The Grey Dust

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Working on my first IC. Will probably finish getting the details right tomorrow.

Blood Compact: Vampire Genocide

Vampire template:

Name: Lord Bedivere of Sinews

Age: 1547

Appearance(s):

Elder Form

Battle Form

Young Form

Non-vampire Form

When you were turned: At the fall of Camelot.

Weapons:

Though he has amassed a few weapons collected throughout the years: a variety of swords and ranged weaponry. Although he prefers not to use them as they are far, far to precious to use in combat. Instead he prefers to use the legendary longsword which had long since been corrupted: Excalibur. In times past, it was rumored to have blinded the enemies of the king with light as it was drawn, but now it blinds the enemies of the vampire by extinguishing light around it by emanating a thick darkness from its blade. It is also an unbreakable blade, with an edge which never wears, no matter how long has the centuries been.

Powers:

Pallor of the Lake

THe myth of vampire being unable to cross running water does not apply here, Being bitten by the lady of the lake has allowed Bedivere to travel instantaneously through any sufficiently large body of water. He may also breathe water, walk upon water as if it were solid land, and in lieu of requiring to rest within a coffin, he may simply submerge himself in water to fulfill the requirement to maintain his powers.

Perfect Darkness

In the evening, Bedivere gains strength, speed and stamina inversely related upon the intensity of light around him. Furthermore, Of the non-magical metals, only silver causes lasting injuries, all others will merely fail to cause harm as the wounds close up. Finally, he may shape shift into one of four various forms as he pleases. In the daylight hours, he is comparatively weaker if exposed to sunlight.

Immortal Blood

Dependent upon his feeding, Bedivere can appear younger and only requires blood for sustenance. If he feeds upon a living being, then they become more susceptible to his dark suggestion and by the third feeding be completely enthralled to his command. Lastly, he may pass on the lineage the vampire by completely engorging himself upon the blood of a thrall at sunset, killing them in the process and resurrecting them as vampires by the sunrise.

Personality: A man of honor, Bedivere has undoubted twisted the chivalrous image of the gentleman into something far more wicked. At face value, he is an eloquent, charismatic figure, yet his mindless thrall think of him the same. He harbors a patronizing view towards humanity, seeing them as nothing more than animals to be fed upon as history has proven to him. Although he is a man of his word, such that he keeps well on his promises, although interoperation is of course subject to change. Bedivere enjoys painting, literature, sculpting and is a fine connoisseur of blood. Through the years he has also gained a penchant for collecting be it books for his personal library, currency or weapons from the time periods amongst other quirks such as collecting thrall. He also funds “archeological” expeditions and quests to add to his collection.

Bio:

The stories are more than legends, and every tale is not as it seems.

Bedivere was born in the late 5th century, an esteemed knight serving under a king who had ruled justly and fairly over the land. This is not where the story begins, but rather where one story ended. As in the fall of his great king, Bedivere could not bring himself to fulfill the request of his dying liege as he alone stood kneeling at side of his lord. The kingdom was crumbling, and king had requested that his blessed sword would be cast into a lake. What madness was this? To cast aside such a majestic relic which could so easily unite the kingdom once more from these foreign invaders and internal corruption was utterly beyond comprehension. Nevertheless, bound by his oath of chivalry, he fulfilled his lord’s last wish and made his way to the lake in his final quest for his fallen king, brotherhood and kingdom. And when he stood atop his boat to drop sword into the waters deepest, therein he saw the pale white hand reach out and grasped the blade to claim it before disappearing into the mist.

Or so the legend goes.

In truth, the hand did grasp the blade and startled him, as a pale white lady emerged from the lake, dressed in an ethereal gown before him. This was the lady of the lake, and where the story truly begins. As she grasped the sword, her beauty entrance Bedivere, who leaned towards her drawn by her airs. But this was one fatal flaw, for the lady of the lake was a daughter of the night and by the time her smile revealed her fangs, it was too late.

