Dark Love Eternal.

A new creative writing collaborative with H8becomesyou.

Dark Love Eternal.

H8:

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Bane, lone vampire, in the big city of New York. She was on the run from the high elders, though she was a fighter. She couldn’t stand up to the elders. And that pissed her off. In the bigger city she would be able to fit in easy. To blend in with the other vampires that lived around here. But she was itching to have some fun. It had been to long since she had any real good fun. With running from the elders. Her body was tense and ready for the blood she craved.

The night was cold, though she couldn’t feel the cold like humans. Times Square was bustling with people. Bane could hear the rush of blood in the humans vains. Her mouth watered, her fangs elongated at the sound, poking her bottom lip. Pulling her hoodie down over her head. Most would think she was some goth chick. With the black leather pants, that gives her body. With the black leather halter top, that exposed her toned tummy, with a black diamond in her belly button. The lip rings helped with the goth opinion. They kept their distance from Bane.

Walking through Times Square, the lights flickered. Advertising all kinds of shows, products and movies. Along the sidewalk, she noticed a sign for a club. A goth club, great music and drinks. Club Night Shade, was where she would go and have her fun. Looking at the address, she pushed her way through the people. She was rather fast for human eyes to see. Most would just feel her push past them. None would see her. And she liked it that way. Her hoodie falling off her head as she made her.

Not taking her as long it would humans, to walk the 2 miles to the club. It was set off by it self. A hole in the wall by the looks of it. Two big, muslced men stood at the entrance to the club. She could feel the music hit her before she even got close to the club. The beat of the music pulsed into her body, it was electric. Her blood hummed with the fun that was about to be had. Walking up to the men, her long red and black hair flowing around her shoulders. Her deadly eyes, set on the men before her. Her voice low and seductive, “Hello boys, enjoying your night?” They looked down at her, they towered over her. That never bothered her at all. They smirked at her. “A tiny goth like you come for some fun in the club?” They shared a chuckle between each other. Bane ran her tongue along her fangs, “You could say so.” She laughed some. Seeing the flash of her fangs, they smiled. “Nice hardware.” The opened the door of her. “Thank you boys.” She walks passed them into the club.

The music was loud and bumping. Looking around the club, dark lights fit the mood. People dancing on the dance floor. So close together no one could get through if they wanted to. The club was bigger then one think, from the outside. Looking to take up about two full plots. There was sets dotted around in the dark shadows. No telling what hide in those corners, more vampires likely. She could feel them in the room, among the humans. The bar off to the right, lined one whole wall. Humans dressed as goth’s, she had to laugh to her self at that.

Down with the sickness was blaring. One of her favorite songs, it fit her so well. She makes her through the people. Slipping off her hoodie, she put it on a chair. Not caring if someone took it, she had others. Her high heels, clicked on the soild black marble floor. This is her kind of club. Passing a human she slipped the smoke from his mouth. His mouth dropped at her, but he was staring at her, he was speechless. Bringing the smoke to her mouth, she winks at him in thanks. As she made her way to the bad, slipping onto a stool, ordering a vodka on the rocks. The bartender slides it down to her. She sips her drink, watching and finding a good human to use to feed.

 

Razor:

 

 

New York – a city that never sleeps. This is true, for most. In fact it is during the night hours that there is the most life…and death. A city to millions that walked the streets blissfully unaware of the dark underbelly that lay beneath their very feet. Or were they walking alongside them? That shadowy figure that is just out of eye shot. You feel like, you are being watched, and then when you go to look there is no body there. Ghouls, and ghosts are all part of children’s stories, right? The dead don’t rise to feed on the living. All Hocus Pocus designed to either frighten us to follow strict moral codes, or…to some to entertain. But not all is teen fiction. As easy as it is for the criminal lords to run establishments to profit on the less fortunate, so to do some of the cities Vampire lords. Night clubs are the kinds of places where the unsuspecting come to drink and dance the night away – unawares that there are those, that don’t want what comes in a bottle, but what happens to be sitting on the bar stool itself. A haunt famous amongst many of those that hunt after dark is none other than Club Night Shade. Where the more eccentric club goers mix with sinners that have murderous intent. Why rob a blood bank, when your next meal is dying to dance with you?

Standing under the light of a flickering adult store shop sign, Reese had been waiting. You could say that he was perusing the night’s fare, and boy was he in for a treat or two. The girls traveled in packs for protection, but it was all too easy to ply them away and corner one indiscreetly – without drawing too much attention to yourself. Through the crowd though there was a figure that moved at a much faster pace than the ordinary club goer, in fact it was this speed that seized Reese’s attention and had him follow her movement up to the bouncers that stood in the entrance. With Reese’s exceptional hearing, he listened in casually to what was said. But the line that truly made him grin maliciously, was that this girl was packing some nice hardware. Pushing himself off the shop window with his boot, he swaggered on after the hooded girl, simply nodding to the two bouncers, who already knew who Reese was. No ID checks for this guy.

The music was pumping hard and already the dance floor was packed with sweat covered bodies. Many would already be fueled by drink, some by more illicit substances. To Reese it was a seething mass of humanity, just waiting to be plucked and enjoyed. Standing at one of the railings, he could survey the crowd at his leisure. Like a hawk, that was spotting the weakest and the easiest mark. It was all part of the hunt. A glint could be seen as his elongated fangs were already protruding, but he then turned his head to see Hoody approach the bar, after having stolen a cigarette right from the lips of some unsuspecting bloke. He turned into a tuna, mouth agape like a dying fish. This girl had style, he had to admit it.

