The musket's second discharge caused the pale young man's muscles to tense, his piercing gaze fixing on the door before shifting to search for where the bullet had impacted. Making sure it hadn't hit anyone. However that moment didn't last long, as the rapidly changing situation shifted further. While two of the other men addressed the threat of the enemy's range, the chiming of the bell intensified further, heralding a black splotch that seemed to form from the very shadows of the dark lit room.
The worst part? He wasn't the only one who saw it. It was real. Arcturus felt a shiver run up his spine, the sight and sound of this new threat inflicting a dread that even the thunderous crack of a rifle could not. Firearms were familiar, after all, to the point that their shocking presence had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure for him. Of all the things assaulting his senses in that moment, the taste of gunsmoke was perhaps the most comforting. That chime however... Not only did it seem to suffuse the room around them, but it now invoked a rumbling in the floor beneath his feet. A sensation his veteran mind couldn't help but equate with the thundering of hooves.
'Getting away' sounded like good advice in the moment. He had no clue what shape the intrusion would take, only that it needed to be dealt with. Somehow. However the confused situation wouldn't allow him to be so methodical. Another of the men, the strong looking one, suddenly rolled backwards from the door and right onto the shadowy mark. There was no time to communicate, and Arcturus wasn't about to let one of his few allies take the brunt of an unknown foe.
Sucking in a breath of acrid tasting, smoke tinted air, he shifted his saber to hold the base of the blade with his left hand. Using his offhand as a sheathe before springing forward. Lowering his center of gravity and driving his weight with his legs, he then attempted to tackle the stout man out of the way, aiming to get both of them clear from the roiling nightmare on the floor. Should he succeed, he would then roll to the side, coming to a stop in a kneel and looking back to see if anything came of the imposing darkness.
Apologies for my recent absence. I've been allowing myself to get swamped in things that I need to do... I'm trying to catch up now though, so I'm aiming to post either tomorrow or on the weekend. I'd do it tonight, but I don't trust myself to write well when I'm tired...
Arcturus watched in fascinated horror while the beast willfully tore its own hand open to free itself. Flesh ripping apart against his weapon, only for the wound to heal almost as soon as it opened. How was one to kill something with such an ability? Worse still was the chilling sound that reached his ears shortly afterwards. The ringing of a small bell that chased away the tiny creatures, as if the bell heralded something that terrified even them.
Were they truly real after all? The bell certainly seemed to be, as it seemed he wasn't the only one to hear it. Arcturus glanced briefly at the darker skinned man, concern possessing his expression. That sound made him feel cornered in a way even the beast couldn't. What did the bell mean? Had the enemy called for reinforcements? All of a sudden he no longer felt confident in their ability to hold that door against whoever, or whatever, they were facing.
Soon enough the beast tore itself free of his spear, retreating through the hole it had made. Before Arcturus could even think about his next course of action he found himself staring at the barrel of a rifle. Adrenaline fueled reflex took control of his body, and he dove out of the way mere moments before the thundering discharge of the weapon reached his ears. Leaving the spear behind and leading into a roll.
That roll brought him into a kneel, whereupon he glared back at the muzzle poking through the hole in the door. It frustrated him that their only defensive structure had merely given the enemy cover to fire through. All the more so as the repeating chime of the bell sent a chill running down his spine. He wanted to attack.
Instead, however, he sprung back to his feet and rushed over to his own sword. Sprinting across the rifle's field of fire to snatch the saber before halting right next to the darker skinned man. "We can't hold here forever." He insisted in a firm whisper, his foreign accent lacing every word as he finally spoke.
Arcturus made a point of using the few seconds he had attempting to read the three men he would likely be fighting with. They were all shorter than him, and all gave off very different impressions.
One man looked relatively ordinary compared to the other two. He seemed fit enough, however he had an air about him that reminded Arcturus of a recruit. The look of a man who had never killed before, never fought for his life, but who was faced with a situation where he may need to.
Another of the three men looked odd, for lack of a better word. As if there were something distinctly off about the way he looked. Perhaps it was the lean in his posture or the disproportionate length of his arms. Regardless, the compact man looked quite strong at a glance.
The third man had darker skin and charred clothes, the latter of which was an immediate indication of some kind of experience. A presumption only confirmed by the cautious look in the sharp faced man's eyes. If that wasn't the look of a veteran, it was at the very least the look of someone accustomed to danger.
Glances were the only thing Arcturus had time for, as the owner of the hoarse, unfamiliar voice seemed to grow impatient with them. All the while referring to them as hunters. He wondered briefly what it meant. Arcturus had gone deer hunting before, he'd been brought up as a noble after all, but he didn't consider himself a hunter by profession. Save for any poetic metaphor that more romantic minds might have attributed to him on the battlefield.
