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Thread: The Bad Moon Inn

  1. #1
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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    Default The Bad Moon Inn

    Setting and Storyline:

    The setting is Medieval with some Steampunk. Don't go too crazy with your technology and I'm sure we'll be fine.

    Vampires are just scary stories told by the fire at night, werewolves the stuff of legend. Until you are Turned. Once you are made a child of the night, an entire subculture opens up to you. Realizing that creatures like yourself have always existed, you set off in search of more people like you.

    Our story starts at the Bad Moon Inn in Caemlyn, the capitol city of Andoria. This is a local Vampire and Werewolf hang out. It is considered neutral territory and fighting is prohibited. If you are furry and hate fangers, leave your grudge at the door or the gnome behind the bar will shoot you. Got it? It works the other way around, the gnome is immune to vamp eye mumbo jumbo hypno crap, so behave. Or else.



    The Bad Moon Inn
    Rooms 1-5 and 21-25 are Vampire rooms
    Rooms 6-14 and 26-27 are Shifter rooms

    No one may occupy the deluxe suite UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

    Profiles may be submitted for approval if you have any question of suitability.

    Please feel free to private message me at any time with any questions you may have.

    Playable Races:

    Human
    Gnome
    Dwarf
    Elf

    Acceptable Mutations:

    Vampire
    Shifter
    Mage

    How people are Mutated:

    Vampires are made when a humanoid is bitten and drained completely of blood by a vampire, and the corpse is fed said vampire's blood, symbolically replacing the blood taken. Three days later they rise a vampire of the same line as their maker.

    If in that time the corpse is fed the blood of more than one vampire, it rises a Remnent which is a mindless killing machine and cannot be reasoned with.

    They can bite a humanoid for sustenance without killing, and without turning them into a vampire. The only way a vampire is made by draining AND feeding them the older vampire's blood. It's the only way.

    Shifters are made when a humanoid is bitten by a shifter under the full moon while in animal form. The next full moon they shift into the same animal as their maker. (the shifting process will be described in a post made by me, if you have any questions, please PM me)

    True Shifters are made when a humanoid is bitten by the Primordial Loki in his true form. They may change into any animal at any time and are not tied to the moon. They are EXTREMELY rare and only playable by advanced Roleplayers. If you wish to play one of these, please PM me before making your profile.

    Mages are born with the Spark, not made and thus are considered the only "natural mutation." They will typically display some form of psychic power very young. These powers include telepathy, visions, telekinesis, etc. A mage from the Onyx Tower will find them relatively early, and take them to the tower for training. A fully trained mage can master in one of these categories of expertise:

    Elementalist
    Healer
    Necromancer

    Elementalists are the most common and may control Air, Water, Earth, and Fire. Healers are rarer may control all of these plus Spirit. Necromancers are extremely rare and may control all of the above plus Life and Death magic.

    Very strong Necromancers may control all forms of undeath, including vampires. They are the only ones who can heal vampires.



    A, B, C, and D are all unnamed countries. You can pick your own nationality if you desire.

    The unnamed cities are numbered. If you want to name a city say something like, "My character is from Glade city 1 named BLAHBLAH."

    Countries

    Andoria
    Largest and most wealthy country contains many gold, silver, copper and iron mines. Governed by Humans but every species of humanoid makes up the citizenry.
    -----Starting City (red) Caemlyn - White stone wall surrounds the city, white stones pave the streets.

    Glade
    The enemy of Andoria, second wealthiest country. Governed by Gnomes but every species of humanoid makes up the citizenry.

    Z
    Little more than a city, it is claimed by both Andoria and Glade. It is a port city, very rough and dirty. Is not governed, has no military to speak of.

    The Frozen North
    Dwarves dwell in these nearly uninhabitable lands, and they are very closed mouthed folk. Stories abound about Trolls, Jotunn and other scary, huge monsters.

    The Onyx Tower
    A tower built by mages who scour the land searching for children with the Spark.

    Carolainian Plains
    The Fallen Nation of Carolain once stood here, now destroyed the area is mostly uninhabited.

    The Fingers
    These Everglades are dangerous to traverse, tropical and full of strange beasties. It's Swampland.

    The Desert
    Many small warrior tribes live in the desert, not much is known about them. Stories creep out about giant insects, strange monsters and the Jotunn.


    Profile:
    Room Number:
    Name:
    Age:
    Nationality:
    Race:
    Mutation:
    Description:

    Background: Who were you before you became what you are?

    How you were made:
    Last edited by Keke Le Cat; 01-12-2010 at 08:20 PM.

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  2. #2
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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    Room Number: 5
    Name: Risk
    Age: 31
    Nationality: Z
    Race: Human
    Mutation: Werewolf
    Description:

    Wears a dark green suit and white shirt, black cloak. Before the attack he was always smiling and his eyes held a merry twinkle, now his brow is always knitted with worry and he frowns more frequently.

    Background: Worked in a gambling house in Z before the attack, now he is afraid of being outed for what he is and cannot return.

    How Risk was Made: He was attacked 2 months prior by a very large, gold and gray wolf. It's been nearly a month since his first Shift and he is looking for answers. He traveled by boat to the Onyx Tower, but he never made it past the guards. One guard took pity on him and told him of The Bad Moon Inn, and so he journeyed there.

    Nearly two months ago...

    Risk rubbed his thumb along the crescent blade of his ax and stared up at the sky. It was a lovely winter night, chill filled the air and nipped at his nose. Everything was silent and beautifully lit up by the full moon. It was well past midnight and a blanket of stars encrusted the sky.

    He'd carried the ax more than half his life, and felt naked without it. The shining blade was given to him when he signed on as a Defender during the Great Orc Uprising. The war was over 10 years dead, but he still carried the ax. Standing waist deep in a trench filled with frozen mud, hacking wave after wave of orcs and men to bits had a way of sticking with a man. He'd been little more than a lad of 14 when he signed the papers that made him a soldier. At the end of the war, when he was released from duty, they had given him his ax and armour as payment for eight years service in the Gladian army. He was a Blademaster, but swords cost more than axes, and so it was the ax they gave him. He hadn't complained, so glad he was to be free.

    A few weeks prior, the townsfolk of Z had complained of strange shapes moving in the night. The Council had responded to the outcry of it's citizens by mounting a Nightwatch. All the prominent men of the city had been conscripted and given hours of patrol, and Risk's was just about up. He was eager to get home to his wife, Isodora. She didn't like being left alone at night, and what Dory didn't like, she changed. If she was left alone much, she just might find herself a 'friend' and Risk would have to kill the fellow. He'd killed his first man when he was 15 and had never much cared for it. Bad business, killing folk. He'd only been married four months, and already he'd had to kill two men for sneaking into his bed. The thought of killing another of Dory's lovers turned his stomach and left a bad taste in his mouth.

    Yes, Risk didn't like leaving his wife home alone, but more than that his feet were half-frozen in his boots. He wiggled his toes and took a few steps toward home. What could it hurt to leave a few minutes early? The night was quiet and cold as a mountain grave.

    It was then that he saw her flying toward him. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, staring incredulously at the figure dressed all in white, ebony hair fluttering in the breeze she made with her flight. He didn't go for the ax, never tried to draw his weapon. He was completely taken off guard when she crashed into him and bore him to the ground.

    “You were-... You flew!” He gasped at the woman.

    “Actually, it was more like gliding on air than actual flying.” She smiled down at him. Her hair was so black, her skin so white, her lips the reddest he had seen. She made Dory's golden beauty seem gaudy in comparison.

    “You're freezing cold...” was the last thing Risk said as a human being. The glorious, cold woman bent his head back with her slim, pale hands. He felt as helpless as a babe and calmer than he had been in years. A tension he hadn't realized he had carried around inside him released when her eyes locked onto his.

    “Gaea forgive me,” She whispered, opening her mouth wide and clamping onto his neck with her tiny fangs.

    She's so beautiful... Gods, I want her to love me, how can I make her love me? She's so perfect, I can make her so happy. I have to make her happy. How can I make her happy? Oh beautiful mistress, please let me please you. Please teach me to-...

    A great gold and gray blur crashed into the woman, knocking her from atop Risk and he blacked out.

    Weak from blood loss, he cracked his eyes open and saw the outline of a very large wolf standing over him. It whimpered and licked his face and neck. Risk flashed in and out of consciousness. The wolf was nudging his face, trying to wake him up. It seemed to be trying to communicate with its eyes, it nuzzled his cheek and he thought for a moment, one crazed moment, that it was apologizing for what it was about to do.