Heading down the stairs, and making his way over to the bar, he nodded to the barman but instead of straddling a stool, he turned to lean his back against the bar and then looked at the girl who had just been served a drink.

Reese smacked his lips, before saying casually. “Bourbon helps with the cravings better. Everyone knows that vodka is for pussies.”

The statuesque vampire, who had his hair kept rather untidily into a ponytail of sorts, then sniffed loudly before he then pointed to what looked to be a drunken accountant, who was taking up space at the end of the bar. He was so out of place in a club like this, but Reese already had worked out the profile and by the size…approximate weight, he was a pretty decent feed. “Bet you wouldn’t even have to compel the sad sack…a kiss from you would probably be the highlight of his year.” Reese found humor in his own words, and shrugged his shoulders. To him, the girl looked half starved. If she needed an easy feed, nothing would beat the bloke Reese pointed out.

The Widow of Craxton Park.

A new collaborative with ricegoddess.

The Widow of Craxton Park.

Razor:

 

Few ever dared to go this deep into the darkened forest after the sun had set. Only the most courageous or stupid would hire a coach to take them north of Flinders Peak. But there had been a change in the guard, and while the roads were often only used by farmers that needed to get their crops and herds to market, it would be now that a blackened coach that was pulled by a team of four jet black horse, galloped along the gravel track. Death, which was not uncommon to the down trodden, happened at the Craxton Park. Whispers from the local village had spoken of how the Late Lord’s estate had been to a left to a mysterious cousin, who had been out of the country for well over decade. The red satin curtains that lined the windows, hid the face of this newest heir to the Lord’s estate.

Would they suffer…the same fate?

And what of the young widow, that had not left Craxton since the funeral? Yet another mystery to be unraveled.

 

RG:

 

This was possibly the stupidest idea in the whole world. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it made it to the top five at least. Children always joke about walking down the path heading to the north towards the “haunted” estate, even daring their friends to take the journey. Of course, no one ever went through with the dares. Except today. Ethan anxiously gripped his dark trousers, releasing it and then gripping it again. He can hear his friends howling at him, trying to “encourage” him to walk down the path and to “check things out for them”. Ethan was terrified of the forest but he never admitted it aloud. It’s just a scary story, right? It’s not really… Cursed, right? Rumors always circled Ethan’s village about murders, ghosts, curses, and deaths related to this estate in the dark forest. The story was always changing, so no one ever knew what had actually happened to the Late Lord. And a bet was made today that Ethan would be the one to find out what happened and report back. When Ethan finally gathered up enough courage, he took a timid step onto the hard road, and then another… Before he knew it, he was far into the darkened forest. A lone crow’s cry causes the young man to jump in fright, quickly looking around before continuing to walk slowly. He couldn’t hear his friends’ loud voices anymore, whether they ran away when his back was turned or he was just too far away, he didn’t know. Glancing around the forest, the setting sun’s lights only helped in creating large, intimidating shadows around Ethan. He wrapped his arms around himself, his short, dark blond hair being ruffled by a passing wind. His honey colored eyes dart at each subtle movement, darting at each sudden sound he hear. He shook because of the fact that he forgot to bring a light jacket with him, being cold in pale blue t-shirt, and also for the fact that was he was scared out of his mind.

 

Razor:

 

Amazing how much the landscape changes, just by the setting of the sun. Shadows stretch on forever, and this is also the time when the night creatures come out from their burrows and knotted stumps. Under the cloak of darkness, and only bathed by the moon’s light when it peaked out from behind a grey cloud – the many small creatures went about their evening as per normal. But this place. This cursed place was not for the faint of heart. If the signage did not warn off the curious, than the narrowing of the path, and the overhanging branches that encroached upon the winding road only made the trip forward very hard going. Was someone going to dare to make it through? Children and the young at heart often egged on the weak, to test their spirit and their resolve. Tales told by travelers and merchants around the fires of the local inn – fueled by drink and bravado, were not favorable of the terrible Lord of Craxton Park. He did his farmers and workers no favors, and often kept pretty much to himself within the walls of his Manor. Only sending out his man servant to pay wages and arrange business dealings on his behalf. The more one keeps to themselves, the likelihood of gossip and innuendo spreading across the lands. He could be just a miserly recluse, but there were other events, strange and terrible that happened every time he returned from abroad. On his last trip, he did not return alone. Bringing with him a new wife. The only knowledge of her, was when she had come into town with a black veil to order a dress to be made at the seamstress. She already looked as though she was dressed for a funeral. It was not long after this time, that it was said that he passed on from this earth to the next. Though the villages were not welcome to the funeral. The hearse had passed through the town, with just the widow and the man servant following the hearse. Even then, her face was covered and it all seemed to be so strange. There was no autopsy, no word on how he died. Just a simple parchment hammered to a tree in the village square.

But back to this night, when a young lad decided to take his chances and see just how far he got, on the road to Craxton Hall.

He had long left his friends behind, and he carried no torch or light. His colorings however did illuminate in the light of the moon. Just enough to be seen by those with exceptional vision at night.

“Only the brave or foolish dare walk this path.” It was a feminine voice, that spoke as the mist enveloped the roadway. A cool breeze nipping at the boy’s neck. If he did turn, he would see the prettiest girl he had ever seen, though she had a haunting smile. Dark flowing hair that was tied back fashionably, and wearing a flowing black gown of the age.