The question would have to wait, however, as a ferocious snarl heralded something heavy being rammed against the door. It was time to fight. That vicious, beastly sound had served to stoke his adrenaline, causing both the young man's heart and mind to race ever faster. It was a feeling Arcturus was all too familiar with, however something else accompanied it this time. Something similar to the blood lust of battle, but altogether different. More like a craving.
The door shuddered again as it suffered another impact.
Yet the sensation did not disturb him, feeling as much a part of him as all the other emotions racing through him. So he allowed it to bolster his confidence even while he steadied his breath and steeled his focus. Arcturus gripped his spear and fixed his icy blue gaze on the door. Waiting. Anticipating.
His muscles tensed as he the door was struck again, followed by something dragging along the wooden surface. The sound of wood being carved away struck Arcturus as oddly pleasant in spite of the situation. However that thought was quickly chased away as the door finally gave in, a nightmarish claw bursting through the tortured wood.
Even though he'd been prepared for the door to be breached, the sight of it still gave him pause, a brief flash of terror and surprise interrupting his focus. The sight of the darker skinned man taking action brought his mind back to the present, however. Only a moment was lost marveling at the other man's strength before he took action. Arcturus swiftly stepped forward, shifting his grip on his spear to provide more leverage, and attempted to forcibly drive his spear down into the creature's hand.
Arcturus' feet dug into the floor as he swung, his legs driving power into his core, then that driving yet more power into his arms. He knew very well how to generate lethal force in an attack. Yet at the same time he was surprised at his own movement, a muscle memory he didn't know he had guiding the weapon down towards his target. Yet there was no time to think on it.
Arcturus awoke to the silver light of The Moon shining through his window. He was alive! His body flooded with a sense of joyous relief as he came to his senses, shaking off the groggy veil of sleep. The treatment, the blood, had worked!
Or had it?
As he scanned the dark room around him, his eyes beginning to focus, he felt his heart sink with a deep disappointment. The sight he was met with was nothing more than his very own room. The familiar wooden walls and flowered wallpaper he had known since he was a child. Had it all been a dream? Traveling to Yharnam, meeting that minister. It was difficult to believe. Yet there was the proof before him, the Moon staring down through his window as if to reprimand him for being so naive.
Of course it hadn't been real. Such rumors of panacea could never hold weight. Had he truly traveled to that city he most certainly would have died there. Perhaps, more likely, he might have even died along the way. Dejected, Arcturus let his eyes fall from the window, his attention shifting to the young woman sitting across from his bed.
Violet.
His sister looked worse than ever, her once bright and pretty visage marred by dark circles. The signs of stress showing clear on her face. She looked to have fallen asleep there, slumped over onto her arm. The fool girl. It seemed the only precaution she had taken against contracting his ailment was the scarce few feet of distance between them. Hardly enough, he thought, even if he appreciated the gesture.
Suddenly a noise disturbed his quiet thoughts, a noise that didn't come from Violet. From behind him, Arcturus heard the faint sound of knocking, like someone was banging on the front door. He faintly heard demands for entry from a hoarse, labored voice. The speaker's words colored by a thick foreign accent. Lacking the strength to lift himself from his bed, he felt a cold terror run down his spine, looking hurriedly to the door of his room before shifting his focus back to where Violet slept. If he could only summon the voice to wake her, to warn her of what was coming.
Arcturus drew in a sharp breath, only to freeze as his gaze fell upon a bone chilling sight. An open window. Curtains billowing in the oddly stuffy smelling breeze. A beast, more robust and fearsome than even the one which had given him his scar, stood hunched over the chair where his sister sat. It cast a dark shadow over her, concealing her form from sight. However its jagged maw dripped with a thick scarlet liquid...
****
The young man awoke again to a dark room, the chill of a cold sweat aiding his groggy mind as he took a few moments to come to terms with reality. He was alive. The treatment, the blood, really had worked! Relief flooded through his body, though he was denied the opportunity to revel in it.
Hearing that hoarse, foreign voice again, Arcturus slowly pushed himself up into an upright position. His icy blue eyes sweeping cautiously over his surroundings. There were already a few other people up and about in the massive room. Up, about, and armed. It seemed he was not the only one who perceived the strange voice as a threat.
It wasn't until he'd pushed himself up and began studying the room around him that he noticed those things. Small, glowing, almost skeletal looking creatures. The sight of them caused him to recoil, swiftly backing up against his bedpost and bracing to defend himself. However as his heart rate slowed and his thoughts caught up to what he was seeing, he gradually realized that they were anything but hostile. Not that it made their ghastly appearance any less unsettling. Was he hallucinating the things? Truly, he needed to read fine print more closely next time he signed a critical medical contract.
