"Interesting concept, Remilius.  But how may this be useful to me?"  Dietrich Ambrose Chapel asked, his hand tucked under his chin with a confused and interested look gracing his smooth, wan face.  His cropped dark auburn hair was slicked back for the most part with the exception of a few rebellious strands that still hung in his face.  The corner of his mouth was crooked down in something of a grin yet beheld much of the confusion in missing the point of Remilius' demonstration.  But undoubtedly his electric blue eyes twinkled with the desire to learn.  He had always been a knowledgeable one, seeking to know more than he should.

He stood there in the midst of a library of sorts within the fortress of Beniste Castle, an old fortification in which he had made his home, garbed in rather simple clothing that consisted of a white linen shirt with sleeves rolled up, loose comfortable breeches whose ends were tucked into the black riding boots that he never rode with; he didn't own any horses.  As always with whatever he chose to wear, Dietrich made sure that he was neat and primed, with his shirt ends tucked away into his breeches and wearing no cravat.  He had the look of gentleman about him, though not quite completely for he was nothing of the sort.  He had been born a blacksmith's son and he pertained much of the resemblance of his former self.  With the exception of his pale skin, of course.  It was almost as if he had traded in his old tanned flesh for a new coat.

The dark elf that stood beside him, bearing a golden ball of light in his sea-green hand was Remilius, a necromancer who was Dietrich's valet and head of Beniste Castle, that is he took care of everything with the exception of Dietrich who was the castle master.  The dark elf spoke clearly and without condescension in his light voice, "This power, master, will allow you to travel much longer distances within the hours of night and still make it back to Beniste Castle before the strike of dawn.  Think of it something like a vampire's dark metamorphism power except it uses necromancy and the channel of the dead to transport you back instead of transforming into night.

"I thought that it would help you since Cronus seems to be making you do more and more endeavors than before.  And since you specialize in shape-shifting and your vampiric form of teleportation, then perhaps this power may prove useful."  Remilius had a way of putting things in the simplest of terms without making seem that he was superior in any way.

"You've a point.  Give it a few more tests before you give me the talisman to try it for myself.  I wouldn't want something to go wrong and I end up in some Connlaothian prison because of it."  Dietrich unfolded his arms and proceeded out the library door just in time to here Remilius' usual, "As you wish, master."

What he needed right now was an outing, a short walk through the Draconi Forest to settle matters in his mind and perhaps put him at ease for now.  In proceeding to do so, Dietrich headed through the many corridors of the castle, past his bedroom, down the several flights of stairs, past many of the undead janitorial servants that maintained the grounds.  It was not long before he made it through the gates and across the bridge and out into the cool, open, night air upon which the moon flashed down beautiful light.

He would not need protection, that he was sure.  He was a skilled and great vampire and was sure that he would be able to face anything he encountered in the forest and surely there would be nothing on the mountain pass; it had been abandoned long ago due to some 'unfortunate incident.'  Dietrich became absorbed in his thoughts as he strolled down the mountain path until a figure came before his sight.  It was a body it seemed, sprawled across the pass as if passed out from exhaustion.  Looking at it curiously, he approached with caution.

[Go ahead and come in at this point.  Go ahead and be the sprawled body if you like, might make an interesting plot point]

It wasn't like he hated daylight.  As a matter of fact, Deimos didn't mind it much at all and its soothing warmth reminded him much of the dry heat back on his home realm of Etheros.  Sure it made him homesick, and it didn't help that he was just enduring the dawn of a thousand-year banishment.  The first two centuries had passed without much action and it was much to his astonishment that he found ways to occupy himself by observing the behaviors of these interesting creatures called Humans.

He found it strangely fascinating how much he resembled them or them to him, in bodily fashion and physical function.  However, he was differentiated in pallor and eye color. He had rested vigilance upon other  races but nothing caught his attention more than the nature of humans.  In finding their behavior erratic and obscure, Deimos was faintly astonished to learn that they had managed to survive for so long, even after the Earth's recreation.  In a way, he had thought, he was not so different from them.

But he was a demigod, for crying out loud!  He was above such puny mortal creatures.  He was not equal on his father in level of divinity, but he did not fear inferiority.  Deimos expressed the most deepest loyalty to Crydion, the demon of nightmares and worshiped as a Daedric god in some otherworldly cults, out of the highest respect for him as his father.

Deimos was an ardent believer in the hierarchy of creatures, feeling that the relationship between servant and master should be mutual, one working for the benefit of the other and the reciprocation of the action.  Fascinated with the workings of human civilization, he was not surprised to find such a system in the high societies of the kingdoms.  It interested him deeply to learn of lords, barons, dukes, ladies, viscounts, the rulers, and all the officials in between.  In ways it was similar to the rulings of his own world, except demons didn't have status based on wealth but rather the power of each individual creature.  Demons were always vying for power from one another; some merely expressing loyalty to others not because they respected them but because they wanted to learn from them, gain their trust so that they may later overthrow their masters.  Survival of the fittest, as he always said.