“Which are you?” She asked.

 

RG:

 

The young man felt a sharp chill run up his spine at her voice, slowly peeking over his shoulder at her. The images of haggard, old witches quickly dispel from his mind when his eyes fall on her, put off by her beauty. The question came back to his mind again, gathering up enough confidence in that moment to reply to her, “I-I’m brave enough to walk the path!” Ethan felt mild embarrassment at his stutter, but he took the moment to examine her appearance. Despite her dress blending in so well with the shadows and being shrouded by the sudden mist, he can still see her practically perfect figure clearly under the moonlight, and… Was that a sparkle in her eyes? He shivered at the realization, unsure whether the shine was a bad sign or a good one. He tugs on the sleeve of his tunic, having become nervous when they lock eyes for a brief moment, looking away quickly after. The quiet cry of a crow seems to mock his nervousness, but Ethan stands his ground, hesitantly speaking up again, “May.. I ask why you’re out here? Are you also brave…?” Just pulling out questions that came quickly to his mind, he momentarily forgets about the cursed estate and its widow, shifting on his feet while he holds the edge of his sleeve, still trembling slightly from his nerves and the chill.

 

Razor:

 

If Florina had meant to startle the young man on his trip into the forest, she did a good job. Though, he may never admit his fear it was easy to tell by the way in which he stuttered out that he was in fact brave enough to walk this way. “Mhmmm.” Was all that the strange woman said in return as though she was mocking his answer. Her crimson stained lips curved upward into a smile that was both wicked and fun. It was almost as though she enjoyed toying with the man. Funny how the moon’s soft light brought out a sparkle in her eyes. Collecting the edges of her lace and silk skirt, she circled around the young man, looking him up and down, as though he was intriguing. It may well make him all the more nervous. A crow’s call only added to the mix, making the scene even more bizarre. Ethan stood his ground however, and was bold enough to ask of her what she was doing out here. Why was she also brave? The reaction was for Florina to stop in her tracks and whip out an ornate black fan. Snapping it open with the flick of her wrist, and fluttering it about like one of those fine ladies of the royal court.

“I wouldn’t say I am brave…just I prefer to walk beneath the light of the Moon. You see I am very fair and burn easy under the heat of the Sun. Think of this as my daily stroll.”What she just said could have been taken a different way from what was offered. Perhaps there was more to the Widow of Craxton Hall then met the eye. She did have porcelain skin that seemed to be radiant underneath the starry night sky. It even heightened the colour of her eyes, and the red rouge of her cheeks. Almost like a fine china doll. Perfection. Yes that was the word you would use. Florina could see that the young man was feeling the cold, having just come out in a light tunic. It was enough to have Florina ask of him.

“Craxton is but a short walk up this road. Care for a night cap? A hot beverage?” The black haired vixen then lowered her fan closing it slowly and offering her gloved hand. Should he take it? Or did he need to know just who she really was?

 

RG:

 

Her circling did make him more nervous than he already was. It almost felt like she was a predator hunting and cornering its prey. But he did perked up at the mention of her fair skin. It did make sense with how her skin glowed under the moonlight, looking incredibly smooth and soft to the touch. The color of her lips and her cheeks complimented her appearance well, making her look very beautiful in Ethan’s eyes, but it was also a very sinister appearance. It made the young man uneasy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her either way. Her movements were graceful and elegant, the fan being a nice touch. Craxton? The name rang bells in Ethan’s mind, but he couldn’t quite place where he heard the name from… He looks at her small, gloved hand, tempted by her beauty to accept her offer, but his heart thumped loudly and nervously. He didn’t know who she was, but the hot beverage was very welcoming on the chilly night. “May I ask for a name at least?” Ethan looked back up at her face, “My name is Ethan…”

 

Razor:

 

How delicious. Florina thought, as she watched the young man’s chest rise and fall sharply. Each breath he drew was making his heart beat faster. If it had been any louder, it would have echoed out from his chest. All this from the simple gesture of offering her hand for him to take. She noted how he appeared timid at her suggestion. Begging the question as to what her name was. This would unravel the mystery of her identity. Dare she keep him further in suspense? Curling in her bottom lip, she made out as though it was a great secret. Leaning forward to whisper her name so softly that he may barely hear it. “Lady Florina Craxton.” Only when he had said his name, did she draw back with a cat like grace. Her bottom lip released from the bite of her teeth and it appeared more plump than before.

Ethan. Such a wise choice of name by your parents.” Her smile grew as she continued with a tit bit of trivia. “I do believe it means strong.Florina had to be the Queen of small talk. Knowing that the young man still may be wary, she lowered her hand and then snatched up the edge of her skirt, in order for her to be able to walk on without getting the lace edge caught on the ground. “Well, I am ready for that night cap. You are welcome to follow, or return to the village. I shan’t tempt you further.”

And with that, she continued on down the path, leaving the young man to his thoughts.

“Good eve, Ethan.”

Strangely enough as she left the scene, so to did the rolling mist. It was almost as though it traveled with her.

