CASTLE

[Trevlac]

There were turrets scattered among it, their conical roofs were angled hellishly and gave them the appearance of a field of war spears sticking out of the ground, waiting for an enemy to be impaled upon them. Too many sections to count, the castle seemed to go on forever though any mortal could rationalize that things on Earth had to be finite. Bats, the kinder of he who resided within this citadel, were perched in legions upon the many arched windows, walls, and bridges waiting to alert their master to the presence of anything that should enter his domain.

It had snowed for a week as a group of travelers hiked the long journey through Wallachia to this site. Tonight however, it was just warm enough to rain but still cold enough that each drop felt like a stone of agony pelting the head of a man named Trevlac Ehrgeiz. He shifted his leather provision pack to his front and tucked it under the long leather coat he wore to prevent the perishables inside from spoiling. This man, with skin equal in paleness to the moon, and hair equal in the golden-ness of honey, gazed at the lowered drawbridge. It looked so inviting, which was ironic because it meant that the master of this Castle knew of the travelers and their intentions but was beckoning them inward.

[Shrap]

As the moon shone brightly, a figure lay still on a nearby hillside. The cold grass around this figure was dead and yellow, forming a sort of aura-like look. The figure didn't seem to mind as it shot upwards into a sitting position with a few sickening cracks and a peculiar grinding sound. A small bit of dust fell from the figure's semi-cloaked torso, staining the small patch of dark purple material that it landed on a pasty white colour.

Impatiently, the figure leaned forward and rested it's chin on it's palm. Some human reflexes always stay behind, it seems. The figure had no need to rest anymore. No more muscles with which to be concerned about. The energy never drained.

"Though the bones wear with their age. The repulsive grinding is what does it. That, and the need for combat. " The figure sighed to itself in a deep and rough voice, grating as if something were stuck in it's non-existant throat.

The figure began to quietly drum his fingers on the right side of his chin. clack, clack, clack. Not that he was bored. He was ancient. Boredom was a hobby now. He was, however, anxious and impatient. He was waiting for something, someone who he could now see waiting in front of the mighty Castle. That man was the distraction. And his goal was within the Castle.

He waited.

This post has been edited by Shrap on Jun 29 2008, 03:18 AM

[Malachi]

Luther was in front of the castle. He was dressed in a suit that was disheveled and, quite frankly, had seen better days. He wore a white buttoned shirt with a navy blue coat over it. On his lower body draped black slacks and brown loafers. His eyes glowed like cooling red coals in a hearth, charcoal jet hair and his skin showed no signs of sun exposure. His body was towering, a little over six feet and his arms and legs were skinny, making the man appear as a scarecrow.

Then again, when your diet consists of blood, you start to lose weight rather quickly.

Luther's fangs glinted in the moonlight, as he set down the large suitcase he had brought with him. He set the suitcase down and opened it, revealing a large amount of medical bags, each filled with blood. Luther looked the stash over, took one of the bags out and closed the lid to the suitcase. He then reached into his pocket and brought out a bendy straw. He inserted the straw into the bag with a quick jab, bent the straw in the middle and started drinking away.

He looked up at the castle and sighed, shifting his weight. The weight shift revealed the two sheathed daggers on his belt. They were rather large and looked heavy, but suited Luther just fine.

Staring at the castle, an onlooker would assume he was waiting for someone to personally invite him in, despite the fact that the drawbridge was down..

This post has been edited by Trevlac on Jun 28 2008, 04:42 PM

[Lyon]

Another figure stood solemnly, breathing the cold air silently, his chest not even moving an inch. His attire consisted of just simply a black trench coat. Underneath, however, he wore a regular white shirt and black overalls. He wanted to "stick out" a little, no matter the cost. His eyes were shut at the moment, trying to look asleep so no one would both him at all. He liked one thing, too, silence. Silence to him was just as the movies say: Golden.

He stood in at 6'2, and he was as of right now scratching his arm with nails longer than a normal man should have. He didn't utter a word, and gritted his teeth at having to stand out in the cold. He had a knife concealed at his side, his hand over it in case of any.. emergency.