Nonetheless, he was out of Etheros now and accustomed to doing as he pleased.  Individual will was of one of the highest priorities to him, without it power could not exist.  His demigod powers were derived by his ability to exert his freedom and despite the fact that he was not a complete god, he was still a force to be reckoned with.  And, regardless of god or an almost-god, one must still expand the mind, right?  Deimos, even in his exile, looked forward to spending his time on Earth.  He was sure he would have much to learn in his time here.

Deimos flashed his whitened teeth in delight as he watched the last rays of sunlight fall behind the buildings and tree line horizon of La'marri.  It was such a quiet town.  Though it was missing much of the excitement the major cities had like Arca or Ketra, it was the kind of silence that he could be comfortable with.  And the silence that he could wreak havoc upon if he so chose.  He observed the darkness growing with eagerness to leave the abandoned watchtower at the edge of the village that served as his temporary abode.  Peering over his shoulder, he smiled to the dark, smoky female face of Enyx at his side.  His ever faithful companion and servant.  She had become his shadow, literally.

Shortly, he left the watchtower, his dark garb melding in union with the growing night.  There wasn't a doubt in his mind that there would be a tavern open for the locals to attend after closing time since it was rare to find a shop open at the rise of dusk.  He could feel the strength of darkness amplifying in him, the lord of shadow as he was known on Etheros.

As he walked down the slowly vacating street, he noticed a tabby cat in a front window of a closing store.  As abrupt as the night air, Deimos stared wide-eyed at it in motionless disturbance.  The cat, returning the stare eye for eye, uttered a terrible hiss and leaped from its perch on the windowsill.  Shaking his head fiercely,  Deimos continued on his journey, seething inwardly.  Damn, how he hated cats!

It was like every creature could sense that he was.... different.  Jinryu had tucked the sheathe of his katana under his jacket, with the handle hanging upside down and ready to grasp at a moment's notice.  But he didn't feel as if he needed it at this moment.  A kill always seemed more efficient with the hands anyways.  But they were as useless as his sword there was nothing to kill.

He was hungry and instead of deciding to enter a city to scout out fresh vampires for a kill, he decided to wander his home forest in search of animal prey.  It was useless.  Jinryu was tired of these endless days of searching for nothing.  Nothing to eat, nothing to do, nothing but the underground home he had built himself.  He knew he would die if he didn't get anything to eat soon, but it seemed as if all the prey were becoming scarcer and scarcer these nights.  Something was definitely amiss.

Jinryu whirled around at the sound of a cracking branch from behind him, his hand clasped on the hilt of katana.

The sliding of cold iron against the temperate, soft, yielding soil as Tarquin thrust the shovel's head hard into the ground was music to his ears. The sound itself was as justifying to him as it was to the corpses of the three hunters that tried to make a victory trophy out of him, all completely drained of any blood. Tarquin had meticulously made sure that he had done so, so the vampirism wouldn't have a chance to seed itself and grow in any of the drops of blood left in the body. If he chose to spread vampirism all he had to do was drain just a little of the lifeforce in a victim and the poison would leave his fangs and slither through the blood like a silent serpent, free to manifest and infect the victim, killing them inside. The more blood that was drained the faster the results would appear, but if all the blood was drained then the victim would simply die completely.

He did not want them to come back. And he made sure of it. He hefted the heavy bodies, no longer clad in their vampire hunting weapons, into the ten foot deep hole, one on top of the other. Then he carefully slid all the the dirt into it, packing the shovel head down on the dirt to further solidify the bodies' encasement. He didn't have to worry about any established Hunter House setting down to find them for they were renegades; they did not bear any of the signs of membership of House of Anarak or the Scarlett Vanguard, the two Hunter Houses that governed over the area.

Tarquin was also satisfied with the thought that no one else would dare venture forth into Dagon Field, the name of the cemetery which he lived. After hoisting the shovel over his broad shoulder, he turned to gaze at the old Martin Manor up at the top of the hill. He remembered scaring off the family that lived there so many centuries ago, Dr. Martin and his beautiful wife and his daughter Emily.  It was shame that no one believed their claims of a vampire taking over their new built abode, complete with the latest technology.  But as far as he was concerned he earned himself a house.

He took his eyes away from his home and thrust the shovel head deep in the ground without much effort whatsoever.  He could use a nice walk now, the forest was beautiful this time of night, filled with all sorts of strange wanderings.  Tarquin, coat ends flowing in the cool breeze of night, walked out of the stride that was light and confident in itself and strangely alluring.  About ten minutes passed when Tarquin's keen eyesight spotted a shadow moving in front of him; whether it was moving closer or away nagged his curiosity.

Gonna be gone due to cpu repairs.  (Im actually posting this from my cell phone right now).  I WILL come back though, after a few days.               -Lion.

