12 Sep 2018, 08:50
Whisked
A kid had hurt himself. That wasn’t a big deal, not really. He had been running about in the castle, tripped and fallen down, hurting himself in the process. He had managed to hit the end of a side table a few house elves had set out, and as luck would have it the side table was metal, and sharp enough to make the kid start bleeding copious amounts of blood all over the floor. A few kids had started to gather around to look at the screaming puddle of blood, but no one really knew what to do, or else simply wasn’t doing it. When Kaegen arrived at the scene it was not because of the noise. It was because of the blood.
A wonderful enticing smell that made his blood seeth with a hunger that consumed all his other senses. It was a song, a shouting symphony the lyrics of which were telling him exactly what to do. To drink the blood, to eat the boy, to consume something living. No one was paying attention to the exhausted boy, no one knew anything about him other than his position. The golden badge a barrier, a shield that stopped them from noticing what was wrong.
On a good day, on a really good day he got 2-4 hours of sleep. It was usually less, and it was so painfully obvious. The pasty white corpse like skin with shades of grey had started to turn more of a spongy grey. He still wore the same large patched black robe, his treasures tied tight to his body with belts and leather straps. His slingshot, his knives. Those things that he knew would not fail him unless he failed them. A knife only broke if you broke it, a slingshot only missed if you missed.
His small pouches with the odd interesting leaf, the strange rocks he sometimes played with and the weird stick or two. Little things an innocent boy might have looked at, he kept. But they were mixed in with things no innocent boy would have kept. He had blades, knives. Traps and rope. Some wire he stole from a skeleton he had once found in the swamps. He had sharpened tiny metal sticks he could throw, or use as pitons. But no one saw any of that, none of them saw the little ropes of teeth belonging to animals that had met their demise by his blade.
Why did he do what he did? Why was he the way he was, why did he see what he did? Because the boy didn’t know of any other way. He had talked with a few people. But no one had understood. How could they, when he didn’t understand himself? None of this ran through Kaegen’s mind. It was occupied with the blood, and not really mature enough for deep introspection anyway. He had knives in case he needed them. He had traps in case he was hungry. He had random things because he might need them, or simply because they interested him.
His mind was that of a wild beast, only restrained by a network of promises acting like chains. As long as his promises held together, so did he. Promises were what he was, they were what he was made out of. A wild beast with promises. Promises were the foundation of his name, holding together that which made him what he was. And promises only held together as long as he wanted it to, as long as his willpower was stronger than the creature from the fens. And he had run himself down.
Followed a little girl that didn’t know exactly how important she was to him. How much the word friend meant. Worried about her day and night. Worked on school, trying to become smarter, more powerful. Gaining knowledge, struggling to read the books, pages that flipped so naturally under the eyes of his fellow ravenclaws taking ages for him to comprehend. And then there was the duties he had as a prefect. Who would stalk the halls at night, who would protect the house when the death witches finally decided to attack?
He would, and he did. He practiced his spells, he practiced with his slingshot. He practiced and trained until it hurt, but achieved nothing but the slow and steady deterioration of his psyche. And so it was then, at that moment, the chains started to melt away like a hot knife through butter. Blood dripping off of his chin, pain searing as twin fangs sliced through his guns, searching for the blood and flesh his eyes confirmed were right in front of him.
His pupils started to convulse violently, spreading outwards towards the edges of his eye. It was rapidly turning black, rapidly changing from the dark bluish grey it usually was to a void, a puddle of black ink that showed no spark of humanity behind it, betrayed nothing that could be mistaken as humanity. No one could stop him, anyway. He was going to kill everyone there and eat them, drink their blood and then laugh, laugh so much.
A wonderful enticing smell that made his blood seeth with a hunger that consumed all his other senses. It was a song, a shouting symphony the lyrics of which were telling him exactly what to do. To drink the blood, to eat the boy, to consume something living. No one was paying attention to the exhausted boy, no one knew anything about him other than his position. The golden badge a barrier, a shield that stopped them from noticing what was wrong.
