Remilius spoke no further than what was necessary, he knew his place and was neither ashamed of it nor boastful. To him, because he was the only living and breathing servant in the whole of the castle, other than half-demented cooks that is, that in itself was enough for him to hold a sense of self-worth far greater than he had ever experienced. He had spent much of his early life accustomed to abuse, exploitation, and humiliation, constantly thrown out of taverns, taken up with a traveling circus (where he learned much of his necromancer abilities), and arrested for crimes he never committed. Out of everything, becoming a valet, the head of a household bringing enormous responsibility for everyone and everything in it, was the best thing that ever happened to him by far. Even if he did serve under a bloodthirsty vampire, witnessing many a ruthless slaughtering, several beheadings, and a few disembodiments here and there. There wasn't much here that went on at Beniste Castle that he didn't know about. Except this moment.

Despite his solemn character, who often kept his emotions and thoughts to himself as his job description required, Remilius' couldn't help but succumb to his curiosity at times. He supposed it was innate in his elven blood and that his own species frequently suffered because of it. After all, one can never really escape the things that they are born with. Whenever he wanted to know a certain aspect of something, the first thing he would do was confront Dietrich about it. He would always be open to give a satisfying answer to all of the harmless questions. Dietrich never saw anything to hide from Remilius, except the trysts with Bellona and some other aspects of his past. When that never sufficed, he resorted to snooping of his own. He would look through old documents, performed dark incantations in his dormitory, and even spy a little bit when he could learn nothing from the other two methods.

Now more than ever did he feel the return of his nagging curiosity. Remilius wondered why his master had brought home a woman. Of course, it was really none of his business, what Dietrich by his own volition was his own; sub-consciously, however, as the hub of the household, he did feel he had a right to now. It had been at least a century and half since he had last returned home with a member of the fairer sex, in all incidents they never returned to their homes because they ended up in the castle crypt. Dietrich actually wasn't as lusty as vampires were often reputed to be. True, a vampire's sex drive often went unmatched, he was no exception to that when the mood set him. But because he kept himself busy with so many other things; attending meetings with the coven, dealing with hunters, pissing Cronus off among other things, he was too absorbed with himself and tasks his own to think about such things.

Remilius could see instantaneously that there was nothing light or fair about this woman. Around her, he received the air of ferocity that he hadn't experienced at all in his life, except once in the circus when the ringmaster (who was a woman) had whipped him relentlessly for stealing a piece of bread from her private food storage. Her remark about his skin and ears did not offend him for his type of elf was rare, it was something he heard often. The ferocity did not frighten him, or even intimidate as he figured that was what such attitude did to most people, but instead made him suspicious as to her doings here. Whatever it was, he decided, he would ask Dietrich when he awoke the following evening? For now he would keep the professional distance he was so accustomed to, obey and command.

When Ziarre tossed her belongings to the floor, he instinctively gathered them up and placed them on a nearby chair. As a necromancer he sensed a disturbance in the mental position of Ziarre (he wasn't a psychic, but the macabre hidden deep within people's minds called out to him like an ave's wild whoop). It alarmed him, if only vaguely, seeing clearly that she was trying hard to ignore it. Remilius placed it in the back of his mind for later, it might be one of those interesting facts he could share with the master of the house later. It was the little things like these that Remilius felt Dietrich ought to know.

He had been standing still, eying the weaponry and baggage she carried, until he realized she bade him a request for a bath. Well, it was more of a barking command, but he jumped to the start all the same. As he moved to the washroom, drawing the bath in the porcelain tub, he answered, "I'm the only elf here. There are various other undead servants, zombie and skeletal, that do the cleaning. And, of course the cooks, a few half-crazed witches that seem to be more than obsessed with their positions." The water finished pouring into the tub as he finished, "I doubt there have been any other elven servants before me since I have been working here for at least four hundred years." Remilius stood and walked back into the room, asking, "Will you be needing anything else?"

~

Dietrich, locking himself in his room as was his custom, and drawing the heavy curtains over the thick glass windows overlooking a terrace, had removed all of his wet clothes and slipped into his sleeping wardrobe. The chances of the rain continuing on through to morning were high and it gave the room its usual cold feeling, he was not distracted from letting his tired mind receive the rest it so deserved, his body would concur too. The wounds, though no longer open, were still a little sore as the mattress yielded to his weight, causing him to wince slightly. He sighed graciously as he let his stalwart body fall to rest.

The next part was easy enough: Sleep. With himself as tired as he was, Dietrich allowed himself to become Slumber's silent victim. Images of the evening and Ziarre flashed beneath his closed eyes, watching his mind's movies until he felt himself drift off into perpetual darkness. "No," a voice said in the back of his mind beneath the layers of sleep, "Not again...."

Dietrich was watching himself, seeing what he was seeing all over again. A mirror of a dream.

He had run away when his mentor was not looking, trying to go back, wanting that nostalgia that had driven him so far. It was twenty-six years later from the date of his death on Cecile's wedding day. Dietrich knew that she had wed Travin and had children of her own now, completely forgotten about him, but he did not forget her. He would keep the promise that he had made to Cecile.

Dietrich was observing through the cabin window at Cecile, now a woman in her forties. He watched with a growing anger, hate, and slim chance of regret, her kiss her husband and embrace her now eighteen-year old daughter... He had wanted to break into there, make her bleed, make her feel all the pain she had caused him. But that would only have hurt her physically. Physical pain only lasted so long... If he attacked her heart to make her see... Yes, then she would truly see... He continued to look at the happy moment with empty jealousy, taking note of everything, storing it way into the back of his mind; until he spotted the sparkle from her daughter's finger. An engagement ring? It must be... Then a boy appeared, about the same age as the girl, with the same kind of ring on his own finger. Yes it was an engagement ring... Then the plan came to him: The key to Cecile's heart was through the daughter...

He knelt low, watching the fiancé suddenly leave the room to another room in a dark corner of the cabin. Now was his chance. Moving from his spot beneath the window, Dietrich slipped around the corner and into a darkened room where the boy had entered. In quick kill, he silently snapped the boy's neck and dragged him outside through the window and into the bushes. Then he felt his body change, his built arms to the boy's lanky limbs, his hardened torso to a thinned trunk, Dietrich's face exactly into the boy's. Shape shifting was now his prime gift, feeling his outside alter physically was stirring mentally.

Sneaking back into the window, he readjusted the ring on the bony finger and smiled maliciously to himself. It was a perfect plan...nothing could go wrong. He hid behind the corner that led to the family room, where girl had been waiting by herself after Cecile and Travin walked upstairs momentarily. After searching though his victim's memory, he finally found her name. "Elycia," he whispered harshly, showing his face ever so slightly.

Smiling, Elycia walked towards him, "Bastil, what are you doing back there? What's taking you so long to get the wine?"

"Come here." She approached him in the darkness and assumed a loving gaze and held her as a fiancé should. He kissed her a few times, doing playful gestures. She merely returned the actions, lipping at his neck and questioning what he was doing. It was only when he changed back did she become alarmed. Before she could scream, Dietrich was on her and apprehended her quickly, then slipping out of the window once again.

The vision was blurred as Dietrich tossed in a fitful sleep. Beclouded until...

