Suddenly, the mansion emerged from between the trees. At first, Mikael had thought it to be a cloud of fireflies, but as he moved closer he saw that the lights were windows in a vast structure that sat within a clearing whose boundaries were blurry. The trees thinned out significantly, but brambles and bushes and all sorts of smaller plants surrounded the place, and not a few large trees still stood around it. Luckily (or was it luck?) there was a path which extended straight from where Mikael had been walking to the front door of the building. He had been trekking through this wilderness for three days, and this was his third night in the forest. He had prepared for a week at least, but he had become lost at some point after the first night here. For the last two days, he had been wandering around, trying to find his bearings or some sign of the mysterious mansion he had been searching for. And here it was, appearing all of a sudden out of the mist, from behind the biggest and oldest trees he had yet seen.
The building itself was clearly ancient, probably dating back to the time of the Tzars and possibly well before. Oddly, it reminded him of how he had always imagined Baba Yaga's house, though hers would have been much smaller, and this one lacked the chicken legs and the fence of skulls. The architecture seemed to be a patchwork of various periods, and it sprawled up and away from him in an arcane pattern he could not quite fathom. Towers rose at strange angles, rooms connected in ways that did not seem quite possible. The house was partially overgrown with ivy and other weeds, and many of the windows were broken, gaping open like empty eye sockets gazing over the wild garden around them. Many were intact, however, and for the most part it was these from which the lights shone.
So it was inhabited. The legends were true. In part, at least. It was probably vagrants and outlaws who came here for the most part. He wasn't worried; he had dealt with such people before, and they generally would not attack unless provoked. They were not his concern; he was here because he believed there might be truth to the tales which told of this place as being a meeting place for another type of outlaw; those who were beyond the law because they were beyond human.
Mikael walked up the path. He ran his fingers over the chain of charms and amulets which was currently wrapped around his right arm. Crosses, yes, and symbols of most faiths, as well as an eclectic collection of occult iconography and folk charms. Most had been blessed by a priest acquaintance of his in Moscow, who had also given him a supply of holy water. The others he had enchanted himself, or they had their own intrinsic power. One, a little Hamsa of silver, gold and lapiz lazuli, had no power he knew of, but it had been a gift from his Babushka, and she had said it would keep him safe. So far, at least, it seemed she was right.
In his bag, along with his survival gear, his books, and various magical materials and implements, he also had a few stakes, garlic oil and cloves, a crossbow with silver-tipped arrows, a high-caliber revolver with silver tipped bullets, and two knives, one with a blade of silver, the other with a blade of cold iron. Finally, he had a high-powered flashlight which reproduced the spectrum of sunlight, and the containers of holy water. He hoped he wouldn't have to use any of these weapons, and to be honest he wasn't sure they would be of much use given his few run-ins with the Vampyr and a few other things that go bump in the night. His charms and spells had served him better. But they should serve to drive off hostile humans at least, and one couldn't be too careful.
He reached the door. It was huge, and carved of some wood so dark it was nearly black. Ebony, perhaps? Or had it merely been darkened so by years of rain and wear and tear? The hinges and handle were brass, or perhaps gold. There was a big knocker in the shape of a dragon in the center of the door. He almost knocked, and then tried the handle. The door creaked open.
The room beyond was shadowy and dim, but there was still enough moon and starlight filtering in through the windows and the holes in the ceiling that he could see well enough. There were the shapes of furniture, some covered in sheets, some bare, some broken, all dusty. A few paintings on the walls. A glass cabinet, its panes smashed, filled with ruined knick-knacks. His eyes alighted on a set of nesting dolls like the one he had played with as a boy. But beyond him and them, the room was empty.
All was silent, save for the susurrus of the wind whispering in the trees.
Mikael turned his attention inward, recalling some of what he had learned of the magic of spirits, and in particular the taboo art of Necromancy. He knew all sorts of magic, but he seemed to have a special facility with things risen from the dead, or who never quite made it there. Moreover, such things seemed to have an uncanny way of finding him. Or rather, he had a way of getting himself into situations where he would encounter them. Either way, he had a sense for such things. He closed his eyes, standing in the ruined foyer, muttering a mantra under his breath and holding his chain of charms. He opened his third eye and reached out with the sixth sense, searching for the spirits of the living, the dead, and those between.
[/Necromancy]
The presence of the living being filled the mansion as he entered through the front door. Not even the sleeping could ignore him. In fact, Mikeal's power rippled across the land the moment he entered the forest and it was then that the ghosts of the house turned their attention to him. Regardless of his strength they were determined to consume him. The trick to it all was getting him in the house. Those who stepped on the grounds of the estate were eternally trapped, so it would be impossible to reach him unless he entered willingly. Even the ghosts couldn't escape and, for some of them, it was the worst fate they could suffer. They would float about the halls unnoticed until they stole enough energy from souls to move objects, materialized themselves, or push the soul of a living human out of their body.
Or....they could consume a necromancer and become both living and just as powerful, if not more...
The energies in the house stirred and beings who would not normally care became irritated. Vampires who were asleep for hundreds of years, for example, raged from their dwellings and walked the halls once again. This was especially terrifying for the humans who found themselves trapped. Screams shattered the silence that was once peaceful and blood smacked the floors and splattered the walls. Afterwards the red life would be absorbed by the mansion and harvested by the ghosts. It was a cycle revitalized by what the ghosts considered their savior and the others....an intruder. However, there was one ghost who did not accept his arrival.
Alexandra Franz had grown up and died in this mansion many years ago and for the many years since then she watched victims come in and never go out. The trapping nature of this mansion was the work of a necromancer named Alaric Voltare. He had shown himself when she was the ripe age of 20 and wiggled his way into her family's circle of trust. Alexandra never liked the man and when she finally her point across to her family and convinced them of his treacherous nature he hauled off and killed them. Of course, he couldn't just do it peacefully. The souls of her loved ones were destroyed and only she was left to forever watch the results of her actions. "Had you kept your mouth shut things would have been different", he said before walking out of her life for the first time. Since then, she swore revenge on him and all the necromancers who toyed with death.