On a good day, on a really good day he got 2-4 hours of sleep. It was usually less, and it was so painfully obvious. The pasty white corpse like skin with shades of grey had started to turn more of a spongy grey. He still wore the same large patched black robe, his treasures tied tight to his body with belts and leather straps. His slingshot, his knives. Those things that he knew would not fail him unless he failed them. A knife only broke if you broke it, a slingshot only missed if you missed.
His small pouches with the odd interesting leaf, the strange rocks he sometimes played with and the weird stick or two. Little things an innocent boy might have looked at, he kept. But they were mixed in with things no innocent boy would have kept. He had blades, knives. Traps and rope. Some wire he stole from a skeleton he had once found in the swamps. He had sharpened tiny metal sticks he could throw, or use as pitons. But no one saw any of that, none of them saw the little ropes of teeth belonging to animals that had met their demise by his blade.
Why did he do what he did? Why was he the way he was, why did he see what he did? Because the boy didn’t know of any other way. He had talked with a few people. But no one had understood. How could they, when he didn’t understand himself? None of this ran through Kaegen’s mind. It was occupied with the blood, and not really mature enough for deep introspection anyway. He had knives in case he needed them. He had traps in case he was hungry. He had random things because he might need them, or simply because they interested him.
His mind was that of a wild beast, only restrained by a network of promises acting like chains. As long as his promises held together, so did he. Promises were what he was, they were what he was made out of. A wild beast with promises. Promises were the foundation of his name, holding together that which made him what he was. And promises only held together as long as he wanted it to, as long as his willpower was stronger than the creature from the fens. And he had run himself down.
Followed a little girl that didn’t know exactly how important she was to him. How much the word friend meant. Worried about her day and night. Worked on school, trying to become smarter, more powerful. Gaining knowledge, struggling to read the books, pages that flipped so naturally under the eyes of his fellow ravenclaws taking ages for him to comprehend. And then there was the duties he had as a prefect. Who would stalk the halls at night, who would protect the house when the death witches finally decided to attack?
He would, and he did. He practiced his spells, he practiced with his slingshot. He practiced and trained until it hurt, but achieved nothing but the slow and steady deterioration of his psyche. And so it was then, at that moment, the chains started to melt away like a hot knife through butter. Blood dripping off of his chin, pain searing as twin fangs sliced through his guns, searching for the blood and flesh his eyes confirmed were right in front of him.
His pupils started to convulse violently, spreading outwards towards the edges of his eye. It was rapidly turning black, rapidly changing from the dark bluish grey it usually was to a void, a puddle of black ink that showed no spark of humanity behind it, betrayed nothing that could be mistaken as humanity. No one could stop him, anyway. He was going to kill everyone there and eat them, drink their blood and then laugh, laugh so much.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice
24 Sep 2018, 18:39
Whisked
She could smell it too. The warm, sickly sweet scent drifting down corridors and around corners to meet her sensitive nose in a rush of adrenaline and excitement. Her eyes widened and darkened near instantly, and she quickly started down the hallways following the smell of life as it pooled out of some unfortunate fool. A haze enveloped the Professor, a frenzy building in her muscles. It was a lot of blood, she could nearly taste it in the air. What had spilled it? Did it matter?
She rounded the corner and came to a stop. Witnesses, her first sight and thought. There were a few figured standing around her prize. They needed to be dealt with and quickly. A stab of pain knocked Adelaide out of it a bit. Her fangs were attempting to protude from their flesh prisons in her mouth. She shook her head, closing her eyes. She held what breathe she had left. Taking in more air would also take in more of the scent of blood she could see before her. With her slightly clearer mind, she surveyed the situation. It appeared a young student had someone tripped and hit his head rather badly on something, as the blood was dripping out from a wound in the boys skull. It looked rather bad, but head wounds bled quite a bit, and so the injury was probably not as unfortunate as it seemed.