Looking for someone to roleplay with my newest creation, young Lord Atriane Rathrane (pronounced like Adrian but with a T instead of a D).  Currently he is on the search for his potential bride and trying to prevent his father, MacConway, from removing him from his will.  Of course, he's looking for a noble lady as his choice for a bride, but that's the only requirement.  Anyone interested, let me know.  Been pondering this character for a long time and curious to see where his story goes.

Profile (very bottom).

"Quickly! My husband's on his way I just know it!" Lady Marchalt whispered harshly to the figure struggling to put on up his trousers.  The room was stark in shadow and to light a lamp was to put the lady under suspicion.  Everyone who knew her knew she didn't have a lamp on after ten o'clock.  "Hurry!  I think I can hear his carriage out on the street.  Here's your shirt."  She tossed a white silken shirt to her male company.  She watched him stuff his feet into his boots and toss the shirt over his shoulders.  As his shadowy silhouette made for the window, she called out, "Thank you for your company.  We'll see each other again, I'm sure."

The shadow stopped as he acknowledged her words before shuffling out the two story window, closing it on his way out, and down the carved granite balcony.  With a sigh, Lady Marchalt slumped down on the bed, exhausted, "What a man..."  She then drifted off into the cool waters of dreams.

~
Ralen Lycurgus dashed across the moist, dew covered lawn undetected by the keen senses of the guard dogs and their handlers.  As silent as the night, his sleek body made it to the back gate and traversed their cold, iron barbed tips in a swift leap.  Taking the front gate was too risky and if the lady was right, that her husband had just returned from his journey, Ralen would find himself in a very uncomfortable situation.  All he wanted to do was get home without finding his neck in a harness.

Time slowed for the youth that spent the time with the wife of a very important man.  Each feature placed on his smooth skin with intricate precision, his two hazel-green eyes a perfect distance from each other with an unbroken straight nose aligning the perfect proportions of his lips and high cheekbones.  His white-blond hair was a little windblown from his mad dash across the lawn and away from the Marchalt estate, but was coiffed back into place when he stopped in an empty alley way to button up his shirt and tuck the ends away in his pants.  From his look and body structure, one could hardly guess he was two hundred and twenty-three years of age and still going.  They would be too enthralled with his beauty to guess his age.

Despite his successful endeavor, Ralen was not satisfied with himself.  Sure, Lady Marchalt was a remarkable woman, beautiful and vivacious, traits he appreciated in a woman.  It had only been a been three years since his ability to see color was beginning to fade and his once poet's heart starting to turn to stone.  Frankly, when these things started happening to him, he was scared out of his wits and consulted anyone who would help him, regardless of their stature.  Luckily a close friend of his knew the answer and told him of his need for a lifemate.  In a sense, Ralen had been relieved to find that he wasn't indeed losing his mind like his poor mother had, but dismayed to discover he would lose his most valued gifts unless he found the one he was destined for.

He had set off that day and began his search, pinning and burning in his sleep and in his heart for that faceless lady he saw in his dreams but virtually incorporeal.  But his expedition proved fruitless countless times, sinking his hopes further and further into the pits of despair.  Ralen was uncertain how he had managed to charm the wits off a woman wherein they invited him into their beds.  But his desire was too much for him to contain and maybe, just maybe, there was a fragment of hope to be found in these ladies for he did not know their origins nor their blood.  Perhaps, one of them would happen to be a Carpathian.

Neat and trimmed, Ralen stood underneath the kindling street lamp, grinning at this time to test.  Of course it took a decade for the effects of the fading to decay completely, but the symptoms alarmed him desperately for he knew he was still young and naive.  He held onto the solid pole like a newly made blind man, holding his eyes tightly shut.  Under the illusion of affection, he figured that maybe his sight would retain their color.  This time, this time, his mind chanted in chorus, It just has to work this time.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the dirty brown ground.  Color!    A grin spread to his lips like lightning.  Suddenly though, the brown was fading into black and blue that streaked the star-studded sky faded too.  His smile faded.  Marchalt was not a Carpathian, this test confirmed it, and therefore was not his lifemate.  His mind tried to force its way to the bright side, but was stopped by the vines of despair that bounded his spirit.  Disappointed, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his breeches that clung to his legs like a second skin.  He needed a drink tonight and a good kill.  Perhaps he could drown out his sorrows.

His mind pounded with that infernal question that repeated itself incessantly for three years straight: Would he ever find his lifemate?

Prologue
+ NAME + Russo Portolà
+ ALIAS + Russo the Ruthless
+ AGE + Approx. 35
+ GENDER + Male
+ STAR SIGN + The Bear's Claw
+ BORN + Mid-Spring
+ ORIGIN + Reajh, Connlaoth
+ SPECIES + Human
+ RESIDENCE + Pirate ships!  Nomadic
+ OCCUPATION + Ex-Naval Captain / Pirate
+ COUNTENANCE + Dirty Blonde hair / Muddy brown eyes
+ STATURE + 6' / 190 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Heterosexual


CH. I – Painting a Portrait
He has an intimidating figure and stance with sufficient muscle build, his chest like a brick wall, and tough, hardened abdomen fit for fighting, swimming, and various other strenuous activities, from the physical labor of his youth and work in the Serenian navy.  Often let's his short hair get windswept when sailing and wears simple clothing fit for the oceans.  His muscle power and endurance make him an excellent addition to any crew.  His lean shape however also aid in his exceptional swimming capabilities.