    Without warning, the wolf bit into Risk's arm and raked it's paws down his stomach as though trying to dig a hole through his middle. Risk bellowed in pain and writhed about on the frozen ground. He gripped fistfuls of frost covered grass in both hands and tried to get away. For the first time, he realized he had to get away or he would die. Whatever spell the woman had put him under was wearing off, and he had to get away... Get away or die... Get away... Or die... ... ... Or die...

    ---

    Three days later Risk woke up naked and tied to a stinking filthy miner's bed with three women standing over him. One was a dwarf, one was an elf and one was a gnome. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself naked and alone with three women, but it was the first with so many varying races. What had happened? It must have been one hell of a party for him to forget all of the details.

    Then he remembered. He remembered the woman flying, and the wolf attack. And now he was kidnapped by three strange women and tied to a bed. He thought he was dreaming, it had to be a dream. These things didn't happen to him. He was a gambler, a rogue. He loved women, they wouldn't kidnap him and put him in a dirty bed. It was insane, it was all so insane.

    “Wh-.. What's...” He began.

    “Shh. We're here to help you.” said the elf. “You are bound so that you will not Shift again.”

    “Who are you?” He managed to ask.

    “We're the Pack. You are safe with us.” She said. “She had to do it, or you would have died. You have to understand...”

    Oh great, a cult. I've been kidnapped by a cult. he thought dimly, before falling once more into a dreamless sleep.

    He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but he awoke to poking and prodding and nudging. The women had been replaced by a heavily bearded dwarf, who was repeatedly pressing a sharp finger into Risk's side.

    “Oh, goodie. He's awake,” said the dwarf. “I don't suppose you have a name do you, pup?”

    “Everyone has a name.” Risk croaked, his throat was so dry it felt aflame. He had to swallow three times before he could speak.

    “Well, what is it?”

    “Water.” Risk whispered.

    “Well, I'll be damned. Strangest name I ever did hear! But I suppose it serves it's purpose. M'name's MacCormac. Most folks call me Mac.”

    “No. Drink water.” Risk pointed weakly toward a pitcher on a distant table. It was then that he realized he was no longer bound.

    “What? Oh! Right. You want a drink, well, why didn't you just say so in the first place.” Mac ambled over to the table and poured dingy water into a chipped clay mug then passed it to Risk.

    After draining it's contents, Risk sat up and took in his surroundings. “My name is Risk.”

    “That's an odd name, but not as odd as Water.” Mac chortled into his beard.

    “The attack...” Risk began, before the dwarf interrupted him.

    “There's time later for that, lad. Here, have another drink.” Mac said, refilling the cup.

    “No, I need to know. Was it a dream? I feel fine. I don't see any wounds, but it seemed so real...” Risk said, running his hands over his uninjured body.

    “As to that... Well, we heal very fast.” Mac said.

    “We?”

    “Werewolves. We heal fast, our senses are sharp, we have amazing reflexes, we're strong. Gods, but we are strong. We run fast too. Some think the trade off is more than worth it.”

    “Werewolves,” stated Risk dryly.

    “Yep. That's what we are. She had to make you one of us or you would have died from the vampire bite.” Mac said reasonably.

    “Right. Vampires.” Risk said, smirking slightly.

    “I guess you are one of those what has to see to believe, aintcha? Ah well, here goes.” With that, the dwarf stood and started taking off his clothing.

    “What are you..?! Hey, wait! What do you think you are doing?”

    “No sense in ruining a good suit of clothing, now is there?” Mac said, folding his clothes and sitting them atop his chair.

    The dwarf stood naked in the center of the room. He stretched his arms out in front of him, stretched his neck and his skin began to ripple. Risk blinked as Mac's limbs elongated, first his fingers turned to claws, his hands to paws, his arms and legs became furred and slowly his face became that of a wolf's. Bones popped, muscles plopped, skin oozed and all manner of unearthly sounds were emitted as the relatively short dwarf became a huge wolf.

    Where once a 200 pound dwarf stood, now sat a 200lb wolf. It was much larger than those found in nature, and an uncommon intelligence radiated from it's golden eyes. It's fur was black and shaggy and it smelled almost as bad as the dwarf himself had smelled.

    As suddenly as he had Shifted into a wolf, he Shifted back into a dwarf and sat naked and panting in his chair. “Shew. Takes a lot out of a man, changing that fast. It's usually best to stay in wolf form for at least a night, and to catch a meal while you are at it. It's draining, otherwise.”

    “I can't believe this. I can do that? How? This is...” Risk trailed off.

    “Amazing?” Mac offered.

    “You could say that.”

    “You can do it, but not right now. You'll Shift for the first time at the next full moon, then after that you'll have control over it... Until the next full moon. The Wolf controls you on that night. You'll feel him rattling around in there, helping you make decisions, urging you to do... stuff.”

    “Stuff?” Risk asked, curiously.

    “Yep, stuff.”

    “I can't do this. I don't have time for it. Dory doesn't like being left alone at night. I can't leave her every month at the full moon. Isn't there a cure? I have a wife, a home, a life.” Risk argued.

    “We all did at some point. There's no going back.” Mac said, shaking his head sadly.

    “You don't understand. I love her, I can't leave her once a month. Is there a cure? There has to be a cure!” Risk insisted.

    “There isn't one lad, this was the only way. Would you rather be dead, or worse, undead?” Mac reasoned.

    “There has to be a cure!” Risk shouted, pounding his fist on the bed. “I like my life!”

    “There isn't one.” repeated Mac.

    Risk raged, he kicked and screamed. He punched his pillow and bellowed his anger at the ceiling. He felt something inside him wake up and stir. It liked his anger, it wanted more. It wanted him to tear into raw meat. It wanted blood. That deflated him like nothing else could have.

    Risk didn't like blood.

    “Maybe you are wrong, maybe I am not what... you are. What you said. I can't be. Dory wouldn't like that.” Risk said.

    “Dory probably won't like it.” Mac said.

    “What am I going to do?” Risk asked.

    “We all have to find our own path, but whatever you decide the Pack will be here for you. You are one of us now.”

    “No, I can't be.”

    “You are.”

    “No. I... Can I go?”

    “If you like, we'll be here when you need us.”

    “I don't.” Risk insisted.

    “You will.” Mac said, and left Risk alone to dress.

    Risk dressed and left. He couldn't believe what had happened. It wasn't real. It had been a dream, it was all a dream. But what if it was real?

    He went home, to Dory. He could smell another man on his bed, on his woman. He could smell him. That wasn't right. He was mad at Isodora for the first time in their marriage. She shouldn't have done that. Why couldn't he trust her?

    It wasn't his fault he was delayed. She laid into him for leaving her alone all that time, and what could he tell her? It enraged him that he couldn't explain himself without bringing fairy tales into the mix. Vampires. Werewolves. He didn't believe it. Who would believe that? The Wolf inside him tasted his rage and liked it. The Wolf rolled his anger around it's mouth like a fine wine and relished it.

    The Wolf wanted to tear into Dory's sweet pink skin. It wanted to drink her blood and screams. To rip the screams from her for all the wrongs she had done... Why was she screaming and shouting and cheating and lying? She was a whore, a liar, a cheat, a skank! She should pay! She would pay. He would teach her loyalty... To be faithful was the way of the Wolf. She would learn.

    He took one step toward her and he... Pulled himself together, raking a hand over his face. He packed a satchel and left. Just like that, he left his home, his wife, his entire life behind. What else could he do?

    He did the only thing left that he thought might work. He went to the Mages in their Onyx Tower. If there was a cure, they would have it. They were healers, they brought people back from the brink of death. They would know what to do.
    Introduction Post:
    Rain fell from the sky in dismal gray sheets to buffet the citizens of Caemlyn. It was a glorious spring day in Andoria.

    “Three cheers for the Empire, may the royal family all rot in their snug, warm castle. Bah,” Risk muttered under his breath. He was in a foul mood, and he knew it. Furthermore, he was enjoying himself. It was a rotten, muddy day. The streets were clogged with stinking wet, sweating farmers in their finest feastday attire. Had he made the mistake of traveling on Market Day? “Damn them all.”

    Pausing beneath a large redbark tree at the center of the Green, Risk removed his hat and shook the rain from it's brim. It wasn't doing much to stop the downpour anyway. He was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone. His shaggy hair was plastered to his head and his cloak clung damply to his horse's ass. “Not much of a proper Green. There's no grass. Why do they call it a Green if there is nothing green to be seen?”

    “Oy there, what's that? Some pissant peasant complaining about the good Queen's square? Well, if you don't like the look from out here, maybe the view from the dungeon would better please you. No? Move along then. Don't clog the passages.” The guard, dressed in a moist red and white uniform from head to heel, motioned with his halberd. “I said move on.

