Silly
Antlers
WhiteAngel25
Zeus23
Drache
Arthanus@TruckKun - To be honest with you, I feel the concept is a little weaker then I'd prefer. Which isn't bad in of itself, but not exactly what I'm looking for at the moment.
Lyla
Member
Shadowdancer
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
~Gay, polyamorous, I have a partner, and been playing games since I was 2 years old!~
"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead." -Oscar Wilde
"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead." -Oscar Wilde
Most Recent Posts
The man showed his years by refusing to flinch even in the face of an ancient. He loaded another bolt into his crossbow, but this shot would be different. His features twisted with malice and pain as he watched his prey dart from side to side. A growl followed by a scowl, then he aimed again. He was clearly skilled with this weapon — perhaps the one he had honed above all others — tracking the vampiress’ movement as she swayed midair.
With another click, a bolt flew toward the winged nightmare, but this time the head expanded and released a net made of blessed silver. It snapped open, glistening in the moonlight as it hurtled toward the place where the vampire hovered above the street.
'No…!' Lyselle thought, familiar with the tactic Delwyn was employing — setting her new companion up to be captured and tortured like her offspring. Her body moved on its own, lifting a hand as she felt life-energy pour from her core and out through her fingertips.
Light illuminated the street as etchings formed in the air, drawn with the efficiency and grace of hours upon hours of practice. She finished just in time — the net poised to wrap around the winged woman — but instead a pillar of light blasted outward and slammed the silver against the brick wall opposite Ren.
The sigil glowed and ebbed for several moments before fading, leaving a panicked Lys standing there.
'Why did I do that!?'
Delwyn’s head snapped toward her, hatred burning behind his eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing, Lyselle!? She’s a damn vampire! Kill her!!"
Too focused on his prey to waste more than a heartbeat on the girl, he loaded another bolt, untying a scroll and tossing it to the ground. Ren could see the sigil written on it — a trap, perhaps — or something to buy him time.
Still shaken by everything happening and the chaos erupting around her, she called after the vampiress, “please don’t kill him!” Her voice was earnest, genuine, pleading — clearly not even wanting the fight to be happening at all.
She wasn’t sure she had the strength to cast another Script so soon, so she fumbled for her throwing knives instead — she had always preferred them to Delwyn’s wrist crossbow. They suited her quick hands better than that clunky thing he trusted so completely.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat —
a threat to the first woman who ever spoke her name, who ever whispered to her very soul.
Still… she didn’t want him to die either.
With another click, a bolt flew toward the winged nightmare, but this time the head expanded and released a net made of blessed silver. It snapped open, glistening in the moonlight as it hurtled toward the place where the vampire hovered above the street.
'No…!' Lyselle thought, familiar with the tactic Delwyn was employing — setting her new companion up to be captured and tortured like her offspring. Her body moved on its own, lifting a hand as she felt life-energy pour from her core and out through her fingertips.
Light illuminated the street as etchings formed in the air, drawn with the efficiency and grace of hours upon hours of practice. She finished just in time — the net poised to wrap around the winged woman — but instead a pillar of light blasted outward and slammed the silver against the brick wall opposite Ren.
The sigil glowed and ebbed for several moments before fading, leaving a panicked Lys standing there.
'Why did I do that!?'
Delwyn’s head snapped toward her, hatred burning behind his eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing, Lyselle!? She’s a damn vampire! Kill her!!"
Too focused on his prey to waste more than a heartbeat on the girl, he loaded another bolt, untying a scroll and tossing it to the ground. Ren could see the sigil written on it — a trap, perhaps — or something to buy him time.
Still shaken by everything happening and the chaos erupting around her, she called after the vampiress, “please don’t kill him!” Her voice was earnest, genuine, pleading — clearly not even wanting the fight to be happening at all.
She wasn’t sure she had the strength to cast another Script so soon, so she fumbled for her throwing knives instead — she had always preferred them to Delwyn’s wrist crossbow. They suited her quick hands better than that clunky thing he trusted so completely.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat —
a threat to the first woman who ever spoke her name, who ever whispered to her very soul.
Still… she didn’t want him to die either.