 

RG:

 

Lady Florina Craxton… Ethan thought, the name was very fitting for her he believed. He felt his cheeks grow warm at the indirect compliment of his name, unknowingly giving a tiny smile. But when she left, his heart relaxed its beating and his shivers reduced to trembles as his body is now only trying to keep him warm. He blinked his eyes, noticing how much clearer his surroundings became as the mist left with the Lady. Ethan didn’t get a chance to wish her a good night, but he glances over his shoulder back towards his village, then looks back to where Lady Florina had walked. Would he follow her? He was tempted to, oh so very tempted to. The young man’s mind was practically screaming at him to run since he had the chance, but his heart yearned to know more about the mysterious, beautiful woman he just met. Ethan had meet many women in his life, his parents always trying to set him up and even arrange marriages for him, but none of them ever stirred emotions in his heart like how Lady Florina did. He didn’t understand what he felt, maybe it was fear, anxiousness? Or maybe even… Love? He shook his head at the silly thought, but he knew he felt something. He decided that he would go back home for the night and return the following night. Maybe fate would bring them back together, he thought hopefully. And maybe he would be smart enough to bring a small lantern with him next time, along with his leather-like vest. At that resolve, the young man nodded slightly and turned back to his village with almost a small skip in his step, the shadows and thin, gnarly trees no longer causing him fear as he walked. The lone crow that was mocking him earlier just watched Ethan this time, quietly observing before taking off into flight into the clear sky.

 

Razor:

 

Did the Widow of Craxton expect the young man to follow her so easy? She tested him to some extent, only to find he was still not sure of her – refusing to take her hand and be led into the unknown. That being Craxton Park. Few dare go past the wrought iron gates and come back. Even those making deliveries know that it is best to leave the parcels and the outer perimeter and ring the large bell, that alerts the man servant of the arrival of goods. This was part of the gossip of the town. Did Ethan realize that he was one of the first to actually speak to her? The Seamstress was on a confidentiality clause, if she wanted the Widow’s business, and so she had to refrain from speaking about what they had discussed in the shop. Why would someone go to that extreme? It only adds to the mystery. And what of the new Heir? Since the late Lord’s wife did not bare him a son, his estate and holdings went directly to the next in line among his family.

There were those that spoke of a black carriage that had passed through the town not long after the funeral, but it never left the estate. Did the Widow have something to do with this?

Florina’s dress swept along behind her as she entered the grounds, the gates closing in behind her as though to lock her in. Few lights were seen in the darkened windows, but enough to light her way. Waiting at the entrance, was the former Lord’s faithful servant and now the one and only that was to care for the Widow. He bowed low as she lifted her skirt enough to climb the stairs.

“Enjoy your walk, M’lady?” Curious to know why she was out so very late. Florina stopped, as though to ponder this very question. “I had no idea that the locals were so…nice.”The way she said the last word was done with a mischievous tone. Bertie blinked. “You actually met one?” He knew that few dare venture down the dark forest road, as the gossip was enough to keep people away. Florina’s eyes sparkled as she recanted in her mind, the meeting with the young man. “A young male. Handsome too. Almost had him come back for…a drink.” There she went again. Speaking with double meanings. What she said, when mixed with that gleam, that smirk on her crimson lips was enough to make the man servant shudder. But what could he do? Did he want to end up like his Lordship?

“He turned you down, M’lady?” Bertrand was now going into dangerous territory, with his questioning – but he just had to know.

“Would you accept the offer of a night cap from a stranger, Bertie?” The Widow took out her fan, with the edge of the lace touching just under his chin, causing him to gulp.Only if the stranger was you, M’lady” The Widow chuckled lightly at his response, and she gave his cheek a little…playful swat with her fan. “And that is why I keep you on. Now…get me a drink, and make sure its…freshly squeezed.” The man servant bowed and raced inside as the Widow glanced back over her shoulder at the darkened forest, where she had met what she hoped would be her newest friend.

“You won’t turn me down next time….Ethan.”

Smiling to herself, she started up the stairs, the doors closing when she had gone through into the majestic foyer.

The Devil Walks Among Us – Part One : PD.

This is my introduction of Reficul into the Princess Diaries stories.

Razorbackwriter:

The World inside Scar’s hat

Part One

The Devil Walks Among Us 

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There are those that think that Hell is nothing more than an ideal. A place that you go if you have committed sin, and are banished from Heaven. There are those that believe in Heaven, and that angels walk among us. Protecting us, guiding us with a silent hand….watching over us. If that is true, then is it possible that the Devil has his own agents? Those that walk among the living and watch them as they lead them into sin….and then death? Deal makers, betrayers, oh yes…there are even those that believe that we are fueled by sin…which makes for easy pickings. To look at the world now, it was already reaching an age of the sixth extinction. Greed, Lust, Hunger…all driving forces in the never ending battle against good and evil.

Hatred for the supernatural was common place among the unbelieving. Events that could not be explained often were blamed on those that were different, out of the ordinary. For centuries such creatures were persecuted, murdered and hunted till they hid from the very shadows themselves. Forced to practice in secret. But even those that hid their powers left behind clues that would be followed by the most dedicated of hunters. Those that operated above the law, even breaking it if they had too. Following every clue…watching…waiting for the right time to move in. There were rewards to be had, and now the whispers had reached the ears of the worst of the worst. A man driven by a family code that had been passed down for generations. From Father to son till now.

