask, Vander strode toward the alley’s nearest opening. With each step, his form became less corporeal, blurring before shifting entirely into smoke. His column swirled amongst the growing mass rising from the dumpster, then rode the wind back toward his temporary home.