As the vampiress spoke her name, a shiver raced down her spine, like hearing someone whisper it into her ear. The weight, the gravity, with which she felt the reply was difficult to put into words. It was like she had been waiting her whole life to hear it spoken — lost in the current of human subconsciousness until this very day, where it rang out as clear as a church bell in a silent crowd. A slight gasp slid from her lips, causing her to let her guard down and look at the other woman with confusion, even as the grip on her blade tightened further.
“It was you… I felt one of my kin pass over tonight… It was your doing?” Lys’ mouth went slightly agape at the question, realization crossing her features. This was the fledgling’s sire? He had mentioned she was stronger, but she had not expected it to be this stunning creature who now slowly inched her way over. The huntress found herself nodding in the middle of her thoughts, replying instinctively to the question with utmost honesty. If anyone else were here, they would either call Lyselle a foolish girl or assume she had been dominated. The former must’ve been the case then, because Lys felt no pressure, no tingling of being controlled — something she had experienced once or twice before.
Though for Lyselle, it didn’t feel like foolishness, even as whispers in her mind echoed to never trust their kind. Instead, it felt like some strange cosmic design urging her to lower her weapon when asked, her facial features softening.
“I-… I’m sorr—”
Suddenly, like the lightning in the distance, a bolt of silver whistled through the air, aiming straight for Ren’s chest.
“No, it was my doing!”
The shadow-haired hunter spun her head toward the familiar voice — Delwyn! His face twisted into a hateful snarl before he looked to Lys. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned for her at all and instead fixed his gaze on the vampiress, snapping up his arm to release his wrist-mounted crossbow without hesitation, truly showing the difference in experience — and in contempt.
Lyselle gasped as she watched the bolt shoot across from the side, reaching her hand out as if to guard the vampiress from harm, no other thought in her head besides this binding that was tying her and the creature together.
“W-wait!” she shouted, feeling time slow to a crawl, an almost panic overwhelming the young hunter. She had just found something — something incredible, something wholly unique, something she had never felt before — and the silver shining across the empty road threatened to end it all.
Not only that, but she had thought vampires incapable of feeling anything but the desire to destroy… and what she had seen cross her once-opponent’s face was nothing short of human emotion.
Was the Vigil wrong this whole time?
Was their hatred for their prey so absolute that they refused to see the truth?
She was afraid Delwyn would never understand this, but she had to do something.
“It was you… I felt one of my kin pass over tonight… It was your doing?” Lys’ mouth went slightly agape at the question, realization crossing her features. This was the fledgling’s sire? He had mentioned she was stronger, but she had not expected it to be this stunning creature who now slowly inched her way over. The huntress found herself nodding in the middle of her thoughts, replying instinctively to the question with utmost honesty. If anyone else were here, they would either call Lyselle a foolish girl or assume she had been dominated. The former must’ve been the case then, because Lys felt no pressure, no tingling of being controlled — something she had experienced once or twice before.
Though for Lyselle, it didn’t feel like foolishness, even as whispers in her mind echoed to never trust their kind. Instead, it felt like some strange cosmic design urging her to lower her weapon when asked, her facial features softening.
“I-… I’m sorr—”
Suddenly, like the lightning in the distance, a bolt of silver whistled through the air, aiming straight for Ren’s chest.
“No, it was my doing!”
The shadow-haired hunter spun her head toward the familiar voice — Delwyn! His face twisted into a hateful snarl before he looked to Lys. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned for her at all and instead fixed his gaze on the vampiress, snapping up his arm to release his wrist-mounted crossbow without hesitation, truly showing the difference in experience — and in contempt.
Lyselle gasped as she watched the bolt shoot across from the side, reaching her hand out as if to guard the vampiress from harm, no other thought in her head besides this binding that was tying her and the creature together.
“W-wait!” she shouted, feeling time slow to a crawl, an almost panic overwhelming the young hunter. She had just found something — something incredible, something wholly unique, something she had never felt before — and the silver shining across the empty road threatened to end it all.
Not only that, but she had thought vampires incapable of feeling anything but the desire to destroy… and what she had seen cross her once-opponent’s face was nothing short of human emotion.
Was the Vigil wrong this whole time?
Was their hatred for their prey so absolute that they refused to see the truth?
She was afraid Delwyn would never understand this, but she had to do something.
