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Post by manachan22 on Oct 29, 2012 21:17:52 GMT -5
(I wanna be a vampire like papa~~)
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 29, 2012 21:36:02 GMT -5
(As you wish, mon bebe! You 'ave been added. )
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Post by manachan22 on Oct 29, 2012 21:43:40 GMT -5
Yaaaaay~]
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Post by Thor Odinson on Oct 29, 2012 21:58:46 GMT -5
"Lovino, stay aquí!" Spain was unusually stern, his expression lacking its usual smile. "There are too many-- you are not yet experienced enough." He cut the southern nation off before he could protest, shaking his head fiercely. "No. It es muy peligroso! Wait para me. I will return, lo promesa!"
Spain stood outside an abandoned farmhouse, beneath a waning moon. The building was dilapidated, but sturdy enough to house a nest of newborn vampires and protect them during the daylight hours. He had observed them the night before, and had noted with some exasperation that they were without a master. This was becoming too common an occurrence-- clusters of newborn vampires abandoned by a master that had created them out of boredom or grew weary of their duties to the newly turned brood.
They were dangerous, especially in large numbers. Spain had counted at least ten in this particular nest the previous night. While they had barely ventured ten to twenty feet from the abandoned farmhouse the night before, he knew they would venture out to feed tonight. He intended to stop them before they could even step foot out of the abandoned farmhouse.
No. He would. There was no room for doubt-- no room for error. This nest of newborns would be dead long before the first rays of sunlight could blaze across the sky and sear away the night. He lifted his crossbow, drawing a finger down and across his chest in silent prayer.
He approached the farmhouse with the ease of a practiced hunter, his gait confident and muscles just tense enough to give him an advantage over any vampire that thought to ambush him. His chain-mail tunic glistened dimly in the remaining moonlight, clanking softly with each step. The vampires were sure to hear it long before he even reached the farmhouse, but he was counting on that. Even without the chain-mail, the sound of his heart - of his blood rushing through his veins - would be more than enough to capture their attention. No vampire could resist the lure of the very thing they craved.
They would come for him, and he would be ready.
A quiet hiss fluttered through the silence of the night and a figure emerged from the shadows clinging to the farmhouse. You've bitten more than you can chew, hunter. The creature spat the words, lips twisting into a cruel grin. Tonight, you will fail, and your blood will be ours.
A genuine smile lifted the corners of Spain's lips. You are mistaken, criatura. For you see, I have Dios on mi side, pero you are condemned to infierno. He pulled the trigger on his crossbow, but the newborn had anticipated the action and removed himself from the path of the wooden stake with unpracticed agility. His movements were jerky and almost tentative. This vampire was not yet steady on his feet. Spain would be surprised if any of them were.
Something hurled into his side, knocking him to the ground. He rolled, rising easily to his feet. Four more vampires had joined the fray. They circled him, approaching half-crouched, fangs bared. Spain turned in a full circle, free hand dropping to rest on the hilt of his sword.
All at once they rushed him. He simply reacted.
Two vampires fell, stakes embedded in their hearts. A third fell, head rolling across the ground. Before their bodies could disintegrate, five more vampires took their place. The remaining five if Spain had counted correctly the night before.
They rushed him again, hissing venomously. This was no longer about another meal- this was about revenge. Spain used his crossbow as a shield, slamming it roughly into the face of a female and sending her to the ground. The close proximity, while dangerous, was also advantageous. He shoved the tip of his crossbow against the chest of another vampire, effortlessly driving a stake into its heart.
A clawed hand connected with his face, taking flesh. He stumbled backwards, pain blossoming sharply across his face. Something forced him to the ground, legs straddling his sides. Spain reached for a vial of holy water and uncorked it with his teeth, splashing it into the eyes of the offending vampire. The creature screeched in pain, reeling backwards and away from Spain, pawing pitifully at his eyes.
Before he could recollect himself, two more were upon him. They pulled at his chain-mail, ripping it apart without effort. He yanked a stake from the belt at his waist, managing to shove it into the stomach of one vampire. As he tried to reach for another, the other vampire wised up and grabbed his wrists, successfully pinning them to the ground and grinning wickedly. Goodbye, hunter. Your death will be in vain. Spain struggled against the creature, face set in determination.
I can't die aquí...Dios mio...Lovi es waiting! I made a promesa!
