The_gladiator
Avatar of Fantasy
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 24,552
Some were born and others made. Similar yet so very different. Never to be at peace, secretly they sought to destroy one another. The true born were the superior for thousands of years, set up their society’s structure, all of the rules their people followed. Yet, recently, in the last hundred years it was hard to say exactly when, one of the undead, those who only achieved their race’s powers through becoming the undead, literally dying for their powers, developed the silver bullet. The race that was once humans brought over their knowledge of weaponry and found the secret to leveling the playing field. Before when they woke to their new life, they knew very little about their powers, they needed to learn. This was not true for those born to this life, the ones who were not undead, but more a separate race for they learned their powers from birth. Though the undead were also at risk from the bullets they created the modern technology proved to be the great equalizer.
An ancient race, the born vampires were not quick to adopt modern technology, at least weaponry. They preferred their psychic ability, their silver blades, and taking their time. The undead and their hirelings had no such compunctions.
When our story opens up, there is an awkward truce among the two factions of vampire kind. The Blackstone Council had fought long and hard working for a truce, or peace, for they knew that technology had advanced far enough that both varieties of vampire kind were in danger. Every day they grew more and more at risk of being exposed to humankind and their prying internet. This didn’t stop two groups from still doing what they felt was right. The first were the sentinels. This elite group of vigilantes worked to eliminate those of their race, either branch who got out of line. The most common reason was killing humans. Typically, too many humans, humans while feeding, or basically being evil or risking exposing vampire kind to the public’s prying eyes.
The second group were the night stalkers. These were a group that were ancient as well and trained much like the sentinels, but their creed spoke not of defense but of attack. While sentinels policed humans, the night stalkers had it out for the undead, these conversions they labeled abomination. They tried to maintain a moral code, tried to follow the code of the sentinel in fact, killing those that went too far, got out of line. In their case they started by policing conversion of children, or young adults. Over time this just morphed into stopping any that converted others. It didn’t take long before they wanted to eliminate all of that branch of vampire kind. A xenophobia at its best.
Yet, most held themselves to eliminating those that converted others, made their own undead army of servants. The Sentinels prided themselves on being rigid, and sticking to the rules. To the night stalkers, the rules were a little more like guidelines and some of them grew quite powerful killing for a living. Power seeks a vacuum, and sometimes they were there to sweep up the pieces as it were. There are many tales that can be told of the sentinels, this is not one of those tales. Our story is darker; one found in the night with its stalkers.
Malcum bent his head respectfully over the wrist that the woman had offered him. He certainly could have taken the blood from a more intimate place, but in public he tried not to appear quite as crass as his host, who had his partner seated on the table in front of him, feeding from her inner thigh. Malcum was sure that Zachariah, his host had done that to try to unnerve him. He’d seen worse, hell, done worse, but his little pomp and power games meant nothing to him. If Zachariah wanted to play with his dinner, Malcum really didn’t care. For Malcolm’s part he hadn’t done much more than walk up to the woman who was clearly meant to be for him, give her a quick glance from head to toe, lay a hand to her cheek to look into her eyes, his eyes capturing hers, mesmerizing her. It would take away the pain of the bite, but also let him sense her, did she carry a toxin in her blood that could kill him, was she hiding a knife to gut him while he fed, all of those things were open to him. She didn’t have one jot of psychic shielding, he could have picked her credit card number from her head she was so wide open, but why did he care. She literally meant nothing.
Swiping his tongue over the pin pricks in her wrist he flashed her a brief smile that did not reach his eyes. “Charmed my lady, thank you for the gift.” He said no more than what was required, and waved her away. Surely Zachariah would be done soon, he would prefer to actually talk business. He didn’t need to know he
Was here to kill him. What fun was in that. It wasn’t enough for Malcum. Killing the undead was easy, learning all their secrets and then stealing it all, that was so much sweeter.
Ignoring the wet slurping noises coming from Zachariah’s side of the table, had he moved on to licking the woman’s pussy now, he let his eyes rest on the woman who had entered with the two ladies. There was a mystery worth pursuing. He could read nothing from her. So many humans broadcasted like a radio. From her he got nothing. She was also much prettier. Oh, she was older than either of the women who had been offered to him, with Zachariah taking the one he did not select, yet, she had a level of poise that the younger women lacked. Who was she, just their handler? He was not aware of Zachariah having a human servant. Such a bond could grant her that kind of a psychic shield, but surely, he could sense Zacharaiah’s power on her if that were the case.
Completely ignoring his host, Malcum stood. At 6 foot 2 inches he was not a small man. He moved like a predator. His blue eyes, dark as midnight studied the woman. Red hair to her mid back, or so he guessed were it to be down, sharp eyes that missed a lot less than she might want people to think. The perfectly polished shoes whispered over the carpet, the perfect finishing touches on the black suit he wore. He had an heir of refinement about his person; he wasn’t afraid of the money his suit suggested he had. Comfortable with his wealth was a good way to describe Malcum and how he dressed. It was not flashy, it just was.