He was carrying Elycia up the stairs to his room at the castle as she struggled against him. But he was too strong for her... She could only feel a dangerous stranger holding her in a way that she could not fight him... She succumbed to his will...

Dietrich felt the rage that scurried through him fade away as he realized what he had done. "No!" cried out that last wrinkle of humanity left in him, but he no longer could give a damn. What was done was done... But as a final act of mercy, not to Cecile but to Elycia, he grabbed the dagger beneath his pillow and thrust it into her heart, killing her instantly...

"No..." Dietrich mumbled in his sleep. His hands thrashed from one side of the bed to the other, gripping one pillow with agitation.

Disguising himself as a villager he returned her lifeless body to Cecile's home, grinning maliciously inside at the horror that filled her face. When she looked back at the villager's face, there was a familiar glow that made her heart leap into her throat. But before she knew it, he was gone...

It was his final act of revenge and his final act of mercy... It was all over now, there was no going back...


[ I think I put too much action in one post.  Might use the blood scene for later though. *makes note to self*]

Faile was right, after she had departed from his side, before he could even utter what it was he wanted, the chef's assistant looked at him and said instantly, "Roast duck!"  Willem cocked an eyebrow and watched the little person leave without another word, the battleax's assistants following insistently behind them.  Hmm, if only my chefs were that efficient.  We'd probably have better food served than that crap that passes for a sufficient meal.  Or maybe it's just because the headchef lost his ability to smell years ago and can no longer taste the food he makes....  The thought nearly made Willem sick to his stomach as he clutched his gut and made a gagging noise before moving to inspect the room.

He put his hands in his coat pockets until one of the butler's cleared his throat catching his attention.  Asking for his coat, he slipped it off easily along with the cloak and handed them to the valet.  Walking away, he caroused about the room looking at the pictures there.  They were rather interesting, of various people he didn't know.  He vaguely recognized a small child in one.  Lady Faile, I suppose, he commended.  Willem tried to imagine her as a five year old, arms flailing happily as she sailed as free as a bird on the boat that he also saw.  "Beautiful," he muttered smiling inwardly.  Usually anything to do with boats, ships, sailing or the like interested him greatly.  But there was something else behind the intrigue that was two fold its normal height.  He kept his eyes on the photographs of the woman he had just met, scanning and wondering.  "Just beautiful," he repeated before Faile interrupted his thinking.

He chuckled suddenly and sat beside her before agreeing, "Yes it is indeed beautiful."  The chefs moved in quickly, too quick for Willem to imagine that they were able to whip up roasted duck in such an instant.  It was as if made by magic.  The food smelled delicious, much his surprise, as the servers laid out the silver platter around them.

Cronus' fists clenched, experiencing the pain, inner turmoil, acerbity, and hatred that he had held underneath his skin for five hundred years.  His fingernails were clamped down with such incredible pressure that his nails pierced through the palms causing droplets of blood to spurt from his aged hands.  As he alleviated the pressure, more blood began to flow freely, an inconspicuous grin sprouting on the phantom's ethereal face as it smelled the crimson liquid.  A few droplets plopped causally to the marble floor concurrently with the rest of his blood slowly crawling back up into Cronus' healing palms.

In all of his years, Cronus never had dealt with such a problematic vampire as Dietrich.  Continuously brushing off all reproach from his actions like dusting off a coat, Cronus would have been willing to grant Dietrich as many chances as he ever wanted for he considered Dietrich like his own son, and had loved him as one.  But he never reciprocated after all he had done for him.  Taking him in with Bellona's tenacious pleas and begs, not casting him out after killing Thaniel, sparing Dietrich from his wrath after discovering Bellona's infidelity, and desiring to award him second chances if only he would want them.  Cronus could not longer afford to be merciful.

He had created his laws so that none of his children, his mate, or any of the vampires of his coven would have to suffer and fight as he had.  To run mad or wage war on one another that was so common between vampires who had no place to call home or anyone to call Brother.  Cronus had wanted to take care of his family, blood-related or otherwise, and make them robust.  But Dietrich has refused his aid, refused his laws, as well as everything else given to him.  There was no end to his treachery and with this Cronus hadn't a choice but to come to the conclusion that Dietrich was now a threat to the entire coven that must be blotted out immediately...

Cronus had summoned the phantasm before him to perform this very task.  Known only as the Wraith, the apparition had once been a warrior cursed to lose its bodily vessel and wander the earth forever as a lost soul and ghostly assassin.  The wraith's tall complete form was a flowing obsidian flame; lapped in atramentous outlandish armor, its entire figure was, in a word, a shadow, as dark as ghostly smoke could be and just as solid as one.  The only brightness came from the vivid green eyes that glowed like two star-light candles.

Cronus repeated himself, "Dietrich will be no more...  I've enough of his insurgence.  If you can do this for me, phantom, I will award you most graciously.  Name your bounty..."

The wraith's retort came as an eerie whisper, a voice straining for audible speech but only capable of impassive echoes, "Lift...the...curse..."

"Your wish shall be granted.  Now, arroint with you."  There was a flash of green eyes and the phantom faded away into the night.

~Beniste castle~
Dietrich couldn't recall any moment having come into contact with a race called Teleporter, other than now that is.  Whatever they were, sadistic, cannibalistic, cross-bred, demonic killers, they were certainly well gifted in that respect.  Dietrich had evaluated Ziarre's progressive motion of slaying and allowed her deep impression to motion him to offer her the job in the first place.  Now that he knew a little more about what she was, not necessarily caring who, Dietrich was strangely even more comforted by her presence than he was previously.  Having a Teleporter around might help me out more than I thought.

"As useful as it is at times, control can be so overly stressed it sickens me," Dietrich uttered.  He had tired greatly from having to restrain himself, having to hold back on the power he knew he had deep within him just to execute a perfect kill when hunting prey, forced to follow the examples of pure-blood and their definitions of perfect kills: 'Quick, silent, and free of unnecessary savage bloodshed.'  On his own volition, he eventually learned to consummate a satisfying kill while still unleashing his full potential.  It came as a great relief to him when he become the black sheep and no longer had to follow rules that never made sense to him anyhow.  Learning that she could enact some control pushed things into an easier light.  At least, he thought, I won't have to worry about her slaughtering off my servants.  Though most of them were dead already, he would have one hell of a time trying to gather up all the remains and have Remilius re-summon them to their former state.

Ziarre's question unavoidably caught him off guard.  It was that random.  It was not often that anyone, let alone a woman, ask him in what he had slept in.  Seeing it as a perfectly harmless question, he replied casually, "I've tried sleeping in one once or twice, but they were so horribly uncomfortable, I had to move to sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms.  I actually prefer it, there is much more room on the bed, and the view is fantastic by night."  Dietrich cracked his knuckles, the snapping sound bringing about fond memories, as they approached the doors.  But a person beat them to the punch.  

A dark elf stood waiting with the midst of the large maple doors.  His aquiline nose, pointed ears, narrow eyes, high cheekbones and other features were wrapped in his aqua-blue skin that read of years of service.  Remilius stood, hands held neatly behind his back, with a great sense of pride and honor that were uncommon in his specific species.  Most of his kind were built for wreaking devastation on other races, but when his mother had been killed by beasts, Remilius searched for a different culture to stand by.  He had stumbled upon Dietrich castle accidentally but was more than grateful when the vampire was willing to take him in under the condition that he become his servant.  He didn't mind at all as long as it got him away from the savagery that was his family bloodline.  The dark elf formed a strong sense of pride in his vocation as the valet and took it very seriously, without him the rest of the castle would be unable to function alone.