    The guard nudged Risk's leg with the butt of his polearm and a deep growl rumbled up from Risk's chest. His hands began to itch in their gloves, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, his shoulders hunched like hackles rising and it took a solid count of ten before he could gain control of the Wolf. The Wolf didn't like being touched by strangers, and it was riled by being out in the rain. It wanted out. It wanted to feel its paws on the forest floor, not trapped in stuffy boots and gloves. It didn't like the city, and neither did Risk.

    He flexed his hands on the reins, and struggled to keep control of his beast. The hands were always the first to change, he could practically feel the claws waiting to burst from the tips of his fingers. He wanted them to. Gods save me... Someone has to.

    Tucking the hat onto his head he pulled the brim down in a quick salute to the guard and nudged Pips back into the crowd. Three streets over the roiling mass of citizens finally began to thin. He found an old timer sitting on his stoop whittling a piece of wood and asked directions to The Bad Moon Inn. Once there, he tossed a copper to the stable boy and went inside looking for something hot to eat and someplace warm to dry off.

    Inside, it looked much like the commonroom of any inn he'd been in. The wooden planks of the floor could have done with a sweeping, but it was a tidy place over all. Round tables were scattered all about, a small stage held a dancing girl singing about her lost rooster and a man playing a pipe. There was a place cleared for dancing and a huge fire crackling merrily away.

    At the bar, Risk inquired after a room for the night and a crotchety gnome who may have possibly been in an even worse snit than he was, replied, “Light tight or barred?”

    “I beg your pardon?” Risk asked.

    “You can beg for anything you want, but ain't nothing for free in Caemlyn. I said, do you need a room what's light tight or one that has bars on the windows and doors?” At Risk's puzzled look the gnome went on, “Look, I ain't asking no questions and I don't want no lies told. You are either one of the two-natured or a fanger or you wouldn't be here and I don't care which. I just need to know what type room you need. Ya kin?”

    Blushing, Risk replied, “Barred.”

    “I gotcha. Here ya are then.” The gnome slid a key on a huge metal ring with a wooden toggle attached across the bar. The number 5 was painted on it in gilt.

    He had done it. He had actually admitted out loud, for anyone to hear, that he turned furry once a month. Had anyone heard? What if they had? His heart was thudding in his chest and his hands were starting to itch again...

    Looking around he saw a winsome young lass sitting in the corner. She had the palest hair he had ever seen and smile so invitingly that he had taken two steps toward her before he realized what he was doing. He looked away, shaking his head to clear the muffled feeling that was forming behind his eyes.

    The girl stamped her delicately slippered foot and balled her tiny little hands into fists.

    “You want to leave that one alone.” The bartender said, polishing the bar with a dirty cloth. “Camilla's a vampire with a temper. Don't mess with her, pup.”

    “A v-...” He couldn't say it. A vampire. They were real too.

    "Yep. Now, listen here: We have rules, no Changing on the premises and no chewing on the furniture. I'll take a deposit upfront and you can settle the bill when you go. You get the deposit back if there's no damage to the room. Got it?"

    Risk didn't argue, he didn't say a word as he counted out the necessary coins, shaking his head at the sum. It was steep for a single room, but it was the capitol city after all.
    Last edited by Keke Le Cat; 12-29-2009 at 09:20 AM.

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  3. #3
    Banned
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    Room Number:14
    Name:Jason Baine
    Age:23
    Nationality:Andoran city 5: Name Xytar.
    Xytar: Port town, Middle/upper class town. Wooden houses.
    Race:Human
    Mutation: Werebear
    Description: White hair, and dresses in a pirate overcoat,cloak, and boots.
    6'4". Has a harpoon to defend himself. ( My computer fucked up so no picture ).
    Background: Lived as a fisherman in Xytar, and never knew his dad. That never really bothered him, but he really wishes better for his mother. Misses his family now that he is traveling.

    How you were made: Went to the far side of the lake to find more fish. On his way back a werebear atacked and bit him. When he went back to town, a town scholar told him that the capital city has a pub where he could seek help.
    Note: Does not wan't to get rid of his condition, but just to control it.

  4. #4
    doleo ergo sum Pink-kitty2's Avatar
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    Oh dear. Camilla's back?
    omae wa mou shindeiru

  5. #5
    The watchers on the wall dragon_berry's Avatar
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    Room Number: 13
    Name: Archrain Abbysaltic
    Age: 17
    Nationality: A village north of Glade, city 1. Ethral Village
    Race: Human/Elf
    Mutation: Werefox (arctic fox). His mother was an ice elementalist mage. Arc can sometimes create an impenetrable ice wall as a reflect.

    Description: Lightly build with a thin, tall body. Arc’s eyes were originally vivid blue, although the mutation has changed his left eyes into a grey fox eye. His elf ears haven’t changed by the mutation, although sometimes his hearing enhanced unexpectedly. His feet were a merge between fox’s paws and human’s feet. Always wear dark clothes and long grey slacks and a dark blue hooded robe to hide his white hair and tail. Although his sense of smells is improved, the rest of his senses haven’t changed much. (ignore whatever the pict says)

    Background: Having bad status among the villagers, Arc chose to isolate himself on the edge of the village and lives from hunting.

    How Arc was made: Born as a half human, Arc’s birth was considered a disgrace to the villages. His parent was killed when he was 9, but they manage to save Arc and hide him deep in the forest. One day, a werefox went to the village and captured by the villagers. The werefox was capture before it managed to harm anyone and was caged. Before the werefox was killed, Arc went to the fox’s cage and asked the beast to bit himself. Arc was turned into a werefox and run away from the village and attacked any villagers that went near him. Arc departed toward Andoria as soon as he heard the news about the Bad Moon Inn, trying to cancel anything that happened there. For him, everyone is better this way.
    “There’s that fox! Capture her!” A man shouted eagerly pointing at a white cornered beast.

    The mob tried to capture the creature. Chains, torch, arrows filled with irrational grudge fly toward the girl. Screamed and growled helplessly, the girl was tied by half of dozen of ropes and chains. The mob tied the beast inside a cage, locking her alone in the deep, frozen forest.

    Why can’t I choose what to become…

    Why…

    I’m a victim of destiny and a victim of the villager

    If I were a girl this wouldn’t happen

    Nor if I were a fox, a normal one…

    A footstep… Another one…

    They just come to laugh. Laughing at me…

    They come to spite. Spite at me…


    The girl opened her eyes and blinded by the bright white snow, uncovered her ears as she saw a boy sitting next to her cage. The boy just sat beside the cage and looked at the girl. Seeing the boy opened his mouth, she quickly whispered.

    “Don’t lie. You know you can’t save me, nor take me out from this cage.” She murmured heavily

    “I received the same deed as what they did to you. I know you won’t trust any lies or any truth. I understand how you…” he replied solemnly

    “No, you don’t!” She yelled. “Whatever your problem you still have a normal body! You’re JUST an elf and no other! While I’m…” she paused as she saw the boys didn’t even try to hear her complaint.

    “See? You’re no different than they are, you won’t even listen” she added

    “I’m half human.” He said “We, advance beings, have lacked the ability of hearing and reasoning for a long time. They didn’t hear our reasons, I didn’t hear your reasons and you didn’t hear mine” He replied

    “I won’t lie. If I did I’m no different than they are. What I would say is I can’t save you and you will, sooner or later, die. They’d check on you tomorrow and kill you if you’re still alive.” He continued

    The girl fell in silent. She knew that fact, she knew the villagers won’t let him alive. But when it came so honestly from other’s mouth it feels different.

    “They’ll take your live, and the only fair punishment is for you to take theirs.” Stopping, the boy opened his left glove. “If this ‘werefox’ thing is as real as fairytale, you should be able to turn others to werefox by biting them. It may not work but if it does…” he stopped

    “If it does?” the girl asked in an unusual tone. As if she knew the answer.

    “I’ll take your right to make the fair punishment.”
    Introduction Post:
    Another half-beast? Just how much people tried to run away from this transformation, no, I’d rather called it a gift. We’ll leave our humanity and feel what other living creature feel. Isn’t that fair? We won’t ‘killed’ people just because we’re different. Heh, whatever they do it’s impossible to undo these kinds of changes. It may seem big at first time, but changes is the only thing happening in this world, so why stopping something that surely will happen. All changes can’t be reversed: peoples growing old, civilization expand, it can’t be reverted. Everything they done here is useless.

    Jumped down from the high legged chair, Arc took his robe from the second chairs back and walked toward the stair, humming along with the song that faded as he walk away from the common room.