Shattering the glass panes of the cabinet she kept her knick-knacks in as a human, Alexandra cried over how angry she was. "Necromancer! Who does he think he is?!" The dolls stared back at her with the same smiles they had when she was alive and for a second she was calm. "You think I should let him be?" There was no answer. The front door to the mansion opened and she watched as he walked into her room. He seemed like a very miserable old man, to her, clearly up to no good. The anger she had moments ago returned to her and she stepped before him, a single spirit. The transparent woman met him one inch shorter and one yard away in what seemed to be a white kimono that her deceased father purchased for her on one of his many distant business trips. "You are disturbing the energy field that is my home. What business do you have here, necromancer?" Objects around them started to float and the glass from the broken cabinet threatened him as it began to spiral about itself in the air. "You had best answer quickly."
((First time playing a random ghost...woo hoo!! biggrin ))
Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 7:33 pm
Doctor Acinemod Irralius
(( mrgreen ))
Mikael's mind reached out to the house, and within moments, he knew that the legends were true. The rooms of the house were filled with a terrible darkness that no light could dispel, soaked in suffering and blood. This was a bad place. He knew he should not have come here. He had known it since he first set foot in the forest. But such places pulled at him like powerful magnets. They had a power, yes, but it was the pain there that drove him to seek them out. Anywhere the dead stayed past their time, there was always some scar or wound that kept them tethered to the world. He had made it his mission to help the ones who could not move on, and it got him into trouble far too often.
He was shaken from his trance by the sound of glass shattering. He looked again at the nesting dolls, but there was no glass between them this time. Instead, before its miniature faces, another appeared. Ectoplasm condensed out of thin air into the translucent figure of a woman wearing a white kimono. She looked very annoyed, and her speech confirmed the impression. Mikael took a moment to steady his breathing. Even after all these years, the fear never quite leaves, he thought to himself, but he still managed to meet her ghostly gaze, even as the broken shards of glass swirled in the air around him. "Madame," he answered "I do beg your pardon for intruding. My business here is merely as a student of the Mysteries, although it is my hope that I may be of some help to the souls who dwell here. Speaking of dwellings, it is also my hope that I might be your guest in this house, since you call it home. All in all, suffice to say that I do not wish any harm, lady, only to help."
He had found it was best to be as polite as possible, especially when dealing with the dead.
His politeness stabbed her. It was really something she hadn't expected from someone as old and miserable looking as him. Alexandra momentarily halted the spinning glass and thought about the idea that a necromancer could be a nice person. This was quickly crushed by her pressing, rapidfire questions. "Pardon your intrusion? PARDON YOUR INTRUSION!?" A short vibration rumbled the floor beneath their feet. Several short-lived screams burst across the mansion. "I didn't see you trip through my front door. I saw you ever-so-willingly walk." After many hundreds of years of doing nothing but observing, she had clearly mastered the art of paying clear attention to her surroundings. At that, she most certainly wouldn't fooled by a necromancer.
Alexandra eyed the many charts that littered his arms and sighed sharply. "You LOOK like you're here to banish us all!" And with that she sent the glass within millimeters of his skin before sending it upwards to be impale the ceiling. "If you want to help me you will leave. We are all perfectly fine in this mansion, even the humans who are being hunted. If you remove them you will cause the dissipation of several good-natured spirits living here because of someone of your your kind. For eternity, we must live off the energy that comes from the blood of living beings. The vampires in this mansion and the ghosts have a working relationship that should not be tampered with." Silence separated them for a few seconds before a smirk crawled across her face. "Then again...maybe because you're a necromancer you can simply lure the humans in our direction. Because of someone like you the beings in this house are unable to leave."
Posted: Wed May 28, 2014 8:48 pm
Doctor Acinemod Irralius
Mikael's eyes widened and then snapped shut, and he barely suppressed a scream as the glass darted towards him, stopping just short of the skin. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and thanked whatever it was that watched over him. If anything. He wasn't so sure these days; he took nothing for granted. When he had regained his composure, he spoke again, softly, but with confidence.
"I did walk here of my own will, it is true. But may I point out that the door was open and unlocked? And you know as well as I that leaving this place once one has entered it... is much easier said than done. A difficult task indeed, but not impossible. Nothing is impossible. If I have learned anything in my life, it is that.
I am not here to banish you all, but to free you, if that is what you wish. I wish, as I said, to help you. You say it is because of a person like me that you are all trapped here? A mortal man? A Magus? A Necromancer? In any case, perhaps I might be able to alter or reverse whatever curse he has placed upon the house. You are here and must live on the energy of living beings because you are still on the plane of the living. All those beings who live here must do so, myself included. It is the way of life.
But madam, I am afraid this brings us to a... delicate subject. You are not alive, or so it appears to me. If the spells of the man of whom you speak were broken, would you yet remain here, in the vale of tears?"
((What language are they/we speaking, by the way? I assume it's Russian?))
((Russian is fine. English is too. Doesn't matter to me. smile )) Alexandra began to glow like a white fire and her eyes turned red at the sound of, "If the spells of the man whom you speak were broken, would you yet remain here, in the vale of tears?" There was nothing more infuriating to the ghost than the idea that she was still largely affected by Alaric Voltare. She also felt the necromancer wasn't listening to her. Everything not connected to the walls began pulling towards her and her voice was a deep growl. Even the necromancer found himself being pulled in her direction. "HOW DARE YOU MENTION HIM SO CASUALLY!" A blast of energy pushed against all of the objects in the room and sent them crashing against the walls. He would find himself skating across the floor on his back if he couldn't withstand the assault. Wherever he landed he would find himself face to face with her normal form again, this time smiling. "Now, lets have a little chat about rules here. You don't mention him and I won't call upon all that moves in this mansion to come eat you." A handful of screams followed her words, some of which were located just above them. Alexandra backed off of the necromancer and sat down in the nearest chair. "There is a way...I just don't understand the symbols written inside the book." A few moments of silence slipped by. "And I don't care what happens to me after all of this. I just don't want to be here anymore. Are you going to help me or should I call the dogs?"
