Welcome to Gaia! ::

I've finished Cynthia's chronicles, and after assessing the fact that her story is a whopping 110KB, with no less than 16 and a half pages, I decided to make an entirely new forum for it, so that it wouldn't take up all the space on the original Blood Moon forum. So, this new forum is for all members who are taking part in Blood Moon who want to write the life story of their character, from beginning to end, or just a little part in between. (Just to warn you, if your character is some 100+ years, you might just want to write a summary of their lives... unless you want to waste hours on end typing it all up, as I did with Cynthia) So, I hope you enjoy the new forum, just a bit of extra detail for all those who want to delve further into the world of Blood Moon. Enjoy!

The next day Riya returned, and was only slightly fazed by the news of Solomon’s death. She seemed saddened, but also slightly relieved. Cynthia didn’t know why. It was only until much later that Cynthia realized Riya knew Solomon liked her, but didn’t care for him in the same way. And it was only until much later still that she realized Riya would have said yes had he asked her, only she was relieved he didn’t.
Months went by in a daze for Cynthia after Solomon’s death. Everything seemed meaningless, like there was no point to even existing any more. Her life was torn apart. She even reverted back to human blood, killing violently and at random. She’d kill just for the satisfaction of killing, just to see the crimson blood spurt from an open wound, to watch it spray as it splattered her face and her hair, washing her in red. She could remember the mist that surrounded the room; the aromatic smell. It was a human’s hell, and a vampire’s heaven.

Cynthia turned 17 without ceremony of any great sort, ignoring any gifts that she might have received. Indeed, 483 years on, she couldn’t even remember what she had gotten, or who had given her anything at all. It was in the far distant past.

How much time had passed after she turned 17? She could hardly remember. She remembered vaguely turning eighteen… and then nineteen… and still her body stayed in its childish state. A hole grew in her heart where her love for Solomon had once been, and as the years passed it slowly filled with hatred towards Riya.

When was it that Riya had first met Sean? Cynthia struggled to remember as she wound her way down a small hill. She remembered it being a good time after Solomon’s death; she had even begun to convince herself that the rift between her and Riya was mending. But then… she was around 21 when Aumoe advised that she begin training as an archer, and even had a miniature bow fashioned for her. That had lasted around a year before she gave it up…

So that would place her at 22, but she remembered her 23rd birthday because it was when Aumoe had given her a silver shortsword, made especially for her. She still had that very shortsword today, although she had found it unnecessary to take it with her tonight. The extra weight would have hindered her, slowed her down. And she was running out of time as it was.

25 was when she had begun to make amends with Riya, had tried to quell the writhing hatred underneath her forced smile. Riya had seen right through it, and had given her own innocent smile in return. After that they began to become true rivals.

At 27, Riya’s older sister was killed during a hunt, as she had cut too close to a black zone; or so they called the areas where a werewolf base was supposed to be. Riya’s extended family didn’t care much for matters of state, and were therefore uninterested in boundaries and other safety precautions. Cynthia could remember Riya’s masked sorrow, and had enjoyed every moment of it.

30 was an unimportant year; in fact, her 30’s were an unimportant decade. She traveled a lot in her 30’s and 40’s, even going so far as France and Spain. She was surprised at how many vampires there were in neighbouring countries, having believed that most to all of them would be centered around the main vampire mansion. How she was wrong.

She could remember vaguely that a group of vampires in Paris had tried, at one stage, to blend in with the humans; this was when they were still living in Britain. They had attended operas, been invited to human galas, mingled with the night entertainers of the mortal race, but they told her that, in the end, the aromas were too great, and after casualties rose and the humans began to grow suspicious, they’d had to move on to Paris. Aumoe had wanted to keep her cover, and had so let them go.

The vampires in Spain were another matter entirely. They had been quite the opposite; rebels who believed that the vampire race had a right to rule, were superior to all other races (which was true, but as of yet not acted upon). After being refused permission by Aumoe, they had planned their own murder of the king, but had failed and would have been caught by the human forces if a group of Topaz spies had not spotted them and created a distraction long enough for them to escape. After that they had been banished to Spain, to live (and train) until they were called upon.

Cynthia was 45 when she returned to the mansion, though of course she still looked eight years old. She spent another year catching up on everything that had been happening, with particular interest to the casualties during her absence. Not as many as she’d expected, but still a fair few. Aumoe was playing it low and trying to mask their exact numbers by limiting mission parties to three and sending them at irregular intervals; more of a scouting roster than a regular patrol. Cynthia was allowed to join one on a few occasions.

46 came and went, followed by 47, and then 48. But when she was exactly 50 years old, a new threat rose, one that had never occurred before; that of a vampire hunter. He had tracked them to the closest village, and was preparing a campaign against them. Aumoe was unconcerned of any threat a human could pose, but she still wanted him killed. She asked Riya to lead a mission against him, and any who followed him.