So Bedivere awoke, unsure if it was dream or nightmare, but found himself unnatural thirst. He had become a child of the night himself, for that was the deal the king had made with the pale lady: A kingdom and life eternal for a single drink of royal blood and the promise of blood tributes for her when he had conquered all the realm. As such, this pact was now transferred and bound to Bedivere.

And this is where the legend continues.

Ever since his rebirth, Bedivere had changed to those who formerly knew the good sir knight. He had become a twisted man, losing color in his flesh and hair as he withdrew himself into the empty castle halls of his former fellows. No other knights were ever seen, save for him, such that they all thought he the last survivor who merely aged from the fall of the land as it decayed. In time, his disappearance and the foreboding appearance of the overgrown keep made whispers to the story. They said Bedivere was a warlock and practiced the dark arts, trained by the king’s treacherous cousin, which felled his king. They said it was not he who tossed the sword into the waters but another noble knight. They said it was he who was responsible for the death of the land evident from the ruination sprawling from the castle. And in truth, perhaps he was.

This is where the legend ends.

Amongst the most long-lived of the vampires, Bedivere has grown quite bored with the world. He has merely retreated to the ruins of the old castle buried beneath the centuries only to seek out prey for his hobbies and dining purposes. He keeps his halls as original as possible, never having moved any relic of the past in memory of a time when the halls were once alive with the chatter of men he called brothers. He had watched society progress through the ages. When he was active and used his dark gift, he served the countless kings and lords which lay claim to the legacy of the old king. He had engorged himself upon the blood of the Viking raiders, fought against the Norman Kings, and watched as the island wither in plague only to be unified through ages of kings and queens through blood, roses, and warfare in the rise of the Tudors. He saw Britannia expand to new and distant lands in the Far East and west, building upon itself a glorious empire. Yet, it too fell, by rebellion, revolts and revolution. Yes, blood stains were everywhere in the course of human history, and there was Bedivere to drink it up.

It was interesting then, when just before the turn of the 20th century, he came into contact with a particular vampire, one who claimed to have sired many of their kind. This vampire lord was interested in a particular Carfax Abbey, and bringing his blood business to England not expecting there to have been another vampire noble already established himself there. And while Bedivere was powerful, the other lord’s mastery of the vampiric abilities was far superior than his own, to which he was forced to kneel and swear fealty to serve under the vampire lord and his lineage in exchange for his unlife and further training to unlock the true power of the vampire. He had traded one king for another, one brotherhood for another, one title for another. No longer was he Sir Bedivere, he was now known as Lord Bedivere, Lord Marshall of Dracula. And with his immortality Bedivere saw it all: the great war they claimed to end all wars as a struggle between the nations, only to be humored as another war broke forth in the ages of man. And now they dared to bring the war against the vampire. Foolishness and repetition was all he saw in the species he once dared belong to. He traded his humanity for enlightenment, they were prey: stupid, ignorant prey.

And yet now, they had proven themselves capable of quelling the superior race. Of which Bedivere could hardly believe that mere humans could be capable of such a deed and overwhelm them. Perhaps the prey was not as guileless as once thought, and perhaps then not all Vampires were made equal. No, some where stronger than others, and only the strong few could lead them out of the darkness. No longer a mere knight or Lord marshal. Bedivere shall claim the throne and reign over them all as long since his due, Arthur shall bow before him as would all vampires, humans and everything else which dares to follow his rule and vision of utopia.