This post has been edited by Lyon on Jun 28 2008, 04:49 PM

[Ordin]

Ordin emerged from the snow covered trees, shivering and picking frozen snot out of his beard. He cast a wistful glance around him and pulled his polar bear skin cloak tighter about his massive figure. The Judas Priest had tracked that blasted vampire, Trevlac, here. Across the Wallachian border, through the snow covered mountains and down into the lowlands. For what? Some stupid goose chase off into Vlad's rumored hellgate?

But Ordin had learned not to ignore short, cryptic letters from the Pale One. Disbelief and rationale is a useful defense for commoners, but not for demon hunters.

As he left the safety of the forest rain began battering his tarplike trapping and stinging any bit of skin that dare emerged from safety. Bloody fuck, he thought and fingered the cigarette case in his breast pocket longingly, not much longer and we will be back together my dear.

Then, as if jealous of the cigarette case's attention, one of his beloved pistols found a hole in his jacket and touched him. The freezing steel stuck to his skin and burned like flame. Ordin gasped and stopped, fumbling with his gear. Once settled he struck on, frustrated, drenched and nicotine-deficient.

[Ony]

Jester looked as the visitors approached the castle. "This looks like fun." , he whispered to himself. Jester was perched on a rotted out tree. He wore a colorful jester's outfit , of a velvety purple, and a golden yellow. He wore a purple face mask, with yellow tips, and at the ends were small golden bells. What was unusual about it was that it had but one glowing red eye, and a disturbingly wide grin. Jester Hopped off the rotted tree and danced towards the visitors, anxious to see what happened next.

[Trevlac]

Just glancing at this rag-tag group of degenerates made Trevlac blush. He wasn't much better in any case and it wouldn't really matter what they all looked like once they went inside the citadel from hell. In there all that mattered were the usual: fear, guts, skill, and sanity. Trevlac failed out on three of those. His courage was long gone, his guts were yellow now, and his sanity resembled something more like Jester over there. Only the cold-hard skill from the last three years in the events of the group known as Furious Angels could ever prepare him for what they were going in for.

He had not lied to this team. The vampire told them that there lied a confirmed "artifact of great power and worth" appealing to the better side of each team mate. Turning to everyone and silently gazing at each adventurer in turn, Trevlac then spoke softly. "Yeah I'm not good with motivational speeches. If you can't handle horrors beyond your nightmares then just leave." he paused after saying this, and then added "Oh and I'm not your leader. I'm just paying you all for your services. We go in, we stay alive, we retrieve my artifact, we get out. No one here is allowed to die, that would piss me off."

There, that would do it. he thought. In past times, Trevlac was the leader type. He had since grown weary of that crap and realized just how presumptive he had been in assuming everyone wanted to nip at his heels like some leashed dog. He couldn't help but feel as though he was now the pet as he stared off into the distance across the oaken drawbridge to the demon Castle, where the lone figure still sat waiting patiently to do...whatever it is dark figures do...to them.

[Shrap]

The clacking of bone fingers drumming on bone chin ceased. The bonelord knew that his distraction was looking at him. His emotionless eyes stared back into Trevlac's as his mind traveled elsewhere. He wondered what it must be like to be Trevlac right now, staring into two empty sockets but knowing that they were somehow aware and watching. The sitting figure shook that thought out of his head, knowing it would bring panic if more thinking was put into it.

The figure sat still, keeping his form like that of an ancient statue. Moving brought on that terrible noise. The grinding. The feeling of grinding. He did not want to move. 600 years of that noise had nearly broken his mind. So he continued to stare back into his rival's eyes. Not a rival from beforehand, but a future rival. He has studied his foe, and the bonelord knew that Trevlac would be a challenge, if not a force strong enough to take his unlife.

The bonelord continue to stare. It was like a bridge between the two of them. their minds being closely guarded, nigh-impenetrable Castles like this very Castle before them. Grimnir's attention was soon caught by another sound. Like that of a colossal God-hammer on the stone of the Earth, made stronger a noise by the silence of this cold night. The draw bridge had lowered, and something could be seen emerging from within. A carriage?