Around the poor boy, who clutched his head as he lay on the ground, staining his white fingers, a few students stood watching. A spectacle for common minded children, but a nuisance for Adelaide. She needed this entire situation to be dispersed, or she feared for her own control. Snapping her fingers quickly by her side, she summoned a house elf almost instantly. She stayed a good few paces away from the bleeding boy, still holding her breath. "Take the boy to the Hospital Wing. And clean this mess up quickly." She commanded to the elf that stood patiently beside her. The elf nodded, understandably at the Professor, as nearly all the House Elves in Hogwarts were aware of Adelaide's situation, and therefore understood her urgency. Walking towards the child, the House Elf then snapped its own fingers, and up popped two more Elves, ready to aid in the cleanup. One gently helped the boy up and steadied him as they began walking towards the Hospital Wing. The boy still clutching his head, the sweet, sticky blood still oozing from between his fingers, down his neck and absorbed into the collar of his shirt. Adelaide stared intently, but then shook her head.
"Disperse, all of you! Back to your dormitories, your classes, or wherever else you are supposed to be right now." She snapped, once again at the students watching this time. Her tone of voice much stricter and unpleasant than her usual bubbly self. If any of the students were familiar with the Professor, they would find this mood shift unsettling. She paid no attention as the children scurried away. Her eyes, big and black, once again stared at the boy as he hobbled his way away from her, her teeth throbbing, her jaw clenched as she watched her prey walk away.
The House Elves before her were doing a fine job of cleaning. But the blood pool was large and the smell would stick to the stone for a while before it was fully eliminated. It would be best for Adelaide to avoid this corridor for the next few days. She turned, then, away from the scene, to go escape to her quarters and attempt to calm herself of this. As she truned though, she nearly trampled a young boy who apparently still remained at the scene, staring at the blood on the floor.
Instantly annoyed, Adelaide huffed and frowned, getting ready to yell at the boy to go away as she had previously instructed. However, just as she was to open her mouth and begin her tirade, she noticed some peculiar gestures of the boy. Despite almost being ran over by the Professor, the boy did not break his stare at the floor. His white face rigid, his jaw muscles clearly clenched. But as she looked closer, she saw his eyes. They were large, and completely black.
She nearly had a heart attack. Numerous thoughts rushed past her mind. Some quickly diminished like, was it this boy who injured the other? But no, once blood is tasted there would have been no way for the child to stop himself. But others, like why in the world had the administration not told her of this boys existence. She was furious that she was only not finding out about another Dhampir on school grounds. She should have been mentoring this boy. Who knows what kind of trouble he could have gotten into by himself. He very nearly killed the bleeding boy. She could see it in his face, the hunger she too felt.
Without a word, she grabbed the boys upper arm and began dragging him away from the scene. She would not stop, despite any protests or interruptions, until they were far enough away that she could not smell the blood any longer.
26 Sep 2018, 01:11
Whisked
He felt someone grab his arm, felt someone drag him away from the blood, from his blood. The blood that belonged to him, rightfully belonged to him. But he was too captivated even to struggle, and was dragged away by the far stronger professor. He didn’t really have any choice, even if he had struggled there wasn’t much an eleven year old could do to tip the odds in his favor. Except stab her, maybe. But that wasn’t all that smart of a thing to do. But the fact he couldn’t escape wasn’t exactly good for the small vestiges of mental stability that tried constantly to keep the pitiful pillar of common sense the boy possessed from crumbling.
As soon as they passed the first corner he snapped out of his stupor and pulled with all his might, trying to break free. He succeeded in absolutely nothing, not even making a tiny bit of progress, not even the most minute amount of slipping occurred. And that made the boy panic and rage at the steel trap of a hand that was dragging him to some uncertain demise. He wasn’t even sure where it had come from, had been too absorbed in the blood to notice the professor or her harsh orders until it was far too late and he had been snatched. Was this some kind of horrible test? Did he have to escape or be killed?