If he agreed to help her she would lead him clear across the mansion to the library. In the center of the library was a large circle encasing several stars. The lines of the center star were indented. For many years she would watch the source of all her problems fill it with his own blood before it rotated and fell through the floor, revealing a staircase. He would later reveal to her that that was where he kept his most precious book. Alexandra would point towards the ground and demand him to spill his blood into the indented star. She would tell him this was the only way to make progress on his new mission and that he would certainly have to do it quickly before the vampires came.
If he did not agree to help her then they would remain where they are and the vampires from the upstairs would come downstairs.
Posted: Fri May 30, 2014 3:31 pm
Doctor Acinemod Irralius
((Cool. I guess it doesn't really matter either way.))
Mikael took a step backward, away from the specter's sudden, incandescent fury. He was almost swept off his feet by the angry poltergeist, and though he managed to keep his footing, he did drop down to one knee. He clutched at the charms encircling his wrist and closed his eyes, whispering a prayer. He opened them once more to see that the storm of objects had abated, leaving him unscathed. His luck had held, or perhaps the spirit was simply more merciful than most.
When he spoke again, there was a slight stutter in his speech at first. "I... I have offended you, and must once again apologize and ask for your pardon. I know nothing of this man, but I can see he was wicked and has harmed you terribly. I shall help you, of course. I dare say I am something of an expert at deciphering strange symbols... though if I am to break the spells cast upon this place, it may be quite difficult not to mention their creator. I shall not ask his name, since I can see that the subject pains you. Is there some other moniker we might use for the sake of convenience? "The Necromancer", perhaps? And... at the risk of facing your wrath once again... is there anything whatsoever you can tell me of the man and his magic? I do not wish to pry, but if I am to help..."
He spoke as they walked (although she actually floated, in point of fact) through the hallways of the mansion. They wound around themselves in peculiar and perplexing patterns, and he soon discovered that he had quite lost his bearings inside the labyrinthine structure. He had recalled a few strange sights and landmarks, which he hoped he could use to retrace their steps: a grandfather clock whose body had become a nest for spiders and sparrows, a room filled with china dolls seated around a grand table which was impeccably set but covered with at least an inch of dust and detritus, a hallway entirely blocked with an intricate cobweb of red, blue, black and gold thread, a mirror which reflected another room entirely...
They arrived at the library. It was by far the most impressive room he had seen so far, with a vast vaulted ceiling painted to resemble the night sky. The shelves were carved to resemble the trunks and branches of trees, complete with withered leaves, as though the trees were in the midst of Autumn. In the center of the floor was a starry design that echoed the one above. The ghost at his side pointed out the central star and told him what he must do to open the secret stairway that lay beneath. He was not overly concerned; many rituals called for the magician to spill his blood. He was more worried that the scent might attract the more predatory denizens of the mansion, but there did not seem to be any other option. So he rolled up his shirtsleeves and drew a small, straight razor from his coat. The handle was inlaid with mother of pearl, and the blade glinted almost as brightly, even in the dim light. He drew it across the back of his left forearm, opening a vein and drawing forth a stream of crimson that dripped onto the central star and quickly filled the indentation.
The blood began to disappear as soon as it was full, draining down through some unseen mechanism as the whole section of floor shifted beneath him, revealing a spiral staircase leading down into darkness, just as the deceased woman had said. He peered down into the shadows, then reached inside his coat and produced a roll of gauze bandages and a handheld flashlight. He wrapped the bandages around the cut on his arm, replaced them, and was about to flick the flashlight on when something occurred to him. "This light, lady... would it bother you? I am afraid my eyes will need some assistance if I am to venture down there, but this bulb produces light very much like that of day, and I would not wish to banish you by accident."
MysterMe
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Ti Wildcard
Sarcastic Daredevil
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Posted: Mon Jun 02, 2014 6:43 am
((Sorry, I still don't have any drawn images for my character, and I prefer to use my own original artwork.))
It was a forest, wasn't it? That was just the thing, however. It was a forest. He could smell that, in the distance, flora and fauna alike were still alive, sure. But here? Where he lay, almost afraid to open his eyes? Deadwood and dirt. Not even the scent of decay 'graced' his nostrils, as a sign of (at least former) life near him, and that was concerning. There was something else, a human who had passed through recently, and judging by the dispersion of the trail, they had been headed towards the center of this... death-zone. Why? It was at this realization that the half-elf even sat up, his eyelids peeling open to reveal a pair of molten yellow-orange orbs centered with dark oval pupils. With these eyes, the caramel-skinned elf took in the sights of his surroundings, mostly confirming the scents he had picked up. Deadwood and dirt. Yet, despite the bad omen this barren forest felt to contain, a fellow life-force had chosen to delve into the heart of this death-circle. After pushing himself up and climbing to his feet, the elf found himself acting against his better judgement and following the trail the human had left behind towards the center of the 'Dead Forest', as he had internally decided to dub the location. His 'gift' had placed him here, but why? ...and what could that human possibly want at the center of this place?