He fought, bucking in attempts to throw the creature off, but it was too late. Her lips were already upon his flesh, fangs cutting deep.
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 29, 2012 23:38:38 GMT -5
There was nothing more spectacular than the steady waxing and waning of the moon, particularly on clear nights such as this one, in which the stars clustered and sparkled like so much crushed diamond dust. Thus, having grown weary of traversing the dark, dank lands of Europe, Francis perched high in a tree, reclining lazily in the crook of the gnarled oak. What a warm and interesting night! What perfect conditions to relax and enjoy the bright white bloom of the moon! Moon watching had been, after all, one of his favored pastimes when he was still human. Then, the moon held such magic for him. He would watch it change, sipping red wine and nibbling expensive cheeses, vacillating upon his own romantic ideals and writing expressive, tortured French poetry in his mind. Then, he was full of passion. Passion for wine. Passion for women. Passion for the sweet, passing delicacy that was life! But now...!
His blood had run cold in his veins. He tried every now and again to enjoy wine, but the spirit passed like sand down his throat. Similarly, his hunger for women was not simply satiated with a night of vigorous, aching lovemaking. No. Such sessions always ended awfully. Unable to help himself, he would sink his teeth into her perfumed neck and drink from her, long and deep, until his belly was full of her warmth. He would drink and then fly off into the deep cover of the night, feeling beastly, feeling godly.
Yet, nothing compared to the passion of humanness. Then, he appreciated and loved every passing thing-- the spring lily, the ripened wine, the lovely, youthful woman, the ruggedly energetic young man-- because he knew that thing would pass away. Then, all the world was new, presented itself in vivid, sublime colors every day, and France consorted with it freely, loving every inch of it relentlessly, because he knew that-- one day-- he would pass away with it.
Now, all was sullen and gray. Now, all was eternal. All was cyclical and completely listless. He could enjoy nothing any more. Nothing except the moon.
Before him, the newest nest of young vampires loomed like a broken dream on the horizon. He saw the dark devils loping along the farm grounds. They hissed and screeched and clawed and everything and nothing. Soon, it would be time for them to feed formally.
France sniffed, utterly unamused. How many hundreds of times had he watched this theatrical performance? How boring! How tedious! Was there nothing new and lovely to enjoy?
But of course, it was all for Britain. Britain would want him to watch over the little underlings, to ensure their health, all for the good of the movement. And France was sure perform whatever deed Britain desired, no matter how menial, no matter how tediously ridiculous, all because--!
Because I am Britain's pretty little pawn.
He shifted in the oak tree, feeling very angry with himself.
Just then, the young vampires below began to screech loudly, closing in on some pathetic human figure. Of course. France had felt the man approach below, could sense the warm rush of fresh blood, but he had been too engrossed in the beauty of the moon to pay it much attention. He looked now, curious.
There, amidst the terrible, screaming cluster was a young hunter fighting gallantly for his life. On the brink of existence, the man was all passion, a wild thrashing of arms and legs, his silver sword glinting like white fire in the moonlight, his handsome swarthy face glowing with perspiration-- the desperation of life suspended! There was beauty in the battle. The man was skilled, gifted even, and in him was a certain fire that intrigued France. In the poetry of gritted teeth and sworn holy oaths, Francis felt himself ensnared. How interesting! Truly, it was not fair for such a tender bud of life to be clipped so quickly! No. Perhaps France would show him some hint of mercy, if not only to look upon that mad passion for a while longer...
Leaping down from his tree perch, France crossed the field in fair flurry of speed. He inserted himself into the youthful cluster, knocking brother into brother, clawing and biting with all of his might. A few of the young ones wrapped their fingers around his throat, but he crushed their brittle wrists and tossed them all away with some effort. Panting, already feeling that unfamiliar rush of life in his limbs, France fought through the throng of clammy, cold bodies, until several went screeching away into the distance, until he reached that passionate, sensual flame of a man.
"Come!" he shouted. Having received a better look at the man, he found himself even more deliciously intrigued. He had never seen a nation so ruggedly handsome in his very long life-- that dark mop of hair, that chiseled chin, those glinting green eyes, that well-sculpted body-- it was all worth looking at, worth admiring for a while. If he were human, he would have concocted a lovely poem on the spot. But there was little time; the circle of vampires was closing in on them again. A sharp pain radiated in his side. "Come! We must get away from 'ere eef you wish to live!"