Watching the vampiress descend definitely put her on edge, those echoing words about having to actually fight now pulling back her free hand as she watched every minute detail of her enemy she could — so focused that she didn’t even notice the street growing darker. And hell, if anyone else had been around to witness this, she wouldn’t have noticed them either. Hunters were less careful about being seen if it meant killing one of their prey, but they were a secretive sort too. After all, who wanted the government showing up and locking you away while they tried to slay the very creature you'd been trained your whole life to kill? No one, that’s who. Not to mention the need to keep their own secrets hidden, especially with vampires having penetrated every level of high society and government.
What broke her concentration, though, was the shift in tone from the other woman. Lyselle’s eyes fluttered in shock. Was she... trying to make a truce? Did the ancient vampiress see Lyselle as a threat or was it… something else? Watching a vampire — of all things — hold her hands out as if trying to calm her like a feral cat was not something she had ever expected. In truth, she had never seen this type of behavior from any undead she had met before. Even when threatened, vampires would bargain or seduce before they’d ever attempt to soothe their opponent. Either from fear or the need to keep the heart pumping. Calming down their “food” went against their own nature. Was her sworn enemy playing some other game she couldn’t see?
Suspicion was natural. But then she remembered the man.
Lyselle struggled in that moment — to put on a brave face, to take advantage of the opening the vampiress was giving her — and instead began to doubt. It flashed across her features as her brows knitted gently before smoothing again.
“L-Lyselle…”
The name croaked out of her, and she instantly cleared her throat, surprised she had sounded like that. She should have been on complete edge, and yet she found herself relaxing. And then there it was again: the vampiress’ eyes. Why did they seem so… recognizable? As if she had dreamt of them a thousand times, even though she had never met this creature before tonight.
What was this strange familiarity?
In the back of her mind, she cursed herself for letting her guard down — even though it felt like she was utterly incapable of stopping it.
What broke her concentration, though, was the shift in tone from the other woman. Lyselle’s eyes fluttered in shock. Was she... trying to make a truce? Did the ancient vampiress see Lyselle as a threat or was it… something else? Watching a vampire — of all things — hold her hands out as if trying to calm her like a feral cat was not something she had ever expected. In truth, she had never seen this type of behavior from any undead she had met before. Even when threatened, vampires would bargain or seduce before they’d ever attempt to soothe their opponent. Either from fear or the need to keep the heart pumping. Calming down their “food” went against their own nature. Was her sworn enemy playing some other game she couldn’t see?
Suspicion was natural. But then she remembered the man.
...but there was something in 'its' eyes that gave her pause. It felt different from the other hunts. It almost felt like the creature was hurting — almost like, in some sad, tragic way, it wanted to die. Why would evil want to die?
Lyselle struggled in that moment — to put on a brave face, to take advantage of the opening the vampiress was giving her — and instead began to doubt. It flashed across her features as her brows knitted gently before smoothing again.
“L-Lyselle…”
The name croaked out of her, and she instantly cleared her throat, surprised she had sounded like that. She should have been on complete edge, and yet she found herself relaxing. And then there it was again: the vampiress’ eyes. Why did they seem so… recognizable? As if she had dreamt of them a thousand times, even though she had never met this creature before tonight.
What was this strange familiarity?
In the back of her mind, she cursed herself for letting her guard down — even though it felt like she was utterly incapable of stopping it.
The fact that the vampiress dodged didn’t surprise her much, though she silently marveled at the picture of grace as she watched her spin and even swoop down to cut the bottle. ‘Okay…’ she quickly told herself, pursing her lips together, her brows knitting in thought. The crackle of thunder in the distance did little to distract her from the winged creature, nor did it cause even the slightest flicker of worry on her features — Lyselle was more focused than she had ever been before. As she heard the words reverberate beneath the coming storm, her lips parted just enough to idly wet them, readjusting where her free hand rested — fingers brushing something else on the belt across her waist. ‘So she’s holding back, even,’ she thought silently, taking in a slow breath of the biting cold air.
She bit her tongue gently as she stared at the other woman, letting a couple more thunderclaps roll across the sky before finally replying,
“I only need to stay here all night…”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Would the vampiress be able to call her bluff? Besides the obvious — the silver dust being blown away by the storm — Lys couldn’t deny what she felt. On some level, there was a flicker of pride from almost hitting her opponent, but beneath that, deeper and older, words and images echoed in the back of her mind, replaying themselves like a montage.