He looked to be an elf, with his pointed ears and lithe figure. He stood at about five feet and eleven inches, with skin of a caramel brown and freckles that dotted his cheeks below his eyes, which burned brightly with the molten colors of yellow and orange and centered with pupils that were oval in shape. A mane of vibrant red curls extended just beyond his shoulder blades, though dirtied and containing bits of dead twigs from having been laying on his back. He was dressed rather extravagantly, mostly in blacks, golds, and reds.A dark, embroidered vest was worn over a white dress shirt, loose in the sleeves and cuffed with red and black at the wrists. Dark dress pants were covered up to the knees by a pair of red and black boots, with accents of gold placed upon the red. Upon his shoulders had been a mantle of sorts. Black shoulder-coverings that were inlaid with gold and set with a red gemstone each. At his hip, he wore a dark pouch, which was mostly obscured by various golden chains and a sash that attached themselves as decorative pieces and reached around his waist. Various golden hoops and studs adorned his ears, a ring through his left nostril, and upon the little finger of his left hand was a golden ring banded with hematite. Around his neck was a delicate golden chain which tucked itself under the shirt and vest of his garb, his chest centered with a golden clasp with a crimson gem set atop it. Unfortunately, due to his previous position o the ground, dirt clung to his clothing along his back, and to his knees from his efforts to stand. Dressed nicely, and a mess.
The trail had led him to what appeared to be an abandoned mansion from the outside. However, the sense of foreboding hinted that it was anything but abandoned... And the human had entered this building? He wanted to turn back, to leave this human t his own devices, but something pulled him. He should have never brought his gaze towards the open doorway. Eyes were upon him, and though he could almost make out the faint glow of the pair, his mind denied their existence. With reluctance, he closed the distance between himself and that doorway, only to find those those 'eyes' had clearly been his imagination at work. He had already made it this far, and inside the elf stepped, peering around. There were two trails, now. Obviously the one he had followed was now exploring, and he supposed it was with good reason. One trail led to a room, which had been left a mess with clutter and objects, even broken shards of glass strewn about. Perhaps it was the dolls that caught his attention. Nesting dolls? Where was he, anyways?
His thoughts transitioned quickly as a pair of cold hands reached around him, one clasping over his mouth as the other wrapped around his front to repress him. There was no breath as the form pressed against his back, only a sharpness piercing at his throat, creating access to his hot, arcane-infused blood. It was clear that he was not welcome here. Or, perhaps he was too welcome here, but for a singular purpose. It was here that he discovered something, as he struggled against the unknown entity who clung to his form and leeched from his throat: he was trapped in his elven shape. His consciousness did not last.
((My apologies for the aggression of this post. Yoouuuu wanted a vampire?))
Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 4:33 pm
Numrigaaz
((Sorry, I still don't have any drawn images for my character, and I prefer to use my own original artwork.))
It was a forest, wasn't it? That was just the thing, however. It was a forest. He could smell that, in the distance, flora and fauna alike were still alive, sure. But here? Where he lay, almost afraid to open his eyes? Deadwood and dirt. Not even the scent of decay 'graced' his nostrils, as a sign of (at least former) life near him, and that was concerning. There was something else, a human who had passed through recently, and judging by the dispersion of the trail, they had been headed towards the center of this... death-zone. Why? It was at this realization that the half-elf even sat up, his eyelids peeling open to reveal a pair of molten yellow-orange orbs centered with dark oval pupils. With these eyes, the caramel-skinned elf took in the sights of his surroundings, mostly confirming the scents he had picked up. Deadwood and dirt. Yet, despite the bad omen this barren forest felt to contain, a fellow life-force had chosen to delve into the heart of this death-circle. After pushing himself up and climbing to his feet, the elf found himself acting against his better judgement and following the trail the human had left behind towards the center of the 'Dead Forest', as he had internally decided to dub the location. His 'gift' had placed him here, but why? ...and what could that human possibly want at the center of this place?
He looked to be an elf, with his pointed ears and lithe figure. He stood at about five feet and eleven inches, with skin of a caramel brown and freckles that dotted his cheeks below his eyes, which burned brightly with the molten colors of yellow and orange and centered with pupils that were oval in shape. A mane of vibrant red curls extended just beyond his shoulder blades, though dirtied and containing bits of dead twigs from having been laying on his back. He was dressed rather extravagantly, mostly in blacks, golds, and reds.A dark, embroidered vest was worn over a white dress shirt, loose in the sleeves and cuffed with red and black at the wrists. Dark dress pants were covered up to the knees by a pair of red and black boots, with accents of gold placed upon the red. Upon his shoulders had been a mantle of sorts. Black shoulder-coverings that were inlaid with gold and set with a red gemstone each. At his hip, he wore a dark pouch, which was mostly obscured by various golden chains and a sash that attached themselves as decorative pieces and reached around his waist. Various golden hoops and studs adorned his ears, a ring through his left nostril, and upon the little finger of his left hand was a golden ring banded with hematite. Around his neck was a delicate golden chain which tucked itself under the shirt and vest of his garb, his chest centered with a golden clasp with a crimson gem set atop it. Unfortunately, due to his previous position o the ground, dirt clung to his clothing along his back, and to his knees from his efforts to stand. Dressed nicely, and a mess.
The trail had led him to what appeared to be an abandoned mansion from the outside. However, the sense of foreboding hinted that it was anything but abandoned... And the human had entered this building? He wanted to turn back, to leave this human t his own devices, but something pulled him. He should have never brought his gaze towards the open doorway. Eyes were upon him, and though he could almost make out the faint glow of the pair, his mind denied their existence. With reluctance, he closed the distance between himself and that doorway, only to find those those 'eyes' had clearly been his imagination at work. He had already made it this far, and inside the elf stepped, peering around. There were two trails, now. Obviously the one he had followed was now exploring, and he supposed it was with good reason. One trail led to a room, which had been left a mess with clutter and objects, even broken shards of glass strewn about. Perhaps it was the dolls that caught his attention. Nesting dolls? Where was he, anyways?
His thoughts transitioned quickly as a pair of cold hands reached around him, one clasping over his mouth as the other wrapped around his front to repress him. There was no breath as the form pressed against his back, only a sharpness piercing at his throat, creating access to his hot, arcane-infused blood. It was clear that he was not welcome here. Or, perhaps he was too welcome here, but for a singular purpose. It was here that he discovered something, as he struggled against the unknown entity who clung to his form and leeched from his throat: he was trapped in his elven shape. His consciousness did not last.