When Cynthia heard about this, she determined to prove herself against Riya, so she asked Aumoe if she could be sent on the mission instead. Aumoe agreed that she could go along, but said that Riya was to be in charge, and Cynthia would have to do as commanded. Cynthia determined to do the exact opposite.

The mission was staged the night before the hunter’s campaign was to take place. Breaking into the hotel where he was staying was easy; killing him in his sleep was even easier. Riya even let Cynthia do the honors; why she allowed her to slit his throat and watch the river of blood seep into his pillow she didn’t know. But they weren’t allowed to feed. According to Aumoe, it was to make it seem as if he were killed by a human, perhaps because he was a criminal who had escaped prison and was using ‘vampire hunter’ as an excuse to travel. She didn’t care. But she said that if puncture wounds were found on his neck, or if he were drained of blood, then the townspeople would grow suspicious. If a vampire hunter was killed by a vampire, and it was obvious that that was so, then they’d know for sure that there were vampires living close by. But if a stranger claiming to be a vampire hunter was assassinated mysteriously in his sleep, people would assume the worst of him, not of his killer. Her reasoning was logical, and it worked.

However, not five years later, another vampire hunter appeared in the area. This time Aumoe let Cynthia go alone, as soon as she heard the news. After the first time, she realized that killing the humans were easy, as they didn’t even know how to kill a vampire. They claimed that crosses would burn them, that garlic would dispel them, and that a stake through the heart would turn them to dust. It was all complete nonsense.

But this time, when Cynthia crept into the hunter’s chambers, past the garlic hanging in the doorframe, she found that he was not yet asleep. He sat stooped at a desk, concentrating on something before him. He was so enrapt in whatever it was that he was reading, he didn’t even notice Cynthia as she made her way across the room to stand at his elbow.

“Don’t turn around,” she told him coldly. He immediately stiffened, and went to turn, but she pressed the tip of Solomon’s knife into his neck, and he froze. Cynthia continued, “You came here to kill me; to kill us. Why?”

The human was silent, so she pressed further, drawing a drop of pearly crimson blood. “Why?” she demanded.

The human flinched away from the knife, but she caught him round the side of the face and held him against it firmly, pressing slightly harder. His breathing quickened, but he finally said, “You’re vermin, all of you. You contaminate the human race; you taint us. You’re monsters, demons. You deserve to die.”

Cynthia frowned, deliberating. “We contaminate you?” she asked, not understanding.

“You infect us with your bite; you kill us when you eat. You’re parasites; mosquitoes, leeches. The lot of you,” he spat on the floor, “deserve to die.”

“Is that so?” Cynthia asked, and in one fluid motion ran the knife across his neck, watching the blood spurt against the wall. She wiped the blade clean on the back of the human’s shirt. “Parasites…” she murmured under her breath, before turning and leaving the inn.

She was roughly 60 years old when it happened; the next big blow to her relatively young (in the eyes of a vampire) life. Riya had been away for a good three or four nights, before a slight commotion was aroused at her return. Cynthia had been passing through, heard that Riya was back, and had taken a side passage to avoid running into her, when the strong scent of human blood wafted down the corridor. The presence, the smell, and the heartbeat all meant one thing; a human in the vampire mansion.

This piqued her interest. As much as she hated Riya, Cynthia was curious to see why a live human would accompany her into the mansion; a snack? A special order for Aumoe or some other important guest? But usually humans were only imported on special occasions; traditionally, it was every vampire for themselves when it came to hunting. The fact that Riya had brought one back with her was quite odd; not entirely bad, just not normal.

Cynthia made her way quietly to the main foyer, where a cluster of vampires was surrounding Riya. Standing at the top of the main flight of stairs, Cynthia was able to get a birds-eye view of the situation; Riya was accompanied by a human, male, pretty tall… handsome, though he paled in comparison with Solomon. He followed behind her docilely, his gaze lowered, his shoulders slumped; had she brought him here to kill him? It certainly looked like it. Riya, for her part, was walking with her head held high, her shoulders back, and with a fast pace. Cynthia leaned forward to see who she was looking at, and saw Aumoe at the other end of the foyer.

“Rianna,” Aumoe said in a forceful whisper, “Why have you brought a human to our mansion? To our home?”

Riya had stared back at her defiantly, “Do I need a reason?”

Aumoe raised an eyebrow questioningly, straightening herself up slightly. There was a tense silence; no one moved. And then Aumoe said off-handedly, “Make sure he isn’t around for more than a week. I can’t stand the smell of food so close to my room.” And then she spun around and disappeared down a corridor.

Riya sighed, seeming to relax slightly. “Come on,” she had said to the human, before taking him away.