‘Ha, have you been studying again, Lys? Those are advanced sigils — we haven’t even covered the basics!’
Moments when she would stay in the library long past midnight, soaking up knowledge, pulling book after book after book.
‘Oh, haven’t seen that in a while — that’s amazing.’
Drawing circles and symbols like it was a science experiment, like a prodigy who understood code without ever learning it, like math problems solving themselves in her head.
‘Whoa, almost got me! Damn, she’s quick…’
The spinning of her favorite blade from one finger to the next, like a coin roll.
‘This young lady has a promising future — she has the potential to be one of the best.’
The slow, crushing pressure of always outdoing herself, of proving she could live up to a promise she never stopped to question if she wanted to keep.
Her gaze refocused moments later as she snapped back to the present, watching this terrifyingly beautiful creature drift closer to the ground. Her right hand tightened around her blade; her free hand slipped another tool free with caution, like a cat waiting to spring.
‘She’s going to call my bluff,’ she realized just before Ren gave her reply. She wasn’t far from hallowed ground — the church was nearby — but could she distract her long enough to reach safety? Did she even want to? The smart thing to do was run — a hunter should never fight alone unless they must. If reaching the chapel was possible, then she had been taught that was the goal: survive and fight another day.
And yet… she never could shake off that pressure — to be the best, to not disappoint her mentors, to prove everyone wrong, and ultimately… be left alone.
She didn’t want to be alone.
She bit her tongue gently as she stared at the other woman, letting a couple more thunderclaps roll across the sky before finally replying,
“I only need to stay here all night…”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Would the vampiress be able to call her bluff? Besides the obvious — the silver dust being blown away by the storm — Lys couldn’t deny what she felt. On some level, there was a flicker of pride from almost hitting her opponent, but beneath that, deeper and older, words and images echoed in the back of her mind, replaying themselves like a montage.
‘Ha, have you been studying again, Lys? Those are advanced sigils — we haven’t even covered the basics!’
Moments when she would stay in the library long past midnight, soaking up knowledge, pulling book after book after book.
‘Oh, haven’t seen that in a while — that’s amazing.’
Drawing circles and symbols like it was a science experiment, like a prodigy who understood code without ever learning it, like math problems solving themselves in her head.
‘Whoa, almost got me! Damn, she’s quick…’
The spinning of her favorite blade from one finger to the next, like a coin roll.
‘This young lady has a promising future — she has the potential to be one of the best.’
The slow, crushing pressure of always outdoing herself, of proving she could live up to a promise she never stopped to question if she wanted to keep.
Her gaze refocused moments later as she snapped back to the present, watching this terrifyingly beautiful creature drift closer to the ground. Her right hand tightened around her blade; her free hand slipped another tool free with caution, like a cat waiting to spring.
‘She’s going to call my bluff,’ she realized just before Ren gave her reply. She wasn’t far from hallowed ground — the church was nearby — but could she distract her long enough to reach safety? Did she even want to? The smart thing to do was run — a hunter should never fight alone unless they must. If reaching the chapel was possible, then she had been taught that was the goal: survive and fight another day.
And yet… she never could shake off that pressure — to be the best, to not disappoint her mentors, to prove everyone wrong, and ultimately… be left alone.
She didn’t want to be alone.
In those first moments her attention was on the powder, knowing that drawing the ward might save her life. But the sound of thunder echoing across the buildings startled her — causing her to jump slightly in the briefest pause. Her eyes shot upward and a quiet gasp escaped her trembling lips, her adrenaline spiking as she laid her gaze upon those beautiful and terrible wings unfurling with a grace that spoke of experience and control.
'Shit!' With haste she returned to her sigil, spilling a circle around herself as she heard and felt the wind shiver at Ren’s approach — the vampiress' circling giving the young woman just enough time to enclose herself and let out a huff. Finally she could look back up with some measure of safety, watching the vampire sweep around her one last time.
As Ren moved to hover in the air with the beat of ancient wings, Lyselle stared at her as if examining a puzzle for the first time. As her eyes skated across her enemy, she took in the haunting beauty of the leathered wings, the marble-like skin, the familiar raven hair, and finally those ancient, mystic orbs as their eyes locked. There was something there that made the young huntress freeze before she closed her eyes and shook it off — now noting that smile. Lyselle let out a small tsk at Ren beckoning her, twisting her grip on her sword defensively.