"Master, what kept you?  'Tis three hours to the mark of dawn at this moment." Remilius inquired, not taking his hands from behind his back.  He moved as they entered into the main hallway.  He gave a curious gaze to Ziarre, not one that read of contempt or impudence but simply a sheer interest as to her presence with Dietrich.

"A drunken skirmish, Remilius," he laughed.  "It was an unlucky evening for a few Anarak slaves.  With the help of my associate of course, Ziarre," he said referring to her briefly.  "She is a guest here and you will grant her whatever she asks.  Now show her to a guest room on my floor."  Dietrich strode from his place at Ziarre's side, nodding to her before bounding up the grand, red carpeted staircase to the the third floor.

Remilius was mysteriously unsure as to what he should do, something that never happened with his job.  He continued to look at Ziarre, scanning her clothing and, by the look of her ragtag appearance he wasn't sure which he should do first: offer her a bath and a fresh set of clothes or show her to a room.  He decided it was best to follow Dietrich's instructions than risk incurring his wrath.  As much as Dietrich treated him with an apathetic respect, not even that could save him from his anger.  In his mannerly way, the elf offered Ziarre, "Would you please do to follow me.  I'll show you to your room where you may rest and bathe if it pleases you.  As a guest, I, as my master's servant, am your servant as well."

Remilius led the way to the third floor, veering a right instead of the left that Dietrich took to his own room.  The outside of the castle was perhaps the only trait that bore a feminine outlook in contrast to the interior that was distinctly masculine.  It was not a masculinity of the emblematic kind, but a masculinity that held its own elegance and elaboration that was Dietrich's tastes.  He had worked painstakingly hard at removing the loving feel that had inhabited the walls, draping over it with his own hardened heart.  Though he couldn't do much to the outside, he lessened the harsh contrast by blending and gently leading the detail from the outside in; a strange combination of feminine and masculine power.

Thorn did not laugh.  There was not a singular look of amusement written on his face anywhere.  For once he was serious or at least serious enough for someone like himself.  This was after all a very serious situation that required the utmost sincerity.

Thorn had affixed his eyes on her words, not allowing his mind to stray with thoughts but focusing his absolute attention.  When Alena was finished he remained silent.  A princess?  Hmm no wonder she could afford a room like this and her fancy dresses, he thought in the process.  It didn't come as a complete shock to him, for he had an indistinct feeling for the fact.

He was not absolutely sure that she should be telling someone like him, who, as mercenaries tend to do, would work for the highest bidder, capable of performing some of the most painstaking tasks.  Thorn was a man who enjoyed making money and investing in prospects that were promising enough.  But it was all the same to him for he had held no loyalties to anyone; if someone payed him well for one service but another offered more he would simply trade places.  Some might call that treachery, however Thorn could see no difference in trading one task for another if it meant getting paid more.  He was a businessman after all and this specific business was not a place for a one to coddle morals.

Finally deciding to speak, Thorn stood from his seat, and asked solemnly, "A princess?  So that's why you're here.  That's not entirely surprising, but it was a little unexpected."  The colors that once were a confusing abstract portrait now began to formulate a slightly better, however even that wasn't enough to clear his mind.  Then he considered this moment as an opportunity, opportunities were finding a way to pop up all over the place these days and with every opportunity arose the chance to make a little money.  If Alena was a princess, who had run away from the people of her own kingdom, would they not stop at nothing to find her and drag her back to her homeland?  They could be willing to pay top dollar to anyone who was willing to bring her back--but wait!  Thorn considered himself one of the best, who should be paid accordingly.  It would take too long for a bunch of peasants to come up with nearly enough money to assume his services.  A princess would have a lot more money than he could hope to gain from a bunch of peasants.  Why not offer her protection?

Pulling out a cigar from his coat pocket, he said before lighting it, "Alena, how do you think the chances are of them finding you here?  I don't think it would be wise for a princess to wander around an unknown area unprotected.  Why, the next person you meet could very likely be someone who tries to accost you or take you back to your homeland.  How about letting me help you?"

[The castle description was actually pretty well done.  Compared with some of the other descriptions I've read in books and with something that I could do, it's actually better.]

A vampire's most well guarded secret was the fact that they were a vampire.  You never could tell who you could trust and who was going to impale you right in the back once the undead kitty bounded it's bleeding way out of the body bag.  A vampire's  human lover may not know the guise, and when the veil is lifted they run, either from the sheer fear that they were screwing with a reanimated corpse all along or for their very lives, to the nearest hunter house that they could find.  Perhaps that was why the majority of vampires tended to choose lovers of their own kind or of another demonic race, or at least transform their human mates so that there were be fewer problems than before.

However, of course, this did not mean that a vampire wasn't prone to lose their heart to a human.  These relationships hardly were stable enough to survive in either one's society, unless they were kept hidden well away.  They were frowned upon in vampiric society for the demon, who may not be willing to endanger their partner's life by making them immortal, would never be able to share their affinity out in the open.  To them, a vampire who loved a human was a traitor to their kind, had no self-respect or honor, and were destined to be eternally ill-fated.  Eventually, as all life does, the human would die and the vampire would be induced to misery for the rest of their existence because they would not have their love with them.  Such happenings potentially caused a vampire to go mad and long for things that would never return.  Memory became an eternal plague to those where time was no longer an enemy but a kind and comforting ally.

Dietrich never had loved after one before.  Lusted, yes, but never ventured far enough to love.  There would be those few women who caught his eye, come to the ever fateful conclusion of pursuing them, every time never allowing his precious secret manumission.  Besides he was perpetually cretinous of ever seeing a reason to do so.  Now ardor was as faraway an emotion as it had ever been.  The more his age progressed there lessened the chances of him ever loving again.  Not that he was convinced he needed it.  And with age flowed the conviction of loving only himself or respecting those that shared his newfound disposition of the cardinal hunger for violence, death, destruction, and blood.

Within the centuries of his existence, Dietrich had evoked more bloodshed and devastation as a newborn than any other vampire had accomplished in his coven.  He was second only to Pendragon Cronus, who had fought countless hunters, fellow vampires, and mindlessly slaughtered humans, devils, necromancers, sorcerers, and other supernatural beings/deviants in establishing his coven, making it last as long as it did and becoming a successfully distinguished coven house within his realm.  In doing this, he created his code which banned asinine killing without just cause, and especially the shedding of the blood of another coven member.  Dietrich never could interpret Cronus' reasons for mooring such insolent laws that restricted a vampire from becoming who they truly were.  But was not death only a natural part of life?

He knew, that after slaying his mentor, that he would need a place to occupy on his own.  Having chanced much of the greater world without much of lady luck on his behalf, he knew he might as well choose anything from the nearest cave to a tomb lying underneath some village churchyard.  Though finally fortune smiled a silver grin upon him and his years journey had finally come to a startling halt.

"Hell, I doubt I would have the patience to build such a structure as this,"  Dietrich commended, pulling the final knife from his back that he had neglected to pull out back at the bar.  It didn't matter really if he waited for someone else to pull them out for him seeing as his wounds would begin their regeneration rather quickly, reabsorbing what blood it could that didn't already soak his tattered coat.  "I had found this castle already abandoned and decided to occupy for it suited my needs rather than calling a cave home.