With this, he went to circle one arm around the man's waist to run with him to safety. The man's cross caused him significant discomfort-- a screeching thrill of pain went scorching through his body, but France gritted his teeth. He could endure this for the moment, he could endure this in the name of passion.
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Post by Monaco on Oct 30, 2012 6:41:20 GMT -5
((I'd love to join as well <3 But I'm a bit unsure which role I should ensure ' Monaco is historically seen under Italian rule this time, I suppose? ))
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 30, 2012 8:54:38 GMT -5
(*laughs* Would you like to be Italy's protege? A page or squire under his wing?)
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Post by Monaco on Oct 30, 2012 9:03:26 GMT -5
((Alright...Though I don't really feel safe in this position! Anway, I suppose I want to be a page~))
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Post by Loki Laufeyson on Oct 30, 2012 14:09:58 GMT -5
How deceptively peaceful was the moonlit night. The European landscape yawned lean and grey beneath the balcony, a shimmeringly seductive maiden courted by that awful, fickle moon-- pale with avarice and unscrupulous designs. That terrible moon-- there was nothing more terrifying, more dastardly, more invigorating than that swelling silver eye. It was ever-watchful, mocking him day after day, setting his blood ablaze with monstrous instincts. It was hypocritical of it, really, to look so lovingly upon the rest of the world.
Looking upon all of these things, the dank aroma of the world sharp in his nostrils, Austria was deeply perturbed. The events of the evening before came to him in shocks of color, in shades of scarlet and jade. The lingering taste of flesh was fresh on his tongue, and it disgusted him. His stomach lurched at the nebulous memory. Who had he attacked this time? Who had he torn upon to the dark night, fed on their flesh, broke their bones, lapped up their blood? The monster within him was still crouching, quivering in the most feral portions of his mind, and he could barely approach it without feeling his knees weaken.
As it were, he had taken up his vielle and, shivering on the balcony, Austria began to play a melancholy melody to the distant German hills.
The notes rose with a sad triumph, caressing the silver landscape and rivaling that terrible glow of the moon. This was his only means of fighting back-- with beauty, with elegance. He played until his fingers howled with sharp pain, and even then, he continued with relentless energy. He played until perspiration rose upon his brow; he played until he felt himself fading into the melody, until he felt the beast cower beneath his human rationality, bowed beneath his superior passions. He played until his own essence went rushing strongly into his freshly bandaged limbs, until he could feel the beast recede indefinitely into the bowels of his mind.
But there was one matter that he could not forget.
Somewhere in their large home and moving with familiar delicacy was Elizabeta. He could sense her life-force, could smell her warm, uniquely floral aroma, and he hungered for her. Yet! No! He had holed himself away for a reason, had locked the door fast behind him. He could not see her. Not now. Not after he had turned on her, yet again. In his mind's eye, he could see his own jagged claw-marks, red and raw, etched deep into the flesh of her upper forearm.
She had followed him again, had thrown herself into harm's way, all for his sake; she had held him close and kissed him and told him that everything was going to be all right, and he had repaid her with pain. Even after this, she had bandaged his wounds and nursed him back into consciousness.
This could not go on any longer.
He slumped down in a soft leather seatee on the balcony, unable to play any more. All of his strength dissipated into the darkness, and he began to shiver violently. The nights after a transformation were always terrible, just as the nights immediately before one. He was weak and feverish, and he could not sleep. At these times, he needed Hungary. This he could not deny.
He rose unsteadily, stumbling over his own feet, and unlocked the door to hang helplessly in the threshold. He meant to struggle to the kitchen, but he was immediately accosted with pain in his aching limbs and a swimming, dizzying sensation in his brain. He nearly fainted with effort. Desperate, he called, pathetically:
"Hungary! Hungary, I need you! Mein... Gott..."
He sank to his knees, the very corridor before him darkening.
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Post by Thor Odinson on Oct 30, 2012 19:18:09 GMT -5
A breeze drifted through the open window, cooling the hot, feverish flesh of Hungary's torn arm. She sat by the window gently cleaning the wound, brow set in concentration and fresh bandages laid out carefully beside her. This routine was becoming far too familiar - far too common - but never before had Austria's claws dug so deep. The blame was hers and hers alone. She knew getting close was dangerous, and she knew that she would get hurt, but she had to stop him before could kill another.