((My apologies for the aggression of this post. Yoouuuu wanted a vampire?))
((You're an artist? And MUAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! YOU HAVE AWAKEN THE BEAST!))
Who could miss the delicious flame colored dessert making his way through the forest and into the mansion? Certainly not the most fearsome of all vampires residing in the mansion. Alt Vinzenz, the leader of a small Nazi flavored organization of vampires, watched the elf from the window in the room above the entrance. His dinner was so distracting that he stopped in the middle of a meeting with his chief officers just to eye his prey. "General Vinzenz, we must act now. The necromancer is already heading towards the library with the ghost. If he breaks the arrangement we have here we may find it difficult to maintain our control over this mansion." One of the officers bravely stepped forward to further express the urgency in his words, bordering disrespectful, but the general was hardly concerned about it. The only thing that mattered to him in this moment was capturing who he would refer to as "Flame". With a single raised hand he silenced the room. A thick grin curled his expression as he spoke to them. "Nevermind the current issue. I will take care of it. For now...this one is mine." Without another syllable, the officers dispersed about the mansion. They would wait and see what happened even if they were pushed to the end of their perceivable patience. For many years they trusted the general to make the right choices and for many more years they would continue to do that. Today would be just one of those days that would temper their loyalty.
Armed with his signature handgun, the silver haired vampire made his way to the main entrance. He would zip about the nearest walkways and clear out possible unexpected social encounters just in time to watch the flame make his way through the front door. Despite the dirt that clung to him, the elf's appearance remained as bright as ever. It had been decades since he witnessed someone so obvious with their clothing choices. He felt he was being dared to take a bite. In a swift, but gentle rush, Vinzenz placed one cold hand over the elf's mouth and the other around his torso, tightly squeezing him against his chest. The warmth from his body worsened the General's needs and drove him nearly mad. In pure euphoria, he pulled the arcane-laced blood from his victim's body until he sensed his consciousness fade away. Few things made him worry in his life. The death of this one was one of those things. Reluctantly, he removed his jaw from the elf's neck, licked the remaining blood from his neck and lips, and carried the elf bridal style in the direction of the library. Vinzenz stared at the form of his new companion while automatically navigating his way to his destination. For the entire walk he wondered just how long their relationship would last and slightly considered that maybe it might be best to break the spell on this mansion to treat his soldiers to others of his kind. However, this was all dispelled when he saw the ghostly form of Alexandra and the necromancer just about to enter the necromancer's vault.
"Allleeeexxaaaaannnndddrrraaaaaaaaaaa....what do you think you're doing leading a necromancer into the vault?" His voice echoed about the library. Vinzenz had skipped his way across the tops of the bookshelves and to the center of the library as he spoke, but before he hopped down he carefully placed his victim atop the nearest bookshelf to the scene. "Is this another attempt to escape this place or do you really just like feeding me?" Within a meter of the two of them, he crouched to the level of the necromancer just a handful of steps down the spiral of the vault. "He doesn't look nearly as tasty as my most recent catch." A smirk pulled back his lips to reveal his bleach white fangs, the tips long and equipped for extracting blood through the most durable of armors. "You think he'll put up much of a fight to make up for his lack of appearance?"
((Cool. I guess it doesn't really matter either way.))
Mikael took a step backward, away from the specter's sudden, incandescent fury. He was almost swept off his feet by the angry poltergeist, and though he managed to keep his footing, he did drop down to one knee. He clutched at the charms encircling his wrist and closed his eyes, whispering a prayer. He opened them once more to see that the storm of objects had abated, leaving him unscathed. His luck had held, or perhaps the spirit was simply more merciful than most.
When he spoke again, there was a slight stutter in his speech at first. "I... I have offended you, and must once again apologize and ask for your pardon. I know nothing of this man, but I can see he was wicked and has harmed you terribly. I shall help you, of course. I dare say I am something of an expert at deciphering strange symbols... though if I am to break the spells cast upon this place, it may be quite difficult not to mention their creator. I shall not ask his name, since I can see that the subject pains you. Is there some other moniker we might use for the sake of convenience? "The Necromancer", perhaps? And... at the risk of facing your wrath once again... is there anything whatsoever you can tell me of the man and his magic? I do not wish to pry, but if I am to help..."
He spoke as they walked (although she actually floated, in point of fact) through the hallways of the mansion. They wound around themselves in peculiar and perplexing patterns, and he soon discovered that he had quite lost his bearings inside the labyrinthine structure. He had recalled a few strange sights and landmarks, which he hoped he could use to retrace their steps: a grandfather clock whose body had become a nest for spiders and sparrows, a room filled with china dolls seated around a grand table which was impeccably set but covered with at least an inch of dust and detritus, a hallway entirely blocked with an intricate cobweb of red, blue, black and gold thread, a mirror which reflected another room entirely...
They arrived at the library. It was by far the most impressive room he had seen so far, with a vast vaulted ceiling painted to resemble the night sky. The shelves were carved to resemble the trunks and branches of trees, complete with withered leaves, as though the trees were in the midst of Autumn. In the center of the floor was a starry design that echoed the one above. The ghost at his side pointed out the central star and told him what he must do to open the secret stairway that lay beneath. He was not overly concerned; many rituals called for the magician to spill his blood. He was more worried that the scent might attract the more predatory denizens of the mansion, but there did not seem to be any other option. So he rolled up his shirtsleeves and drew a small, straight razor from his coat. The handle was inlaid with mother of pearl, and the blade glinted almost as brightly, even in the dim light. He drew it across the back of his left forearm, opening a vein and drawing forth a stream of crimson that dripped onto the central star and quickly filled the indentation.
