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Post by The Grim Reaper on Jul 25, 2010 21:05:58 GMT -7
Darkness, it was everywhere. Threatening to swallow up this entire city whole. It was breath taking. For one who could move in the darkness this city had no place she couldn't go, no where she couldn't appear. The Grim Reaper could not decide which were darkest; the city streets or the hearts of men which resided there. She traveled throughout the city streets, her eyes and ears everywhere the darkness wandered, but tonight she was not interested in just killing the unworthy or feeding. The Grim Reaper were searching for one woman in patricular. The woman responsible for the life she now leads.
Maricul.
The Seductress; her mistress. Long ago Maricul saved her life and made her the vampire you see before you today. Dressed in a black cloak complete with a hood and a short scythe she wields in her hands she appeared as the modern time description of Death. She were called everything from The Angel of Death to The Goddess of Death, but the alias that stuck with her since it left the lips of her creator were "The Grim Reaper" the title she dropped her real name for. Fear and darkness were her biggest allies. She found herself having some things in common with a certain "Dark Knight" who also used the fear and darkness against his adversaries. That was something she could respect.
The Reaper came up out of a puddle, literally made of darkness, and took her complete form inside a parking lot. With the short scythe at her side she walked down the parking lot sniffing the air around her, searching for the one that created her. Believing herself to be the only surviving child of The Seductress she wanted to find her more than anything. The Reaper was not surprised to hear Maricul still lived, and have been searching for her ever since.
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Post by Maricul on Jul 30, 2010 22:35:08 GMT -7
One of the cars in the parking lot was rocking, the windows fogged up from the inside, moans coming from it. The Seductress was ‘parking’ as it were, picking out her next victim for the night. A young man who had just started college and wanting to share a night with a beautiful woman like herself. She made his last hours on earth pleasurable ones before she sank her teeth into him, literally, and drank his blood, slowly as always. It was the only thing that still gave her pleasure in this miserable and lonely life of hers. Maricul looked over the now dead body after fully draining him of blood. It was still warm and would be for a while before spoiling, but Maricul knew better than to stick around those she killed for too long. It was bad luck.
The Seductress got dressed and made her way out of the car, leaving the body there to be found by whoever would be unfortunate enough to come across a dead body. For the time being she had been sated but as all things, it would not last. Her hunger and lust has come about quicker than usual, ever since she met the likes of Amelia. That woman was slowly changing her, and every time Amelia entered her thoughts Maricul had the urge to kill something. To let out the beast. It was refreshing and very much welcomed. Maricul had barely made a single step forward before she sensed something nearby. Coming from the darkness, a familiar scent. Her eyes then looked over to the darkness, seeing someone dressed in black with a scythe coming her way. It couldn’t be. Could it? Maricul took a couple of steps forward and called out to the darkness. “Grim?”
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Post by Genocide on Jul 31, 2010 23:43:47 GMT -7
Bloody death had followed in her wake for centuries. Every battle, every war, Genocide appeared. It was always a prime opportunity to leave a mass of bodies behind. Countless lives were ended by the point of her blade. Precision, deadly accuracy, and sharpened steel had been her life for so very long, she knew little else. She fed from one in every hundred she killed, and rarely did she participate in the killing of only one or two souls. She left that for those she considered below her. Only two rivaled her lust for carnage and death. One more so than the other. They were her kin, The Tormentor, a vampiress with a lust for torture; and The Grim Reaper, the vampiress who was death incarnate. The three shared something else as well, a sire. Maricul.
Genocide felt little, her emotions long cut off. She felt only when she killed, or when she was with Maricul. It had been far too long since she'd been with her sire. There was an ache she could not describe or cure, not with bloodshed, not with bringing waves of death to all those she encountered. She knew that both The Tormentor and The Grim Reaper survived, she'd seen evidence over time of their continued existence. Now and again she would come across the scent of Maricul, but was overcome with an emotion she had no words for, and the masses would pay in blood. She knew lust for blood, lust for death. But she didn't know the longing she felt, or how to soothe it.
After leaving Iraq, rife with war, ripe with bodies ready to give up their lives for causes they didn't understand, Genocide returned to America. There would always be war, always more mortals to fall under her blade. But there would only ever be one Maricul. Death called to Genocide, and in that darkness she felt her kin, The Grim Reaper.
Genocide made short work of cleaving a swath through cities and towns alike as she followed The Grim Reaper's trail of darkness. She had not been prepared to find Maricul's scent as she made her way to The Grim Reaper's latest location. The Reaper could use darkness, she was darkness, she was death. In many ways Genocide was as much a part of her, she as much a part of Genocide, as they both were of Maricul. The strongest bond was always with the sire.
Over the eons Genocide had developed her own powers, as many preternatural beings did. Upon her will she could summon great, black wings. The wings of death, as she called them. Wings that reminded her of The Reaper, and of dark angels, death bringers, which they all were. She hovered now in a strange, dark city, searching the darkness for it's mistress, for The Reaper. With a great swoop of her ebony feathers she shot down from the heights, moving to the darkest part of the city. She felt The Reaper, and she felt her sire.
Their scents engulfed her with familiarity as she dove closer, and it was then that she heard her Mistress, her sire's voice, calling out to her children, calling out to The Grim Reaper. "Maricul." She barely breathed the sacred word as she set foot on the cool, rough pavement. She was merely a few feet behind The Grim Reaper, who was moving toward their sire. Genocide took a knee, her broad sword's point embedded into the gravel, her hands clasped around it's hilt, her head bowed. Her eyes turned red, tears of blood cascading down her cheeks, those usually evoked when her blade met flesh. "My Mistress, my sire. My sister, the Reaper." She spoke in monotone, no inflection to her voice, though for the first time in eons, she seemed to feel.....something akin to the release she felt in bringing death to the masses.
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