His fangs were already unsheathed, already prepared to sink straight through the woman’s skin and into her flesh. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it, the plan was perfect, foolproof. Just go ahead and attack. And so the boy did. Twisting and leaping and trying his very best to sink his teeth into the woman’s hand, her arm. Trying will all his strength to rend and destroy and consume. The voice he had heard only a few times before came back, but this time the prefect didn’t even care. The words could stay if they wanted to, he was far too busy attempting to bring about the end of the tasty bag of flesh, blood and bones currently dragging him away.
He didn’t care where it was coming from because he agreed with it, agreed wholly and completely that this was what he wanted, that every deep meaning, every metaphor tucked within the wonderful, chilling words was what he wanted, who he was. A battlecry that his blood boiled in rhythm to. The professor had no hope, no chance. She would never be able to stop his fury, his wrath, his hunger. He was a force of nature, an insurmountable tidal wave of destruction that even this professor could not hope to lift a candle against.
Or at least that was more or less what he was thinking as he continued his vain struggle and fruitless frenzy that did not so much as slow down the professor in question. Still, the lack of progress did nothing to slow down the prefect, nothing to deter him from trying to destroy. The arm not held vanished into his robe and emerged less than a second later with a knife that was subsequently held by the blade between the pointer and middle finger, arching his wrist back, and at a slight angle he whipped it forward, releasing the blade and launching it at the professor’s face. It whizzed past her narrowly, did a second, then a third rotation before stabbing some poor portrait of a lady with a cat, who subsequently screamed.
But all the scream managed to accomplish was to thoroughly encourage the boy’s antics, a horrible grin spreading across his face even as his jaw opened and closed, trying to get a hold of any part of the woman’s flesh. He couldn’t fire a slingshot with only one hand, and there were only so many knives within easy grabbing distance. He had thrown his only good skeleton tang knife, and didn’t really want to risk snapping his rat tail. Still, out it went. A skinnier knife with a wicked dip right above the tip. That, too, was whipped at the professor. This time with slightly better aim.
His missile flew forwards, revolving once in the air. His eyes were still black, fangs dripping with his own blood. The boy had given in to his vampiric nature far too many times that year, fragile nerves of a sleep deprived boy not doing nearly enough to keep any of his emotions in check. It took hold longer and more completely every subsequent time it happened, and this time was no exception
As soon as they passed the first corner he snapped out of his stupor and pulled with all his might, trying to break free. He succeeded in absolutely nothing, not even making a tiny bit of progress, not even the most minute amount of slipping occurred. And that made the boy panic and rage at the steel trap of a hand that was dragging him to some uncertain demise. He wasn’t even sure where it had come from, had been too absorbed in the blood to notice the professor or her harsh orders until it was far too late and he had been snatched. Was this some kind of horrible test? Did he have to escape or be killed?
His fangs were already unsheathed, already prepared to sink straight through the woman’s skin and into her flesh. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it, the plan was perfect, foolproof. Just go ahead and attack. And so the boy did. Twisting and leaping and trying his very best to sink his teeth into the woman’s hand, her arm. Trying will all his strength to rend and destroy and consume. The voice he had heard only a few times before came back, but this time the prefect didn’t even care. The words could stay if they wanted to, he was far too busy attempting to bring about the end of the tasty bag of flesh, blood and bones currently dragging him away.
Immortal are we
For the first time, two are one
Through black eyes we see
Pathetic binding’s come undone
Rend and tear
All we see
Bones laid bare
Kings we’ll be
For the first time, two are one
Through black eyes we see
Pathetic binding’s come undone
Rend and tear
All we see
Bones laid bare
Kings we’ll be
He didn’t care where it was coming from because he agreed with it, agreed wholly and completely that this was what he wanted, that every deep meaning, every metaphor tucked within the wonderful, chilling words was what he wanted, who he was. A battlecry that his blood boiled in rhythm to. The professor had no hope, no chance. She would never be able to stop his fury, his wrath, his hunger. He was a force of nature, an insurmountable tidal wave of destruction that even this professor could not hope to lift a candle against.