Standing before the burnt out ruins of what was a typical family home, stood a man wearing a black coat and matching fedora. His hands hidden deep within his pockets. Dark shaded glasses blocked out a view of his eyes, but he was scanning the smoldering ruins. Strange that after all this time, the smell of the burning embers remained. The fire…never truly went out. There was a reason for this….a very good one. The man appeared to be waiting. Holding off before actually setting foot on the property. He must have been standing there a good hour or more, till finally a black sedan pulled up in behind him. Shutting off the engine, two men got out. Both were wearing suits, and one had a policeman’s badge clipped to his belt buckle. Each closed the doors with a light thud, whilst the man on the pavement refused to turn around to acknowledge them.

“Do you have it?” The man in the fedora asked almost casually, his tongue wetting his lips as though dry.

The first man took out a yellow envelope and then handed it to the man in the fedora.

“Case file about the fire, along with some information about a ..” The Detective took out a notebook and flipped it open, as he searched for the girl’s name. The man in the hat interrupted…“Tessa Monroe..yes.” He showed something of an odd smirk, before then going dead pan once more and taking the file out of the envelope, passing the envelope back to the second man before flipping it open. He started to hum to himself as he flicked through the police reports, which was shoddy at best, but there was a line in it that had the right edge of his lip twitch.

He closed the file with a snap and rolled it so he could tuck it inside his coat jacket.

“I think now is the time to enter…” He started off and walked up the pathway, with the detective and the other man both looking at each other with apprehension. It was common knowledge that few ever wanted to enter the grounds. Rumors had been rife about unexplained happenings since the fire and the townspeople were reluctant to speak about it openly.

Taking the first step, the man in the black fedora glanced back, and was amused to see that neither man was following.

“Don’t worry Sheriff…that badge you wear should protect you from….them.” It was almost like he was daring the man, who huffed and tugged on his own jacket. The Sheriff started after the man in the fedora, who by now had stepped through the blackened door way. The second man held back for a moment, before his shoulders sagged forward and he headed in on after the Sheriff. There was so much mystery to this man in the hat. From what both they both believed was that he was some sort of government agent. Everything was…off the books. Little did they realize that the one he worked for…was far more dangerous then any one western government.

Walking down the inner corridor, the man in the hat tapped along the walls with his hand till he finally heard a hollow sound. Grinning to himself, he took out a piece of chalk and made a strange marking on the wall, which had the sheriff and his deputy baffled. Catching sight of their worried expressions, the man in the hat lied….

“A little trick my father taught me.” He chuckled darkly, and this sinister tone could not be mistaken. Looking to his right, he saw the door for the basement, and then let out a breathe as though this was what he was looking for.

“This way….” But instead of going first, he urged the officers to take the stairs before him. “After you of course.”

The Sheriff shrugged, before taking to the stairs and going, down – the deputy gulped as he was getting a sense of the creeps at being in this house. He finally relented and started to follow the sheriff. At this point, the man in the black hat pulled out a gun with a silencer and then started off after them.

Two shots were fired in the darkness. Both in the back of the head. Point blank range. Their bodies crumpled to the floor with soulless eyes staring out at….a secret basement room. Stepping over the two bodies, the man in the hat then set his gun down on a table, as he took Tessa’s picture out of the file that he had been in his jacket pocket. He stared at the picture and hummed quietly. If the report was correct….and she had been here, this was how he was going to find her.

The spirits don’t lie.

~RB~

RPC : Marika Cimentarius – PD.

Character bios.

 

Name: Marika Cimentarius
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Quote; “I’m going to make you suffer…..”
Race: Elder Witch/Warlock
Status; Former Supreme Elder of Dyre
Gender: Female
Age: 923 years

Physical Attributes: A dark haired beauty with raven coloured shoulder length locks, approximately 5’5’ in height and with a olive complexion. Deep brown eyes with a golden fleck that can change at her will. Marika is svelte, with a good muscle tone, yet is quite feminine. Though she may be deemed short in stature, she makes up for it with the strength of her character. An angel like face, she is innocent in appearance, but that is of course deceiving. Her hands are delicate, with slender digits and well manicure nails.
Personality: Well one word does come to mind – Bitch. A complete and utter bitch that does not tolerate stupidity, nor those of good intent. She has no compassion what so ever and is known to kill at a whim, without thought for what this may do to others. Self serving, manipulative, dangerous, diabolical.
Preferred fashion: Dresses to a period that suits the Victorian era, as she saw it as a perfect ideal and also a time in her life when she had a great romance. Thus she keeps to that style to try and remember the days that she was loved.
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Residence: Castrals Spire – The East of Dyre, otherwise known as the Dark Lands. A place where death rules and the darkest of magic can be found.