    “I made your room sir, would you like a drink?” said a girl in the Inn’s uniform out of the sudden.

    “A cold water would be nice, the Inn is still too warm for me” Arc replied, small drop of sweats began to covered his body. The only things that matter for him now are that his body began to refuse warm weather as his transformation went deeper.

    “You sure changed pretty fast. I heard a merchant said that if you actually try hard to refuse the change it’ll help you slow down the process” the girl took a glass and poured cold water into the crystal goblet.

    “Don’t you think it also work the other way round, Rayle?” Arc’s blue and grey eyes stared at Rayle coldly. Disturbed by the question, Arc quickly walked back to his room and slammed the door.
    Last edited by dragon_berry; 01-02-2010 at 07:30 AM.
    --A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world--

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  6. #6
    In Soviet Russia, Editor is protected from YOU!! The Editor's Avatar
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    Room Number: 3

    Name: Hunt

    Age: 21

    Nationality: Gladian

    Race: Human

    Mutation: Vampire (Baldr)

    Description: Red eyes. Short, straight, light brown hair. Always wears a purple mask with a cat's head on top [like the Bast Vizard in Soul Calibur IV]. Slim build, average height. Velvet jacket, cloak, neck scarf, leather pants, iron greaves and gauntlets (up to her shoulder) and pauldrons. Rapier. Attracts a lot of attention for one trying to conceal her identity. Arrogant, honourable, loyal. Enjoys the finer things in life. Stronger than she looks.

    Background: Hunt was born in Port Windfall (Glade 2), the daughter of a wealthy merchant. She lived the life of a spoiled little princess until she was fifteen, when she and her father were ambushed by bandits on the road to Glade's capital, Fendrane (Glade 1). Hunt disappeared into the forest and emerged three years later as a battle hardened mercenary. For the first few years she worked for the Gladian and Andorian militaries, but more recently she has been taking on private contracts as well. She seems to have forgotten much of her old life, although she still appreciates pampered moments.

    How you were made: Hunt was transformed into a vampire while on a mission for the Gladians in the Frozen North. Since then she has kept her appearance hidden in order to conceal her nature, but she is still treated with mistrust as she keeps very much to herself. Experience has shown her that she is a daywalker, which she takes advantage of to continue her deceptions.

    You all know how it is with me: OoC is in italics, IC isn't.

    Ed.


    Hunt sighed as she sat on her bed in the inn. Was this what she had trekked all this way for, another dingy hellhole that would need several months work before it was even fit to be condemned? Her bed had collapsed twice, the sink didn't drain unless you beat the pipes to death, the window was held on by what looked like human hair, and the mirror had more cracks than a goblin's shattered skull. Okay, perhaps it wasn't that bad. It was clean, and tidy. But the little things always bothered her. With a slow creak the bed began to sag once more, then the frame broke again with a quiet snap, followed by a loud thump.
    "Oh for the love of Baldr..."
    Hunt got up and headed for the door, then span around and plunged her sword into the bed.
    "One all, master bedframe," she said, pulling it out again.

    "My bed has broken once more," said Hunt, slamming her key down on the counter.
    "Again?" said the gnome. "What have you been-" Hunt glared at him, and he quickly silenced himself. Always be polite to the customers, especially the ones who stab first and ask questions later.
    "Are there any vermin problems that need dealing with?" asked Hunt. People occasionally came to the Bad Moon Inn with little problems that needed sorting out, and why not? The price was good and you never had to meet whoever took the quest.
    "I, uh, well, I think there's a farm not far from the city having some goblin trouble."
    Goblins again. They never seemed to learn. Not much blood in them either. Still, needs must when the hunger drives...
    "Very well, I'll accept it. It should take me no more than a day. Has there been any other interest?"
    "Not yet. Perhaps later," replied the gnome.
    "Then I shall wait. In the meantime can you have someone repair my bed?"
    "Certainly, ma'am."
    Hunt sat down at the bar, arms folded. Hopefully she would find a lead soon.

    Retcon complete.

    Ed.
    Last edited by The Editor; 01-01-2010 at 08:44 AM.

  7. #7
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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    His bill settled, Risk took a step toward the hall leading to the stairs to check out his very costly room and staggered, grabbing his head. He felt so strange, as though his skull was full of cottonwool. Flaming cottonwool and hot needles...

    His eyes closed and he remembered....

    Nearly two months ago...

    Risk rubbed his thumb along the crescent blade of his ax and stared up at the sky. It was a lovely winter night, chill filled the air and nipped at his nose. Everything was silent and beautifully lit up by the full moon. It was well past midnight and a blanket of stars encrusted the sky.

    He'd carried the ax more than half his life, and felt naked without it. The shining blade was given to him when he signed on as a Defender during the Great Orc Uprising. The war was over 10 years dead, but he still carried the ax. Standing waist deep in a trench filled with frozen mud, hacking wave after wave of orcs and men to bits had a way of sticking with a man. He'd been little more than a lad of 14 when he signed the papers that made him a soldier. At the end of the war, when he was released from duty, they had given him his ax and armour as payment for eight years service in the Gladian army. He was a Blademaster, but swords cost more than axes, and so it was the ax they gave him. He hadn't complained, so glad he was to be free.

    A few weeks prior, the townsfolk of Z had complained of strange shapes moving in the night. The Council had responded to the outcry of it's citizens by mounting a Nightwatch. All the prominent men of the city had been conscripted and given hours of patrol, and Risk's was just about up. He was eager to get home to his wife, Isodora. She didn't like being left alone at night, and what Dory didn't like, she changed. If she was left alone much, she just might find herself a 'friend' and Risk would have to kill the fellow. He'd killed his first man when he was 15 and had never much cared for it. Bad business, killing folk. He'd only been married four months, and already he'd had to kill two men for sneaking into his bed. The thought of killing another of Dory's lovers turned his stomach and left a bad taste in his mouth.

    Yes, Risk didn't like leaving his wife home alone, but more than that his feet were half-frozen in his boots. He wiggled his toes and took a few steps toward home. What could it hurt to leave a few minutes early? The night was quiet and cold as a mountain grave.

    It was then that he saw her flying toward him. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, staring incredulously at the figure dressed all in white, ebony hair fluttering in the breeze she made with her flight. He didn't go for the ax, never tried to draw his weapon. He was completely taken off guard when she crashed into him and bore him to the ground.

    “You were-... You flew!” He gasped at the woman.

    “Actually, it was more like gliding on air than actual flying.” She smiled down at him. Her hair was so black, her skin so white, her lips the reddest he had seen. She made Dory's golden beauty seem gaudy in comparison.

    “You're freezing cold...” was the last thing Risk said as a human being. The glorious, cold woman bent his head back with her slim, pale hands. He felt as helpless as a babe and calmer than he had been in years. A tension he hadn't realized he had carried around inside him released when her eyes locked onto his.

    “Gaea forgive me,” She whispered, opening her mouth wide and clamping onto his neck with her tiny fangs.

    She's so beautiful... Gods, I want her to love me, how can I make her love me? She's so perfect, I can make her so happy. I have to make her happy. How can I make her happy? Oh beautiful mistress, please let me please you. Please teach me to-...

    A great gold and gray blur crashed into the woman, knocking her from atop Risk and he blacked out.

    Weak from blood loss, he cracked his eyes open and saw the outline of a very large wolf standing over him. It whimpered and licked his face and neck. Risk flashed in and out of consciousness. The wolf was nudging his face, trying to wake him up. It seemed to be trying to communicate with its eyes, it nuzzled his cheek and he thought for a moment, one crazed moment, that it was apologizing for what it was about to do.

    Without warning, the wolf bit into Risk's arm and raked it's paws down his stomach as though trying to dig a hole through his middle. Risk bellowed in pain and writhed about on the frozen ground. He gripped fistfuls of frost covered grass in both hands and tried to get away. For the first time, he realized he had to get away or he would die. Whatever spell the woman had put him under was wearing off, and he had to get away... Get away or die... Get away... Or die... ... ... Or die...

    ---

    Three days later Risk woke up naked and tied to a stinking filthy miner's bed with three women standing over him. One was a dwarf, one was an elf and one was a gnome. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself naked and alone with three women, but it was the first with so many varying races. What had happened? It must have been one hell of a party for him to forget all of the details.

    Then he remembered. He remembered the woman flying, and the wolf attack. And now he was kidnapped by three strange women and tied to a bed. He thought he was dreaming, it had to be a dream. These things didn't happen to him. He was a gambler, a rogue. He loved women, they wouldn't kidnap him and put him in a dirty bed. It was insane, it was all so insane.

    “Wh-.. What's...” He began.