'Taunting me...' she thought as the click of her tongue sounded into the cold air, never letting her gaze wander from her opponent.
To someone watching, it would seem like Lys was frozen — perhaps afraid or not confident enough to fight — but Ren would see far more than most mortals could. Slight shifts in her stance, twitches of her wrist, tiny repositionings of her fingers, and a calculating gaze. Though it would be obvious — to Ren — that this huntress was no veteran, neither was she caught in fear or in reckless bravado. No, those dark brown eyes of hers were searching, scheming, deliberating what to do next. Lys quietly reminded herself of the vampire’s strength, that even if the creature appeared careless or arrogant, it could snap into action the moment she landed a hit — if she ever landed one.
That last thought sprung her free hand into motion, reaching to her side for another bottle — quick as she could — unclasping it and tossing it toward Ren like a throwing knife, full of holy water. In truth, Lyselle didn’t care if it hit or not, because that wasn’t the purpose. Instead, she wanted to see if she could hit... and if she couldn’t, would the vampire catch it or dodge? She needed to assess what she was truly dealing with, for her only references were vampires much younger than the one floating before her.
'Shit!' With haste she returned to her sigil, spilling a circle around herself as she heard and felt the wind shiver at Ren’s approach — the vampiress' circling giving the young woman just enough time to enclose herself and let out a huff. Finally she could look back up with some measure of safety, watching the vampire sweep around her one last time.
As Ren moved to hover in the air with the beat of ancient wings, Lyselle stared at her as if examining a puzzle for the first time. As her eyes skated across her enemy, she took in the haunting beauty of the leathered wings, the marble-like skin, the familiar raven hair, and finally those ancient, mystic orbs as their eyes locked. There was something there that made the young huntress freeze before she closed her eyes and shook it off — now noting that smile. Lyselle let out a small tsk at Ren beckoning her, twisting her grip on her sword defensively.
'Taunting me...' she thought as the click of her tongue sounded into the cold air, never letting her gaze wander from her opponent.
To someone watching, it would seem like Lys was frozen — perhaps afraid or not confident enough to fight — but Ren would see far more than most mortals could. Slight shifts in her stance, twitches of her wrist, tiny repositionings of her fingers, and a calculating gaze. Though it would be obvious — to Ren — that this huntress was no veteran, neither was she caught in fear or in reckless bravado. No, those dark brown eyes of hers were searching, scheming, deliberating what to do next. Lys quietly reminded herself of the vampire’s strength, that even if the creature appeared careless or arrogant, it could snap into action the moment she landed a hit — if she ever landed one.
That last thought sprung her free hand into motion, reaching to her side for another bottle — quick as she could — unclasping it and tossing it toward Ren like a throwing knife, full of holy water. In truth, Lyselle didn’t care if it hit or not, because that wasn’t the purpose. Instead, she wanted to see if she could hit... and if she couldn’t, would the vampire catch it or dodge? She needed to assess what she was truly dealing with, for her only references were vampires much younger than the one floating before her.
"Delwy–?" Lyselle stopped herself just short of calling his name again, her eyes blinking a couple of times in genuine surprise — the sort of surprise you couldn’t fake if you tried. Whenever she brought this flair up, other members would ask her what she experienced, since each hunter felt the sensation differently — at least among those gifted in such areas. It was always hard to put into words, to turn the sensations of the supernatural into something describable, but she had always shared a similar explanation when inquired about it.
The shadow-haired woman often spoke of it feeling like a scent, that each vampire — even each undead — had a different feeling to them, even those mass-summoned by necromancers and tied to the same puppeteer. It enveloped you like a fog rolling in, or smoke being gently exhaled across her skin, something that almost reminded her of someone smoking in the dead of night, accompanied by that familiar bite of chilled air.
Vampires and their “smog,” as one might imagine, were always thicker, denser, and easier to pluck out among several impressions. She had met a “very old” vampire only once, during a hunt with a few of her older instructors, and never had she felt anything like it since — until now. She remembered the thickness of it, the pressure, the presence, and how wildly different it was from what hunters referred to as “old.” One of the few things she had never read or understood yet was why a vampire suddenly gained power past particular boundaries (as “old” and “very old” began somewhere around 219 to 249 years), but she had a theory that it had to do with the average lifespan of humans.