Ebonfort

Name:
Gregory Whitehorn
Race:
Gargoyle
Gender:
Male

Age:
67
Birthday:
6th day of Ceruleo, 233 DM
Birthplace:
Stonecrest Mountain, on the peak of Whiterock Eyrie
Resides in:
Greenfall
Occupation:
Weaponsmith (25 GP/day)

Appearance:
As rigid and unmoving as stone, Gregory is an imposing figure throughout Greenfall. With his chiseled musculature hewn like rock and his towering body built like stone, he stares down most common folk as his gray gaze penetrates from a height of eight feet. His thick five and a half feet tail winds around the spaded tip trailing behind him as his bi-clawed feet distribute the five hundred pounds muscle, bone and overt masculinity. The pair of wings behind him are usually retracted back, pulled up against his already impressive figure despite the nine foot wingspan which would add even more size to his appearance. The two pairs of horns which sprouts and curls back from the sides of his head distinguish him from other Gargoyles, as while one pair may be somewhat common feature, two pairs are from the -Horn gargoyle Clanline exclusively. His tough skin is an alabaster white and riddled with visible veins giving a marble-like appearance to his body which identifies him as part of the White- Populous of gargoyles from Whiterock Eyrie, and hence his last name. While Gargoyles tend to wear sparse clothing due to their tendency to imitate statues, Gregory’s clawed hands are usually gauntleted in metal, useful for the forge along with the apron he wears over his body and little else save for the occasional tool belt around his waist. On occasion, if not working the forge, he will use a loose simple toga as clothing, although he usually wears his work outfit given that he works almost every day.

Personality:
Stoic and Laconic, Gregory is hardly a conversationalist. While he does not speak much, he does have an undeniable presence. He is a practical man, firmly rooted in his thoughts as rigid as his body. Beneath the hard exterior however is a good man who would become a lifelong friend despite his quiet communications. Those who have known the Gargoyle long enough can almost read his mind and understand him by merely looking at his facial expressions. Of which, his visage often looks rather disapproving and dead as he hardly ever smiles with his brows locked into a scowl. Only a true friend or madman could possibly understand the small differences in his stone face, but only a friend couldc interpret them correctly.

History:
[The Abridged Version] Gregory, or “Gregor” as his mother called him was born and raised on the summit of Whitestone Eyrie overlooking the Stonecrest Mountain Range. His father was also a White Gargoyle native to the peak, yet never really was a family man, as most Adult Male Gargoyles do not attach themselves to a family, or a single mate. As such, his two Grey half-brothers joined him from their father who was a native of Blackrock Roost, shortly after his Mother returned from the Peak with another mate to support their needs. But soon after Gregory came of age, his adoptive father decided it was time to remove the odd child with the coming of another of his offspring and sent him down to work as an apprentice blacksmith in Stonecrest.

Eventually, after a few years, he had learned he had another half-brother, his adoptive father had left, and his other two brothers had died working as a mercenary and the other a miner. And seeking to leave the shadow of his master, Gregory set out towards Greenfall to set up his shop to help support what remains of his family. Although his mother had taken yet another mate despite his efforts and loan from the Ebonknights. Despite this, with the construction started and materials bought, and the contract irrevocably signed, Gregory had little choice but to smith in Greenfall. He had recently managed to purchase his home, which sits above his open forge, accessible only by flight or chain pully-system. The shop was another issue all together, and he still owed the knights quite a bit, although he had been working the metal for the community for decades now. He has also managed to take up an apprentice, who despite his failings as a smith, seems useful enough to keep a gargoyle company even though he already has a dog as a pet.

Skills:
Weaponsmithing (46)
Blacksmithing (16)
Metalsmithing (20)
Locksmithing (10)
Unarmed Combat (30)
Negotiation (02)
Subterfuge (02)
Aerobatics (01)
Investigation: (01)
Socializing: (01)
Observation: (01)
Disguise: (01)

Possessions:
Quantity | Item | Acquired | Value
7 | Artisan's Outfit, (Blacksmith) | Starting | 7 GP 0 SP 0 CP
10| Peasant's Outfit (Simple Toga)| Starting | 1 GP 0 SP 0 CP
1 | Heavy Gauntlets (Pair, Iron)| Starting | 2 GP 0 SP 0 CP
1 | Blacksmith’s Tools| Starting |50 GP 0 SP 0 CP
1 | Maul (Iron) | Starting | 15 GP 0 SP 0 CP
1 | Heavy Shield (Iron)| Starting | 20 GP 0 SP 0 CP
1 | Guard Dog (