    “Shh. We're here to help you.” said the elf. “You are bound so that you will not Shift again.”

    “Who are you?” He managed to ask.

    “We're the Pack. You are safe with us.” She said. “She had to do it, or you would have died. You have to understand...”

    Oh great, a cult. I've been kidnapped by a cult. he thought dimly, before falling once more into a dreamless sleep.

    He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but he awoke to poking and prodding and nudging. The women had been replaced by a heavily bearded dwarf, who was repeatedly pressing a sharp finger into Risk's side.

    “Oh, goodie. He's awake,” said the dwarf. “I don't suppose you have a name do you, pup?”

    “Everyone has a name.” Risk croaked, his throat was so dry it felt aflame. He had to swallow three times before he could speak.

    “Well, what is it?”

    “Water.” Risk whispered.

    “Well, I'll be damned. Strangest name I ever did hear! But I suppose it serves it's purpose. M'name's MacCormac. Most folks call me Mac.”

    “No. Drink water.” Risk pointed weakly toward a pitcher on a distant table. It was then that he realized he was no longer bound.

    “What? Oh! Right. You want a drink, well, why didn't you just say so in the first place.” Mac ambled over to the table and poured dingy water into a chipped clay mug then passed it to Risk.

    After draining it's contents, Risk sat up and took in his surroundings. “My name is Risk.”

    “That's an odd name, but not as odd as Water.” Mac chortled into his beard.

    “The attack...” Risk began, before the dwarf interrupted him.

    “There's time later for that, lad. Here, have another drink.” Mac said, refilling the cup.

    “No, I need to know. Was it a dream? I feel fine. I don't see any wounds, but it seemed so real...” Risk said, running his hands over his uninjured body.

    “As to that... Well, we heal very fast.” Mac said.

    “We?”

    “Werewolves. We heal fast, our senses are sharp, we have amazing reflexes, we're strong. Gods, but we are strong. We run fast too. Some think the trade off is more than worth it.”

    “Werewolves,” stated Risk dryly.

    “Yep. That's what we are. She had to make you one of us or you would have died from the vampire bite.” Mac said reasonably.

    “Right. Vampires.” Risk said, smirking slightly.

    “I guess you are one of those what has to see to believe, aintcha? Ah well, here goes.” With that, the dwarf stood and started taking off his clothing.

    “What are you..?! Hey, wait! What do you think you are doing?”

    “No sense in ruining a good suit of clothing, now is there?” Mac said, folding his clothes and sitting them atop his chair.

    The dwarf stood naked in the center of the room. He stretched his arms out in front of him, stretched his neck and his skin began to ripple. Risk blinked as Mac's limbs elongated, first his fingers turned to claws, his hands to paws, his arms and legs became furred and slowly his face became that of a wolf's. Bones popped, muscles plopped, skin oozed and all manner of unearthly sounds were emitted as the relatively short dwarf became a huge wolf.

    Where once a 200 pound dwarf stood, now sat a 200lb wolf. It was much larger than those found in nature, and an uncommon intelligence radiated from it's golden eyes. It's fur was black and shaggy and it smelled almost as bad as the dwarf himself had smelled.

    As suddenly as he had Shifted into a wolf, he Shifted back into a dwarf and sat naked and panting in his chair. “Shew. Takes a lot out of a man, changing that fast. It's usually best to stay in wolf form for at least a night, and to catch a meal while you are at it. It's draining, otherwise.”

    “I can't believe this. I can do that? How? This is...” Risk trailed off.

    “Amazing?” Mac offered.

    “You could say that.”

    “You can do it, but not right now. You'll Shift for the first time at the next full moon, then after that you'll have control over it... Until the next full moon. The Wolf controls you on that night. You'll feel him rattling around in there, helping you make decisions, urging you to do... stuff.”

    “Stuff?” Risk asked, curiously.

    “Yep, stuff.”

    “I can't do this. I don't have time for it. Dory doesn't like being left alone at night. I can't leave her every month at the full moon. Isn't there a cure? I have a wife, a home, a life.” Risk argued.

    “We all did at some point. There's no going back.” Mac said, shaking his head sadly.

    “You don't understand. I love her, I can't leave her once a month. Is there a cure? There has to be a cure!” Risk insisted.

    “There isn't one lad, this was the only way. Would you rather be dead, or worse, undead?” Mac reasoned.

    “There has to be a cure!” Risk shouted, pounding his fist on the bed. “I like my life!”

    “There isn't one.” repeated Mac.

    Risk raged, he kicked and screamed. He punched his pillow and bellowed his anger at the ceiling. He felt something inside him wake up and stir. It liked his anger, it wanted more. It wanted him to tear into raw meat. It wanted blood. That deflated him like nothing else could have.

    Risk didn't like blood.

    “Maybe you are wrong, maybe I am not what... you are. What you said. I can't be. Dory wouldn't like that.” Risk said.

    “Dory probably won't like it.” Mac said.

    “What am I going to do?” Risk asked.

    “We all have to find our own path, but whatever you decide the Pack will be here for you. You are one of us now.”

    “No, I can't be.”

    “You are.”

    “No. I... Can I go?”

    “If you like, we'll be here when you need us.”

    “I don't.” Risk insisted.

    “You will.” Mac said, and left Risk alone to dress.

    Risk dressed and left. He couldn't believe what had happened. It wasn't real. It had been a dream, it was all a dream. But what if it was real?

    He went home, to Dory. He could smell another man on his bed, on his woman. He could smell him. That wasn't right. He was mad at Isodora for the first time in their marriage. She shouldn't have done that. Why couldn't he trust her?

    It wasn't his fault he was delayed. She laid into him for leaving her alone all that time, and what could he tell her? It enraged him that he couldn't explain himself without bringing fairy tales into the mix. Vampires. Werewolves. He didn't believe it. Who would believe that? The Wolf inside him tasted his rage and liked it. The Wolf rolled his anger around it's mouth like a fine wine and relished it.

    The Wolf wanted to tear into Dory's sweet pink skin. It wanted to drink her blood and screams. To rip the screams from her for all the wrongs she had done... Why was she screaming and shouting and cheating and lying? She was a whore, a liar, a cheat, a skank! She should pay! She would pay. He would teach her loyalty... To be faithful was the way of the Wolf. She would learn.

    He took one step toward her and he... Pulled himself together, raking a hand over his face. He packed a satchel and left. Just like that, he left his home, his wife, his entire life behind. What else could he do?

    He did the only thing left that he thought might work. He went to the Mages in their Onyx Tower. If there was a cure, they would have it. They were healers, they brought people back from the brink of death. They would know what to do.



    --- --- ---



    Risk opened his eyes and looked around. It hadn't been more than a few seconds. No one had noticed. No one was watching him. He rubbed his forehead until the pain receded. Life had been more than passing strange ever since the attack, but that was the first time it had replayed in such vivid tones.



    --- --- ---



    Camilla smiled a small, secretive smile from her seat in the nook. It was always fun playing with the newly made, and no wonder that was his strongest memory.

    It had proven a decent meal. How many times could she pull her little trick on the poor boy before he figured it out? At least a few more, she was certain.

    Covering her mouth with a dainty hand, she giggled. She couldn't wait to try it again. Lycans were such fun. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she pushed it down immediately. A girl had to eat, she couldn't grow weak again because of high standing morals. If he knew, he'd understand. Wouldn't he? Of course he would. Next time she'd go for a happy memory, even if it wasn't a very vivid one. She had been greedy... Oh well.
    Last edited by Keke Le Cat; 12-29-2009 at 09:36 AM.

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  8. #8
    The watchers on the wall dragon_berry's Avatar
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    The fierce lightning roared as the rain poured heavily outside the inn. The wooden furniture inside the room was moist by the weather. Thin line of smoke rose from a cup, half empty, on the wooden table. The room was more jumbled earlier. Arc laid himself on the inn’s bed watching the water drops on the windows.

    “Rain…? I miss the snow back at Ethral. It feels colder… and real. I can’t really felt cold after that incident.” Arc opened his hands, sighed and closed his eyes.

    ---

    “There’s that fox! Capture her!” A man shouted eagerly pointing at a white cornered beast.

    The mob tried to capture the creature. Chains, torch, arrows filled with irrational grudge fly toward the girl. Screamed and growled helplessly, the girl was tied by half of dozen of ropes and chains. The mob tied the beast inside a cage, locking her alone in the deep, frozen forest.