The blood began to disappear as soon as it was full, draining down through some unseen mechanism as the whole section of floor shifted beneath him, revealing a spiral staircase leading down into darkness, just as the deceased woman had said. He peered down into the shadows, then reached inside his coat and produced a roll of gauze bandages and a handheld flashlight. He wrapped the bandages around the cut on his arm, replaced them, and was about to flick the flashlight on when something occurred to him. "This light, lady... would it bother you? I am afraid my eyes will need some assistance if I am to venture down there, but this bulb produces light very much like that of day, and I would not wish to banish you by accident."
Alexandra didn't expect him to cut himself so willingly. Most necromancers were egotistical assholes with an overinflated aura of self-importance. It would be completely against their nature to help out a ghost. In fact, it would be completely in their nature to attempt to wield the ghost as a weapon. In the seconds it took for him to make his decision she rushed forward just as quickly to stop him, her hand passing right through him. A heavy storm cloud of helplessness rained on her. The only thing she could really do would be use her energy to pull the books off the shelves and knock the blade from his hand or force the blade off in a random directly, but would that really help? At that, would it even be safe? Was it even possible? With all the charms and bracelets he wore there had to be one of them that didn't allow objects in his hands to be removed. There were too many dangly things to not include that.
Blood filled the indentations in the floor and soon the vault was revealed. It was a little exciting to think that she might be able to leave the mansion or "step into the light" as her parents would say. There was also a possibility that she would become human again. After all, with the change of the mansion came her transitioning into a ghost. She never witnessed her dead body, but was positive of her ghostly existence. Heading his warning of the light she began to float backwards when she noticed someone enter the library. Hatred embroidered her fear as she watched Vinzenz approach them with a victim in his arms. A pretty victim too! For a shade of a second she admired his attire. If only she were corporeal enough to play dress up with him.
Instinctually, she pulled the books on the shelves behind her and slammed him, pinning him against the bookshelf he had placed his catch-of-the-day on. This position would hardly last long considering Vinzenz had been part of a deal with Voltaire. He was partially responsible for the trapping nature of the mansion. Focusing all of her energy, Alexandra barely pushed words through her lips. "You'd better work fast and grab that book before he gets out and makes you his plaything." The necromancer would find himself entering a weaved series of tunnels that created a maze beneath the mansion. It would take a skilled necromancer to navigate them. Would Mikael be up to the challenge?
((I could really kill the autocorrect on my laptop. Seriously! And welcome Numrigaaz!!! biggrin))
Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 6:06 pm
Mikael had barely cleared the first few steps when the vampire entered the room. He felt its presence a few seconds before it spoke, a chill spreading through him as the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. Its voice was venomous, yet smooth and almost sweet, like honey laced with strychnine and arsenic. Mikael whirled upon the spot just in time to see his ghostly companion slamming the creature into a nearby bookshelf and pinning him there with several dozen large and heavy looking tomes. He doubted the thing would have much difficulty breaking from their hold, however. He had some experience with the surprising strength of the dead. He needed to buy time. He wracked his brain for something, anything to help. He doubted very much that he would be able to kill the thing before it dispatched him, even with his silver and stakes and daylight flashlight bulbs and his mystical armor. Then, he remembered an old spell. It was one of the first he had learned, a ritual rhyme from time out of mind.
Salt o'er the shoulder keeps back the dark. Follow that with willow's bark. A circle, a candle, a coin for to pay The light in the shadows, to keep evil at bay.
Mikael reached into his coat and drew forth a shaker of salt. Quickly and quietly, he unscrewed the top, glanced over his right shoulder, and then looked back down the stairs and threw the open salt-shaker over the other. He accompanied it with a word in a language far older than the house, the woods, or anything in it. The salt flew through the air, spreading out and surrounding the Vampire on all sides. Then it stopped, each white grain hanging in mid-air and forming a bubble of tiny crystals around him. If the thing tried to touch them, he would find that they burned him like the kiss of the sun. The Necromancer turned on his heel and walked back up the stairs.
The symbol on the red armband around the creature's bicep was absolutely unmistakable. But Mikael kept his anger controlled, and spoke with measured calm to the being before him. "My father fought at Stalingrad. His bones still lie in the fields around that place. Our country payed the greatest price in that war, you know. More than twenty five million dead, more than all the other countries put together. More than you ever managed with your pogroms and genocides. But we won." He drew a piece of willow bark from his coat, and began tearing it into strips. "We sent you running from Russia with your tails between your little legs. And now I am going to do the same to you. But first, you shall be my prisoner, here in this prison you have made for yourself." He carefully placed the strips in a circle around the creature, along the edge of the bubble of salt. Finally, he drew a copper coin and a long tallow candle from another pocket, and lit it with a match. He set the coin on the floor, just beyond the edge of the circle, and placed the candle atop it, so that its light covered the creature and the shelves around it, and cast long and flickering shadows throughout the rest of the room. The Vampire was thoroughly trapped. At least until the candle went out. He looked at the dead man for a long moment, meeting its evil eyes with his unflinching gunmetal grey gaze. Then he turned to the ghost, and set his flashlight on the ground before her, the beam pointed away, towards the doorway.
"The light should guard the door against more. I will be back before the candle dies. Watch over him until I return with the book, and try not to listen to his lies. I have met many of his kind, and they are consummate deceivers. If he escapes, lift up the light and turn it on him. Farewell, for now. Take care."
He turned again, and began descending the stairs once more. As he reached the spot where he had been standing before, he spoke three more words in that ancient language, and a tiny spark of white light flew from his mouth and darted through the air before him. "Lead the way, little will-o-wisp. The earth is dark and deep, but thou art bright." It flicked out ahead of him and began leading him down the stairs and into the labyrinth.
((Sorry if I'm over-stepping my bounds by binding your character, The Dreaded Warning. If you don't like it, just let me know and I can change it. I just couldn't think of a way of surviving the situation except that. Plus, I just had to wipe that smirk off his face. You can still talk though, and move within the six or seven foot bubble, so you're not out for the count by any means. Also, is Numrigaaz dead? Or is he returning?))