"Hugo" [+]

)| Starting | 25 GP 0 SP 0 CP
1 | Apprentice (

"Kenneth" [+]

)| Starting | 2 GP/Day
1 | Knife | The Silent Watch

Ledger:
Cost | Item | Subtotal
+80 GP | Starting Money |80 GP 0 SP 0 CP
House/Shop | Paid/On Loan.| 0 GP

Knowledge:

Contact: Krigar Stonetongue
Valley of the Screamers Location: Copse of the Blood Vines
Screamers' Tribe: Blood Vines
Contact: Warlord Keelie of the Blood Vines
Contact: Gerhein of the Blood Vines
Gerhein: Stronger than 3 Knights Combined
Keelie: All Things Have Real Value
Keelie: Scary When Agitated
Keelie: Can Kill with Ease
Blood Vines: Trade Ritual
Keelie: Always has a Knife
Keelie: Has a Magical Tattoo
Ally of Keelie: Giant Crimson Vines
Keelie: Stronger than a Squadron of Knights

Other:
Trade Agreement with Keelie of the Blood Vines

Story List:
Date - URL - Characters involved
24th Crimsia,300DM - The Silent Watch- Gregory

Starfire

In this vast and cold world,
So many dig their own graves,
but only the fools jump in them.

One. The first needle was sent, seeking the target through the depths of space like an enchanted arrow seeking a flying sparrow. Slow and methodical, the Stormwarden seemed to drift above the frenzy of fighters and ships with Cy at the helm. In flight it was a beauty to behold, gliding effortlessly in any direction as if pulled on invisible strings. Without a visible propulsion system, it would seem to defy mechanics, although what direct its movements were electromagnetic fields generated by its onboard core and extended through its arching rays. It made itself push and pull itself through the vacuum of space by manipulating the attractive and repulsive forces around it radiated by everything. Making it far less predictable in movements, and far more fluid than anything which replied on propulsion systems. The design of the ship was definitely Valis in nature, using an extension of how the species naturally moved around outside of their vessels, and thus nearly impossible for other species to copy the technology and theory behind it. After all, while humans may have stolen the secrets of flight from the birds, it took then many centuries to get acquire something so simple.

Two, three, four. The next three hit their marks, clipping on to the wings of the pirate fighters. While the needles themselves did nothing to damage the fighters nor their flight capabilities, the shower of penetrating needles would be only the beginning as Cy watched the dogfight linger on. The others seem to be busy on the ground, but there were still a few dozen fighters out there, flying about it would be far better to destroy them all before the capital ship was destroyed. However, these were after all pirates, and thus there was a good chance that they would rather not destroy the Babylon and commandeer it into their fleet or sell it for parts. Although there was also a small chance of them decided to destroy both ships and blame the damage as collateral in the current political plights. Alternatively, given the state of affairs on Teta below, the pirates could be in leagues with the XRF, to raid the supply line. Either way, five, six, seven...

... Twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, Out there on the fringe, hovering like a cloud, planting seeds for the gathering storm. The anchors on the Babylon would be next, however it would be far easier to take care of that in a more personal method. The best weapon after all is the enemy itself, like a parasite Cy would be able to hijack their ship, turning it against them, detaching their thin threads and burrowing them into their own ships. But for now, Cy was content on taking out their auxiliaries before committing himself to the mothership. Those who enter the eye of the storm, must prepare for losses. Thirty.