Now Arcturus knew very little about the situation he had woken up to, and less about the men he shared it with. What he did know, however, was that he had to make a decision on what to do. He had to make a decision and he had to make it quickly. So that's exactly what he did. Once he'd identified where the others got their weapons, his piercing gaze watching one of them return to the door with a spear, he gently pushed himself out of his cot.
With brief glances towards the other three men he wordlessly strode across the room, his posture confident, and set his eyes upon the barrels of weapons. Arcturus was appreciative of the supply, no doubt, but it was an odd juxtaposition against the clinical room he stood in. Who in their right mind stored weapons of such quantity in a medical ward? Not that he could complain, as he picked out both a saber and a spear before heading back towards the unnervingly fortified door. Again, what kind of doctors would barricade their patients in like that?
Stopping in front of the door and behind the other three men, Arcturus set his new saber down against the nearest cot before glancing down at the spear in his hands. Not a weapon he was familiar with, but it felt oddly comfortable in his grip. Perhaps the muscle memory of bayonet drills also aided in the handling of spears? Regardless he was satisfied with his own equipment, at least as satisfied as he could be given the selection, and so turned his piercing gaze to the other three. All men whom he'd had yet to address. He made a point of silently making eye contact with each of them in turn before leveling the point of his spear towards the door.
Appearance: Arcturus is a tall and slender young man, standing at about 6'4". He is in exceptional physical shape, owing to his military experience, and is more or less incapable of gaining weight beyond muscle. A consequence of his ravenous metabolism. He is pale of skin and his golden blonde hair is cut short atop his head. Usually kept neatly groomed, although when jostled out of place it will tend to fall to about eye level on his face. Staring out from that sharply handsome, clean shaven visage are a pair of icy blue eyes. The piercing hue one might expect to see in the eyes of a wolf. Over his left eye too runs a light, thin scar, starting just above his eyebrow and ending at the top of his cheekbone.
Clothes: The young man's clothing, as of his transfusion, are perhaps what one might expect of a young gentleman like himself. A dark grey long coat, similarly colored vest, yet darker grey trousers, and a white shirt. All well made from fine and durable material. Likely expensive attire judging by the quality of its make. His boots too are sturdy and polished, the sort that one might expect to find upon a ranking officer. Additionally in his coat pocket are a pair of burgundy leather gloves, of a similarly fine make to the rest of his clothing. Resilient and dexterous enough to protect his hands in a practical sense while remaining elegant and fashionable enough for wearing to a dance.
Possessions: Tucked away into the breast pocket of his coat, Arcturus carries a couple items of sentimental note. The first is a decorative silver pocket watch given to him by his sister. The other is a small colored sketch, a copy of a portrait that was painted shortly before he went off to war. It depicts him and his sister side by side, both clearly amused at some mischief known only to them and the original painter.
Background: Arcturus was born in a foreign land to a recently established noble family, having only earned their wealth and holdings through his father's valiance in defense of their country. From an early age he was raised to be a nobleman. Tutored in the art of governance and exposed to the insights of the sciences. His parents wanted to establish their family and ensure that their children lead comfortable lives, such that their son would not have to see the horrors of war his father had known.
It was not to be, however. Arcturus' sharp, energetic mind was fascinated by the tales of battle he heard. Both those his father had been a part of and those recorded in the annals of history. The study of war quickly became a passion of his, and it soon became apparent that he would not be satisfied with merely reading about the battlefield. His curious intellect still pursued studies of science, society, and philosophy. However when the opportunity came the young man fully rebelled against his parents' wishes, using his pedigree to acquire a command in his nation's military. Leaving his shrewd younger sister, Violet, as the heiress to the responsibility of governing their family's holdings. A role that she was eager to seize.
After a few years of boring garrison duty, his father having pulled strings to give him a peaceful post, Arcturus would finally get an opportunity to face the experience that had always held his fancy. In the meantime he had continued to read, educating himself both in scholarly subjects and in war. Trying to occupy his restless mind and prepare as best he could for the day he might one day need to live up to his surname's reputation.
That day came as his country, its ambitious leadership having goaded a neighboring land into invading them, started to call on its reserves to reinforce the front lines. An excited albeit nervous Arcturus was able to meet with his sister one last time before departing, the younger woman giving him a small sketch she had drawn of their portrait. A reminder of their familial bond and the home he was expected to return to.
Arcturus had suspected that real battle would not be as glorious as the tales he read depicted them. However he still had no idea how horrifying it would be, his youthful eagerness quickly recoiling as his first engagement devolved into a desperate defense. In this time of shock, the air filled with gunsmoke and screaming, adrenaline proved a potent drug. With his heart racing the young officer swiftly came to terms with the nightmare he was witnessing, and from atop his horse rallied the men under his command. By the day's end the enemy had been routed, at great cost to his men, however that was not the end of the battle.