He stepped up to her and extended his hand, hoping that the touch would allow him to break into her mind, read her secrets. He could learn a lot about a person just from their hand. How a person touched said a lot about them. “I’m Malcom, and why is it that someone as beautiful as you weren’t on the menu for this evening? Doesn’t a guest have the right to the finest?” his lips didn’t quite turn into a smirk, but he was clearly trying to provoke a reaction from her. He would learn so much just from this initial interaction.
An ancient race, the born vampires were not quick to adopt modern technology, at least weaponry. They preferred their psychic ability, their silver blades, and taking their time. The undead and their hirelings had no such compunctions.
When our story opens up, there is an awkward truce among the two factions of vampire kind. The Blackstone Council had fought long and hard working for a truce, or peace, for they knew that technology had advanced far enough that both varieties of vampire kind were in danger. Every day they grew more and more at risk of being exposed to humankind and their prying internet. This didn’t stop two groups from still doing what they felt was right. The first were the sentinels. This elite group of vigilantes worked to eliminate those of their race, either branch who got out of line. The most common reason was killing humans. Typically, too many humans, humans while feeding, or basically being evil or risking exposing vampire kind to the public’s prying eyes.
The second group were the night stalkers. These were a group that were ancient as well and trained much like the sentinels, but their creed spoke not of defense but of attack. While sentinels policed humans, the night stalkers had it out for the undead, these conversions they labeled abomination. They tried to maintain a moral code, tried to follow the code of the sentinel in fact, killing those that went too far, got out of line. In their case they started by policing conversion of children, or young adults. Over time this just morphed into stopping any that converted others. It didn’t take long before they wanted to eliminate all of that branch of vampire kind. A xenophobia at its best.
Yet, most held themselves to eliminating those that converted others, made their own undead army of servants. The Sentinels prided themselves on being rigid, and sticking to the rules. To the night stalkers, the rules were a little more like guidelines and some of them grew quite powerful killing for a living. Power seeks a vacuum, and sometimes they were there to sweep up the pieces as it were. There are many tales that can be told of the sentinels, this is not one of those tales. Our story is darker; one found in the night with its stalkers.
Malcum bent his head respectfully over the wrist that the woman had offered him. He certainly could have taken the blood from a more intimate place, but in public he tried not to appear quite as crass as his host, who had his partner seated on the table in front of him, feeding from her inner thigh. Malcum was sure that Zachariah, his host had done that to try to unnerve him. He’d seen worse, hell, done worse, but his little pomp and power games meant nothing to him. If Zachariah wanted to play with his dinner, Malcum really didn’t care. For Malcolm’s part he hadn’t done much more than walk up to the woman who was clearly meant to be for him, give her a quick glance from head to toe, lay a hand to her cheek to look into her eyes, his eyes capturing hers, mesmerizing her. It would take away the pain of the bite, but also let him sense her, did she carry a toxin in her blood that could kill him, was she hiding a knife to gut him while he fed, all of those things were open to him. She didn’t have one jot of psychic shielding, he could have picked her credit card number from her head she was so wide open, but why did he care. She literally meant nothing.
Swiping his tongue over the pin pricks in her wrist he flashed her a brief smile that did not reach his eyes. “Charmed my lady, thank you for the gift.” He said no more than what was required, and waved her away. Surely Zachariah would be done soon, he would prefer to actually talk business. He didn’t need to know he
Was here to kill him. What fun was in that. It wasn’t enough for Malcum. Killing the undead was easy, learning all their secrets and then stealing it all, that was so much sweeter.
Ignoring the wet slurping noises coming from Zachariah’s side of the table, had he moved on to licking the woman’s pussy now, he let his eyes rest on the woman who had entered with the two ladies. There was a mystery worth pursuing. He could read nothing from her. So many humans broadcasted like a radio. From her he got nothing. She was also much prettier. Oh, she was older than either of the women who had been offered to him, with Zachariah taking the one he did not select, yet, she had a level of poise that the younger women lacked. Who was she, just their handler? He was not aware of Zachariah having a human servant. Such a bond could grant her that kind of a psychic shield, but surely, he could sense Zacharaiah’s power on her if that were the case.
Completely ignoring his host, Malcum stood. At 6 foot 2 inches he was not a small man. He moved like a predator. His blue eyes, dark as midnight studied the woman. Red hair to her mid back, or so he guessed were it to be down, sharp eyes that missed a lot less than she might want people to think. The perfectly polished shoes whispered over the carpet, the perfect finishing touches on the black suit he wore. He had an heir of refinement about his person; he wasn’t afraid of the money his suit suggested he had. Comfortable with his wealth was a good way to describe Malcum and how he dressed. It was not flashy, it just was.
He stepped up to her and extended his hand, hoping that the touch would allow him to break into her mind, read her secrets. He could learn a lot about a person just from their hand. How a person touched said a lot about them. “I’m Malcom, and why is it that someone as beautiful as you weren’t on the menu for this evening? Doesn’t a guest have the right to the finest?” his lips didn’t quite turn into a smirk, but he was clearly trying to provoke a reaction from her. He would learn so much just from this initial interaction.