Now was the time to harvest. The tips of the Stormwarden crackled with energy at last, coils of electricity dancing across the length of the ship as it pulsed with a light-blue light. With a single flash of brilliance, the hammer was thrown and all the energy built up dispersed. Thirty bolts of space-lightning shot out from the Stormwarden, attracted to the needles which had silently began to siphon charge from the ships they latched on to. As life came to the Valis in a flash, so too would their deaths, in a burst of light. The same will be of those ships below the cloud, who were struck down by Zeus above as the wrath on high. Thirty pirate ships, stalled in space, all their systems downed. And yet they still began to move, closer together, towards each other, attracted to the supercharged needles which called out to their brothers. It would not be a good death, as the pirate inside found themselves subject to whims of the puppeteer as they drifted to the centre of the battlefield ignoring debris and other ships. Their life-support systems were disabled, and their weapons targeting out of luck. Communications nonfunctional, and emergency escape out of the question. It was only a matter of time, those who held on to their breaths long enough to face the judgment of the warden would see the light of death.

All targets assembled together, a pile of ships. Locked together in a feeding electromagnetic field, gathering the mass of metal prisons into a single target. It was time to terminate them as the second of the two charges shot out and fried them all to a crisp. Only fifty or so more to go. Recall the energized needles, drain them back into the core, and begin the next harvest. Repeat until all fighters were destroyed. The massive amounts of energy used would total a 15% loss, however energy return from targets was estimated to be about 0.5% returned. so all in all, an equal trade off. Not accounting for the lives lost, that is.

Table of Monsters

Apologies, please progress on without me for the time being, I am under the weather with some cold-induced asthmatic bronchitis and busy with work-related functions despite my chronic coughing.

Starfire

<Snipped quote by Prince of Seraphs>

That's actually a really fascinating concept, I hadn't thought about it. To reference the Animorphs series, Andalites were able to communicate without trouble to a race of highly advanced androids called the Chee, but their makeup is probably completely different than Eight's since the nanites that rebuilt him were of human construction (I assume, from reading his bio). I don't know the exact parts of the brain activated by thought-speech since K.A. Applegate never explained it, but I theorize that it works much like verbal communication, barring the actual verbalization, in that the speaker's telepathically projected message is received in the speech-centers of the brain and translated into words that the hearer can comprehend. Eight's ability to understand would be dependent on how much is left of the part of his brain that processes language.

However, given that intercom communication translates thought-speech into audio (this is canon in the books) I think it's safe to assume that Eight won't have any trouble understanding Deraen, unless the robotic and human parts of his brain conflict with translation.

On an unrelated note, I was going to comment on how similar Eight's healing/transformation was to the Doctor Who episode "The Empty Child" and how nanites reconstructed what they thought was a healthy human, though of course you've added your own twist with the computer integration, I was wondering if that's where you got your inspiration from.

@Raxacoricofallapatorius

And how then does this apply to sentient balls of lightning? Or dare I suppose that Cy cannot communicate with Darren.

Table of Monsters

yes I just haven't had the time to review the stuff you mentioned. Apologies, busier with work stuffs post my long trip.

Starfire

Looks like mission two it is.

There are plenty of people who can fly the ship <_>

We have a cyborg that can run it and a Valis that can take it over and also run it and a least one fly boy probably.

Table of Monsters

Well, after a quick ransack of the ramshackle remains of the village, or perhaps more aptly classified the recently discovered ruins, there was not so much a breadcrumb left behind. In fact, there were three and a half loaves of bread. Or at least what appeared to be three loaves of bread of definite size and physical properties, and a portion of bread with similar physical properties as the aforementioned bearing dimensions of approximately half the quantity of volume (and thus when coupled with the previous knowledge at similar densities yielding reduced mass) as the other three. Hence the conclusion that the raid had produced three and a half loaves of bread, and not much more which would not be considered rubbish and refuse to be discarded.

"It appears they are fresh out of water. Although I did manage to find carbohydrate provisions. Of which, we may distribute amongst ourselves later this day for meal?" R'lyeh returned, waving the loaves of bread in the air as if a prize specimen in a preservation jar. Or something like that. "I also bring unfortunate news that I have been unable to locate my research anyways, or any more humans to attempt and procure samples from."

Blood Compact (Open!)

I'm not entirely sure. Um, everything seems to center around KP. Should we expand or?