This post has been edited by Shrap on Jun 29 2008, 03:17 AM

[Ony]

Jester noticed the odd object emerging from the castle. He grew uneasy, so he drew his weapon, a large mallot, purple and gold, and stood, battle ready. He then began waiting.....

[Trevlac]

It appeared like a pregnant bat, horseless and yokeless. A black coach rolled...or rather glided for its wheels did not turn, toward the group with ghostly speed. It stopped at the end of the drawbridge as through there were an invisible barrier and in his mind, Trevlac heard a beckoning. The shape of the coach wagon changed into a black liquid smoke, thick and just plain not-good looking.

Was it the master of this Castle so soon? If it were then they could just get this over with quickly. Unlikely, the master of this Castle would want to invite us to stay a while and then kill us on his own turf, not standing in an open snowy field while it hailed. No, something else was forming from that thick black gossamer mist. Between the sentinel of stone that Trevlac stared at and into the shadows that laid before them, the vampire was starting to feel queasy.

Luckily Trevlac was spared from having to take any action during his indecision because the shadow had now turned into a seven foot tall figure, ugly as sin, and balding. It had disgustingly paper-white skin that was nearly see-through. His long-spidery fingers ended in even longer, yellow dirty fingernails and he held them out in a welcoming gesture. His robe and cloak billowed in the back as though it had not fully made the transformation from that sick liquid smoke. He spoke softly but his voice was heard as if he did not stand fifty yards away - as was the case - and it rasped in a guttural voice; "I am Count Orlok. The master of this Castle requests your presence at dinner if you all so choose." He finished with a very low and humble bow, but something about it didn't seem subservient - rather the kind of bow one takes when he has just slain a Gladiator in battle.

It was only a split-second, Trevlac wished he hadn't blinked at that exact moment because somewhere between his eyelids the Count had disappeared, coach and all. The only things that remained were the patient-as-ever creepy sentinel and the blackened-iron chains that clung to the lowered oaken bridge. And of course, the Castle...always the Castle stood ever looming over them like their inevitable deaths.

Feeling the need for words vanish, Trevlac casually (but fearfully) made his way to the bridge, and consequently, the piercing gaze of an eyeless skull.

[Ordin]

Ordin shrugged as the disgusting Count Orlok vanished into a plume of vomit-smoke, apparently bound towards the Castle Hell. Like every other creature of the dark he had ever come into contact with, he was stricken, heart and all, with a lust for the flamboyant and melodramatic. This disease seemed so stupid to him, though perhaps it was simply because he was human and theatrics, when not used for entertainment, felt like an utter waste of his ever-decreasing time on this pitiful hunk of regurgitated semen known as Terra.

Taking a pull from his whiskey bottle which thrust off the last remaining sensation of cold from his nerves and numbed a large portion of his torturing mind he strutted forward and paused momentarily next to Trevlac:
"I understand your loss of appetite for being the group baby-sitter, but look at these fools; they're all wet behind the ears. Shit, I'd be surprised if any of them are even half my age. Whether it warms your still heart or not, I've never thought of you as a father figure, a captain; a superior of any sort, but there will be a time when one of these sad fuckers are going to need our help and both of us know I have loyalties to myself that won't be interfered with."

Then, toward the castle entrance. The warmth and soothing light beckoned him. Promise of food beckoned him. The spillage of blood, of his, of his friends and of his enemies beckoned him.

But his ears pricked, hearing a sound like the gnash of bones somewhere within the vicinity of them. Something malevolent watched them, but disallowed his concern to show, not want the new-comers to become self-righteously enraged at a demon that as-of-yet showed little ill will towards them other than existing, Trevlac to become even more paranoid with illusions of entrapment, or for the being to be conscious of Ordin's knowledge of him.

He needed all of the pawns to make their moves when necessary and not a moment before. Dracule expected them. The last thing they needed was to be distracted by straw-men.