That was her duty. Not only to him, but to the world.
No. That was incorrect.
Her duty was to put Roderich out of his misery and rid the world of another werewolf, but she could not find it in her heart to destroy him. He was no beast; it was no fault of his own! The curse was not his choosing. It had been forced upon him. Only monsters chose such a monstrous fate! He was still the man she had fallen so completely in love with-- still her beloved Austria! It pained her to see him so agonized, so tortured by the cruel fate that had been thrust upon him, and she vowed to do everything in her power to ease that pain and protect not only him, but those that were in danger of him.
It was a terrible responsibility to bear, but she carried it with a straight back. If there was anything to regret it was the night that Russia had changed their lives forever. She had not been able to save Austria from his fate-- She had barely managed to keep him alive! Russia was too fast - too strong - and in the end she had failed as a hunter. Her name - her reputation - was marred. She had never wanted it to begin with. Even now she wanted nothing more than to throw it all away and turn her back on it, but now, more than ever, it was her skills and abilities as a hunter that were keeping her alive and Roderich from devastating the lives of many. She depended on her status as a hunter for survival, and loathed every second of it.
The sound of throbbing strings echoed across the night, wafting miserably through the open window. She looked out across the moonlit landscape, Austria's lament filling her heart with a terrible ache. The voice of his vielle rose and fell, the melody beautiful yet filled with heartbreaking melancholy. She sighed quietly, tying off the new bandages neatly.
Roderich's song faded into the night, leaving behind an eerie, empty silence that rang in her ears. Hungary wanted to check on him-- to see him and to hold him. She wanted to reassure him that they would somehow get through this together, and that no matter what she would always love him, that she would always be there for him, and that she would never leave his side. Nothing could change that. But, alas, he had separated himself from her and and locked her out. She had relented and let him have his distance, knowing it was the best thing for him in that moment.
But--! How much longer? He needed her; they both knew that.
After a moment she finally rose, heart empty and aching, to clean up and fetch some water.
She had just walked a few paces down the corridor when she heard his voice calling out to her. Austria! Hungary hurried down the corridor, footsteps light and barely touching the floor. She reached Austria, dropping to catch him before he could even hit the floor. Oh, Austria... She held on to him, her arm screaming in protest. Come on...you should be resting. Hungary rose to her feet, lifting Austria with her and half-carrying him to the bed. She sat beside him, one cool hand resting gently on his forehead and brushing his hair back.
Your injuries look better. She leaned down to press a kiss to his temple and straightened up again. Just rest. I'll be back with some food and water. With that she rose and left the room, glancing back for one lingering moment before disappearing down the corridor.
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Nov 1, 2012 2:52:50 GMT -5
Swish, Swish,... the red liquid swiveled around in the stone gauntlet of the vampire lord. The intricate designs showed it's mere age, but the stone itself had not aged a day, much like that of Arthur Kirkland. His history was well-known throughout the vampire race, as he was the only absolute pure blood in existence, and had existed as long ago as the vikings invading the northern British Isles. Many centuries had passed since then, and his face told no sign of age as if it were frozen in time, like a distinct porcelain doll. Pouty lips pressed against the cup as the delicious life force drained down his neck like a fine wine, feeding the never ending hunger he has had for ages and that of which will never be quenched.
Kirkland greedily licked through the last drop of the cup, and opened his eyes to reveal a stunning nebula of green and gold strands in his dead irises. When he stood, the vampires in the room immediately kneeled before him when he rose to position. He was wearing an intricate coat that was black with grey designs of ole, and his pants slick and sleek like his blonde strands that were slicked back softly to his scalp; The Lord was beautiful and was the absolute envy of the vampire race, his orders respected or the pawn would be sentenced to an consequently death in the sun room or beheaded--- Possibly even become Kirkland's pet that he rested his feet upon to shame he or she. The blood running pure through his veins was a clear symbol of power, wisdom, and age; however, he looked not past the age of twenty four.
No footsteps could be heard when he walked forward from his throne room, his hands placed promptly behind his back while inspecting his humble abode. He was waiting to hear reports from Francis and the rest of his clan, but he was going to check on some of his human prisoners to keep himself neatly occupied because he made lots of progress from creating even more little children last night that he sent with his most entrusted Francis.