MysterMe
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Ti Wildcard
Sarcastic Daredevil
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Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 7:19 pm
It all returned with a strange numbness, movement and vibrations being comprehended, but not directly felt as they should have. Had he lost consciousness in the first place? Perhaps he was drifting... in and out of a conscious state. That might have made sense to him. He could 'feel' himself being carried, after all, felt the movement relocating him and the individual who had caught him off-guard. It had been a foolish mistake on his part, and something that he recognized in his struggle to fight his way back into the waking world. Sound was returning to the table of perceptions, and it was then that he heard a name called, the sound bellowing in a tease from his attacker. He had felt a heaviness as they were moved to the bookshelf tops, felt each impact with each leap, despite how graceful and feather-like the vampire's movements might have been.
Being set down was a sensation that was embraced, the redhead's eyes peeling open just slightly to take in the blurred shapes of the speakers. One was pale, the other two were not, and that was about all he could immediately pick up. The voice was becoming clearer, ringing in his ears with shrill tones now, compared to the initial vibrating mumble. There was impact with the bookcase: he felt that too. But then, he always had a sensitive touch.
Things happened, and they were all a little too quick for the elf to keep up with. A struggle? a fight? No, a poem had been uttered, followed by words in a tongue he did not know. As the speaker had began giving out instructions, he made an effort to peel his eyes back open, his fiery gaze focusing on the figures a bit easier, though not for terribly long. The room still spun, and he was quickly beginning to compare the entire experience with a nasty hangover. all he needed now was the headache and nausea.
The light had been detected however, and he was quickly making connections between the light and the speaker's instructions. For a moment, he made effort to push himself up, to be able to sit up and see from a more appropriate angle. That effort ended in little more than a flutter of his arm, a soft and semi-deep baritone hum escaping his throat.
Was his attacker trapped? Was that what he had gathered from the situation somehow? If the light was a thread to 'them', then surely that was what the male had meant. The vampire had called the other, the instructor a 'necromancer' had he not? This continued to beg the question of what exactly he had gotten himself into.
((Thanks Doc! I am pretty sure I'm not quite dead yet~! I also apologize if I did not give enough content of stuff to my post. ><))
The Dreaded Warning
Doctor Acinemod Irralius
MysterMe
Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2014 7:33 pm
((HOLY CHRISTMAS! BACK!))
Vinzenz welcomed a chance to play roughly with the ghost and her newfound companion. Who else in the mansion would have the power to make him play fairly and on the same level? The necromancer was really asking for it! Excitement swirled butterflies in his chest as reality seeped in. Just how far would this necromancer go to lift the spell on the mansion? How much effort would be have to expend stopping the man who suddenly seemed more physically attractive. The Nazi general barely caught the tailend of the first phrase of his rhyme and quickly realized what would happen next. After all, the last time someone muttered those words he was encapsulated by an impenetrable barrier. With a half-baked attempt at escape Vinzenz released himself of a dozen of the books, but it was too late. The barrier was up and there was nothing at the moment about it. And then the verbal onslaught came from what seemed a survivor of the war. A fire that was put out years ago sparked inside him again and the vampire clenched his jaw. The Russians may have sent them back, yes, but he never considered what they did a success or that they ever deserved the right to feel mistreated. Everyone lost someone during the war, some more than others, but Vinzenz was confined to a life of blood sucking. The general cursed the soviet slime that turned him into a vampire, ached for the day he could exact his revenge, but then the perks of being a vampire slowly outweighed the pitfalls. Honestly, the ups and downs raised and fell like the tide. On one side he would live forever with his comrades and on the other he would deeply mourn the lives of his wife and child. Whether or not they died, he never found out because he knew he would be incapable of controlling himself around them and by the time he could he had already agreed with Voltaire to be the overlord of the mansion.
Slowly the idea of leaving the mansion became more attractive, but it came at a cost. Vinzenz could give the necromancer the chance to feel successful for breaking the spell on the mansion, but he could potentially embark on a long journey to find his maker. Could he stand to let a soviet succeed? Could he stand to see the smile on the necromancer's face knowing that he won against him? And then sadist inside him curled its toenails in pleasure at the thought of stopping him just before completion and taking his life slowly, making turning him into a vampire for his keeping. In the shades of seconds before his next realization he rolled around his most devious of thoughts.
Through the necromancer's final words before delving into the darkness beneath the mansion he realized the beating heart behind him and sensed his return to consciousness. This was rather annoying, rather irritating. Being restricted from his newest catch was a bit of a problem. It seemed as if he would have to pick one or the other: a perfect meal or a perfect challenge? As if the barrier hadn't made the choice for him already, that he could have neither, Vinzenz dared to reach forward and scratch its surface. Pain snapped at him and he jerked back his hand from what felt like the molten sun itself. He would have to settle for wooing the flame with his voice. "Oh Flllllaaaaaaaammmmmmeeeeeee. Waaaaaakkkkkeeeee uuuuUUUUuuupppp! " A bright read circled his pupils and glowed with a fiery passion as his hunger returned. Vinzenz could feel every heartbeat inside his victim's chest and for a moment he stood there relishing in it. Taking in a deep breath through clenched teeth, he tasted the scent of his meal before continuing. "Come now, Flame. You wouldn't know of anything to break your pooooooooorlover out of this trap, would you?" His words were partly for stirring the elf and partly for annoying the ghost. Vinzenz knew how much Alexandra hated the sound of his persuasion. She had heard a few words of it before becoming a ghost and, though she would deny it with every bit of her existence, he felt she had a little thing for him. Whether or not it was jealousy, he loved watching the play she would put on for him.
The Dreaded Warning
Doctor Acinemod Irralius
MysterMe
((I really love this "spoiler" thing you've done.))