Cynthia stood on her toes to better see the signpost before her. She’d traveled far, and was beginning to forget her directions. She glanced down the road to her left, the one which wound off through dense forest, and then down the one to her right, which curled away amidst tall grasses and rolling hills. She checked the signpost again. “This’d better be the right one,” she murmured, before taking the road to the right.

A week had passed. And then another one. And then another one after that. The human, now known to be called Sean, was still alive. Most of the vampires believed Riya kept him as a pet; as a slave almost. But others were more wary, saying that if she wanted a servant, she should have just Turned him by now, and that Aumoe was quite unpleased. Cynthia didn’t know what to believe.

But that was before the night when she was on her way out to hunt, and heard voices from around the side of the mansion. She had crept silently between the trees, stopping when she reached the clearing. Riya and Sean were in the centre, Riya staring off into the darkness with her back to the human, Sean looking at her.

“I want to be stronger,” he said determinedly, “I have to become stronger.”

“Why?” Riya asked unemotionally, still not looking at him.

“To… to protect you,” Sean answered quietly, watching her, “I want to be able to protect you.”

There was silence for a long moment, before Sean said, so quietly that even Cynthia had to strain to listen, “I… I love you.”

Riya stiffened, began to turn around slowly, a small smile on her lips, her eyes half-closed, but then her eyes met Cynthia’s. Cynthia froze. Riya blinked, her reverie broken. Cynthia took a slow step backwards, before turning and running off into the trees. She made it back into the mansion before Riya had time to realize that she’d heard.

Cynthia didn’t come out of her room for three nights. How could it be possible? How could it happen? She knew what Riya was going to say; would have said if she hadn’t seen her. She would have said that she felt the same way towards him. Otherwise, why would she have kept him for so long? Why would she protect him so fiercely from the other vampires, who were growing fed up with a human in the mansion? Why else would she take him back in the first place?

Memories of Solomon were foremost in her mind when she left her room on the third night, determined to find Aumoe and get the matter settled. The fact that Riya was in love irked her, both out of jealousy that Riya was able to be with the one she loved, but mostly because Solomon had loved her, and she had not returned his affections. The fact that she loved a human over the leader of the Topaz vampires was preposterous. Humans were food; cattle. It was the equivalent of loving a rat.

Cynthia made her way down the winding trail around the next small village on the road. As she checked the next signpost, she realized with a jolt that she should have taken the left trail. She glanced back at the long expanse of road and sighed, glancing up at the sky. How long until it began to pale? She didn’t know. An hour, maybe two at the most was her assumption. Cynthia sprinted off down the road she’d just come at top speed.

Her conversation with Aumoe had lasted a long time. They discussed the situation late into the night; if Riya Turned the human, then there would be no problem with her apparent infatuation. But the human in question had seen his entire family killed by vampires; his transformation into their kind might be repulsive to him. But if he wasn’t Turned, he would age and eventually die; what would Riya do then? Would she be depressed? How deeply was she in love? Was she even in love? After all, Cynthia was only guessing at her answer. It would seem as if the only course of action would be to ask Riya herself how she felt.

But Cynthia persisted, recalling the words of the second vampire hunter; that vampires tainted the human race. What if it was the other way around? What if humans tainted the vampire race? She also recalled the words of those vampires from Spain; that vampires were superior to all other races, and were hiding docilely from the humans, from their food. Was it not odd that the predator hide from the prey? Should it not be the other way around?

Cynthia discussed all of this with Aumoe, who listened placidly to her. She finished the conversation by saying that no decision could be reached until it was clear where Riya stood on the matter. Two nights later Aumoe approached Riya. She discussed with her what love was, and asked her if she was in love. Cynthia never knew the answer.

All that Cynthia knew was that three nights after that, Aumoe sought her out, and told her that immediate action needed to take place. Cynthia could think of only one solution, and as much as Aumoe hesitated, she eventually agreed.

Sean was killed that night.

When Riya’s cries of pain reverberated throughout the mansion, Cynthia sat alone in her chambers and laughed, while tears streaked down her cheeks at the same time. She believed that, at last, they were even. And the best part was, Riya suspected the werewolves as the cause of Sean’s death; Aumoe had staged the murder perfectly. The wounds were giant gashes, three lines in a row, like claw marks raking his body. No one suspected that Aumoe herself had killed him.

The years passed quickly after that. Cynthia turned 70, 75, and then 80. She trained vigorously, with as much, if not more, determination as when she was younger. She sought out the tutoring of even the highest ranking of Aumoe’s advisors, and even, on one occasion, had a special lesson with Aumoe herself. When she was 90 years old (though still in her eight-year-old body) she challenged Riya to a duel. She lost.

The hatred multiplied in her gut a thousand-fold. Her training increased to irrational levels, brining her to the brink of daybreak, at which time she had to be physically dragged back to her chambers. She was constantly forgetting, or otherwise choosing not to, feed. Soon humans began to be imported specifically for her. This went on for three years, until Aumoe determined to put a stop to it.