Or at least that was more or less what he was thinking as he continued his vain struggle and fruitless frenzy that did not so much as slow down the professor in question. Still, the lack of progress did nothing to slow down the prefect, nothing to deter him from trying to destroy. The arm not held vanished into his robe and emerged less than a second later with a knife that was subsequently held by the blade between the pointer and middle finger, arching his wrist back, and at a slight angle he whipped it forward, releasing the blade and launching it at the professor’s face. It whizzed past her narrowly, did a second, then a third rotation before stabbing some poor portrait of a lady with a cat, who subsequently screamed.
But all the scream managed to accomplish was to thoroughly encourage the boy’s antics, a horrible grin spreading across his face even as his jaw opened and closed, trying to get a hold of any part of the woman’s flesh. He couldn’t fire a slingshot with only one hand, and there were only so many knives within easy grabbing distance. He had thrown his only good skeleton tang knife, and didn’t really want to risk snapping his rat tail. Still, out it went. A skinnier knife with a wicked dip right above the tip. That, too, was whipped at the professor. This time with slightly better aim.
We are many
We are one
Life so easily can be undone
Fragile thread
Humanity dead
We are one
Life so easily can be undone
Fragile thread
Humanity dead
His missile flew forwards, revolving once in the air. His eyes were still black, fangs dripping with his own blood. The boy had given in to his vampiric nature far too many times that year, fragile nerves of a sleep deprived boy not doing nearly enough to keep any of his emotions in check. It took hold longer and more completely every subsequent time it happened, and this time was no exception
Retrieve the key
Unlock the cage
Prepare to see
Immortal rage
Unlock the cage
Prepare to see
Immortal rage
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice
8 Oct 2018, 01:39
Whisked
The boy took a moment to realize the blood was slowly moving away, but when the child did he wreathed and wracked against the older, wiser and much stronger Dhampir that held him fast.
She understood his pain, she was still chlenching her own jaw so tight she was worried she'd crack a tooth. She did not allow herself to take a breath until they had turned a good few corners.
She gasped then, holding the boy was becoming rather an annoyance and she needed to have all her concentration. She could still taste the blood in the air, but it was distant and more or less easily ignored. She quietly bit her own tognue to draw some blood as a small and temporary distraction until the pair reached their destination.
She had been looking towards her destination rather than at the boy. She did not enjoy seeing his pain and was worried his own frenzied state would trigger her own. She had only met a few other Dhampirs and Vampires herself through the years, and despite being loner creatures, she found ones frenzy would spark competition in another. At least in her experience.
She had to look down though, when something went whizzing by her face. It startled her to say the least, and in her desperate state a hiss escaped uncontrolled. She reeled herself in quickly though, shaking her head, as she looked over to the painting that was hit. It seemed to be a knife. Why the boy had one on campus was another question all together, but for now her anger boiled and she lifted a hand towards the knife. Within a moment the weapon turned to dust, leaving behind a small.pile that would drift away and an unfortunate slash in the painting that she was sure someone would come around and mend in due time.
She looked down at the boy, her eyes slowly receeding, but still, black. Her brow was furrowed in fury and her teeth peeled back to reveal her fangs as the grip on the boy now included sharp nails at his skin. She managed to be somewhat prepared for the next attack from the child Dhampir, and his knife, if she had not been paying attention, might have just hit her. However she got this one, and with a flick of her hand it changed direction and clattered as it hit a stone wall and then again fallen to the ground.
She left that one where it was as she was more focused now on the boy. It did not matter much, as they had reached their destination. She threw open the door and threw the boy in, whipping him forward by his arm. She followed his stumbling through the door and slammed it behind her, quickly locking it with a charm.