The spell was a blur. Something was slowly drawing her attention. It was pulling at a string, unraveling her consciousness. It was a puppeteer carefully checking the strings on his marionettes. A warm embrace wrapped its arms around her, warmth that she hadn't felt in years. It was felt human, a familiar powerful force that felt at home in the mansion. Alexandra felt her feet touch the floor with a sound as she became a physical being. Something was wrong. Dread pierced her chest and pushed out air from her lungs. The ghost hadn't breathed since she was human. Amidst the struggle to catch her breathe, the door to the necromancer's lair slammed shut. Dark brown walls of hair fell forward and smothered her expression as she dropped to her hands and knees and with one clenched grasp she pulled the cloth of her kimono away from her chest. It was in those few moments of struggle that she noticed the change in color. "Black..." It was never black, not even living it wasn't black. It was a perfect black color as well. "What the world is going on?!"
As quickly as the onset and soon as the peak of her torture was, so too was the duration. In seconds she was released...and so was Vinzenz. The barrier around him faded. In a desperate attempt to assert her dominance, Alexandra shoved herself to her feet and dashed forward, landing a single slap that forced Vinzenz to the floor. Just as powerful as she felt the force behind her new existence was, she witnessed her "single-handedly" smacking down the vampire who had toyed with her for every living second he had with her and even after death. Fear rained on her surprise and it wasn't long after that that she was climbing the bookshelf to reach the elf. In either scenario where one was left behind by the other, the young woman knew the one left would suffer and though the new power was frightening it brought some hope of getting away successfully. Alexandra scooped up the elf who was shockingly light. For a shaving of a second she cursed him with her jealousy and, in a leap of faith, she jumped across to the bookshelf across from them. It didn't take much to get going after that. In the same manner as Vinzenz, she made her way across the bookshelves and exited the library.
As she traveled the halls with the elf in her arms she began to pick up speed. Foreign statements clouded her thoughts and soon she could hear no one but someone else. They were directions and without any will of her own she followed them. From the corners of her eyes she noticed the dust disappearing from the mansion and items revived to what an appraiser would consider impossibly new. Shattered windows picked their glass up and pieced themselves together. Furniture materialized their missing pieces and filed themselves with items that had once called their compartments home. And by the time they reached the ballroom it was clear that they were no longer living in a house under their relative control. The room was filled with people in the most formal of attire and all of them at once turned to greet her with a bow. These people were familiar to her. Business partners, young entrepreneurs, well-behaved children you could easily mistake for adults, waiters dressed so well they might as well call themselves the guests, and they all left a large space in the middle of the room for a single red sofa. Alexandra looked to the elf in her care and then back to the sofa. "It would be terribly convenient, wouldn't it?" On her bare heels she turned towards the exit and attempted to head out of the room. One by one the guests began screaming at the top of their lungs. From the rim of the round room and traveling towards the middle they burst into flames. Alexandra turned around to see the massacre, the souls burning away. With the same length of step she took towards the door she stepped forward and the screaming stopped. There was no on left in the room, not even the sofa. There were now two chairs made of a soft, white fabric. Figuring there was a reason for it, Alexandra cautiously approached the furniture and eventually placed the elf comfortably in one of them and took the other for herself. The distance she ran was extremely far and with the hallways changing behind them she was sure it would take Vinzenz a good deal of time before he could locate them. He would likely attempt to regroup his forces and organize a proper search party.
The situation seemed a little too convenient. Who would have the power to move the walls as they did and revitalize the items in the house, not to mention give her a human body? Alexandra slipped a hand inside her clothing to feel the beat of her heart. It drummed comfortably in her chest, as if it had been there the whole time. And while this was a great feeling, to be human again, she couldn't deny the disadvantage it now was to have a physical existence. For a while she watched the elf from her seat and wondered how long he would last in the mansion. Vinzenz clearly appeared to adore him. Would he really be able to keep himself in check enough to have a happy ending with this one? Or maybe this one wouldn't fall for his smiles, great hair, cunning words, and military fashion sense. "...Great hair...Did I really say that?ACK! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?! ARE THESE THOUGHTS REALLY MY OWN?!" Her question rang aloud in the room. Alexandra quickly bit down on the flesh on the inside of her mouth, punishing herself for the loss of control. She had hoped that the elf didn't hear that.
Meanwhile, beneath the floors of the mansion the necromancer would find himself walking for hours before finally reaching a candlelit room with a black book resting on a gold stand. Its pages flipped one by one over each other, as if an invisible being were reading through for a proper spell. A closer look would reveal all of the pages were blank. It seemed the book was meant for a single reader; however, with the right spell there was a small chance he too could read the pages. What he would read...well...he would know that better than anyone else. The pages would stop turning the moment he entered the room and after a few steps it would quickly flutter to the last page of the book. An inky quill would materialize and begin writing. The final page would begin to read...
"Dear Mikael,
Welcome to my mansion. I hope your stay is a comfortable one. After all, you'll be staying here for the rest of your life. Best of luck escaping the vampires.
Yours Truly, Alaric Voltair
PS We will meet each other soon enough. Maybe...outside...if you manage not to roast!"
And with that the room would begin to shake. Candles would fall and everything would attempt to catch fire. If he didn't grab the book fast enough it too would burn to death.
((WOOO!!! STORYLINE!!! Feel free to find yourself outside navigating the maze, Mysterme. smile ))
Who could miss the delicious flame colored dessert making his way through the forest and into the mansion? Certainly not the most fearsome of all vampires residing in the mansion. Alt Vinzenz, the leader of a small Nazi flavored organization of vampires, watched the elf from the window in the room above the entrance. His dinner was so distracting that he stopped in the middle of a meeting with his chief officers just to eye his prey. "General Vinzenz, we must act now. The necromancer is already heading towards the library with the ghost. If he breaks the arrangement we have here we may find it difficult to maintain our control over this mansion." One of the officers bravely stepped forward to further express the urgency in his words, bordering disrespectful, but the general was hardly concerned about it. The only thing that mattered to him in this moment was capturing who he would refer to as "Flame". With a single raised hand he silenced the room. A thick grin curled his expression as he spoke to them. 