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An introduction: Marika’s rise to power in Dyre was like that of a meteorite having married the powerful Warlock, Dominic Cimentarius. With her natural dark talents and ruling her part of the Eastern state of Dyre, you would think she had it all. Becoming the Supreme Elder well ahead of time, though she was not entirely supported by the likes of Loretta, nor Marguriette Black. But it turns out that in her own affairs, trouble was brewing at home. Dominic was not entirely faithful, having also bewitched Lavinia Ramoska. The battle for Dominic’s heart was to prove to lead to Marika’s undoing, after her attempt to murder Lavinia actually took the life of her beloved husband. Poisoned; a simple and yet cruel death. An acid that she had slipped into a drink but he picked up the chalice. This would lead to Lavinia’s own heart turning black, her rage then led her to destroy her one and only ally at the time….her sister, and Esme’s mother Desmendona. She had somehow siphoned Marika’s powers from the dark lands and had trapped her within a tomb beneath her own castle retreat – Castrals Spire. Riddled by grief and her need to never feel pain like this in her heart again, she put the dark side of herself to sleep. Her control of the dark lands, shifting back to where it belonged. Leaving all to believe that she had killed Marika, she assumed the role of Supreme Elder. This of course, was not true, though generations of Cimentarius believed it to be so. Now you may wonder, just how Marika broke free from hundreds of years of captivity. The very same event that had broken Lavinia’s own self imposed curse to keep the dark at bay. The time piece. The deal struck in the Lab at Hell’s Kitchen had ramifications that stretched both across Hell and Dyre itself. The affects were being felt by all the Princes, the Princesses and of course the Witches of Dyre. It was little surprise that with this great surge of magic, that crossed every boundary – there were to be further shocks and surprises awaiting both sides of the warring warlock and witch clans.
Freed from her tomb, Marika emerged to find that her world had changed. The Spire that had once teemed with the voices of her kin and followers had fallen silent. The released Elder needed to find a warlock to assist her in the preparation to take her powers back….and this would require the Son of a Black. Her own son, Giovanni….was nowhere to be found. At least…not in Dyre…

Hates or Dislikes: Blondes, Ramoskas, Princesses, Lavinia, Royalty, Authority, Wimps, Demons, Disloyalty, the other Elders.

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Powers:
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Pyrokinesis : The ability to create, control and manipulate fire

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Marika can utilize the Dark Art: a form of magic typically used for selfish, self-serving and/or nefarious purposes. Though it is not necessarily “evil” magic per se, dark arts tend to focus toward destruction, harming, cursing and otherwise complicating the lives of other people while advancing the user’s own state. Users often reject social convention and the status quo, which some suggest is in a search for spiritual freedom. As a part of this, they embrace magical techniques and practices that would traditionally be viewed as taboo and are generally willing to go farther than most would even consider if it serves their ends.

 Blood Manipulation
 Blood Magic
 Curse Manipulation
 Death-Force Manipulation
 Destruction
 Disintegration
 Elemental Manipulation
 Energy Manipulation
 Extrasensory Perception
 Flight
 Life Creation
 Amalgamation
 Mutation Inducement
 Malleable Anatomy
 Motor-Skill Manipulation
 Necromancy
 Death Empowerment
 Death Inducement
 Death Sense
 Ectoplasm Manipulation
 Immortality
 Life-Force Absorption
 Pain Inducement
 Pain Suppression
 Reanimation
 Soul Manipulation
 Soul Absorption
 Spirit Physiology
 Possession
 Summoning/Banishment

Weakness: Been shown to feel apathy or any type of affection, can bring down her walls, though it’s a big ask. Marika needs to limit herself, or it gets out of hand. Emotions cause her to make errors, and those misjudgments are the very things that cost her everything. Dark art forces are truly addictive, as Lavinia was to find out in the past (which is why she put the dark side of herself to sleep.) The secret to Marika’s greatest weakness is the one thing everyone seems to be seeking….a heart.
Talisman: An ivory cameo pendant.

 

Domi’s Slave Market and Spa – Fable of Swords.

This is the introduction of my latest character, Lady Dominique De Shay into the Fable of Swords Series.

 

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A pleasure dome for the nobles and royals. Where they may be washed, or buy a slave to care for them.

 

The Slave market and Spa
Razorbackwriter;  

The outer courtyard was bustling with new arrivals from the ports. A group of blonde haired women with blue eyes from the far north were being herded into a covered area by tall slave drivers – all dressed in  leather tunics. Their cries and sobs brought the attention of Tim, the servant of Lady Dominique, who had been speaking to a city official in the nearby garden. His lips drew into a thin line as he asked to be excused from the conversation, and headed over to see why there was so much noise and fuss. One of the slave drivers was about to raise his whip to silence one of the terrified girls, when Tim caught his arm and then pulled on it harshly.

“The Lady pays top money so that these girls are without marks or cuts. For each one you spoil, you can expect to lose two gold pieces.” There was a definite growl in his hushed words, but it was reinforced by the steel like grip of his hand around the slave driver’s arm. The driver wrestled his arm free, and spoke in a different dialect to the Eunuch. His tone was one of disgust that Tim would dare challenge him or try to insult him with the thought that the Lady of the Markets would dare not to pay the right price. But just as Tim was about to answer in the strange language, a red headed beauty emerged from one of the main buildings, chuckling whilst on the arm of one of the higher nobles. He had been a guest of the spa and was just telling Lady Dominique of the love he had for her special services.

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“Lord Byron, you know that I am fully booked up. Besides, you can’t afford me.” Indeed, she saved herself for someone rather special. Dressed in a long silken robe, that only had straps of light jade fabric covering her breasts, and wearing a large pendant around her neck that rested just shy of her ample cleavage, she quirked a brow to see that Tim was in a heated discussion with one of her slave drivers. Patting the Lord’s arm, she bid him a farewell, and then strolled over with a smug expression towards the Driver and her man servant.

“Problem, Tim?”

Tim straightened as he watched his lady approached, then snarled at the slave driver to show the proper respect. The Slave driver bowed and lowered his whip.

“Lady De Shay. We have returned from the north with eight new slaves for your perusal.”