But that wasn’t the point.
The difference she had felt that day had been akin to day and night — but this, tonight, was so much more significant. Like feeling a downpour compared to a gentle mist. It instantly drew her guard, her blade in hand before she even realized it, her gaze darting around as she tried to sense the origin.
Then she saw her. Her eyes weren’t as powerful as her sixth sense, but even in the dead of night she could still catch the slight movement — a darkness swaying in the wind like a flag. Lyselle’s hands clenched around her hilt and her body tensed, her free hand slipping toward a bottle of silver dust — but would she even have time?
The memory of how fast an older vampire could move was burned into her mind, and with how thick the scent of this vampire was, she doubted she’d have any chance to complete a sigil. But instinct took over regardless — her fight-or-flight response flaring like a struck match.
Hoping she had time, she broke the bottle onto the ground and reached quickly for the hallowed powder, trying to draw a repulsion ward around herself to give her a few precious seconds to think. She was alone with something very old — ancient, even — and there would be no opportunity to run.
All she wanted to do was find Delwyn... but deep down, was that truly the reason?
A strange feeling gripped her heart as it began to pound faster.
Was it fear?
No — not really, though she did wonder how she might survive the night.
Perhaps... perhaps it was excitement.
Not excitement for the hunt — but something quieter, deeper.
A spark in her chest whispering that if she survived this, if she faced something like this and walked away...
Maybe — just maybe — she really was a prodigy.
Maybe she truly deserved to stand with the best of the best in history, just like everyone always said.
The shadow-haired woman often spoke of it feeling like a scent, that each vampire — even each undead — had a different feeling to them, even those mass-summoned by necromancers and tied to the same puppeteer. It enveloped you like a fog rolling in, or smoke being gently exhaled across her skin, something that almost reminded her of someone smoking in the dead of night, accompanied by that familiar bite of chilled air.
Vampires and their “smog,” as one might imagine, were always thicker, denser, and easier to pluck out among several impressions. She had met a “very old” vampire only once, during a hunt with a few of her older instructors, and never had she felt anything like it since — until now. She remembered the thickness of it, the pressure, the presence, and how wildly different it was from what hunters referred to as “old.” One of the few things she had never read or understood yet was why a vampire suddenly gained power past particular boundaries (as “old” and “very old” began somewhere around 219 to 249 years), but she had a theory that it had to do with the average lifespan of humans.
But that wasn’t the point.
The difference she had felt that day had been akin to day and night — but this, tonight, was so much more significant. Like feeling a downpour compared to a gentle mist. It instantly drew her guard, her blade in hand before she even realized it, her gaze darting around as she tried to sense the origin.
Then she saw her. Her eyes weren’t as powerful as her sixth sense, but even in the dead of night she could still catch the slight movement — a darkness swaying in the wind like a flag. Lyselle’s hands clenched around her hilt and her body tensed, her free hand slipping toward a bottle of silver dust — but would she even have time?
The memory of how fast an older vampire could move was burned into her mind, and with how thick the scent of this vampire was, she doubted she’d have any chance to complete a sigil. But instinct took over regardless — her fight-or-flight response flaring like a struck match.
Hoping she had time, she broke the bottle onto the ground and reached quickly for the hallowed powder, trying to draw a repulsion ward around herself to give her a few precious seconds to think. She was alone with something very old — ancient, even — and there would be no opportunity to run.
All she wanted to do was find Delwyn... but deep down, was that truly the reason?
A strange feeling gripped her heart as it began to pound faster.
Was it fear?
No — not really, though she did wonder how she might survive the night.
Perhaps... perhaps it was excitement.
Not excitement for the hunt — but something quieter, deeper.
A spark in her chest whispering that if she survived this, if she faced something like this and walked away...
Maybe — just maybe — she really was a prodigy.
Maybe she truly deserved to stand with the best of the best in history, just like everyone always said.
@Taka - Sure, if you really want that! It'll make him less powerful in any particular area (as far as 'armaments' go) but add versatility~
@TruckKun - if you're okay with your character being late, then sure! Might be shoved into the middle of the simulation going on right now, but that doesn't bother me any!
@Taka - The only things I'd like to see changed is removing the Pluck of Many and noting that the vision is supposed to be of a woman standing in front of a lake, so however you want to change that (and she looks like a "normal" human being).