At 93, Cynthia was offered a spot as secretary to the Garnet leader; a tall, slender youth with shock black hair named Elliot. She served him for a few years, her position terminated on the dusk of her 100th birthday. From him, she learned much about the organization of the other, more violent party in the vampires; knowledge which had otherwise eluded her when she was taught by Solomon.

When she turned 100, it was as if she were reborn as a vampire. She was one century old; respect towards her increased, but only slightly. The fact that she still appeared eight years old hindered the amount of respect that was usually granted a vampire on the night they’d lived a century. But Cynthia didn’t mind; by this point, she was used to the averted eyes and quiet whispers as they passed. She tolerated it, but only because she was determined to end it.

When she was 100, and therefore of respectable age, Aumoe approached her with another proposition; to become a lower advisor to her, beneath all of the other Onyx advisors, but whose opinion held weight in dealings with the Garnet and Topaz vampires. Cynthia agreed, ready for the new responsibility, and eager for others to see her as more than just a child.

Time passed.

Turning down the correct road, Cynthia glared at the signpost angrily as she past it. Of course this was where she was supposed to be going; her mind must be too preoccupied with reminiscing to concentrate on the directions which she had meticulously researched. But then again, it had been 492 years since she’d passed through this way; she could allow herself some leniency in terms of orientation. She sighed, gathered her bearings, and disappeared amongst the dark trees.

How much time had passed after she became Aumoe’s semi-advisor? She remembered that time seemed to pass more quickly after she had overcome the one century mark. A month seemed like a day, a year a week. She wasn’t called upon much for advice; she’d been more occupied as a secretary than as an advisor. But in her free time, Cynthia reverted back to her previous practices; rigorous training, broken up by the occasional feed. She tried to broaden her range to include various types of fighting, including the use of double blades, maces, the cross bow, axes, and even clubs. She also spent some deal of time studying the arts of torture, which she tested on her human victims. Their screams were like music to her ears.

By the time Cynthia was 110, Aumoe became interested in increasing the numbers of the vampire army, after reports that the werewolf numbers were multiplying rapidly. It was advised that if numbers were to be increased over the next 40 years, then after that point a massive training roster could be organized for the Blood Moon battle, which would take place three weeks after Cynthia’s 200th birthday. And so the largest, and longest, period of Turning began.

Cynthia tried to stay out of the way, having no interest in Turning anyone herself. But she watched as each night at least one new vampire was brought to the mansion. Sometimes they only stayed a couple of nights, other times they would remain for weeks, or even months. But they were constantly rotated out as new ones were brought in.

Because Cynthia had no intention of Turning anyone herself, she was given the job of recording all of the new vampires brought to the mansion each night and also to overlook the construction of the new barracks which would house the recruits during the 50-year training period. When she was 140, Cynthia was instructed to write up and distribute a warrant claiming that all vampires were ordered to report to the London mansion for the commencement of training. The turnout was phenomenal.

By the time she was 150, the entire mountain range in which the mansion was located was scattered with various lodges and training fields for the thousands upon thousands of vampires. Each was a fair distance from the one next to it, for maximum secrecy, and each was located in a strategic position. The vampires in each were rotated often, to allow them to train in each of the major fields of warfare. The entire training campaign was more of a conscription effort, but it was effective. The only major problem was food, so a vast network of delivery services were set up, and humans imported from all around the globe. The delivery jobs, too, were rotated, to allow the vampires maximum training time.

However, during the training of the common recruits, Cynthia was occupied in other, more personal matters. She brought it upon herself to cleanse the vampire race of any contaminations; to rid them of any and all dilutions in the blood line. This included the tracking down and murdering of entire vampire families, who chose to interbreed themselves with another race. In this, she was most successful.

Cynthia also took it as her responsibility to rid the world of vampire hunters. She grew adept in tracking not only them, but any accomplices they might have had. She would kill any and every last person who helped them, even the hotel clergyman who led them to their room. Everyone who socialized with a so-called ‘vampire hunter’ died. Eventually, no one did.

Gradually, the Blood Moon grew nearer. It was awaited with anticipation, but also trepidation in the vampire community. The younger vampires, those who were only recently brought into the world of eternal night during the Turning, were ecstatic; this was their entire life’s purpose, to fight. It was all they knew of their vampiric lives. Older vampires like Cynthia, however, viewed the Blood Moon with foreboding; they knew what it was like to face the wolves, and they knew what it was like to witness the death of a comrade. No one knew this better than Aumoe, who had been the last survivor out of all of the vampires during the previous Blood Moon. She was the only one alive on the planet who had ever witnessed the event before… except for Damion, the Werewolf Lord.

*FIRES TOAD CANNON* YOU HAVE BEEN TOADED!!!