"It was once built for a great lady, Lady Agatha Beniste, by her husband Lord Gannon Beniste.  Everything, from its size to the towers to the area it was built in, the mountains, was done out his adoration for her.  And when he had died, it was said that she told all of her servants to shelter themselves on the lowest floor wherein Lady Agatha climbed to southernmost tower, which is the tallest one, and killed herself.  She told all of the servants to move downward so that they may not hear her scream when she plunged the knife into her heart.  She had said that her soul would be unable to attain rest if a servant had heard her painful scream.  However, one or two had because she still haunts the castle walls.

"I'm quite sure she doesn't mind my presence in her home.  We've had a very tender agreement that made things civil between us for a while, " he concluded without much adieu.  His spine immediately straightened, despite the poignant pain from this healing wounds, when Ziarre had asked about vampires.  Once confirmed in his mind that it was acceptable to continue with an answer, he offered a makeshift answer, managing a mocking smirk to all the hogwash that managed to find its way into vampiric legend and myth.  "Vampires are a living demon, reanimated corpses, capable of some humanly functions like being born or giving birth, that feed off of the blood of other creatures by fangs.  Mostly humans but some will hunt animals.

"Or," he narrowed his eyebrows as he offered Ziarre a gazed that read of amusement, "like me, my own kind."  Dietrich paused, pulling off the drenched hat and allowed the rain to patter against his auburn hair.  It felt as if he was the earth, absorbing the rainwater without hesitancy and relishing it is very feel.  "Most of the legends of the vampire are in truth while others are simply ridiculous.  We are not allergic to garlic for one thing and we do have reflections.  Holy relics do not mix well with us, as neither does sunlight for the greater majority.  We aren't prone to disease or illness of the physical variety and we have enhanced physical strength, heightened senses, and speed without much impediment.

"All the strengths differ between every vampire.  All have the norms yet none are the same, depending on what ability a singular vampire tends to focus on.  Some may choose to be pure psychics capable of mind control and incredible insight.  Others can teleport, as you've done, by using night transformation called dark metamorphosis.  It's a very dangerous skill however much it is useful; though every vampire is capable of this, some are just better at it than others.  I prefer to shapeshift, altering my form into those that I've killed.  I can change into pretty much anyone as long as they have two arms and two legs."

"Every of my kind has the opportunity to become stronger as they age, both physically and mentally.  Mentally, by continuously learning knowledge.  As their bodily vessels bolster so do their true forms, the figure by which they are at their strongest and most powerful, assuming their demonic appearance.  Vampires near and far differ in true form though still have the same characteristics.  A vampire does most of his work in his human form, slaying with his hands or any weapon of his choice.  Most are capable of emotion, choosing rather to remain stoic than reveal their vulnerabilities.  With this proficiency, they are very sensual creatures and can become in tune with another's emotions quite accurately," Dietrich said with finality.  There was too much complication within the realm of vampirism to be entirely accurate, but at least he managed to develop a well-rounded explanation of his species.

They began to approach the castle gates, the muddied mountain path uninterrupted by a moat or silly drawbridge.  Was this castle not made out of love and not malice or war?  With Ziarre revealing her curiosities, Dietrich, being much the opportunist, to it upon himself to relieve his mind from his own wonderments.  Her own ability to teleport had mysteriously found a way to entrance him so that he couldn't help but ask, "And what of you, Ziarre?  You're not human, or at least not as it may seem.  What are you?"


[Wow that explanation was longer than I thought it would be.  Hope it was alright.]

It was difficult now to recollect a time that was happy for him.  Most of Dietrich's joy was derived from the agonizing death of a foe, the pallor by which he peered at when seeing into a mirror, and even the fear and hatred rewarded to him when he attended coven meetings.  Most of all three, he found pleasure in persistently antagonizing Cronus with his continuous deviation for ways of old, defiance of coven laws, and speaking out when silence was golden.  Albeit speech was platinum to Dietrich, shutting your mouth every now and then didn't hurt either he just never cared to act accordingly.

It was amazing how ignorant they could be when it came to change!  As he had grown older, he paid attention to what he truly was and how the legends and folklore had put the vampire in a different light.  He wasn't about to fall for all those false pretenses and subterfuge about vampires being allergic to garlic.  It just sounded ludicrous that a corpse could have allergies to a vegetable.  And that mirror joke; well he was solid wasn't he, how couldn't he have a reflection?  Though these hoaxes, the coven did indeed denounce, they tenaciously couldn't give up living up their legends.

It was also quite amazing as well how he had developed over the past centuries and how much he had lost.  Mental summonings brought back the terrifying images of his violent transformation.  Feeling yourself die from the inside out wasn't a pleasing horror to undergo.  Bellona had been there as if an ethereal being from a greater beyond ready to take him to the Elysian fields, so that his soul could finally find a fragment of peace.  But that was not how it went.  There was some sort of resistance that occurred during that fateful night, a fear that once hid itself way in the back of his mind made itself more prominent now that his life was at stake.  It awoke when he realized, in a quiet sixth sense, what she was but it was all over by then.  They had disappeared into the darkness and he could never return back to the unhappiness that was his humanity.

Nor why should he ever decide to go back?  Now that he thought about it, Bellona had saved him that night.  Rescued him from himself and his own actions, blessing him instead with a second chance.  He could forget about his past; he would never have to worry about it again, right?  Despite his best efforts, he couldn't obliterate his old life, at least not his significant memories.  Time after time, Dietrich played it off as if nothing bothered him, that nothing could touch him, defeat him no matter what happened; he felt as invincible as a god.  Yet he could not hold rein onto his dreams.

Dietrich had met her in secrecy in the copse behind the Stoneson Inn a half an hour before the turn of eventide.  The village was deep under the spell of sleep by then which made it safe for them to meet also.  Cecile's father had greatly protested their union but that couldn't stop them from seeing one another.  This was their usual meeting place but would occasionally switch to a different spot every so often for fear of someone catching them.  Tonight, with hope they wouldn't have to do that anymore, if she agreed to marry him.

However something was different this time.  Dietrich could notice it as he emerged from the shadows, the light that would normally shine like stars in her eyes was gone.  In its place was a dank emptiness that would have wrenched his heart had he expected to know what was to happen next.  Usually she was so collected about herself, knowing exactly what she was going to do and say right when she said it.  So forthright that it was almost made as an art to be admired.  And it was one of the most prominent aspects that made him pine for her.  She was a strong woman, and he loved her for it.  He was sure of it down his very last bone.

Cecile emerged at the same time he did, awarding him a soft solemn smile, not the usually jubilant parade of pearly whites.  He did not expect her next words, "Dietrich, please hear me out.  I can't see you anymore."

Immediately he was struck as if an knife had plunged it's way into his heart.  Confusion mixed with disappointment and anger all swarming his mind like yellowjackets, "What?!  Why?"

She didn't wait to set it down as easy as she could, but replied quickly, "My father has had me arranged to be married.  There's nothing I can do."

"I don't understand," was all he could say.  The concept was still trying to make its way to the core of his mind.  When it finally did, he arose with gumption to ask in the very least,"Tell me, Cecile; who is it?  When?"

