Joined : 2007-01-03
|Subject: Trip the Darkness May 24th 2013, 9:26 pm|| |
Despite what many believed about the myths surrounding Vampires, they were; for all intents and purposes, dead. Their skin ice cold to the touch unless they have recently fed. Skin so pale it nearly looked like flawless marble. Each one of them inhumanly beautiful. The longer they survived, the more powerful they became, but the Dark Gift was also different for each of them. Though separated into individual Bloodlines, there were still certain abilities that some possessed that others did not. Sunlight was virtually lethal, rendering a Vampire to a crispy critter in the span of a single minutes exposure. Garlic, crosses and the old stake through the heart was utter nonsense. They do not need to sleep in coffins during daylight, but they had to remain indoors and avoid patches of light.
These modern times were something that she was not entirely used to. Having only awoken from a deep, nearly thousand years rest, she was amazed by the advancements in technology, in the way Humanity seemed to hustle by in a rush to get absolutely no where. She had pulled her long, waist length black hair back beneath the hood of a ground-length cloak that had seen better centuries. Dark, fathomless eyes peered out from the shadows that the hood provided. Her eyes seemed to hold centuries in their depths, endless years swirling in a seamless blend reflecting stars like a moonless night. Dravenís movements were graceful, a perfect economy of movement as she all but glided along the ground. A pale limb reached outward, a fingertip tracing over the dirty and dust strewn walls of the abandoned cathedral she had entered. Pews were broken and carelessly thrown, pieces of them littered the altar in which a pristine cross hung untouched, depicting Christ suspended upon it. Cobwebs littered the corners of the ceiling and bats made their home in the vaulted ceilings. She could hear the rustle of their wings as they took flight out into the night. She was not sure why she had come here. There had been a pull, something drawing her to this abandoned cathedral. Sanguine was the place she had built with her own blood, sweat, and tears and it was a place where many of her own kind congregated. She wasnít here for the companionship, no Draven was curious as to what had become of her Children. Was she forgotten? From the very few she had seen in passing, the younger generations were nothing but shadows of their former selves.
Beneath her feet, she could hear the steady thrum of music, if that was what one could call it these days. She could smell the scent of Humans mingling with that of her own kind. Was the Mortal race finally aware of their existance? Carefully, and with no hurried sense of movement, Draven moved towards the altar. The vibration against the floor was strongest here, but there was also the small tug of a breeze coming from below. With a simple inclination of her head, the altar moved by a single thought, pushed aside by tendrils of shadow that snaked outward at her command. Dimly lit stairs layed beneath the altar. A head cautiously poked out of the hole. A bald man wearing something over his eyes that was dark enough that it didnít allow Dravenís gaze to penetrate.
ďBusiness or pleasure?Ē The large man asked, stepping out from the hole and folding well muscled arms across his chest. He wore dark attire; all black, but the shirt had something scrawled across the chest in familiar heiroglyphics. Ra. Draven remained emotionless at the name. A name she had grown to detest. That had been so long ago. Thousand and thousands of years.
The man stood in the way of this ancient Vampireís curiousity and so he met the same fate as the altar had, moved to the other side of the cathedral with but a simple thought, held to the ceiling by those very same tendrils of darkness. Draven herself had never moved an inch. She didnít have to. A thousand years rest and the course of fresh blood sustaining her had been enough to increase her abilities to where they should have been had she not skipped a portion of history.
ďPleasure.Ē She finally replied to the bouncers previous question, her voice vibrating with the musical power that she possessed. Without waiting for the man to attempt to break through her hold on him, Draven disappeared down the staircase.
Joined : 2013-07-26
|Subject: Re: Trip the Darkness August 8th 2013, 8:51 pm|| |
The sound of the lock opening caused the Spanish man to reach down and gently lift the †rapier from behind his desk and lay it across his lap, although his right hand kept the quill pen flowing across the slightly unrolled parchment laid out infront of him. He always did prefer the older methods, as they were the least likely to be looked for in this day and age. Just as he flipped the sword around so the hilt was close to his right hand, the door opened all the way. The voice coming from beyond the door was one of his Vegas. A guard. They were instructed only to bother him with one important piece of news.
"Boss. Just got word."
"Yes. She's awake. At the Cathedral? Well, I had best get over there and make sure she doesn't kill any of those pesky mortals who know nothing of her. Bring The Impala around. And make sure the trunk is loaded this time, please. Last time I went out with it, it was nearly empty. And don't forget my hat! I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I want it in case I'm out past day-break."
The door closed, the Spanish man neatly slid the quill pen into it's holder on the side of the ink bottle, sprinkled the parchment with sand, and then stood, bringing the sword around to his left side and clipping the scabbard it was in onto his belt. Now armed in his preferred fashion, he lifted a long black coat from the coat stand next to his office door and slid it on, making sure it covered the plain black scabbard hanging at his side. The door opened without a sound, a trick only the Spaniard and two others knew, and then closed, once again without a sound.
Twenty minutes later, a black Impala pulled up in front of the cathedral, and the Spaniard stepped out, before moving to the trunk, opening it, and pulling a black duffle bag out, which he slung over his left shoulder. Moving inside, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of the missing bouncer, before glancing up and noticing him on the ceiling.
"It's like she never even left," he stated to himself, as he moved towards the stairs, hands carefully close to the duffle bag and the hidden blade under his coat. As he had learned during his 5,000 years of life, nothing was certain. Not even the bond between Draven, Mother of the Vampires, and her Second Childe, Vangelo de'la Vega, the Spaniard. Glancing back at the bouncer, he smiled. "If she's in a good mood when we come back through, I'll see about getting you down from there before sun rise."
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