His features are striking and sharp with a robust jawline and rough, swarthy skin.  His jaw is often coated in a thin shadow of facial hair that is neither trimmed nor fully furry for he rarely finds to time to shave.

CH II – Mental Make-up
Russo has a strong sense of spirit, much like his physical endurance.  It is hard to break this man down as he is highly determined, and stubborn.  He can take the hardest of blows and be foolhardy enough to stand back up to take some more.  His no-nonsense attitude makes him a natural leader, though he could just as easily laugh and cheer with his companions over a round of drinks.  He's a hard-worker and humble enough to work with those under his command to help complete a certain task.  However, he ensures that all objectives are done and done when told, no excuses.

+ FAITH +
The only faith he knows is gold and knows it's power quite well enough.  He's never had much stock in religion and any religious terms passing through his lips are usually terms like "gods be damned."

+ HABITS +
He's a foolishly stubborn man, doggedly even when his life might be in danger.  He can hold his liquor exceptionally well and always looking to challenge someone to a drinking contest.  He also holds quite a grudge against law enforcement of any kind.


CH III – Social

+ RELATIONSHIPS +
  * TBA
Jacques Cabrian, Enemy, Serenian Commodore

CH IV – Abilities / Skills
+ WATER BREATHING +
Revived from death as he drifted out to sea, Russo awoke in a sea cave some miles off the coast of Serendipity and was blessed by a sea nymph with the gift of being able to breath underwater and with heightened endurance when swimming underwater.  He also has increased vision in the depths of the sea and darkness in general.

+ SWORD FIGHTING +
His years in the navy have given him quite a proficiency in sword fighting with particular specialization in sabers and throwing knives.

CH V – Gear / Equipment
+ PISTOLS +
Custom pistols made by his mother, a gift from graduating from the Naval Academy in Whitesands.  They are multi-barreled pistols, with capable of holding three rounds and on a turnstile click and hold each barrel in place to maintain proper pressure within the chamber.

CH VI – Reflections of the Past
Russo was not always an outlaw, but once a revered Captain in the Serenian Navy when he moved south.  Growing up in Reajh, his father had passed away at his birth, leaving his mother to care for her only son.  His mother was a respected and master gunsmith.  She created many guns but kept the best for herself, inventing new ideas to make guns better.  Russo's mother even made him a pair of special pistols as his graduation gift from the academy. These guns were special in that they were capable of holding three rounds each rather than the single shot-pistols that were of common use.  Unfortunately the old woman's inventive genius died with her.  It lives on only through his son.

Russo had many successful naval victories.  However little did he know that one of his higher ranking friends were conspiring against him.  Jacques Cabrian, a Commodore, felt threatened by Russo's sudden rise of power and attempted to have him removed permanently.  In a final battle between the two sea men on the shores some twenty miles south of Cerenis, Jacques had Russo mortally wounded where he left him to die.  With his final bits of strength, Russo walked into the sea where he passed out and drifted, half-dead.  Waking up in a mysterious cave, a nymph told him what happened and what she did to save his life.  She granted him the gift to live and breath underwater since his life was meant to be spent at sea.

She freed him, stating that he would pay no debt but be free to seek his vengeance upon his traitorous enemy.  Russo now sails in hopes that he would someday be able to justify himself.  Instilled with a hatred for all commissioned naval officers, most especially Jacques Cabrian,

Another vampy who's just looking for a woman to love.  However there really aren't any requirements whatsoever.  Anyone who's interested let me know.

I don't really have a structured plot idea except that the romance and the development of love is the main subject of the story, though if you got some extra ideas, feel free to throw them my way. :]

Profile

Thread

[It's probably better if the profile for Tarquin is read first before a reply is posted.]

Deep in the Draconi Forest, resided a graveyard, long forgotten and no longer in use for centuries.  The weathered granite and marble headstones, roughened and unpleasant to the touch, were sprawled randomly and without any organized order.  Some statues, of deities or household guardians, stood dormant and broken, the candles beneath them having gone out years ago.  As the web-like mist blanketed the small graveyard, it did not manage to reach the heights of the massive stone mansion that stood guard at the furthest reaches of the deserted, lonely cemetery.

The house, too, was just as dead as its surroundings.  Upon its look bespoke the lineage of an age old family now long dead, every last descendant and its remnants remained locked within the gentle facade.  Every room held the same furniture it did before it was so recklessly abandoned the only difference being the dust that covered everything.  From the building's upper four floors to the basement lied another area, held deep in secrecy, protected by a maze so complicated to would take decades to remember every passage way to get to the center.  This secret area was to be the family crypt, the maze used to discourage grave robbers.