@Taka - The only things I'd like to see changed is removing the Pluck of Many and noting that the vision is supposed to be of a woman standing in front of a lake, so however you want to change that (and she looks like a "normal" human being).
The man's grip tightened as the fledgling spoke, seeming to be completely unphased by its attempts at garnering sympathy from him - in fact, it almost made him angrier, like he was silently cursing this evil creature for daring to manipulate him. Him of all people. After what its kind had done to 'her'. With clattering weapons and a heavy brown trench coat, this was the most emotion he had shown ever since arriving on the Vigil's doorstep - it was something he didn’t expect the girl to understand, nor did he care! All that mattered was the fire bellowing in his chest where his heart used to be, now replaced by a vengeful ghost from the past. He spat in the creature's face before leaning in closer.
"You're all dead anyways," he snarled, and then his sword split across its neck so fiercely that it separated head from shoulders, the holy silver leaving behind a hiss like the wound was being slowly cooked alive. Then he threw the body away like the trash it was before sliding his blade back into place.
Lyselle had been told her whole life that these creatures were evil and she trusted that, but this was genuinely the first time she had ever seen so much hatred for their kind - almost awestruck, her mouth slightly agape. It was like he was torturing 'it' with some sort of twisted pleasure, like getting back at someone for smacking you across the face, but a hundred-fold. She had been in enough hunts to know how hunters extracted information - at least normally - with a cold indifference steeled by the mission of ridding the world of evil, and she had seen enough vampires struggling for their existence... but there was something in 'its' eyes that gave her pause. It felt different from the other hunts. It almost felt like the creature was hurting - almost like in some sad, tragic way, it wanted to die. Why would evil want to die?
She was suddenly shaken from her thoughts when she realized the man was staring at her. At first, he said nothing, just gave her a quiet, cold, calculating look before finally sighing. "It's a long story... but the sun is almost down for the night, so we should turn in..." Lyselle just absently nodded in reply and they both stowed their weapons and began their climb upwards - Lys giving one final glance back to where the vampire had died. On their way back up, neither spoke, and Delwyn seemed back to his ‘normal’ self when he encountered a priest in the church proper, giving short and polite answers. Finally, the priest thanked them and ushered them into lofts where a couple of makeshift beds were spread out for the pair. True to what she knew of him before seeing his rage, he was quick to disappear, but not before saying, "We'll go back to the Vigil tomorrow. If she's really as powerful as I think she might be - we will need more help."
So Lyselle plopped onto the pew, staring at the floor in thought.
By the time midnight had rolled around, the priests had locked up the church - though the hunters had their own ways of getting in and out - and Delwyn was still missing. Several times Lyselle wondered if he went to the Vigil on his own, or maybe to find the vampiress on his own? Both thoughts made her nervous for different reasons: either the thought of not being 'good enough' to come along to the Vigil, or that he was facing a powerful creature by himself. She quietly fidgeted with a bottle of silver dust in her hand as thoughts and feelings crossed her mind.
What if he did go back? Would her mentors be disappointed? Think she wasn't as 'gifted' as they believed? Not trust her to be ready yet?
But if he went to Belle View by himself... would he really? Was he capable of being so angry that he'd risk his life?
No hunter should be alone.
Then the thought that was bothering her the most flashed behind her eyes - that newborn. That look. Those feelings. Those doubts. She tried to shake her head, tried to cast them aside, but it was in moments when she was alone that she felt... weakest. A slight frown crossed her lips before she closed her eyes.
"Fuck!"
She stood suddenly and put the bottle into a pouch before seeming to grumble to herself as she marched downstairs to the back door. Her feet stopped just shy of the door and she stared for several moments.
"Am I really doing this?... ugh..." With a clench of her fist she reached up to the lock and clicked the wooden door open. Taking out a quick piece of paper and pen, she scribbled a sigil - a fairly basic and common one she had memorized - which locked the door behind her. As the paper faded into dust, she spun and put on a brave face again. She felt compelled to go to Belle View.
At least to know that Delwyn wasn't on his own.
At least that’s what she told herself.
The church finally came into view and her steps became quieter and more precise as her eyes scanned the dimly lit street. After a few silent moments, she cupped her hands and whispered loudly, "Delwyn?"