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Nov 2, 2012 3:00:36 GMT -5
The werewolves moon had just recently passed as the large Russian man was turning back into human form by now; His bones creaked in odd places as they shrunk and popped into place with a painful movement of his shoulders, his knees dug into the wet mud as his hands were placed firmly on the cold ground and dug deep as the paw prints slowly turn into hand prints. The flesh on his body was forming and tearing in the darkness as it was wrapping from fur to flesh, and he stood cold and shivering as he held himself from the claws retracting into human fingernails. Dirt covered his white skin, and he was sore from the muscles being worn to a inhuman state, and retracted back into his old bones. His naked body stood shivering in the woods, and he knew he was being hunted. Images flashed through Ivan's mind where he slaughtered a few villagers, and even a vampire or two after him--- but there was this hunter, this singular hunter that was following him. He didn't have time to lay here and die, he had to move... and move fast.
His knees picked up from the ground slowly, and he felt a heavy thud in his heart as he needed the drive to continue on down the dark forest path he had found himself in. Rain conveniently began to pour as it only made the thick mud he laid in slick and even harder to move. The rain thrashed down continuously, and even the lush forest canopy above couldn't protect Ivan from being even more cold and wet than he already was. It seemed that hours went by before he got out of the mud, but it only a mere few minutes and soon his large human feet could be heard thrashing and practically galloping through the forest in the nude.
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Post by Thor Odinson on Nov 5, 2012 15:44:56 GMT -5
Spain knew his struggles against the creature draining the life out of him were futile-- he could feel the strength leaving his body. He struggled less and less, finding the effort the effort of moving too much for his weakening limbs. Death was staring him in the eyes, cold and cruel. He could feel its grip tightening on him as the night sky began to fade from his vision. It would all end here, tonight. The well renowned Paladin, Spain, finally defeated by the supernatural monsters he had devoted his life to eradicating from the earth, and at the hands of a nest of newborns that had not mastered any form of control over their newfound strengths and abilities.
They would laugh at his memory!
Lo siento, Romano...I will have to break mi promesa...I have failed you as a maestro y amigo. Lo siento...
He blinked, the stars swimming back into his vision, as a commotion broke out among the bloodthirsty fiends. Bones were broken, flesh was torn, and howls of pain cut into the quiet blanket of night. Had someone come for him? Romano wouldn't have--!
Desperate now, new vigor entered his body. He lifted his head, straining to see, and growled with some effort as he sharply lifted a knee. The vampire was caught unawares, no longer focusing on keeping her prey securely pinned as she was consumed by bloodlust, as his knee connected with her groin. The strike was enough to break her hold-- she lifted her head, hissing angrily. His hands were free again and he took advantage of this freedom to drive a stake into the vampire's neck. She fell aside, screeching in pain.
He moved to rise, but found himself captivated by the scene playing out in front of him. What was this vision? It was not Romano that had come to save him, but an angel! Blond hair glimmered in the moonlight, blue eyes sparkling valiantly. He was fair of skin - smooth, delicate, flawless - a heavenly sight to behold! He moved with fluid ease, each action smooth and flowing --perfect.
This was definite proof that God was on his side.
Spain stared, half wondering if he had died.
The man - the angel! - was speaking to him in...a French accent? He did not have time to process this as an arm encircled his waist and pulled him away from the cluster of vampires closing in on them. Spain ran with what strength he had left, one hand clinging to the man for additional support. His neck throbbed, his face ached, and there was a sharp pain in his side.
They had entered the forest, and after several long moments Spain realized that they were no longer being chased. He fell to his knees, catching himself on his hands, breathing labored. Dios...they stopped chasing us. He tugged at his torn chain-mail, tossing what remained aside, then turned his head to look up at the other man, still panting. Pero...who are you?
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Post by Captain Arthur Kirkland on Nov 5, 2012 19:38:52 GMT -5
((Zut zut et zut! I wanted to be in this! Oh well :'3 You guys have fun!))
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Post by Hipster Prussia on Nov 5, 2012 22:22:17 GMT -5
((Zut zut et zut! I wanted to be in this! Oh well :'3 You guys have fun!)) [[You're welcome to join as a free character, or a nation unnamed!]]
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