The Reckoning

[Forgotton_One]

Sprawled upon the dew painted grass, the being stared towards the fleeting night as dawn began it's unstoppable approach upon the night which he cherished so much. Cold, emotionless violet orbs passed from wanning star to the other, thoughts passed through the anceint mind of this long since dead corpse. They were of happier times, when he was a man... A living man.

Yet those days had long since passed, decades ago when he sought to prolong his life, yet only managed to end what humanity he had left. The echo's of times and people long gone faded from his mind, much as the black night faded to a soft hue of purple. Sunlight would be upon him, the warmth he enjoyed so much before, was now his worst enemy.

Perhaps I could lay here, and finish this vile life...No, it's not a life, it's a curse.. words hissed through pale cracked lips, to no one but himself. Anger fueled his rage, a rage that he had subsided for far too long. The rage aimmed at those that created him, not his parents, but those villians that stole away his life at night. Ebony tinted lids slide over those pale purple orbs as the first rays of the sun slide over the tree's like a sheet being pulled over a body. He no longer found joy in the day, only hatered and fear.

With those rays of light, body becomming hot with wisps of dull gray smoke rising from the black clothing he chose to wear. Teeth clenched as pain touched every nerve ending within his decrepit form. Though this would not be his end, his escape. The earth groaned as it sunk around him, charred flesh mingled with soft dirt adding a new sensation of pain to his own torture, body melding into the land.

A patch of gray dirt was all that remained of where he had laid, surrounded by grass, this spot would never breathe the life of plants again, for it was tainted with the essance of death. Final thoughts faded to what he could call dreams as he laid within the safty of the cold, dark earth. He would have his revenge upon those that forsaken him, yes indeed, the day of reckoning would come for them all...

[Forgotton_One]

He stirred within his earthly tomb, it had been two days, and almost two nights since he entered this place. Though the man had been here before, within Myrken Wood, inside the mortal hell hole known as the Broken Dagger, in which he would return to. Although those days were different then the present, the kindred had received a new Prince, a True Brujah by the name of Undertaker, a kindred with high expectations for his breathen. He wished to see how well the Prince had lead his people.

Eyes opened, to stare at the darkness before him, yes he could feel that darkness was approaching and night would once again fill the land of Mryken Wood with shadows. Tonight he would feast, the injuries he suffered from the sun had healed, yet left him with the hunger. Controlling this sensation was hard enough, as to not frenzy and break from his hollowed grave to be struck down by the still present sun. Control, patience, adaptation. They were all traits he praticed for these days, the days when the hunger consumed his very being.

Ashen lids slide over dull purple orbs, for now he would return to his "dreams" if that's what they really were. For tonight would be long and challanging, he did not know of the strength of the Guard, or even if hunters were present. He just knew that heaven help them if they got in his way...

[Forgotton_One]

It was time; the ground had become much cooler with the coming of darkness. Slowly he began to rise, arching right hand upwards to push against his earthly grave. Dirt collapsed within his digits, falling to his face covering that ashen skin with the granules of soil. Air, dampness, shadows. His hand broke free, clenched into a fist and drove back into the ground, the rest of the grave gave way, and he rose upwards. Dirt clad, his black clothing stained with his own blood, the smell of burnt flesh still present to his senses.

There he stood, within that grave, half his body exposed to the air, the other half still buried beneath. He shook his head; clumps of dirt fell back to the earth in which it came. Voices, laughter...people. They were near, his source of nourishment was well at hand, he didn't have to hunt them down after all, and they were coming to him. Shadows were invoked, cloaking him within their gloomy presence as the couple broke through the clearing, laughing, groping each other in a blind taste for lust. Little did they know a predator was watching, waiting for that right moment, in which emotions were high and the vitae was at it's best tasting.

The two fell upon each other, the woman below, the man atop, tearing at her blouse, exposing her rip bosom in which he longed to taste, face buried into the center, licking the flesh. She cried for more, grabbed his hair and pulled, but only received a gag, and wetness. Eyes opened to receive her lover’s blood, spilling over her flesh; she let out a scream that was silenced by a blade impaling her throat. She struggled, gasped for air, tried to call out but no one was there, only the assailant, an assassin. The man smiled at his bounty, fear was in the women’s eyes as he knelt down, and sunk teeth into the torn flesh, relishing in the vitae full of emotion, full of fear.

He stood over the two bodies, though he only fed off the woman, the man died the moment his blade was run through the back of his neck, severing the spine and opening the air passage in a whole new way. The look of fear was still present upon the distorted face of that woman, and he smiled, tongue extended to remove the last traces of blood from gray lips. Pulling his blade across his gloved hand, he removed the blood as to not stain his blade, before resheathing the Kiriha Zukuri style Katana upon his left side.

Features could be made out, he wore a black sleeveless shinobi shozoko. He was average height, standing in at five foot and seven inch's in height, though weight could not be made out, it appeared the man to be a decent build, for the arms, wrapped within a black mesh were quite large and toned. The hair, however dirt clad, was gray, and those purple orbs set within almond hollows blazed with a new fire. Nose, lips, neck, they were all covered within a cowl, which was tied around the back of his neck. He took one last glance at the bodies before mumbling something and walking away, his destination was the Broken Dagger.

Clearing the forest and entering the tree line, those bodies behind him began to smolder, then without warning burst into flames, leaving a cascading dance of shadows against the tree's and ground. Even if they were found, there would be no telling as to how exactly they died, a most nice cover for the kindred. His presence would, for now be undetected.

[Forgotton_One]

Words had come to him, those of death, destruction, and chaos. Kin were murdered, brutally, there remain's displayed atop the Dagger like trophies, each impaled upon a iron spike, complete with their nights kill at the feet. He had listened to the tale, of those who witnessed the act, and it made his stomach turn, even the assamite, who had killed many, could not comprehend heinous Final Death the nine had fallen to.

I thought we were brutal... Words slipped from crimson hued lips, neither melodic, nor bland, they held no emotion. Eyes casted towards the ground. Indeed the gauntlet had been thrown, yet was this creature, or creatures willing to take on the masses? Obviously he should have never left the Prince's side, perhaps this madness could have been avoided in one swift motion. Yet now it was far too late, not only were the humans rallying their troops, this madman was on the loose, slaughtering those kin.

He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, chainmail beneth the shinobi shozoko dug into his preternatural skin, leaving tiny ringlets in the flesh. The same black mail adorned those muscular arms which folded against his chest. Head bowing in thought, ashen lids slipped over dull violet orbs. Nine. The man actually killed nine, and from what he had gathered, hadn't received a scratch. Foolishness, he had to have some sort of help, a tremere was present, along with others, yet that number seemed to repeat within his mind. Nine, again, speared upon the Dagger's roof, left for all to see. Who was this man, this beast. Saviour? Knight? Angel? No, none of these terms met the brutal way they were slain. An angel of death perhaps, come to seek revenge on the Kindred for all their years of sin.

Great as he might be, 'Abd al Wâhid did not like this mission, it stunk of death, his death. Even though he had to face this opposition head on, he didn't want to. Nine. He had never killed nine at once, five yes..never nine. Head shook from it's drooped position, casting away all doubts, all fears. This night he would come to the Dagger, and walk within it's doors, perhaps, just perhaps, Wâhid would meet this crazed lunatic and put that man in his place....

.....Nine.....