She waited for a response, standing as still as she could muster.
No answer.
The slightest gulp was the only indication that she understood how potentially dangerous this was, but just because the vampiress had shown up near here didn't mean she'd show up again. The young woman figured the chances were actually in her favor that this sire would not appear... but she couldn't help being cautious - such was the life of a hunter.
She drew closer still to the street this time, hunched over to keep her profile low, and called again. "Delwyn - are you there?"
"You're all dead anyways," he snarled, and then his sword split across its neck so fiercely that it separated head from shoulders, the holy silver leaving behind a hiss like the wound was being slowly cooked alive. Then he threw the body away like the trash it was before sliding his blade back into place.
Lyselle had been told her whole life that these creatures were evil and she trusted that, but this was genuinely the first time she had ever seen so much hatred for their kind - almost awestruck, her mouth slightly agape. It was like he was torturing 'it' with some sort of twisted pleasure, like getting back at someone for smacking you across the face, but a hundred-fold. She had been in enough hunts to know how hunters extracted information - at least normally - with a cold indifference steeled by the mission of ridding the world of evil, and she had seen enough vampires struggling for their existence... but there was something in 'its' eyes that gave her pause. It felt different from the other hunts. It almost felt like the creature was hurting - almost like in some sad, tragic way, it wanted to die. Why would evil want to die?
She was suddenly shaken from her thoughts when she realized the man was staring at her. At first, he said nothing, just gave her a quiet, cold, calculating look before finally sighing. "It's a long story... but the sun is almost down for the night, so we should turn in..." Lyselle just absently nodded in reply and they both stowed their weapons and began their climb upwards - Lys giving one final glance back to where the vampire had died. On their way back up, neither spoke, and Delwyn seemed back to his ‘normal’ self when he encountered a priest in the church proper, giving short and polite answers. Finally, the priest thanked them and ushered them into lofts where a couple of makeshift beds were spread out for the pair. True to what she knew of him before seeing his rage, he was quick to disappear, but not before saying, "We'll go back to the Vigil tomorrow. If she's really as powerful as I think she might be - we will need more help."
So Lyselle plopped onto the pew, staring at the floor in thought.
By the time midnight had rolled around, the priests had locked up the church - though the hunters had their own ways of getting in and out - and Delwyn was still missing. Several times Lyselle wondered if he went to the Vigil on his own, or maybe to find the vampiress on his own? Both thoughts made her nervous for different reasons: either the thought of not being 'good enough' to come along to the Vigil, or that he was facing a powerful creature by himself. She quietly fidgeted with a bottle of silver dust in her hand as thoughts and feelings crossed her mind.
What if he did go back? Would her mentors be disappointed? Think she wasn't as 'gifted' as they believed? Not trust her to be ready yet?
But if he went to Belle View by himself... would he really? Was he capable of being so angry that he'd risk his life?
No hunter should be alone.
Then the thought that was bothering her the most flashed behind her eyes - that newborn. That look. Those feelings. Those doubts. She tried to shake her head, tried to cast them aside, but it was in moments when she was alone that she felt... weakest. A slight frown crossed her lips before she closed her eyes.
"Fuck!"
She stood suddenly and put the bottle into a pouch before seeming to grumble to herself as she marched downstairs to the back door. Her feet stopped just shy of the door and she stared for several moments.
"Am I really doing this?... ugh..." With a clench of her fist she reached up to the lock and clicked the wooden door open. Taking out a quick piece of paper and pen, she scribbled a sigil - a fairly basic and common one she had memorized - which locked the door behind her. As the paper faded into dust, she spun and put on a brave face again. She felt compelled to go to Belle View.
At least to know that Delwyn wasn't on his own.
At least that’s what she told herself.
The church finally came into view and her steps became quieter and more precise as her eyes scanned the dimly lit street. After a few silent moments, she cupped her hands and whispered loudly, "Delwyn?"
She waited for a response, standing as still as she could muster.
No answer.
The slightest gulp was the only indication that she understood how potentially dangerous this was, but just because the vampiress had shown up near here didn't mean she'd show up again. The young woman figured the chances were actually in her favor that this sire would not appear... but she couldn't help being cautious - such was the life of a hunter.
She drew closer still to the street this time, hunched over to keep her profile low, and called again. "Delwyn - are you there?"
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