[Daemon]

The wind, the frozen rain, the chilling condition, oh how Daemon hated it. He truly wondered why he had even bothered come on this expedition. He could have made more in the Americas, or back home in Europe. But no, he decided to get whisked away, on some adventure, to some old castle, for some artifact, with a guy who hadn't paid him enough. Did Daemon have a subliminal love for adventure and heroics? Maybe, maybe not. It was something he hadn't quite decided on yet. But despite who's love for whatever type of certain idiotic actions, it was still very fucking cold.

Daemon wore a dark grey poncho that was tossed about in the wind, which he used to cover up his archaic rifle, the Winchester Model 1894. Despite how old it was, it was still quite useful, as Daemon had come to find on many occasions. His black cargo pants had become very wet, and were now stuck to the front of his legs by the howling wind. It seemed that the only part that was remotely dry, was his back.


He started to head towards the front of the group as they all started moving towards the very threatening looking castle. The castle's turrets looked like hellish spears stuck up, and etc... Daemon was more concerned about entering the castle, despite the obvious horrors that they would meet within. His shaggy brown hair sticking quite frigidly to his face, and his small beard nearly frozen, Daemon quickly walked to the front of the group catching up with the man who brought them all here, Trevlac.

Our hero spotted a dark figure up by the castle entrance. He walked up beside Trevlac, trying to make himself heard over the cries of the wind.

“F-f-riend o' yo-yo-yours?” Daemon said, his lips shivering with each word.

This post has been edited by Daemon on Jun 29 2008, 10:31 AM

[Malachi]

Luther finished the blood and stuffed the empty bag in his suitcase. He had listened to Count Orlok's words and, unlike Trevlac, didn't even flinch when the Count disappeared. Luther smirked.

Well, this will be an interesting little adventure, Luther thought. His fangs receded back into his mouth, his eternal thirst was sated... for now. He then heard Ordin speak and chuckled.

I doubt I'm even three-quarters your age, sir, but think what you will. I won't stop you. Luther said with a grin. So, "horrors beyond our nightmares", eh? Sounds like just another day

This post has been edited by Shrap on Jun 29 2008, 01:44 PM

[King Lyger]

From behind the bonelord that watched ever-so-intently on the hillside came a soft set of footsteps that tread through the wet, cold earth beneath. Covered in a cloak was a middle-aged human that kept his head low, his emerald eyes squinted open through the downpour that beat across his body, even through the old, worn cloak that did little to protect from the harsher weather. Acorn-brown hair, normally combed and brushed backwards towards the back of the neck to about to the shoulder blades, was whipped about despite being covered in the heavy rains. Coupled with a build that was mostly thin from lack of a good diet for the last few years of his life, the man cursed the weather beneath his breath as he dug his way to the top of the hill, to the undead observer who already stood atop it.

"This had better be worth nearly getting suffocated by this damned rain, for whatever is in this castle," said Arc (for that was the man's name) with a tone just loud enough to be heard by the lich. Arc's interests in the castle weren't so much sinister as they were selfish. As long as he netted a gain, either monetary or magical, he would make the long journey home with a sense of satisfaction.

This post has been edited by King Lyger on Jun 29 2008, 11:49 PM

[Shrap]

"Yes. But for now, we wait." The lich's jaw made that familiar clanking noise as it shut. Not that the bonelord needed to move his jaw to talk. It was just another of those human reflexes which would never leave. This man, Arc, was a close associate of his. They had met about one hundred and fifty years ago and worked together since. The lich knew of Arc's motivations and wants. Infact, this was why he told the human about this whole thing.

The hooded Lich brought himself to his feet. His bones grinded together and produced fresh dust as he moved. Several cracks were heard but he remained whole, as per usual. The rain had darkened his purple robes, which made the royal colour somehow richer. However, his attention was caught by more of the pasty white dust on his garments. He brought his skeletal hands to the robes and brushed off what he could, though most of it stuck due to the rain. The lich let out a breathless sigh, expelling more dust from his jaws.