Even though the mansion no longer belonged to anyone legally, it was owned by the creature that resided in it.  Tarquin, had lived in this mansion for the past three and a half centuries, more than a substantial amount of time to memorize each intricate passageway of the meticulous maze.  Suffering, seduction, anger, hatred, revenge were all that ran rampant through the vampire's blood.  Tarquin's bloody history was like a book to be read by the amount of scars on his skin, most of them covering his back and a few sporadically scattered across his chest and abdomen.  Had these wounds been delivered before his transformation they would have disappeared along with useless memories, but there they stayed as a constant reminder of the pain he suffered.  However he focused more on the purpose of his existence, why Gathor had saved him in the first place, to kill Angelus once and for all.

The mere thought of that feigning king angered Tarquin beyond measure.  Yet there was nothing he could do now, he had to wait until he was strong enough to take on someone as powerful as him as well as find a way to get back his realm.  But as the vampire locked up the gate to one of the maze's pathways and waltzed into the darkened mist, something in Tarquin's soul cried out in desolation.  There was a yearning in him, a desperation that seemed locked up for too long, and causing him to leave his domicile for a jaunt into a village or perhaps a hunt.  However, none of these things seemed to satisfy his need.  If only he knew what it was that was unquieting him, perhaps he would find it on this trip into the forest.

Wrapped in a brown, double breasted long coat, Tarquin brushed the hair the wind had freed from his face and continued out of the graveyard gates.  He felt no need to lock up, who in their right mind would want to rob him anyways.  For starters he had no real valuables other than the glove-less bracer that covered his entire forearm, not that it could be taken off by anyone other than him anyways.  And secondly, they surely would have heard the rumors about Dagon Field, the name the locals dubbed the cemetery and it's surroundings.  To them it was a danger zone to be avoided at all times lest they anger the monster that watched over the place like a gargoyle to a cathedral.

Tarquin indeed acted as a gargoyle to his domain and was pleased that hardly anything dared to threaten it.  Gazing up at the moon, his eyes almost twinkled for tonight seemed like a nice night for a hunt, he could use the extra food.  However his visage immediately altered as a scream from the distance reached his ears.

By the light of the fading pale moon, it didn't seem like an evening were a stone would be cast upon the ripples of peace.  There were malicious cries of avarice in the distance as a pale figure ripped through the thick wood at top speed, the sound of horse hooves clomping the soft ground behind him.

It pained Dietrich to take every step as he ran through the Draconi Forest, body bleeding, from seven or eight arrow wounds.  Exhaustion ran through him.  Not just from the blood loss but also from the fact that he literally hadn't slept in seven days.  A vampire, especially one as moderately aged as he is, should never go that long without proper regeneration, respite, and rest to function properly.  Even with enough rest, a vampire could die from too much blood loss.  Despite the fact that he had pulled out all of the arrows, his wounds continued their bloody trail.  Dammit! Why wasn't he beginning to heal now?

He quickly veered a left around a bend, hiding behind a thicket of trees, the sound of the hooves coming closer.  By the sound of it there were only eight riders, all armed with various blades, spears, crossbows, torches, and the gods only knew what else they had on them that could be Dietrich's downfall.  Compared to them, he was armed with nothing but the clothes on his back, the strength of hands and the agility of his body.  He scoffed at weapons.  To him hands were either tools of creation or weapons of destruction; he always seemed to choose the latter.  But even that might not suffice under those better equipped than he.  Perhaps not even time would be in his hands.

Ever since attacking those damn Anarak slaves at the tavern Dietrich was convinced by Remilius to leave Beniste castle while there was still time; the dark elf had foreseen, in an incantation, the oncoming siege from the House of Anarak.  He saw reason and unwillingly obeyed the advice of his only friend, though he hardly considered the valet as such.  All he had to do was keep a low profile in the forest for a substantial amount of time before receiving notice from Remilius that it was safe to return home.

Now, like some kind of senseless idiot, he had stirred up trouble with a small but fierce band of renegade hunters from one of the local villages.  They had chased him north since the fall of twilight, he'd managed to evade them up until now.  He was sure he could tear them all to pieces if he wasn't so damned exhausted, even his strength might be deteriorating.  The thought made Dietrich's mouth water, surely the act of such bloodshed was enough to awaken the hunger in him.

Still he attempted to catch some fragment of respite, pressing his blacksmith-built body against the tree's trunk, hearing the hunters' hooves near his hiding spot.  The sound of a harsh woman's voice called out commands to a few of the others.  She must be the leader, he thought grimly.  There was the unveiling of several swords from the pack and gruff cries, all as bloodthirsty as marauding thieves.  The horses' hooves pranced about, not one rider dismounting.  "Come out, come out, dear little bloodsucker", "Maybe we'll go easy on you, if you show yourself", "When we find you, we're going to rip the shit out of you, little bastard.  Then roast your remains on an open fire!"  There was a malevolent laugh followed by that last one....  As well as a deep howling sound from somewhere close by.