Dominique gave the girls the once over, pleased to see that they had made the trip in one piece. Most appeared to be unharmed or marked, but they were dirty and needed washing and cleaning before they would be brought for further appraisal. The Mistress of the slave house walked up and down the line of the frightened girls, who did not understand common language. Dominique had a coolness about her, she had to show little emotion in front of these girls. They were regarded more like cattle, then people. One thing Dominique knew was that blondes fetched a higher price, and this would mean that she was in for a good return, if the girls were not spoilt.

“Hmm. Yes, they will do just fine.” The red head glanced back over her shoulder at the slave driver and his men. “Go get yourselves cleaned up, there is food awaiting you in the food hall, and your needs shall be tended to by some of my girls. These ones need to be processed.” Dominique nodded towards Tim, who then called for one of the red house heads to lead the girls away to begin their cleaning. The group of girls all hushed as they passed by Lady Dominique, who was now left behind with her man servant, as all moved on at her orders.

Tim watched as Lord Byron lingered and then bowed before taking his leave. He had his eye on Lady Dominique, but knew when it was time to go. Once he was gone, Tim shook his head and tutted at the wicked Red head who was now smirking like a Cheshire cat.

“You tease.”

“Aha…I could whip you for such insolence. So what? He gives me pretty baubles…got a lovely string of pearls from the Asian sea.” she withdrew a black box from one of her pockets hidden beneath her silks. “It’s nice though….you want it?”Dominique tossed it over her shoulder to the man servant, who caught it on the fly. Tim pulled the strand out of the box, holding it up for closer inspection. “Gorgeous….”

“Yes, well….his gifts are one thing. His cock is another.” She rolled her eyes and held up her pinky – wiggling it. “I swear that when he tried to enter me once, I didn’t know if he had started or not.”

Tim spluttered and then could not help but nearly choke with laughter. Lydia threaded her arm through Tim’s and they strolled along the garden together.

“I know what I want, Tim”

“Yes…and sadly, he does not visit anymore.” Naturally, Tim spoke of the King, who was now quite ill. For once, Lady Domi looked sad. “He would if he could, but you’re quite right and I dare not go to him. Not with my cousins hovering about over his death bed.”

There would be a time when she would be called…..and she feared that would be sooner then later.

“This depresses me. Come, let us wander the gardens some more. It will take my mind off Him.”

Tim nodded politely and patted her hand gently, as the two continued to stroll along together.

~RB~

The Peach Cafe – BC.

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Location is displayed by the symbol: https://i1.wp.com/i62.tinypic.com/14nmcyq.png

The Peach Cafe is famous for many things: their milkshakes, drinks, and beautiful women who work for them. It is a great place to come and chat with your friends and usually ads are posted here (if you are looking for a job etc).

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Scene setting – The Peach Cafe : Blood City Series.

co-written with Gene.

Gene:

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Ever since her meeting with Hiram and Lilly ended, Ava had returned to the stalls and continued her little shopping spree. A few items caught her attention, but she was mainly proud with the necklace she wore. There was something appealing about it; it was simple, yet complex at the same time. It possessed the perfect kind of modesty, one that would go with any attire. She might have spent an hour or two zigzagging from stall to stall. Saturday was typically the market day and one of her favourite days. It wasn’t that she was looking for something to buy – although it’s obvious if she liked something, she’d definitely purchase it – but simply looking at the products each market had was interesting; Ava enjoyed asking the specifics about some of the products: where they came from, how were they transported, with what materials were they made? Indeed, they were odd questions to ask, however the owners didn’t seem to mind.

After her adventures in the market, Ava moved on to shops. She entered each store empty handed and left the same way; at home she had enough, so why would she have any need to buy more? Ava was more than content and so felt no need to buy unnecessary items, whilst others in the Vestro District were known to go overboard when they went shopping. There were shops in the Vestro District – this was so the upper class would have no need to enter the Inner City and mix with the lower classes – but they only sold what one might call ‘high classed items’. It was a bore to always see such glamorous items. Plus, at times Ava felt the need to escape the upper class.

Now, it was the afternoon. How long had it been since Ava entered the Inner City? A few hours. Maybe 3 or 4. Either way, she came to the Peach Cafe; it was busy as always, yet so calm at the same time. After ordering a warm drink, she took a seat near the window, reading a newspaper. In the Vestro District, newspapers were different; they never disclosed the amount of crime going on in the City, however there was plenty of gossip. Her eyes remained fixated on the newspaper, finding it deeply – and perhaps worryingly – interesting how un-perfect the City truly was.

Razorbackwriter:  

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Introduction of Joel Martin.

Gently blowing smoke out from between his parted lips, Joel stood just outside the Peach cafe – finishing off the last of his cigarette as it was against policy to allow smoking in the coffee establishment. Joel closed his eyes and with a light tilt of his head, he took one last drag before pinching the remaining part of the cigarette and then letting it drop to the pavement; where he used the tip of his boot to crush the stub into nothing. He could of dropped it into the rubbish bin, but preferred this method. A light shake of his shoulders, and he pushed himself forward from the lamp post; his grey eyes cast now towards the entrance to the Cafe. Already there was quite a crowd, but it was not bustling – nor was there much of a line up to be served. With an almost bored expression, Joel sauntered towards the door – only stopping to open the door for an elderly woman who had made it to the entrance before him. He reached out and let his slender digits clasp the bronze handle, pulling the door back almost effortlessly. The woman, whose head scarf covered much of her hair and obscured her face thanked Joel with a gentle tone, to which Joel merely nodded his head. If there was one thing his father taught him it was to respect his elders. It cost nothing to be a gentleman in what was a changing world. Respect for the elders of the community was on a down turn, as the current generation were all too transfixed by technological devices to even pay attention to people that they dined with.