    Why can’t I choose what to become…

    Why…

    I’m a victim of destiny and a victim of the villager

    If I were a girl this wouldn’t happen

    Nor if I were a fox, a normal one…

    A footstep… Another one…

    They just come to laugh. Laughing at me…

    They come to spite. Spite at me…


    The girl opened her eyes and blinded by the bright white snow, uncovered her ears as she saw a boy sitting next to her cage. The boy just sat beside the cage and looked at the girl. Seeing the boy opened his mouth, she quickly whispered.

    “Don’t lie. You know you can’t save me, nor take me out from this cage.” She murmured heavily

    “I received the same deed as what they did to you. I know you won’t trust any lies or any truth. I understand how you…” he replied solemnly

    “No, you don’t!” She yelled. “Whatever your problem you still have a normal body! You’re JUST an elf and no other! While I’m…” she paused as she saw the boys didn’t even try to hear her complaint.

    “See? You’re no different than they are, you won’t even listen” she added

    “I’m half human.” He said “We, advance beings, have lacked the ability of hearing and reasoning for a long time. They didn’t hear our reasons, I didn’t hear your reasons and you didn’t hear mine” He replied

    “I won’t lie. If I did I’m no different than they are. What I would say is I can’t save you and you will, sooner or later, die. They’d check on you tomorrow and kill you if you’re still alive.” He continued

    The girl fell in silent. She knew that fact, she knew the villagers won’t let him alive. But when it came so honestly from other’s mouth it feels different.

    “They’ll take your live, and the only fair punishment is for you to take theirs.” Stopping, the boy opened his left glove. “If this ‘werefox’ thing is as real as fairytale, you should be able to turn others to werefox by biting them. It may not work but if it does…” he stopped

    “If it does?” the girl asked in an unusual tone. As if she knew the answer.

    “I’ll take your right to make the fair punishment.”
    --A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world--

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  9. #9
    In Soviet Russia, Editor is protected from YOU!! The Editor's Avatar
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    "Rain," murmured Hunt. She could hear it splashing on the windows. She had an affinity for rain, it seemed. She loved the feel of it on her head, the dampness in her clothes. Hunt got up from the bar and went outside. She turned her head to the sky and spread her arms out, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to feel the rain on her face. She toyed with the idea of taking off her mask. No one had seen her face, not since she'd hidden her true self from the world, and she only removed her mask when she thought no one would see her. Here was too public. She turned to face the inn and smiled. The tower would make a good perch. She scaled the building quickly, climbing to the very top and crouched on the spire. Yes, no one would see her here. She lifted up her mask. Much better. The cold water on her skin felt wonderful. She ran her tongue over her lips, feeling the scar that started at the right corner. Raising a hand to her face she traced the scar up to her eye, then back down again. That bastard had been prepared; she'd been lucky to escape with just the scar.

    It was ridiculous in some ways. She had been meeting a man who knew of vampires and shifters, who had sent her a letter claiming he could help her find a cure. He had just told her about an inn somewhere in Andoria when a man burst in, wearing a long cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, and carrying a torch and a silver sword. He proclaimed himself a monster hunter, and had even told Hunt not to worry. And then, incredibly, he attacked the man she was talking to, claiming him to be a werewolf. With a hiss she had leapt at this hunter, her gauntlets tearing into his flesh, biting at his neck. He swung his sword in wild arcs, trying to get her off, slashing her face with a blade that burned like the hottest fire, but to no avail. Enraged by the wound Hunt had torn the man's throat out, then drank the blood from his heart. The scar had never healed properly; it looked freshly healed, red, and occasionally it burned for no reason. Of course people had seen her leave the building, blood on her mouth and clothes, and since then she was wanted across Glade. She resolved to hide her true self from the world, acquiring a mask and name that very night.

    People were suspicious of her now, but they didn't know what to make of the masked woman with red eyes. After all, there were many mysteries in the world. And so Hunt had been able to carry on as before, while her true self was lost. She looked up into the sky and the rain splashed on her face.

  10. #10
    Oreos and cookie crunch! Hikari's Avatar
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    Room Number: 23
    Name: Destrey Crosswill
    Age: 20
    Nationality: City #6: Glyn. Nestled between the mountains, their main export is granite quarried from the sheer rock faces.
    Race: Human
    Mutation: Vampire (Thor)
    Description: He has a thin, wiry build, and stands at around 5’11”. He has the hard facial features of the mountain people, made gaunt by his vampiric transformation. His hair is black and greasy, cut short enough to keep it out of his eyes, but only just. The irises of his eyes are a dark grey color, and his eyes rarely betray any of his emotions. A pretty picture!

    Background: At an early age, Destrey was deemed too weak and thin to ever work in the quarries like the other men of the community. Desperate to serve his family in another way, he took up hunting the animals that populated the nearby wooded region. While he was still cut off from the rest of society and labeled a weakling, his skill with the bow kept food on the table and also kept him from becoming a complete pariah. At age twenty, he grew far too restless to stay in the small town that never truly accepted him and set out to make a living in the great city of Caemlyn.

    How you were made: While traveling to Caemlyn, he was ambushed by a band of highwaymen. Finding nothing of value on him, they stabbed him in the stomach and left him to die. A passing vampire found him and took pity, then changed him. Destrey thought this entire ordeal was nothing more than a pre-death hallucination, and was extremely surprised when he woke up a vampire but made his way to the capital city nonetheless.
    Last edited by Hikari; 12-30-2009 at 07:43 AM.

  11. #11
    The Archer Leader global "Warming"'s Avatar
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    OOC : can I still join Ke Ke?


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  12. #12
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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    OOC: Sure.

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  13. #13
    The Archer Leader global "Warming"'s Avatar
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    OOC : ok then. Thanks ke ke. Maybe I will post it tonight when I open my brother's Laptop. cause I'm using my phone to post now


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  14. #14
    Vanity of vanities, all is vanity Hicky's Avatar
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    Space reserved for Hicky. I'll put my form here in a day or so. FUCK RP rules.
    Last edited by Morty; 12-31-2009 at 05:13 AM.

  15. #15
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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    Room Number: Deluxe Suite
    Name: Camilla Kelsy aka Keke
    Title: The Uncrowned Queen of Carolain
    Age: 350+
    Nationality: Carolainian
    Race: Elf
    Mutation: Vampire (Freyr)
    Description:


    Weapons: Dainty green kid gloves that snap at her wrists cover her hands, a signet ring rests on the first finger of her right hand. On her left forearm is a black leather pad for her falcon (Horus) to perch upon. A Nimcha (type of scimitar) rests on her left hip with a brown leather wrapped hilt and a filigree gold wire hand guard. An adamantium dagger is on her right hip, it also has a brown leather wrapped hilt but a sapphire the size of the first digit of her thumb glitters at the end, waiting for an enchantment. A green and blue quiver with gold needle work decorating it and short bow are on her back. Both sword sheaths are made of hard leather but have a green and blue velvet cover with gold needle work matching the quiver. The sheaths are secured to her thigh with straps.

    Personality: Camilla is sure of herself to the point of recklessness and has been known to act superior. She wears her arrogance like a shield. She has few close friends, but she shows complete loyalty to those she does have. She is ruthless with enemies and will do whatever it takes to get the job done. She is cynical and jaded, she often looks at the world with distaste and startling pessimism. Her eyes shine with barely suppressed mourning. Her motto is, “Expect the worst, and all your surprises will be pleasant ones.”


    Background: Keke was the third daughter of a very highly respected General of Carolain, while she was not the heir apparent her father still showed signs of favoring her and named her the Successor to the Throne. He taught her all he would have the son he never had, including the art of war, tracking and horsemanship.

    When it became apparent that her mother would never produce a male heir, her father settled for the daughter whose appearance best pleased him, Camilla. And so at a very young age she was taken from her mother and placed in the war camps with her father. He rode her around in front of him on his horse, drilling into her the art of war, the art of diplomacy and government. He taught her that appearance was more important than the reality of the situation and that keeping the Empire safe and pure was the most important of all. As she grew, she taught herself to copy her father's posture, mimic his opinions and expressions right down to his disdainful frown.

    Before long Camilla was provided with her own pony and soon gave up the skirts of girlhood and developed a habit of wearing tight pants for ease of movement and comfort while riding. This was well and good for an adolescent girl, but as she matured her father insisted she become more feminine and forced her into a school of etiquette at the age of 12. There she learned how to dance, and how to behave in polite company as well as how to wrap boys around her little finger. The lessons she learned in those classes would prove useful later, at least as useful as what her father had taught her. Those who assumed she was an empty headed boy crazy teenage girl was almost certain to underestimate her to their own demise.