Hmm, I guess Dietrich's plot possibility has opened back up??? Well, if it has, anyone who might be interested pairing up with Dietrich, let me know!  I welcome existing characters or if you want to make up a new one to fit the scenario, feel free to do that too.

Just as a refresher:

Quote from: "Lion"I was just wondering if anyone would be interested in RPing with my vampy Dietrich Chapel.  Subconsciously he's looking around for some woman (probably someone just as stubborn as he is, though they don't have to be) to fall in love with because he's tired of being alone.  So yeah if anyone wants to, let me know. *big smile* :D

Profile (very bottom)

It was the kind of night where anything could happen, anything to that which the night belonged to.  The moon was full overhead above the dense collection of branches that marked the dark blue, star-studded sky in crooked black streaks.  Clouds helped to powder the heavens in various shapes and forms and omitted the slight smell of dry water.  The chances of a heavy rainfall were growing by the hours and it had been too long since the last had happened.  It was almost as if the ground, in its broken cracks, cried out in exigency for the rain to come; as if the ground were a withering old man who was blowing away as dust in the wind and water was the the key to his survival.  Even the thick fog that had lifted a while after nightfall would bring no satisfaction to the thirsty earth.

Cobwebbed mist was rising from the dew covered grass when a figure suddenly materialized from out of the shadows.  It had the shape of a man, no taller than about six feet in height and quite stalwart in form.  The man, presumably, was crowned in dark auburn locks that would have disappeared into the darkness of the night were it not for the moonlight shining down; creating blood-colored streaks on his head.  His eyes were electric blue and seemed to glow in the dark from the traces of the light that streamed across his wan face.  For someone who had seen him for the first time would say he was rather beautiful, too beautiful to be real.  But his elegant black overcoat, matching navy blue waistcoat, and white, linen shirt would have not been clasped to a solid, burly figure if he were not real.  The man held pulled out a neatly cropped black slouch hat and placed it on his head to a left slant.  Then he began to tread on the scarcely moistened earth in prideful strides, his calve-high black leather boots spreading his weight evenly.

However this figure was not a man, Dietrich Ambrose Chapel had abandoned his humanity so long ago, he failed to regret doing so.  He conformed to the curse he perceived as the most gracious blessing he had ever received.  The damned curse of vampirism.  To him its benefits far outweighed the risks.  Though he could no longer experience the joys of a human lifestyle such as being out in the sun it bothered him none.  He was stronger, faster, and more durable than any ordinary man.  This was truly more a gift than a curse.  The freedom that came with Dietrich's power, did bear its cross howbeit.  His unquenchable thirst for blood, be that of beast, human, or even his own kind; it was all the same to him.  He took it as a joy, slaughtering those he injected with the curse so that not only would they not try to revenge for stealing their life away but also for the thrill of killing.  As the decades progressed, he learned to control his blood lust as well as develop a number of other useful abilities.  One of them being to shapeshift into his humanoid victims.  He could take their shape, clothing, attitude, but not their soul; no matter how or who he changed his shape into he could never alter who he truly was.

Maybe I should have learned to teleport as well, he wondered as he walked into town and into the nearest tavern.  It was quite a trip from his castle in the Terrin Mountains to the city of Ketra and he made sure to depart as soon as the last strands of daylight surrendered to the reign of the night and would do the same before the sun would awaken.  He simply decided to enter the town for a few drinks of a hard liquor  and perhaps a conversation or two.

With the door wide open, the cold breeze swept in as he entered like the merciless grip of death.  All eyes fell on him, but he merely shrugged it off.  Conversations resumed when Dietrich found a seat in the back of the smoke filled room.  A barmaid approached him where he ordered a medium glass of the strongest brandy they had.  She flushed when he smiled at her and gave her a twinkle of his eye; she left seemingly speechless.  There was something about his pallor that caught the eyes of three men who were sitting in a far off corner.

One had a heavy long sword beside him, another a pair of hair-slicing daggers, and the final one armed with a collection of throwing knives and darts on his belt and who knows what else up his sleeves.  Their gaze was unsettling, something Dietrich rarely felt.  He cleared his throat and grinned up once again as the barmaid returned with his drink; he laid down a silver coin on her tray before she departed.  Dammit, he thought, I certainly don't like their look of impudence.  I'd smash this glass into their face if I didn't already pay for it.  He took a drink of the brandy and relished as the fiery liquid ran down his throat, warm like blood, but not as satisfying a substitute.

The men resumed their conversation, intermittently laying eyes on Dietrich which read of hate and murder.  He returned the same look, eyes hard and cold, when all of a sudden the second man removed his hand from rubbing the back of his neck.  There laid a branded imprint on the nape of his neck of the House of Anarak, a band of vampire hunters reputed for their skill in vampire sensing and ruthlessness.  Dietrich's eyes burst wide mid-sip as the realization struck him, yet he remained seated as not to give himself away.  They must already know, dammit!  However, remain calm, they might forget all about it if I'm patient.

But it was too late for the first hunter had stood from his seat and began to walk over to Dietrich, eyes that spoke death.  This cannot be good...