This post has been edited by Shrap on Jun 30 2008, 07:16 PM

[Ony]

Jester began to fidget , growing more anxious by the minute. He sighed, as he withdrew his hammer.“I‘m getting bored” he said to more to himself than anyone else,as he hopped in place “when are we gonna do something interesting?”. Jester stopped hopping for a moment, and took a more serious stance. “Say, I wonder what we‘re after, anyway?” he whispered to himself.

This post has been edited by Trevlac on Jul 4 2008, 12:54 AM

[Trevlac]

In a past life, Trevlac would have scoffed at Jester's impatience. But he remembered when he was all-too eager to maim and hunt or go treasure seeking. "This is going to sound cliche, but I'd rather not give the full details on what I'm after. That is to say "we" are not after anything. I'm acquiring an object and everyone here is acquiring land and a large sum of money." Trevlac said this nonchalantly as he walked across the drawbridge. He hesitated only for a split moment and continued, "But don't get the wrong idea. The object itself has no value to me or any of you. The object has value to Vladislav Dracula III. Member of the Order of the Dragon and prince of Castle Dracul right here in Wallachia. This Castle. You may also be wondering what it does. It does nothing, but the wielder of it can cut things. That's about it. There's nothing special about it. I simply have an interest in acquiring it for collection purposes." That may have been unbelievable but at least it was true, and that's all I can give them anyway. thought Trevlac pensively.

In all the time that he talked, his feet had carried him automatically to the open gates to the Castle. It was warm inside, unusual for a vampire's domain. Probably smart - welcome in warmth-weary humans and then impale them through the skulls. As he walked inside, immediately the mood changed from cold and dreary to paranoid schizophrenia. This entry hall was decorated like a Victorian-style manor - very unlike a Romanian Prince's dwelling. There was an eerie music reverberating from the very walls, as if each curly-vined wallpaper pattern were an instrument being played by the invisible dead. The dining room was visible to the immediate left, and Trevlac took a deep breath in preparation for what was surly going to be a very long or a very short night.

[Ordin]

Ordin was already inside by the time the others began filtering in. The Priest felt like a grizzled, wet rat. Soaked to the bone, travel-weary and ravenous. He ripped off his massive polar bear-skin cloak, throwing it over the end of a banister that gripped the far wall.

It was one of the classiest residences Ordin had ever had the honor of tramping his muddy boots through. A massive crystal chandelier hung far over their heads, taking on the form of a disembodied human eye, warming paintings of dead people dotted the walls. perhaps the only foreboding thing about the entire room were the golden statues. Stark naked angels that were frozen in various positions of play across the walls. Though they were pleasing and amicable to the eye, an invisible black hole of malevolence surrounded them. The Priest took note of the attention to detail the sculptor must have given them; they seemed as if they lived and breathed though they made no movement.


Ordin lit up a much desired cigarette and was admiring the scenery when Trevlac entered, ahead of the others. His lungs swelled with the black fumes and he released through his nose. The smoke welled about but didn't rise more than a few feet. Watching the phenomena unravel he asked the vampire; "do you get that feeling? The feeling that we've entered a portal into a world where the laws of reality don't apply? and that we're going to die horribly?" then added, grinning toothily "do you also get that feeling where we are late for a scrumptious dinner?"

[Ony]

Jester summersaulted into the castle. He then took a comical bow. “Thanj you, thank you, I‘ll be here all night.” He then stood up in a more dignified manner. “This place gives me the creeps...” Jester slowly walked to catch up with Trevlac and Ordin.

This post has been edited by Ony on Jul 4 2008, 11:00 AM

[Malachi]

Luther walked calmly into the castle. As he looked around, he couldn't but agree with his comrades. There was definitely something wrong about this place. However, Luther had trouble putting his finger on the cause. So, he shifted his thoughts over to this object Trevlac was so interested in.

Hmm... it's not valuable in any way to anyone aside from Dracula himself. Luther thought, Or so Trevlac says. After all, if it's just a trinket, why hire others to help or even go after it in the first place? Oh, well, I'm only here for the money. Luther then looked around some more, ignoring the dining room and the music.