Once the elderly woman was safely through the door, Joel followed and allowed the door to close on its own as he surveyed the interior of the Peach cafe. The atmosphere had a warmth to it – be that from the scent of the roasted coffee beans, or the tender smiles of the waitresses. The manager always found good looking girls to serve his customers, and being served by a pretty face was welcoming. Not that Joel was really bothered about being overtly friendly with the waitresses. They were there to do a job – provide a service, which they did well.

Taking up a menu as he waited to be served, Joel happened to notice a fair haired woman seated by one of the window booths. In her hand she was reading the city newspaper. The young man tapped the menu against his left open palm, not even bothering to open it, while his ghost grey eyes locked onto the cover story on the front of the newspaper. Joel’s lips thinned as he noted that the news of the day was about some B grade celebrities buttocks. Really, couldn’t they put something actually considered news on the front page? Joel’s concentration was only broken by the sing song voice of the barista.

“Sir, would you like to order?”

A petite blonde girl with pink satin ties pulling up her hair into pig tails smiled brightly, as she clutched her pen in readiness. Joel exhaled sharply through his nostrils, placing back the menu in the stainless steel stand.

“Flat white in a mug, and a blueberry muffin please.”

The girl scribbled down the order and then tapped the keys on the register before announcing that Joel’s order came to nine dollars. Joel’s right brow crept up slowly – as he was somewhat surprised by the cost. Had prices gone up that much in recent weeks that you were paying nearly ten dollars just for a coffee and muffin. The young man smacked his lips together in indignation, and produced a ten dollar note; before telling the girl to keep the change as a tip. It wasn’t much of a tip, but the girl hid her disappointment well.

Taking his table number which was actually a UNO card, Joel strolled towards his favorite booth, but not before making a passing remark to the blonde haired woman that was reading the newspaper.

“You’d find much more interesting reading material at the library, Miss.”

Joel ran his fingers through his sandy locks which were unruly; much like the man himself. Without bothering to introduce himself, or even wait for her reply; Joel continued to his own booth. Sitting down, he took out his brown leather satchel and started to undo the flap. He slowly reached into the aging leather and withdrew an old book. Tattered and worn with yellowing pages. Joel tossed the satchel onto the booth seat beside him and then flipped open the cover to start to read as he waited for his coffee and muffin.

~RB~

Father Tom – GS.

 

 

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Scene setting : St Luke’s Cathedral.

 

Razorbackwriter:  Another Friday night has rolled around once more. It seemed that the bitter chill brought by the first days of snow had kept many of the die hard bingo ladies snuggled under blankets at home. The door to the church was open and a welcoming light shone from within. Only it was not as it truly appeared. Rufus had been setting out the wooden chairs for the procession of elderly that started to trickle in just after eight o’clock. The slow dragging of the wooden legs across the tiled stone floor creating a strange echo that resonated throughout the whole church. Rufus was more than just a bell ringer. Before being taken in by Father McGowan, he slept upon the streets and under bridges – pan handling when money was truly tight. Now, his future was brighter – somewhat. The Priest with the rugged looks and chiseled chin held a dark secret that the hunchback would come to discover, only by chance. None of this was spoken out in the open mind you. There are some whispers that should remain within the confessional – even if it is the Priest doing the confessing.

A long shadow hovered just above Rufus, who was putting the last chair into place on table ten.

“There we are Father. All’s ready. Are the sisters coming down tonight?”

The sisters he meant were the nuns that helped out at the Cathedral and were great supporters of the church’s bingo night. Father McGowan, or Father Tom as he was more commonly known folded his arms and stared down at his assistant with a look of disdain.

“No…they promised to deliver toys to the Children’s hospital. Bah. It’s just not the same without that brood of penguins.” Penguins being a pet name for what Father Tom referred to as the nuns. The sisters always made the tea and biscuit platters and handled the more annoying bingo ladies that often grated on Father Tom’s nerves. Rufus fidgeted nervously as he smiled up at the Priest. He knew what Father Tom would rather be doing this eve and it didn’t involve calling out bingo numbers. The Priest was a hunter. A hunter for God. The more souls he could send onto God…the better.

“I wouldn’t worry, Father. Saturday night is much better. More wicked sinners out and about. Heh. Right?”

If this was Rufus’s way of cheering the Priest up, it fell on death ears. No sooner had the hunchback spoken, when the first of the old bingo biddies started to parade through the door.

“Oooo Father Tom! You look handsome as ever. I’m feeling lucky in my waters tonight.” This was the first of many such compliments and the Priest faked a smile that would be sickly sweet.

“Just so long as you can hold your waters in till the end of the night, Mrs Jones.”

A light titter of laughter came from Mrs Jones, while the other ladies started taking their places and pulling out all manner of lucky charms, bingo marker pens and bottles of soda. The noisy chatter of the old moos, was like milking time at the shed. Slowly, the Priest made his way to the top table, where the bingo ball cage awaited. He took his seat and grumbled under his breath – low enough for no one to really notice. His hand reached for the crank and slowly he turned it as a wave of excitement went through the room.

How….exciting.

“Two fat ladies…..eighty eight.”

 

~RB~