Star Wars RPG Moderator
Joined : 2013-05-22
|Subject: Burning May 22nd 2013, 8:56 pm|| |
Blood almost always looked black in the moonlight. It clung to her pale skin in dark patches, but not all of it was hers. She had put up one hell of a fight, just like a tiger trapped in a corner. She wasn’t dead. Her chest continued to rise and fall with each shallow breath. The gaping wound at her lower back was already beginning to heal, growing smaller with each minute that ticked by, counted down by some unseen clock. The Change was almost complete, and once finished, the woman would be given a new name and a chance at a new life with absolutely no memory of her past and what she had left behind. Such were the ways of the Wolf, the Rougarou. Thieving bastards. He watched from the shadows; a protective guardian though he himself, was gravely injured. In due time he would reveal the Pack’s darkest secrets.
Hair wild, blending in with the surrounding darkness was so thick that no rubber band could secure it without breaking. It flowed like dark silk down the woman’s back. Eyes of raw animal magnetism burned with a golden fire as they watched the tree line. The face they were set in was exotic, so much so that it was hard to pin-point the woman’s exact heritage. However, when she spoke, it was obvious that there was Creole somewhere in her blood. Her full, sensual lips were set in a serious expression that gave her more of a feral beauty rather than anything breath-taking. She was petite; not taller than five foot three, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in inner strength. Clinging to the woman’s hips were faded pale blue jeans that were almost white in color. They were ripped in various places and stained by patches of dirt in others. Hugging her well endowed upper torso, was a black tank top that was just as soiled and torn. Her feet were left bare. The thick Sanguine summer was palpable, almost stifling, but it didn’t seem to phase her as she stood there, surrounded by Cypress trees. She was a feral statue, watching and waiting. She had been one of Them for so long that she did not know her real name anymore. To the Pack, she was simply Gangrel, Alpha female for the Fenrir Pack.
She had heard whispers of the name Nik quite too often lately. Had that been her? What had happened to her? How could she not remember her own name let alone anyone she may had known in the past? Closing her amber eyes, she took in a deep breath making sure she inhaled slowly so as not to choke on the thick humid air. There were no flashes of memory, only vivid nightmares whenever she attempted to sleep. Nightmares that made her bolt upright in bed screaming in a cold sweat. Many therapists wouldn’t call them nightmares anymore. Night terrors would be the more correct term. But who was she to put labels on such matters? She couldn’t even remember her own name for Christ’s sake. Exhaling just as slowly as she had inhaled, Gangrel let her eyes drift open. Something had called her back here to this City. The moment she had stepped foot over the City Limits, she felt as though she had come home.
Joined : 2013-06-30
|Subject: Re: Burning June 30th 2013, 8:30 pm|| |
Settled on the hood of his jeep, Talos rested one huge, booted foot on the bumper, the other resting in the dirt. His headlights cut away the darkness infront of him. The shadows were not chased away so that he might see, for day and night were one and the same to his kind. Instead the shadows were chased away invitingly, or perhaps challengingly, the forest a haunting mesh of skeletal branches and rustling bushes, the only sound besides the wind was the low rumble of his jeeps, and the sound of passing cars several miles beyond in the city.
The giant on the hood was clad in a long coat which hung from his titanic shoulders to his knee. Underneath the jacket his skin was bare against the evening. A collection of rock hard muscles, and a huge, wide chest flaring up from a narrow waist. Talos was a mountain made flesh. Half his body decorated In swirling, primal symbols which while meaningless to the mortal world now marked him as a champion of long forgotten battlefields. The marks on his body the only outward sign that Talos had once proved his worth with the hot currency of blood, and purchased the right to fight for his love with the lives of other men and monsters. The giants long legs were clad in dark blue jeans, his feet covered with tall boots, muscled like a maidens fantasy and handsome in a brute, savage way, the vampire might have been better suited to other places in time, but duty brought him out into the dark woods, as it had taken him all over the city for a score of years.