If there was one thing Arcturus had learned from his studies, it was that the most losses were suffered while retreating.
With what remained of his cavalry, the young man personally lead the pursuit, driven both by the excitement of victory and a darker desire for vengeance. It was his first command after all, and the lives of the many men he'd lost weighed heavy on his mind. That day his name was drenched in blood as he ran down dozens of enemy soldiers, tirelessly hunting down every last one he could catch.
It was only the first entry in what would become a series of bloody victories. As the fires of war tempered the young man's nerves, inoculating him against the horrors it brought, his passion for the art of warfare slowly reasserted itself in his mind. He became an expert in the aggressive maneuver warfare that his country's military was known for, gradually earning a fearsome reputation. Known by his enemies to be brutally violent and relentlessly determined. Known by his men to be firmly patriotic and fiercely loyal.
Unfortunately his career was to be cut tragically short. It was a dark night, and Arcturus had been recalled to meet with some of the higher ranking officers. It seemed as though word of his success had made its way to the ears of the brass above him. Excited at the possible opportunity and confident that there would be little danger while traveling through captured territory, the young man's guard was down as he and his escort set up camp.
Something had been prowling the woods that night. A creature seemingly born from the darkest fairy tales, larger and more ferocious than anything he had ever seen. Arcturus had heard little and believed less about the beasts that supposedly stalked the shadows of the land. Hungering for the blood of the innocents, or for lonely travelers, or for disobedient children, or whatever else the cautionary tales were engineered to warn against. It wasn't until he met one firsthand that he finally started to take the warnings seriously.
It took them by surprise, springing from the shadows and tearing one of the guards open before any of them could respond. There was a couple moments of shock, just watching scarlet ichor pour from their former comrade, before the reality of the situation rudely imposed itself upon Arcturus' mind. His booming voice shook the others from their fear and disbelief just in time for another man to meet a gruesome end, the death buying a few seconds for everyone else to scramble for their weapons.
Three more died that night before Arcturus could gain control of the situation, using fire to keep the monstrosity at bay until they could encircle it. With flashing steel and adrenaline fueled fury they were eventually able to bring it down, but the damage had been done. Almost all of them had been injured by the beast's flailing claws, including Arcturus himself. Only a glancing cut, right across his eye, just shallow enough to leave a scar without blinding him. However this seemingly minor injury would prove critical.
Arcturus knew how to wage war against men. He had become very good at it. Disease, however, was a different story. War drew pestilence like crows to a corpse, and plague was a soldier's worst enemy. An enemy he had no experience in facing. Dejected and worried for his life, the young man had no choice but to return home, and before long he was bound to his bed. Lacking the strength to even pursue treatment for his own sake. At least that's what the doctors told him.
He felt as though he had the strength to walk, but his sister insisted. With a wry smile Violet appealed to his respect for duty, claiming it was her turn to fight for him. So fight she did, seeking out doctors and hunting rumors, pouring money and time into trying to save her older brother. At one point she even gave him a beautiful silver pocket watch, trying to imply that she was confident he'd live long enough to make use of it. However Arcturus could tell she was straining herself. With each passing day dark circles began to sag beneath her normally bright eyes. With each grim doctor her usually sweet demeanor became ever more aggravated.
Clearly the disease had no cure, and Violet was going to stubbornly destroy herself in her efforts to find one.
Arcturus could not bear to watch it. How his youthful sister wasted away and squandered their family's fortune. All because of him. To him there was only one course of action. A gamble that would save Violet's future and give him a chance at being cured. What did he have to lose? His life?
Whispers of an isolated city, hidden within a mountainous region, had long been the subject of idle fancy and haughty ridicule among those Arcturus knew. A tale he always knew was a myth, but always wondered if it held some credence. The city of Yharnam and its miraculous blood. Now it was his only hope. So he stole away while his sister was out of the house, leaving naught but a letter. A message detailing where he was going and firmly suggesting that she tend to herself, lest she contract the plague as well. Love, Arc
The gamble paid off. Not only was Yharnam real, but it seemed as if they had an entire industry dedicated to the medical application of their fabled blood. Ordinarily Arcturus would have tried to do some proper research before making a decision. Indeed he was still quite skeptical of this all singing, all dancing healing blood. It all seemed too convenient.
He didn't have time for that, however. His legs were weak, his body tired, even his lungs failing him as he coughed up small quantities of his own blood. The plague and the journey had worn him down to the point that he was not confident he would see the next day. No, his only option was to roll the dice and pray.
Easy, with a bit of Yharnam blood of his own. All he needed to do was sign the dotted line.
Vampiretwilight
Smitten
Olive Fontaine