[OoC: Wow, this post is the longest I've done so far.  Hope it's alright.]

I was just wondering if anyone would be interested in RPing with my vampy Dietrich Chapel.  Subconsciously he's looking around for some woman (probably someone just as stubborn as he is, though they don't have to be) to fall in love with because he's tired of being alone.  So yeah if anyone wants to, let me know. *big smile* :D

Profile (very bottom)

Prologue
+ NAME + Dietrich Ambrose Chapel
+ ALIAS + N/A
+ AGE + 200 give or take a few decades (appears approx mid-30's)
+ GENDER + Male
+ ORIGIN + Village of Basha, in northern Terrin Mountains, within Adelan borders
+ SPECIES + Vampire (formerly human)
+ RESIDENCE + Ketra, Adela
+ OCCUPATION + Occasional vagrant, Security Guard for an old biddy
+ FACE + Black hair / Emerald Green
+ STATURE + 6'0 / 213 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Bisexual



__________________IN-DEPTH

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Dietrich is slightly taller than average, with a strong build, barrel-chested with thick powerful arms. He's vaguely pale, the Adelan tan of his heritage marginally apparent. His eyes are hooded with a generally bored or uninterested look, his face thin and he usually has a lit cigar or smoke between his lips. His green eyes are bright and vibrant, almost glowing in the dark. Dietrich's hair is medium in length, shaggy and wild and pushed back out of his face, scruff growing along his chin and upper lip. He has a nasty gouge in the meat of his upper left shoulder that looks like a healed over bite, with a human bite pattern.

PERSONA
"Vampirism is infectious, but wealth isn't. I've got to make a living somehow."

Dietrich is a hardy bastard. As someone used to most things not going their way, he's taken it upon himself to not give a shit anymore. There remains a certain  level of discretion of course. He can't just go around slaughtering the masses like some kind of over-compensating edge lord, lest he risk the villagers grabbing their pitchforks and running him out of town.

He's sarcastic and elusive, never really looking to make friends. He has a not-so-vague disdain for uppity folks, vampires and humans alike, or just about anyone that thinks their wealth gives them some semblance of authority. Titles and badges are all well and good, when the one who wears them is just walking bloodbag to him. Peopleing is taxing and always done with great reluctance. He sometimes misses his old life, but doesn't stay stuck in that past-pining mentality for long. Just don't get him drunk or he'll be bellowing out tavern drinking songs all out of tune and everything. It's terrible.

Going from odd job to odd job doesn't for a steady living make, and paying for blood donors is sometimes easier than leaving bodies in back alleys. People tend to ask less questions that way.

- Things! -

- Likes cats. Their general response is to hiss at swat at him but the ones that don't, he feeds the strays with scraps of he food he collects here and there.
- Heavy smoker, so heavy. Much smoke. The itch to take a drag is super annoying, but he can't seem to quit.
- Jack of Many Hobbies. When you're immortal, you tend to have a lot of time on your hands to learn new things and skills. Dietrich tries to keep himself busy with mildly artistic endeavors, among them whittling, knitting, and recently water color doodles. They're not likely to win any prestigious art contests, but they occasionally pay the bills. As in like, he can afford some tobacco, or a fresh fish for the cats.
- Coats, coats, and more coats. Heavy hooded coats are the best. Keeps out that pesky sun from his eyes.

MAGIC/ABILITIES
Vampirism
Heightened strength and reflexes when it's necessary, and likes blood of course, Dietrich has become less and less bloodthirsty hunter in the night the longer he's been around, and has a preference for living under the radar. Outwardly he seems human enough, but when the hunger sets in and the need to sate it is too strong, he changes into a more strigoi-like vampire, more animal than man. In addition, time has allowed him to promote different abilities. He can shapeshift into a black-furred wolf. Going hungry for long reduces him into a feral state, and he tries to not let that happen when he can help it.

RELATIONSHIPS
Rhea - Sire
Ex-lover, manipulative and cruel. Rhea found Dietrich when he was at his most vulnerable. They had a 'misunderstanding' and he generally can't stand her. The feeling is somewhat mutual.

Helenka Petrovich - Employer
A widow of a merchant, with poor eyesight. She's well-meaning, if a bit ditzy. She's an old biddy with a lofty retirement fund and keeps Dietrich's pockets decently lined in exchange for guarding her house, and protecting her from the spooky things that lurk in her attic. (That are really just rats but don't tell her that. Sometimes the stray cats in the neighborhood have a feast day.) 


HISTORY
Tl;dr
Boy falls in love with girl, girl wants nothing to do with boy. He gets drunk, makes out with a vampire. He drinks her blood, she drinks his. Boom, it's a whole new world being undead and after a failed affair, he's left picking up the scraps. Everything's just peachy.