The warrior brushed a hand across his square jaw, noting with satisfaction the heat that still bathed the night, making it heavy and damp. With that humidity came another scent, flesh and the wild, the moist, sickly sweet smell of a woman, and the damp reek of earth. Scanning the treeline, Talos pushed off the hood of the car. With a slow, rolling swagger the giant made his way to the back seat of his jeep and hauled open the door. The jeep, which had lisped slightly to the side groaned as it was relieved of its cargo. Grasping the hilt of a sword, Talos drew it from the back seat and slowly unwrapped the plastic sheet strapped around it in place of a sheath. The sword of the same breed as the owner, six feet and half again in length, two feet in wideth, the sword was a curiosity designed merely to showcase the skills of the smith, never for a human hand to wield for its weight and size made it all but impossible to swing for any man, and indeed even for some kindred.
Resting the sword on his shoulder Talos swaggered out towards the front of the jeep, eyes scanning the darkness. The buzz within the city told of a Lycanthrope Alpha returning to the city to roost. As the enforcer of Draven's law, Talos took it upon himself to greet the lycanthrope to the city and, depending on if the creature was friend or foe, extend Draven's hospitality, or her wrath.
Forearms writhing under the sleeve as Talos gripped the large hilt, his knuckles taunt and jutting against the leather of his fingerless gloves, the vampire scanned the darkness, taking a few steps deeper into the treeline, ducking his head under a low hanging branch and batting aside a spider dangling from a web, Talos fixed his gaze upon the slender creature near invisible in the trees. " You stand in the realm of Our Mother." He rumbled the ancient challenge, his voice like rolling thunder. " Name yourself, Lycanthrope."
Star Wars RPG Moderator
Joined : 2013-05-22
|Subject: Re: Burning July 21st 2013, 3:47 pm|| |
The man's scent was that hit her first. He tasted of power and the slightly sweet musk of Vampire. Beneath it all, he still smelled masculine. It was a scent that could linger on the skin for days after a round or two between the sheets. She knew, without seeing his face, that he was a Vampire from the Requiem Bloodline, Masters of Seduction. It was rumored that this Bloodline had been used as international spies over the centuries in times of war to gain tactical advantage over enemies.
The Rougarou; as most Werewolves called themselves, often used various Native American terms for their ranks, their legends, folklore, and even traditions. Although Nik hailed from bayou country, she was of Native heritage, at least on her mothers side, She never knew her father. He had died when she was very young, but it was rumored that he had been Irish.
Gracefully fluid, Nik turned to face the Vampire. If she had not been so accustomed to seeing some seriously strange things, she would have shit a brick at the sheer size of the giant Vampire carrying a sword larger than she was. However, Nik was an Alpha female, what her people formally called Nipahem. It was a Native word that roughly translated to moon. The Alpha male was the opposite; Ki'somma, or sun.
Her golden gaze burned a path of fire as they roamed boldly over him from head to toe. His strong features pegged him for a Viking, She moved then, to stand boldly closer to the towering creature.
"I could ask the same of you, Vampire." Came her soft, husky voice laced with a honeyed Creole accent. Nik regarded the large weapon carefully as she leaned back against the trunk of a nearby tree. She folded her arms across her generous breasts. Along her entire left arm from shoulder to wrist were various tattoos all with either a Native American theme, or wolves.
"I suppose you could call me Nkokwa, or if you wanted to do the whole formal approach, Nipahem." The corners of her full lips shifted upward in a slight grin. "But I don't see you as being the formal type, so you can just call me Nik." Along her upper right arm was a bracelet of black and white beads, A single white feather trailing from the trinkets center.
"The Mother." Nik mused over that for a moment. "I would assume you mean the Mother of Vampires. I mean no disrespect, of course. I hear whispers of her being either a very powerful ally or a dangerous enemy. I do not wish to cross fangs with her. I am merely seeking answers. There is something called to my in this city. I simply wish to know what."
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