    She was raised to be very self important, taught she is blessed of Freyr, her birthright is an entire nation. She was destined to be the figurehead of the greatest family in Carolain, and the ruler of the greatest nation in the civilized world. She was chiseled into the perfect elven queen, taught what an honor it was to be born into the generation where a Kelsy would ascend the throne, as it would pass on at her death one of the other two families who shared the Broken Crown. But even as it transpired it was drilled into her that it was good and proper to serve ones country body and soul. If that meant giving up who she is, and what she believes in, then those were only sacrifices to be lain on the alter of her country.

    She made her father her entire world, worshiping him as she should have her god. And in his own way he returned the sentiment. They were the center of their own universe, none mattered but themselves and their mission: To retake Andoria for the glory of their family name and restore their race to its proper place.

    After he was killed treacherously before her very eyes in an ambush lead by her own people she felt as though her mainspring had burst. She was lost in her own mind, unsure for the first time that his teachings were correct. Those people he had taught her to serve had killed him, her hero, her mentor. What was worse was she knew who had done it but could not call them out before the High Counsel for fear of being accused of spreading false charges and executed for causing distention.

    Age 16 BEFORE she was Made:
    A thin thread of blue smoke rose from the short, plain pipe he had clenched in his teeth, he rested a hand on the balcony's railing and stared into the garden below. Sharp shadows were lengthening; the sun was a red ball falling through a cloudless azure sky. Keke's pale face tilted up to watch him, not the garden. Her hair was not elaborately done as the other women of high rank at the ball, it ended almost harshly at the shoulder in a straight line. Her gown was a shimmering white silk, cut low. Pearls ringed her neck and wrists; white gloves covered her hands, fastening at the elbow with pearl buttons. When she danced delicate white kid slippers peeked from beneath her full skirt.

    He was old enough to be flattered that the 16 year old Keke took notice of him. Gray flecked his black beard and winged back from his temples. The sound of music drifted out through the square arches behind them. A light, cool sound meant to remind you of green meadows and cool springs.

    “I know a secluded pool,” she said softly, “where this heat might be escaped. A sheltered pool where nothing would disturb us.” He puffed a little more vigorously at the pipe but did not shift his gaze from the garden below.

    “Cool water,” she murmured, “and you and I alone.” She snuggled closer, pressing her firm bosom to his arm. “Would you not like to swim? I do not swim well myself, but surely you will teach me.” Her smile seemed to say he may be able to teach her more. Still he stared at the damnedable garden. Her hand ran caressingly up his back, starting at the base of his spine.

    His eyes bulged as the poisoned knife sank into his heart and he stared at her incredulously. She stepped back as she withdrew the knife and slashed it across his neck, silencing any cry for help before it could be raised. “Now I have your attention, don't I?” She threw the knife in his face as he gurgled his last breath.

    Careful not to sully her pristine white gown with blood splatter she daintily picked her way across the balcony and back into the party. Smiling a tumultuous smile, she returned to her father's side.

    “It is done, father.” She said, as he smiled affectionately down at her. She felt shaken and unwell but she somehow maintained her facade. The band struck up a merry melody and she thought she might sick-up any moment as her father swept her out onto the dance floor.

    “This is the most important part, mauverneen. A criminal would leave after the deed, yes? We are but a pair of party goers enjoying ourselves. Smile, laugh.” Her father said. She tried to appear happy as she spun through the steps of the waltz.

    Keke sat atop a dun stallion, listening to the wind whip her banner to her left. The breeze was surprisingly warm, for spring. The noon-day sun shone in a bright blue sky, which was dotted with cottony white clouds, the view was occationally spoiled by the black wings of carrion slicing the perfection as they wheeled overhead. The pipes played the men into combat, and the distant clash of steel could be made out over their mournful cry.

    Camilla didn't understand why they wouldn't at least allow her to be her own Standard-Bearer if they wouldn't allow her in actual combat. It grated on her nerves that the High Counsel thought to command her, and it grated still further that she didn't have the power to openly flout the commands.

    There was an honor in bearing the standard that couldn't be found sitting her horse and surveying a battle they wouldn't allow her to command. It took bravery to face a charge with nothing but a flag to hand. Bravery they would deny her, honor they would deny her. Would she end a puppet they placed in a cabinet and removed only when they needed a vote? She was sulking, and she didn't care. She hoped the High Counsel got wind of it. She really did.

    It was silly to keep her so-called Honor Guard out of combat, as well. She could sense the tension in the men surrounding her. What honor could be found in guarding an individual who must refrain from open combat? None. They were all seasoned warriors full of barely restrained energy, one could acertain from their faces that they wished to join thier comrades in battle. She, herself, wanted to lead the assault, crash into the enemy with her warhorse, hooves slicing as her swords flashed in the sunlight. It would be a beautiful event on such a day, and if she should die, it would be a beautiful death. One fitting her station. Instead of staying from battle because her life for her people was supposedly more valuable than her death on the alter of her country. 'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori' meant nothing to those puffed up bafoons on the High Counsel.

    She couldn't restrain the heavy sigh from escaping her lips when considering such thoughts.

    Her father's rich chuckle greeted her ears in response. “You are too hot blooded by far, Cam-...” He looked down in shock, as the first arrow pierced through his shining breastplate. When the second shaft bloomed in his throat he fell from his horse onto the nearby riverbank. Camilla fell from her horse more than dismounted, and was at his side in a second. Oh, where was the priest? Why was there not one in the Honor Guard this day?

    She knelt in the mud and reeds, gripping his shoulders, leaning forward to stare into his face. “Father? Father! Don't leave me... Don't leave me alone. I'm not ready to face this.” His only response was reaching for her face, and gripping her chin to pull her closer to him, before his arm fell limply to his chest. She put a hand to either of his cheeks and stared into his quickly fading sky-blue eyes, she couldn't scream, she couldn't speak, she couldn't even breath. “I need my Daddy.” She told the sky, her voice was a mere whisper, barely audible to her own ears. The circling buzzards seemed to mock her with their throaty caws.

    She bowed her head, her hair falling around her face like a veil. Camilla could hear the sounds of combat crashing around her like waves pounding the sheer wall of a cliff. One by one her Honor guard fell to the treachery of betrayal. The men sworn to protect her died around her, and she didn't care, couldn't even be bothered to notice. The sounds dulled until they were a dim thing, distant and unreal. All that was real to her was the thudding of her own heart beating in her ears and the pain of loss ripping through her.

    ~~~

    After her father's death Camilla's grief knew no bounds. She stayed for the burial; as she heard the first clods of earth fall on his casket, she knew it to be the most final sound she would ever hear.He really is dead.She repeated it over and over in her head, trying to make it sink in, trying to make herself weep. He deserved that much. He had been the greatest man she had ever known and he deserved her tears. But they wouldn't come.

    She looked at her sisters across the grave from her, huddled together under a black umbrella.Oh, is it raining?She hadn't noticed. But it was fitting somehow for it to rain at his funeral, as though the skies themselves wept for her father.

    Her sisters sniffed and snubbed and dabbed at their tears with dainty lace handkerchiefs. She despised them. They were jealous of her, of course, because her father favored her. And who can blame him for favoring me when they are my competition? They were such pitiful, weak things, much given to sighs and fluttering lashes.

    She forced herself to stay, listen and watch until the grave was completely filled in. Every spoonful of dirt felt dug from her soul, and the dull thud of it slapping against itself as another shovelful landed in the open grave slapped her heart.

    Then she set off on foot, packing lightly. It pained her to leave her horse behind, but she didn't want the responsibility of feeding him for a time.

    That night, alone in her innroom, she allowed herself to embrace the full essence of her grief. She wept, she raged, she tore at her hair. Sometime just before dawn she lay on her side, in the center of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest. She had at last cried herself out. The sheets and what was left of her clothing was torn to tatters and strips and scattered around her, sleep and oblivion finally sank it, and with it a sort of peace.
    Upon leaving she took on the name Keke to make herself untraceable by her people, and left herself completely behind.

    How Camilla was made: Only a few days after leaving the comfort of her deceitful home full of dangerous political undercurrents she met Daerid, who proclaimed himself to be a Priest of Freyr. As a priest of the patron god of her nation, Camilla trusted him implicitly immediately. He took advantage of that trust and fooled her into becoming his Child. As a vampire, she spent the following 100 years bound to Daerid.

    When she was released from her obligation to her maker, she found her kingdom had fallen and the elven people had dissolved into the other countries. To this day she hopes to resurrect Carolain and save a fragment of a fragment of her people.

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  16. #16
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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    Risk had one foot on the bottom step when a most charming sound caught his ear. It was a woman's laugh, so light and free it reminded him of flowers singing in the breeze, or the sound butterflies would make if they could talk. Before he knew what he was about he had taken three steps toward the common room, and before he realized what he had done he was staring the pretty little 'vampire with a temper' in the face.