"To Travin D'orstel, on the day after tomorrow."

Dietrich was in silence while his thoughts sped with urgency.  What was he going to do when that arrived?  She would be gone and he would be alone.  There would be nothing left for him if he abandoned this situation without hope and resolve.  And what of his intentions?  There had to be something to be done, a slim chance of things turning out right.  "Marry me then," he said finally after a delayed pause.  A hint of hope was detectable in his voice, a small ambition that grew as he leaped to the charge.  "Runaway with me.  If you love me then we can elope and be happy away from all the cause of our unhappiness."

At first the surprise in her eyes and speechlessness almost made him smile.  That she would say yes after all.  Forget about duty and honor to be content with him.  Then why was she hesitant to answer such a simple question?  Trouble loomed deeply into her brown eyes, when she decided to speak.  "Runaway?"

"Yes.  Will you?"

"...No."

Gasping, his brows furrowed together, trying to form reasons and didn't match up with the under.  The only think he could come up to say was, "You do love me don't you?"

"Yes...I love you.  But you don't love me."  A sprouting confidence appeared in her voice, that no longer shook with hesitancy.

"How can you say that?!  I'd follow you to the ends of the earth!  There's no one else in the world that makes me feel the way you do!"

"When you put it like that, it does sound legitimate, doesn't it?  You are so blind Dietrich you cannot even see what's in your own heart.  What kind of love drives for spite?  That isn't love Dietrich, that's cruelty.  Not only to my heart but to yours as well.  We couldn't be happy even if we tried, not between people who are so different and with conflicting intentions.  I cannot surrender my heart willingly to you, who will not see the truth."  That sprout of confidence for formed with the strength of an oak.  Cecile's eyes were glinting with a painfully cool distance.

Suddenly rage filled his veins.  Dietrich now could comprehend exactly what was going on.  The obstinateness that once lay dormant was now a living thunderhead.  His face screwed with conflicting emotions, wanting both to shake her to her senses and walk away from the situation; to drag her awake and to kiss her to make her realize the truth.  He ultimately he shouted at her.  "Cecile, you are a bloody fool!  You can't understand the heart of man anymore than you can see the back of your hand!  Fine, if this is what you want then so be it.  But 'tis I that will see you for the final time, not you I."  Frustrated beyond speakable reason he stomped away leaving her in the darkness of the copse behind Stoneson Inn.

When he glanced back, Dietrich held no regrets whatsoever.  When he gave up his humanity, he also relinquished his weakness and according to him humans were chalk-full of weaknesses.  Love was the worst of them all.  It snuck up on a person as stealthy as an adder-tongued siren, and like one, rendered them unconscious and when that person finally awoke they were filled with this need and desire that fed on them like a sickness.  It was a parasite in its own right, a binding spell that was no good to anyone.  And he swore that he would never need it anymore.

He chuckled lightly at Ziarre's remark.  "Well that may be so, but it's quid pro quo for the both of us.  One thing in exchange for another isn't so bad even if one is getting more."  As long as he got his end of the deal, there was hardly anything he wasn't willing to give up.  Whatever it took to live was his cross, even if it meant facing off against a house of the most dangerous breed.

"Quite a large number.  At least, in my own opinion, a few thousand members.  All veterans, and they tend to hunt in packs, but there are those rare moments when a veteran will have the gumption to hunt alone.  Such fools they all are."  Dietrich scoffed against them at the thought of them and their idiotic games of cat and mouse.  "Vampires are the eternal thorn in their side and hunt more of them down than anything else, really.  But they do, on occasion, find a werewolf terrorizing a town or a rise of the undead that they could wipe out without breaking a sweat."  He hid a shadowy smile, then finished, "Skilled among themselves but as foolish as humans are."

They were getting closer now, as the shape of the Terrin Mountains looming just a short time away.  Funny, it didn't seem to be this quick when he was coming from his castle, what made it different now?  Nonetheless, he pressed onward, pointing to his castle's pinnacle against the moonlight, though all it was was a shadowy silhouette.

~Somewhere farther north in the Terrin Mts.~

The mist and rain were as thick at Cronus' manor as they were by Dietrich's castle, as Cronus, his age of five millenia not having yet taken a tole on him.  His bony finger pointed to the shadowy figure before him.  In his deep, unrestrained voice was an underlining of long restrained anger as he spoke to the figure, "Dietrich will be no more..."

[OOC:I think it might be good to move the story to the Terrin Mts. after this post.  You could start the next thread with Ziarre's interpretation of his castle if you want, because not even I can imagine what it looks like.  That might help me in describing it for myself.

You could start the thread then just pm me the link.]

Dietrich's thoughts remained quite grim from walking away from the tavern.  He was sure more than anything that she would take the proposition for he could feel that she could use a little money.  He was willing to pay, of course, for however long she was willing to stay.  But he could help his ego from stirring at the prospect of hiring a woman for protection.  Even this, in itself, was abnormal because albeit he did not really respect women in general and would resent their superficiality most of the time, his resentment was not as strong as it would normally be.  Ziarre was not like most women, he knew he could sense it involuntarily from the moment he felt her gaze.  She's quite astonishing, I'll give her that.

He could never expect himself to respect a woman who would allow him to conquer over her.  It was a gender bias that never failed to hassle him sometimes.  He would have liked, very much, to give his respect readily, but only to those deserving, and most never made the cut.

The memory of his first love still burned brightly in his mind, but it seemed to fade a little more every few years.  It used to make him upset, to think about the prospect, recalling the emotions he felt at the time.  He was a fool then.  But now all he felt was anger towards it and didn't regret for a second giving up his humanity.  What good is living a short life in vain when one can life forever and appreciate their time alive doing as they pleased?  Maybe if he waited long enough he could forget all that terror, he certainly had forever to do it.  Dietrich didn't know if he could even remember her name anymore it had been so long.  The death of winter now formed around his heart in an icy storm.

Then love formed a fault line with lust, which ran an almost equally drowning river in his blood as the thirst for violence had.  Though that feeling was more under control than his other preoccupation, he would frequently participate in trysts with Bellona behind Cronus' back when he had first been transformed and welcomed into the coven.  Dietrich was quite sure that Cronus never discovered it but eventually they agreed to end the affair and instill an almost completely platonic friendship in place of the passion they once shared.  This was fine with Dietrich for his heart had already begun to form it's icy barrier; it was simply another roll in the hay.  Unbeknownst to him, however, was what it meant to Bellona.

Ziarre intrigued him, much greater than he would have like for comfort.  Perhaps it was because he found that they were very much alike from the moment he saw her kill the hunter and perform a free castration.  Both blood lusting villains without restraint or discipline, without emotion or respect for the corpses that seemed to pile up on their own, and indifference to those whom the slaughterings affected in the long run.  All of it didn't matter to him either: respect nor pride nor honor for those except himself.  This could possibly explain why he had demanded these things from those in the coven and when he couldn't gain it by being honorable, he decided to comply with his true predatory nature and become feared instead.  It was just as satisfying.  Yes, he could concur, they were very much alike.  Like a book he had read sometime in the past, he was no gentleman and she was no lady.