Quickly she cast an Impurturbable charm on the door, ready to lay into the boy for his carelessness. Taking another long breath she breathed in clean, stale air.
"What is wrong with you, boy?" She began, yelling. "Have you no control whatsoever? If I had not stepped in, you we're seconds away from ravaging that child before the eyes of others!" She sighed, clenching her eyes shut, trying to organize her thoughts. "I understand our nature is difficult, but you must exercise control!"
26 Oct 2018, 21:02
Whisked
The woman held on to him, she was far stronger than he was, and there was nothing he could do about it. Her nails had started to dig into his skin, and he was feeling very much at risk of losing his life. So much so that his rage filled mind was brimming hysteria. He tried to scream, but his voice cracked, and stayed cracked, making his rage filled yell sound like more of small amount of air leaking out of his lungs, maybe a quiet hiss if he was being generous about it.
He couldn’t focus enough to see what had happened to his two knives, only that they had both failed to kill his oppressor. His efforts to escape her redoubled, but he made no progress. Nothing he did could even touch the adult, biting and scratching were useless. As she threw him in the door and slammed it behind her, he knew he was going to die. And no one was going to know about it. Was anyone even going to care? His mind was screaming, in the background now, a tidal wave ready to be unleashed as soon as he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, momentarily limp on the floor.
Would Eris care? She was his friend, after all. But most of the time, she didn’t realize he was there. She was off doing something else, off with someone else, playing and laughing and having fun together. When was the last time they had done that, when was the last time they had fun together? He could feel horrible tears welling up, tears that meant he was about to lose his grip on the rage that was his boost, his momentary surge of power. He was about to lose his grip on the fear that overwhelmed him and gave him the chance of victory.
But that fear, the fear of losing fear was enough, and the tidal wave broke the dam, and the buffers. Flattening the landscape of his mind. A horrible smile spread across the boy’s face, who now looked very much more like a vampire then a boy. Like a monster.
His fingernails were strong, stronger than they should be. They might even have had a chance of defeating the horrible monster that was yelling at him for not having control. She said that “Our nature is difficult” as if they were similar.
He was similar to Eris, he was similar to his friend. He was nothing like this woman. And he was going to kill her, or she was going to kill him. His chances were almost nonexistant, but they were there. There was something to give even his fear hope. And so he rushed forward, fully aware that he was going to die. Fully aware he wasn't going to make it.
He couldn’t focus enough to see what had happened to his two knives, only that they had both failed to kill his oppressor. His efforts to escape her redoubled, but he made no progress. Nothing he did could even touch the adult, biting and scratching were useless. As she threw him in the door and slammed it behind her, he knew he was going to die. And no one was going to know about it. Was anyone even going to care? His mind was screaming, in the background now, a tidal wave ready to be unleashed as soon as he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, momentarily limp on the floor.
Would Eris care? She was his friend, after all. But most of the time, she didn’t realize he was there. She was off doing something else, off with someone else, playing and laughing and having fun together. When was the last time they had done that, when was the last time they had fun together? He could feel horrible tears welling up, tears that meant he was about to lose his grip on the rage that was his boost, his momentary surge of power. He was about to lose his grip on the fear that overwhelmed him and gave him the chance of victory.
But that fear, the fear of losing fear was enough, and the tidal wave broke the dam, and the buffers. Flattening the landscape of his mind. A horrible smile spread across the boy’s face, who now looked very much more like a vampire then a boy. Like a monster.
His fingernails were strong, stronger than they should be. They might even have had a chance of defeating the horrible monster that was yelling at him for not having control. She said that “Our nature is difficult” as if they were similar.
He was similar to Eris, he was similar to his friend. He was nothing like this woman. And he was going to kill her, or she was going to kill him. His chances were almost nonexistant, but they were there. There was something to give even his fear hope. And so he rushed forward, fully aware that he was going to die. Fully aware he wasn't going to make it.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice