Darcel

Neverland [Chase x Violet]

@Mae is a flat as the floor.

Neverland [Chase x Violet]

Chapter 3

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The storm had spluttered and died down to the low ebb of a drizzle, coating the otherwise peaceful night. Stars speckled the midnight black sky like sugar on silk. The luminous moon perched from on high, gracing clusters of grumbling grey stormclouds with it’s delicate beams as they made their ambling retreat to other places. Heavy droplets of water pooled and played under high jumbles, finishing their vanishing act with a lazy descent to the cold hard ground and showering whomever dared grace them with their presence. It was a sleepy evening, the drumming of rain on wooden roofs a gentle lullaby, the wind whispering sweet nothings to the streets. All was peaceful, bar the strange sounds emanating from one particularly noisy tavern. The soothing melody of mother nature beats its wings between the obscure sounds fluttering hither and dither, as if she herself despised to tolerate the deplorable raucous hubbub originating from the tavern tonight in a chorus of gentle pops, clicks and thuds. Drops of dew lined the flickering orange windows, silhouettes shuffling and shifting somewhere beyond the glass like mirages. With the fizzle of a spark the light blew out, and for a single breath, the world was quiet.

Crash. Splinters of glass littered the street. The man’s low cry pierced the night as his back slammed against the slick cobbles, blood and water pooling beneath him. A far more sinister song curled in the air. Shouts overpowered the soft drumming of raindrops, curses running along their curves and spinning out of control. The night shrouded the calls of that accursed barroom, smothering them in a thick blanket as if ashamed. And yet, the fight continued unabated.

Tiny shards of frosted glass and window pane glittered in the air, covering the werewolf like a light snow. His scarred face, nearly swollen beyond recognition, practically screamed fury and bloodshed. The scent of his anger was palpable, clinging to him like a musk, his whole appearance that of the most brutal ferocity.

He scrambled to his feet and threw himself through the remains of that very window, immediately defenestrated like a homeless dog for a second time. His bloated bruised lips curled upwards in a feral snarl, and no barrier could come between him and his revenge.

Bang. He launched the door open with thunder force, and in one swift move bolted it shut behind him.

The tavern exploded into bedlam. Bellowing, screams, groans and hollers, punches were thrown as metal screeched on metal, rapiers meeting in heated battle. Wood cried and splintered, broken over heads, bottles were smashed on tables and crushed underfoot. All of this brewed to the beat of thunderclaps overhead as the leaking ceiling tried to soothe the brawling patrons below. No such luck.

The werewolf had finally found a target. Blinded by rage, his two meaty scarred hands grabbed the nearest bloodsucking bastard by the hair and slammed his face down onto the bar once... twice, three times. A soft crack echoed upon the final impact, and the once unliving vampire was now slumping to the floor in a crumpled heap, merely just another fatality to sate his murderer’s lust for blood. The triumph of victory flashed through the werewolf’s hungry eyes and he cast his sights upon the room.

She barely crested five foot, all ruffled skirts, leg and cleavage. A blink and now the black haired barmaid stood before him, infecting his personal space with her charming presence. A flash of a warm, heartfelt smile and for a moment his bloodlust melted, leaving him momentarily defenseless.

The sound of her lighthearted giggle would be his funeral march, but he would die jolly at least. For the shortest of moments the werewolf managed a smile, right before her vicious kick connected. She spun out with lightning reflex, leg perfectly poised, her high-heel slamming straight into the man’s chest with an audible crack and such sheer force the rickety table broke under his weight. Drinks, coins, even knives spun into the air as blood oozed into the crevices between the wooden floor in a drip, drip drip. She lifted her skirts and daintily climbed over the tavern’s newest cadavre, watching carefully to make sure she didn’t taint her heels in the fresh blood.

A silhouette obscured the light, and she turned, looking up in horror. Perhaps she barely heard the scream that escaped her own lips and cut through the air like a serrated blade. She was still holding her petticoats as they were splattered with her own viscera, the sound of her flesh being torn asunder lost in the rabble of the brawl. She slumped to the floor like a discarded doll, sitting pretty and picturesque dressed in her own blood for the shortest snapshot of a moment. Such a shame, she tasted like cheap ale, and Chase reluctantly licked his bloodied fingers clean, oceanic visual orbs staring at the silent corpse with a sadistic smile splattered on the face. Beautiful, he thought. He had seen everything, he had been everywhere, he knew everything, he forgot nothing, and yet for some reason... the death of a woman is, undoubtedly, the most poetical topic in the world.

With thoughts in mind and unrelenting focus on the surrounding, his eyes registered the side-kick unleashed in the direction of his forehead in which he deflected with the inside of his forearm, unbalancing his attacker. In one fluid motion, he inserted his blade into the bastard's left nostril and slit it open. Before the man could so much as choke on his own blood, his right nostril had been similarly vented, a howl of pain met his ears and Chase savoured it, feasting his inner demons.

But then, why is it he stands here now, motionless. He knows that hesitation is for the weak, and that bastard means nothing but a feast to feed on. So, why the self-doubt and guilt?

Go on, a voice inside his head mocked.You killed before, your hands are perpetually stained with sin, go on, do it, and finish what you started.

The hideous voice grew louder and more incessant.
You don't have to feel repentant, your sins are never to be anew...

FINISH HIM!
Listen to your inner self.
DON'T YOU EVER STOP!
Hear the hideous whispers.
MORE BLOOD!
It knows you best.

A quickness like a striking snake, and he jerked the blade into the frigid air, it glistened from tip to hilt as it left his hand, the edge focused to such a sharpness that not much could stand within its path. In a split second, the blade punctured the male's chest with a cold touch of waiting death; a portal in the skin, bits of flesh and bones, shearing apart three ribs in the process, splattered blood everywhere. However, once the blade escaped out through him, it continued its path, hungrily seeking with the same strength it was launched before, in a mission to draw more flesh, etch, and cut right through the bone...

Chase stood still, the eyes flickering with a fleeting glance— the blade gleamed, the silvery moon rays reflected the terrified expression of the next victim’s face as slicing-death inexorably sailed toward him. Like the calm before a storm, there was a moment of stillness, hushed whispers of death, not rise nor set, there was no escape…

Unstoppable, fast as the wind, dense as the rain, the unfortunate soul blinked as the familiar red gash glowed around his throat like a fiery necklace.

Drip, drippity and drop.

Blood trickled from its tip the same hue as the crimson liquid spurted from a single, deep slash across the flesh. With a sickening gurgling sound, the poor male held his hands up to his throat, as if trying to remove what was choking him but to no avail, he fell dead like a rotten banana forced to bruises and battered peel. The gunfire in the background, the screams of horror and agony slowed down in a dead beat, no other action mattered other than the one that has taken place, a moment lasting no longer than a split second, no one but the killer and his victim. Life turned to aches and death was a reminder within this world, all so calm after it came, like the dense quiet of falling snow…

Her glacier eyes held cold, knew no warmth nor shared love, deceptive of a monstrous wrath even more dangerous than what his thoughts behold.

That lavender scent, all profound distraction, drifting like the last notes of a beautiful song. Oh, all he had to do is breathe...

Through the shadows, captivated in the bittersweet melody of silence, adrenaline coursed through his veins as he watched his own reflection in those faint glints, the eyes like the palest blue glass— all icy and unfeeling yet oh so apparent. He had seen that stare before, unmistakably one of a killer, there is no doubt in that.

The eyes never lied, and that unmoving gaze was nothing but a graveyard kiss promising bad news.

She was going to kill him.

Neverland [Chase x Violet]

Chase Bloodcrest

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Chapter2

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As always, the tavern was bustling with drinkers, some seemed to fancy themselves as master storytellers, discussion would follow and argument at heat swiftly dissolving into laughter. Barmaids were hard pressed to keep the ale flowing or, more precisely, dashing around and trying to keep everyone's tankard full while wenches perused at tables and sat on laps, whispered into ears, giggled at the drunken, stupid jokes.

Heat in Mystic Grimoire was terrible and almost overwhelming: the airlessness, the hustle and the insufferable stench completed the revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundest disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man’s refined face. He wasn't a particularly public person to begin with, hence, he avoided society of every sort, more especially of late. The male kept himself to himself and was always on his own, trying to look just like any sort of shady fellow that might step foot in this tavern, yet he was so much more. There was something about him, something of self-containment and strength, of intelligence and power. Few knew his bloodline, and even fewer knew where he truly came from. But all of it understated, quiet, kept beneath the surface. He did not seem to care about others nor tried to either intimidate or impress, never tried to make conversation, just kept his thoughts to himself. But something new seemed to be taking place within him, only for a moment, in some other world, whatever it might be; and, in spite of the filthiness of the surroundings, this tavern seemed to be the right place.

Drinking himself blind seemed like the next logical step.

Soon the bartender slammed ale-filled pewter mug down on the counter, some of the contents splashing out and onto the wooden surface. ''Your drink, Bloodsucker." he said after a moment, and although his tone was not necessarily rude, his demeanor was distinctly unfriendly.

Bloody werewolf, an irritation that made him want to spit.

Chase flipped his lids up to him— his blue eyes emitted a poisonous light that was a potential promise of death. Oh, how lovely it will be to show the dog's front teeth the joy of liberation. However, the fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity.

Don't be reckless, first rule in this fucked-up fruit salad we call life.

With a careless lift of shoulders, he raised the mug to his lips and drank deep, letting the ale wash all his senses, overstepping every other consideration.

A helpless darkness settled on his face: through the chamber of his brain— Quaintest thoughts — queerest fancies came to life. Spinning round and round, one step farther than he intended...

The final truth came to him, as he stared there, trembling, searching, between all his past and future. When memories intoxicate the mind, it is difficult for the soul to remain sober...

For some particular reason, he felt his breath catch an intoxicating scent, interrupting his train of thoughts. In maddening sense it coiled itself around his tongue he could actually taste it; tantalizing flowery lavender— sensual, mysterious, caressing...

Fo curiosity has its own reason for existing, a fire to be kindled, Chase turned around. Across the pub, in the very farthest, most secluded corner, sat two shady figures, both had their hoods up over their faces, and were sitting very still, like cloaked statues. The scent belonged to the young woman, as far as he could tell, and for a split second his focus sharpened around her; the surroundings seem blurred, faded and unimportant. Something, something scraped like tiny fingernails on the edges of his mind—that unified scent was strong, magnified and he savoured the thought of seeing her shadowy figure...

Yes, that was it, completely out of fricking character. God, at these moments he became well aware that his thoughts were in a strange tangle: women should have been the last thing on his mind, especially in this filthy pit. Some confusion still resonated within the depths of his mind, and he snapped to attention once he realized he was no longer looking at her in particular, but rather, raucous noises from behind and rowdy collection of curses broke the hot air of the tavern from behind, swiftly heightening his senses. Following the obstreperous source, he saw one of the drunken patrons aim his heavy tankard for someone's head, the mug whistled past the target's ear...

... and hit another man behind him instead!

Before one could differentiate the maliciously deemed action from that as a slight mishap, the bar patron had wobbled to a stand. His fat legs were stubby, looking as if he could barely hold his grotesque body upright whilst swiveling to face the male whom the cup had been tossed, a chubby finger prominently pointed in accusation. Whilst he appeared rather unthreatening in size, nothing but a mixture of drunken anger filled the man's ugly eyes; the look, almost as if a deadly disease, swiftly filling the blank stares of worthless patrons entertaining themselves at the public tavern. Shouts began to raise to high hell, curses being thrown and objects being tossed just as swiftly. Barbaric was the only word to describe those now embarrassing themselves within the small establishment, if not the general words of disgust to accompany it. Between the screams of slurred threats and howls of pain, the two men were able to meet gaze for a short moment.

Another thing Chase learned about Mystic Grimoire tavern, you always expect a barroom brawl or two.

Starkissed

@Mae Missed the trolling player but still, sending good vibes in here, Mon ami.

Mιяяσя мιяяσя σи тнє ωαℓℓ, ωну нανєи'т ι ιитяσ∂υ¢є∂ муѕєℓf вєfσяє..

Hmm, I've been a member for days now, so this late introduction may or may not work, but here goes:

I'm from France, have done travel but hope to more in my life. Aside from food and wine, the place I grew up in has always been a land of literature with a strong reading culture, one of the reasons I'm a bookworm. I like to have a book with me at all times, some people might call this ridiculous or obsessive but.. reading a book is very similar to living a life, having a library of information, e.g., How to get away with murder and feel bad about it, questioning authority even when everything seems perfect, how to live alone but work with others, how to lead and sometimes to follow, and in turn improve knowledge and conversation skills.

I've been role-playing as a whole since I was sixteen years old, I turned eighteen just recently and I've spent these years roleplaying in private french communities ( Mostly battle-centered roleplay)

It never crossed my mind to perhaps write in another language, until serendipitously, a moderator from another roleplay application inspired me to role-play in english yes, that's how I joined many war-guilds ( Brotherhood, The Rising knights...etc ) and started my own adventure in this imaginary world.

The reason I do roleplay ? Well, I like it, it wakes up the brain cells. Surely, it allowed me to travel to different worlds and live different lives, becoming someone new; an alien, a king, a serial killer and much, much more. For another thing, it meant we could live in a more interesting world than the one around us. Lastly, it is fun.

Ah, Yes: I am a dreamer. For dreaming, after all is a form of planning, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables me to laugh at life's realities, my crazy imagination will get me a passport to hell one day. However, I'm genuinely lucky to find this guild, a place where words come alive, where there's a time and place for everything, I've met some great people here already, and would like to meet some more.

Have a bittersweet day.