There was nothing particularly attractive about her, he had seen more beautiful women in his time.  And there was nothing about her physical nature that was particularly distinctive that she should dwell her presence in his mind.  Yet, her nature was more enticing than anyone he had met in years.  She definitely earned his respect.

Dietrich had gotten quite a distance away from the city in a matter of a few minutes, howbeit a ways to go.  It was almost expected, the materialization of Ziarre at his side, but the aspect was still mind blowing in its own small way.  He could have focused more of his energy on learning the vampire equivalent of teleportation: dark metamorphosis.

With years of experience and training, a vampire can perform this feat of night transformation without as much damage to themselves compared to when attempting it early on.  The ability would call on much energy from a vampire when performed and caused great fatigue when finished, often killing neonates because they could not take the amount of life force it required.  The vampire would disembody themselves, becoming like a ghost, one with the night, apart of it, morphing into the night itself.  Advantages included instant transportation from one place where it was dark to another where night also reigned.  It could also prove useful in a battle, where a vampire may use dark metamorphosis to evade a weapon strike and appear behind their foe instantaneously.  The main drawback, however, was that it could only be performed in the darkness.  Dietrich had neglected the usefulness of this special power.

"I'm glad you've taken an interest in what I have to say," he answered when she appeared.  He grinned to himself from an unknown thought and went on, "Before I continue, my name is Dietrich Ambrose Chapel.  And as you've already noticed, I am indeed a vampire.  One who is not appreciated as much as others and with many enemies, in fact."  Dietrich reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the drying blood from his hands as best he could.  Remilius is going to have a hell of a time getting these stains out.  Placing it back in his coat pocket, he continued with his talk.  "I won't bore you anymore with my twaddle, " he said.  "What I want with you is to use your services for my protection.  Not that I need it in urgency, but it's better to be prepared I think than to have to have a chandelier crashing down on your head because of neglect to the screws.

"To speak truth, I believe I require your aid because my enemies won't stay at bay for long.  Those hunters in the bar, though not very skilled themselves, come from a very infamous house of hunters that are relentless, the House of Anarak.  And where allies of theres had died, they will find and bury their dead and more than likely seek out vengeance upon the vampire that caused it until they make sure they will never do harm against man again.  'Gainst such a house, its a rare occasion that a vampire, alone, will survive the assault.  Often they might have to instill an entirely new identity just to be able to live their customary styles.

"Sometimes they don't come at all, but those chances are slimmer than water.  And mark my word, they will come.

Nope, Cronus won't be happy about this at all now that I've pissed off another hunter house.

"And that's why I seek your help, Ziarre.  I'll be willing to pay you accordingly, for however long you wish to stay.  And I request that you accompany me at my castle, if the tumult ever reaches there, (I'm quite sure it will).  However, it is all in your judgment.  So what do you say, agree?"  At that moment, the much anticipated rain began to fall.  A slight drizzle at first, then harder with each passing second until it seemed to come from the heavens in sheets.  Yet he did not mind the rain, and waited patiently for her answer.

Seventeen years of hard, blistering training and this is where it got them?  How pitiful it all was!  These hunter's were probably not the sharpest tools in the shed.  Hunters bred from the House of Anarak were usually ruthless killers, stopping at nothing to annihilate their mark.  With customs of old dating back to the creation of the house, they always would find their dead, collect them, and return them home; eventually at least.  And with these three dead meant that more would come to find them when news of their disappearance reached the House harbinger's ears.  Best not to hang around for too long lest they find out it was me.  Not that I would fear them if they indeed winnow the options to find me.  Humans, always desiring to revenge when it'll all be for naught in the end.  Dietrich laughed to himself, mocking the hunter's sad attempt to deliver themselves from evil.

Pulling out the two knives still stuck in his arm and tossing them with a clank to the stained floor, he observed the bloodbath he caused, quite impressed with his work.  Of course he had done much better work on individuals when he could focus on his creativity and death designs.  He would take his time if he could; have his fun making them bleed as much as possible and watching them suffer; seeing how far they are willing to go to fight for their survival, but knowing all along that they wouldn't live to see the light of day again.  This was a messy business, though more a hobby to him, but the mess was just a bonus.  To him it was an art form that required specified skill, precision, and perfection, as well as plenty of practice of course, and was more beautiful than a painting.

Dietrich luxuriated in using his hands as a sculptor used his.  Cronus should have had a look at this.  He might have enjoyed it, if he were more like Dietrich.  He scoffed at the proud pure blood and his seat of power in the coven.  They should take a gander at this and name me pendragon instead of that hesitating, blundering bastard.  There was no need to confirm Cronus was weak as a the coven Pendragon, at least in Dietrich's eyes.  He was too stubborn to leave their customs behind and realize that the world was advancing while they were being lost in the dust and dusk.

The woman from the bar was quite the artist herself.  Do-it-yourself castration?  How convenient! he commended while watching her slay her last few victims.  Noticing the man screaming as blood unquestionably burst from his groin area, he added, Well, he surely won't be needing those anymore.

It was sonorously not commonplace for a woman to make an impression on Dietrich.  Most of the women he encountered were either too weak, too naive, or just damned idiots.  They were simply nothing that he wanted to do with.  Thus probably explaining why he had been alone for so long a time, never capable of respecting an eternal companion that couldn't hold her own.  But this one was a breed that he'd rarely seen.  One who seemed to enjoy causing bloodshed as much as he did.  He was a sadist at heart, and artist at soul, if he had any parts of it left that is.  She certainly tugged at his interest with a mysterious force.

When the carnage was over, the bartender apparently now cooled, reproached the woman, whom was neither regretful nor prudent but rather appreciating her own work done.  When she spoke to him, Dietrich trampled from beneath his cloud of pondering and replied, "I suppose even secrets reveal themselves eventually."  He shrugged it off the comment and continued, "They never seem to learn.  Though no matter, the more death to relish in."

Albeit there was much freedom given to the vampires of his coven, there were also many laws.  Too many, in fact, and the prospect disturbed Dietrich greatly at times.  Cronus, as Pendragon, could instill as many as he pleased and the rest would be forced to conform, but not him.  After successfully killing Thaniel, his first vampiric slaying and against a pure no less, he'd officially put himself in the light of the anomaly.  He never reciprocated the lectures he received from those in higher power than he and instead went about his own way.  One law that he never cared to obey concerned needless killing.  There was no killing that was needless.  "Humans were made to die and so they shall," Dietrich remembered saying to Bellona, Cronus' mate, one evening.  Cronus would probably have a fit if when he hears of this.

That would also mean the House of Anarak on his head, when they found the bodies.  They would probably slayers more skilled than these to come and hunt him down and wouldn't rest until they did.  Shit!  As if my night couldn't cave down on me fast enough!  Well enough, should they decide to revenge, they'll have a fight about it before I'm done with them.  Suddenly he had a revelation.  Had he not seen particular skill in the woman's bloodshed?  She might be able to aid him against the enemies he  knew would come sooner or later.