    Funny, he didn't remember walking across the room, but he had to have because he was standing in front of her table which was at the back.

    “Is something funny?” He paused before adding, “My lady,” it never hurt to be respectful when you weren't sure of protocol.

    “Oh yes,” came her reply, with a secretive little smile that made her almond shaped eyes crinkle at the corners and her dimple flash in a most attractive way.

    “If you don't mind my asking, what is?” He asked, smiling his best winning smile.

    “You are,” she grinned. “You are just a funny little ducky, now aren't you?” Before he could decide if he should be insulted or flattered she asked a most peculiar question. “Quick! What color are my eyes? I just have to know.”

    He glanced into the depths of her eyes, still smiling and fell into a green so deep it was like a frozen forest pond. Pure and sweet, but cold and suffocating as the depths of hell. He swam for the surface, fighting a current he had no knowledge of, but was ultimately lost.

    Her laugh woke him, “...And that's when I said to him, 'Why, a lady never tells!' and they don't, do they?” Still giggling, she took a sip of wine, before answering her own question. “Of course not.”

    “Huh?” He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. Had they been talking? For how long?

    “Do you need another drink, ducky?” She purred the endearment, as though they had known each other for years instead of minutes. “You are quite in your cup, aren't you? Barmaid, another round for my friend and I.”

    He shook his head, “I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name.”

    “Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness. And you aren't weak, I can tell.” She bit her bottom lip and looked him up and down in a most familiar fashion. Dory wouldn't approve. “And that's because I didn't throw it, ducky. What's your name, by the way? I can't keep calling you ducky, ducky!” She giggled like she had made a joke and he found himself laughing with her.

    “I'm Risk.” He replied smoothly, finding his bearings. What a strange night it was turning out to be.

    “What a funny little name, I think I'll keep calling you ducky.” She smiled as she said it, to take the sting from her words. “I'm Camilla, though many call me Keke. You may call me anything you like.”

    “A pleasure.” He replied, half bowing from his seat.

    “I'm sure.” She smiled in that knowing way of hers. “You know, many consider lycanthropes a delicacy. What sort are you, anyway?”

    “I beg your pardon?” He asked, affronted.

    “Oh! There you go again, I said never apologize, shall we add begging to the list?” She shook an admonishing finger at him. “Of lycan. What sort of lycan are you?”

    “Of what?”

    “Shifter. Were. Whatever you call it. Lycanthrope is the scientific word for it.” she said, knowingly. “You know, lycan.”

    “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I'm not... What you said.”

    “Of course you are, ducky. You aren't a duck, are you? Oh, that would be too rich!” She giggled and giggled at that.

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  17. #17
    In Soviet Russia, Editor is protected from YOU!! The Editor's Avatar
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    After what felt like hours the rain clouds finally moved on.
    "Until next time!" shouted Hunt before putting her mask back on. She jumped down to the lower roof, landing silently, then slid down a beam to the ground and re-entered the inn. Keen to preserve her good mood, Hunt glided over to the bar and sat down.
    "My good barkeep, what wines do you have available?"
    "Let's see..." replied the gnome, looking under the counter. "We have white... And red."
    "I do believe I shall have red this day," said Hunt.
    The gnome poured her some red into a chipped wine glass that looked as if it hadn't seen the light of day since the last war.
    "May I make an observation, m'lady?" said the gnome.
    "You may."
    "You seem, well, cheerful. Quite a surprise, I must say."
    Hunt smiled beneath her mask. "All it takes is the right kind of day." She took a little tube out of her jacket and placed it in the wine, then slipped it under her mask. "Very nice," she said after taking a sip.

  18. #18
    The Archer Leader global "Warming"'s Avatar
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    @editor : sorry I just knew the rules about the room for vampire and shifter. I'll just gonna take room number 12


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  19. #19
    The Archer Leader global "Warming"'s Avatar
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    Room Number: 12
    Name: Kinari Boisvert
    Age: 15
    Nationality: A ruins and a small village south of Dessert
    Race: Dessert Elf
    Mutation: WereLeopard

    Description: Lightly build with a thin, tall body(taller than the others kid on his age). Kinari’s eyes were bright green, but the mutation has changed his eyes into a more-like Leopard's eyes that could see in the dark. he has a dark curly hair short hair. The mutation also change his ears into a pair of Leopard's ear. He also got a fluffy Leopard's tail.

    Background: Lived as an orphan outside of the village. Survive by hunting the Giant insects for his meals.

    How Kinari was made: Born as a normal dessert elf. He has a normal happy family until the day when he play in the ruins and accidentally release a wereleopard that already being sealed by the villagers long time ago. because of a bad feeling about their only child, Kinari's parents run the ruins straight away and found the wereleopard and killed it. But the wereleopard already bite Kinari and the one who killed Kinari's parents is Kinari himself. Feel desperate about his parents he isolate himself in the ruins. Then Kinari departed toward Andoria as soon as he heard the news about the Bad Moon Inn from one of his best friends that still remember about him.


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  20. #20
    The watchers on the wall dragon_berry's Avatar
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    What, I'm not sharing room with you -.-
    --A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world--

    Fallen_wings Global "Warming" Poke_Hunter Eon Spirit Trixie God

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  21. #21
    cogito ergo doleo Keke Le Cat's Avatar
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  22. #22
    The Archer Leader global "Warming"'s Avatar
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    Room Number: 12
    Name: Kinari Boisvert
    Age: 15
    Nationality: A ruins and a small village south of Dessert
    Race: Dessert Elf
    Mutation: WereLeopard

    Description: Lightly build with a thin, tall body(taller than the others kid on his age). Kinari’s eyes were bright green, but the mutation has changed his eyes into a more-like Leopard's eyes that could see in the dark. he has a dark curly hair short hair. The mutation also change his ears into a pair of Leopard's ear. He also got a fluffy Leopard's tail.

    Background: Lived as an orphan outside of the village. Survive by hunting the Giant insects for his meals.

    How Kinari was made: Born as a normal dessert elf. He has a normal happy family until the day when he play in the ruins and accidentally release a wereleopard that already being sealed by the villagers long time ago. because of a bad feeling about their only child, Kinari's parents run the ruins straight away and found the wereleopard and killed it. But the wereleopard already bite Kinari and the one who killed Kinari's parents is Kinari himself. Feel desperate about his parents he isolate himself in the ruins. Then Kinari departed toward Andoria as soon as he heard the news about the Bad Moon Inn from one of his best friends that still remember about him.


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  23. #23
    The watchers on the wall dragon_berry's Avatar
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    YAY GW! Btw she has just logged out ^^;;
    --A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world--

    Fallen_wings Global "Warming" Poke_Hunter Eon Spirit Trixie God

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  24. #24
    Oreos and cookie crunch! Hikari's Avatar
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    Destrey sat on the polished wooden floor of his small room in the Inn, arrow shafts and fletching feathers strewn around him. The rain fell in sheets on the roof, the occasional deep bass rumbling of thunder breaking the monotonous patter. In one hand he held a straight shaft of oak, in the other a small but sharp knife. He whittled the end of the shaft to a fine point--a tedious task for an equally tedious day. When he was satisfied with the tip of the arrow, he attached the fletchings and stowed the arrow in his quiver, then picked up the next shaft and began the process over again.

    Once he was finished making arrows, he stood up and stretched his tense muscles. Deciding that he had been antisocial long enough, Destrey descended the two flights of stairs down to the tavern and sat at the bar, a seat over from a woman wearing a purple cat mask.

    “And what’ll you have, sir?” the gnome bartender asked him.

    Destrey pondered for a moment, then replied, “A glass of ale, if you would.”

    Within moments, the gnome had poured some not-too-foul-looking liquid into a mug and set it down in front of Destrey. Bracing himself, he took a sip and managed to keep from gagging. Strong liquor wasn’t exactly his favorite beverage, but he supposed that he had to get used to it. After all, he was in Caemlyn, the great city, and a world away from Glyn.

    Trying to focus on something other than the taste of ale on his tongue, he looked out the window of the tavern. “Oh,” he noticed belatedly and aloud, “It stopped raining.”

  25. #25
    In Soviet Russia, Editor is protected from YOU!! The Editor's Avatar
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    Hunt glanced at the man as he sat down on her left. He looked awfully frail, but among weres and vampires appearances could often be deceiving. She watched as he took a sip of his drink and fought to keep his face straight. Yes, he certainly wasn't a hardened fighter or anything like that.
    "Oh, it stopped raining," he said loudly.
    "Yes, rain does have a tendency to disappear eventually," said Hunt, taking another sip of her wine.

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