Epilogue
THREADS

Thorn rolled up the sleeves of his mid-thigh length coat and pulled his collar as he treaded through the underbrush.  In the midst of the darkening sky, he could see the shape of light in the distance; lamps being lighted.  Soon he was out of the wood and into the secluded village.  "A safe haven..." or so tip the informant had given to him said.  Well, it had better be, he thought grimly.  He would surely need the safety; at least for a while.  A bar brawl gone wrong had him on the run and had killed the wrong man in the process.  He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.  No, matter.  What's done is done.

He walked into town from the shadows and wrapped the coat tighter around him.  So this was La'marri?  It seemed a quiet enough place to start anew, or at least make a normal enough life while trying to escape from one's past.  It was cool enough, this transformation of evening, and though Thorn was born into the heights of Hyoite, he relished warmer temperatures.  These cool winds were not nearly as cool as the snow, however.  This was good enough for him.

He headed straight towards the first tavern he saw. The Moonlight Flower?  The name amused him.  It didn't seem like a place that would have such an effeminate name.  Usually taverns were gruff places, where men came to drink and shady fellows looked for selling their shady products, be that illegal or bootlegged goods.  It didn't seem like such a place.  When he strode in, Thorn was met by more than a dozen pairs of eyes.  They didn't seem annoyed but rather welcoming and friendly.  He certainly wasn't expecting this.

Thorn shrugged off their gazes and walked towards the counter where he asked the bartender whom he assumed was the owner, "Excuse me sir,"  The moon elf turned towards Thorn in full attention.  "A friend of mine told me you had a room waiting for me."

"Ye name, sir?"

"Blackburn."

The owner pulled a book out from under the counter and flipped through a few pages.  After a few moments, the elf nodded his head and said, "Aye.  Here be Blackburn.  Oooh, the master suite too."  He laughed an annoying, light-hearted chuckle.

"Thank you.  Now hand me the key, please."

"No can do, sir.  The room's taken already."

"What!  How can that be?  That room was reserved and paid for.  Who could have taken it up?"

"The room was taken up by a young blond-haired lass with a trunk or two and a large bag of gold."  He looked at the book once again.  "Err- Last night I think."

"Well then, just give me another room," Thorn said impatiently.

"Nope, can't do that either, sir."

"And why the hell not?!"

"All booked up."

"Well, we'll see about this!"  Thorn slammed his hand down on the counter, though not loud enough to permeate through the room's chatter, and marched up the tavern stairs.  Immediately the elf ran around the counter and called after him, saying that he couldn't come up the stairs without a room.

In the purest irritation, he strode down the hall of rooms with the owner following close behind with incoherent protests.  He found it quite easily for there was a plaque with the term 'Master Suite' carved into it placed directly above the door.  Thorn made a fist and knocked on the heavy oak door that echoed through the hallway.  "Open up!" he called out.

The little elf swooped down under his arm and and stood in front of the doorway.  "Sir, sir. Please calm down, you'll disturb the other guests."

"I don't give a damn.  Now move aside."  He continued to knock against the door, this time with a gentler knuckle tap but persisted to raise his voice, "I said to open up!"

The enchanted shackels had finally taken their toll on Ortelio; only to return with that blasted princess and then he would gain his freedom... Or so Rahell had said. How could he trust a conniving little bastard such as Lord Rahell with granting him freedom if he performed such as painstaking task as rescuing an island princess? How did he know that the lord wouldn't go back on his deal and throw him in the dungeon after bringing the wench? How did Rahell know there was a princess trapped in the middle of the Tuor Ocean anyways waiting for her rescuer? So many questions, so much at stake; it was too late to stop now for he was now at least halfway to his destination.

"When I return, I'm going to kill that clever little bastard!" Ortelio said under his breath as he peeled off the heavy layer of an overcoat from his body. It made it easier to travel carrying it rather than wearing it around in the morning sun. And it was such a beautiful day too, a perfect day to lie sleeping near a river or go hunting, not so much a beautiful day to go on a perilous adventure involving not only one's freedom but very much their life as well. He hadn't an idea how he was going to return to the Rahell estate with a princess tagging along, her most likely not used to being on the mainland. There was high risk of something going wrong at almost every turn. There may be certain officers asking what a princess is doing so far away from her kingdom without being accompanied by a chaperon and her brave band of cavaliers to guard her. They might even come across a marauding band of bloodthirsty bandits and all because Rahell had to have an exotic bride rather than just choosing one of the local ladies to wed.

The thought made Ortelio scowl all the more, but even this small sense of freedom was better than being chained to a wall for seven days without a bite to eat but stale breadcrumbs and the slop that passed for a good soup, stuff that wasn't even good enough to feed to the lowliest of beggars. Despite such, however, he was not truly free, for the enchanted metal bracelets upon his wrists, though not conspicuous, were tracking his journey.

Hello everyone!  I've taken a look at this site and was wowed! at it's organization and originality.  I've taken it upon myself to try it out and see whether or not it suits me.  I have some previous roleplaying experience but sadly I still feel like I'm lacking.  Well nonetheless, I'm looking forward Rping with everyone here!


Oh, and everyone can call me lion if it so pleases them. =D

-Lion.