"You don't seem to do so bad yourself," he commented in return.  Dietrich scoffed before continuing, his wounds healing while kicking the heart on the floor, "Such a waste...  You certainly showed off your skill well enough.  A beautiful bloodbath can be useful in so many ways yet can be an omen all in itself."  He stopped momentarily.  It was so unlike him to be asking for aid, let alone from a woman.  "I could have use for someone like you.  I think I have a proposition that you might be interested in that could help me as well as you--"

Before he could finish off his sentence, the bartender suddenly shouted with much aggression in his voice, "Alright everybody out!  Everybody out!  Get out, get out, get out!"  It was as if the bartender was a shepherd leading his sheep away from the smell of blood that would surely attract the wolves.  This is my cue, he concluded, pulling out his pocket watch and peering at the time.  It would take a while to traverse through the thick brush and back to the castle so the sooner he started the better.  It wouldn't do for him to stick around till morning.

As the fellow men began to leave and the barmaids went to the storeroom to retrieve bucket's and mops, Dietrich picked up his slouch hat and placed it on his head once again.  "Seems I must take my leave now," he said finally.  Turning toward her, having listened intently to what the bartender had called her, "Ziarre, if you're interested in finding work, then follow me."  With that he swung around and waltzed out the door forming with the others, his magnetic eyes stirring in a strange way as he looked away from her, walking back to the copse from whence he came.  Leaving behind him, was a small gold coin on left on the counter beside her, glinting quite attractively.

Seventeen years of hard, blistering training and this is where it got them?  How pitiful it all was!  These hunter's were probably not the sharpest tools in the shed.  Hunters bred from the House of Anarak were usually ruthless killers, stopping at nothing to annihilate their mark.  With customs of old dating back to the creation of the house, they always would find their dead, collect them, and return them home; eventually at least.  And with these three dead meant that more would come to find them when news of their disappearance reached the House harbinger's ears.  Best not to hang around for too long lest they find out it was me.  Not that I would fear them if they indeed winnow the options to find me.  Humans, always desiring to revenge when it'll all be for naught in the end.  Dietrich laughed to himself, mocking the hunter's sad attempt to deliver themselves from evil.

Pulling out the two knives still stuck in his arm and tossing them with a clank to the stained floor, he observed the bloodbath he caused, quite impressed with his work.  Of course he had done much better work on individuals when he could focus on his creativity and death designs.  He would take his time if he could; have his fun making them bleed as much as possible and watching them suffer; seeing how far they are willing to go to fight for their survival, but knowing all along that they wouldn't live to see the light of day again.  This was a messy business, though more a hobby to him, but the mess was just a bonus.  To him it was an art form that required specified skill, precision, and perfection, as well as plenty of practice of course, and was more beautiful than a painting.

Dietrich luxuriated in using his hands as a sculptor used his.  Cronus should have had a look at this.  He might have enjoyed it, if he were more like Dietrich.  He scoffed at the proud pure blood and his seat of power in the coven.  They should take a gander at this and name me pendragon instead of that hesitating, blundering bastard.  There was no need to confirm Cronus was weak as a the coven Pendragon, at least in Dietrich's eyes.  He was too stubborn to leave their customs behind and realize that the world was advancing while they were being lost in the dust and dusk.

The woman from the bar was quite the artist herself.  Do-it-yourself castration?  How convenient! he commended while watching her slay her last few victims.  Noticing the man screaming as blood unquestionably burst from his groin area, he added, Well, he surely won't be needing those anymore.

It was sonorously not commonplace for a woman to make an impression on Dietrich.  Most of the women he encountered were either too weak, too naive, or just damned idiots.  They were simply nothing that he wanted to do with.  Thus probably explaining why he had been alone for so long a time, never capable of respecting an eternal companion that couldn't hold her own.  But this one was a breed that he'd rarely seen.  One who seemed to enjoy causing bloodshed as much as he did.  He was a sadist at heart, and artist at soul, if he had any parts of it left that is.  She certainly tugged at his interest with a mysterious force.

When the carnage was over, the bartender apparently now cooled, reproached the woman, whom was neither regretful nor prudent but rather appreciating her own work done.  When she spoke to him, Dietrich trampled from beneath his cloud of pondering and replied, "I suppose even secrets reveal themselves eventually."  He shrugged it off the comment and continued, "They never seem to learn.  Though no matter, the more death to relish in."

Albeit there was much freedom given to the vampires of his coven, there were also many laws.  Too many, in fact, and the prospect disturbed Dietrich greatly at times.  Cronus, as Pendragon, could instill as many as he pleased and the rest would be forced to conform, but not him.  After successfully killing Thaniel, his first vampiric slaying and against a pure no less, he'd officially put himself in the light of the anomaly.  He never reciprocated the lectures he received from those in higher power than he and instead went about his own way.  One law that he never cared to obey concerned needless killing.  There was no killing that was needless.  "Humans were made to die and so they shall," Dietrich remembered saying to Bellona, Cronus' mate, one evening.  Cronus would probably have a fit if when he hears of this.

That would also mean the House of Anarak on his head, when they found the bodies.  They would probably slayers more skilled than these to come and hunt him down and wouldn't rest until they did.  Shit!  As if my night couldn't cave down on me fast enough!  Well enough, should they decide to revenge, they'll have a fight about it before I'm done with them.  Suddenly he had a revelation.  Had he not seen particular skill in the woman's bloodshed?  She might be able to aid him against the enemies he  knew would come sooner or later.

"You don't seem to do so bad yourself," he commented in return.  Dietrich scoffed before continuing, his wounds healing while kicking the heart on the floor, "Such a waste...  You certainly showed off your skill well enough.  A beautiful bloodbath can be useful in so many ways yet can be an omen all in itself."  He stopped momentarily.  It was so unlike him to be asking for aid, let alone from a woman.  "I could have use for someone like you.  I think I have a proposition that you might be interested in that could help me as well as you--"

Before he could finish off his sentence, the bartender suddenly shouted with much aggression in his voice, "Alright everybody out!  Everybody out!  Get out, get out, get out!"  It was as if the bartender was a shepherd leading his sheep away from the smell of blood that would surely attract the wolves.  This is my cue, he concluded, pulling out his pocket watch and peering at the time.  It would take a while to traverse through the thick brush and back to the castle so the sooner he started the better.  It wouldn't do for him to stick around till morning.

As the fellow men began to leave and the barmaids went to the storeroom to retrieve bucket's and mops, Dietrich picked up his slouch hat and placed it on his head once again.  "Seems I must take my leave now," he said finally.  Turning toward Zaire, "If you're interested in finding work, then follow me."  With that he swung around and waltzed out the door forming with the others, his magnetic eyes stirring in a strange way as he looked away from her, walking back to the copse from whence he came.  Leaving behind him, was a small gold coin on left on the counter beside her, glinting quite attractively.

Dietrich had been sitting quietly, sipping his brandy and taking a few puffs of one of his fine cigars here and there, and feeling the eyes of a woman sitting at the bar that he disregarded.  Damn them!  Women, they're all the same! one of his convictions ascended to the surface of his mind for only a moment then sank back down just the same.  He returned a steady gaze to the burly hunter who approached him with veins coursing with rage.  It would not do to loose one's control in a situation as dangerous as this so Dietrich simply tipped his hat to the fellow and said with a wry grin, "Good evening, fine gentleman.  Is there something I may help you with?"

The hunter answered in a rough voice that strained with anger, "Shut the fuck up, you blood-suckin' bastard!  Don't you know your kind are wanted here?  Now, I suggest you leave before something happens that I'll make you regret, Chapel!  Did you--"  His fists were balled to the point where his knuckles were white, but he did not expect Dietrich to remain so cool and indifferent.

"Mr. Chapel to you, Anarak Slave.  And I'd check my tone of voice if I were you before you have to suffer some unfortunate accident," he interrupted sternly.  He took another slow drag on his cigar and blew the smoke in the hunter's face.  "Besides," he took care to continue, "the door was wide and open; there was no sign that stated, 'No vampires allowed', but in fact one that read, 'All welcome. Pints for a three pence.'  And that's all I came in for: a drink, a smoke, and a conversation; one of which I'm getting enough of just by choosing to converse with the likes of you, Slave.  Certainly, I am not taking kindly to your contempt and impudence and it would be wise for you to sit back down and forget about this conversation."  Dietrich tipped his hat once again as a bid of farewell, choosing to prop his fine boots on top of the table and lean back on his chair.

The hunter scoffed at him and retorted, "You simply don't know when to shut up do you?  If you think that sign applies to you, then not only are you a fucking worthless, mindless animal but a damned fool as well!  But I guess this just may be my lucky day as well, to finally come across the much infamous Dietrich Chapel.  A slayer of man and even his own kind.  I don't know why an arrogant a bastard such as yourself would even stoop so low, but I guess it's just the worthless animal in you.  Now I finally have my chance to put you where you belong."  With that he shoved Dietrich's feet to the ground in attempt to provoke him.  

It was working, but differently than the hunter had initially thought.  Dietrich was undoubtedly becoming increasingly irritated at the hunter's words of being a worthless and animal.  His fuse was sparking within yet his face remained a placid facade, however his brows were how narrowed and his eyes electric pools of fury.  He took a final puff on his cigar before smashing the end of it in the ashtray on the table.  There was a little temper rising in his voice as he spoke, "Listen, impertinent little fool, and listen carefully.  You best not trifle with me, for you would be unable to endure my wrath.  I have made mountains fall, destroyed entire villages, succeeded in killing a vampire twenty times my strength and I enjoyed it thoroughly.  I've toppled giants to their knees when I was one fifth their size.  It would not do anger me, hunter."

He did not speak and instead pulled out a knife from his belt, throwing it at Dietrich.  The vampire dodged its sharp edge by a split second and thrust the table up, knocking the knife bearer into the wall.  Immediately the hunter was on his feet as were the other two.  Rushing at him was the one with the one with the daggers crying a warrior's cry while the one who accosted Dietrich began throwing several knives and darts at lightening speed.

He dodged a few, running up one wall and flipping over to another.  As he broke off a table leg, the dagger bearer thrusted, slashed, and diced.  Dietrich moved to parry the attacks with the leg, getting sliced through his waistcoat in a few places.  The knivesman's blades hit home with three in Dietrich's back and two piercing his left arm.  He cried in pain as a dagger prepared to come down in a finishing blow, but he caught it just in time smashing the leg upon his head with extraordinary strength; he grabbed the dizzied body and threw it to another corner of the room with seemingly no effort whatsoever but not killing him.  Then Dietrich dashed towards the knivesman, the blades missing more than they should where he gave a gut-wrenching kick to his stomach then a few more delirium-delivering blows to his head.

By this time, the entire bar broke out in a fight, man against man, steel against steel; either way where there was violence there was blood as the barmaids and bartender hid underneath the counter in sheer fear.  Finally Dietrich could feel the fit of pure rage.  While the knivesman was in a state of dizziness, he drove his hardened hand through his stomach and tore his heart from out of his torso, instantly killing him.  Blood poured from the corpse as he relished in the exhilaration of a quick and bloody kill.  Right fist covered in crimson, he dropped the heart which was still pumping he spun to face the swordsman who had stood back and watched Dietrich tear a whole in his ally's belly with his bear hands.

Running full speed, the hunter raised the blade over his head screaming and cursing like a crazed beast.  He swung it down hard in an attempt to slice Dietrich's head open.  Dietrich caught the sharpened blade with his bear hands, his palms bleeding from the pressure exerted in the swing.  He was about to throw the swordsman back when he saw suddenly out of the corner of his eye the dagger hunter climbing to his feet.  But then the woman who had been eying him earlier appeared and sliced his neck after delivering a deadly head butt.  He was taken aback by this, amazed at this woman's feat; it was nothing he had ever seen before.  The swordsman took the opportunity to kick Dietrich, knocking him to the floor.  He got up quickly, but even as he did so the hunter made a quick thrust and into Dietrich's stomach.  This only aroused his anger once more.  Transferring great strength into his bloodied fist he struck him at the temple causing his skull to cave in as if hit full force with a morning star.  He pulled the long sword out of him and plunged into the final hunter's body.

Welcome aboard matey.  P-b-P role play is pretty simple and shouldn't be too hard to catch on.  Either way, I hope you have fun here!  Oh and by the way, I'm Lion.

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.]

finally done.  I could start the thread now and pm you when it's done and ready.  I'll make the post in Ketra for now.

Ketra is good enough for me.  I think you should since I'm strapped for time right now.  Damn vacuum! >_<

Soon is the best time for me.

A bar sounds like the good place to start.  He might just go in there for a place to spend his money, have a drink, and maybe talk to a few people.  It would be cool if there were a few hunters in there too.  And then a whole bar fights starts going on.

This bar might have to be near the Terrin Mountains because that is where his castle lies and he wouldn't want to stick around for morning.

so do you want to post first or should I?  I'm kinda busy so I won't be able to start it as soon as I would like, so that's why I'm asking.

sure.

Let me know when and where.  What about the plot?  Would you rather make one up as we go along or make one up as is?

From reading her profile then comparing it to Dietrich's they might have one of those turbulent relationships considering that they are both alike and different at the same time.  He likes to touch while she doesn't and yet they both don't really show compassion.  If he were to fall in love with her, his blood lust will probably make him really want to make her immortal too, or at least try to do so.

I agree, they could be one of those entertaining pairs.

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

A grin of smugness appeared upon Thorn's swarthy face, when she consented to trust him.  The way she spoke caused him to consider that maybe the information she was about to share with him was indeed too dire for ears other than their own to hear.  What could she be hiding? he wondered.

He wandered in casually, trying not to seem to anxious to hear the information as a child is to open his gifts on his birthday.  The master suite wasn't exactly what he expected but it was a hell of a lot more elegant than his room.  Howbeit he wasn't a picky fellow, his room was sufficient enough.  Although, he thought feeling his eyes turning green, that cot isn't near as comfortable as those plushy pillows look.  And that goose-feathered mattress, as fluffy and more comfortable than hardened cot springs...  But she interrupted his growing envy when she spoke.

He listened intently, trying to remember anything pertinent to Teraseena that he had heard of. Teraseena?  Teraseena?  The name didn't ring a bell in Thorn's mind that was dull as of now.  He had been curious and intrigued as to what Alea might be hiding about her past but he undoubtedly wasn't expecting her to be so open.  So much for learning to expect what was usually unexpected to those who didn't bear an ability such as his own.

Shocked at his own dumbfounded mind, Thorn replied with a certain assurance, "No, I don't believe I have."  Then there was an abnormal amount of concern growing in him that he could not comprehend.  He was surprised at himself that he would even care about a someone he didn't even know very well.  He did not show it, though, and simply asked with curiosity, "Why do you mention it?"